“Freedom of the press,” Duncan said. “It’s an American right.”
Yakov’s snort of disgust indicated what he thought of that.
“We couldn’t stop it,” Quinn said, “unless we shut down every Internet provider and put an absolute blackout on all media. I can assure you that Majestic-12 looked into the possibilities of doing just that and determined it would be impossible from a technological standpoint, never mind a legal or moral one.”
Turcotte quickly read the short article:
The Airlia have meant no harm. They have only been protecting themselves. They have coexisted in peace with us for thousands of years. They have protected us from outside forces that would destroy our world. It has only been the interference of Majestic-12 and people from Area 51 who have caused the recent troubles.
I have talked with the Airlia still surviving on Mars, and I know all this to be true. They are trapped now, but even so, they hold no ill feelings toward us.
The recent events in South America were the results of a NATO secret experiment in biological warfare.
The Airlia can help us, but they must be left alone. In turn, they promise not to take any action that can affect us negatively.
“Jesus, talk about spin control,” Major Quinn said. “According to this, we started the Black Death!”
“Kelly didn’t write this,” Duncan said. “I don’t think Kelly exists anymore. That’s why I had you read the earlier article. These words are from the guardian under Easter Island.”
“I’m not concerned about that or the spin control,” Turcotte said. “I’m worried why the Easter Island guardian sees a need to have Kelly send this.”
“Why are you so sure the Easter Island guardian is the evil one?” Yakov asked in a rather mild tone.
“Because of what Nabinger uncovered under Qian-Ling,” Turcotte answered. “Which could have been as much of a lie as what he uncovered under Easter Island,” Yakov noted once more.
Turcotte held up the article. “So we should believe this? We knew that The Mission was behind the Black Death. You talked to General Hemstadt on Devil’s Island.”
“I think… ” Duncan was interrupted by the buzz of her SATPhone. She pulled it out and turned it on. “Duncan here.” She listened for a second, her face tightening, then pulled it away from her ear. “Can we put this on the speaker in here?” she asked Quinn.
He nodded, pulling a wire out of a drawer and running it to her phone, plugging it into the bottom. While he was doing that, Turcotte mouthed the words Who is it?
“The Ones Who Wait.” Duncan held her hand over the phone. “Lexina, their leader.”
“You’re set,” Quinn told her as the speaker in the middle of the table came alive with a crackle of static.
“We’re listening,” Duncan said.
The voice that echoed out in response was low-pitched, somewhere between male and female. “We have been patient, but time is running out. We want the key.”
“The key to the lower level of Qian-Ling?” Duncan asked.
“Don’t play games with me,” Lexina said. “I have shown you just a small sample of what I can do by destroying the place you held my comrades’ bodies and your last manned space vehicle. I now control the talon, and I will do much worse if you do not turn the key over to us.”
“You killed a lot of people,” Duncan said.
“And I will kill many, many more if you do not get me the key.”
“Did you destroy the Columbia as it approached the talon?” Duncan asked.
“No. That was the talon’s automatic defense system reacting to anything that came close. But I control it now. I control your satellite through the talon. I warned you,” Lexina said. “You ignored the warning. Do not ignore this one. Give us the key.”
“Why should… ” Duncan began, but she was interrupted.
“Give us the key or we will destroy your country completely.”
Kincaid stirred. “Warfighter couldn’t even come close to doing that.”
“Give us the key or we will destroy your country completely,” Lexina repeated. “You have forty-nine hours. If you do not give me the key by then, North America will be destroyed.”
“You’re bluffing.” Duncan glanced at Turcotte as she said it.
“Is the Russian there?” Lexina asked. “The man from Section Four?”
“I’m here,” Yakov growled.
“Tell them about Strategicheskii Zvyezda,” Lexina said. “Deliver the key to me in forty-nine hours, or two hundred and sixty million die and your country will be an uninhabitable wasteland for centuries.”
CHAPTER 6
Mualama and his nephew Lago were both startled when a long cacophony of thunderclaps rolled down the mountain, following on the heels of two dozen lightning strikes that had split the gloom in less than five seconds. If there was to be an end to the world, Lago figured it would sound very much like what he was listening to. They were in a netherworld lost among the clouds. Snow, ice, and rock were the only things visible around them.
Sweating was no longer a problem as Lago pulled his jacket tight around the neck to keep out the chill. His uncle was seated on his pack, which rested on the foot-deep snow, reading the journal once more and looking about.
They had cleared the tree line at eleven thousand feet an hour before, and it was now well past noon. Lago knew that if they did not begin their descent soon, they would be trapped on the mountain overnight. The cold did not scare him as much as the incessant lightning. He’d never seen the like. Now he knew why these mountains were avoided and why the locals believed the gods forbade travel there.
It was the worst of two worlds… Amazonian-type jungle the first two-thirds of the journey, followed by Alpine terrain with the most awful weather in an incessant mist that threatened to make them lose their bearings. Technically the climb was not difficult, but the weather made it hazardous.
Lago’s eyes continued to search the misty gloom as his uncle studied his notes. It was as if the mountain were alive, telling them with the thunder to turn back, to return to the normal world.
His uncle abruptly stood and slid the book back into his pack. “Not much farther.”
They tramped up the steep trail, tied together by a twenty-foot section of rope, Lago leading the way. As the altitude increased, occasionally Lago had to put in protection… a piton, a nut in a small rock crevasse… and clip the rope in. His uncle would pull the protection out as he passed.
“Uncle.” Lago paused after one particularly tricky section of climbing. “We must turn back or we will be trapped by darkness.”
“Not much farther” was Mualama’s response. “We do not have to reach the very top.”
That was the best news Lago had heard in a while. “What are we looking for?”
“We will know when we see it.”
Afternoon was sliding into early evening, and Lago had no idea how far they were from the summit. The rocks were now sheathed in ice. Visibility had increased to about a hundred feet, but darkness would put an end to that.
“There!” Mualama was pointing to the right of their narrow trail. A spectacular wall of icicles over fifty feet long and twenty feet wide dangled from a rock cornice that extended out from the mountain’s side. “Would you call that the Devil’s Thumb?”
Lago squinted up. The spur of rock might indeed be called that when viewed in profile.
“And this is the Devil’s Veil?” Mualama walked to the wall of six-inch-thick icicles that covered the depression under the spur. Lago would have thought them quite beautiful if not for the fact that they were on the side of a sixteen-thousand-foot mountain, the temperature was dropping, and night was less than an hour off.