Turcotte shook his head. “That helps explain some of the reaction, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“This won’t make you feel much better either,” Duncan said. “The CIA has picked up quite a bit of Chinese Army activity in the Qian-Ling region. It’s likely they might try to blast their way into the tomb.”
“They won’t have to blast,” Turcotte noted. “The hole we got out of is still open.”
“From the imagery it doesn’t appear they’ve gone in yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Once they go in they’ll have contact with the Qian-Ling guardian,” Turcotte said.
“The guardian might not communicate with them,” Duncan said. The strange gold pyramids found at several Airlia sites were, as far as they could define it in human terms, computers. But the alien computers could do so much more — including directly interfacing with the minds of those who touched its surface — that no one was quite sure what they were. The alien computer uncovered under a dig at Temiltepec in South America had taken over the minds of several members of the covert Majestic-12 group — the event that had begun Turcotte’s and Duncan’s involvement in this.
“Even if they can’t make contact with the guardian,” Duncan continued, “they might be able to get access to the lower level and uncover whatever is down that central corridor.”
“Nabinger knew what was down there,” Turcotte said.
“There’s no way we can get back into China to find out. God knows what will happen with the Chinese. They might simply blow the place up, as the Chinese government has more than enough to deal with right now with their own people rebelling.”
“I don’t think the Chinese, even if they go in, will be able to make it to the lower level,” Turcotte said. “Nabinger was probably the only one who could figure out how to get in there.” “I hope so,” Duncan said.
“And STAAR?” Turcotte asked. “Anything further?”
Duncan put a hand on his forearm. “Well, I was going to get to that.” “What do you want me to do now?”
“Lead a team to Antarctica. The engineers who have been drilling at the Scorpion Base site say they should break through very soon. I want you to be there when they go in.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“And where will you be going?”
“The Task Force off Easter Island. The navy wants to try an underwater recon by a probe. Try to get under the shield.”
“You think that will work?” Turcotte asked.
“No, but we can’t give up on Kelly.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I go to Russia.”
“Russia?” Turcotte thought about that. “Section Four?”
Duncan nodded. “There’s more going on than we know. What Colonel Kostanov told you — it has me wondering. I sent a message to Section Four and finally managed to talk to someone named Yakov. He told me he would get back to me, but knowing Russian efficiency, I thought it best if I went myself.”
“That’s probably true,” Turcotte agreed.
“They’re going to come at us again,” Duncan said.
“They?”
“The Airlia. The guardian computer at Easter Island. STAAR. Take your pick. We stopped them at Area 51. We stopped the fleet. But they won’t stop. And God knows what will happen next.” “I always used to tell my team in Special Forces that what you least expect is what will happen.”
“That’s why I’m afraid,” Duncan said.
Turcotte stepped behind Lisa and wrapped both his arms around her, feeling the leather crinkle. “I know this isn’t over. Is that why I’m here?”
“No,” Duncan said. “You’re here because I want you here.”
There was just the sound of the breeze through the pine trees for several minutes.
“I’m cold.” Duncan nodded toward the door and the beckoning fireplace. “Ready to go in?”
“In a second,” Turcotte said. He watched her walk inside, then turned to the dark countryside. He sensed something, a feeling he’d had before while on combat missions — of being watched. His eyes scanned the nearby area, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anyone, if there was someone out there. Finally he turned and went inside to join Duncan in front of the fireplace.
Fifteen hundred meters away, on a craggy hillside facing Duncan’s home, a man sat cross-legged behind a night-vision telescope set on a tripod. He watched the two figures silhouetted by the fireplace. His flat expression didn’t change, even as he watched the two begin kissing, his only interest professional. The watcher noted as the man in the house got up and pulled shut the curtain.
He had a small earpiece in his left ear, attached to a receiver he’d planted days earlier. It had picked up the conversation the two had had on the porch. The man was thinking about what had been said, condensing it for the report he would have to make shortly. A receiver he’d hidden inside the house now picked up the sound of the two making love, but that interested the man not in the least.
An MP-5 silenced submachine gun, round in the chamber, lay across his knees.
Behind him, a backpack rested against a tree. A bulky plastic case was strapped on the side. The man laid the sub aside and reached for the pack. A large silver ring glittered in the moonlight on his left ring finger as he did that. He opened the plastic case and pulled out the two parts of a sniper rifle. His practiced hands quickly bolted the parts together. He pulled a different scope out of the pack and slid it into place on top of the rifle.
One never knew how those he worked for would react to his report, and he wanted to be prepared just in case. He looked through the scope and turned it on. The image came to life in an array of colors, from hot red through cold blue. He sighted in, the thermal sight letting him see through the curtain. There was one large red spot in front of the flickering deeper red of the fireplace — the man and woman sleeping arm in arm. Twisting the focus knob, he zeroed in on the man’s head. He knew he’d have to take down the Green Beret first.
The rifle ready, he leaned it against the tripod. Then he pulled out a secure cellular phone. He punched in a number. He made his report in a few concise sentences. After a short pause, he received his orders. It was the same 99 percent of the time as it had been for generations of those before him.
Take no action — for now. Just watch.
CHAPTER 2
A long black streak, over a hundred meters long amid a row of smashed and splintered trees, marked the crash site of the Blackhawk helicopter that Peter Nabinger had been on. It was on a hillside, in a remote area in the west of China, the terrain rough and difficult to reach by foot. It was thirty miles east of Qian-Ling, the mountain tomb that Nabinger had investigated, not too far from the ancient capital city of Xian.
The largest intact piece of the chopper was the armored cockpit and the area right behind it. All were dead, the two pilots still strapped in their seats, the control panel buckled against their chests. In the rear, Peter Nabinger’s body lay on its back, both legs badly broken, his left side covered in blood. His sightless eyes looked up at the shattered rotor blades.
Clutched in his right hand was a leather notebook with his high rune translations and the drawings and photographs he had collected during his years of tracking down the source of the ancient language. In it also was the secret of the lower level of Qian-Ling, the ancient tomb of the Emperor Gao-zong and his empress. Given that a guardian computer had been found above that lower level, along with a large area containing numerous Airlia artifacts that no one had had a chance to investigate, that secret was critical.