Once it had been determined their vital signs remained within acceptable limits, all 28 had been sedated to avoid subjecting them to any more trauma than necessary.
Fischer said they were headed for the White Sands Missile Test Facility, where much of the equipment cut from the alien laboratory, or whatever it was, would be off-loaded. Leah and the Native Americans were to be kept in isolation at White Sands for an undetermined amount of time.
Leah felt a bump as the wheels kissed the runway and the pilots reversed pitch on the huge propellers to slow the C-130.
She wanted to stand and stretch but Fischer had immediately handcuffed her back to her seat once the Native Americans were removed from the tubes.
Fischer climbed down from the flight deck, looking pale but confident. Leah noted that he was now wearing a military-looking black metallic pistol in a holster on his waist. The contrast of the bureaucrat sporting a $200 haircut and polished fingernails toting a handgun was almost enough to make her break out in laughter.
“You should be proud, Dr. Andrews. Thanks to you, nearly all of them remain alive.” He shook his head. “Imagine it, after how many years?”
“Eight hundred years, maybe more.”
“What a fantastic opportunity.”
“So they can become your next generation of lab rats?” Leah shifted away from Fischer. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I wished I’d just let them die in peace.”
“You would have never done that.”
Now that they’d landed, concern for Jack washed over her in a wave of panic. “Where are Jack Hobson and the rest of my crew?”
Fischer’s eyes remained cold, although he did put on a smile. “I believe I told you I had plans to take care of them. I’m sure they’re resting soundly as we speak.”
Again, Leah looked away. God, I hope you outsmarted that clown, Climber.
The flight crew had assembled gurneys that Leah was told were used to transfer wounded soldiers to hospitals from combat zones. Many of the Native Americans lay in those racks, while others occupied makeshift stretchers on the floor of the aircraft. All were covered in blankets and were being attended to by Fischer’s cloak-and-dagger scientists and doctors.
“What now?” she asked.
“Everyone who has had contact with these people will remain in isolation. We’ve cordoned off a section of the White Sands Missile Test range.” He smiled sweetly, adding, “Home sweet home for you and our guests for now.”
“And what exactly do I have to do now?”
He sat down next to Leah and clasped his hands together.
“I’m glad you asked. It’s vital that we find out from our ‘guests’ if there are more laboratories like the one we just vacated.”
“You think you missed one?”
“You must understand the nature of what we have already discovered. In the wrong hands this technology could be—”
“I can’t imagine it being any worse than in your hands,” Leah blurted against her better judgment.
“Nonetheless, your life, Jack’s life, and the lives of your Indian friends are based upon your cooperation.”
“Doing what?”
“We’re planning to bring one of the subjects out of sedation. We need you to ask questions in their native language regarding the source of this technology and if there are more of these facilities that we haven’t discovered.”
Leah took a deep breath and thought for a moment. As much as she didn’t want to disturb them, she had to admit that she was probably more anxious than Fischer to speak with a living cliff dweller. “The girl was speaking a Navajo dialect. I might be able to communicate with her — given the proper environment.”
“Which would be?”
“A private one, without you or your goons present.”
Fischer’s jaw clenched for a moment; Leah felt a flash of satisfaction.
“We have a secluded section of the base, including medical facilities and—”
One of the pilots jumped down from the flight deck. “The President needs to speak with you. He says it’s critical that you contact him on a secure phone at once.”
Leah had to laugh at Fischer’s pained expression and feigned nonchalance.
“I guess I’m not the only one on a short leash.”
CHAPTER 118
Jack leaned over and shook Teresa Simpson. She bolted awake, kicking and clawing the blanket away from her face.
“We’re in New Mexico,” he said.
She tried to stand but apparently had forgotten about the restraints and slumped back into the jump seat.
“Uh, Holloman Air Force Base is it?”
“We over flew it ten minutes ago.”
Even in her tired state, she managed to look startled. “I thought that’s where you planned to land.”
“No,” Jack said. “That’s where I told your boss we planned to land.”
“Then where the hell are we? Even I know this bucket can’t stay airborne forever, and you know they’re tracking us on radar.”
“We’re meeting friends,” was Jack’s reply.
The light from a million stars cast a soft silvery glow over the desert. It wasn’t enough for Jack to make out any geographical features below, but he could picture the hills and valleys and desert flora.
He felt his jaw clenching tight.
I’m wound tight, he thought. Who wouldn’t be after what’s happened?
Jack watched as the copilot flipped the lever that dropped the landing gear; the hydraulic sounds ended with an audible thunk, and a series of red lights turned green, indicating they were down and locked into position.
As the Hercules passed over the runway threshold, the pilot pulled the nose gently up, and the landing lights illuminated two military-style hangars and a Quonset hut.
Jack tapped the Chilean command pilot on the shoulder and pointed in the direction of the two hangars. The pilot nodded, taxied the big plane over, and shut down all four engines.
“Let’s go,” Jack said. “We don’t have much time.” He pulled himself out of the jump seat and climbed through the cockpit door into the cargo hold with Teresa close behind.
They walked down the loading ramp and stepped onto the tarmac, where Teresa shivered visibly. It was cold; their breath flowed out in smoky white patterns.
“Follow me,” Jack said.
Teresa walked alongside him toward the first of the two deserted hangars. The huge hangar door was being rolled back on its rusty track by three individuals dressed in heavy coats and hats.
Inside, two overhead fluorescent panels illuminated Paulson’s Gulfstream jet.
CHAPTER 119
Leah stood outside the rear of the C-130 on the tarmac at White Sands Missile Test Range, the scent and sounds of the southern New Mexico desert pumping her with nervous energy. In the distance, she could see the familiar crystal-white gypsum sand dunes that had given the place its name.
The Native Americans had already been transferred inside what to Leah looked like a huge hangar. She guessed that the tall structure had been used for testing weather balloons during the 1950s, when White Sands had regularly sent 100-meter-tall balloons into the stratosphere.
Leah had played on the dunes that bordered the southern part of White Sands as a child when her parents had traveled through on vacation and during her dad’s exploration of Mogollon dwellings in the Gila National Monument.
She’d even visited Trinity Site, ground zero for the first nuclear test conducted in 1945. Her dad, a devoted anti-nuclear-weapon advocate, had made sure she’d seen it. It was perhaps no surprise, then, that Leah had adopted his views on nuclear weapons and the military.
A cool breeze blowing across the desert brought Leah back to reality. She might have even considered it cold, were it not for her recent excursion into Antarctica. Still, puddles of water on the tarmac here had frozen solid.