The Sphinx

CHAPTER 23

The hours just before dawn were von Seeckt’s favorite. He would lie in his bed, looking out the window at the desert, the darker mass of the mountains in the distance. Above the mountains were the stars, and he often thought about seeing those same stars as a child in the mountains of southern Germany. Sometimes he even thought he could see the mothership pass by overhead; the newscasts said one could occasionally see it with the naked eye when the tumbling ship reflected light.

He remembered the first time he saw the mothership, nestled in its crater inside the cavern now known as Hangar One at Area 51. World War II raged around the planet, but all he could do was stare at the long black, cigar-shaped alien craft and feel the impact of how puny man was, how insignificant in the true scale of the universe.

He was not surprised when the door to his room silently swung open, letting in light from the hallway. The door closed just as quickly, returning the room to its original dimness.

A dark figure moved across the tile floor and stood at the side of the bed, looking down on the old man.

“Do it quickly,” von Seeckt said.

The figure didn’t move. “What have you told them?”

“I have done as instructed. I told them nothing they didn’t already know or wouldn’t have found out soon. Just enough to get them going in the right directions. They have people looking in Moscow and at the Giza Plateau. They look for things we have searched for. Maybe they will have better luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” the figure said. “It is all about power and knowledge, and ours is growing.”

“If we were so brilliant, why did it come to this?” Von Seeckt looked out at the desert. “Spare me the speech.”

“Have they found the Spear of Destiny?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about the key we seek?”

“I don’t know.” A hint of a smile played across the old man’s lips. “You ask me many questions after boasting how your knowledge was growing.”

“I don’t have time for games. The Ark of the Covenant?”

“They seek that at Giza as many have sought it there in the past. There is no reason to believe they will have any more success.”

“I think you are wrong there.” The figure pulled out a small device, which it hurriedly whispered into, then returned to its resting place. “What else have they found?”

Von Seeckt was still looking out the window, but he waved a hand to take in his room. “Does it look like I’m in the information loop from the Cube?”

“Then you are no longer needed.”

“You had already decided that before you came in,” von Seeckt said.

“True… ” The word reached von Seeckt’s ear at the same time as the black blade made of alien metal punched through the skull into the brain, killing him instantly.

They had been slowly descending in what Tolya suspected was a large spiral for quite a while now. He had no idea how deep they were, but he suspected that if a nuke did hit Moscow, they would not be immediately killed. They were circling the object, so he felt reasonably certain this would lead them to the target.

“Sir!” The commando backed up from the steel door he had just opened, his finger on the trigger.

Tolya edged around the man to see what had caused his reaction. It was the first door they had encountered in quite a while. It had taken two men to unscrew the latch that held it shut. Tolya doubted that Katyenka or those who had been with her were on the other side, but he saw no need to pass it by.

Tolya shone his light into the opening. A large chamber was revealed, the end of which was blocked by the numerous objects poking up from the floor. Tolya’s brain had to process what he was seeing for a few seconds before it accepted the reality… hundreds of mummified bodies impaled on stakes set into the floor.

Like a moth drawn to light, Tolya slowly walked into the chamber. Not only directly ahead, but left and right, the bodies stood like a forest of the dead. Tolya had served in the GRU and had been in Siberia, seen the secret gulags and the horrors perpetrated there, but even that didn’t compare to this.

His gaze came closer, able to make out details, and he saw a heavy wooden chair bolted to the floor. Leather straps were looped over the arms and legs. Tolya realized that someone had bolted people into that chair, left them there to stare at the dead. His gaze went up. Rails lined the ceiling, with chains dangling here and there. He realized that was the way each body had been conveyed to position over a stake and then lowered.

Tolya could sense the men behind him, peering in from the doorway. He knew he should give some orders, get moving back down the corridor, but he was unable to stir. He tried to see a far wall in any direction, but all that was visible were bodies. There could be thousands here. He looked at the closest one. The face was brown, stretched, mummified, tight against the bone underneath. The naked body was just as shriveled. Tolya could detect no sign of violence other than the wood stake the body was impaled on… more than enough to cause a slow, agonizing death that Tolya was loath to imagine too closely.

Then he noticed something else in the room: a large wooden cart with a metal device on it. He finally stirred, taking a few steps closer to the apparatus. There were large glass bottles on the lower level of the cart. Thin rubber hoses led from the bottles to the metal device on the top. Other hoses came out of the top of the device, with large-gauge needles on the end. There was writing in German on both the bottles and the metal device. A swastika was emblazoned on the side of the cart.

Tolya stared at it for almost a minute before he connected the setup with the state of the bodies and realized what the device was designed to do. Draw blood.

The bodies had been drained to just before the point of death, before being lowered and impaled.

Why was so much blood needed? The question reverberated in Tolya’s mind, and he took an involuntary step backward. He shook his head, turned on his heel, and marched to the door, shoving the commandos out of the way. He pulled it shut behind him. “We continue.”

Eyes looked back at him blankly. Tolya raised his voice. He jabbed the muzzle of his sub down the tunnel. “We continue!”

“Wild.” Sergeant Boltz was looking down between his feet at the surface of the Black Sea twenty-five feet below.

The bouncer was motionless after a rapid flight across the Atlantic, through the Mediterranean, then across the middle of Turkey to their current position. The interior was packed with not only the twelve men of the A-team but their weapons, equipment, and ammunition.

Strapped tight against the side of the bouncer was the black coffin that had been recovered from Ngorongoro Crater. And carefully packaged inside the coffin was the atomic bomb that Quinn had procured for them at Turcotte’s request.

“All right.” Captain Billam was leaning over a large plastic case that contained demolitions. He spread out two map sheets. “Let’s pay attention.” The men gathered around, the inner circle kneeling, the outer peering over their shoulders.

“Let’s work some contingencies for going into Moscow and Cairo.”

Elek had disappeared inside of Chi Yu, the beast of Chinese legend, crawling through a panel just under the tail. Che Lu and Lo Fa were left standing outside, marveling at the detailed dragon the metal had been formed into.

Both were startled as the dragon lifted off the floor of the cavern several feet, hovering silently in the air. Che Lu could well imagine the fear such a beast would inspire among the peasants of ancient times.

The neck twisted, the dragon head going to and fro. Then the body slowly turned clockwise in a complete circle before the robot settled down on the floor once more.

The panel opened, and Elek exited.

“What good does that do if we are stuck in here?” Lo Fa demanded.

Elek looked down at the old Chinese man. “When the time comes, we will not be stuck in here.”

The tunnel finally ended. A steel door blocked the way ahead, and Tolya held up his fist, stopping the small group of commandos with him. They had slowly spiraled down for so long that he estimated they were over a mile below the city of Moscow. Whatever was behind that door had to be very important, of that he had no doubt. And the one he tracked was behind that door, the direction finder assured him.

Hassar was startled out of a fitful sleep as the door to his bedroom was kicked open. He sat up, then froze as two small red dots centered on his chest. He could see the two men holding the submachine guns flanking a third shadow, a tall figure dressed in a black robe. That figure scared him much more than the men with the guns.

“I have done as instructed, Al-Iblis!” Hassar held his hands up in supplication, giving the figure a name that was whispered about throughout the Arab world. “I have not allowed them a permit.”

“It is far past permits now,” Al-Iblis said. His voice was low and barely above a whisper, yet it hissed as if a snake were speaking. “Why did you not tell me they had the key?”

Sweat was pouring off Hassar’s forehead. “I did not know what it was.”

“You lie,” Al-Iblis said. “You have been here too long. You wonder what secrets the Highland of Aker holds. You are a fool. You do not even know who Aker is, do you?”

Hassar was thrown off by the question… all Egyptologists knew who Aker was. “Aker was the lion-god who guarded the gates of the horizon and allowed the sun to enter the sky each morning and leave each evening.”

Al-Iblis laughed, but there was no humor to it, and the harsh sound sent a chill down Hassar’s spine. “A god! Aker was a bureaucrat given a job which he did only too well.”

Hassar was totally still, afraid to intrude on the thoughts of the creature in front of him. He could not see the face hidden by the dark hood, and he had no desire to. As far as he knew, no one had ever seen Al-Iblis’s face. The name was a legend in the Middle East, a figure that Western intelligence agencies had a skimpy file on, who skirted around all the terrorist groups; a name mothers used to scare their children into going to bed.

Al-Iblis took a step closer to Hassar’s cowering form. “If it is to be about gods, then so be it. The time for pretense is fast fading. You must seal off the Plateau with your soldiers and allow no one in, no matter what happens. I will deal with the infidels. Is that clear?”

Hassar’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, Master.”

“Captain!” Yakov’s voice echoed through the cavern.

Turcotte had the duffel bag full of files, grabbed those he deemed important with only a cursory examination of the diagrams or photos enclosed. “What?”

“I think this is it.”

Turcotte rushed to the center of the chamber, where Yakov was standing over a crate he had smashed open.

The Russian lifted out a metal box as Turcotte arrived. It was steel, inlaid with gold and black bands, about two feet long by ten inches wide and high. The top was hinged. Looking closer, Turcotte recognized the black bands as being made of the same metal as the mother-ship and other Airlia artifacts.

Yakov had the box in his hands, turning it around, looking at it from all angles. “According to the invoice, this was recovered from beneath 77 Wilhemstrasse in Berlin on the first of May, 1945.”

“And that means?” Turcotte asked.

“77 Wilhemstrasse was the address of the Reichskanzlei. Underneath it was the Fuehrerbunker.”

“Hitler’s bunker?” Turcotte already knew the answer. “Where he died?”

Yakov held the case next to his head and shook it lightly. “It’s heavy, but nothing’s moving that I can hear. Look…” Yakov rubbed off some of the dust and dirt that covered the top of the box.

There were markings on it. It took Turcotte a second to recognize them. Not high rune characters, but Chinese. He tapped the top. “That’s the same character that was on the obelisk marker in the Ethiopian cavern where we found the ruby sphere.” He remembered Nabinger’s translation. “Same name. Cing Ho. The Chinese explorer who went to Africa and the Middle East in 656 B.C.” Turcotte turned the clasps and opened the lid.

A long sliver of highly polished metal, two feet long by less than four inches across at its widest, the edges razor sharp, tapering to a needle point at one end and a round hole at the other for the acceptance of a shaft. “The Spear of Destiny,” Turcotte whispered as he grabbed the shaft end and lifted it out of the case. “We need… ” He was interrupted as the door to the chamber imploded and the sharp crack of plastic explosive going off ripped across the room.

Turcotte shoved the Spear back in the box and dove to his left, swinging up the AKSU as he moved. He blindly fired a burst in the direction of the door and heard the crack of bullets coming back in his direction. Lying on his belly, he peeked around the crate he was using for cover. He saw several men in camouflage smocks slip through the now-open door. Turcotte fired a three-round burst and one of the figures slammed against the wall and slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood.

The reaction was swift as a hail of bullets ripped into the wood around him, scattering splinters and causing Turcotte to press so hard against the floor that he could distinctly feel the buttons on his shirt push into his chest.

He heard a pistol firing and knew Yakov was giving him covering fire. He slid backward, putting more distance between himself and the invaders. Having relocated, Turcotte rolled onto his back and pulled two grenades off his vest. If there was one lesson he had been taught in Ranger and Special Forces school and had had reinforced in combat, it was to move swiftly and decisively when ambushed. Turcotte knew there was no time to “let the situation develop,” as Pentagon briefers liked to say.

“Yakov!” he yelled.

“Here!” Somewhere to Turcotte’s left as he lay on his back.

“The ladder in six seconds on my go. Flash-bang in five.”

“I’m ready!”

“Go!” Turcotte yelled as he pulled the pins. He tossed both grenades, arching them just below the ceiling toward the door. He squeezed his eyes shut while he pressed the palms of both hands over his ears.

Even with that, his ears rang as both grenades exploded. Turcotte jumped to his feet and dashed for the ladder, firing the AKSU one-handed over his shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yakov’s large form moving in the same direction, also firing.

The bolt on the AKSU closed on an empty chamber as Turcotte reached the ladder. He took it two rungs at a time, climbing up. He could hear bullets cracking by, but he hoped the camouflaged men were firing blindly, the grenades having done their work. He reached the top and was almost shoved through by Yakov climbing up between his feet.

They sprawled onto the top of the bunker. Turcotte reached for the hatch to slam it shut, but Yakov’s large hand grabbed his arm. “Wait a second,” Yakov growled, his head cocked, listening. His other hand pulled two HE grenades off his vest. They looked like OD green Ping-Pong balls in his large hand. He let go of Turcotte’s arm and pulled the two pins, still waiting.

Voices were yelling below in Russian. There were a couple of bursts of automatic fire. The sound of movement. Yakov tossed both grenades through the opening and then slammed the hatch shut. Turcotte heard the explosion through the metal and the immediate screams of the wounded. Yakov turned on his penlight and stuck it between his teeth. The Russian whipped his belt off and looped it around the handle, ensuring that the hatch could not be opened from below.

“Do you have the key?” Turcotte asked.

Yakov tapped his chest. “Inside my shirt in its case.”

“Now what?” Turcotte asked Yakov as they slowly stood.

“The power, the air, must come down here somehow,” Yakov said.

“I think we came down the air shaft,” Turcotte noted.

“Let us take a closer look.” Yakov was already walking toward the edge of the bunker. Turcotte followed.

“One thing you must understand about Russians,” Yakov said as he shined his light along the cavern wall, slowly walking along the edge clockwise, “is that anyone building a shelter like this would plan a second way out. There is no other reason to have the hatch in the top, is there?”

Turcotte could think of several reasons, but he saw no point in disagreeing. Yakov stopped so suddenly that Turcotte bumped into him.

“There.” Yakov was shining his light at a six-inch-wide metal beam that spanned the ten-foot gap. At the far end, a dark opening waited. “Let us leave this place,” Yakov said as he stepped onto the beam and gingerly made his way across.

Turcotte waited until the Russian was on the other side, then followed.