“So you’re saying you can get it flying?” asked Jack.
Ridley barked out a mirthless laugh. “Sure — but I can’t guarantee we’re gonna fly it real far.”
“Well,” Paulson said with a glance at the SEALs, “we’re not in a position to be real choosey. How much time will you need to get us up?”
“Two days would be the usual. But as this is a fucking emergency and all, an hour or so.”
Jack asked Beckam, “Do we have that much time?”
“I doubt it,” said Beckam, “between the Russians and the timed explosives.” He thought for a moment. “There’s nothing we can do to stop the Russians from coming, but the bombs…. About how large are those barrels?”
Jack described in detail what they’d found.
“Shit, Gus,” said Frantino. “That sounds a lot like fucking Shoe-Goo.”
Beckam nodded in agreement. “If this is what we dealt with before, maybe I can shut them down.”
“What are we dealing with?” Jack asked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.
Rather than answer, Beckam sighed. “Why is it that scary things always come in small packages?”
“They’re nuclear, aren’t they?”
“Not like you’ve seen on the Discovery Channel. These will reduce every living thing for half a mile into what we refer to as ‘Shoe-Goo,’ not to mention roast the structure.” He scanned the horizon. “I want the platoon back into a closer defensive perimeter.” He pointed toward Jack. “You’re coming with me.”
Jack nodded. “We’ll need someone to run the lift system.”
“Take someone who’s not gonna help working on that old bomber.”
“Marko.”
Marko swallowed, then nodded.
“You’re coming with me.”
CHAPTER 101
Every time Leah tried to lean into the web seating, the handcuffs binding her hands behind her back bit into her wrists, cutting off the blood flow so that her fingers felt cold and numb. She hadn’t given her fingers much thought, but now that the plane had been in the air for a while, Leah had begun to think through the realities of her situation with a renewed calm. She ran scenarios through her mind on ways she might escape and get help for Jack, all of which seemed lame given her current dilemma.
She sat near the front of the C-130’s cargo compartment, facing the rear of the aircraft. Fischer’s goons lay slumped around the web seating, most sleeping soundly. Leah had no doubt that upon landing they’d be ordered back under whatever rock they’d crawled from under until Fischer required their particular brand of sleazy skills again.
Not everyone on the aircraft slept, however. Several men, older than Fischer’s armed thugs, scurried about the cargo, taking notes and conversing among themselves like kids on Christmas morning comparing gifts left by Santa — the “cargo” being the tubes containing the cliff dwellers still held in suspended animation, from what Leah could tell.
As a scientist, she couldn’t help but be fascinated with the possibilities of having a face-to-face conversation with the inhabitants of the tubes. She mentally went through a sampling of the questions she’d ask, beginning with how they’d ended up in Antarctica. Before she got far, though, thoughts of her father rose, unbidden. He’d long rejected the theories on why these peaceful people had built entire cities in cliffs all around the Southwest. She wondered what he’d make of this new, outlandish explanation: Eight hundred years ago, the planet had extraterrestrial visitors who’d started abducting members of these peaceful tribes.
Once you got over the crazy premise, it all made fairly good sense. The alien visitors had arrived with technologies far ahead of even the craziest science fiction movie, setting up a lab in Antarctica, probably for some type of research. The same kind of study a scientist like Leah might have carried out in a similar situation. They’d chosen Antarctica’s relatively sterile environment to avoid contaminating the research — and perhaps themselves. Maybe, if they were altruistic, they even chose the remote location to avoid disrupting more of earth’s inhabitants than necessary.
Once the abductions had ended, perhaps a hundred years later, those who’d moved to defensive positions in the cliffs had fled again, into different regions of the Southwest, creating entirely new Native American cultures and languages along the way.
The Anasazi or, Ancient Ones, as they had become known by other tribes, had disappeared without a trace, it seemed. And now Leah thought she knew why.
An accident had occurred, the visitors’ lab or ship or whatever destroyed by an avalanche of snow and ice. Leah thought of the woman lying dead on the floor of the structure, the red granite in her grasp, the outer door still opened and jammed with ice.
She wished at that moment she could examine her own palm. Something about her chemistry had allowed Leah to open the door between the rooms. It was reasonable to assume that the Anasazi woman had been able to do the same thing, hundreds of years in the past.
Maybe the dead woman had seen the visitors open the door and, hoping for an avenue of escape, copied what she’d seen them do, somehow breaching the outer airlock.
The resulting shock wave from the rapid change in air pressure could have triggered the avalanche, sealing the structure. If any of the visitors had been caught just outside of the structure, they might have been buried under tons of snow ice.
Anger replaced wonder when she saw Fischer climbing down from the cockpit. He glanced in her direction and smiled in that condescending manner that so ignited her temper. It was probably a good thing she remained handcuffed; otherwise, she’d have bolted from the seat, grabbed Fischer around his pencil neck, and squeezed with all her might.
Fischer, apparently oblivious to her wishful thinking, worked his way toward her through the sleeping commandos and equipment. He stopped and pulled a thermos from an army-green canvas bag, along with two plain ceramic cups, and then slid down beside her and poured a cup of coffee.
He shouted over the roar and vibration. “If you behave, Dr. Andrews, I’d be happy to offer you a hot cup of coffee.”
“You can take your coffee and shove it up your ass.”
Fischer appeared to ignore the comment completely.
“You have a historic responsibility here.” He sipped the hot coffee. “Do you mind if I call you Leah?”
Leah leaned toward Fischer, making sure he heard every word. “Can call you Prick and/or Cold-Blooded Killer?”
Fischer bristled momentarily, then regained his calm demeanor. “You still have a very important role to fulfill. Our experts believe that you hold the key to safely releasing the inhabitants.”
Leah’s eyes narrowed.
“You were able to access the structure with nothing more than the palm of your hand. It seems you’re the only person within our team who has that ability.”
“So?”
“You noticed, no doubt, the environmental tubes containing the Native Americans feature a similar triangular pattern. It’s our belief, that the process to cycle them out of their stasis could be initiated with your hand.”
Leah started to speak, but before she was able to spit out a string of four-letter words describing various parts of Fischer’s substandard anatomy, he held up a hand and his expression hardened.
“Let me say what I’ve got to say, Dr. Andrews, and then you can respond positively, or I can arrange for you to spend the balance of your life locked down in some secure underground facility where no one will ever hear from you again.”
Leah clenched her jaw and waited.