"The spot at which we began drilling did not have any particular significance," Lamb interjected. "We have tried-"
"The entire Rock is significant," Tintinjara countered.
Anderson seconded that from his perspective. "Ayers Rock is called the 'heart' of Australia. You're drilling right into our heart, mate, and there's a lot of folks that aren't very happy about it."
Hawkins could tell Lamb was trying to maintain a diplomatic front. If this had been the United States and they were drilling through a Native American burial site, Hawkins had no doubt but that there would be no representative from a tribe present. National security would ensure that. Here, however, they had to try to placate.
"We understand," Lamb said. "Let me assure you that we will do everything we can to minimize any…"
Hawkins tuned out the political role-playing and walked out of the tent. If anything significant happened, the other members of the team would pick it up. He could feel the eyes of several guards on him as he walked over to the metal tower surrounding the drill hole. The marine at the door noted the access tag clipped to his fatigue pocket but still demanded to see Hawkins's ID.
Once inside, the temperature shot up a good twenty degrees from the sweltering heat as two air-conditioner units strained under an impossible load. Four men stripped to their waists were working on a two-story platform that looked like a miniature oil-drilling derrick. One of the men noted Hawkins, searched his sterile uniform for any indication of rank, and, failing that, noted the 9mm pistol strapped in a thigh holster and the look on Hawkins's face. He came over, his black skin glistening.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Hawkins extended his hand. "Major Hawkins. How's it going?"
The man looked no more than twenty-five and seemed surprised at Hawkins's hand being thrust out. He awkwardly took it. "Captain Tomkins, sir. Third BLT Engineers." He glanced over his shoulder as a load of crumbled rock was pulled out of the borehole and loaded onto a small cart and hauled away. "We're over halfway down." Tomkins seemed to be trying to size Hawkins up. "Any idea what we're looking for, sir?"
Normally the inquisitiveness would have bothered Hawkins, but in this case he felt a strong affinity for the captain. "No. Wish I did." He walked over and climbed up the ladder to the platform where the other three engineers were, Tomkins following. Leaning over, he could see the drill pipe disappearing down into a three-foot-diameter hole in the red rock. There were no lights, so he could only see a few feet into the hole. He ignored the whine of the drill, the rumble of the rock shards coming up the small conveyer, and the presence of the men around him. He felt himself drawn to the hole, going down five hundred feet, to what? Hawkins shivered and broke his gaze away.
"How long before you get there?"
"Forty-eight hours, working this way. Whatever 'there' is," Tomkins replied.
"We know about the transmissions," Fran said, "but what about the disappearance of Voyager? How could that have happened?"
Their new place of business was a government issue nuclear-biological-chemical (NBC) shelter, designed for MASH units to be able to operate inside while deployed in severe climactic conditions. Central Australia certainly fit that bill, Hawkins thought, as the unit's air conditioner strained to keep the temperature barely tolerable inside the inflated white walls.
"I've studied what happened there," Levy answered, her eyes taking in the entire team from behind her thick glasses. "I've done some consulting work in the past for JPL-Jet Propulsion Laboratory-which runs Voyager, so I have some background on the subject."
"Do they have any idea at JPL what happened to it?" Fran asked.
"No." Levy shrugged. "Their best guess is that Voyager hit another object, perhaps a small meteor or comet. At the speed it was moving, such contact would have been disastrous."
"What do you think happened to it?" Hawkins asked.
"I don't know," Levy replied. "There is no data to work off, other than the lack of a bounce back. It could have been destroyed in a collision with another object, but the odds of that are slim. The fact that the message was sent using data off the plate from the probe indicates that perhaps there was some other agent at work."
"Some other agent?" Hawkins voice was sharp. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know."
"Can I throw something out?" Don Batson asked.
"Go ahead," Levy said.
"I don't think we should get closed-minded here and totally focus on the four items you've listed on that chart. Those are the four things we've been given, but they don't stand alone. Each is part of a larger scheme or tapestry, if you prefer to look at it that way."
Hawkins frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Take the nuclear explosion at Vredefort Dome, for example," Don said. "You say there's a second bomb missing, right? Well, you have to factor that second bomb into the situation. The same with Voyager. Where was it located when it disappeared? What was its last message? What about the entire history of Voyager-maybe there's something there that has a bearing on the situation. Do you see what I mean?"
"You're saying let's not get tunnel vision," Hawkins replied.
"Right."
Hawkins briefly drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "All right. Don has a good point. Let's get back to work and keep in mind that there's a hell of a lot more to all this than is readily apparent." The four went back to their hastily installed computer terminals, each lost in his or her own direction.
Hawkins was tapped in to the secure line to Orion headquarters, updating himself on the search for the remaining bomb and also going back over all the intelligence they had previously obtained, looking at it in light of present circumstances. Batson was studying all the geological data on Ayers Rock and the other sites, trying to determine possible links. Fran was reworking her projections, trying to figure out how all that had just occurred could affect things.
Debra Levy cleared her screen and sat in thought for ten minutes, her mind flitting over the information. She glanced up at the little diagram Hawkins had drawn and considered it in light of what Batson had said. She leaned forward and her fingers flew over the keyboard.
<ACCESS MILITARY RECORDS.
<ACCESSED.
<REQUEST INFORMATION AS FOLLOWS:
LOCATION: AUSTRALIA
DATE: AUGUST 6, 1945.
< ACCESSED. SIX HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO ENTRIES. TO BRING UP FIRST RECORD, HIT F-1.
<SEARCH: KEY WORDS: RADIO TRANSMISSIONS.
<SEARCH COMPLETED. ONE HUNDRED AND SIX ENTRIES. TO BRING UP FIRST RECORD. HIT F-1.
<SEARCH: KEY WORD: INTERFERENCE.
<SEARCH COMPLETED. THREE ENTRIES. TO BRING UP FIRST RECORD. HIT F1.
Levy tapped the uppermost key on the left side of the board.
<ENTRY ONE: USPACCOM. SYDNEY. REPORTS INTERFERENCE WITH TRANSMISSIONS TO FLEET ELEMENTS OPERATING IN SOLOMON ISLAND AREAS.
ENTRY TWO: USPRCOM. SYDNEY. REPORTS INTERFERENCE WITH TRANSMISSION TO KWAJALEIN ISLAND.
ENTRY THREE: 14TH SIGNAL COMPANY. 23RD REGIMENTAL COMBAT TEAM. REPORTS LOSS OF RADIO COMMUNICATIONS DURING UNIT MANEUVERS VICINITY TOWN OF KATHERINE, NORTHERN TERRITORY.
Levy used the cursors to highlight the third entry. She hit the enter key to bring up more information.
<ENTRY THREE: 14TH SIGNAL COMPANY. 23RD REGIMENTAL COMBAT TEAM. REPORTS LOSS OF RADIO COMMUNICATIONS DURING UNIT MANEUVERS