Chapter 63
“Shrieker Tower is dead ahead,” Chief Warrant Officer Sheila Price announced from her seat inside the cockpit. “We’ll be on the ground in five.”
Our transport vehicle, a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, shifted a few feet to to the right. Glancing out the front window, I saw a thin grassy road cutting through thick forest. After a short distance, the road widened into a large circular clearing. A mesa, known locally as Shrieker Tower, stood on the opposite side of the clearing, framed by picturesque mountains. Its summit was well over one thousand feet above ground level. Thousands of parallel furrows ran the length of its walls, dividing them into hexagonal-shaped columns. Thick vines, covered with big green leaves, poured down the steep cliffs like waterfalls.
The clearing had been cordoned off and a ring of trucks and armed soldiers rested on its outskirts. An ever-changing maze of vehicles, soldiers, portable lights, cranes, modular buildings, and dump trucks rested in a separate clearing, connected to the first one by the same grass road.
“That’s quite a set-up,” I said into my headset.
“We don’t mess around,” Price replied. She was a tall woman with beautiful brown skin and black hair pulled back into a bun. Clearly soft-spoken, she’d said maybe fifty words total to us ever since we’d met her at Fort Knox’s Godman Army Airfield. “Say, if it’s not too much trouble, could I get a picture with you after we set down?”
I frowned. “Me?”
“My kid’s a huge fan of yours.”
“Well, we’re a little short on—”
“Yes, he’ll do it.” Beverly shot me a dirty look. “Come find us after this is over.”
She beamed like the sun. “Will do.”
Graham studied the clearing in front of Shrieker Tower. Over a dozen soldiers occupied the area, pushing wheeled devices across the grass. “I should’ve brought Emma,” he said mournfully.
Like all of Graham’s inventions, Emma was named after one of his old flames. He must’ve been fond of her, because she was one stylish piece of machinery. She was box-shaped, only with sleek, sexy lines. Her metallic exterior, colored silver, gleamed brightly even in the dimmest of light. All told, she looked like she belonged on some big-budget TV show about archaeology rather than at an actual dig site.
“Those machines can cover more ground,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but they can’t get close to Emma’s depth.”
I didn’t doubt it. Emma was more than just a good looking machine. She was a high-powered ground penetrating radar device and far superior to anything else on the market. Graham could’ve made a fortune by mass-producing her and selling duplicates to universities and militaries around the world. But that wasn’t his style. He didn’t care for mass production. He was a true artist, only with a screwdriver instead of a paintbrush.
My eyes locked on to the mesa. “One moment, the trucks were parked in that clearing. The next, they were gone.”
“And the trucks were huge,” Beverly added. “So, there’s no way they drove through a gap in the trees.”
“That’s not all. According to Milt’s notes, there were no engine sounds. Just a loud whoosh of air. And there were no tire tracks either, even though the ground was covered with snow that day.”
“So, they didn’t drive anywhere.” She frowned. “So, how’d they get out of the clearing?”
“There’s always the mesa,” Graham said.
Beverly arched an eyebrow. “You think they drove through solid rock?”
“No. But they could’ve gone over it.”
The mesa’s walls sloped slightly inward, but they might as well have been perpendicular to the ground. There was no way a bunch of trucks could’ve driven up its steep sides.
“Milt mentioned a blizzard that night. Plus, he was positioned a good distance away from the trucks, waiting for the Army to arrive. And finally, the trucks arrived at least an hour early. So, it was difficult to see, Milt was far away, and Justin’s crew had plenty of time to themselves.” He shrugged. “So, maybe Justin installed hidden rotors on each truck. Then they tossed some smoke bombs and took off.”
Beverly laughed. “With 4,500 tons of gold between them?”
“Do you have a better idea?” He paused. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Anyway flight would explain the lack of tire tracks.”
Beverly gave me a look. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”
I couldn’t picture a bunch of super-heavy trucks taking to the air. Then again, I couldn’t imagine them disappearing either. Most likely, the U.S. Army had looked under every logical rock back in 1949. So, maybe it was time to start looking under some illogical ones.
“Officer Price,” I said. “Can you take us to the summit?”
“You’re joking, right?” Twisting her head around, she studied my visage. “Good God, you’re serious.”
I smiled.
“You’re as crazy as they say. Well, two can play at that game.” Price called out over her radio and after a brief argument, received permission to fly us to the summit.
The evening sky, backlit by the setting sun, burned like a blazing inferno. Light gave ground as darkness stretched toward us.
Minutes later, Price descended upon the mesa, setting us down on a small patch of flat rock. As she cut the engine, she gave us a look. “Don’t fall. I mean it. My kid would never forgive me if I got you killed.”
I shot her a mock salute and unbuckled my seatbelt. After opening the sliding door, I stepped outside. A quiet breeze drifted past me, rustling pebbles at my feet. A chorus of distant crickets chirped in perfect harmony. Inhaling deeply, I smelled leaves and fresh mountain air.
The wind picked up. I squinted as tiny particles of dirt whipped into my face. Above the sound of rushing air, I heard a high-pitched shrieking noise. It seemed to come from the mesa itself and didn’t fade away until the wind started to die down.
Beverly hopped out of the helicopter. “Well, I guess we know how Shrieker Tower got its name.”
Twisting around, I faced the summit. A small forest lay before us atop a bed of hard-packed dirt. Left to its own devices, nature had flourished over the years to the extent allowed by geography.
The trees, covered by flaky gray bark, were separated by no more than a foot or two apiece. It was Mother Nature’s version of Manhattan, with things packed so tight one could scarcely breathe. The individual trees weren’t especially tall and I estimated the canopy at twenty to thirty feet. Still, their very existence indicated the presence of water along with fertile soil.
I took a few steps toward the forest. The ground dipped and I realized the summit was bowl-shaped. Ahh, that explained the water. Most likely, the trees survived on rain that collected in the area.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Graham groused as he slid out of the helicopter.
“Age is just a number,” I replied.
“I’ll trade my number for yours.”
“Pass.”
I walked to the edge of the forest. Leaves bristled above me. But instead of reaching toward the dying sunshine, they seemed to stretch backward, grasping at the growing tentacles of darkness. Other leaves were piled up between trees, partially covering thick, gnarled roots.
Soft rustling noises filled my ears. Turning my head, I saw a medium-sized critter racing along the ground. Seconds later, it darted into a hole.
“A chipmunk?” Graham scratched his chin. “How the hell did it get up here?”
“Well, it didn’t fall from the sky,” I said. “It must’ve climbed the mesa.”
“Those walls are way too steep to climb. And by the way, aren’t there stories of fish and other animals falling from the sky?”