Richman didn't bother answering. He agreed, but telling his two teammates wouldn't do much for whatever little morale they might have left. The jump had been bad enough-letting the drogue chute of their parachutes suck them off the back ramp of the Talon at less than two hundred feet-barely enough time for the specially designed low-altitude main chute to deploy before they crashed into the upper branches of three pine trees.
Luckily their hazardous-terrain protective gear had worked as intended and they'd all managed to climb down to ground level and assemble without injury. It had been a nightmare moving across the frozen tundra to the target, climbing and slipping over snow-covered deadfall, the freezing night air clawing into their bones. They'd spotted the lights a half hour earlier and spent the time slowly working their way in closer. The thickly packed pine trees surrounding the target were great camouflage, along with the pitch-black night. They'd already slipped past two rings of security. Richman had had a Russian soldier almost step on top of him forty meters back. Fortunately, the Russians were not equipped with night-vision goggles.
Richman tried focusing his PVS7 night-vision goggles on what was under the overhead cover. There were several tents set up, smoke billowing out of their stovepipes at the edge of a large pit. Richman estimated the temperature to be about twenty below, which helped explain the lack of people moving around who absolutely didn't have to. He could see three guards armed with AK-74 automatic rifles standing near steel grating that sloped down out of sight into the hole the Russians had just recently dug.
"We're going to have to go in," he whispered to Lee, then Brown. It was a credit to their discipline and belief in him as their team leader that neither uttered a word of protest. He reached inside his white parka and flicked on the portable SATCOM radio strapped to his back.
Ayers Rock
"HOW ARE THEY GETTING OUT?" Hawkins asked.
"MH53 Pave Low helicopter," Lamb replied.
"Bullshit," Hawkins fumed. "They're in too far for the Pave Low." He pointed at the world map they'd been using to locate the transmission sites. "It's almost two thousand miles from Pakistan to Tunguska."
"It'll have a Talon escort for in-flight refueling," Lamb patiently replied.
Hawkins wasn't pleased with that answer, but there was nothing he could do-a feeling he was uncomfortably used to.
A marine appeared in the doorway. "We have communications with Phoenix, sir."
"Switch it in here," Lamb ordered as he turned on the SATCOM radio set up on top of the table.
There was a brief hiss of static from the speaker and then a voice could clearly be heard whispering, "I say again. Angel, this is Phoenix. Over."
Lamb keyed the microphone. "Phoenix, this is Angel. Over."
"Roger. We're about fifty meters from the edge of the tarps. We can't see down into the pit, so we're going to move in closer. Out." The radio went dead.
"We'd have known in twenty-four hours what's in the chamber in the Rock," Hawkins said. "Why did you have to put those men on the ground?"
Lamb kept his eyes focused on the radio. "Because we need to know what's there now. Twenty-four hours may be too late."
Tunguska
Richman could hear voices talking loudly in Russian as he slid along the back side of one of the tents, weapon held at the ready. Lee was right behind, covering him. Brown was back in the tree line with the Stoner machine gun to provide support fire. A conveyer belt was set up about twenty feet to Richman's right front, leading over the edge of the pit. Richman decided that would be the best place for him to see in without being spotted by security.
Using hand signals he indicated for Lee to stay by the tent and cover him. Richman lowered himself into the mushy snow and low-crawled forward, keeping an eye on a bundled-up guard standing near the edge of the pit to his left. He jammed himself under the stanchions holding up the conveyer belt where it turned from vertical to horizontal and caught his breath. He looked back. He couldn't see where Brown was in the tree line and, shifting his eyes closer, Lee was nothing more than a dark shadow against the tent.
Richman turned his gaze to the pit and down. As his eyes focused on what was down there, he blinked and tried to make sense of it.
"Angel this is Phoenix. Over."
Hawkins could tell Richman must be in an extremely exposed position because he was barely whispering into his mike. Hawkins's heart was thumping more quickly than it would if he were there himself. A drop of sweat slipped over his upper lip and splashed against his chest unnoticed.
"Phoenix, this is Angel. What have you got? Over."
"I don't know." There was a pause, during which Lamb looked at Hawkins as if to blame him for his man's confusion. Richman's voice came back, low and tentative. "The hole is about forty meters around and thirty meters deep. In the center there's a half sphere with a flat face on this side. The outside seems to be some sort of metal that doesn't reflect light but the side that faces me, it's-well-it's just this black wall. But it's not a wall. I don't know what it's made of. It's sort of shimmering. The Russians have video cameras and other instruments facing the wall. There's something strange about the wall. Over."
"What's strange about it? Over." Lamb was gripping the mike tightly.
Richman's voice was tense. "It's not… well, it's not like anything I've ever seen. It doesn't look solid. Over."
"What are the Russians doing? Over."
"Hard to tell. There are some boom arms that look like they might be used to push something through-maybe a video camera or some other sensor, but I can't tell if they've been used. I don't think… wait one-there's some movement up here. I need my hands. I'm going to lock down on transmit. I'm going on FM too."
Hawkins gripped the back of the chair next to the table where he was standing. Richman was now broadcasting to his two partners on FM radio as well as on the SATCOM. Hawkins could hear some rustling as Richman moved. The man's breathing sounded loudly through the speaker. When he spoke it surprised everyone. "There's a patrol moving out. I think they're changing guard shifts. Lee, they're coming up on you. Shit." The last word was said sharply.
Two seconds later the deep roar of automatic weapons resounded through the tent, startling Fran and Levy.
A new voice sounded tinnily-Lee as heard by Richman over the FM radio and fed back into the SATCOM. "I've got four down. Two still moving. Let's get the fuck out of here, boss man."
Richman's voice was hurried and short of breath. "We've got tracers out of the north. Brown, you got them? I'm going to try and disengage. Lee, to the right! The right!" Richman was screaming now. A deeper roar sounded in a long-held burst. Hawkins recognized the sound of the Stoner-Brown firing in support.
A deep grunt-Lee. "I'm hit, boss man. Two, maybe three rounds. Chest. Right arm. I can't move."
"I'll get you. Hang tight. I'll get you. Cover me, Brown."
The crump of an explosion and a scream that was cut off. Hawkins looked up. Fran's face was white. Batson looked stunned. He couldn't tell what the expression on Lamb's face was as he held the useless microphone.
"Brown's dead." Richman's voice was labored. "I confirm. Brown is dead. They blew the shit out of the tree line." He grunted and they heard Lee's sharp intake of breath. Dimly Hawkins could hear the soft chugging of Richman's silenced submachine gun spewing out death. "I've got Lee. I'm pulling back into the pit. They're all around us. I'd say they got at least a company's worth."
Over a hundred men closing in. Hawkins stared at the radio, wishing he were anywhere but here.
"We're down the ramp." Richman's voice sounded loudly. "Hey, buddy. Come on, buddy. Don't lose it on me." A roar of semiautomatic fire. "Fuck!" Richman screamed. Hawkins heard a long, sustained rattling of the sub firing and then the distinctive sound as Richman switched magazines. "Time to don berets and stack magazines."