The Truth

CHAPTER 9: THE PRESENT

The floor of the chamber was covered with a fine sheen of blood, but Garlin didn’t appear to notice as he stared down at the body on the gurney. He had already killed Duncan two dozen times by pushing the probe farther into her brain.

The Swarm, by nature a patient creature, was becoming impatient. Intercepted messages from the human intelligence network indicated one of the surviving Airlia had a Talon and was heading toward Mars, where the communications array was being built. The cycle of probing, dying, coming back to life was growing tiresome.

The Swarm tentacle directed Garlin to take a new approach. He went to the escape pod and retrieved a flat black metal case about two feet in width and height and six inches in depth. He brought it back to the chamber and opened the front, revealing advanced surgical equipment carefully slotted in pockets inside.

He turned back to the Ark and input new commands, directing it to have the crown scan her brain and give him a map to work with. Within seconds, a display of Duncan’s brain appeared. The artery that was failing was highlighted, but Garlin noticed something else. A small round object near the back of her head. Something solid and metal.

Garlin removed a drill, fitted the proper adapter to the end, and turned to Duncan. He put the tip against her skull, above the artery where the aneurysms were occurring. Just as Duncan once more came back to life he activated the drill and pressed down.

The sickening sound of metal cutting into bone was matched by Duncan’s scream.

Turcotte had been on Oahu several times in his military career and the only place he could think of to bring the mothership in to off-load all the people from Easter Island was the international airport. He maneuvered the mothership in low over the ocean toward the island, with Diamond Head off to his right and Pearl Harbor to the left.

There was no activity at the airport that he could see and the radio reports were very confused as the people on the island tried to recover from the aftereffects of the nanovirus. It was strange to see not a single naval vessel in the harbor.

Turcotte brought the massive ship to a halt over the main runway, got it down as low as it would go without its belly hitting the tarmac, then turned to Yakov. “Open all the cargo bays.”

The doors on the side of the ship slid open and gangways extended to the ground. Thousands poured off the ship, but Turcotte didn’t leave the control room.

“What now, my friend?” Yakov asked, his eyes on the monitors, watching the people. “Mars?” “Not yet. We’re not ready.”

“And how can we become ready?”

Turcotte rubbed his face, feeling the stubble and the torn skin where the cold had ravaged the flesh. “Aspasia’s Shadow did say some things that made sense.”

“For instance?”

“Artad has a Talon. As far as we can determine Talons are warships. He knows how to use it and its weapons. We don’t even know how to work the weapon on this ship that Aspasia’s Shadow used on Easter Island. I watched him as he did it, but I’m not sure I could duplicate what he did and I knew he wasn’t going to give us lessons. I’m pretty sure I can fly this thing to Mars, but what then?” “Nuclear bombs?” Yakov suggested. “We drop them manually?”

“Doctor Strangelove?” “What?”

Turcotte dropped the reference. “And if they shield the hansmitter?” Yakov shrugged. “I do not know what to tell you, my friend.”

Turcotte tapped the side of his head. “Think of what we’ve learned, bits and pieces. Something shot down the Swarm scout ship over Tunguska. And it wasn’t directed by the Airlia, the Mission, or the Ones Who Wait.”

“A human?”

“Who else is left?” “But how?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Turcotte said.

“Perhaps Major Quinn has some more information for us,” Yakov said.

Turcotte glanced at the displays, checking the off-load. “We’re heading there as soon as the holds are empty. After a side trip to an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.”

Garlin worked quickly, ignoring the blood that was splattering everywhere. He’d removed a section of Duncan’s skull three inches in diameter, exposing the interior. He’d then made a slit through the three protective membranes surrounding the brain. He didn’t even blink as he sliced through the pia mater — the innermost layer — and a spurt of cerebrospinal fluid hit him in the face.

He continued into the cerebrum so he could get to the artery that was continually rupturing. He couldn’t stop the conditioning impressed into the very cells there, so he did the next best thing. He put a shunt into the artery that bypassed that section.

Even as he did this, new flesh was regenerating, beginning to reseal the protective membrane. He got the shunt in place, then quickly exited the hole. He watched as the damage was repaired internally and bone began to grow around the opening in the skull. As soon as the wound was closed he picked up the drill again and turned her head so he had access to the rear. He drilled in, repeating the process of entering her brain. He found the metal sphere, less than a half inch in diameter. Using a magnifying glass, he could see that several small filaments ran from the sphere into Duncan’s brain.

He grabbed a set of long, narrow pincers and slid them into the hole, seizing the sphere. With no concern for pain he yanked it out, the thin wires ripping free.

Turcotte staggered and only kept from falling by putting his hands on the large display at the front of the pilot’s compartment.

“Are you all right?” Yakov jumped up from his seat.

Turcotte leaned over, feeling as if an arrow had been driven into the back of his head. It hurt so badly he didn’t dare shake it to answer Yakov’s question. It was so intense he felt physically ill, his last meal threatening to come up as he tasted bile.

“What is wrong, my friend?” Yakov hovered over Turcotte, uncertain what to do.

Turcotte removed his hand from behind his head and looked at it, expecting to see blood, but there was none. “Felt like I got shot,” he said in a whisper.

The pain was receding slowly, and he straightened, touching the back of his head once more, searching for a wound. Nothing. “Damn,” he muttered. “What happened?” Yakov asked.

“I don’t know,” Turcotte said, “but I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

Garlin looked at the metal sphere, turning it this way and that. Four extremely thin wires dangled from it, coated in blood. He carefully placed the sphere in a small cup, then turned back to the table. Certain Duncan was once more alive, he went back to the Ark and put his bloodstained hands on the controls. The second hole hadn’t even finished healing as he began to probe once more.

Duncan didn’t regain consciousness immediately, the trauma too great and overwhelming, even to her subconscious. The gift of immortality could keep her alive, but it couldn’t help her deal with the pain and horror of what was being done to her. In a most primitive way, her mind was trying to protect her consciousness from what was happening.

The mental probe from the Ark of the Covenant went into Duncan’s mind, traveling along the pathways of the nervous system, searching for images of her ship. The shunt kept blood flowing even as the conditioned flesh gave way once more.

The screen came to life with a new image.

The two standing stones and lintel were now part of a circle of similar stones. Five sets of two upright, each topped with a lintel stone. And around them a continuous circle of lintel stones on top of smaller upright ones. It was obvious that the site had been ravaged at some time, as some of the stones were cast over, including one right next to the gate. Garlin’s mind recognized the structure, but the Swarm tentacle was too focused on what was being shown to pick up the message.

Duncan was twisting on the table, pushing hard against the straps holding her down. Her face was taut with agony, her skin paler than usual as the alien virus strove to replace the vast quantities of blood she had lost.

On the screen there was a paved road near the stones, indicating it was from a more recent memory. Garlin was leaning forward. There was a sign on a post. It came into focus and he could read the letters: Stonehenge.

Garlin immediately shut down the Ark of the Covenant. He removed the crown from Duncan’s head. He then connected the table with Duncan to the Ark table and released the brakes on the wheels on the bottom of both. He slowly pushed both into the corridor and back into the escape pod.

Inside the chamber, the Swarm began preparing the pod for launch.

The sniper had been on the derrick towering high over the abandoned oil platform in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico for several hours now with no sign of Simon Sherev or his fellow Israeli commandos. He had the muzzle of the Heckler & Koch PSG-1 resting on a railing, aimed at the elevator where the men had gone carrying the Ark of the Covenant.

He knew something had gone wrong. Sherev and the others had been gone too long without updating him on the situation.

His options, however, were limited. Entering the elevator to go after them was not a good idea. If whoever was down there had overpowered Sherev and the five commandos, the sniper knew he stood little chance of surviving. So he waited and watched. He’d made a radio call on the emergency frequency, detailing what little he knew, but he had no idea if the message had been picked up.

Three hundred feet below him, on the Gulf floor, a black sphere fifteen feet in diameter separated from the undersea habitat and began moving to the east underwater, slowly reducing depth until a mile from the platform it broke the surface and moved through the air, staying low, less than ten meters above the wave tops.

The sniper saw the black sphere but it was already out of range and moving away. He had no doubt that it was not of human origin. Cursing, he reached for the radio on his combat vest. It was FM, which meant it didn’t have much range, so there was no way he could make contact with Israel. However, he felt that he had to make some sort of effort to inform someone of the location of the Ark and what he had just seen. He switched to the emergency shipping frequency for the area and began to broadcast once more, hoping someone would be close enough to pick him up.

The mothership was empty except for Turcotte and Yakov. They ignored entreaties from various officials to speak to them as Turcotte lifted the craft into the sky and turned to the east to head toward the mainland. His head still hurt, but nothing like it had. It was more like a strong headache now, and given all he had been through the past few weeks, not something he paid much attention to.

The adrenaline rush of saving those on Easter Island — and the Pacific Rim — was wearing off and the exhaustion from his Everest experience was once more taking over. Turcotte felt as if he would never be rested or feel up to strength again. He knew he needed to call Quinn and see what the latest information was. Hopefully Space Command was tracking Aspasia’s Shadow’s Talon in addition to Artad’s. At the moment, Turcotte truly could care less about either.

Where was Duncan? Was she in the Gulf of Mexico? Turcotte wondered why he cared anymore. She had lied to him, manipulated him into getting involved in the entire Area 51 fiasco in the first place. And Aspasia’s Shadow’s pointed references to his own past being a lie — Turcotte felt a surge of anger. All the lies, all the deaths, and there was still so much unknown, buried underneath a mountain of deception.

The West Coast of the United States appeared on the horizon. Turcotte spotted two F-16s to the south, turning in his direction. He knew the military was still jittery and the world wasn’t completely at peace yet.

Turcotte keyed the mike. “Quinn, inform the Pentagon we’re entering US airspace with the mothership.”

“Roger that.”

“Do you have anything for me?”

“A sniper on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico has reported a craft coming out of the water and flying away to the northeast.”

“Is Space Command tracking it?”

“I’ve sent an alert — nothing back yet.”

“What else?” Turcotte adjusted course, turning more to the east from south as he realized there was no longer any need to head to the oil rig.

“I’ve got some interesting stuff both on Tunguska and a man named Tesla.”

“‘Tesla’?” Yakov repeated the name. “The Kurd at Ararat mentioned that name.” “He seems to be connected with the event at Tunguska,” Quinn said.

“Connected how?” Turcotte asked.

“From what I’ve been able to find,” Quinn said, “I think he may have shot down the Swarm scout ship.”