The convoy advanced, a three-car motorcade, consisting of an SUV followed by a panel van and something else. The last vehicle came into view and I saw a black pickup truck with a large rear bumper. An arm came out of the SUV and punched a code. The chains began to move, the gate opened, and the convoy began to roll. The SUV cleared the fence and the panel van went forward, blocking the camera’s view of my side of the ditch.
Before my conscious mind could protest, I rolled out and leapt to the rear of the truck, holding on to the tailgate and crouching on the bumper, praying that whoever was watching the camera feed had lost interest when the SUV guy had punched the code. I rode forward, wondering how embarrassing it would be to get caught like this, when I reached the far side.
I dropped off, rolling in the dirt and waiting for the storm troopers to hit. Nothing happened. I scrambled into the bush.
Now what?
I wondered what the hell I was doing. Finding an alien experiment? Solving the X-files? What the was I hoping to accomplish?
I crawled forward and surveyed. At first glance, the ground was devoid of cover. A stretch of desert full of scrub, it was clear all the way to the bunker building and hangar. No way to get closer. And now no way to get out.
Studying the terrain, I saw it wasn’t as bad as I initially thought. It wasn’t possible to walk to the buildings, but, snaking forward on my belly, I could make it. There were enough folds in the earth to allow me to remain out of sight. It would suck, and I’d probably destroy my clothes, but I could cover the hundred meters on my belly without being seen. I’d be spotted for sure from the air, but I’d be invisible from the ground.
I started forward, inching along when I heard the unmistakable thump of rotor blades beating the air. I stopped moving and fixated on the sound.
There was a helicopter spooling up on the other side of the bunker. And it was going airborne.
Chapter 7
Jennifer sluiced the dirt in her makeshift seine, finding nothing yet again. Sweetwater scooped out another thin layer and flipped it to her. She began shaking the chickenwire again, sorting out the dirt from the potential evidence of human existence from a bygone era.
They’d been at it for about ten minutes, excavating around the small flag she’d placed earlier, and she was in heaven. Finally working toward a scientific find of an ancient civilization. She couldn’t help but feel the adrenaline of discovery. Something was down here, and, while she’d be disappointed if it ended up being a broken piece of fence line, she enjoyed the process. Much, much more than Pike would ever understand.
He talked a good game about Grolier Recovery Services, and wanted her as a partner, but she understood why. He only wanted to use their company in the service of the US government. To bastardize it like a whore to facilitate operations that were questionable at best. As she sifted the sand back and forth, she realized he’d never understand the thrill of the hunt. Never want to get dirty solely for the joy of the find.
She pitched the sand aside and waited for the next load, wondering if she was making the right decision. Wondering if Pike was worth the effort.
Sweetwater sank the shovel in again and hit something. He brought the shovel up, intent on driving it past the resistance and she shouted, “Wait!”
She scrambled over and pushed him aside. She grabbed a trowel and a paintbrush and went to work, scraping the ground with care. In thirty seconds she uncovered something. In sixty seconds, she was looking at her find in confusion.
Sweetwater leaned over her and said, “What’s that?”
She said, “I don’t know.”
She scraped again, lengthwise, then used her paintbrush to clear off the dirt. What appeared was a section of a black obelisk, dull and checkered, like a length of carbon fiber. She scraped some more and reached the end.
Sweetwater said, “Holy Jesus… Chris was right.”
She turned to him and said, “What? Who’s Chris?”
Before he could answer, a black SUV pulled up next to the riverbank from the access road, hitting the rough terrain full-on and spraying them with dirt, full of menace and unspoken power. The doors opened, spilling out men.
Jennifer stood, seeing the dull gray of gun barrels sprouting like a bad rash. All trained on her.
She raised her hands, confused, and heard Sweetwater say, “Chris, hey, she found it!”
The lead man swung his butt-stock, hammering Sweetwater in the head and driving him to the ground. Sweetwater wailed and clawed the dirt, saying, “Chris, wait!”
The man turned to her and said, “Get on your knees.”
She did so.
Sweetwater said, “She found it! Jesus, what are you doing? What’s with the guns?”
The men closed around the dig site and began working much faster than she had, unconcerned with any damage to fragile archaeological relics. In seconds, they brought out a five-foot section of something looking like the blade of a helicopter, one end torn and showing a honeycomb substance like Styrofoam.
The man called Chris said, “I told you to prevent the dam and that we would search. We would search.”
Sweetwater said nothing, cowering. Jennifer said, “Sir, wait. I was hired to confirm or deny the presence of an archaeological site. That’s why we’re here. I’m not sure what we found, but it’s not his fault.”
Chris lowered his weapon, exhaled and said, “Shut the fuck up.”
A man behind him said, “What do you want to do now? They’ve seen it. They know we have it now.”
Chris whirled and said, “You shut the fuck up too! Let me think.”
Jennifer saw a trail of dust in the distance, from the other side of the creek, and thought she was going to be okay. The rancher coming to run them off again. An unexpected savior. She was wrong.
Two four-door trucks blasted across the shallow creek, one breaking right, the other left, pinning the SUV. The doors blew open, and more men armed with assault rifles appeared, all dressed in tactical clothing full of bellowed pockets and rip-stop nylon. A man wearing a blue windbreaker held out his hand, a wallet with some type of gold badge within. He shouted, “Federal agents! Put down your weapons.”
Still on her knees, Jennifer saw the man on her left drop his rifle and raise his hands. On her right, Chris said, “Bullshit! They’re Blackhorse!”
Jennifer heard a peculiar snap in the air, a crack like a whip, and knew instantly what it was. She was one of the unfortunate few who had experienced a supersonic bullet fired at her in anger. She dove into the earth, clawing forward toward the cover of the creek bank as the men around her started firing.
She went down on her belly into the creek and began crawling as the battle raged around her, rounds snapping over her head. She reached the far bank and scrambled upwards, peeking behind her. She saw a platoon of men, much more than the single SUV that had initially pulled up, all of them armed with assault weapons and firing. She heard a noise like a drowning hamster and saw Sweetwater behind her, begging for help.
She pulled him up and said, “Don’t say a word. I give the command, and we run.”
He nodded, eyes wide.
She watched the firefight, seeing the rounds spray the dirt and hearing the puncture of sheet metal. She waited for the initial shock to wear off and the men to form some plan of attack. There was a lull in the fire and she heard shouting from the pickup trucks.
Almost time.
She heard a groan and something like a burp. She turned to find Sweetwater on his knees, throwing up. She said, “Get ready.”
Sweetwater nodded, a sickly look on his face and a string of bile hanging from his lip to the ground.
The men in the truck all rotated forward and she knew what was coming. The first round cracked and she shouted, “Now!”