Dane stiffened. He looked down at Chelsea who had turned her head and was looking to the side of the hanger. “Someone's coming,” Dane announced.
The barrel on Freed's M-16 rose.
“No,” Dane shook his head. “No danger.” He cocked his head. He'd sensed many peoples' auras over the years, but whoever was approaching now was different, very different. Dane felt a strange thrill race down his spine. Chelsea picked up something also, because her tail was up and wagging rapidly, whacking against Dane's leg.
“Easy, girl,” Dane whispered, but he knew the dog wasn't indicating danger.
A woman came around the corner of the hanger. She was tall with oriental features, her face strikingly beautiful. Dane was unable to figure out exactly what part of the Orient she came from; he sensed she had the blood of several races in her, perhaps some European ancestors also. She wore black pants, a gray turtleneck and a thin black, tailored jacket. She carried a nylon bag over her shoulder. She walked right up to Dane and stopped a few feet away, staring at him.
“Who are you?” Freed asked.
“Her name is Sin Fen,” Dane said, his eyes still locked on to hers. He smiled very slightly. “Am I right?”
The woman inclined her head to the left, indicating he indeed was.
“You know her?” Freed was confused.
“Just met,” Dane said. “But she know things we need to know, don't you?”
Again the slight incline and the hint of a smile on her lips now. Her right hand extended forward, long fingers with nails tapered to a point and painted bright red, reaching out.
Chelsea stepped forward and dipped her head. The woman bent at the waist, like a tall tree in a stiff wind and her fingers slid through Chelsea's mane. “A good dog,” she spoke for the first time. Her accent was hard for Dane to fix, but he could tell she had been educated in Europe at some point in her life.
“Yes, a very good dog” Dane said. He glanced at Freed and Michelet. Behind them Beasley was watching. Dane listened inside his head, marveling at what was happening, then spoke aloud. “It was Hie-Tech who hired the men to attack us at the warehouse. And they are organizing a team to try to beat us to the Lady Gayle.”
“How do you know that?” Michelet asked.
Dane raised his hand toward Sin Fen. “She told me.”
“But she didn't say anything,” Freed argued.
Sin Fen turned toward the others. “The Hie-Tech team is already at a staging camp in Cambodia, just north of Angkor Wat. They have a helicopter and will be heading north at first light.”
“They won’t be able to-” Michelet began, but Sin Fen held up her free hand.
“They may know exactly where the Lady Gayle is. There is a spy among the crew.”
“A spy!” Michelet exploded.
Sin Fen turned back to Dane. “There is not much time.” She reached inside her black jacket with her left hand, still stroking Chelsea's neck with the other, and pulled out a glossy piece of paper. “Imagery from a satellite. Your plane.”
Michelet grabbed the paper, Freed at his side, Beasley looking over their shoulders. “Damnation!” Michelet exclaimed. He looked up at Sin Fen. “What happened to it?”
“I don't know,” Sin Fen said.
“But-” Michelet was shaking his head. “This can't be right. The fuselage would be broken apart if-” he stopped in confusion. “It could never have landed like this.”
“But it is right,” Sin Fen said. “And the coordinates are listed on the bottom. Not far from where I believe you plan on jumping.”
“How do you know where we’re jumping?” Freed asked.
“She knows many things,” Dane said.
“How did you get this?” Freed demanded, holding the imagery.
“A mutual friend,” Sin Fen said.
“You were on the roof at the warehouse,” Dane made it a statement.
“She busted the ambush?” Freed's tone indicated his disbelief.
Michelet wasn’t even listening, his entire being focused on checking the coordinates on his map. “It's near where we thought it went down. Let's load!” Michelet yelled, handing the imagery to Freed and turning toward the plane.
Dane didn't move. He took the imagery from Freed. The other man followed his boss, but still Dane waited. He stared at Sin Fen and her fingers running through Chelsea's hair. Sin Fen straightened. Chelsea seemed startled, then bounded back to Dane and rubbed her side against his leg.
“Who are you?” Dane asked quietly.
“I am Sin Fen.”
“I know that. Where are you from?”
“From near where we are going,” she said. “No,” she held up her hand. “Not inside. But near. I have felt it also, what you have felt. And I have heard the voices, not as well as you, I believe, but enough to know they are real.”
The engines of the C-123 coughed as they started. The others were all on the ramp, waiting.
“The plane,” Dane said. He held up the imagery. “How did this happen? It’s not physically possible.”
Sin Fen shrugged. “There is much that is not possible that happens in the Angkor Gate.”
“Angkor Gate?”
“It is what we call this place in Cambodia,” she answered.
“Who is we?”
“We’ll get to that,” Sin Fen said.
“I need more information,” Dane said out loud. Then he focused his thoughts:
I need to know how we can talk without speaking.
A hint of a smile played around Sin Fen’s blood red lips.
Theories, nothing proven.
The words came in a strange mixture of images, but Dane could make sense of what she was trying to impart to him. It reminded Dane of when he would be driving in his car and a melody would come into his mind and then he would turn on the radio and that song would be playing. Sin Fen’s word were like the first part of that, a melody of words that came unbidden but that if he concentrated he could make sense of.
“I’ll take theories,” Dane spoke aloud.
“I think we should go,” Sin Fen said. “I will tell you what I know on the way.”
Foreman looked down at the small LED screen. He didn’t recognize the name but he did recognize the call sign: National Security Agency, Satellite Imaging. He pressed a button, activating the speakerphone inside his bullet and sound proof cubicle.
“Foreman here.”
A woman’s voice filled the room. “This is Patricia Conners. I’m with-”
“I know who you’re with,” Foreman said. “I am very busy, Ms. Conners. What do you want?”
“A little courtesy would be appropriate,” Conners said.
Foreman sighed and waited.
“I’ve reviewed the data you’ve been getting from us,” Conners said.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that,” Foreman warned.
“Do you want to play games or do you want to figure out what is going on?”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Foreman asked.
“You have the world-wide electromagnetic imagery?” Conners didn’t wait for an answer. “You also have the radioactive pattern that is overlaid on top of that. You also know that it is coming out of the area in Cambodia you requested Bright Eye to take a look at earlier.”
“Please,” Foreman’s hand reached down for the cut off switch, “don’t tell me I know what I know.”
“Do you know how the electromagnetic waves and radioactivity are being propagated?”
Foreman’s hand paused. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Some sort of strange power signal is being uplinked to a MILSTARS satellite, then being broadcast through the MILSTAR network,” Conners said, “using those satellites that fall along lines between what appear to be critical points.”