Dragon Over Washington (The Third War Of The Bir Nibaru Gods) (29 page)

Day 15 after Earth Barrier Breach.

Fort Meade, Maryland, United States. Monday, 18:41.

Thorpe leaned back on his chair and wiped his brow. Although he felt cold, his hand came away wet with sweat. He took several deep breaths and looked away from his screen. His hand, almost involuntarily, picked up the green Tyrannosaurus. Thorpe looked at the small plastic toy, walking it around his desk once.

“I miss the old days when
this
didn’t happen to me,” Thorpe sighed. He returned to his screen and started watching from the start. Thorpe was watching a short black-and-white video from a security camera belonging to the University of Maryland. On the grainy, low-resolution image, he could see someone running over a well-cared-for lawn, reaching a stone wall, jumping to its top, and then perching there on all fours. Thorpe saw the figure sniff the air around it, shriek silently, look once behind it and jump over the wall. The whole video was less than ten seconds and Thorpe had already watched it several dozen times.

Thorpe turned to another computer screen and ran the video slowly, at maximum magnification, frame by frame. After a few minutes he leaned back again and sighed. On the video he saw the figure turn its head back, just before jumping up the wall. Thorpe could see its eyes and ears, but instead of a mouth, it had an elongated beak.

“Why is this happening to me?” Thorpe shook his head, pausing the video to be sure. The beak was no mask. It opened and closed while the thing looked back. In addition, the figure was running on what seemed to be huge, scaly bird’s legs coming out of its jeans.

“The beak might still be a mask, but those bird feet are too thin for human legs. This could be a hoax, but why would anyone tamper with a university’s security camera? All they’d need is to hide the attacker’s identity, not go to all this trouble.”

Thorpe sighed again and turned off the video.

Every flat surface in Thorpe’s cubicle held a satellite picture, a high-resolution image from Russia, Colorado or Africa. Images were hung from the sides of computers and on the sides of his desk, incidentally blocking his drawers. His desk was covered with photographs from the attack on Morse Farm in Colorado, including the few blurry images of the creature itself, the gory remains of its prey and the damage it did to the farm’s steel fence.

One whole wall of the cubicle was devoted to the Owego situation, carrying images of the symbol the cultists used, the structure they built in the town and the message burnt into the wall of the New York apartment. The image of the message was greatly enlarged and took up half of the wall. Thorpe had outlined in red the English part of the message, ‘“Seven times seven days.’”

Printouts from Trailmapper hung on another wall, showing the Radio Blankets in every region. Several printouts displayed the first Colorado Blanket, showing the area it occupied and the types of networks it affected. Other printouts showed the Radio Blankets in Russia, smaller Blankets spreading across a huge area. A long line of printouts showed the Radio Blankets in Al Jaghbub, the only ones to keep appearing every night.

Thorpe sat in the middle of his cubicle, swiveling his chair, looking from side to side. He pulled out his smartphone and checked his social networking site. He had an incoming message from Roger, the New Zealand photographer in Al Jaghbub. Thorpe opened his message.

“Hi Tanya, how are you? We reached Al Jaghbub the night before last. The town is quiet, peaceful. It’s also strange. On our way here we saw a man running into the desert without any supplies, just running as fast as he could. Can you believe it? We have two rooms in the town’s single hotel. We are the only guests and the hotel, as well as the streets, is almost totally empty. We hope to leave the town and return to the desert in a day or two. So, enough about me. What about you, Tanya? What do you do for a living? What interests you in wildlife photography? Looking forward to hearing from you, Roger.”

Thorpe shook his head, closed his smartphone and put it on his desk, tucking it underneath photographs taken of the Colorado forest where the farmers were killed a week ago. Thorpe rolled to the middle of his cubicle and turned his chair around a few times, letting his eyes wander across everything he had hung in his cubicle.

“It’s about time I handle this thing more professionally. The first thing I must determine is connection.” Thorpe picked up the Trailmapper printouts, the satellite images and the image of the message from the New York apartment. He had to shake free the printout that rested on an old, half-eaten pizza.

“It all started two weeks ago with the Colorado Radio Blanket. A few days later the Russian Blankets joined, then the one over the ocean and the one in Al Jaghbub. All the Blankets stopped appearing except the one in Libya, which keeps appearing every night since. Why?”

Thorpe scratched his red hair absentmindedly.

“Okay, okay. In Russia some sort of enemy is battling the Russian army and demolishing towns. In Africa, something is demolishing villages. In both cases, we can’t determine how the enemy, whoever he is, manages to move about. No visible means of transportation. Which leaves me what? Nothing.” Thorpe looked at the satellite images he held. “Andy sent me some new ones. Would you look at mother nature here?” Thorpe looked at a crude statue erected in some of the Russian towns, a statue resembling a huge fat woman. Really fat.

Thorpe frowned. He picked up his smartphone and searched for ‘“Mother Nature.’” Then, he searched for ‘“Fat Mother.’” He also searched for ‘“Ancient Mother,’” but couldn’t find anything of interest.

His office phone rang. Thorpe ignored it, sitting with his smartphone in his hand, looking at its bright screen, and thinking. His phone continued ringing.

Thorpe picked up the phone. “I’m busy,” he snapped and hung up.

Thorpe tried image searching. “Aha!” He stopped and zoomed in on a golden image of a woman made out of stone, rounded curves everywhere. “Boy, are you fat. Haven’t you ever heard of a concept called ‘Gym’?” Apparently, it was called ‘Venus of Willendorf.’ There were others like it, small stone and clay statues made ten or twenty thousand years ago.

Thorpe turned to one of the satellite images from Russia. In the middle of a ruined town strewn with demolished houses, someone had built a statue very similar to the Venus figurines, as the article on the Internet called them. However, there were several differences. The Russian statue was a few days old, spikier and seemed more menacing, with suggestions of elongated jaws, horns and spikes on its back and body. It was more than fifteen feet tall, and made out of partially melted bricks from the demolished houses.

“So, you must be her big sister -” But Thorpe stopped. It somehow didn’t seem appropriate. Thorpe put down the Russian satellite images. His office phone rang again. Thorpe picked it up: “I said I’m busy!” He slammed the phone down and picked up a few of the satellite images that Winder had sent over. There was no statue there, no threatening womanly figure anywhere he could see.

“Okay.” Thorpe put the images down and turned to his computer. He searched for an email from Winder in which Winder had said that they had searched two of the attacked villages. Despite heavy damage to everything in the village, they couldn’t find any traces of the use of firearms: no bullets, shells or any other kind of man-made weapon. Thorpe frowned, looking at the email.

“Did Winder really write man-made weapon? I thought I was the only one reading sci-fi in the department. Anyway, there was no mention of statues found in the villages.”

Thorpe rolled to the middle of his cubicle and looked at all the images, printouts, and maps and at his blackboard, turning around a few times.

“These things are no doubt connected. We have Radio Blankets everywhere. We have battles in Russia and Africa, with strong similarities. We have strange creatures in Colorado and we have signs of damage in Russia and Africa made by something that can also be biological. We know they used some sort of Mesopotamian language both in Russia and the Owego thing. They worship a Stormgod in Owego and the -” Thorpe stopped and checked his smartphone again, “some sort of fat female idols in the Urals. We hear about a deadline from two different sources. It all fits, somehow. This is one thing, all of this.” Thorpe went to his blackboard and picked up a pen. “Let’s start with intent. What does that thing want?”

Thorpe stepped back and looked at his blackboard: “battles with the Russian army, attacks on villages in Africa, a cult in Owego, a deadline, attacks on hunters, and a farm in Colorado. There’s no great mystery here.”

Thorpe looked at his map, noting the progression of the village attacks in Africa and the expansion of the contested region in Russia.

“Whatever this thing is, it’s expanding. There’s no doubt about it.” Thorpe adjusted his glasses. Usually, he washed them with soap and water at least once a day, but now they were filthy dirty, at least by his standards.

Thorpe wrote ‘“Intent: Expansion, military and cult.’”

Thorpe then looked at his blackboard: “It, whatever it is, is scouting. That’s usually the first phase before expansion, before a military campaign. So, in Russia, it’s testing the Russian army’s strength. In the United States, it’s cultivating a cult,” Thorpe murmured. He turned to look at the images from Owego, passing his hand over his unshaven chin. “Why a cult? Because it’s testing the will of the people? And in Africa, what?” Thorpe looked at the locations of the attacked villages marked on the map. The locations were across the continent, spanning countries. “Is it testing the countries there? Is it trying to find out if anyone would be able to resist? Or even care?”

Thorpe wrote on his blackboard ‘“Current Phase: Scouting.”’

“What’s next? What do you do after scouting?” Thorpe blinked at the blackboard. He found it difficult to concentrate. His phone rang again. Thorpe lifted and replaced the headset, killing the ringing.

“After scouting you gather your forces”,” Thorpe considered. “In every case, the attacks of this thing started after Radio Blankets, but all of them stopped except in one location.” Thorpe turned to the Trailmapper printouts from Libya. The Radio Blankets kept appearing every night and kept getting stronger, even creating some radio interference in Tubruq, one hundred miles away. Thorpe leaned closer to the printouts, staring at them. It seemed that not only radio was affected. Trailmapper reported that computer networks and landline phones were increasingly being affected by the Radio Blankets.

“What does this mean? Are they gathering their forces in Al Jaghbub?” Thorpe wrote on his blackboard ‘“Next phase: Force gathering. Possible location: Al Jaghbub, Libya.’” Thorpe turned back to his map, tracing with his hand the area where the Russian army was battling this thing, whatever it was. “It’s doesn’t make too much sense. They already have huge forces in Russia,” Thorpe shrugged.

“Maybe it’s not force gathering, but something is definitely happening in Libya.” Thorpe paused, looking at the blackboard.

“What’s next? What will this thing do next? It scouted, it gathered forces, and then what?” Thorpe’s eyes were drawn to words he had written a few days ago, ‘“Seven weeks.’” “There’s also a deadline. After scouting and gathering forces, the attack comes next. After seven week it, whatever it is, will attack.”

Thorpe shivered.

“And I still have no idea what’s going on. There’s no logical explanation for the Radio Blankets. There’s no logical explanation for the creatures in the Colorado Mountains. There’s no logical explanation for an army that battles the Russian army without leaving a trace of its presence. I have to know what’s going on!”

Thorpe punched his cubicle wall, taking care not to hit any of the images he had hung there, and also taking care not to hit too hard. Thorpe didn’t like pain.

“Let’s face it Robby, you have no idea what’s going on. But, whatever’s going on is happening right now in Libya. I’m not sure if it’s the key, but since the Radio Blankets keep occurring there it must be possible to figure out what’s going on and who’s doing it.”

Thorpe started searching for his communications computer. “Those idiots in Libya must work harder,” Thorpe murmured through clenched teeth. “And if they cannot find anything there, The Man must authorize sending more agents there.”

***

“Hi, Molly.”

Molly raised her head and made a disapproving sound in her throat. Thorpe stood before her, leaning on her desk. His eyes were puffy and red, his clothes were rumpled, and he had a look on his face as if he was barely aware of where he was. “What did you do, sleep in the office? On a Sunday?” Molly asked critically.

“Yeah, actually that’s what I did,” Thorpe said tiredly. Molly looked at him at length, trying to see if he was kidding. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you work this hard. Why didn’t you use the sleeping rooms?”

The lightly swaying man waved his hand irritably. “I needed to stay close to my cubicle, in case something happened.” He rubbed his eyes. He was barely able to keep them open. “Molly, I need to see the -”

“What about Shannon?” Molly interrupted him. Thorpe blinked owlishly at her.

“How come this is all you and Andy ever talk to me about? Anyway, we found out she has a boyfriend,” Thorpe said. Molly looked at him suspiciously.

Thorpe smiled. “Besides, I have a new target now,” he said, conspiratorially. Molly raised an eyebrow. “Ellis Christensen. I’m working with her now,” Thorpe said proudly, some of his spirit returning.