Excalibur

CHAPTER 9: THE PRESENT

Roberta Lockhart wore with pride the four stripes on the cuff of her blue jacket that indicated she was a United States Navy captain. From the streets of south-central Los Angeles, through the rigors of the Naval Academy, to the subtle racism and sexism of the active Navy, she had followed two rules her mother had taught her with unswerving obedience: Do your job better than anyone else and treat everyone with respect.

At the moment she was standing behind another black woman, twenty years her junior, a new rating assigned to SOSUS-PAC, Lockhart’s command. To Lockhart the new sailor’s sex or race made no difference — she was doing her job making sure the newcomer was trained as well as possible.

SOSUS stood for sound surveillance system. The first SOSUS systems were put together in the fifties and the sixties and laid along the Atlantic Coast — SOSUS- ATL. Then the Navy emplaced Colossus, which is along the Pacific Coast. Both were linked lines of passive systems submerged in the ocean, designed to listen for the movement of submarines through the water.

Those first two systems guarded both coasts of the United States, but as the Soviets deployed ballistic missile submarines that could stand far off the coast and lob their nuclear warheads into the heartland of America, it was realized they weren’t enough.

In response the Navy emplaced systems just off the Russian coast, near the two major Soviet sub ports at Polyarnyy and Petropavlovsk. Since then, the Navy continued to add to the worldwide SOSUS web. A line of devices was emplaced off the Hawaiian Islands. Each receiver consisted of a cluster of hydrophones inside submerged tanks as large as the oil storage tanks just outside of Lockhart’s command. The tanks were sunk to the bottom, anchored, then linked by cable. The cables were buried as the Soviets — and the Russians afterward — had a tendency to send trawlers dragging cable cutters near the systems.

All the systems were coordinated so that not only could SOSUS detect movement, but by comparing pickup timing from various sensors, Lockhart’s people could draw at least two lines and pinpoint the emitter’s location.

There was only one problem with the system: differentiating between friendly and enemy submarines. As part of their security, American ballistic submarines patrolled within large assigned areas at the discretion of their commanders, where it was more than likely that a potential enemy submarine would be in the same area.

The solution was simple but effective. Every friendly submarine had an ID code painted on its upper deck with special laser reflective paint. SOSUS could pinpoint a sub, then a FLTSATCOM satellite could fire a laser downlink toward the indicated spot using a high-intensity blue-green laser, which could penetrate to submarine depth and read the code.

Lockhart had been in Admiral Kenzie’s office earlier in the day along with all the other senior military commanders on Oahu. The information that the fleet would sail the next day and essentially leave the islands undefended by sea had been met with shocked silence.

Even the Army’s main unit on the island, the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division at Schofield barracks was on the move. All day she’d watched truck after truck of soldiers come into the port and troops walk up gangplanks onto the Navy ships.

Absolute secrecy had been Kenzie’s number one directive. Only those in the room knew what was to happen but the media had picked up the activity and over the entire island there was a sense of near panic. Despite a blackout on news, rumors were rife of naval disasters and pending doom.

Lockhart knew she and her people would not be with the fleet when it sailed. She also knew what had happened to Task Forces seventy-eight and seventy-nine. Along with an Air Force AWACS flying patrol to the southeast, her people were the warning line for the island chain.

In Hawaii, particularly at Pearl Harbor, early warning was something on the order of a religion. Despite being over sixty years in the past, no one forgot what had happened on December 7, 1941. The Arizona Memorial was a daily reminder in sight of every person at Pearl.

“Anything?” Lockhart asked. It was a sign of the stress of the times that she asked. She knew her sailors would report anything out of the norm. She also knew the report from the satellites was that the enemy fleet was slightly more than two days out. Still.

“No, ma’am,” the rating replied.

Lockhart walked across the dimly lit room to the other occupant, her senior enlisted man, Markin, and best “listener.” She leaned close so the rating wouldn’t hear. “Anything?”

“Pod of whales here.” Markin tapped his screen, indicating a spot southwest of Maui.

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Lockhart said. “There should be nothing—” Her mouth snapped shut as Markin held up a finger, indicating the need for quiet. She waited.

After five long minutes, Markin slowly pulled off his headphones. “There’s a strange sound southeast.”

Southeast. Where the enemy was coming from, Lockhart thought. “Range?”

He checked his computer. “One hundred seventy-five miles, ma’am.” Too close, she thought. Too close. “What is it? Submarine?”

“I’ve never heard this before,” Markin said. “Give me a minute, ma’am.” He put the headphones back on and closed his eyes.

Lockhart walked over to her new rating. “Anything strange?” she asked.

The young woman hadn’t heard the exchange with Markin, but she had seen that something was up. Her face tightened as she listened.

“There’s something, ma’am,” she finally said.

Lockhart noted that Markin had taken off his headphones and was looking toward her. She was torn. “What do you think it is?”

“Water, high pressure,” the rating said.

Lockhart frowned, then went over to Markin. “What do you hear?” “I’ve never heard anything like this before,” he said.

“Water under pressure?” she asked loud enough to be heard by the rating. Markin nodded. “Yes.”

“Ma’am,” the rating called out. “I heard something like this in school in Orlando.”

“And?” Lockhart and Markin waited.

“The instructors had a tape of what they called prototype sounds. They said the Russians had a new type of sub on the boards that would utilize water-pressure propulsion. This is a very similar sound.”

Lockhart frowned. “Range?”

“One hundred and sixty-five miles,” Markin said.

“You just said 175,” Lockhart said. “And now it’s 165, 164,” he corrected.

“What can move underwater that quickly?” she demanded. “Nothing man-made,” Markin said.

“How fast is the contact?” she asked. “Almost eighty-seven.”

“Oh, my God,” Lockhart muttered under her breath so no one could hear. “Any satellite scan?” she called out.

“Positive scan on both targets,” another sailor responded.

Lockhart waited. “Report,” she finally ordered when he didn’t say anything further.

“Uh — ma’am, both have the same ID tag. The Springfield. But—” he paused, then blurted out—“the Springfield can’t move that fast. And how can there be two?” Captain Lockhart’s face was hard as she picked up the hot line that connected her to fleet headquarters.

Feeling had been returning to Mike Turcotte’s body for the past hour, from his extremities inward. He’d already tried getting to his feet a dozen times to no avail. He reached up and grasped the edge of the table and tried once more. He managed to pull himself up so that he was leaning against the table.

He felt hungover, his head pounding, his body unsteady. He looked about the examining room. A clipboard was next to the sink and he went over to it. Flipping it open, he noted several medical forms — results of tests the doctor must have run, along with two pages of notes in handwriting he could hardly read. There were also several X rays clipped to it. Turcotte ripped the papers and X rays out of the clipboard and shoved them in the cargo pocket of his pants.

He went to the door, carefully opening it, and peering outside. As expected, no one was about. He moved as quickly as his pounding head would allow to the outside exit. He shoved open the steel door. It was night, a cool breeze blowing in from the surrounding desert.

A full moon had just risen above Groom Mountain and he could see relatively clearly. He saw the massive hangar doors set into the side of the mountain. Turcotte walked over and entered the hangar. A bouncer was missing and he felt a moment’s relief, knowing the others had most likely escaped, then he saw the dark form lying still on the concrete floor. Not wanting to, he forced himself to go over. A pool of blood had spread out beneath the body.

Turcotte ignored the blood as he knelt and turned the slight figure over, knowing who it was before he saw her face. He scooped Che Lu in his arms and walked out of the hangar, across the runway, and into the desert.

Aspasia’s Shadow slowly sat up and looked about the guardian chamber. The golden glow from the guardian bathed the entire area with its light. Six motionless Marines stood guard in the shadows near the tunnel. He lifted his arm and put his new hand in front of his face. He flexed his fingers, stretching the new skin.

He laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. He reached up and removed the ka from around his neck. He would never need it again. Millennia of dying and being reborn were over. He was immortal and this body would be his forever. The Grail, the carrot that the Airlia had held in front of humans from the very beginning, was his to do with as he willed.

He went to the guardian and made contact, checking the status of his forces. All was progressing well with the fleet. And there was an acknowledgment from his man in Iran, indicating preparations were going forth to seize the second mothership and Master Guardian. His team heading toward Everest was on schedule.

Perfect. It was time to let the humans know their options. He went to the tables holding the equipment that had been abandoned by the United Nations when they evacuated the island. He turned on a computer that had direct satellite contact with the UN.

Turcotte rode the elevator into the underground bunkers. His fatigue shirt was soaked with sweat and his hands covered with sand that had stuck to the perspiration. Dried blood encrusted the lower part of his pants.

A few lights were still working, flickering, showing the destruction that had been wreaked. The silence was unsettling. As he expected, the place was abandoned and Turcotte quickly retraced his steps to the surface.

Turcotte went to the runway tower and broke into the supply area. He grabbed a survival vest, checked the small radio to make sure it was working, ensured his SATPhone was still in his pocket, loaded up on a half dozen full canteens, then left Area 51 and headed out into the desert.

The men and women chosen for UN Alien Oversight Committee (UNAOC) had done little in the last several months other than observe. This was not because they lacked the will, but more that they lacked the knowledge of what was really going on in order to make a coherent decision. Added to that indecision was worry over the infiltration of their governments and the influences of Guides, Ones Who Wait, and the various human contingents that proclaimed one side or the other of the Airlia civil war to be the one to support.

While every member country of the United Nations had signed an agreement to abide by the decisions of the committee, the reality was that, as had been true for the history of the United Nations, countries only followed the agreement when it suited their interests.

Every country was supposed to surrender any alien artifacts they had in their possession to the UNAOC. So far, not a single item had been turned over. A large row had already erupted over the refusal of the Israelis to release artifacts, including the Ark, that they had taken from the Mission inside Mount Sinai. Additionally, the militaries of all countries were ordered to coordinate with the UNAOC security panel. A few token phone calls had been made, but not a single troop, plane, or ship had been placed under UN command. All eyes were on the Pacific and the surviving American fleet there.

Given that the previous head of UNAOC had been assassinated by a Guide, the committee members not only felt powerless, they also felt threatened.

As they gathered at the conference table to listen to Aspasia’s Shadow’s message, the absence of the Chinese member was noted.

The screen on the laptop in front of each UNAOC member came alive with Aspasia’s Shadow’s pale face. He wasted no time on pleasantries.

“You have called me Al-Iblis. You humans have called me many names over the millennia in many places. I am Aspasia’s Shadow, but I am more than he ever was. You killed him and stopped his space fleet, but you cannot stop me. You can only join me and reap the benefits I offer. Despite your transgressions I will forgive you. I am going to tell you the truth so that you know the reality of your tenuous situation.

“I possess the Grail. It holds the secret of immortality. I offer that to those who join me. I offer the might of my fleet and my other forces to those who join me. You know you cannot penetrate my shields or defend against my nanovirus or my Guides. You are powerless. Report back to your governments. Tell them to face the truth.

“You have a choice now. Join me or fight me or stand aside. But realize that your time is short. And Artad is awake. He has already contacted the mainland Chinese government. They have chosen to side with him. They will die because of that decision.

“Artad cares nothing for humans. His Shadow created the Black Death in the Middle Ages and almost wiped you off the face of the planet. Only I was able to stop it and save you as only I can save you from him now.”

There was a pause, then Aspasia’s Shadow continued. “And there is something else you must know. Something that Artad will not tell you. The reason why the Airlia came here to your planet so many years ago.”

There was absolute silence in the hall now as everyone unconsciously leaned forward to hear what was about to be said.

“They — we — came here to protect you,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “You humans are like newborns when it comes to the larger reality of the universe. There are many species among the stars. And some of them hate any life-form not their own. In this galaxy, there is a life-form we call the Swarm. They are a race of parasites unlike anything you could imagine in your worst nightmares. They were, are, the Airlia’s Ancient Enemy.”

Aspasia’s Shadow grimaced as if remembering something particularly bothersome. “The Swarm have conquered many planets, destroyed many species, and long ago we came into contact with them. Even we don’t know where their home world is. Some have said they have no home anymore, but just expand outward, consuming intelligent life wherever they find it. There is no communicating with them or negotiating. They exist to destroy.” Aspasia’s Shadow pointed down. “They have been here, humans. On your planet. Scouts. I have protected you, destroyed their scout ship, and prevented them from communicating back to let their fleet know of your planet. If their fleet comes here, not even the Airlia can protect you.

“Their scouts can infiltrate any intelligent species, become part of them so that no one knows they are there. And when their fleet arrives, they destroy every living thing, consuming it so that their own forms can go on.

“Aspasia’s mission was to protect you and help you. And he did so for many years. Your people were in caves when he arrived. He built Atlantis, brought civilization to humanity. It was a golden time.

“But then Artad came along with others — all cowards and deserters from the war against the Swarm. They wanted to hide here, to cut us off from our home system. There was civil war and then there was a truce. But still Aspasia stayed nearby to help defend you and you thanked him by destroying him.

“I am taking his place. I will continue to help defend your planet but you must join with me. It is in both our best interests to work together.

“Fight me and die.

“Stand aside and eventually you will be mine anyway and I will remember your lack of commitment.

“Join me and reap the benefits and be protected.” The screen went dead.

The South Korean president’s hand shook as he took a sip of tea. The conference room was dark and slides appeared on the far wall, one after another, without a single comment from the American officer waiting close by.

General Carmody was the Eighth Army commander, the senior American officer in South Korea. The images he was showing President Pak had just been given to him by his G-2, intelligence officer. They were from a KH-14 Keyhole spy satellite that was on permanent station over the Korean peninsula. They showed something that hadn’t happened in almost fifty years: Chinese troops crossing the Yalu River into North Korea and heading south. Tanks, armored personnel carriers, and thousand upon thousands of infantry were on the move. All heading south. Then the locations of the photos changed. Pak recognized the DMZ. There was no mistaking the fact that North Korean forces were mobilizing.

Finally, the last shot was displayed and Carmody turned the lights back on. They were the only two people in the room. The general sat down across from Pak. “We estimate at least two corps of Chinese troops have already entered North Korea with another three corps to follow on. Over a half million men.”

“And the Seventh Fleet?” Pak asked. For decades South Korea had lain under the umbrella of protection provided by America’s military. While most of the world had forgotten that the Korean War had never officially ended, it was never far from the minds of the people who inhabited the southern half of the peninsula. “The Seventh is”—Carmody seemed to search for a nice way to put it, then he simply shrugged—“gone. We’re abandoning Hawaii. That tells you where things stand.”

Pak had already known that from his spy network. “So? What now, General? You have reduced your troop strength in my country to the point where your presence is merely a trip wire. Several thousand Americans whose death would be avenged. But there is no avenging force now.”

An aide entered the room and handed a piece of paper to the president before withdrawing. Pak read it. “The UN has been issued an ultimatum by Aspasia’s Shadow from Easter Island. Join him or fight him.”

“What will the UN do?” Carmody asked.

“A vote is scheduled.” Pak laughed bitterly. “In two days’ time. Much too late for us.”

“Aspasia’s Shadow can’t help us here,” Carmody said.

Pak crumpled the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket. “Evil is evil and I believe these aliens are evil, whatever face they present.” “There is one possible course of action,” Carmody said.

“And that is?”

“Tactical nuclear weapons. A preemptive strike into North Korea. Along the axes of advance.”

Pak stared at the general. “Your government would authorize that?” “I doubt it.”

“Then why do you bring it up?” Pak asked. Carmody had been Eighth Army commander for two years. He was unique in that he was half-Korean, his father an American soldier, his mother a Korean his father had married during a tour of duty in the country. Carmody had grown up in the United States, attended West Point, and served all over the world, before returning to his mother’s country to command his father’s forces there.

“My government…” Carmody paused, searching for words. “Let me put it to you plainly, Mister President. There is great concern among my fellow officers about the integrity of my government. About how much the aliens and their followers have compromised the chain of command. This vote — I don’t know how the United States will vote, but I agree with you that these aliens are evil. The Chinese have allied with Artad and I see nothing good coming out of that.”

He paused, then continued. “I do not think that South Korea is very high on anyone’s priority list in Washington right now.”

“Detonating nuclear weapons against another nuclear power would be on Washington’s priority list,” Pak said.

“That’s true,” Carmody acknowledged. “But, Mister President, I think—” He was interrupted by a loud buzz that caused both men to start.

“It is the line to the North Korean president that we established last year. It has never rung before.” Pak turned his chair and picked up a red phone, putting the receiver against his ear. Carmody got up and went to the far side of the room out of earshot and waited. When he heard Pak hang up he went back to his chair.

“The North Koreans are making an offer. They have allied with China, who have allied with Artad. We have the choice of joining them or dying. It seems our vote is here now.”

“Your decision?” Carmody asked.

“I gave him my answer. We will fight.”

With the shield turned off for the moment, the carriers Stennis and Washington adjusted course twenty degrees to the starboard so that their flight decks were facing directly into the wind. They were still a two-day sailing from Hawaii, over twelve hundred miles away, equaling a round trip of twenty-four hundred miles. Given that the range of the planes they were launching, F-14 Tomcats, even with external tanks, was only slightly over two thousand miles, the maneuver did not seem logical. And, the external tanks on the sixty planes gathering in formation and heading toward Hawaii did not contain fuel, which meant they had an effective range of only fifteen hundred miles.

The sixty planes also weren’t flying at a rate to conserve fuel. With afterburners kicked in, they were flying at over Mach 2, fifteen hundred miles an hour so that they would arrive at Hawaii just as their fuel tanks ran empty.

Behind the planes the shield came back on and the carriers headed toward Hawaii.

Archaeological evidence indicates that humans have inhabited Taiwan for as long as ten thousand years. There were also signs that Japanese forces occupied part of the island in the twelfth century. The first Europeans to visit the island were the Portuguese in 1590, calling the island Formosa, which meant “beautiful” in their language. The Spanish attempted some settlements but were kicked off the island by the Dutch, who occupied it and neighboring islands in 1622. In 1644 the defeated followers of the Ming dynasty retreated to Taiwan and expelled the Dutch, establishing a Ming enclave and also the precedent of the island being a refuge for those out of favor with the ruling force on the mainland.

After the British victory over China in the Opium Wars, the Treaty of Tientsin in 1860 opened two ports on Taiwan’s west coast to foreign ships. Missionaries, both Roman Catholic and Protestant, weren’t far behind.

At the end of the first Sino-Japanese War, China was required to cede Taiwan to Japan. Given their tenuous ties with the mainland, the inhabitants refused to be trade bait and rose against the occupying Japanese. This rebellion and the brutal attempts by the occupying forces to “Japanize” the inhabitants went on for over fifty years until the end of World War II and the defeat of Japan. Taiwan was returned to mainland control, but that was viewed by the inhabitants as negatively as the Japanese occupation had been. Once more they rebelled, and once more they were brutally handled, this time by their own countrymen.

However, on the mainland, things were not going well for the ruling Kuomintang (KMT) forces led by Chiang Kai-shek. Like those of the Ming dynasty before, the KMT retreated from the Communist forces to Taiwan. The Communists planned to invade the island, but these plans were put aside when American naval forces were sent to the strait between the mainland and the island. Subsequent to that, America poured over four billion dollars of aid into the country, viewing it as a bastion of “freedom” in a dangerous part of the world, and turning a blind eye to Chiang Kai-shek’s and the KMT’s depredations.

Gradually, rule on Taiwan shifted toward real democracy, just as the United States was shifting its focus from the island to the mainland. When Nixon visited Beijing in 1972, those on the island saw the handwriting on the wall.

Formal ties between the US and Taiwan were broken in 1979 and in 1980 the formal defense treaty between the two countries lapsed and was not renewed.

The flagship of the Chinese Eastern Fleet was the destroyer Qingdao. It had engines made in Ukraine, a British combat control computer to aim its weapons, French helicopters, and weapon systems purchased from a half dozen other countries. The crew, however, was one hundred percent Chinese.

The Qingdao was in the Straits of Taiwan, a hundred-mile-wide stretch of water that separated mainland China from what it considered a wayward province in Taiwan. The strait had seen decades of posturing and bluffing between the navies of the two countries but all that changed as the targeting radar on the flagship located a Taiwanese frigate thirteen miles off its port bow.

The word had come from Beijing just ten minutes earlier. No choice was offered for Taiwan. The bitter blood between mainland China and the small island nation off its coast allowed for no resolution other than annihilation. Accordingly, the Qingdao launched a half dozen antiship missiles toward the Taiwanese ship. Two struck, causing massive damage and killing many sailors.

On both sides of the strait, the respective militaries geared up for all-out warfare.

Lisa Duncan slowly opened her eyes. Her head felt heavy and she knew she’d been drugged. She was lying on her back, a pillow under her head, a white sheet covering her body. Looking up, all she could see was a steel ceiling with numerous pipes running across it. She swallowed and her ears popped, equalizing pressure. She could feel something around her arm and several leads taped against other parts of her body.

She heard a noise to her left and turned her head. A white-coated figure walked in. The man was tall and distinguished-looking, with silver hair and a short white beard. He pulled a stool out from a desk and slid it next to the table she was on.

“How are you doing?” he asked as he checked the readout on a medical monitor next to the bed.

Duncan’s throat was dry and she tried to talk but only a croak came out. The man went over to a sink and returned with a small paper cup of water, which he carefully pressed against her lips. Duncan drank the entire cup, and then he pulled it away and retook his seat.

“Who are you?” she managed to get out.

“Dr. Garlin. The more interesting question is who are you?” “Where am I?”

“The new Area 51.”

“And you’re the new Majestic.” Duncan swung her legs over the edge of the table and sat up, holding the sheet tight around her body. The pounding in her head was fading rapidly. Looking down, she could see that the various leads attached to her body went to the monitor and there was a band around her arm with an IV pressed through it.

“Yes. That was a good guess.”

“No guess,” Duncan said. “It makes sense.” She was looking about. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“An MD. Specialization — cellular structure.” “You want to find out what happened to me.” “Yes.”

She nodded slowly, her head pounding with pain. “So what happened to me?”

“We have some ideas, but some of the data is still being processed.”

“What’s the charter of the new Majestic?” she asked. She was shaking her head back and forth, trying to work out the lingering effects of whatever drug she’d been given.

“The same as the old one,” Garlin said.

“The old one didn’t work too well.”

“It worked well enough for almost fifty years,” Garlin noted. “Where are the others? Turcotte? Quinn? Yakov?”

“We don’t know. We had to”—he paused, as if searching for the right words— “shut down the old Area 51.”

“Why?”

“When Major Quinn had the CIA do a check on you, we were copied on the results, as we’ve been copied on everything going into Area 51. And you ask why we shut down Area 51?” He held up his hand as he ticked off reasons. “You’ve got Professor Mualama, who turns out to be a former Watcher — or is he former?

“Yakov. A Russian. Section IV was destroyed — all except him. Pretty convenient. And he came back from Moscow with a bug planted on him.

“Che Lu. Chinese. A country that now appears to be siding with Artad and preparing for war against both South Korea and Taiwan. And she just happened to be the first person to enter Qian-Ling in many centuries. How did she get permission from Beijing to do that when every other request was immediately turned down?

“Major Mike Turcotte. Involved in a questionable incident while working counterterrorism in Europe. He was then recruited by you to spy on Majestic; which bring us to you. You didn’t even really know who you are, did you? And now you don’t know what you are.”

When Duncan tried to stand, he politely but firmly pushed her back onto the table. “Not yet. You need to know what’s going on, so you understand what is at stake.”

“I know what is at stake,” Duncan said.

“Do you?” Garlin asked. “You don’t even know who you are or where you come from.” He leaned back slightly on the stool. “Do you know why the Airlia came to our planet in the first place so long ago? Why they fought, and continue to fight, a civil war? Why they were stranded here?”

“Do you?” Duncan threw back at him, but her voice was less combative as she contemplated his questions.

“Not yet, but we’re working on it. Aspasia’s Shadow just made an announcement to the UN. He claims the Airlia came here to help and protect us from another predatory alien species. Or at least Aspasia did. He says Artad is a deserter.” “Is that true?”

“Are you willing to believe Aspasia’s Shadow?” “Not really.”

“We’re taking a bigger view than the previous Majestic, especially as we know so much more than they did. We think understanding the Airlia would be pretty helpful in the current situation. Allowing us to act, rather than constantly react.”

“How did you come into existence?” Duncan asked.

Garlin briefly stroked his short white beard as he considered her question. “We want you to understand the situation. We want you to cooperate. So far your actions have appeared to be loyal to our country, so we hope that if you believe what you hear, you will continue to be loyal to the best of your abilities.

“When the primary Majestic-12 was compromised by the guardian they discovered in South America at Temiltepec and the security of Area 51 breached, a plan that had been prepared over forty years previously was put into effect. For every member on the Majestic-12 committee, there has always been a backup selected. We”—he tapped his own chest— “had no idea we filled these positions, but apparently we were picked by the twelve primary Majestic members from within their own organizations based on detailed psychological profiles that practically assured we would be willing to step up and assume the primary roles once we were informed. The fortunate thing was that we were picked before the primary Majestic-12 was compromised by the guardian computer, so those chosen were chosen because they were projected to be loyal to the original charter for Majestic.

“It has worked as planned. Even as Majestic was being broken apart, with members dead or under indictment, twelve of us received a top-secret CD-Rom by special courier sent from the NSA vault. On each disk was a detailed report of Majestic’s formation by presidential decree during Eisenhower’s administration and a summary of its subsequent actions over the years along with all that had been discovered about the Airlia and their artifacts.

“Of course, there was no information about Majestic’s corruption after uncovering the guardian computer at Temiltepec in South America and bringing the alien computer back to Dulce. Still, the basic decree Eisenhower had given the original MJ-12 rang true to those of us who received the CDs — protect America at all cost from alien influence.” Duncan was silent, listening.

“We gathered a week ago at the designated time and location indicated on the CD — a small airfield outside New Orleans. A tilt-wing Osprey landed, and the back ramp opened up. There was no one in the cargo bay and the door to the cockpit was locked. We got on board and the plane immediately took off. It flew out over the Gulf of Mexico, staying just above the waves to stay off radar. The engines rotated up and we finally landed on board what appeared to be an abandoned oil rig, about a hundred miles from the nearest shore. The ramp opened, we got off, and the plane was back in the air and flying away.

“There was no one there. But we followed the directions on the CD, punched in the correct code on a keypad, and got into an elevator on one corner of the rig. It went down the one leg of the rig to the ocean floor, where an undersea habitat — this place — was attached. The new Area 51.”

“How far down are we?” “Three hundred feet.”

“And you have contact with the outside world?

“A secure contact via satcom up top on the rig to the NSA. However, we’re keeping quiet so far, just listening. We want to determine a valid course of action before we do anything.”

“How come you didn’t contact us at the old Area 51?” Duncan asked.

Garlin shook his head. “You still don’t understand, do you?” He pointed at her. “We don’t know who you are. We don’t know whom at the old Area 51 we could trust. We’re starting over with a clean slate.

“So far, we’ve done little other than try to keep track of the rapid flurry of events around the world. But when we received a report from the old Area 51 about what had happened to you, we acted swiftly, issuing orders with our presidential authorization.”

“So you’ve kidnapped me,” Duncan said. “Seems like something the old Majestic would do.”

“The old Majestic protected America for almost fifty years,” Garlin said. “Now it’s our turn. And we want to be very careful that we don’t get compromised like they did. We might be the last best hope for mankind.”

“Why haven’t you done anything?” Duncan demanded. “Why have you been hiding here while we fought the aliens?”

Garlin tapped her on the knee. “Because we were waiting for you. You’re the key. You’re immortal now. If we can figure out what happened to you, we think we can win this war and not just the next battle.”

The holiest city in the Christian world had never known such a gathering of people in the streets. The route had been announced on the news the previous evening and people had begun staking claim to a spot immediately, the numbers swelling through the night. Tens of thousands came in from the surrounding country as word spread.

Jerusalem was, in reality, several cities with a clear distinction between sections. The Christians flocked to the northwest, where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was located, built over the site where Jesus was executed and the holiest place in Christendom. The northwest was Muslim territory, where the Dome of the Rock was located, the third most holy place in Islam, where the Prophet Muhammad made his ascent into heaven. In the southwest corner of the city were the remnants of the temple built by Solomon. Called the Wailing Wall by outsiders, the Jewish people preferred to call the area the Temple Mount. Ironically, on top of the mount is the al Aqsa mosque.

Like many others, Simon Sherev had traveled to Jerusalem when he heard the news. His duties at Dimona were minimal now that the nuclear weapons were staged forward. The country was on a war footing, like most in the world, and security was tight in the city. Sherev’s clearance allowed him to get close to the open area in front of the Wall. The massive stone blocks towered above him and he noted that in keeping with tradition the women were on the right side, the men on the left. Sherev remembered the first time he’d been on that very spot, many years previously. It was a tradition that new recruits in the Israeli army made a forced march of over one hundred miles, ending at the Wall. That day Sherev had been profoundly moved, but looking back, he wasn’t sure whether it was reaching the Wall or the fact that his training had been over.

To the left of the Wall was a stone gallery. He could see elite members of a counterterrorist unit guarding the entrance to where the Ark of the Covenant was being held. He could also see a large cluster of television reporters and their cameras nearby. Hasher Lakur was standing in a bright circle of lights, being interviewed. The fool, Sherev thought. Publicizing the Ark was one thing, but doing it there, in the most divided city in the world, was insanity.

He wondered how Lakur was explaining the Ark. Was he claiming it truly was the Ark of the Covenant that Moses had carried out of the captivity? In a way, that was true, but it was also true the Ark was an Airlia artifact. How would that go over? Sherev wondered. It was a desperate gambit at a desperate time. Sherev had seen the intelligence reports about the various Arab countries mobilizing. Could they finally bring together the jihad they had always failed to complete? Or would they fall on each other like jackals? Would showing the Ark unify long-suffering Israelis or sow fatal doubts?

The media circle around Lakur broke up and he went through the narrow gate into the holding area. Sherev estimated there were at least a hundred thousand people watching and he knew the video was being beamed to millions more. The security personnel had to link arms to keep the crowd back. Sherev noted the snipers posted along the top of the Wall scanning the crowd. He could hear the sound of helicopters in the distance and he imagined that several Cobra gunships were on standby.

A hush ran over the crowd as several rabbis came out of the gate. They were followed by a man dressed in the high priest’s robes they’d recovered from the Mission in Mount Sinai. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd as many recognized the garb: a white linen robe underneath a sleeveless blue shirt — the meeir — on top of which went a coat of many colors; a breastplate encrusted with precious stones, and on his head a crown of three metal bands. It was an impressive uniform, but everyone’s attention shifted from the priest to the next group coming out of the gate. Four men stepped forward, two on each wooden pole, and between them they carried something large covered in a white cloth.

Even Sherev, an avowed cynic who had seen the Ark of the Covenant, was impressed. Maybe Lakur was right. He could feel something in the crowd as they watched the men carry the covered Ark to a table set just in front of the Wall. They set it down, then pulled the poles out of the metal loops. The priest stood in front of the Ark, arms raised, saying prayers.

Sherev frowned. A helicopter was coming closer, the sound intruding on the absolute silence of the crowd, the echo of the priest’s words off the Wall. The priest reached out and slowly pulled the cloth off.

The Ark was three feet high and wide, by four feet long. The surface was gold- plated. On the arched lid were two cherubim-sphinxes shaped exactly like the Great Sphinx and the Black Sphinx that was hidden underneath it. Sherev knew they were part of the Ark’s security system, but they only functioned if the Grail was inside. Since Aspasia’s Shadow had taken the Grail to Easter Island, the ruby-red eyes remained dark.

The damn helicopter was getting even closer, somewhere just over the Temple Mount, Sherev’s experienced ears told him. He looked up. A Cobra gunship came sweeping in, just clearing the top of the wall, then nosing over.

The pilot made no attempt to pull out of the dive. It slammed into the space just in front of the Wall. The Ark, the priest, the rabbis, all were enveloped in the fireball.

Everyone within a hundred meters of the crash site was killed. Sherev was knocked backward by the blast as he struggled to his feet. He ran forward shouting orders, passing dismembered bodies, a sight he had seen before many times in Jerusalem. He pulled a radio off one of the bodies and began issuing orders.

His Blackhawk helicopter appeared over the Temple Mount and descended, blades blowing the flames outward and clearing a space right over where the Ark had been — and still remained, Sherev realized, the artifact lying unscathed on the ground. He issued further orders and the Blackhawk landed next to the Ark. The side door slid open and the crew chief jumped out with a survival blanket in his hands, joining Sherev next to the Ark. Together they threw the blanket over the Ark, then carried it on board the chopper. Another crew member ran over to the body of the priest. The man was dead, exposed flesh burned, but the garments were untouched. He grabbed the body and dragged it to the chopper, wrestling it on board.

“Take off. Now!” Sherev ordered the pilot.

Captain Lockhart was in the shore command and control center of Pacific Fleet Command and could see on the large display radar the ships rapidly leaving Pearl Harbor in response to her warning. She glanced at the red dot moving swiftly on the screen to the southwest. Numbers below the dot indicated twenty minutes before the strange contact arrived. She knew the capital ships, including the carrier Kennedy, had been the first through the channel and into the open sea, turning west at flank speed as soon as they were clear.

Admiral Kenzie had given shore command to her. She’d almost laughed when he’d told her that before catching his helicopter ride out to the Kennedy. The glass ceiling against both her color and her sex had suddenly disappeared so that she could take charge.

“We have air contacts, rapidly closing,” one of the radar personnel announced. A second later, another red dot appeared on the screen, farther to the southwest, but moving more quickly than the submerged contact.

“I thought the carriers were out of range?” she asked. The markings in the bottom right corner of the status board indicated how far away the two captured aircraft carriers were and Lockhart knew the basic statistical data for the planes those ships carried.

There was no answer. Lockhart realized that it was a foolish question. The alien forces were beyond the bell curve of normal military action.

“Launch what we have to interdict,” she ordered.

From Wheeler Air Force Base, Kaneohe Marine Air Base, and other fields around the island, all the planes that couldn’t be loaded onto the Kennedy scrambled and headed to the southwest. There were thirty-five planes in the makeshift squadron — a mixture of F-15s, A-6 Corsairs, and a few F-16s and F-18s.

Lockhart sat down in the command chair and watched war being played out on a large computer display.

The two groups of planes closed on each other faster than four times the speed of sound. The encounter was brief and brutal. Each side had one shot and at the speeds they were flying, they were in range and then past each other in less than a minute. Twelve American planes were destroyed and twenty Alien craft.

As the remaining twenty-three American planes turned, the Alien squadron was already a hundred miles past them and closing on Hawaii.

Lockhart could see the red dot closing, the blue giving futile chase. The other red symbol representing the submerged contact was less than twenty-five miles off the coast. The last ship of Task Force Nimitz had cleared the harbor and was heading west.

She realized that both Alien forces — submerged and airborne — would arrive simultaneously. She felt as if she were in a dream — a nightmare — watching the dots approach on the screen. She got out of the chair and headed for the stairs.

She went up to the roof of the PAC-FLEET command building, overlooking Pearl Harbor.

There was a tinge in the eastern sky, indicating dawn was approaching. She blinked as two dozen Patriot missiles roared out of their silos from mobile launchers parked less than a mile away along the edge of Wickam Field.

She watched the long, bright rocket tails of fire race to the southeast. There were several flashes on the horizon as a handful of the Patriots struck home. She knew the bogeys were less than a minute out. She glanced toward the harbor. Nothing.

She heard the jet before she saw it. It came in low, less than twenty feet above the rooftop. There was a small flash, as it was right overhead. Lockhart twisted her head to follow the jet as it went inland, gaining altitude. She felt something on her upturned face.

Then she began screaming as the nanovirus tore in through her skin into the bloodstream.

All over the island, at every key military point, the Alien jets dropped their pods of nanovirus. At Wickam Field, four jets blanketed the entire field, then circled around and landed, safe inside the contaminated zone. One by one, the other jets came in from their targets and landed.

In Pearl Harbor, the two modified submarines searched for the fleet, but returned to the main channel without a target. Then they locked onto the only ship they could find in (…)