Excalibur

CHAPTER 10: THE PRESENT

Turcotte sat perfectly still in the shadow of a boulder, watching a rattlesnake slither across the sand ten feet away. He estimated he was eight miles from Area 51. He felt better than he had in a long time. Free of responsibility. His concern over Lisa Duncan’s kidnapping was somewhat offset by the fact that he had no real idea who she was. Of course, she didn’t either, he realized, as he continued to watch the snake move away. He viewed the abandonment of the underground base at Area 51 as a potential blessing, meaning he might be free of the responsibilities he had assumed since arriving there in an undercover role. Turcotte had always been a loner and he felt at ease by himself in the desert. His father had been killed in a logging accident when Mike was eight and the next summer he had gone to the same camp to work, doing odd jobs. He did that for the next few years until he was large enough to heft a chain saw and wield an ax. The toughest schools the Army put him through years later — Ranger, Special Forces, Scuba — were nothing compared to his time in the forest. It was rough work among even rougher men and Turcotte brought his check home each month to his mother.

The snake was gone, slithering between two rocks. Turcotte felt his SATPhone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the small screen. It displayed Quinn’s SATPhone number.

Duty.

It was a word beaten into him as a child and reinforced as an adult. He almost laughed out loud as his mind slid to the words he’d been forced to memorize as part of his officer training — the speech MacArthur had made at West Point upon accepting the Thayer Award in 1962: “Duty, honor, country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain faith where there seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when hope becomes forlorn”

The damn West Point graduate tactical officer at his college had made all the ROTC cadets memorize it, just like cadets at the Academy were forced to. Turcotte flipped the phone open. “What?”

“Do you know why humans die?”

Lisa Duncan was startled by the question. Garlin had been drawing blood, for the seventeenth time, according to her calculations and the number of needle marks in her arms. What was fascinating was that the first needle puncture wound, made just an hour earlier, was gone, all healing at a remarkable rate. She worried about the IV. What was he putting into her? How had they knocked her out? What did they know that she didn’t?

“Old age?”

“What is old age?” Garlin went to the door and passed the tube outside, before coming back to sit on a stool in front of her.

“Cells get old,” Duncan said. “They stop reproducing.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.” She gave him a cold smile. “Remember? My past is not real. So maybe my medical knowledge is bogus too.”

“Do you know what a telomere is?”

Duncan shook her head. There were no lingering aftereffects of whatever drug they gave her, she realized. She felt fine, better than she could ever remember. “At the end of each chromosome in every cell in your body are small bits of DNA called telomeres. These bits serve a very important purpose. The telomere acts as a protective cap to keep the chromosome from unraveling at the ends with each cell division. After approximately a hundred divisions a cell runs out of telomeres. After that, the chromosomes begin to degenerate with every cell division. Eventually, the cell dies as the chromosome damage accumulates.”

Garlin paused, looking down at his hands. Duncan could almost see him testifying before a congressional committee. Then she had to think for a moment — had she truly testified in such a manner as she had envisioned?

Garlin continued. “You age because as you lose telomeres in your cells, your body is like a clock winding down. Eventually you will not have enough good cells to perform some essential task somewhere in your body and one of your vital systems will fail.

“We first became aware of this about fifty years ago when the geneticists Paul Hermann Muller and Barbara McClintock discovered that the telomeres keep chromosomes from fusing end to end, which could lead to chromosome breakage and loss as cells divide. But not only do they keep cells from fusing, they maintain the integrity of the cell itself. This is vital when you start considering the basic gene structure of the human.”

Duncan rubbed her arm over the puncture marks, noting that even the latest one was fading. “Why do we run out of telomeres? If they’re so important, it seems that the body would make them in order to protect itself.”

“Good question,” Garlin said. “And it brings up an interesting paradox. To make telomeres, you need an enzyme called telomerase. Normal cells, however, for some reason after birth, don’t make telomerase. In fact, the only time we’ve managed to discover telomerase synthesis inside the human body after birth is in cancer cells. That’s one of the reasons why it’s so hard to kill cancer.”

Duncan frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. The enzyme we need for longer life is only produced by cancer, which kills us?”

“This is still a relatively new field,” Garlin said. “We have started at the very basics. In the seventies we first studied telomeres in protozoan ciliates, single-celled organisms that propel themselves with hairlike projections called cilia, rather than in mammalian cells. At that time, ciliates were much easier to work with because they have many more telomeres per cell than do mammalian cells. These organisms have two nuclei, and during the formation of the larger of these, the so-called macronucleus, the chromosomes break up into fragments that then replicate, producing from twenty thousand to as many as ten million pieces of DNA, each of which becomes capped at both ends by telomeres. In contrast, a human cell has only ninety-two telomeres, two for each of the forty- six chromosomes.”

“But we’ve mapped human DNA,” Duncan noted. Something about what Garlin had just said bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it exactly and she forgot about it as he continued.

“Only very recently,” Garlin said. “Bear with me. I want you to understand this. As study in this field progressed, some surprising things were learned. Elizabeth Blackburn of the University of California, San Francisco, in the early seventies discovered something quite strange about the molecular regions around the telomere. She found that the sequence for telomeres was very short and repeated numerous times, around sixty. This was surprising because at that time the only DNA that had been examined closely — in bacteria and viruses — did not have repeated sequences.

“Expanding to other organisms, other researchers found the same thing — a repeating code in the telomeres. Yeast for example. This led researchers to believe all telomeres were like this. When we finally isolated the first human telomere at Los Alamos, we found a repeating sequence TTAGGG — where the T stands for thymine, the A for adenine, and the G for guanine. What was strange was that all other telomeres — the ciliates, yeast, etc., only had thymine and guanine.” “Why are we different?” Duncan asked. She wondered why he was giving her so much information — first about the new Majestic, and now about this. It was as if he felt she had some information that he expected her to give in return. She realized it was a subtle interrogation technique, one Mike Turcotte might have used.

“Good question,” Garlin said. “We’ll get to that. Not only do telomeres protect cells from degrading and losing chromosomes, we found they did other things, much more subtle. By extending the ends of the chromosomes with repetitive, noncoding DNA, they prevent the gradual loss of genetic information that would otherwise result from a quirk in the way DNA is replicated. The polymerase enzyme that copies the DNA can’t reproduce both strands of the double-helical molecule all the way to the ends. As a result, chromosomes would get progressively shorter with every cell division and essential genes would gradually be eroded. This doesn’t happen because the cells can add telomeric DNA to the incompletely replicated ends of the chromosomes.”

“In other words,” Duncan said, “it keeps our gene pool in line.”

“Right. The yeast work showed that when linear DNAs tipped with ciliate telomere sequences are put into yeast cells, they subsequently acquire yeast telomere sequences. This indicated that the yeast was able to add sequences de novo to chromosomes.”

Duncan held up her hand as she tried to follow. “Are you saying the telomere changed to adapt to the new cells?”

“Yes.”

She knew what Garlin was telling her was unusual and she also knew he was leading up to something about what the Grail had done to her.

“Telomerase,” Garlin continued, “is unlike all other enzymes we’ve studied. In addition to protein, it contains an RNA component, which serves as the template for synthesizing the telomere repetitions and the reproduction of the genetic makeup of the host. This suggests that the enzyme might be an intermediate in the evolution from the RNA world to the current world of DNA and protein.” “That’s why unicellular organisms are basically immortal,” she said. “Because they have telomerase, they can replenish their DNA that would otherwise be lost every time the cell divided.”

“Correct,” Garlin said. “And why humans aren’t. Since we don’t have telomerase, our telomeres shorten every time our cells divide. Sperm and egg cells have the longest telomeres. We start dying the second we are conceived and our cells start dividing and multiplying.”

“Why?” Duncan asked.

“That’s the thing that’s puzzled researchers. If a single cell organism can have telomerase, why can’t we? And it’s more than just about dying, we’re also talking about repairing cell damage.”

Duncan’s hand went to her lower chest where Yakov’s bullet had killed her. There was no sign of the wound even though less than a day had passed since she had been shot.

“Telomeres support the activity of the RAD9 gene,” Garlin said. “RAD9 halts the growth of cells whose DNA has been damaged, which suggests that telomeres are part of the cell’s damage-sensing system.”

“So if we could produce the enzyme telomerase,” Duncan said, “we could keep our telomeres active, protect our cells as they reproduce, and be immortal.”

“It’s not that simple,” Garlin said. “Researchers have actually done experiments, trying to make immortal cells. They introduced oncogenes from simian virus 40 into cultured cells to activate telomerase. Many of the cells died, but some survived and continued to divide with active telomerase, which stabilized their telomeres.”

“Why the difference?” Duncan asked.

“There were abnormal chromosomes in the cells that survived. The problem with the research so far,” Garlin continued, “is that, as we told you earlier, the only cells we’ve discovered in humans that have active telomerase are cancer cells. In actuality, most of the medical research in this area so far hasn’t been focused on immortality but on developing inhibitors to block the telomerase in cancer cells so they’ll die.

“Some researchers at the University of Colorado have succeeded in cloning the gene that activates telomerase in human cells. This has led to two hopes — one that we can develop targeted inhibitors that will attack telomerase in cancer while not destroying healthy cells and secondly that we might activate telomerase in healthy cells to slow down aging and cell degeneration.

“We think that telomerase activation may be a necessary step for all tumors. The reason for this is that most cancer cells are immortal. Cancer cells, unlike normal cells, can divide indefinitely in tissue culture if given adequate nutrients. Normal cells have a limit of fifty plus or minus ten divisions, the Hayflick limit, before they grow old in culture and stop dividing. The ability of cancer cells to keep dividing is believed to arise from the activation of telomerase. Therefore if telomerase is inhibited then the telomeres in cancer cells will shorten and will act as a brake on the cancer cell growth.”

“And my telomerase?” Duncan asked. “It’s active.”

“Do I have cancer?”

“No.” Garlin stood. “You’re immortal as far as we can tell. Not only that, but you can replace damaged cells rapidly, as evidenced by your recovery from your gunshot wound.”

“How did this happen?”

“The Grail did something to you,” Garlin said. “We know the end result — your cells actively produce telomerase — but we don’t know how the Grail did this.” He turned for the door. “But we will discover it.”

Artad strode through the main cavern of Qian-Ling, noting the various containers, followed by a half dozen of his kind. The shield generator, a spinning cylinder forty feet long, produced a low hum that pervaded the entire enclosure. He stopped in front of one of the containers right next to the large shield generator and placed his six-fingered hand on a panel. One side slid up, revealing a smaller version of the generator, about ten feet long, resting in a black metal cradle with wheels.

He turned and gestured to his followers. An Airlia got on either side of the generator and moved it out of the container. They followed Artad with it as he continued through the cavern. He paused in front of an intricately designed replica of a dragon — ten meters long, half that wide, with a long arced neck ending at a serpent’s face with dark red eyes. Short wings extended from each side. The metal skin glittered, as bright as the day thousands of years ago that Artad had captured it from Aspasia’s Shadow’s forces. It was known in Chinese lore as Chi Yu, the dragon beast from the south. A ramp, just below the tail, was open, revealing the interior and the pilot’s seat. Artad turned to the Airlia behind him and quickly issued orders in their singsong language. The Arlia and the two pushing the generator went up the ramp. They secured the generator inside and settled down into the seats. The ramp slowly rose and closed.

Using the same drive as the bouncers, Chi Yu rose into the air and turned toward a tunnel that led to the outside world. It disappeared into the tunnel as Artad returned to the room containing the guardian. He turned off the shield wall briefly to allow the flying dragon to depart, then reactivated the wall. He then went over to the guardian and reestablished contact in order to plan the next stages of the war.

Only seventeen miles away. General Kashir could clearly see Mount Ararat directly ahead from his position standing in the top hatch of his armored vehicle. Seventeen miles away and across the border, which was just a quarter mile in front of him. Kashir’s vehicles were on the crest of a small rise, the rest of his column hidden behind him. He could see the border post where a handful of Turkish soldiers were on duty. He had no doubts that he could overrun the post quickly. The issue was what would happen in the seventeen miles on the way to Ararat and then on the slopes of the mountain itself.

He knew that his country was gearing up for war, although the enemy had yet to be determined. There was talk of renewing conflict with Iraq. Others said there would be jihad against Israel, where all the Muslim countries would set aside their differences and destroy the rogue state once and for all. Kashir thought the first was more likely than the second. His mobilization of a mechanized regiment was lost in all the activity and he knew he would not be missed for a while in his own country. The Turks were a different matter.

Still, he knew he had no choice. He must go to Ararat and do as ordered. He told his driver to move forward while waving his arm to the troops behind, indicating they should follow. Two dozen tanks and twice as many armored personnel carriers lurched forward.

The guards saw the convoy coming and stood uncertainly in the road behind their thin wooden pole. One of them, an officer, stepped up just behind the pole and put his hand up, indicating for Kashir to stop. The general responded with a burst from his fifty-caliber machine gun.

The front of his APC crashed through the barrier. Other vehicles were firing, killing the guards as they tried to run away. Kashir had his driver pull off to the side to let the tanks take the lead.

He put the binoculars to his eyes and looked toward the mountain. So close, yet he knew so much could happen in the next seventeen miles. He keyed his radio. “Faster!” he ordered.

Mike Turcotte climbed up the side of the bouncer and slid inside. Quinn, Mualama, Kincaid, and Yakov watched him enter. Turcotte could smell the fear coming off them, no matter how much they tried to control it. They all knew they had been targeted for death and just barely escaped. He’d learned early in his military career that fear was a part of combat and could not be dismissed.

“What happened to Che Lu?” he asked, noting the blood splattered on Quinn’s uniform.

“She was killed.” Quinn’s hollow voice indicated his shock.

“I know that,” Turcotte said. “I just buried her. How did she die?” “Ricochet off the bouncer. Killed her instantly.”

Turcotte sat down on the floor of the bouncer feeling the little energy he’d gained drain from him. His earlier suspicious thoughts about the old Chinese professor and her timing of the opening of Qian-Ling had faded away as he dug into the sand with his bare hands. He remembered her concern for him when he had searched for the Mission.

He looked at each of the four closely. Quinn was in the pilot’s seat, a laptop extended across him, screen glowing, but his eyes were dull. Yakov, the large Russian, was standing, his presence filling the interior, the top of the bouncer just inches above his head. Kincaid had his own laptop clutched in his hands.

And Mualama — Turcotte frowned as he looked at the African archaeologist. His initial impression of fear and anxiety from those inside didn’t extend to Mualama, who appeared quite unconcerned about recent events. A metal briefcase was at his feet and Turcotte assumed that it held Burton’s manuscript.

“What have I missed?” Turcotte asked. “Major?” he said in a sharper voice, getting Quinn’s attention.

Quinn answered. “I’ve got no contact with anything at Area 51 and—”

“The equipment was destroyed and everyone left there arrested,” Turcotte said succinctly. “Area 51 is shut down. Who did it?”

“Uh—” Quinn was flustered. “I don’t know.”

“They were Americans,” Turcotte said. “Were they under the influence of Guides?”

“They were military,” Quinn said.

“Acting under whose orders?” Turcotte pressed.

“They had an ST-6 clearance,” Quinn said. “I’ve accessed the NSA and copied some of their transmissions.”

“We have an ST-6 clearance,” Turcotte said. “Who else has one?” “We had an ST-6,” Quinn said. “Not anymore.”

“Who else has one?” Turcotte asked again.

“Majestic — and us after them — were the only groups that had one as far as I know,” Quinn said. “ST-6 was invented by Eisenhower specifically for Majestic so they could operate in case of alien attack.”

Yakov was nodding as if this made perfect sense. “So there’s another Majestic.”

“Why do you think that?” Kincaid asked.

“Because that’s the way covert organizations operate,” Yakov told him. “Always have a backup. Which also means if they were willing to destroy Area 51, that there is another Area 51 somewhere where they’re operating from and where they’ve taken Duncan.”

Turcotte listened to the Russian and agreed with the logic, but he also thought that would require a hell of a lot of efficiency on the part of the US government, something his years of service had indicated didn’t happen often. He was tempted to ask Yakov where the backup for Section IV was, but refrained. “What is our backup?” Kincaid asked.

No one answered that.

“Aspasia’s Shadow sent a message to the UN,” Quinn said. He turned his computer around so they could gather and look at the screen. The message played through to the end, then Quinn closed the top.

“Truth and lies mixed together” was Yakov’s summation. “The issue is — which was which?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Turcotte said.

“Why not?” Yakov asked.

“Because Aspasia’s Shadow isn’t really human,” Turcotte said. “And Artad definitely isn’t. We could spend the rest of our lives trying to figure this crap out, but that’s the bottom line. Even if Aspasia came here long ago to protect the planet, it might be a case where the cure was as bad as the disease. He certainly hasn’t been a friend of mankind over the millennia. Nor has Artad.” Turcotte remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medical papers he’d taken from the clipboard and handed them to Quinn. “I want you to check these.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are we going to stay here in the desert forever?” Yakov asked.

“We can’t trust the government,” Turcotte said, “so we’re going to have to go to a place where we can trust who is in charge.”

“And that place is?” Yakov pressed.

“Head for North Carolina,” Turcotte ordered Quinn.

“And then?” Yakov asked. “Do you persist in searching for Ms. Duncan?” Turcotte stared at the Russian, meeting his gaze. The silence lasted several seconds. “She’s not a priority right now.”

Yakov nodded. “That is a good decision, considering we don’t even know who she is.”

“We do what we planned on doing. The Master Guardian and Excalibur. Nothing’s changed.”

Yakov raised a bushy eyebrow. “How can you say that?”

“We’re alive,” Turcotte said. “We’ve got a bouncer. We’ve got all our data. We’re still in business.” He looked around at the others. “Everyone agree? I think it is what Che Lu would advise us to do.”

Slowly the other four nodded.

“Good. Let’s get going, then.”

The naval battle in the Strait of Taiwan was over quickly. The Taiwanese navy fought bravely but had never expected to face the brunt of the Chinese navy without any American aid, despite the lack of a standing treaty. There had been a tacit assumption among the ranking officers of Taiwan’s military that an aggressive move by the mainland would be met by a strong response from the United States and Japan simply in light of those countries protecting their own interests in the Far East. The Americans simply had no forces to deploy. The Japanese were quiet, calling up their reserves but keeping all their forces inside their borders.

The air battle was lasting longer, but the Chinese commander didn’t wait to gain complete air superiority. The invasion fleet set sail across the hundred-mile-wide stretch of water, every ship packed with troops. Overhead, Chinese rockets, guided by technology stolen from the West, roared through the air. Massive explosions peppered key military targets throughout the island. Half the rockets, though, were aimed at population centers to spread fear and panic. Their warheads contained chemical and biological weapons of mass destruction.

It didn’t quite work that way, though, as the Taiwanese, most having spent their entire life under the specter of potential assault from the mainland, reacted with fortitude. Every male of age on the island had served his required time in the military and was then placed in the reserves for the rest of his life. They kept their weapons at home and when the sirens had gone off indicating the beginning of the conflict, they kissed their families good-bye, directed them toward their shelters, and went to their local call-up center. The men reported to their induction centers and the women and children to bomb shelters, all donning their gas masks and protective suits. As the Chinese fleet appeared offshore, the beach defenses were manned and ready.

One of those who waited for the invaders on the beaches was General Chang Tek-Chong. The general had planned and prepared for years for this awful possibility but he had never envisioned the current scenario in his darkest nightmares. Even though there was no formal treaty with the United States, it had been tacitly assumed that an aggressive move by the mainland would be countered by American forces. But there were no American forces in the western Pacific except for those stationed in South Korea. Taiwan was on its own.

The general was typical of many of those who were defending the island in that he was actually part of an army that traced its roots to the invading KMT army, which now faced another invading force from the mainland. Tek-Chong’s father, Tan, had been illegitimate, the result of a liaison between a Japanese police officer and a Taiwanese woman. Despite this poor beginning Tan had become a police officer, then a lawyer. When the KMT invaded, he’d been arrested and tried for treason. He’d been tortured, then dragged through the city streets.

When a soldier ordered him to kneel, Tan had refused and met his execution standing, with a smile on his face.

Tek-Chong kept a black-and-white photograph taken by a KMT officer of his father’s execution in his wallet. It showed him the moment before death, the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his right temple. The fortitude and proud stance of his father was something that Tek-Chong had always tried to emulate. Like that earlier conflict, the only difference between the two sides fighting now was an ideological decision made before the lifetimes of almost all those who died. It was a difference being exploited by Artad to expand his new empire.

Camp Page was less than ten minutes’ flight time from the DMZ. The camp consisted of a long runway and a cluster of hangars and barracks surrounded by a cinder-block wall topped by barbed wire. Parked along the runway were two American army units. One was an attack helicopter battalion of Cobras. The other was a lift company of Blackhawks. The mission for the Blackhawks was highly classified. They were the transportation for the tactical nuclear warheads the United States kept in South Korea. The warheads were housed eighteen minutes’ flying time away in an underground bunker that was the most secure place in South Korea. They included nuclear warheads for the eight-inch howitzer battalion of the Second Infantry Division, along with nuclear mines that would be emplaced in already prepared positions along major axes of advance.

With the heightened tensions in the area, the entire unit was kept on a three- minute alert, pilots and crew chiefs living in the hangars, next to their aircraft. When the Klaxon indicating a scramble sounded, it was almost a relief for the men and women who dashed to their helicopters and started the engines. One by one, the Blackhawks rolled out of the hangars and lined up on the airstrip until all eighteen were in line. Then, on the order of their commander, they all lifted into the air and turned to the southeast toward the bunker. As the choppers cleared the edge of the compound a flurry of SAM-7 antiaircraft missiles sliced into the air, striking home. All eighteen helicopters were destroyed in less than ten seconds.

The North Korean commandos who had crossed the border the previous night and crept down to their hide positions outside the airfield were hunted down and killed by the South Korean forces, but they had accomplished their mission. The tactical nuclear warheads remained secure inside the bunkers as North Korean and Chinese forces crossed into the DMZ.

Kelly Reynolds felt like a shadow trying to hide in the dark. While there was a good chance she wouldn’t be seen she also could do little other than observe.

She had no sense of her withered body, just a core of self, that existed next to and mostly in, the guardian computer. She had been watching the data flow for a long time, and she was getting better at discerning the component parts. It was as if she were standing next to a hundred-lane-wide superhighway with thousands of cars shooting by at very fast speeds. After a while, she was, in essence, able to start noting the colors and makes of various cars. There was much happening and she caught glimpses of a number of plans.

She knew of the nanovirus at Pearl Harbor and the failure to find the remainder of the American fleet. If she’d been able to control her body she would have smiled as she sensed Aspasia’s Shadow’s anger over the failure to complete the coup de grace of the American military in the Pacific. But she could also sense his overwhelming confidence that this was just a minor setback and that his ultimate victory was inevitable.

The guardian on Mars still maintained a communications link with this guardian. She was confused by this data stream, as it appeared that Aspasia’s Shadow was in essence ignoring the few surviving Airlia at the Cydonia Base on Mars despite a series of entreaties from them.

The Alien Fleet approached Pearl Harbor with more submarines being built in the hold of the Jahre Viking. Aspasia’s Shadow was issuing new orders, directing the fleet to adjust course and search for the surviving American ships and convert them.

Guides around the planet were attempting to rally people to Aspasia’s Shadow’s cause and subvert their own governments. Tapping into satellite communications and then into the Internet, the guardian, as directed by Aspasia’s Shadow, was issuing orders to those Guides, directing them to cause as much dissension as possible to keep the world from forming a united front and to spread propaganda regarding Artad.

The infected people on the surface of the island went about the tasks designated to them by the guardian.

The nanotechs widened the tunnel to the thermal power source underneath the island.

All were part of the information and communication flow. Kelly could also see the truncated avenues of communication that she knew had been to other guardians around the planet. And the major break, the line that had once been connected with the Master Guardian but had been severed so long ago. She also “saw” that the guardian was opening up its end of that communications link, as if preparing for the other end to open also.

And in the midst of all this she saw it. The name Johnny Simmons. Like a flashing light.

She homed in on the thin data flow with his name. It was piggybacked on a GPS signal to the Alien Fleet. Unnoticeable, unless someone was looking for that specific name. There was no reason for the guardian to notice, nor Aspasia’s Shadow, but for Kelly it was a bright shining light.

She accessed the data stream.

Turcotte wanted more information. About Excalibur. The Master Guardian. The request was like a jolt of energy as it gave her a purpose. She came farther out of the shadows into the guardian’s data field to search for the information.

The Special Operations Training Facility was located forty miles west of Fort Bragg and had been established during World War II as a training base for the Eleventh Airborne Division. A couple of decades later it served as the place where Colonel Bull Simon trained the Son Tay Raiders in preparation for their mission into North Vietnam. Years after that, Charlie Beckwith had utilized the area to prepare his Delta Force commandos for their ill-fated mission into Iran. It was now home to the field division of the Special Forces Qualification course as well as constantly being utilized by Delta Force, the Air Forces Special Operations Wing, and CIA covert forces as a training area.

In the nineties the fixed training site had been named the Colonel Rowe Training Facility, after a Special Forces officer who had escaped imprisonment in North Vietnam and was later assassinated in the Philippines. At the present moment, given the heightened state of alert for the US military, the Rowe Facility was empty, the instructors and students shipped out to the Special Forces Groups to get them up to strength. Next to the camp, there was a full-sized airstrip.

Thus, when Quinn brought the bouncer to a hover outside a large, rusting hangar, there was no one there to see. Turcotte exited, slid open the large doors, the rusted metal squealing in protest. Quinn flew the bouncer inside and landed it. They all exited and looked at Turcotte, waiting for the next step.

Turcotte checked his watch, then nodded to himself as he heard the whop of helicopter blades approaching. He went out of the hangar onto the runway and looked to the east, in the direction of Fort Bragg. A Blackhawk helicopter painted flat black came in low over the trees, circled about, and landed forty feet away. The side door slid back and a quartet of heavily armed men in unmarked fatigues exited. While two took the flanks, two others ran up to Turcotte.

He held his hands up, empty palms forward. One of them started to pat Turcotte down, but a fifth man who had just gotten off the helicopter called out: “That’s all right. Secure the perimeter.”

Turcotte snapped a salute even though the fifth man wore no insignia. “Colonel.”

The man returned the salute. “Major.”

Turcotte turned to his fellow refugees from Area 51. “This is Colonel Mickell. Delta Force commander.”

Yakov nodded, remembering the assistance Mickell had given them during the mission taking down Devil’s Island. Turcotte quickly introduced the others, then they moved inside the hangar.

“What do you need from me, Mike?” Mickell asked. “First, no word of our existence.”

Mickell nodded. “That’s a given.”

“Second, local security. We can trust no one.”

“I’ll leave the four I brought with me and send you a dozen more for outer perimeter. All men I trust.”

“Third,” Turcotte said, “we need one of your mobile command posts.” He knew that Delta had perfected a two-van setup that was mobile and could link into the secure military communications system anywhere in the world. It wouldn’t be as good as Area 51, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. “We’re stretched pretty thin,” Mickell said. “There’s a lot of stuff going on around the world. Communication has been lost with Hawaii. North Korea has invaded the South with Chinese support. Taiwan and the mainland are going at it. The Middle East is going nuts, especially with Saddam dead.”

“Do you have a mobile command post available?” Turcotte pressed.

“Why don’t you clue me in?” Mickell asked in turn.

Turcotte figured that was a fair enough request given that the colonel was putting his military career, and most likely his life, on the line. “We think we have a way of stopping Aspasia’s Shadow.” He quickly briefed Mickell on the Master Guardian he suspected was hidden inside a mothership on Ararat and Excalibur being on Everest.

“All right,” Mickell agreed, when Turcotte was done. “I’ll have a command post out here as quickly as I can.”

Turcotte walked out of the hangar and stood on the runway. He’d trained here at Camp Rowe many times in his army career, often preparing for real-world missions overseas. A slight breeze blew over the pitted concrete, making him shiver. He had a feeling this next mission was going to be harder than any he had ever been on before.

He pulled the collar of his battle dress uniform tighter around his neck.