Area 51: The Grail-5 (32 page)

"What about imagery of the Task Force?" Turcotte asked.

"The ships are there," Yakov said. "They just aren't communicating. Most of the air wing of your carrier the Stennis is flying north, toward Hawaii. Of course, they do not have the fuel to make it. Your people in the Pentagon are scrambling some tankers to try to reach them, but Major Quinn tells me they will all have to ditch before that happens."

Turcotte tried to make sense of this startling information. "Why aren't they landing on the StennisT

"Because, my friend, we believe that the nanovirus has taken over the entire Task Force."

"All of it?"

"It appears so."

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"Well—" Turcotte was trying to sort through the situation. "That's the Pentagon's responsibility," he finally said.

Yakov's thick eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Aspasia's Shadow is with Duncan. He runs things. We stop him, we stop the Guides and all the rest," Turcotte said.

"So you hope," Yakov said.

"China?" Turcotte asked, trying to change the subject.

"Nothing there to report."

Turcotte leaned against the smooth metal wall as the elevator descended. The words of Aspasia's Shadow echoed in his mind, a ripple of uncertainty and disquiet. "So we don't know how to proceed," he summarized.

"It appears that—" Yakov began, but the elevator came to a halt and the heavy doors opened, revealing Larry Kincaid, a piece of clear acetate in his hand.

"I've got it!"

"Got what?" Turcottle came off the wall as if jolted by electricity.

"The grid system," Kincaid said. "The one Che Lu translated. Some of the points are to throw you off, or maybe there's something there that hasn't been found— but Giza, Easter Island, Qian-Ling—they all line up. And there's other points." He was talking so quickly no one had a chance to get a word in edgewise until he paused for breath.

"The Mission?" Turcotte asked.

"Well, it's probably one of these points, I don't know which one. Let me show you what I have." Kincaid headed for the conference room, the others anxiously following.

As they settled in around the table, Kincaid dimmed the lights and put the acetate on an overhead projector.

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A Mercator conformal projection of the planet was illuminated, along with dots all over the surface. Several were starred.

"Giza." Kincaid used a laser pointer to highlight one of the starred points.

"Qian-Ling. Easter Island. Tiahua-naco in Bolivia, where Majestic found the guardian it moved to Dulce. Ngorongoro. They are all there, exactly pinpointed."

"How did you do it?" Che Lu asked.

Kincaid smiled. "The points you deciphered were encoded, but it was simple once I uncovered the key. The points you had from Nabinger were where a line, perpendicular to the interior Earth's surface at that spot, was to be projected through the planet to the opposite side of the globe."

Turcotte was looking at all the dots. Several were in the Middle East, not far from Giza. As he expanded his search, there were others in Asia, Europe, Africa—any of which could be The Mission, if The Mission was at one of these ancient locations.

"Anyone have an idea which one of these might be where The Mission is now?"

he asked those in the room.

Kincaid's smile lost some of its luster. "Well, some of these, like I said, I think are bogus. There's a couple in the middle of the ocean. I just had this printed out, so I haven't really had a chance to check each spot out. I just wanted to be sure I'd figured it out right."

Che Lu was peering at the map. "We must examine each site."

"There's a lot of spots," Turcotte said. "We could—" He was interrupted by Professor Mualama, whom everyone had forgotten about, hidden behind his large computer monitors.

"I think I know where The Mission is." He walked to 284

the front of the room. A long finger reached out to touch the lone dot on the peninsula between Egypt and Israel. "Here. Mount Sinai."

The location immediately made sense to Turcotte in terms of the direction the two helicopters had been spotted heading by the AWACS before it was destroyed, but he wondered how he had decided on it. "Why there?"

"The Kabbalah!" Yakov said. He turned to Turcotte. "One of the chapters of Burton's manuscript said the Ark and Grail traveled to Mount Sinai after leaving Egypt during the Exodus."

"There's another mention of Mount Sinai in the chapter I just finished translating," Mualama said.

"Let's see it." Turcotte's exhaustion had fallen by the wayside.

The overhead was turned off and the computer screen came alive as Yakov quickly scrolled down to get to the new chapter.

BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER 8

I was sent to Damascus to fulfill my duties to the Crown. As is my wont, I
spent considerable time in the native part of the cities, leaving the foreign
section as often as possible.

I became entranced with a woman—as was also my wont in my younger days. I
saw her only briefly one evening, highlighted against a second-story window as
I traveled the streets to a haven where I spent many an evening, but that was
more than enough. Rarely in all my travels had I seen such a perfect form. My
interest piqued, I inquired as to the occupants of the house and learned it
belonged to a rather important trader.

Under the guise of my consular duties, I called on

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the trader the next day. His name was Ibrahim Al-Issas. The woman was his
mistress, I quickly learned. He sensed my interest in her, and in the way of
that part of the world, offered her to me.

Her name was Kazin, an exotic combination of Arab and French blood. We had
long and interesting conversations, as she had been a courtesan for many
important men in Damascus for over a dozen years, and knew much of the inner
workings of that part of the world. I found her intelligence outshone her
magnificent beauty.

She was a student of the holy works ranging from the Bible to the Torah to
the Koran to the Kaballah. I found her insights into the various writings most
intriguing.

One day she mentioned a name that froze the blood in my veins. We were
discussing men of power in the area, and she said there was a man who wielded
much strength, but always from the shadows, so far in the darkness that no one
rightly knew what he looked like. She said his name was Al-Iblis.

I told her of meeting Al-Iblis in Medina, although I did not tell her the
results of that meeting. She said that he ruled from a place called The
Mission.

When I inquired if she knew the location of The Mission, she did a most
strange thing. She recited several lines and told me if I could discover what
work they were from, I would have my answer. They were:

"Take care not to go up the mountain or even to touch the edge of it. Any
man who touches the mountain must be put to death. No hand shall touch him; he
shall be stoned or shot dead; neither man nor beast may live."

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-----

There was perfect stillness in-the conference room. Yakov's finger hit the scroll key, but there was nothing further. Turcotte spun in his chair toward Mualama. "Where's the rest?"

"I don't have it translated yet."

Turcotte's fist slammed down onto the tabletop. "I thought you said this mentioned Mount Sinai? I don't seek."

"Yo'u have to know where that quote is from and what it refers to," Mualama quietly replied, a bucket of cold water on Turcotte's anger.

"Where is it from?" Yakov asked.

"The Old Testament," Mualama said. "Exodus 19."

That clicked in Turcotte's mind, connected with what he had just read in the manuscript. "Mount Sinai?"

Mualama nodded. "Yes."

Turcotte spun toward Major Quinn. "I want a complete target folder for Mount Sinai—and I want it yesterday."

"Already on it." Quinn was looking down at his handheld organizer, typing on the small keys.

Turcotte was moving toward the door, barking more orders at Quinn. "I want a bouncer ready to move in five minutes with another TASC-suit, as close as they can get to my size, with an MK-98. And I want whatever fire support you can get us in the Sinai." He pulled his SATPhone out. "I'll coordinate directly with Sherev for ground troops and choppers." Yakov and Quinn were right on his heels.

As the door swung shut behind them, only Che Lu and Mualama were left in the conference room. The old Chinese professor was shaking her head.

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"What's wrong?" Mualama asked.

"Men." Che Lu shook her head again. "Always action first, thinking later. I suggest you translate the next chapter of Sir Burton's manuscript."

"I'm sure Kazin was referring to Mount Sinai," Mualama said defensively.

"I agree with you," Che Lu said. "But no one has stopped to think about what we just read. Why would this strange woman so easily tell Burton the location of The Mission, information that has been guarded so tightly for millennia?

And the question above that—how did she know where it was? Obviously, Burton didn't stop to think either over a hundred years ago. We need to find what the result of his lack of foresight was, or else history may well repeat itself."

"What are you really looking for?" Mualama demanded of her.

Che Lu was surprised at the tone in his voice. "I want to uncover the truth so we may move forward."

"The truth?" A strange grin twisted Mualama's face, as if forced from within. "You work for Artad, don't you?"

"I work for no one. I am like you, an archaeologist who is—"

"Then why are you so anxious that mankind ally with Artad?" Mualama cut her off.

"I just think it would be the wisest course," Che Lu said.

"They question me," Mualama said, indicating the space around him, "but they don't question you. Why did you go to Qian-Ling in the first place? How did you get authority to enter when no one has ever received such permission in thousands of years?" He leaned for-289

ward, causing the old woman to step back in fear. "I think you lie too, Professor."

Without another word, Mualama went back to the manuscript. As he turned, Che Lu noted once more a small spot of blood on his ear. She hurried from the conference room, leaving Mualama alone.

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Aspasia's Shadow was as still as the columns of marble behind him. The sword was held in front of him with both hands, point on the floor. The gems on the garments glittered. His dark eyes had not moved for the past ten minutes, focused on Lisa Duncan's form. She had also stopped moving, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only sign she was still alive. Her face had even relaxed, no longer contorted in pain as it had been since she put her hand in the Grail.

He'd known it would take time, but that was a resource that was in short supply. He was receiving continuous inquiries from the Airlia left on Mars via the guardian computer. That was of little consequence to him, although The Mission guardian did indicate that the Mars guardian was doing something on the red planet, the exact nature of which was being shielded. With no talons or mothership available to them, Aspasia's Shadow wasn't overly concerned with the Mars Airlia. The situation had changed, and they would either serve him or be abandoned as he had been abandoned by them.

China was a problem, as it had been for millennia. The shield was up around Qian-Ling, and Aspasia's Shadow had to assume that The Ones Who Wait would be resurrecting Artad. He felt a slight chill of anticipation, something that had been lacking for a long time. He wanted to face down the Kortad Leader and end this

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once and for all time. He'd fought Artad's Shadow many times, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but always returning to the truce. Now there could be a final battle with the real Artad.

More important than all that, though, was the Grail.

So he waited and watched Duncan.

HAZERIM AIR BASE, ISRAEL

"We have eight Cobras already in the air, escorting five Blackhawks carrying an assault force." Sherev used the tip of a pencil to point at the map.

"They're here, flying low level over the Gulf of Aqaba."

"There's an AC-130 gunship en route from Kuwait," Turcotte said. Cobras were attack helicopters armed with a 20mm machine gun and either Hellfire or TOW

missiles, flown by a two-man crew. Its firepower, added to that of the AC-130

Specter airplane, would give them some punch.

"We've picked up your plane on radar," Sherev said. "We estimate it should arrive at Mount Sinai just as my aircraft do."

"How many men on the Blackhawks?" Turcotte was checking the TASC-suit.

Sherev had raced out to meet them in an old jeep as soon as they landed.

"Fifty. From Unit 269."

Turcotte knew of 269 from his time in Det-A in Berlin. It was the most elite unit in the Israeli Army, which was saying quite a bit. That meant Sherev was using the very tip of the spear that was the Israeli Army for this mission.

Judging the distance to where the choppers were and Mount Sinai, Turcotte knew they had a little bit of time before they had to leave in order to catch up to the aircraft in the bouncer.

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"And intelligence on Mount Sinai?" Yakov asked. The Russian had finally shed his bulky overcoat; the dry, warm air of the Israeli desert was causing all of them to sweat. The vest Turcotte had scrounged for Yakov was stretched tight across his massive chest. The MP-5 in his hands looked like a toy.

"It's in the middle of nowhere on the way to nowhere," Sherev said. The pencil moved west and south from the location of the helicopters to the center of the lower portion of the Sinai Peninsula. "I have seen the Mount with my own eyes during the '73 war. We took the Sinai Peninsula from the Egyptians.

And we gave it back after the peace accords. But both sides steered clear of Jabal Mosa, which is what the locals call it.