Black Sun: A Thriller (41 page)

He grabbed his coat, extricated himself from the wreckage, and crawled toward the narrowing band of light.

He heard the klaxons sounding, heard the voice warning.

“Nineteen … eighteen …”

Suddenly he was unable to move. He looked back, straining to see through his swollen eye.

Stecker was standing on the tail of his coat, looking down at him like an owner who had caught the leash of a disobedient hound.

“You’re too late,” Stecker said. He yanked the coat from Moore’s grasp as the doors ahead of him slammed shut with a monstrous metallic clang.

Stecker opened Moore’s coat but found nothing inside.

“Fifteen … fourteen …”

“Nothing in here!” one of the guards yelled from the cab of the overturned truck.

“Where is it?” Stecker shouted.

Moore stared up at him, battered and shaking. “I don’t have it,” he said simply.

Stecker’s face betrayed utter confusion, but suddenly he seemed to understand. He looked back down the tunnel.

“Ahiga.”

In a distant part of the Yucca Mountain, at the top of a ventilation shaft that served as an escape route should something go wrong, Nathanial Ahiga heard the alarm
go critical. He pushed upward, slamming against the hatch.

“Three …”

His mind reeled from the darkness and the fear of falling that gripped him. He pushed again, barely moving the heavy door.

“Two …”

Shouting a Navajo curse, he forced the hatch open. The blazing Nevada sunset burned his eyes and he tumbled out onto the mountainside holding the stone aloft.

“One …”

Hawker lunged for the handle.

“I believe,” he whispered as his hand slammed onto the lever.

The counterweights released. Heavy stones dropped into tunnels on either side of the well and the ropes spooled out over metal pulleys at tremendous speed. Something came racing up the tunnel toward him. The blocks slammed home and the fourth stone was jammed into position.

Hawker saw it for an instant. Then the world went still. His hearing shrank to nothing. And everything vanished in a blinding flash of white.

H
awker became aware of being conscious, and by extension alive, when the pounding in his head became too much to bear. He woke with his back to the stony ground and some type of wet cloth over his eyes.

The quiet around him seemed complete—the exact opposite of all he remembered.

He tried to move but found it too painful.

“Hawker?” a voice called to him. “Can you hear me?” The voice was kind but worried. He recognized it as Danielle’s.

He managed to move his hand, trying to bring it up toward the cloth, but he lacked the strength even to do that.

Danielle pulled the cloth from his eyes.

At first he saw only shadows, blurs of light, and the outline of her face. But slowly his eyes focused and the details appeared. She was a mess, but God she was beautiful.

“What happened?” The words croaked from his throat, dry as dust.

“You put the stone into place,” she said. “The blast knocked you a hundred feet, and you landed in the water.”

He looked at her. Her clothes were damp, and muddy in places instead of dusty. “You end up in the water, too?”

“I didn’t want you to drown.”

He was thankful for that. He tried to prop himself up. She helped him.

“How long have I been out?”

“Two hours,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you.”

They were up on the mesa. It was completely dark. “Aside from getting my ass kicked, did anything happen?”

She smiled for the first time, but there was still a sense of sadness in her eyes. “See for yourself.”

She helped him turn around.

Out over the cenote, against the backdrop of the night, he could see ghostly filaments of light rising upward. They poured from the island at its center, a twisting, almost invisible column of light.

He followed the strands upward, into the dark of the sky, where they spread into a shimmering curtain of white and blue. The display moved in a curious fashion, flowing and bending back in upon itself. At times it seemed to flicker and fade, as if it might be a mirage, but then the brightness would grow once again and the color would become more intense than it had been before.

“What is it?” Hawker asked.

“Charged particles in the atmosphere, channeling along the magnetic lines and funneling themselves harmlessly into space,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s an aurora,” she said. “I’ve seen one before, although normally the charged particles are coming down into the planet.”

“Shield of the Jaguar,” Hawker said.

She nodded, but the sad look returned.

Suddenly he remembered about Yuri.

He looked around. Back toward the cenote he saw a man whose features he couldn’t make out sitting and staring at the curtain of light in the sky. Beside them a smaller figure lay draped beneath a jacket.

“Please tell me …,” he began.

She shook her head. “It was too much for him,” she said.

Hawker closed his eyes, choking back a wave of emotion.

“He fell limp the instant it happened,” she said. “The soul stone flew out of his hands toward the well at the same moment you were being flung away from it.”

Danielle paused, trying to control her own sadness. “There was a trickle of blood near the base of his skull. A tiny hole like he’d been hit by a dart. I think the sliver was pulled from his body in the same way.”

A wave of numbness flowed through Hawker’s body. He’d known, even before he released the counterweights. He’d known what was going to happen to Yuri, but in that moment he realized that something far worse was going to happen if he didn’t. The only comfort he could find was that Yuri had given his life for many, perhaps for billions around the globe.

Sacrifice of the Body
.

It was a Mayan belief, a Christian belief, a Jewish and Muslim belief as well. Innocent blood, shed for the rest
of us. To make the rains come, to make the crops grow. To save the world.

Four days before Christmas, on the turning point of the Mayan calendar, a day known as 4 Ahau, 3 Kankin, the story found truth once again.

Bethesda Naval Hospital, Bethesda, Maryland

F
orty-eight hours later, Hawker, Danielle, and McCarter arrived back in the United States aboard an air force transport. For Hawker it was the first time he’d set foot on American soil in over a decade, though so far none of them had seen much of it. Lingering problems with Hawker’s eyes, official secrecy, and a tight security cordon meant waiting in ambulances at Edwards Air Force Base and several days in the confines of the Bethesda Naval Hospital.

During that time, Hawker’s eyesight returned to normal, Danielle was treated for low-level radiation poisoning, and McCarter’s leg was operated on and his infection finally, adequately addressed.

With those efforts winding down, Danielle found herself growing frustrated. Aside from the treatment and long debriefing sessions, she and the others had been confined to their individual rooms. She wanted to talk with Moore, to check on McCarter, and mostly she wanted to speak with Hawker. But so far she’d been unable to either sneak past the guard at her door or convince him to look the other way.

Arnold Moore arrived on her fourth day in “captivity.” He looked like he’d been fifteen rounds with a prize fighter.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked.

“Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque,” he said, before explaining the truth, his theory of twisted magnetic lines and how close they had come to Armageddon. “The wave still affected the world,” he said. “The three stones and whatever energy was created from the shard Yuri carried had acted to dampen it and channel the excess, but there were blackouts all over the country and across the Pacific, from Kamchatka to Mumbai. It would have been far, far worse had we not succeeded.”

“Were we really that close to war?”

“The fact that most satellites were spared kept it from happening,” Moore told her. “The president used the hotline; he was able to convince them that wave was a natural occurrence, but I don’t think it would have worked if they could not look down on us and be sure we weren’t launching missiles.”

“The children will not learn,” she said. “Maybe we’ll learn now.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“What happens next?”

Moore brightened. “Well, for one thing, your intrepid chief might get an award of some kind, maybe even a Nobel Prize for his revolutionary new theory on the workings of earth’s magnetic field. What do you think sounds better: ‘Moore’s theorem’? or the ‘Arnold axiom’?”

“Go with the first one,” she said smiling.

“Noted.”

“I want to get out of here,” she told him.

“Of course you do,” he said. “Someone’s coming to see you first. And I figured you’d want something proper to wear when you meet the president of the United States.” He offered her a tote bag filled with clothes from her home.

She took the bag eagerly and started pawing through it. She couldn’t have been more excited if it were filled with gold.

He turned.

“Where are you going?”

“To find McCarter and relieve him of his temporary status and then to see Hawker. It’s a long story but I still have a rather large check to write him.”

She shook her head. “He’ll never take it,” she said.

“He earned it.”

“I’ll go half with you. It was my butt getting rescued.”

Moore nodded.

“Something good better be happening for him,” she said sternly.

“It’s in the works” was all he would say. He ducked out the door.

Danielle turned her attention to the tote bag and examined the selection of clothing. Moore had chosen surprisingly well.

After four days in the hospital, Hawker was getting used to it. He liked pressing the button and asking for new pillows or more ice water or another serving of whatever it was they’d been feeding him. He didn’t know
why so many people complained about hospital food. So far he liked it. And besides, it was great to have things brought by.

On her fifteenth trip to his room, the nurse scowled at him.

“What else do you have to do?” he said.

“Plenty,” she said, shoving a bottle of water at him.

“Here,” she added, offering him papers and a clipboard. “You’re being discharged. You’re to meet Mr. Moore in the conference room.”

Five minutes later, Hawker walked past a group of guards that looked like Secret Service agents. He stepped into the room to find McCarter and Danielle. They embraced, reunited at last.

“What’s going on?” Hawker asked.

“President’s coming,” Danielle told him.

“Do we like him?” Hawker asked.

“What do you mean?” McCarter said.

“I’ve been gone for a while. I haven’t voted for anyone since Perot in 2000,” he said.

“Perot didn’t run in 2000,” Danielle said.

“I wrote him in,” Hawker said. “Bush, Gore?” He shook his head and shivered as if the chills had just come over him.

A moment later the door of the conference room opened and a pair of Secret Service agents entered. The president followed, accompanied by Arnold Moore and Byron Stecker.

The three patients stood at this unexpected arrival.

“Sit down,” the president said, as he himself took a seat.

Hawker noticed that Moore’s face seemed to bear
some healing abrasions and other wounds and his gait included a pronounced limp. Despite that he seemed a hell of a lot happier than Stecker.

President Henderson offered his thanks, and the thanks of the nation. He explained the story that was being released in bits and pieces.

“We’re telling the world that a joint effort between the United States, Mexico, Russia, and China has averted this catastrophe. Of course, the ranks of the conspiracy theorists are running wild with the occurrence and its perfect coincidence with the Mayan prophecy, but we are reporting that this system was designed eleven years ago, during a solar flare event that had similar, if less pronounced effects, and that it was only a fluke that the event occurred on December twenty-first.”

“I’m guessing that very few are buying that,” McCarter offered.

The president shrugged. “Conspiracy theories are a growth industry. I’m just glad they don’t need a bailout.”

McCarter laughed. “It would be appropriate if we could find a way to credit the Mayan people, their religion. They kept this legend alive for thousands of years. In the face of all they’ve been through since the Europeans reached the Americas, they maintained their beliefs and that was the key.”

The president seemed to make a mental note of this. “No doubt you’re correct,” he said, with great sobriety. “I’ll make sure we discuss it with our counterparts in Mexico.”

Danielle asked the next question. “And what about Saravich? Where is he?”

“He’s been treated and released,” the president said.

“Released to where?” she pressed.

“He’s boarding a British Airways flight to London,” the president said. “From there it’s direct to Moscow.”

“And then what?”

Hawker could hear the concern in her voice, perhaps more plainly than she’d like. But she’d told Hawker the story. Saravich had saved her, and together they had saved him. His brother had saved Yuri from the Russian Science Directorate and then from freezing to death on the Arctic ice. By extension those acts had helped save them all. In both cases the men had violated the directives they’d been charged with. Hawker’s kind of people.

“Don’t worry about him,” the president replied. “Ivan Saravich is a hero of the Russian people. Like the three of you, he is a hero to the world at large. The leaked story will indicate that his guards were killed in the battle with Kang and his army, but that his actions were instrumental in destroying that army, which they were. And if I know anything, I’d guess that Ivan Saravich will become a Russian celebrity of some sort and enjoy a long and honored life.”