The Rock Page 10

  Hawkins leaned over and looked down as the helicopter came to a hover, a thousand feet directly above. The humped side shape changed to that of a striated, cuddled-up fetus from the top. The surface was streaked with the results of millions of years of erosion by wind and the scant rain that falls in the desert. The streaks ran in parallel lines, looking smoothly cut from this far up, but as they descended, the convoluted dips and ridges that pockmarked the lines could plainly be seen.

  The closer they got to the Rock, the more it surrounded Hawkins's consciousness. He'd seen larger and more spectacular views from a distance, but up close Ayers Rock was overwhelming. He found it hard to believe that this was all one solid rock, looming over the desert with a six-mile base. The most immediate thought one had on seeing it was to wonder how it had gotten there in the middle of the desert.

  The sides were steeply sloped, dropping to a narrow fertile band all around the base. The rock itself was non-permeable, so any rainfall poured off onto the surrounding sand, allowing growth there that would never have survived beyond a hundred feet from the base.

  On top, in the center where the Rock was almost flat, large canvas covers were stretched, marring the beauty of the whole. Hawkins knew that the mine shaft and their new home were underneath that. The canvas was an attempt to partially defeat satellite investigation.

  "We've got a helipad right on top, so I'm going to put down on that," the pilot informed them.

  Hawkins saw the staked-down VS-17 panels marking the metal grating pitoned into the rock that made up the landing zone. He'd also noted the strong military presence in the area despite the attempts at hiding it. Brown camouflage nets dotted the desert around the Rock in a scattering unrecognizable to the nonmilitary mind. Hawkins overlaid the fields of fire from the positions in his mind's eye and nodded-Tolliver had deployed his men well. As they were about to touch down he spotted men hidden in the crevices of the Rock itself with shoulder-fired heat-seeking antiaircraft missiles at their sides-a supplement to the larger, tracked antiaircraft systems spread out on the desert floor. He'd also spotted the ring of Australian troops outside of Tolliver's perimeter, put there to keep away the curious and the media. Two Australian Cobra gunships were circling about to keep aerial sightseers away.

  The helicopter settled with a bump and Hawkins slid open the cargo door. Several troops were there to grab luggage. The team hopped out and followed Lamb toward a large environmental shelter hidden under the canvas covers. To the left Hawkins could see a hastily put-together metal shack with numerous cables running into it-the shaft entrance. The rumble of several large portable generators filled the air. A high-pitched whining noise overlaid the sound of the generators-the drill at work in the shaft.

  Sweat was already staining the back of Hawkins's fatigues as they entered the shelter. There was no relief inside; the dry, murderously hot air wrapped him in a blanket of suffocating warmth.

  "Sorry about the conditions. We've got some AC units, but when the drills are running we have to keep the power going to them," Lamb explained. "We're having some more generators flown in later today."

  A dozen or so metal folding chairs were placed precariously on the hastily laid down plywood flooring. There were three people already in the tent-Hawkins recognized Tolliver. The second had on the uniform of an Australian general. The third wore nothing but a small cloth wrapped around his loins. His skin was pitch black and wrinkled from both age and the sun. He sported a large bushy gray beard and two jet-black eyes that regarded the newcomers with suspicion.

  Lamb did the introductions. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is General Anderson. He's the senior Australian representative here."

  General Anderson shook everyone's hand with a distinct lack of warmth. He was a large stocky man with a florid face bathed in a sheen of sweat. His thinning hair was mussed and he looked none too pleased.

  "And this is Tintinjara. He's the supervisor here at Kakadu National Park."

  Hawkins considered the old man. He knew this was a farce-they'd been instructed by Lamb in no uncertain terms to say nothing to any Australians. Lamb was in very bad spirits-the content of the second transmission had not gone over well with him either. Even though Spurlock had validated the deciphering, it was clear to Hawkins that Lamb wasn't putting much stock in Levy or her theories.

  It was also obvious to Hawkins that he wasn't the only one who knew this meeting was part of a political play-the Aborigine didn't shake hands, his dark eyes simply taking in each of them one by one as they sat down.

  "I've asked General Anderson and Mr. Tintinjara here to give you an on-site briefing on the background to Ayers Rock," Lamb explained. "The Australians are very concerned with what we are doing here and-"

  "Extremely concerned and very upset," Tintinjara interrupted. It was surprising to hear an Australian accent coming out of the man's mouth. "This is my people's land and it has been our land for countless generations since the beginning of time. We have filed our protest in the Parliament but that has not stopped what you are doing." His eyes were hard as he stared at Lamb. "It is very nice of you to invite me here. This is my land. You are the guests."

  Lamb held up a placating hand. "I understand that. These are extraordinary times and I am sorry we must use extraordinary means to try to deal with them."

  Tintinjara shook his head, not buying it. "I do not understand what is going on. You say Uluru has spoken, but my people have not heard."

  Hawkins frowned and glanced at Fran. She met his look and shook her head slightly. Lamb nodded gravely. "Yes. But we have heard. And we need to find out who has sent the message."

  "Aye," Anderson spoke for the first time. "But drilling into the Rock?" He shook his head. "I've been instructed to go along with you all on that, but I've got to tell you-"

  "There will be no trace of what we are doing when we are finished," Lamb interrupted. "We are as concerned as you are about Ayers Rock and its role in your society."

  "I doubt that very much," Tintinjara disagreed.

  There was a long pause and then Anderson filled the silence. "Well, we must deal with things." He looked at the members of the team. "What is it you wish to know?"

  Hawkins knew they had everything they needed in the computer, but it was time for some public relations. He hated this.

  "Some basic background information would be helpful," Lamb said.

  Tintinjara's face was still, as if he knew the question was bogus. Anderson picked up a file folder from a briefcase next to his chair. "Well, basic stats you probably already know. Highest point 1,131 feet. A mile and a half wide. Two miles across. It's six miles to go around the base." Anderson wiped a hand across his soaked forehead. "It can get up to a hundred and thirty in the summer, which you all are just about in the middle of. That's fortunate in a way, though, because if you'd come in the winter, that would have been peak tourist season. We've had to turn some people away, but not too many. The media are abuzz about what's going on, but we've kept them in the dark also, although how much longer we'll be able to is questionable. We've already caught two reporters coming in out of the desert in a Land Rover, trying to get around the roadblocks.

  "The actual rock is feldspar-rich sandstone. It was uplifted from an ancient seabed millions of years ago." He pointed down at the wood planking. "The markings on the surface are the result of eons of erosion from wind and rain. The water hole here is the only active year-round one for hundreds of miles around.

  "The first white man spotted the rock in 1873 and named it for Sir Henry Ayers, who was the Premier of South Australia at the time." Anderson inclined his head toward Tintinjara. "There is a movement afoot to change the name back to the original Aborigine name-Uluru. There are strong emotions on both sides about the issue."

  Tintinjara took that as his cue to explain his perspective. His voice was a low whisper, almost drowned out by the rumble from the mine shaft. "Uluru rose out of the plain at the end of the creation period. In the beginning-before the wor
ld took on its present form-the carpet-snake people came out of the east and settled at the water hole here. Then came the venomous-snake men from the west and they attacked the carpet-snake people. At the close of the battle Uluru rose up, a symbol of all the fighting." He waved his hand slowly about. "Every pit, every outcropping, every mark on this Rock, has a special significance to my people."

  "The spot at which we began drilling did not have any particular significance," Lamb interjected. "We have tried-"

  "The entire Rock is significant," Tintinjara countered.

  Anderson seconded that from his perspective. "Ayers Rock is called the 'heart' of Australia. You're drilling right into our heart, mate, and there's a lot of folks that aren't very happy about it."

  Hawkins could tell Lamb was trying to maintain a diplomatic front. If this had been the United States and they were drilling through a Native American burial site, Hawkins had no doubt but that there would be no representative from a tribe present. National security would ensure that. Here, however, they had to try to placate.

  "We understand," Lamb said. "Let me assure you that we will do everything we can to minimize any…"

  Hawkins tuned out the political role-playing and walked out of the tent. If anything significant happened, the other members of the team would pick it up. He could feel the eyes of several guards on him as he walked over to the metal tower surrounding the drill hole. The marine at the door noted the access tag clipped to his fatigue pocket but still demanded to see Hawkins's ID.

  Once inside, the temperature shot up a good twenty degrees from the sweltering heat as two air-conditioner units strained under an impossible load. Four men stripped to their waists were working on a two-story platform that looked like a miniature oil-drilling derrick. One of the men noted Hawkins, searched his sterile uniform for any indication of rank, and, failing that, noted the 9mm pistol strapped in a thigh holster and the look on Hawkins's face. He came over, his black skin glistening.

  "Can I help you, sir?"

  Hawkins extended his hand. "Major Hawkins. How's it going?"

  The man looked no more than twenty-five and seemed surprised at Hawkins's hand being thrust out. He awkwardly took it. "Captain Tomkins, sir. Third BLT Engineers." He glanced over his shoulder as a load of crumbled rock was pulled out of the borehole and loaded onto a small cart and hauled away. "We're over halfway down." Tomkins seemed to be trying to size Hawkins up. "Any idea what we're looking for, sir?"

  Normally the inquisitiveness would have bothered Hawkins, but in this case he felt a strong affinity for the captain. "No. Wish I did." He walked over and climbed up the ladder to the platform where the other three engineers were, Tomkins following. Leaning over, he could see the drill pipe disappearing down into a three-foot-diameter hole in the red rock. There were no lights, so he could only see a few feet into the hole. He ignored the whine of the drill, the rumble of the rock shards coming up the small conveyer, and the presence of the men around him. He felt himself drawn to the hole, going down five hundred feet, to what? Hawkins shivered and broke his gaze away.

  "How long before you get there?"

  "Forty-eight hours, working this way. Whatever 'there' is," Tomkins replied.

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 0800 LOCAL

  21 DECEMBER 1995, 2230 ZULU

  "We know about the transmissions," Fran said, "but what about the disappearance of Voyager? How could that have happened?"

  Their new place of business was a government issue nuclear-biological-chemical (NBC) shelter, designed for MASH units to be able to operate inside while deployed in severe climactic conditions. Central Australia certainly fit that bill, Hawkins thought, as the unit's air conditioner strained to keep the temperature barely tolerable inside the inflated white walls.

  "I've studied what happened there," Levy answered, her eyes taking in the entire team from behind her thick glasses. "I've done some consulting work in the past for JPL-Jet Propulsion Laboratory-which runs Voyager, so I have some background on the subject."

  "Do they have any idea at JPL what happened to it?" Fran asked.

  "No." Levy shrugged. "Their best guess is that Voyager hit another object, perhaps a small meteor or comet. At the speed it was moving, such contact would have been disastrous."

  "What do you think happened to it?" Hawkins asked.

  "I don't know," Levy replied. "There is no data to work off, other than the lack of a bounce back. It could have been destroyed in a collision with another object, but the odds of that are slim. The fact that the message was sent using data off the plate from the probe indicates that perhaps there was some other agent at work."

  "Some other agent?" Hawkins voice was sharp. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I don't know."

  "Can I throw something out?" Don Batson asked.

  "Go ahead," Levy said.

  "I don't think we should get closed-minded here and totally focus on the four items you've listed on that chart. Those are the four things we've been given, but they don't stand alone. Each is part of a larger scheme or tapestry, if you prefer to look at it that way."

  Hawkins frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Take the nuclear explosion at Vredefort Dome, for example," Don said. "You say there's a second bomb missing, right? Well, you have to factor that second bomb into the situation. The same with Voyager. Where was it located when it disappeared? What was its last message? What about the entire history of Voyager-maybe there's something there that has a bearing on the situation. Do you see what I mean?"

  "You're saying let's not get tunnel vision," Hawkins replied.

  "Right."

  Hawkins briefly drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "All right. Don has a good point. Let's get back to work and keep in mind that there's a hell of a lot more to all this than is readily apparent." The four went back to their hastily installed computer terminals, each lost in his or her own direction.

  Hawkins was tapped in to the secure line to Orion headquarters, updating himself on the search for the remaining bomb and also going back over all the intelligence they had previously obtained, looking at it in light of present circumstances. Batson was studying all the geological data on Ayers Rock and the other sites, trying to determine possible links. Fran was reworking her projections, trying to figure out how all that had just occurred could affect things.

  Debra Levy cleared her screen and sat in thought for ten minutes, her mind flitting over the information. She glanced up at the little diagram Hawkins had drawn and considered it in light of what Batson had said. She leaned forward and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

 
 
 
  LOCATION: AUSTRALIA

  DATE: AUGUST 6, 1945.

  < ACCESSED. SIX HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO ENTRIES. TO BRING UP FIRST RECORD, HIT F-1.