Area 51_The Grail Read online

  Twenty miles and still closing, Jimsar flipped open the small red cover over the fire button. He thought briefly of the Russians downing KAL Flight 700 and the American navy ship shooting down the Iranian airliner. He knew if he did not fire there was a good chance he would be shot down on approach back to Kashi airfield by his own anti-aircraft batteries. His only other option was to try to fly to freedom, but he had a limited amount of fuel on board—not enough to reach a decent airfield to land the plane, and without the prize of the plane he doubted he would be granted asylum in any of the countries within reach. Also, if he fled, he had been told in no uncertain terms that his family would be sent to prison for the rest of their lives.

  Jimsar pressed down, and a missile leapt from beneath each wing. Seeing that, his wingman followed suit and four missiles raced forward at four times the speed of sound toward the target.

  Jimsar watched the action play out on his display.

  “We have multiple hits,” he announced, watching the trail of his two missiles abruptly disappear. This was followed by the second two at a slightly further location, which was strange, but Jimsar didn’t report that.

  “Confirm wreckage location,” the lieutenant ordered.

  In the time it had taken the missiles to fly twenty miles, the jets had flown ten. The short conversation at Mach 2 closed the gap another five miles. The Flankers dipped down and slowed until they were cruising at a relatively slow five hundred miles an hour, less than eight hundred feet above the desert floor.

  Jimsar loved flying close to the ground, the terrain flashing by, emphasizing the speed and power of the jet. His eyes were glued forward. A tall sand dune over a hundred feet high rapidly approached.

  For a second, Jimsar froze in shock as the strangest thing he’d ever seen rose from behind the sand dune. At his speed all he had was a glimpse, then he was by, but there was no doubt of the form—a dragon, open mouth pointing directly at them!

  “Break and circle!” Jimsar ordered. There was no response from Hanxia.

  “Break and circle.” Jimsar already had the Flanker in a steep left-hand turn.

  “Roger, breaking and circling right,” Hanxia replied in a shaky voice.

  As his hands worked the controls, Jimsar replayed the image in his mind. “It was metal,” he said out loud. He forced himself to snap back to reality. “Captain!” Jimsar ordered. “We’re going to circle back. Do you understand? Over.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a machine,” Jimsar said as he leveled off, heading back toward the dragon. He checked his display. Nothing. The dragon had to be using the sand dune to mask its radar signature. “Keep your eyes open,” he warned Hanxia as the dune came into view five miles ahead and below.

  “Sir, I think—” There was a loud burst of static, a scream inside of the static, then silence.

  Jimsar’s action was instinctive. He rolled the Flanker hard right, dropped altitude, punched in afterburners, and pointed the nose almost straight up. His back slammed into the seat from both the acceleration and vertical attitude.

  His head twisted and turned as he searched the sky from this unique perspective. He saw the dragon racing up, no visible means of propulsion, three miles away and closing both horizontally and vertically.

  Jimsar pushed the stick over, going from a climb to a twisting dive that put him head-on with the dragon, now less than five seconds away. He pressed the trigger for the 30mm cannon and felt the plane shudder as it spewed eight-inch-long bullets. Every fifth round was a tracer and his hand twitched on the stick, bringing the fiery rope of bullets right into the chest of the dragon as it raced toward him.

  A line of light leapt from the dragon’s mouth, and came back at Jimsar’s plane as fast as his bullets were going the other way. He released the trigger and rolled left into a steep dive, narrowly avoiding the beam.

  He kept his afterburners on and used the descent to add to his speed before leveling off at one thousand feet and almost seventeen thousand miles an hour in speed. He headed directly for the airfield at Kashi, the battle over.

  Not only did Jimsar accept he was overmatched, his fuel gauges were dangerously low because of the limited fuel he had been given.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Giza Plateau, Egypt

  Duncan ran her hand along the top of the Ark, feeling the thin wires coiled into the lid. At first she had thought they were artwork, but when she tugged on them, they came out. Three long filaments of metal, ending in what appeared to be a small rose-shaped object about half an inch across, each made of a different material.

  She looked at the wires for a short time, something nagging at her, as if she had seen this before. She reached up and took the crown off her head. On each of the three bands of metal that comprised the crown was a small indentation, the inverse of the objects on the end of each line.

  She took each lead and placed it against the indent on the band made of the same material. The first two clicked firmly in place. She hesitated on the third, not sure what it would bring forth, but she had an overwhelming urge to move forward. She pushed the last one in place and the lid glowed brightly, enveloping her in a golden light, but that was all.

  Duncan lifted the crown and set it on her head.

  She gasped as she “saw” the Giza Plateau from a bird’s-eye view, in the midst of a lush, green land, but with no pyramid or Sphinx on its surface. The vision shifted and she saw a Talon spacecraft on the plateau, its long, lean form against the blue sky. The Talon fired a beam down into the rock of the plateau, burning deep into it. Another Talon appeared, the Black Sphinx just below it, held in a golden field propagated from the tip of the craft. The Black Sphinx was lowered into the hole that had been cut. Men and women were now getting off the first craft carrying supplies.

  Duncan was overwhelmed, her mind receiving input faster than she could process it. What she was experiencing was more than a vision. She knew things about what she was seeing. It was as if the Ark was giving her information in the form of memories.

  She reached up and ripped the crown off her head, then collapsed next to the Ark, her body shutting down to protect itself.

  Vicinity Easter Island

  It was the worst defeat the US Navy had suffered since Pearl Harbor. The Nimitz-class carrier USS Washington, the pride of the Pacific fleet, was lost. As was the USS Springfield, a Los Angeles-class attack submarine.

  The loss of the carrier and its battle group to the unknown force on Easter Island had effectively gutted Task Force 78’s power, as the surviving ships’—two guided missiles cruisers, three destroyers, two frigates, another LA-class sub, and two supply ships—primary mission was to guard the carrier.

  The arrival of the Washington’s sister ship, the USS Stennis, and her battle group, had restored the combat effectiveness of the fleet that now steamed two hundred miles north of Easter Island, with the new title of Task Force 79, under the control of the commander of the Stennis, Captain Robinette.

  The orders to sit tight and do nothing didn’t sit well with Robinette, nor the men and women he commanded. When he received a mission asking for a SEAL team to infiltrate Easter Island with the dual mission of reconnaissance and rescue, all he cared was that it had sufficient clearance, and ST-8 was the highest possible. He knew that he should check in with Pacific Fleet Command at Pearl to confirm, but he chose not to, for fear they would countermand the order. Instead, he personally took the tasking to the commander of the SEAL team billeted aboard his ship.

  Area 51, Nevada

  Turcotte had been pacing in the hallway outside the conference room for the past hour after grabbing a quick meal in the base’s cafeteria. Yakov sat on a hard plastic chair just outside the door, a bottle of vodka between his knees. He’d made a big show of getting the bottle from Quinn, but Turcotte noted that the level had dropped less than a half inch in the past hour, barely a wetting of the lips for the Russian.

  Turcotte was ready to go, but the replacements for the men
who had been killed had not yet arrived, nor did he have sufficient intelligence on the Giza Plateau to even begin planning a second rescue mission.

  Turcotte spotted a familiar face coming out of the room and changed his direction to walk beside Larry Kincaid, the NASA and JPL representative.

  Kincaid had a file folder tucked under his arm. “I’m going to get these pictures from Hubble updated.”

  “Mars?”

  Kincaid nodded.

  “Cydonia region?” Turcotte narrowed it down to the spot where the Airlia base had been discovered.

  “Yep.”

  As they reached the end of the hallway, Turcotte put a thick forearm across Kincaid’s chest, halting the other man abruptly. “You got a secret or you going to tell me why you’re being so quiet?”

  Kincaid paused. “No secret.” He held up the file. “They’re doing something on Mars. I just can’t figure out what.”

  “A weapon?”

  Kincaid shook his head angrily. “You military guys—that’s all you ever worry about—‘is it a weapon?’ That’s what Majestic spent all those years concerned about: whether the Airlia artifacts could be used as weapons. Whether the Russians would find an Airlia weapon. And when we did find an Airlia weapon—or I should say the Germans did—we kidnapped it and used it to build a nuclear weapon to kill other humans. But nobody worried about the bigger picture.”

  “Is that a no?” Turcotte asked, forcing a smile on his face. He’d worked with men under stress before and he knew that things could unravel quickly.

  “Too much coffee,” Kincaid paused. “I don’t know what it is, and I’m having a hell of a hard time getting more information. We’re getting the shaft from our own government—they want to pull use of the Hubble from me. What are they going to look at that’s more important than alien machines on Mars? We’ve had our heads in the sand about the aliens forever, and now people want to stick our heads back in there and pretend nothing’s changed.”

  Kincaid took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know, Mike. They could be uncovering a weapon. Nothing much we can do about it if they are. I would like to at least see what they’re doing with the best equipment we have.”

  “Talk to Quinn,” Turcotte suggested. “He can work some backdoors in the classified world, maybe get you the Hubble back.”

  “I hope so.” Kincaid shoved the door open and went into the Cube. Turcotte spun on his heel and paused. Yakov stood there blocking the corridor.

  “Do not be so hard on him. He is out of his depth. Overwhelmed. We all are.” Yakov thumped Turcotte on the chest with a large finger. “Remember what happens to us when we think with this, rather than with this.” He pointed at his own head.

  “Don’t—” Turcotte began, but paused when he saw Professor Mualama standing in the doorway to the conference room. “What is it?”

  “I have translated the first two chapters of Burton’s manuscript,” Mualama said.

  “That was quick,” Turcotte noted.

  “My studies have been very beneficial,” Mualama said.

  “Right,” Turcotte replied, his tone indicating what he thought of Mualama’s answer.

  Mualama held his hand out for the door. “You’ll find it very interesting. You have to remember that Burton was more known for his translation of others’ writing—like the Kama Sutra or The Thousand and One Nights—than his own writing. This manuscript is all in his words, but it appears a large part of it comes from his translation of documents he discovered.”

  Turcotte went into the conference room, Yakov following. Quinn went to wake Che Lu.

  “By the way,” Mualama pointed at a picture tacked to the bulletin board, “that’s Burton.”

  Turcotte paused in his rush to get to the computer. Burton was a savage-looking man, with scars etched on each cheek, blazing black eyes, and dark skin.

  “He had a spear run through both cheeks when he was attacked at Berbera on his first expedition with Speke,” Mualama said.

  “Speke?” Turcotte asked.

  “John Speke, another English explorer. The two went to Africa several times to search for the source of the Nile,” Mualama explained.

  There was another picture tacked to the side of the photo. A large stone structure, shaped like a tent.

  “What’s that?” Turcotte asked.

  “Burton’s tomb,” Mualama said. “It’s designed in the form of a Bedouin tent. His wife did that because he had a terrible fear of being enclosed in darkness. There’s even a stained-glass window in the structure to let light inside where the body lay. Burton once said that he had horrible nightmares of being trapped inside a mummy’s case.”

  Turcotte nodded, remembering what it felt like to be trapped inside a sub’s hatch during lockout. The thought of being trapped inside a coffin, still alive, was more than he thought he could bear.

  Mualama cut into his thoughts. “Your computer is all set to project the translation.” Mualama had already disappeared behind the computer monitors. Che Lu hurried into the room and sat next to Turcotte, Yakov on the other side.

  Turcotte hit the enter key. The screen on the far wall flickered and then the first words appeared.

  BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER I

  MEDINA TO GEA, THE BEGINNING OF MY SEARCH

  1853-1855

  I first met Al-Iblis in Medina. The circumstances of the occasion are not important as this is not my story. This story is about the alien creatures, their minions, and how they have meddled with man’s history. And the promise and threat they hold for our future.

  At that meeting, Al-Iblis never said exactly what it was he was looking for; it was only later that I surmised it was the Grail. He hinted that it was the Hall of Records he was seeking. There are rumors of a place that holds the truth of the time before our time.

  He sent me like a bloodhound to track down its exact location and the way to get to it. He expected me to return to him with the secrets. Even now, after all my studies and searching, perhaps the Grail is the same thing as the Hall of Records, but if it is, it is also much more than that. Much more! I believe that the Hall of Records holds the Grail.

  Al-Iblis pointed me to the Giza Plateau to look for a man named Kaji. A caretaker of some sort was the impression Al-Iblis gave. I will not dwell long here on Al-Iblis, as he will reenter the story very soon and you will understand him as I have come to.

  I traveled to Giza while Speke went on to England. Many view this as the lowest point of my life—as Speke trumpeted finding Lake Tanganyika and claiming it was the source of the Nile, I was nowhere to be found in England, stolen of the supposed glory that should have been half mine.

  Instead, I was in the midst of the most amazing experience I had to that point. I met Kaji. The details of how I convinced him to lead me to the Hall of Records are also not important. Suffice it to say he led me into the Great Pyramid, the one named after the Pharaoh Khufu. We descended into the very bowels of that massive edifice until we were below it, in the Earth itself.

  Kaji used a ring, a special ring, to open secret doorways, all of which led us farther into the Plateau of Giza, which he called the Highland of Aker after an ancient god.

  At one point Kaji paused at a split in the way. One path led to a most destructive weapon, one that could destroy the entire plateau. But we went the other way. Deeper and deeper into the Earth. He told me the tunnels were carved during the time of the Neteru, the Gods of Ancient Egypt. At first I thought this ridiculous as the Neteru were considered a legend, a thing of an ancient religion. I now believe him.

  He told me we were moving through the roads of Rostau and once more called the plateau the Highland of Aker. We finally arrived at a chamber deep beneath the Earth. Inside was the most marvelous thing I have ever seen. Another huge Sphinx, this one made of black metal, b’ja, the divine metal, Kaji called it. The Black Sphinx was large, if not larger than the stone one on the surface. This one was guarded by a statue of shemsu horus, a guardian of Horu
s with red hair, red eyes like a cat, mounted on a platform beneath the mighty paws.

  We needed a key to get in, Kaji told me. And that was it. We didn’t have the key. And he had only promised to show me the Hall of Records, not what was inside. We left, going back along the Roads of Rostau.

  But Kaji had deceived me. He had planned for me to die there, under the Earth, his secret still safe. But I foiled his plan, and he was the one who was mortally wounded while both of us were trapped in a chamber deep under the rock.

  Before he died, he told me an incredible tale. He told me he was a wedjat, one of the eye, a Watcher. And whom did they watch? Ones Who Are Not Men. Airlia. Those who had come to Earth from the stars many, many years ago. He told how they fought among themselves and destroyed much in the process. How their minions have kept the fight all these years since. He told me little more before he died, but I have been able to find out more over the years.

  I escaped. Kaji had told me there was a second gateway to the Roads of Rostau. I found the secret passage in the floor of the chamber we were trapped in. I opened it with his ring. A shaft beckoned. Cold air came from it and I heard the sound of water flowing, how close I knew not.

  I had no other choice. I would not die in the dark with my tale. I would return to England, to my Isabel.

  I climbed over the edge. I dropped, falling for a second, maybe two. It seemed like forever to me in that dark hole. Then I hit the side of the shaft and slid. It was curving from the vertical very slightly. I moved as quickly as I could along the stone, but it was cut so smoothly, inhumanly smooth as the other Roads of Rostau we had walked through.

  I slid for a long time, how long I could not tell you now.

  When I hit the water it shocked me. I was submerged, but came to the surface gasping for breath, only to be immediately swept by the current away from the shaft into a tunnel. Reaching up, I could feel stone less than two feet above my head. I prayed the ceiling didn’t drop as the water took me.

  But it wasn’t the ceiling that came down, but the floor that came up, or rather the water level dropped as the tunnel must have widened. My feet hit stone as I tumbled and bounced, trying to steady myself. I was knocked down again and again, until finally I was able to get my feet, push back against the current, now around my waist, and hold still.