The Rock Read online

  Levy succinctly went through the information. When she was done, Hawkins leaned forward, getting close to Lamb. "Now, if there were transmissions out of the Rock in 1945, that sort of casts doubts on your Russian theory, doesn't it?"

  "It doesn't matter," Lamb said. "If the Russians have uncovered whatever is there, we need to know."

  Tunguska

  "This is fucked, boss man," Lee whispered to Richman. Lee had his slight frame crammed under a dead tree, his MPS submachine gun pointing out, taking security on that side. His night-vision goggles were hardly necessary, due to the reflected glow from the high-power lights under the tarp less than fifty meters away. Brown was to Richman's left, covering the other side.

  Richman didn't bother answering. He agreed, but telling his two teammates wouldn't do much for whatever little morale they might have left. The jump had been bad enough-letting the drogue chute of their parachutes suck them off the back ramp of the Talon at less than two hundred feet-barely enough time for the specially designed low-altitude main chute to deploy before they crashed into the upper branches of three pine trees.

  Luckily their hazardous-terrain protective gear had worked as intended and they'd all managed to climb down to ground level and assemble without injury. It had been a nightmare moving across the frozen tundra to the target, climbing and slipping over snow-covered deadfall, the freezing night air clawing into their bones. They'd spotted the lights a half hour earlier and spent the time slowly working their way in closer. The thickly packed pine trees surrounding the target were great camouflage, along with the pitch-black night. They'd already slipped past two rings of security. Richman had had a Russian soldier almost step on top of him forty meters back. Fortunately, the Russians were not equipped with night-vision goggles.

  Richman tried focusing his PVS7 night-vision goggles on what was under the overhead cover. There were several tents set up, smoke billowing out of their stovepipes at the edge of a large pit. Richman estimated the temperature to be about twenty below, which helped explain the lack of people moving around who absolutely didn't have to. He could see three guards armed with AK-74 automatic rifles standing near steel grating that sloped down out of sight into the hole the Russians had just recently dug.

  "We're going to have to go in," he whispered to Lee, then Brown. It was a credit to their discipline and belief in him as their team leader that neither uttered a word of protest. He reached inside his white parka and flicked on the portable SATCOM radio strapped to his back.

  Ayers Rock

  "HOW ARE THEY GETTING OUT?" Hawkins asked.

  "MH53 Pave Low helicopter," Lamb replied.

  "Bullshit," Hawkins fumed. "They're in too far for the Pave Low." He pointed at the world map they'd been using to locate the transmission sites. "It's almost two thousand miles from Pakistan to Tunguska."

  "It'll have a Talon escort for in-flight refueling," Lamb patiently replied.

  Hawkins wasn't pleased with that answer, but there was nothing he could do-a feeling he was uncomfortably used to.

  A marine appeared in the doorway. "We have communications with Phoenix, sir."

  "Switch it in here," Lamb ordered as he turned on the SATCOM radio set up on top of the table.

  There was a brief hiss of static from the speaker and then a voice could clearly be heard whispering, "I say again. Angel, this is Phoenix. Over."

  Lamb keyed the microphone. "Phoenix, this is Angel. Over."

  "Roger. We're about fifty meters from the edge of the tarps. We can't see down into the pit, so we're going to move in closer. Out." The radio went dead.

  "We'd have known in twenty-four hours what's in the chamber in the Rock," Hawkins said. "Why did you have to put those men on the ground?"

  Lamb kept his eyes focused on the radio. "Because we need to know what's there now. Twenty-four hours may be too late."

  Tunguska

  Richman could hear voices talking loudly in Russian as he slid along the back side of one of the tents, weapon held at the ready. Lee was right behind, covering him. Brown was back in the tree line with the Stoner machine gun to provide support fire. A conveyer belt was set up about twenty feet to Richman's right front, leading over the edge of the pit. Richman decided that would be the best place for him to see in without being spotted by security.

  Using hand signals he indicated for Lee to stay by the tent and cover him. Richman lowered himself into the mushy snow and low-crawled forward, keeping an eye on a bundled-up guard standing near the edge of the pit to his left. He jammed himself under the stanchions holding up the conveyer belt where it turned from vertical to horizontal and caught his breath. He looked back. He couldn't see where Brown was in the tree line and, shifting his eyes closer, Lee was nothing more than a dark shadow against the tent.

  Richman turned his gaze to the pit and down. As his eyes focused on what was down there, he blinked and tried to make sense of it.

  Ayers Rock

  "Angel this is Phoenix. Over."

  Hawkins could tell Richman must be in an extremely exposed position because he was barely whispering into his mike. Hawkins's heart was thumping more quickly than it would if he were there himself. A drop of sweat slipped over his upper lip and splashed against his chest unnoticed.

  "Phoenix, this is Angel. What have you got? Over."

  "I don't know." There was a pause, during which Lamb looked at Hawkins as if to blame him for his man's confusion. Richman's voice came back, low and tentative. "The hole is about forty meters around and thirty meters deep. In the center there's a half sphere with a flat face on this side. The outside seems to be some sort of metal that doesn't reflect light but the side that faces me, it's-well-it's just this black wall. But it's not a wall. I don't know what it's made of. It's sort of shimmering. The Russians have video cameras and other instruments facing the wall. There's something strange about the wall. Over."

  "What's strange about it? Over." Lamb was gripping the mike tightly.

  Richman's voice was tense. "It's not… well, it's not like anything I've ever seen. It doesn't look solid. Over."

  "What are the Russians doing? Over."

  "Hard to tell. There are some boom arms that look like they might be used to push something through-maybe a video camera or some other sensor, but I can't tell if they've been used. I don't think… wait one-there's some movement up here. I need my hands. I'm going to lock down on transmit. I'm going on FM too."

  Hawkins gripped the back of the chair next to the table where he was standing. Richman was now broadcasting to his two partners on FM radio as well as on the SATCOM. Hawkins could hear some rustling as Richman moved. The man's breathing sounded loudly through the speaker. When he spoke it surprised everyone. "There's a patrol moving out. I think they're changing guard shifts. Lee, they're coming up on you. Shit." The last word was said sharply.

  Two seconds later the deep roar of automatic weapons resounded through the tent, startling Fran and Levy.

  A new voice sounded tinnily-Lee as heard by Richman over the FM radio and fed back into the SATCOM. "I've got four down. Two still moving. Let's get the fuck out of here, boss man."

  Richman's voice was hurried and short of breath. "We've got tracers out of the north. Brown, you got them? I'm going to try and disengage. Lee, to the right! The right!" Richman was screaming now. A deeper roar sounded in a long-held burst. Hawkins recognized the sound of the Stoner-Brown firing in support.

  A deep grunt-Lee. "I'm hit, boss man. Two, maybe three rounds. Chest. Right arm. I can't move."

  "I'll get you. Hang tight. I'll get you. Cover me, Brown."

  The crump of an explosion and a scream that was cut off. Hawkins looked up. Fran's face was white. Batson looked stunned. He couldn't tell what the expression on Lamb's face was as he held the useless microphone.

  "Brown's dead." Richman's voice was labored. "I confirm. Brown is dead. They blew the shit out of the tree line." He grunted and they heard Lee's sharp intake of breath. Dimly Hawkins could he
ar the soft chugging of Richman's silenced submachine gun spewing out death. "I've got Lee. I'm pulling back into the pit. They're all around us. I'd say they got at least a company's worth."

  Over a hundred men closing in. Hawkins stared at the radio, wishing he were anywhere but here.

  "We're down the ramp." Richman's voice sounded loudly. "Hey, buddy. Come on, buddy. Don't lose it on me." A roar of semiautomatic fire. "Fuck!" Richman screamed. Hawkins heard a long, sustained rattling of the sub firing and then the distinctive sound as Richman switched magazines. "Time to don berets and stack magazines."

  Hawkins winced. That was a grim joke between him and his team members. They'd always talked about what they would do if caught in a hopeless situation. Surrender was out of the question. Any person-no matter how well trained-could be made to talk, and the men and women of Orion knew too much to have that happen. Hawkins had been the one to say that that was the time to put on the green beret most of them had worn when they were in Special Forces and stack magazines for ready access and fight it out to the death. The fact that Richman was wearing a sterile uniform and didn't have a beret didn't matter.

  "Lee's dead. That last burst got him. I'm down to two mags. They're in no rush. They know they've got me cornered. I think they're worried about shooting up their equipment down here, otherwise I'd be Swiss cheese. Maybe they're worried about hitting the black wall." There was a short pause. "Angel, I don't know who you are, but tell my wife I love her and always will."

  Hawkins wanted to grab the mike from Lamb and assure Richman he would, but there was no way they could talk to him-once Richman had gone hot with his mike he could only transmit, not receive.

  "Fuck dying in this hole!" Richman's voice was strong. "I'm moving." They could hear him as he ran, the thunder of the Russians firing, and Hawkins recognized the flat crack of near misses. "I'm going to-"

  The transmission cut off in mid-sentence. The signal was gone. Lamb slowly placed the mike down on the tabletop.

  "You've got a shimmering black wall." Hawkins spoke with barely restrained anger. "Was that worth three good men?"

  SECOND CONTACT

  Ayers Rock, Australia

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 1015 LOCAL

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 0145 ZULU

  "Where’s Debra?"

  Fran's question caught everyone off-guard. Hawkins swung his gaze up and met hers. She'd rarely seen such profound sadness in a person's eyes. There was more to Hawkins than the cold-blooded military man he liked to present the world with, she realized. She regretted her mercenary comment earlier in the cafeteria.

  "She must have left when things got hairy on the radio," Batson replied. "She was here when it all started."

  "Help me find her," she said, taking Hawkins by the arm and shuffling him toward the tent flap.

  They stepped out, the bright sun causing them to blink for a few moments to allow their eyes to adjust.

  "Did you see Miss Levy?" Hawkins asked one of the marine guards. "Yes, sir. She headed for the communications center a few minutes ago."

  Fran led the way along the top of the Rock to the shelter that bristled with antennas. Entering, she spotted Debra seated at a console, typing.

  "Debra, what are you doing?" Fran asked.

  Levy glanced over her shoulder. "I'm letting them know that what just happened at Tunguska is a mistake."

  "Letting who know?" Hawkins asked, his mind still echoing with the screams of dying men.

  Levy tapped the enter key. "Whoever is in, or behind whatever is in, the Rock."

  "What did you do?" Hawkins asked, startled.

  Levy pointed at the screen. "I just transmitted."

  Hawkins and Fran looked over her shoulder. The screen was an unintelligible mass of O's and l's. "What's the content of your message?" Hawkins asked.

  Levy hit another key and the screen cleared. "Just what I said-that we mean no harm and that we wish only peace."

  Hawkins glanced at Fran and grimaced. Across the tent, Spurlock was sitting at another console, headphones on, oblivious to what had just happened.

  "Do you know if the Rock received your message?" Fran asked.

  Levy smiled. "We should find out shortly."

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 1140 LOCAL

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 0210 ZULU

  "What do we have in common that whatever is in the Rock would want us four here?" Fran asked the question that had been bugging her ever since she'd been told of the message at the end of the initial transmission.

  Levy was still with them, although Hawkins had had to argue fiercely with Lamb to keep him from locking her up. She still refused to divulge the exact contents of the message she had transmitted. A chagrined Major Spurlock could confirm that a message had been sent-the automatic logs at least had that recorded, but Levy had erased the actual contents. She'd sent it out in the same manner as the second transmission had been received-on a sliding wavelength moving up from fourteen twenty megahertz. Whether the Rock had received it, no one knew.

  The members of the team were sitting in the operations shelter with Lamb, trying to regroup from the double shock of the military action in Siberia and Levy's attempt at communication.

  Lamb shook his head in reply to Fran's question. "I’ve asked that same question and my people have cross-referenced your backgrounds, looking for a common thread. We've come up with nothing for all four." He looked at Hawkins and their gazes locked-Lamb was convinced Levy had crossed some mental line and "no longer had both oars in the water," as Lamb had scientifically put it.

  As if she had intercepted that look, Levy's low voice cut across the room. "You think I'm nuts, don't you?" When no one answered, she continued. "I assume you know about my therapy? And my institutionalization?" This time she didn't wait for an answer. Her voice took on a slightly mocking tone. "The doctors believe what happened to me happened because my rapid academic advancement outstripped the emotional skills I needed to cope with it." She laughed. "I assure you, gentlemen, and lady," she said, nodding her head at Fran, "I am probably the sanest person in this room right now."

  "Then you know about my breakdown too," Fran quietly commented, looking at Lamb. That brought a look of surprise to Hawkins's face.

  "Yes, we know about it, but you've been cleared by the doctors," Lamb replied.

  Batson was vibrating in place. "What about you?" He was looking at Hawkins. "Did you have a breakdown too?"

  "No. I just kill people," Hawkins replied, his eyes glinting dangerously.

  Batson was caught up in the confusion of the situation. "Well, I haven't had a breakdown, nor have I had to get re-grooved in a nuthouse. Nor have I killed anyone. So why am I here?"

  The sharp crump of an explosion derailed any answer. "What's that?" Fran asked.

  "We're blasting to get to the chamber," Lamb explained.

  "I thought you weren't going to do that," Batson said.

  Lamb's reply was brief. "Things have changed."

  "Afraid they're going to beat us to the punch?" Hawkins asked.

  "They've already beaten us to the punch, as you put it," Lamb replied. "Either the Russians are behind this thing or they're as confused as we are. Either way, they've already uncovered their site. We can't waste any more time."

  "What are you going to do when you get to the chamber?" Fran asked.

  "It depends on what's there." Lamb shrugged. "It might be the same as what's in Tunguska, but we have to remember that Tunguska never transmitted. We're sitting on the transmitter. Maybe the one over there is just a receiver."

  A man poked his head in the tent and gestured for Lamb, who stood. "If you come up with anything that you all have in common that my people might have missed, let me know. I've got other pressing matters that I need to attend to." He walked out, taking his folders with him.

  Fran looked at Hawkins and then Batson. The latter sank into a chair with a sigh. "Listen, Fran, I think I know why I'm here. And probably why you're here. I can even understand why you're here."
He jerked a thumb at Hawkins. "But I don't understand why Levy is here."

  "Why do you think you're here?" Hawkins asked.

  "I'm one of the top experts in the world in geology. This thing-whatever it is-is in the middle of the largest homogeneous rock in the world." Batson waved a hand, to forestall Hawkins's comment. "On top of that, though, is that I'm a member of the Hermes Project. As is Fran."

  "I've heard that referred to several times," Hawkins said. "What is this Hermes Project?"

  Batson rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin with a shaking hand. "It was formed about two years ago. Some bright light in D.C. figured that the President should have a scientific think tank that he could call on when he needed answers. Not knowing what the potential questions would be that he might need answers to, the government recruited one or two of the top people in every possible scientific field and made them part of what they named the Hermes Project. I was tapped to be part of it eighteen months ago. "In that time I've been to five orientation meetings in West Virginia, but this is only the second time I've ever been called to actually work on something."

  "What about you?" Hawkins shifted his gaze to Fran.

  "I was one of the original members of Hermes. Last I checked, there were eighty-seven full-fledged members. I've done a lot more work under the auspices of the project than Don has, though. As a matter of fact, all I've been doing for the past sixteen months is running projections for Lamb and his people."

  "A scientific soothsayer."

  They all turned in surprise at the unexpected voice. Dr. Pencak stood in the tent doorway, leaning on her cane. She made her way over to the table and sat down in a chair.

  "I've never heard statistical projection called that," Fran remarked. "Quite frankly, the way my projections run, they are far from being soothing."

  "How does this event merge with your projections?" Pencak asked.

  "It doesn't," Fran said.

  "So are they still valid?"

  "It depends," Fran replied. "You need to look at the course of history as a deep-running river. You can throw stones in the river, but it will still run in the same course. You need something very significant to be able to change the direction. No pun intended, but so far this is just a stone. A very puzzling one, but still just a stone."