The Roswell Conspiracy (28 page)

“There are life rafts embedded in the fuselage. I’ll deploy them before I jump.”

“Where are they?”

Tyler felt the color drain from his face when he realized that wasn’t going to work. He’d been part of the team investigating the crash of a C-17 in Alaska a couple of years before, so he was familiar with the aircraft. The plane’s Floating Equipment Deployment System, or FEDS, consists of three rafts ejected from the top of the aircraft.

Idiot
, he thought.
You should have remembered that the rafts are attached to the plane so that they won’t float away after a water landing.

Jess must have noticed his ashen pallor. “What’s the matter?”

“The life rafts are tethered to the aircraft. If I eject them in mid-air, they’ll just flutter behind the plane like kites.”

“Are there any inside the plane?”

“No.”

“Then we need to bring one of the other ones on board.”

She was right. He had to deploy them now. He ran to the loadmaster’s station, armed the deployment mechanism, and pulled the T-handle.

Three bangs jolted the aircraft. Two rafts sailed into the air on either side of the cockpit, trailing nylon ropes behind them. The protective clamshell coverings clattered apart on the ground, and the rafts began to inflate automatically. A third raft would be behind the starboard engines. The blown hatches would have a negligible effect on the plane’s aerodynamics.

He took the Leatherman from his pocket and pressed it into Jess’s hand. “Take this. There’s a knife on it. Cut the ropes loose on all of them, starting with the port raft, but be careful of the engines. Drag the forward rafts behind the engines. Then drag the other raft in through the rear cargo door and get out. I’ll close it when you’re clear.”

“No way. I need you alive if we’re going to save Nana. That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

“Tyler, I’ve done more than forty jumps. Discussion over.”

Tyler could see she was going to be just as stubborn as Fay was. And she was right. He didn’t have time. Only ten minutes left to detonation.

“All right,” he said. “You win. Pull the raft in and close the crew door. There should be a button next to it. It’ll show green when the door is secure.”

She left and Tyler opened the massive rear cargo door. He saw Jess dash out and cut the cord on the port raft, using the line to drag it backward as she strained at the weight of the enormous raft. When she was clear, he started number two engine.

Jess repeated the process with the starboard raft. Tyler wanted to go help her, but doing so would have wasted time they didn’t have.

As soon as she was out of sight, Tyler started engine three.

He put the pilot’s headset on. It was already on the tower frequency.

“Tower, this is Air Force flight … uh, this is the Air Force C-17. Permission to taxi for takeoff.”

An accented voice answered after a pause. “I don’t have your flight plan, C-17.”

“This is an emergency takeoff. We’ll file the plan en route.”

“Negative, C-17,” came the shocked response. “Not without your paperwork. There could be traffic in your proposed flight path.”

“Tower, traffic won’t be an issue unless they’re on final approach. This was just a courtesy call to tell you to keep the runway clear. I don’t see anyone out there, so I’m taking off. Out.”

Engine three was still warming up, but he could use the first two engines to taxi.

A minute later, Jess returned and climbed into the right-hand seat, sweat pouring from her brow. “Those bastards are heavy,” she said between breaths, “but I got one aboard. The side door’s closed.”

Tyler closed the cargo door, pushed the throttles forward, and released the brakes. The C-17 rolled across the tarmac at a stately pace.

“Wait a minute,” Jess said. “You’ve only started three engines.”

“The plane is designed to take off with an engine out. We can’t wait to start the fourth. Put your seat belt on.”

He swung the big beast around and headed for the two-mile-long runway, lowering the flaps and making sure he didn’t miss anything critical on the checklist. Taking off wouldn’t do much good if he crashed at the end of the runway.

As soon as he had the nose lined up on the centerline, Tyler pushed the throttles until the fan speed reached ninety percent.

The engines howled in response. The plane surged forward, pressing Tyler against his seat.

He couldn’t help thinking,
This is about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done
.

“If we’re going to die,” Jess said, “I need to tell you something.”

“We’re not going to die.”
Yes, we are
.

“The reason I didn’t come into your room with you last night is because I’m seeing someone.”

“You really think this is the best time for this?”

“I wanted you to know that it was a tough decision. Even after all these years, I still love you.”

Tyler was so shocked by her profession that if his hands hadn’t been glued to the yoke, he would have keeled over. He could have chosen from a thousand possible responses, but he had to keep his attention focused on the task at hand. Now he had a real reason not to die just yet.

His eyes met Jess’s for just a moment. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the raft.”

The C-17 hit takeoff velocity with a half-mile of runway to spare. Tyler pulled back on the yoke, and the massive plane rose smartly into the air. Easter Island receded behind them.

“I’ll get us up to three thousand feet,” he said. “I’ll keep us at a hundred and sixty knots for the jump and hope that’s slow enough, but I’m going to set the autopilot to speed up just before I leave the flight deck. That way we’ll get the maximum distance between us and the plane by the time it blows.”

“What should I do?”

“Go down to the cargo deck and keep hold of the life raft. I’ll open the cargo door, but don’t launch the raft until we’re ready to drop. At this speed we’re going a mile every twenty seconds. I’ll give you a minute to get down there and open the door, then I’ll join you and we’ll jump.”

Jess nodded and got out of her seat, taking one of the parachutes with her. “I’m not jumping without you.”

“I know. Go!”

She sprinted away. Tyler eased the jet to a heading of 180 and kept it steady at an altitude of 3,000 feet at 160 knots. He changed the transponder code to squawk 7700 and adjusted the radio to 243 megahertz, the guard emergency frequency.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Air Force C-17 from Easter Island. We are ditching six miles due south of the island. Request rescue boat. Repeat we are ditching on heading one eight zero from Easter Island VOR. Request rescue boat.”

He glanced at his watch. Six minutes to detonation.

A nervous reply bleated from his headset. “Air Force C-17, this is Easter Island control. We read that you are ditching six miles due south—”

That was enough for Tyler, who just wanted to make sure he’d been heard. He tore off the headset, opened the cargo door, and dialed up the autopilot for maximum cruising altitude and speed. Then he stood and put on the parachute. When the harness was buckled, he initiated the autopilot command.

The engines powered up and Tyler could feel the altitude increasing. He shot down the stairs and ran to the back of the cargo deck where Jess was waiting at the open door. She had a death grip on the life raft to keep from being sucked out by the airstream.

“You ready?” he shouted over the wind.

She nodded, no trace of fear. If anything, she looked pumped for the experience.

Tyler put both hands against the raft, and Jess did the same.

He called out, “One! Two! Three! Push!”

They surged toward the cargo door, until the raft tipped over the edge and flipped out.

“Go!” he yelled, and Jess sprinted forward with a whoop, as if she were on one of her extreme tourism adventures. She leaped off the lowered cargo door, and the slipstream ripped her away.

Tyler, who was right behind her, wished that he were as exhilarated by the jump. The only thing that was making his feet move was the knowledge that this was no longer a perfectly good airplane.

Then he was freefalling into space. The air was sucked from his lungs as he was bombarded by a wind shear unlike anything he’d experienced in previous jumps.

Tyler watched the C-17 rise into the sky above him, so mesmerized that he almost forgot he wasn’t on a static line. He pulled his ripcord and strained at the harness as the chute yanked him to a sudden stop.

He scanned the ocean for the other chute and saw Jess floating lazily below him. The bright banana-colored raft splashed into the water only a few hundred yards away. The fully inflated boat’s wind resistance had kept it from getting too far behind them.

The calm ocean rose to meet Tyler quickly, and he readied himself to release the chute. Drowned by his own parachute was not how he wanted to go.

He plunged into the water and held his breath as he wriggled out of the harness. After an agonizingly long thirty seconds, he was free and swam for the surface.

He burst into the air and took a deep breath. He whirled around looking for Jess and the raft.

He saw the raft first, its color easily spotted against the blue horizon. Then he saw Jess paddling toward it with a smooth stroke.

It took him several minutes to meet her there. They climbed in and caught their breath. The flashing light of the homing beacon was activated automatically by the water, but the survival kit was gone, probably lost while the life raft was tumbling through the air. They could do nothing now but wait for rescue.

Jess sat up and leaned against the outer tube.

“You all right?” Tyler said.

“That was amazing! You?”

“As good as can be expected.”

She drew the folded Leatherman from her pocket and handed it to Tyler. “I thought we might need it if we’re out here for long.”

“I can’t seem to lose this,” he said, and put it in his own pocket. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the Air Force will consider it a fair trade for a two-hundred-million dollar jet.”

“I can’t see it,” she said. “How far away do you think it is?”

Tyler checked his watch. Fifteen seconds to detonation.

“I’m hoping it’s at least thirty miles away by now. It should still be accelerating.”

“Will we be able to see the blast from here?”

As if in response to her question, Tyler squinted as a fiery orange glow pierced the sky. He counted while he awaited the sound of the explosion.

Two minutes later a tremendous crack split the air.

“Twenty-five miles away,” Tyler said.

“Is that far enough?”

“At this distance the gamma radiation is going to be minimal.” He pointed at the extinguished homing beacon light. “But the electromagnetic pulse reached us. That’s why the electronic beacon shut off. We’ll have to hope someone with a sailboat is headed our way.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Jess said, her teeth chattering.

Tyler’s adrenaline subsided and he realized he was shivering as well.

“Come here,” he said.

She nestled against him, and he wrapped his arms around her for the shared warmth.

That was about all they had going for them. No food. No fresh water. And because of the EMP, the only populated area within two thousand miles was now a technological wasteland.

FORTY

Halfway to Santiago, Colchev finished watching the video from Fay’s camera for a third time. He concluded that there were two possibilities for where they would find the xenobium at the Nazca plateau. Either it was at the Mandala geometric figure or it was somewhere in the pyramid of Cahuachi.

The photo from Ivan Dombrovski’s lab in 1947 proved that the Russian scientist had found a ball of xenobium three inches in diameter as a result of his search all those years ago. The unnamed cave had pointed the way, he’d recorded, but Dombrovski never explained why he didn’t bring the xenobium back with him. The only puzzle piece Colchev had been missing was the location of the cave. Thanks to Fay Turia and Tyler Locke, he’d found it.

The problem now was deciding where to begin the next part of the search. Fay was going to help him decide.

He walked to the rear of the Gulfstream, where Fay stared through the window at the ocean below.

He took a seat opposite her. “Mrs. Turia.”

She turned her gaze on him, her eyes blank. “What?”

“You seem to be an expert on the Nazca lines, and I need your assistance.”

She barked a raspy laugh. “You must be dumber than the sheep on my station.”

Colchev wasn’t accustomed to women talking to him like that. He clenched his armrest tightly. “If you don’t help me, I don’t have a reason to keep you alive. You’re saying I should just shoot you right now.” He drew his pistol and aimed it at her head.

Fay didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. I’ll be dead in a few months anyway.”

That was not the reaction Colchev was expecting. He lowered the pistol. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I have malignant pancreatic cancer. Apparently it’s not a pleasant way to go, so you’ll actually be doing me a favor by pulling that trigger.”

He’d never seen someone so unafraid of death. Men he’d threatened like that were more likely to wet their pants than talk back. He put the gun away and tried a different tactic.

“I’m giving you a chance to save your granddaughter.”

Fay’s eyes softened. “You will
not
hurt Jessica. I won’t allow it.”

“You
will
allow it if you don’t help me.”

He didn’t tell her that the armed Killswitch would have irradiated the entire island with gamma rays. It was quite likely that both Jess and Tyler were now dead or soon would be, along with the two models Colchev had left behind in the hotel.

He leaned forward to make his point. “If, for some reason, my mission fails because you didn’t help me, I will have no choice but to hunt your granddaughter down and kill her.”

“How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

“Because I won’t have any reason to.”

“I’m not naïve. I’ve seen your faces. I know that you have something called the Killswitch. And I know you’re after more xenobium. Why would you let me live?”