Dane clicked the transmit button on the headset he wore. “Do another fly-over of Nazca. Thermal imaging. I’m sure there’s somebody down there.”
He made his way to the cockpit, climbing up the few steps and looking over the shoulder of the navigator at his display. They’d all seen the satellite imagery of the burning lines so it was no surprise as the imaging screen showed them once more, bright red lines and shapes covering the plain five thousand feet below.
“Hard to find a person’s image among all that,” the navigator said. He fine-tuned the display as he spoke. “Funny thing is those flame lines are very hot, but they’re not giving off much side-way heat. Almost as if they’re being contained. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Dane still felt strongly that there was a survivor below, even though he had no idea what the lines of fire displayed represented.
“Any image at body temp?” he asked.
“I’m going to fade out the temperature range for the lines,” the navigator said.
Dane clutched the handrail and the plane banked. The pilots were now settling into a racetrack, circling the Nazca Plain.
The lines slowly disappeared and all that was left was one tiny orange dot. “There’s your person.”
Dane took another step up into the cockpit to get the attention of the pilot in command. “Here’s the plan.”
Reizer focused the small percentage of her brain she still had conscious control of into stopping her slow movement forward. For a moment, her body came to a halt. But then like an alcoholic who’d been dry for days and was offered a drink, her left foot shuffled forward toward the darkness.
There was a strange noise above her, one she couldn’t immediately place, then she realized it was a plane.
But then her right foot moved forward.
Dane stood, pressing a hand against the headset. “Open the back ramp.”
“You’re crazy!” was the response from the loadmaster.
Dane tugged on both leg straps, making sure the parachute was tight to his body as he headed toward the rear of the plane. “Open the Goddamn ramp.”
Dane threw the headset to the floor and waited. He was rewarded with a swirl of air coming into the cargo bay as a crack opened up between the back ramp and the top of the rear as it began to recess into the tail section.
The crew chief was maneuvering a bundle in a torpedo shaped plastic case onto the ramp, attached to a steel cable with a static line. Dane attached his own static line just behind the bundles. The ramp locked down level. The night sky, strange looking with the red glow from below, beckoned. They were low, just below five hundred feet, to insure better accuracy. Dane didn’t have a reserve because if the main didn’t open there wouldn’t be time to deploy a second.
Dane didn’t want to jump. He’d done hundreds of parachute jumps in the Special Forces. That wasn’t the issue. The danger and evil below was what repelled him.
But he could feel the old woman, lost, drawn into the darkness.
The light turned green and he followed the bundle off the ramp. His feet met air and he free-fell for three seconds, then the static line deployed the chute, jerking him abruptly. He caught a glimpse of the bundle’s chute ahead and below, then saw he was headed toward one of the lines of fire. His hands grappled with the toggles on the front risers, trying to turn. The chute gave way reluctantly.
Three seconds after the chute opened, Dane was less than fifty feet up, descending rapidly, less than thirty horizontal feet from a twenty foot high wall of fire. He pulled both toggles, dumping air.
His feet touched down less than ten feet from the flame, the leading edge of the parachute hitting it, being incinerated in the process. Dane stumbled forward, the chute caught in a breeze, tugging him forward toward oblivion. His hands scrambled at the quick releases located on the front of his shoulders. He flipped open the metal plate, fingers searching for the small metal loops he had to pull to release the chute from the body harness.
He stuttered another step toward the fire, feeling the heat on his face. One finger caught the loop and pulled. The other was still searching as he took another forced step forward. The chute was half incinerated as it collapsed into the fire and that was what saved Dane from the flame, the chute losing form and power as it was destroyed. He jerked backward with all his strength, falling onto his back, still feeling a pull on the one shoulder, until he popped the second quick release.
He lay on his back, breathing hard for several moments. The first thing he noticed was that there was no sound. The flames were eerily silent. He lifted his head slightly. The wall was if a blast furnace was caught between two panes of glass. The fire swirled, but he noted that it was overall moving from left to right, as if there was a destination for it.
Dane got to his feet. He didn’t take off the parachute harness. He looked about for the bundle, hoping it hadn’t been caught in the flame. Instead of the bundle, he saw an old woman about forty feet away to the right, standing absolutely still. Looking past her, he spotted what had her mesmerized, the black hole into the flames were swirling.
“Hello!” Dane called. He’d read the data on the Nazca lines on the flight across the Pacific. “Doctor Reizer?”
She didn’t appear to hear him and Dane was startled as she took a step toward the black hole. He broke into a jog, heading toward her. “Doctor Reizer?”
Still no acknowledgement. She took another step toward the darkness.
Dane reached her and laid his hand on her shoulder. She started and turned in surprise.
“Doctor Reizer?”
She blinked, her eyes regaining focus, then she nodded. “Yes. Who are you?”
“Eric Dane. I’m here to get you out.”
“How?”
“Come with me,” Dane gently took her elbow with his hand and led her back toward where he had landed, knowing the bundle would be in that area. He pulled a small black book out of his pant side pocket and turned it on, activating the receiver. It immediately began beeping and the small screen showed an arrow pointing to the left.
Dane and Reizer went down a small incline and then he saw the bundle lying among the rocks and stone. He knelt next to it and opened it.
“Who are you?” Reizer asked as Dane worked.
“I’m an American. I’ve been—” Dane paused as he’d never quite explained his strange role to anyone—“been fighting the force inside the gate.”
Reizer looked over her shoulder at the dark sphere drawing in the flame. “It is evil, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know much about good or evil,” Dane said. “I just know that whatever is behind that doesn’t give a damn about us. And it appears we are in the way of whatever it is trying to do.” He laid out a steel canister, then heaved a large nylon bundle out on the ground, unfolding it. “Do you have any idea what is causing these lines of fire or what they are?”
“The old ones — the lines and wedges — are more powerful than the newer ones, the animal images. I’ve always picked up a sense of power about this place. Something I’ve never experienced anywhere else.”
Power. Dane thought about that. The Shadow always seemed eager for power. But he had no idea what kind of power it was drawing off the Nazca Plain. He attached a hose from the canister to a valve on the bottom of the nylon. Then he made sure the looped steel cable inside the container was attached to the bottom of the deflated balloon. He took the loop at the free end of the cable and, using double locking snap links, attached it to the center point on the front of his harness.