THE RUSSIAN II
The truck's engine whined in protest as the Russian negotiated the steep logging trail. The wheels spun in the virgin snow, spewing it out to the rear in long plumes. Easing off the gas, the Russian downshifted and continued on, the multi-wheel drive finally finding purchase.
The Russian's limbs felt the weariness of the past thirty-two hours of driving, but his mind fueled his muscles with the elixir of revenge. Once he made it over the mountains, he'd rest for a few hours-only enough to gather strength for the last leg of the journey.
Reaching a relatively flat area before the next upgrade, the man rolled to a stop and put the parking brake on. He pulled out a map case and checked his location. The winter weather was slowing him down and he'd already had to revise his estimate of time on target, adding perhaps half a day. He had enough fuel loaded in the rear to get to the target and beyond not that there would be any beyond.
Putting the maps away, he picked up an AK-74 and checked to make sure a round was in the chamber and it was functioning properly. He did not believe he would run into anyone this soon, but as he got closer there might be guards out. He had no doubts about his ability to deal with that. In thirty-two years of military service he had done more than his share of killing. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except the final revenge. The world was not a place worth living in. Concepts such as duty and loyalty were carrots and sticks to be used by less scrupulous men to control men of honor. But no more.
He put the weapon down and released the parking brake.
THE CHAMBER
Hawkins rolled to his right. Off the cot, into a kneeling position on the floor. The muzzle of the pistol he'd retrieved from under the pillow was centered on the figure standing in the darkened tent. The intruder froze, eyes fixed on the large black hole pointing between his eyes.
"Sir, Mr. Lamb sent me to inform you that we've broken through in the Rock."
Hawkins forced himself to relax, sliding his finger off the trigger. The marine hurriedly left, glad to be out of sight. Throwing a shirt over his sweat-soaked chest, Hawkins made his way to the shaft building, trying to clear his mind of a jumble of sleep-induced dark thoughts. He vaguely remembered cloudy visions of Richman, screaming for help, and running toward his executive officer, firing a weapon from his hip, but never able to get any closer and the cries growing weaker and fading, then reemerging from another direction in a never-ending cycle.
Hawkins squinted at the horizon as he walked on the sandstone top of the Rock. The sun was sinking in the western sky, giving slight relief from the blistering heat of daytime. The view from the top of the Rock was magnificent-the Olgas on the far eastern horizon and the Gibson Desert stretching out in all other directions-but Hawkins's eyes didn't see the beauty.
He met Fran, Debra, and Pencak as they went into the metal building. No words were exchanged as they entered the steam bath inside. Batson was already up on the platform, along with Lamb. The silence was unsettling-even though they'd been at the Rock less than twenty-four hours, they'd all grown used to the sound of the drills and explosions. Now only the rhythmic mutter of the generators filled the air. The President's aide turned as they clambered up the stairs.
"We're running a fiber-optic cable down there." He pointed at a small TV screen perched on the platform. "We should get our first view shortly."
"Another thirty feet," Tomkins advised as the twin cable ran over his gloved hand and disappeared into the hole. "One's the fiber-optic line, the other is the light." He gestured down with his free hand. "We punched through into something open. The drill suddenly dropped a good five feet. I ran it down from there and we hit something solid ten more feet down. It's at the depth the EMR sounding told us there was an open area."
The winch stopped and Tomkins let go of the cables. He moved over to a control panel and glanced at Lamb. "Ready, sir?"
"Go ahead."
Tomkins threw a switch. The TV screen went from dark to a hazy black-and-white picture. Tomkins fiddled with the controls and a smoothly cut rock wall came into focus, approximately ten feet from the cable end.
"That's not natural," Batson murmured.
"I'm rotating," Tomkins announced.
The view shifted, the rock wall coming slightly closer and then moving out again, suggesting an elliptical shape. It grew farther away and then suddenly ended.
"The black Wall," Fran whispered to Hawkins. He peered at the screen as the scene continued to shift. The black Wall extended directly across the chamber, looking as if cut in half, although there was no guessing what was on the other side-or if there was another side. Hawkins could tell why Richman had been vague in his description. Even in the two-dimensional screen of the black-and-white TV it was obvious there was something very strange about the texture of the Wall.
"It's empty except for the Wall," Tomkins noted.
"Let's go," Batson said.
Lamb looked at Hawkins, who nodded. "How do I get down?"
Tomkins pointed at a small, waist-high cage that was suspended by cable on a winch. Hawkins stepped into the cage. Lamb handed him a small radio that was hooked into the cable and Hawkins put the headset on, then grabbed the cable for support.
Tomkins maneuvered the levers on his control panel and the cage swung out over the narrow hole. Hawkins glanced down once, then looked at Tomkins and gave him the thumbs-up. With a slight start the cage slowly settled into the hole. Hawkins watched the lip rise up and then he was completely surrounded by rock pressing in on all sides. He looked up and watched the opening grow smaller and smaller. Down below, the faint light from the fiber-optic cable made a small pinprick of brightness at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
The cage was surprisingly stable, so Hawkins released his grip on the cable and relaxed. It was a tight fit-if he'd wanted to, he could have touched either side of the tunnel by just moving his arms a couple of inches or so out of the cage. Because of that he knew they were going to be limited on the equipment they could bring down here. After what he estimated to be about a minute the light below appeared to be closer than the one above. The temperature dropped rapidly as he went down. The descent slowed and Hawkins watched the end come up. He slid into the chamber and the basket touched the floor with a slight jar.
"I'm down," he announced into the boom mike.
"Is it clear to send the others?" Lamb wanted to know.
Hawkins looked around. This part of the chamber looked as if someone had taken a football and sliced it first horizontally with the rock floor and then vertically with the black Wall. The rock walls were smoothly cut, almost polished. There was nothing to indicate how they'd been made-no blast marks, no sign of drilling. The small pile of rubble from where the drill had bit through was the only thing that marred the antiseptic atmosphere of the chamber. The air was clear and the coolness was a welcome relief from the heat above.
Hawkins peered at the black Wall. It seemed to shimmer in the glow of the optic-cable light. His skin felt tight, the hairs standing up, as if he were close to a powerful electrical field. This close, he could very much understand Richman's lack of clarity about the Wall. It certainly did not look like anything Hawkins had ever seen.