“Alert the Landscape antiair sites by land line that they are in weapons-free status.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Warn the engineer site of the man infiltrating their position. He is to be stopped with extreme sanction.”
“We have no land line to the engineer site,” Quinn reported. “Their guard net is the Nightscape frequency. We can’t get through to them.”
“Goddammit!” Gullick yelled in frustration.
A tone screeched in Duncan’s headset. Up front in the cockpit a red light flashed on the control panel.
“Missile lock!” Lieutenant Haverstaw called out. “Evasive maneuvers. Hancock and Murphy, watch our rear and get ready if it’s a heat seeker!”
The Blackhawk turned on its left side and then jerked back right. Duncan watched as the two crewmen in the rear slid open the cargo doors and cold air swirled in. They were wearing harnesses around their bodies and leaned out the aircraft, looking down.
“I see a launch!” Murphy yelled. “Four o’clock. Climbing fast!” He was holding a flare and he fired it out and up, hoping the heat of the flare would divert the missile. At the same time Haverstraw slammed the cyclic forward and they rapidly began losing what little altitude they had left.
The missile roared by the right side of the helicopter, missing the outer edge of their rotor blades by less than ten feet. “That was close,” Haverstraw said over the intercom, understating the obvious, as she reeled in collective and cyclic and stopped their descent barely above the desert floor.
“That was close,” Duncan said, looking out at the ground less than twenty feet below.
“I don’t think they want us here,” Haverstraw said dryly.
“Put me on the radio to their headquarters,” Duncan said.
“No can do,” Haverstraw replied. “The frequency listed for Groom Lake is filled with interference.”
“Halt!” a voice called out in the dark to Turcotte’s right.
He could make out a figure wearing night vision goggles and carrying a submachine gun moving toward him.
In reply Turcotte fired twice, both rounds low, hitting the man in the legs and dropping him. There was no need for another death. He regretted what had happened in the lab. Circumstances and anger had forced his hand there. He dashed forward and kicked the Calico submachine gun out the man’s hands and ripped the goggles off his head.
“Fuck!” the man cursed, reaching for his sidearm, Turcotte rapped him upside the head with the barrel of the Calico and the man was out. Turcotte checked the wounds — no arteries hit. He quickly wrapped a bandage from the man’s own combat vest around each thigh to stop the bleeding, then continued on his way.
An AH-6 Little Bird gunship flashed by just overhead.
Kelly pressed down on the accelerator. The lights of the complex were less than a half mile away.
“The doors to the hangar are closed,” Nabinger said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I just want to get there in one piece. Then I’ll figure something out,” Kelly replied.
“The helicopter is still inbound,” Quinn reported. “Whoever is flying it is damn good. They’re below tracking by ground radar. We can’t relay from satellite tracking to the AA sites because of the jamming.”
“Launch the alert bouncer,” Gullick ordered. “Have it bring down the helicopter.”
Haverstraw looked out her windshield. There was a lot going on. She could see vehicles down below in a circus of headlights running about. There were several helicopters flitting about also. One of those turned toward her.
“We’ve got company,” Lieutenant Jefferson said.
Haverstraw didn’t reply. She watched the AH-6 come straight toward them from a half mile away.
“Uh, we’re on a collision course,” Jefferson said.
There was a quarter mile between the two aircraft, pilot of the AH-6 was flashing his spotlight at them.
“I think he wants us to land,” Jefferson said.
Haverstraw remained silent, her hands tight on the controls.
Lisa Duncan twisted in her seat and looked forward as Jefferson spoke again. “Uh, Deb, he’s — oh, Christ!” the copilot screamed out as the AH-6 filled up the entire forward view. At the last moment the other chopper suddenly veered, averting the midair collision.
“Chicken,” Haverstraw muttered. She raised her voice. “We’ll be there in thirty seconds.”
“The hangar doors are opening!” Nabinger called out as a sliver of red light appeared ahead.
“I’m heading for it,” Kelly said.
“Hey!” the sergeant seated inside the humvee called out as the muzzle of a submachine gun appeared in the door. “Watch that thing!”
“No, you watch it,” Turcotte said, edging into the vehicle. He looked at the computer system and the wires leading out of the black box hooked up to it. “This is to blow the charges to open up Hangar Two?”
The sergeant was most definitely watching the end of the muzzle, the black hole seeming to grow larger every second it was fixed between his eyes. “Yes.”
“Turn it on and bring up the firing sequence program.”
“Geez, look at that,” Haverstraw said as she set the Blackhawk down two hundred meters away from the large door that was sliding open in the side of the mountain. Red light spilled out onto the concrete and a disk was hovering there. It moved forward when the door was wide enough.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“Thanks for the ride,” Duncan said. “You’d better shut down and wait here until things get cleared up.”
“Roger that,” Haverstraw said. “And you’re welcome.”
Duncan took off her headset and got out of the helicopter. She turned her head as a van came to a screeching halt between her and the disk.
Turcotte looked at the screen. The charges were listed along with order and timing of initiation. He quickly began typing.
Armed guards ran out of the hangar as the bouncer hovered overhead, shining a light down on the scene being played out.
“Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” one of the men ordered, pointing his weapon at the windshield of the van.
“Let’s go,” Kelly said. “We did all we can do. Let’s hope we gave Turcotte enough time to do his end.”
She opened the driver’s door and stepped out along with Nabinger, the latter still holding the rongorongo tablet and wearing his backpack. Von Seeckt got out of the rear.
“Face down on the ground!” the man ordered.
“Wait a second!” a woman’s voice called out. All eyes turned to the figure walking over from the Blackhawk helicopter. “I’m Dr. Duncan.” She held out an ID card. “Presidential adviser to Majic-12.”
The senior Nightscape man paused, confused at this sudden apparition and wrinkle in the chain of command. The three groups were all gathered in a thirty-foot circle just in front of the doors to Hangar One.
“I want General Gullick and I want him here now!” Duncan demanded.
“We have to secure these prisoners first,” the guard said.
“I’m Kelly Reynolds,” Kelly said, stepping forward, making sure her hands were away from her sides. “You know Dr. Von Seeckt, and the other man is Professor Nabinger of the Brooklyn Museum. We called you earlier.”