The squeal of tank treads echoed off the side of the mountain, superseded by the supersonic roar of a jet fighter racing by overhead, providing cover. The shield wall that had guarded Qian-Ling and Artad had disappeared, an ominous sign to those Chinese soldiers who had watched the site.
Beijing’s desperate messages to Artad had gone unanswered, and with the United States claiming victory over both Artad and Aspasia’s Shadow, those in power who had decided to side with Artad were panicking. Their forces in South Korea had been forced to a standstill by American nuclear weapons and those who had landed in Taiwan were being hunted down and exterminated.
Disaster loomed and Beijing wanted answers from Artad. The word from the United Nations was not encouraging, as the United States was now reporting that it had not only regained control of its fleets in the Pacific but additional submarines and ships that the nanovirus had constructed.
The lead tank went around a bend in the wide road and stopped just in front of an entrance set between two large boulders. A statue of a crouching tiger was perched on each boulder, overlooking the entry. The main gun on the tank was aimed directly between the boulder at two massive bronze doors covered with rune writing, the metal blackened and bent, but still blocking the way. There was a small hole about chest high where an early entry had been accomplished by Che Lu, but since then the doors had been shut and sealed.
The cannon roared and a SABOT round hit direct center, punching through the doors. The tank followed that with several high explosive rounds until the doors were shattered and dangling from their hinges.
Several armored personnel carriers came up and stopped just behind the tank. Back ramps swung down and two companies of infantry emerged and moved toward the opening. Every second man carried a large flashlight that he turned on as the troops entered the tomb.
Directly inside was a large anteroom, the walls covered with ornate paintings. A wide tunnel was beyond, leading down into the depths of the mountain-tomb. The tunnel was ten meters wide and straight as an arrow.
The lead soldiers moved cautiously, not sure what to expect. They came to a crossroads where two tunnels split off at ninety-degree angles. The officer in charge detailed smaller elements to go down each of these.
As he moved forward to lead the way down the main tunnel a dim red glow appeared twenty meters ahead. He signaled for his men to halt as the glow changed from a circle to a seven-foot-high line touching the floor. It widened, coalescing into a figure. The officer had seen the video Artad had sent the Chinese Parliament, so he was not surprised to see the alien form that took shape. The bright red eyes of the image stared at him, the elongated catlike pupils giving no hint of emotion.
The figure raised its right hand, fingers clenched tight in a fist. It raised the other hand, fingers wide open. Then it brought the fist smashing into the open palm of the other hand.
At that moment, deep inside the main cavern, where Artad’s supplies and guardian computer were stored, an Airlia weapon exploded. Similar to a nuclear weapon, but smaller and more compact, the effect was devastating. The blast incinerated the men in the tunnels, then blew apart the mountain-tomb itself, spraying the country for fifty miles all around with debris, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the ground where a three-thousand-foot-high mountain had once stood.
Beijing had its answer from Artad.
Four F-14s approached Easter Island at high altitude. The first thing they noted as they came close was that the opaque shield that had guarded the island was gone. While two of the fighter jets remained at altitude providing cover, the other two swept down to do a flyby of the international airport. Thousands of sailors and Marines lined the runway, waving their arms like mad and jumping up and down in joy as the planes roared overhead. The pilot of the lead plane radioed in an all clear to the approaching American fleet and the following planes, then resumed a medium-altitude circling.
Easter Island covers only 171 square miles, a lonely spot in the middle of the vast South Pacific. The land was dominated by the three volcanoes that had formed its triangular shape. Surrounding the long-dormant volcanoes were the artifacts the island was best known for prior to the discovery that a guardian computer was secreted there: the eight hundred moai (statues). Why the islanders had gone to such great lengths not only to carve the statues out of the soft volcanic tuff of Rano Raraku crater, but then to transport them to locations along the island’s shorelines, the stone faces glaring out to sea, remained a mystery until now. Now it was clear that this magnificent achievement was meant to serve as a warning for any who might happen by to stay away.
The warnings had not been heeded.
Less than five minutes after the flyby, eight C-2A Greyhound transport planes, from the carriers Kennedy, Stennis, and Washington approached. One by one they touched down on the runway and taxied over to the main terminal. Upon arrival, the medics and other disembarking personnel were mobbed by the thousands who’d once been held under the thrall of the nanovirus and guardian.
A special detail headed for the tunnel that had been dug by UNAOC — the United Nations Alien Oversight Committee — into Rano Kau, one of the three volcanoes on the island. The tunnel led to the chambers where Aspasia’s Shadow had briefly ruled from and a guardian computer had been secreted millennia ago.
The detail found the chamber empty except for a withered figure lying on the floor near the dark pyramid. At first they thought they were recovering a corpse, but one of the doctors checked more closely with a stethoscope and was astounded to hear a very faint heartbeat. He quickly assigned a stretcher crew to carry her to the surface and radioed ahead for one of the C-2As to be ready to take off ASAP to take the body to the fleet for medical attention.
Only then did someone notice the flashing light on the control console.
Lines of sweat dripped down Duncan’s face onto the cold steel surface of the gurney. She moaned through clenched teeth as her body writhed against the restraints. There was a slight humming noise in the air, indicative of the high level of power surging from the Ark of the Covenant through the crown and into her mind.
A kaleidoscope of colors flashed on the small screen. Garlin watched it impassively, completely ignoring her. His hand was on the controls, just the tips of his fingers caressing them as he directed the probing. A scene appeared for a split second, a cluster of upright stones arranged in a semicircle, with lintel stones across the top, in the middle of a large field. It quickly disappeared, but Garlin’s hand was already moving, directing the probe to bring it back in more detail.
The stones reappeared — but now there were six upright, and three lintels across the top. Around the base was a cluster of white-robed figures holding torches. The stones were over four times their height. The Swarm tentacle inside Garlin recognized the center two stones as those that been placed there in the previous scene by Duncan and her partner when they had buried their craft.
And there she was in the image, standing near the rear of the group, a hood covering most of her face. The man was to her right. There was the glint of armor underneath his robe.
The scene faded.
Garlin manipulated the controls. The humming noise grew louder. Duncan’s back arched, then she slammed back down on the steel surface.
The image reappeared, except the chanting crowd was gone. Just Duncan and the man. A full moon hung overhead, casting long shadows from the standing stones. The man had a sword in his hand and was looking about anxiously. Duncan moved forward to the center stones.