Atlantis (23 page)

Dane grimaced. “That’s assuming
you
know everything, which I don’t think is the case.”

To that, Freed made no comment.

“What’s the plan now?” Dane asked.

Freed jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Canadians. “We jump with them-“

“Who’s we?” Turcotte asked.

“You, me, and Professor Beasley.”

“Jump?” Beasley asked, a worried frown appearing on his forehead.

“You signed on for the whole deal,” Freed said. “All you have to do is fall off the ramp. The parachute will do all the rest.”

“Fall off the ramp?” Beasley repeated.

Dane turned to Michelet. “And you?”

Freed answered for his boss. “Mister Michelet will go on the flight with us, make sure we’re down OK, clear a landing zone, then return here and bring the chopper back to the landing zone and wait for us to contact him for exfiltration or arrive at his landing zone.”

“Where the LZ?” Turcotte asked.

Freed pulled out his map. “This hilltop five kilometers from the watchtower where we’re jumping.”

Dane stiffened. He looked down at Chelsea who had turned her head and was looking to the side of the hanger. “Someone's coming,” Dane announced.

The barrel on Freed's M-16 rose.

“No,” Dane shook his head. “No danger.” He cocked his head. He'd sensed many peoples' auras over the years, but whoever was approaching now was different, very different. Dane felt a strange thrill race down his spine. Chelsea picked up something also, because her tail was up and wagging rapidly, whacking against Dane's leg.

“Easy, girl,” Dane whispered, but he knew the dog wasn't indicating danger.

A woman came around the corner of the hanger. She was tall with oriental features, her face strikingly beautiful. Dane was unable to figure out exactly what part of the Orient she came from; he sensed she had the blood of several races in her, perhaps some European ancestors also. She wore black pants, a gray turtleneck and a thin black, tailored jacket. She carried a nylon bag over her shoulder. She walked right up to Dane and stopped a few feet away, staring at him.

“Who are you?” Freed asked.

“Her name is Sin Fen,” Dane said, his eyes still locked on to hers. He smiled very slightly. “Am I right?”

The woman inclined her head to the left, indicating he indeed was.

“You know her?” Freed was confused.

“Just met,” Dane said. “But she know things we need to know, don't you?”

Again the slight incline and the hint of a smile on her lips now. Her right hand extended forward, long fingers with nails tapered to a point and painted bright red, reaching out.

Chelsea stepped forward and dipped her head. The woman bent at the waist, like a tall tree in a stiff wind and her fingers slid through Chelsea's mane. “A good dog,” she spoke for the first time. Her accent was hard for Dane to fix, but he could tell she had been educated in Europe at some point in her life.

“Yes, a very good dog” Dane said. He glanced at Freed and Michelet. Behind them Beasley was watching. Dane listened inside his head, marveling at what was happening, then spoke aloud. “It was Hie-Tech who hired the men to attack us at the warehouse. And they are organizing a team to try to beat us to the
Lady Gayle
.”

“How do you know that?” Michelet asked.

Dane raised his hand toward Sin Fen. “She told me.”

“But she didn't say anything,” Freed argued.

Sin Fen turned toward the others. “The Hie-Tech team is already at a staging camp in Cambodia, just north of Angkor Wat. They have a helicopter and will be heading north at first light.”

“They won’t be able to--” Michelet began, but Sin Fen held up her free hand.

“They may know exactly where the
Lady Gayle
is. There is a spy among the crew.”

“A spy!” Michelet exploded.

Sin Fen turned back to Dane. “There is not much time.” She reached inside her black jacket with her left hand, still stroking Chelsea's neck with the other, and pulled out a glossy piece of paper. “Imagery from a satellite. Your plane.”

Michelet grabbed the paper, Freed at his side, Beasley looking over their shoulders. “Damnation!” Michelet exclaimed. He looked up at Sin Fen. “What happened to it?”

“I don't know,” Sin Fen said.

“But--” Michelet was shaking his head. “This can't be right. The fuselage would be broken apart if--” he stopped in confusion. “It could never have landed like this.”

“But it is right,” Sin Fen said. “And the coordinates are listed on the bottom. Not far from where I believe you plan on jumping.”

“How do you know where we’re jumping?” Freed asked.

“She knows many things,” Dane said.

“How did you get this?” Freed demanded, holding the imagery.

“A mutual friend,” Sin Fen said.

“You were on the roof at the warehouse,” Dane made it a statement.

“She busted the ambush?” Freed's tone indicated his disbelief.

Michelet wasn’t even listening, his entire being focused on checking the coordinates on his map. “It's near where we thought it went down. Let's load!” Michelet yelled, handing the imagery to Freed and turning toward the plane.

Dane didn't move. He took the imagery from Freed. The other man followed his boss, but still Dane waited. He stared at Sin Fen and her fingers running through Chelsea's hair. Sin Fen straightened. Chelsea seemed startled, then bounded back to Dane and rubbed her side against his leg.

“Who are you?” Dane asked quietly.

“I am Sin Fen.”

“I know that. Where are you from?”

“From near where we are going,” she said. “No,” she held up her hand. “Not inside. But near. I have felt it also, what you have felt. And I have heard the voices, not as well as you, I believe, but enough to know they are real.”

The engines of the C-123 coughed as they started. The others were all on the ramp, waiting.

“The plane,” Dane said. He held up the imagery. “How did this happen? It’s not physically possible.”

Sin Fen shrugged. “There is much that is not possible that happens in the Angkor Gate.”

“Angkor Gate?”

“It is what we call this place in Cambodia,” she answered.

“Who is we?”

“We’ll get to that,” Sin Fen said.

“I need more information,” Dane said out loud. Then he focused his thoughts:

I need to know how we can talk without speaking.

A hint of a smile played around Sin Fen’s blood red lips.

Theories, nothing proven.

The words came in a strange mixture of images, but Dane could make sense of what she was trying to impart to him. It reminded Dane of when he would be driving in his car and a melody would come into his mind and then he would turn on the radio and that song would be playing. Sin Fen’s word were like the first part of that, a melody of words that came unbidden but that if he concentrated he could make sense of.

“I’ll take theories,” Dane spoke aloud.

“I think we should go,” Sin Fen said. “I will tell you what I know on the way.”

*****

Foreman looked down at the small LED screen. He didn’t recognize the name but he did recognize the call sign: National Security Agency, Satellite Imaging. He pressed a button, activating the speakerphone inside his bullet and sound proof cubicle.

“Foreman here.”

A woman’s voice filled the room. “This is Patricia Conners. I’m with--”

“I know who you’re with,” Foreman said. “I am very busy, Ms. Conners. What do you want?”

“A little courtesy would be appropriate,” Conners said.

Foreman sighed and waited.

“I’ve reviewed the data you’ve been getting from us,” Conners said.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that,” Foreman warned.

“Do you want to play games or do you want to figure out what is going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Foreman asked.

“You have the world-wide electromagnetic imagery?” Conners didn’t wait for an answer. “You also have the radioactive pattern that is overlaid on top of that. You also know that it is coming out of the area in Cambodia you requested Bright Eye to take a look at earlier.”

“Please,” Foreman’s hand reached down for the cut off switch, “don’t tell me I know what I know.”

“Do you know how the electromagnetic waves and radioactivity are being propagated?”

Foreman’s hand paused. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Some sort of strange power signal is being uplinked to a MILSTARS satellite, then being broadcast through the MILSTAR network,” Conners said, “using those satellites that fall along lines between what appear to be critical points.”

Foreman pulled his hand back. “Go on.”

“I’ve checked with a friend of mine over at the Pentagon. They’ve lost all communications on the MILSTARS network. They don’t know why, but we do, don’t we Mister Foreman?”

“Are you sure the power is being sent through MILSTARS?” Foreman asked. “How do you know MILSTARS isn’t just picking it up from ground readings?”

“I’ve checked the propagation,” Conners said. “It follows the MILSTAR satellites from Cambodia out. It started there, but there now also seems to be weaker uplinks near Bermuda, in the western Pacific, and at several other locations.”

Foreman leaned back in his chair and tapped a pen against his lower lip. “But how can that be done?”

“I don’t know that yet, but I’ve got a friend working on it.” There was a short pause, then Conners continued. “If you gave us what you know, it might help.”

“There’s not much information,” Foreman said.

“Do you know what destroyed Bright Eye?” Conners asked.

“No.”

“Do you know what is in Cambodia that causes distortion on our imaging?”

“No.”

“Well, this seems to be very much a one-sided conversation,” Conners said. “Let me continue my end then. My friend has done some number crunching using the data that was forwarded to you. He predicts that if the electromagnetic and radioactive disturbances at these sixteen locations continue to grow and increase in intensity at the rate they are doing so now, that the first deaths will occur in less than twenty-four hours at the critical nodes where the power is most focused.

“It’s a geometric progression so the power increases by a factor,” Conners continued. “He predicts that these sixteen sites are situated so that they will eventually link up with each other and blanket the world.”

“When does he predict that will occur?” Foreman asked.

“Total coverage in two days.”

Foreman thought about that. Two days to the end of the world.

“Does your friend have any ideas how we can stop this propagation?” Foreman asked.

“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Conners answered.

“I am trying to get to the source of the power,” Foreman said, “but if I fail, it would be most helpful if you could come up with some way to stop it from spreading.”

“If you can’t stop the source,” Conners said, “then you have to stop the conduit of propagation.”

“You’re sure the MILSTARS satellites are being used?”

Conners voice was steady. “Yes.”

Foreman almost smiled. It was nice that someone was certain of something. “What can we do about that?”

“Shut the affected satellites down.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Destroy them.”

“How?”

“Using an HMV fired from Thunder Dart.”

Foreman was impressed. This woman knew what she was talking about.

“The Pentagon won’t be too thrilled to destroy their own satellites.”

“According to the taskings you send me,” Conners said, “you have sufficient clearance to get the SR-75 and Thunder Dart airborne.”

“I was under the impression that control of the HMV came from the ground, though. Which still means I’d have to go through the Pentagon.”

“I can control the HMV,” Conners said. “We worked with the Pentagon on the deployment of the system and I’ve done the simulation many times.”

Foreman was impressed for the second time. “I’ll take the option under advisement. I appreciate the information and the offer of help,” Foreman said. “Can you keep the area in Cambodia under surveillance?”

“We can’t see in,” Conners said.

“I know that, but just in case. Plus, even knowing how much we
can’t
see is helpful.”

“With your authorization I can put a KH-12 right over the spot and keep it there.”

“Do it. I’ll be in touch.”

Foreman cut the connection, then sat back and stared at the imagery he had taped to the glass. He was beginning to see some of what was going on and although he didn’t understand most of it, an unsteady feeling in the pit of his stomach warned him that he might already be much too late to stop it, whatever it was, from occurring. He knew it would take others a long time to wake up to the reality and by then it would be too late, but there was no doubting what the information was pointing to: The Gates were expanding and getting ready to link up. Earth was being invaded.

He looked at the display board in the front of the operations center. It showed the C-123’s current location, nearing the border with Cambodia. He flipped another switch.

“Anything from Sin Fen?”

“No, sir.”

“Keep the line open.”

Then he proceeded to check on the military forces he’d had Bancroft ordered in motion. Submarines, ships and planes were all converging on the Gates. What they could do once they got there, Foreman had no idea, but he felt it was better to be prepared.

He looked at the world map. If whatever was in the Gates was using MILSTARS then there was only one card he could play now to slow things; the card Patricia Conners at the NSA had thrown on the table; a card he knew that would cause blood vessels to burst in the Pentagon but time was getting short.

*****

Ariana swore she could feel the texture of the air outside the plane on her skin and even sliding down her throat into her lungs. It reminded her of the strange mixtures she had used in tanks on deep-sea dives, but this feeling was a slightly nauseating one.

She stared into inky blackness. All she could see were the two lines of gold that sliced into the left side of the plane and came out the right along with a third golden beam that came from a different left angle, lower and further to the rear. The first two beams began in a haze about forty feet away and ended the same distance on the other side as if the plane was surrounded by a fog.