“Let’s assume your hypothesis is true,” Beckam said. “Why would these people have been returned to New Mexico by whoever brought them here?”
“We don’t know,” Leah said simply. “Clearly it didn’t turn out well for the returnees, who were apparently butchered by their fearful fellow tribe members. I have no way of knowing what these… visitors intended, or expected.”
“Maybe these visitors weren’t that friendly.”
“Maybe… but do you really think they’d go to all the trouble of transporting captive humans back and forth, only to have them killed by their own kind? I don’t picture them as pulling-the-wings-off-flies types.”
Beckman nodded. “Sometimes the simplest answer’s the best. Maybe this was an alien version of what we call a cluster-fuck. Sometimes things just don’t go as planned.” Beckam looked down at the bottom of the tent for several moments, his jaw working as he crunched through the problem. “Back to the present…. We’re sitting on a find that culturally has massive philosophical and spiritual consequences.” He studied Leah’s face. “As I’m sure you already know, militarily, politically, and tactically, it’s a much more difficult situation.” Beckam turned around and zipped open the vestibule doorway. “For now, I need you to sit tight.”
Beckam spoke quietly to the guard. “Have there been any problems?”
“No, sir. They were doing quite a bit of grumbling at first….”
Beckam patted his SEAL on the shoulder. “You stay sharp; it could get interesting around here real quick. There’s a security issue here, based upon what they’ve seen. I need to keep them separated from the rest of the crew down in camp.”
He pulled out the secure sat phone. The command structure, right up to the President, was in for a very big and unpleasant surprise. Unless they’d already known that their civilians had stumbled upon something extraordinary. Either way, the importance of this mission, and its potential danger, had just shot off the scale.
CHAPTER 77
An unmarked ski-equipped Hercules, painted flat black roared over the mountain ridges, dropping down low into the valley. The four-engine turboprop flew down the length of the makeshift ice runway not once, but twice.
When the Hercules reached the end of the valley for the second time, the pilot stood the airplane on its wing tip and turned 180 degrees, aiming the nose for the threshold of the runway, which was marked by the sharp line of sastrugi. When all three sets of landing gear were planted, the pilots reversed pitch on the massive propellers, and the cargo plane came to a stop in a huge cloud of blowing ice and snow.
Mac Ridley and Rooster Parker peeked out through a gap between the two wooden doors of the machine shop. The SEALs had opened the doors slightly, allowing fresh air inside; the heavy smell of oil and other chemicals stored by the Russian crew was unbearable with the doors shut.
Rooster leaned over Ridley’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. “What’s happening? More joining our party?”
“I sure as hell hope that’s our transportation out of here.” Ridley glanced at his watch. “It’s about time. Christ, if I had to spend another 24 hours in this crate I’d just request the SEALs shoot me and get it the fuck over with.” Ridley shook his head. “We still don’t know what the fuck happened to Jack and Leah.”
Angus Lyon joined him, looking out to where the Hercules was turning around and preparing to taxi back toward the camp. “Would you look at that….”
Ridley nodded. “I know.” This was no regular military Hercules. It had been painted black for night operations and lacked any tail number.
“Looks like some kind of Special Operations Herc,” Rooster said from behind Ridley.
“Something else is happening besides escorting us off the ice,” Ridley said. “Something to do with that plane crash, or whatever it really was.”
“Maybe if we waltz out there and smile they’ll fill us in,” Chase said sarcastically.
Ridley chuckled. ”You don’t want to know anything about it. It might just get you out of here alive. Wait just a minute…. There’s armed guys running off the back of the Hercules. They’re forming a perimeter around the aircraft.” Ridley swore under his breath. “Now I know they found something they should’ve left alone in that damn crevasse.”
Rooster sighed. “If we’d known we were getting involved in a national-security-type mess, we would have demanded more money.”
Chase Parker chuckled. “No shit.”
“Hold on,” said Ridley. “They’re driving something off the Hercules.”
Rooster, Chase, Lyon, and Perez pressed themselves against door, peering over the top of Ridley’s gray head.
A white snowcat the size of a small bus rolled out of the belly of the cargo plane. A cargo trailer followed the snowcat out, complete with skis. It sported white cylindrical tanks strapped down to the roof. A series of tubes and hoses ran from the tanks into the trailer.
“Damn if that doesn’t look like an oversized travel-trailer without any windows.”
“What do you think those tanks are for, Mac?”
“Propane tanks and several oversized heaters.”
Another snowcat, this one smaller, rolled down the ramp, pulling a trailer loaded with equipment and steel cylinders. Four high-powered snow machines followed the smaller snowcat down the ramp. The drivers parked them near the rear of the aircraft.
“They got enough acetylene there to cut a submarine in half,” Ridley said. “Whatever’s under that ice, they’re planning to cut it up like a birthday cake.”
CHAPTER 78
Beckam waited for the turbines to spool down and the cargo ramp to open before approaching the Special Ops aircraft. The Hercules was in ahead of schedule and, given the nature of the aircraft, the original plan to evacuate his Team seemed to be out the window. Given the response to his communication with command, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he had a bad feeling the surprises were just starting to happen.
Frantino leaned over and whispered in Beckam’s ear. “Citizens-In-disArray.” The XO put a special emphasis on the ‘A’ in disarray.
It was one of a cluster of derogatory terms the military used for their clandestine counterparts in the Central Intelligence Agency.
“You think the spooks want to play soldier, Danny?”
“Take a look. They’re acting like they’re preparing to storm the beaches at Normandy.”
After a number of commando-dressed guards set up a perimeter around the Hercules, a lone figure exited the rear of the aircraft, trailing a stream of cigarette smoke.
“I can’t wait to meet the Woody that’s in command of this cluster,” Beckam said softly. He walked forward and when he got within three meters of the man, he stopped. “I’m Commander Beckam.”
The man hesitated and then reached out with his hand. “Stanton Fischer, National Security Council and representative of the President of the United States.”
Beckam opened his mouth in surprise. Some fuck-for-brains civilian was now in charge? He’d expected surprises, but not like this.
“Commander, I need to brief you on a matter of critical national security. Is there a place we can go out of the cold?”
Beckam nodded, but his posture signaled his displeasure at the turn of events. “I’d suggest one of the Russian hooches, but as I recall, we’re not allowed to enter them.”
“That may be the least of your problems, Commander.”
“Well, that’s good.” Beckam glanced at Frantino. “Because we’ve got the civilians in the machine shop and we’re using the storage facility as HQ.”
Fischer gritted his teeth and simply waited for Beckam to point the direction. Once inside, Fischer sat next to a Russian-made portable propane heater, similar to one Beckam had authorized for Ridley and his crew. Frantino and Beckam sat across from him.