The Sphinx

CHAPTER 28

Sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. Turcotte’s boots sunk into the sand a couple of inches as he walked around the bouncer, checking out the terrain with a set of binoculars. Nothing.

“Sir!” Master Sergeant Boltz was digging in the sand with his hands. Turcotte hurried over. “What is it?” Boltz pointed. “Something is buried here.” Turcotte could see part of a piece of granite exposed by Boltz’s digging. Stomping his boot down, Turcotte could feel something hard underneath, indicating that the stone extended quite some distance. Turcotte checked his watch. Time was indeed getting short, and there was no time to investigate this strange find.

He turned to Captain Billam, who had the rest of his team deployed in a defensive perimeter around the bouncer. “Here’s what I want you to do.”

All was ready on board the Anzio. The flight path for the Tomahawk had been calculated so that the missile would fire up, reach apogee, then glide down toward Easter Island, letting gravity make sure it hit the center of the top of the alien shield. The warhead in the nose was fitted with a time delay, calculated to go off ten seconds after the missile passed through the shield.

A flight of four F-14s was already between the launching ship and Easter Island, making sure the airspace was clear. Captain Breuber had all the authorizations he needed to launch, but he hesitated. He knew the Washington and what was left of her crew were under that shield.

He also knew that the Springfield was ready. They had picked up banging noises from the submarine in Morse code indicating the crew was ready to execute their part of the plan. Sent through the same rudimentary communication system was the interesting information that there might possibly be a slight opening in the shield on the ocean bottom. There was no way to factor that into the plan other than to direct the Springfield to change the target of some of its wire-guided torpedoes to try to take advantage of the chink in the armor.

The loss of the space shuttles, the explosion in Montana, the assassination of the Secretary of Defense and UNAOC chief, topped off by the inert nuke landing at Area 51, had added impetus to the decision to take out Easter Island just prior to the deadline from Lexina. The information about the Chinese attack on Qian-Ling had been downloaded from the National Security Agency, and while it confirmed the fact that the shield was not totally impervious to a nuclear blast, it made it all the more imperative that they get the warhead through the shield before detonation, given that the guardian was buried deep under Rano Kau.

“Lieutenant Granger, is everything ready?” Captain Breuber asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Launch in ten minutes,” Breuber ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

The doors on Stratzyda slid open once more. It was passing over Wichita, Kansas, and soon would be in optimal position to blanket the United States with its cobalt bombs. Even with one gone and five others inert, the remaining twenty-six were more than enough to finish the job envisioned by its Soviet creators during the height of the Cold War.

Adjacent to Stratzyda, the imaging equipment on board Warfighter scoured the face of the planet, searching for any last-minute assaults from below, the reactor powered up, the laser ready to lash out at the speed of light.

“What the hell is that?” Captain Billam had his binoculars pointed toward the south.

Turcotte directed his in the same direction and spotted what appeared to be a metal dragon rapidly approaching through the air. “Have your men stand by,” Turcotte ordered. He’d seen much in the last couple of months, but a flying dragon ranked up there with the strangest.

The dragon came to a hover about twenty meters away, then slowly settled onto the sand. Out of the rear came Elek, Che Lu, and the old man Lo Fa. Turcotte was glad to see the professor and her bandit comrade.

Elek gestured for the two to stay put as he strode forward toward Turcotte. “Give me the key.”

Turcotte pulled the black case out of his pack and opened it, revealing the Spear of Destiny to Elek. The alien/human hybrid held out his hand, but Turcotte shook his head. “It goes in there. You take it all.” Turcotte nodded his head toward the long black coffin that had been recovered from Ngorongoro Crater by Mualama. Captain Billam ran over to the coffin, opening the lid just enough to slip the case holding the Spear in.

“Release my friends,” Turcotte said.

Elek gave a dismissive gesture, and Che Lu and Lo Fa came over to stand next to Turcotte.

“It is good to see you once more.” Che Lu’s wrinkled face split in a wide smile.

Turcotte smiled in turn but kept his attention on Elek. “Tell Lexina to stop Stratzyda. I want it released by the talon. Along with Warfighter.”

“Have your men load the coffin into the back of the dragon,” Elek ordered. “Then I will call Lexina.”

As Billam directed four of his team to do that, Turcotte checked his watch. Less than eight minutes. “What is this place?” he asked.

Elek’s attention was on the men carrying the coffin to the dragon. “This is where the ordon of the Great Khan was first raised and last taken down. Chi Yu knows the location, so it was easiest to meet here.”

Turcotte had no idea what Elek was talking about. The coffin was inside, and the men returned. “I want confirmation that Stratzyda has been aborted.”

“Talk to Lexina.” Elek turned and walked away.

“Damn.” Turcotte pulled out his cell phone and punched in the code he had been given by Quinn.

There was no answer on the other end. The dragon lifted and headed to the south.

Major Quinn looked up as Larry Kincaid slid a piece of paper in front of him. “Another message from the guardian pretending to be Kelly Reynolds.”

On the screen at the front of the room a live view of the deck of the Anzio was being relayed via secure Interlink. A red digital clock counted down to the launch time and had passed through three minutes.

Quinn quickly read the message:

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Quinn said. “It’s the same damn message as last time.” Kincaid sat down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering them to Quinn, who took one. Ignoring the large signs on the wall prohibiting smoking, they both fired up.

“No, it’s different,” Quinn noted. “Was it sent the same way?”

Kincaid shook his head. “No. Just over FLT-SATCOM, not to the Internet or any of the other modes from last time. So the Navy people have bottled it up. They’re worried it’s an attempt by the guardian to forestall their Tomahawk launch.”

Quinn read the message one more time. “It’s as if the guardian’s replaying the message but it added the part about that reporter Johnny Simmons and a master guardian for some reason.” He sat up straight. “It’s Reynolds.”

“What?”

Quinn tapped the piece of paper. “It’s Reynolds. She is sending us a message. She’s the only one who would mention Simmons… he was her friend. She saw him jump to his death after they rescued him from Dulce. It has to be her.”

Kincaid frowned. “What’s she trying to tell us?”

“That she’s alive and free of the guardian,” Quinn said. “And that she knows something… there is a master guardian that can affect both the Easter Island one and the one in Qian-Ling.” He looked up. The digital countdown clicked through 3:00 to 2:59. “We’ve got to get them to stop.”

The Tomahawk leapt out of its hatch, flame roaring out of the bottom. It headed almost straight up, angled slightly toward Easter Island. Only then did Captain Breuber pick up the phone that linked him by satellite to Area 51.

“It’s too late,” he told Major Quinn. “And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t stop the missile. It’s war here, Major. And we’re going to win it.”

Breuber looked out the thick glass at the front of his bridge, watching the Tomahawk going higher and higher.

“Damn it!” Quinn slapped away the mike from in front of his face. He looked up at the front screen. Stratzyda was just minutes out from launching position.

“Turcotte turned over the key to Elek, but he can’t get ahold of Lexina to confirm Stratzyda has been aborted.” Larry Kincaid had a SATPhone to his ear. “And Duncan?”

“No word.”

“Is Stratzyda shut down?” Quinn asked.

Kincaid shook his head. “Doors are still open, and the talon still controls it.”

“Power up, lock on targets, all systems fire when ready!” Captain Forster snapped out the orders, and his crew leapt to action. He turned to his helmsman. “Get us up and away from here.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

For the first time in many days, the Springfield was under way, lifting off the bottom, the single screw turning, giving it thrust.

“Torpedoes away!” the weapons officer announced. “Hatches ready to open on Tomahawks when we surface.”

Four MK-48 torpedoes shot out of the tubes and headed… two each… for the foo fighters.

“Bogies bearing in on us,” the sonarman warned. “Torpedoes running true on bogies.”

“Get us to the surface, helm. Weapons, launch as soon as we are up.”

“The shield is down!” Lieutenant Granger’s voice cut across the hubbub of tracking the Tomahawk inside the operations center of the Anzio.

“It’s back up,” he yelled almost immediately.

“What’s going on?” Captain Breuber demanded.

“AWACS has multiple missiles in the air!” one of the radar operators called out.

“From where?” Captain Breuber spun around.

“From Easter Island,” the man replied.

“I thought AWACS blocked the radar.” Breuber looked at Granger.

“They’ve got the frequency it transmits blocked,” Granger said.

“Well, it’s not working.” Breuber leaned over the radar operator. “What are the missiles targeted on?”

“One each on the F-14s on CAP and one for the Tomahawk. A harpoon heading for the Springfield’s location.”

“Get the Tomcats out of there!” Breuber ordered.

“A Phoenix can’t take down a Tomahawk,” Granger said, his voice full of forced confidence. “It’s too fast.”

Breuber was watching the radar. All four F-14s were heading back toward the carrier with afterburners on.

“They’re out of range of the Phoenix,” the radarman announced.

Breuber didn’t move. The four dots representing his aircraft were still being tracked by four dots representing the Phoenixes. The screen showed the Tomahawk was closing on the island, another dot closing on it.

One of the pursuing dots caught a Tomcat. Both blipped out of existence. “Evasive maneuvers!” Breuber yelled into the mike to the pilots of the three remaining craft.

“It’s on me!” a pilot yelled.

Another pair blipped out.

“Eject!” Breuber ordered. Both remaining pairs disappeared.

“Did they get out?” he demanded of the radar operator.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I thought they were out of range.”

“They were, sir.”

“They were of a normal Phoenix.” Breuber was still watching the screen. The Tomahawk was less than forty kilometers from Easter Island. He wasn’t surprised to see the remaining Phoenix close on the cruise missile.

“That’s impossible,” Granger whispered.

The nuclear-tipped Tomahawk was less than twenty kilometers from the shield when the Phoenix overtook it. Both dots disappeared.

“That’s impossible,” Granger repeated.

Captain Breuber rubbed his forehead. “That thing took our weapons and made them better.” He picked up an intercom to the bridge. “I want another hundred kilometers between us and this island. Now! Rank speed! Get ahold of Springfield!”

“We’ve got hits on both bogies!” the weapons officer yelled.

“Target’s destroyed?” Captain Forster demanded.

The sonarman immediately doused the momentary euphoria. “Negative. Both targets are holding, though, not closing.”

“What the hell?” Forster muttered, trying to make sense of the foo fighters’ tactics.

“We’ve got incoming from above!” the sonarman suddenly screamed. “Harpoon, impact in five seconds.”

Every head in the control room looked up, as if they could see the missile coming down toward them. Shoulders tensed as each man waited for the explosion of the warhead, to be followed by the implosion as water rushed in and killed them.

A thud reverberated throughout the ship as the missile struck the top of the submarine’s deck. But there was no explosion. Forster felt blood in his mouth from where he had bit his tongue at the sound. “A dud?”

Relief flooded across the crew’s faces.

A Klaxon sounded, returning the looks of anxiety.

“Status?” Forster spun about to his executive officer.

“Breach in the hull, sir.” The XO was looking at his status boards, his forehead furrowed. “I don’t get it. We’re not taking on any water, but something’s coming through the hull.”

Forster checked the screen himself. The alarm was coming from the hull just above the room in front of the combat center. He strode forward, slipping through the hatch. The men working there were all looking up, but nothing was happening… at first.

Forster’s eyes widened as the metal itself seemed to shimmer, changing from gray to black.

“We have no contact with Springfield, sir!” Captain Breuber turned in his command chair. “Status?”

“She’s heading for the shield. We’ve lost her.”

Duncan stood perfectly still, her mind trying to accept that what she was seeing in front of her was the object of legend. The Ark rested on a waist-high black platform. It was about three feet high and wide, and a little over four feet long. It was gold-plated, and the two long poles that were used to carry it were poking out on either end through the rings on the bottom of the Ark.

The most intriguing aspect were the two “cherubim” on the lid. They were shaped exactly like miniature versions of the head of the Black Sphinx, with ruby-red eyes, and as soon as she had entered the veil, both had slowly turned and fixed their inhuman gaze on her. Red light had flashed out from both heads, run over her garments and crown, and then stopped. But the heads were still focused on her presence.

Duncan felt the same menace from the two sphinx heads as from the ones on top of the poles. She forced herself forward, taking very careful steps until she was at the Ark itself. The two sphinx heads now faced each over the lid.

The stubby snouts of the reentry vehicles for thirty-one cobalt nuclear warheads pointed down toward Earth.

Lexina had listened to her cell phone ring over and over again. She had confirmation from Elek that he had the key. She knew what had happened at Easter Island to the American fleet and that the war was alive once more. She also had a very good idea of what the next escalation of the war was going to consist of. And America was currently more of a threat than an asset.

It was a simple, dispassionate decision, similar to many her predecessors had made.

The phone rang once more, and she stared at it, not answering.

“They’re going to nuke the States anyway, aren’t they?” Captain Billam asked as Turcotte turned off the SATPhone.

“Not if I can help it,” Turcotte said. He pulled a black box out of his shirt pocket and flipped open the cover. “Let’s get their attention.” There were a series of buttons on it, and he pushed the first one.

Elek spun about in his seat as a high-pitched shriek came out of the black coffin. He stopped the dragon, leaving it in a hover, and went back to the black tube. He swung open the lid, and the irritating noise stopped. The black case holding the key lay at the foot of the coffin.

At the head of the coffin was a shiny metal cylinder about three feet long by two in diameter. Turcotte’s voice startled Elek, coming out of a small speaker taped to the hood of the coffin.

“You’re looking at a twenty-kiloton-yield nuclear weapon. I don’t know what that machine you’re in is made of, but I know it’s enough to take out the key and you. Now that I know you’re listening, I suggest you tell Lexina to answer her phone.”

Turcotte’s SATPhone rang. He checked his watch before he opened it. Just under two minutes before Stratzyda released the warheads.

“Now do we have a deal?” Turcotte asked as soon as he pushed the on button.

“I will stop Stratzyda,” Lexina said. “Take your nuclear weapon off-line.”

“That’s not good enough.” Turcotte had his watch in front of his face, watching the numbers tick off. “I want you to have the talon release Stratzyda and Warfighter into orbits that will never coincide again. Agree or I will destroy the key.”

There was a long silence… forever, in Turcotte’s opinion, as he watched twenty seconds tick off, bringing it under one minute before Stratzyda activated.

“It will be done.”