Project Aura (19 page)

"This was difficult to come by," Kraskov said. "My contact raised his eyebrows at the request."

"And you lowered them with cash." Valika closed the lids, having confirmed the contents.

“I’ve reserved a room for you," Kraskov said. "Right next door as a matter of fact. I could order from room service. They have some excellent wines, or I can order vodka if you still drink the swill."

"I'm leaving." Valika stood. She slung the laptop case over her shoulder and picked up the two cases.

"You don't know what you’d be missing," Kraskov said as she headed for the door.

"I don't even want to consider thinking about that," Valika threw over her shoulder as she left.

*****

The first Blackhawk landed, blowing snow into Dalton's face. The door slid open and the crew chief jumped out. Dalton waved at him to help. With Barnes' and Jackson's assistance they manhandled Sybyl Ill's mainframe to the helicopter and inside.

That helicopter lifted and the second one came in. As Jackson, Barnes, and the new crew chief loaded the other gear needed for Sybyl III to work, Dalton got in the cargo bay and leaned between the seats. He shook Roby's hand.

"Thanks for making it, Chief.”

"Long time no see, Sergeant Major. We needed some blade time for training anyway. Where do you want me to take this stuff?"

Dalton handed him a map. He tapped a location. "Right there."

Roby squinted, making out the markings. Then he looked up, eyes widening. "Oh, man."

"There will be someone waiting to off-load this gear."

*****

Raisor's essence was drained of power as Aura II was turned off. He was once more a formless being on the psychic plane. He headed toward the United States.

*****

Cesar picked up the phone and dialed the direct number for his villa in Colombia where the Special Forces team was being held. His instructions to his man in charge were brief and to the point. It was time to get things moving and the Americans weren't playing along as he would like.

*****

Farruco took the photo of the American he had killed and slid it into the slot on the top of the fax machine. He punched in the number he had been given and waited until he heard the confirming squeal, then punched the Send button.

Once the picture came out he put it back in the top slot and dialed a new number.

*****

McFairn was staring at the photo that had just been faxed to her office. She jumped as her secure phone rang. "McFairn."

"General Carlson. I just got a faxed picture from Colombia."

"I also received it," McFairn told the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff

"My office. Now. Bring everything you have on these sons-a-bitches."

*****

Dalton watched the lights of the second Blackhawk disappear into the night sky and listened as the sound of the blades faded until there was silence. He stood on the landing grate, looking out over the starlit mountains.

"Marie?" he whispered.

A cool breeze blew by and he thought of the poem.

He reached out, above his head, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, spreading his fingers wide, the breeze touching his skin. "I feel you."

Deputy Director McFairn rarely traveled away from her office for meetings. It was a sign of power in Washington to have people come to her, but in the case of General Carlson, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff she had to make an exception.

The sun was barely touching the eastern sky as her limousine pulled into the Pentagon lot. She was quickly escorted to Carlson's office, her briefcase tucked tightly under her arm.

"Director," Carlson stood and indicated for her to sit in the chair directly in front of his massive desk.

"General."

Carlson wasted no time in pleasantries. He threw the faxed photograph in front of McFairn. A dead man in unmarked jungle fatigues, splayed out on a neatly maintained lawn, a bullet hole in the left side of his chest. "That's Captain Scott. The team leader."

"I know," McFairn acknowledged.

"What do you have on the Special Forces team?" Carlson demanded.

She put Dalton's report on his desk and waited as he leafed through it.

"How did you get such detailed information?" he asked when done.

"Bright Gate."

"I thought the Psychic Warrior team was inoperative."

A fancy term for lost, McFairn thought "We still have some operators and I'm currently reconstituting another team."

"How did the Task Force Six team get compromised? You don't have that in the report."

"We think there's a possibility the Ring is using remote viewers and they spotted the team."

"Oh Christ." Carlson slammed the report down on the desk. "You people and your weird psychic crap."

"You know Bright Gate works and you know it works well, given what happened in Russia not long ago," McFairn pointed out.

"If your people went down there, why didn't they free our men? They might have saved Scott's life."

"They could only do a recon. There was no way they could have gotten the men out without all of them getting killed."

Carlson grumbled something.

McFairn leaned forward. "I have an idea how we can take care of two birds with one stone."

"What do you mean?"

"Rescue the captured soldiers and destroy the Ring's RV capability."

"I'm listening."

As McFairn laid out her plan to use the Psychic Warriors to spearhead a rescue mission, Raisor listened in, floating in the virtual plane in Carlson's office. The Pentagon wasn't psychically shielded, which Raisor found interesting, but not surprising. It was simply too large and had too many people coming and going to be shielded. He also knew there was also the fact that the conventional military distrusted something as radical as Psychic Warrior.

He had followed McFairn's limousine from Fort Meade to the Pentagon, seething with the inability to do anything, but now he saw an opportunity to strike back.

When she was done presenting her plan, Raisor made his first jump south, heading back toward Saba.

*****

Captain Mikhal Lonsky had been in command of the research ship
Kosmonaut Yuri Gagarin
for almost ten years, and he had watched their operating budget shrink with each new appropriation out of Moscow. Named after the first man to go into space, the ship had maintained communications with Mir as long as that station had been operational. With the space station's demise the appropriations had become appallingly low. The crew was at forty percent, the rest laid off by the new capitalistic Russian society to save money, which was spent first on necessary repairs.

The most recent mission given the ship was to monitor launches from the European Space Consortium's base at Kouro, in French Guiana. It was a boring job, but one the new KGB, called the SRU, wanted done, more for industrial espionage purposes than military necessity.

When all four radar dishes were oriented forward as they were now, the Gagarin lost two knots in speed due to wind resistance, but that was of little importance to Lonsky as they were stationary, thrusters fore and aft holding them in place against the wind and current.

Lonsky turned as his senior communications and computer officer, Tanya Zenata, entered the bridge. There was supposed to be separate officers for each specialty, but the combining of the jobs was another cost-cutting measure forced on Lonsky.

"Sir, we have a radio communiqué from Moscow." Lonsky took the paper and read it. His eyebrows arched as the import struck home. Lonsky started laughing, causing the scant bridge crew to turn and look at him. He couldn't help it. He fell backwards into his command chair, still laughing, tears now flowing down his cheeks.

"We've been sold," he finally managed to get out.

*****

Boreas paced back and forth in his office, staring out the large bullet-proof window at the field of antennas that was his province. When HAARP was off, the entire facility was guarded by an electromagnetic wall, impenetrable to remote viewers, Psychic Warriors, or any living thing. Numerous local animals had died when they crossed the buried cables that transmitted the field. A brain, whether in the real world or a virtual essence, could not cross the electromagnetic barrier that was on a frequency inimical to the mind's own electromagnetic operation. Which meant it fried any brain crossing it.

Beyond the field, the Wrangell Mountains loomed over the site. Boreas often looked to them. Not to enjoy the beauty of their white peaks against the blue sky, but because of the threat he felt lurked there. His people hated mountains.

The phone rang, cutting through his dark mood. It was McFairn, confirming the plan they had come up with the previous night.

After hanging up with her, Boreas made a call on his secure satellite phone to Kirtley, giving the necessary order. Then he made a final call. The other end was answered immediately.

"Yes?" The voice was deep, one used to authority, the overseas connection perfect despite the scrambling and encryption. The equipment was cutting edge, not penetrable even by the NSA.

"We are taking action against the Ring."

"Good. Nexus has been dealt with in the United States."

"Are you sure you got all of them?"

There was the shortest of pauses. "We're not certain. But we've taken care of the important ones. They have no immediate access to the President, and by the time any survivors make contact and are verified, it will be much too late."

"What about Souris?"

"Try to track down their Aura transmitter using your new Psychic Warrior team. Then destroy it. What is the status of HAARP?"

"CS-MILSTAR goes up soon. We’ll be on-line worldwide in less than two days. We still have to get the unlock codes for the MILSTAR satellites, but I anticipate being able to do that without too much trouble. And then it will finally be over. After all these years."

"Don't underestimate the Mithrans."

Boreas looked at the mountains. "I won't."

*****

"We're going operational in eight hours." Kirtley had satellite imagery of Colombia spread over the conference table, his team gathered round. Dalton, Jackson, and Barnes stood in the background.

"You've only been 'over' once," Dalton pointed out. "I don't think you're ready to be operational."

"It's not debatable, Sergeant Major." Kirtley slapped the tabletop. "We're leading the effort to rescue your fellow green beanies. I would expect even you to be happy about that."

"That team got ambushed," Dalton said. "What makes you think this new team going in to save them isn't going to be ambushed also?"

"Because we'll be going in first on the virtual plane clearing the way," Kirtley said. "The conventional team that follows us is coming just to recover the hostages."

Dalton rubbed his forehead, trying to keep the growing headache at bay.

"And we will have one practice session this afternoon before the actual mission," Kirtley added. "A live fire run-through at the urban combat range at Fort Campbell, Kentucky."

"What do you want us to do?" Dalton asked, indicating Jackson and Barnes along with himself.

"We're done with you. You’ll be released to go back to your units once my team is operational."

"That's it?" Dalton was surprised, even though he’d known this was coming eventually. "What about the rest of my team?"

"They've been officially classified as missing in action," Kirtley said. He turned back to his imagery.

"They're not missing," Dalton argued. "They're in the other room."

"Then wake them up," Kirtley said sharply. "Bring them back, have them walk out here, and you can take them with you."

"You told me they wouldn't be abandoned." Dalton took a step forward, several members of Kirtley's team getting between them.

"And they won't," Kirtley said, "but they also won't be going home with you, will they? And they have to be classified as something, don't they? Some sort of explanation given?"

Dalton knew what Kirtley was saying made sense, but he viewed it as the first step to eventually pulling the plug on the bodies in the other room. And once he was gone from Bright Gate, there was nothing he could do about it.

"I have a suggestion," Dalton said.

"What?" Kirtley's response was less than enthusiastic.

"Let Jackson, Barnes, and I participate in your test this afternoon. We’ll be part of the opposing force. The big problem my team had on our training exercise at Fort Hood was that we had no one shooting back." He turned to Dr. Hammond. "Could our avatar weapons be set on a low power, enough to indicate a hit but not hurt each other?"

Hammond nodded. "Yes. I’m sure I can get Sybyl to program that."

"Our opponents won't be avatars," Kirtley said. "They'll be real flesh-and-blood people."

"I wouldn't count on that," Dalton said. "We sensed a presence when we were at the villa. Besides, we can act like flesh and blood; keep our avatars on the real plane and not use the virtual to do any jumps once we're at the training site."

He could tell Kirtley wasn't thrilled with the idea, so he pushed. "You need all the help you can get. Trust me on that. You don't want to end up like the other two teams."

He could see the flicker that passed over Kirtley's face as the last point hit home. "All right. You go over with us and to the first jump point. Then you'll go on ahead to be part of the opposing force."

*****

"Now it's your time to prove your loyalty to me." Raisor's avatar floated an inch off the floor, a disconcerting image when combined with the translucent aspect of his appearance.

"How exactly?" Cesar asked. Valika stood behind him, off his right shoulder. Souris was preparing for the next test of Aura, the final one before they were ready to be fully working in combination with the
Gagarin
.

"Not only will you help me," Raisor added, "but you'll also be helping yourself."

Cesar waited for more explanation.

Raisor had searched through the computer's files. Now he used Aura's capabilities to project an image of the Mount of the Holy Cross in the air between him and Cesar and Valika.

"That's where Bright Gate is located. Inside that mountain in the middle of Colorado. You're going to help me get in there, and get out with what I need."

"And how am I going to do that?" Cesar asked.

"You're going to lend me your associate, Ms. Valika, and Ms. Souris’ laptop. I transferred more than the eight hundred million you needed. You can spare, say, ten million, a drop in the bucket, to hire the men and equipment we need in the United States to accomplish my task. If you need contacts, I have some that I met while working for the Agency. And they will have my assistance." He turned to Souris. "You have your original prototype of Aura, don't you?"

"Souris!" Cesar snapped, drawing her attention away from the computer screen. "The original Aura prototype. You still have it, correct?"

Souris nodded. "But it’s weak. The field is small, less than half a mile."

Raisor smiled. "That's all I'll need in order to be with Valika on the mission."

"You said this would also be helping me," Cesar noted.

"The Americans are planning to raid your compound in Colombia where you are keeping their soldiers prisoner."

"I expected that," Cesar said.

"Did you expect their Psychic Warriors to be leading the assault?" Raisor asked. "Are you prepared for that?"

Cesar turned to Souris to answer.

"We are, actually," she said.

Raisor was surprised. "How?"

"Do not concern yourself with that," Cesar said. "I think you have a solid point though. Attacking Bright Gate while the Psychic Warriors are out on the virtual plane is a good idea." Cesar lifted his right hand to Valika. "Go with him."

*****

The U.S. aircraft carrier
Roosevelt
had just traversed the Panama Canal into the Pacific on its way to rejoining the Seventh Fleet after a refit at Norfolk Naval Station. On the massive flight deck dozens of planes were crowded wingtip to wingtip. Among them were two MH-60 Special Operations Blackhawk helicopters. A new Department of Defense policy, designed to be more in line with the threats of terrorism rather than World War III, had designated that a Special Operations task force be on board each fleet carrier. The Spec Ops task force consisted of a Special Forces A-team and a Navy SEAL element, along with Task Force 160 helicopters to transport them.

The order for the raid to help rescue the Special Forces soldiers in Colombia was greeted by the Special Ops men with enthusiasm and professionalism. The original team had come from this ship and they had friends among the missing men.

As the
Roosevelt
turned its bow to the south, they began making their plans, even though the supporting role they were to play puzzled them. If they were to be second wave, who was to do the actual assault?

*****

"Eat it," Sergeant Lambier told Granger. The wounded man was staring at the tin plate of unrecognizable slop a guard had just shoved in the cell.