Area 51: The Mission-3 by Robert Doherty
Authors: Robert Doherty
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Espionage, Political, High Tech, Unidentified flying objects, Space ships, Area 51 (Nev.), Plague, Extraterrestrial beings
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"That's my fleet."
His finger moved to a black circle that dwarfed the fleet's images. "That's the shield. The NSA has tried every spectrum their satellites are capable of to try to see through, and nothing has worked. That computer is hiding something from us. And the longer we sit here on our butts and do nothing, the more time they have to do whatever it is they're doing."
"Ma'am!" a voice called out from the other side of the communications shack.
Duncan turned. "Yes?"
"NSA was doing an internal security check and they found an illegal tap in the Interlink from this area."
Duncan knew the Interlink was the Department of Defense classified Internet system. "And?"
"They backtracked the tap and it's coming from an uplink into FLTSATCOM from Easter Island. As far as NSA can determine, the guardian is into the DOD
Interlink using some of the equipment we left behind when we abandoned the island."
"How long has it been in?" she asked.
"Over a day."
"And they're just letting us know now!" She turned to the admiral. "Shut the satellite down!"
"No can do." Admiral Poldan had listened to the exchange. "That FLTSATCOM is our only connection to headquarters."
"Admiral, you're letting the guardian into your Interlink and from there into the Internet. What the hell do you think it's looking for?"
49
"I have no idea," Poldan said stiffly.
Duncan stepped in close to the naval officer, who towered over her. "I don't either, Admiral, but I highly recommend you shut down that link before it finds what it's looking for—if it hasn't already. Unless, of course," she added,
"there's a reason you want the guardian infiltrating the Interlink? What exactly are your orders, Admiral?"
Poldan stared down at her for a second. "I'll contact the NSA and have them shut the satellite down."
He had been sitting in the same place for many days, wrapped in a heavy sleeping bag with a white camouflage sheet covering his position. He was wedged behind a blown-down pine tree, the branches providing excellent overhead concealment, as they were thick and covered with snow from the previous night.
There was always snow here, even at the height of summer. This was the northernmost end of Novaya Zemlya, an island seven hundred miles long that separated the Barents Sea from the Kara Sea. The north tip of the island projected into the Arctic Ocean. It was 560 miles from Norway, north and west.
Archangel was the closest Russian city, over five hundred miles away. The ocean surrounding the island was ice covered year round. The weather was extremely unpredictable, with fierce weeklong storms common. A large portion of the island, south of this location, had been used by the Soviet government for years as a nuclear test site. This precluded anyone coming north by land, even if they could make it across the brutal terrain that had no roads. There were only two ways to this spot: by air or by icebreaker.
The man was on a steep mountainside, overlooking a cluster of buildings huddled around a landing strip be-
50
tween the base of the mountain and a glacier to the east. The ice-covered ocean stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the small level cove of land, caught between mountain, sea, and glacier.
He heard the other coming long before he saw him. The other was making his way through the thick forest, moving slowly in the thick snow. The first one didn't move, not even when the other stopped in front of him, breathing heavily and leaning on ski poles.
"I am Gergor," he said simply.
The other caught his breath and nodded. "Coridan," he introduced himself.
"Your trip went well?"
"It was difficult," Coridan allowed.
Gergor nodded. "That is why this"—he gestured at the complex—"is here. Not like the Americans putting their Area 51 in the middle of their country where civilians could drive up to the boundary."
"No one will drive here," Coridan acknowledged.
Gergor pointed to his right. "Rest there for a minute."
Coridan didn't
His finger moved to a black circle that dwarfed the fleet's images. "That's the shield. The NSA has tried every spectrum their satellites are capable of to try to see through, and nothing has worked. That computer is hiding something from us. And the longer we sit here on our butts and do nothing, the more time they have to do whatever it is they're doing."
"Ma'am!" a voice called out from the other side of the communications shack.
Duncan turned. "Yes?"
"NSA was doing an internal security check and they found an illegal tap in the Interlink from this area."
Duncan knew the Interlink was the Department of Defense classified Internet system. "And?"
"They backtracked the tap and it's coming from an uplink into FLTSATCOM from Easter Island. As far as NSA can determine, the guardian is into the DOD
Interlink using some of the equipment we left behind when we abandoned the island."
"How long has it been in?" she asked.
"Over a day."
"And they're just letting us know now!" She turned to the admiral. "Shut the satellite down!"
"No can do." Admiral Poldan had listened to the exchange. "That FLTSATCOM is our only connection to headquarters."
"Admiral, you're letting the guardian into your Interlink and from there into the Internet. What the hell do you think it's looking for?"
49
"I have no idea," Poldan said stiffly.
Duncan stepped in close to the naval officer, who towered over her. "I don't either, Admiral, but I highly recommend you shut down that link before it finds what it's looking for—if it hasn't already. Unless, of course," she added,
"there's a reason you want the guardian infiltrating the Interlink? What exactly are your orders, Admiral?"
Poldan stared down at her for a second. "I'll contact the NSA and have them shut the satellite down."
He had been sitting in the same place for many days, wrapped in a heavy sleeping bag with a white camouflage sheet covering his position. He was wedged behind a blown-down pine tree, the branches providing excellent overhead concealment, as they were thick and covered with snow from the previous night.
There was always snow here, even at the height of summer. This was the northernmost end of Novaya Zemlya, an island seven hundred miles long that separated the Barents Sea from the Kara Sea. The north tip of the island projected into the Arctic Ocean. It was 560 miles from Norway, north and west.
Archangel was the closest Russian city, over five hundred miles away. The ocean surrounding the island was ice covered year round. The weather was extremely unpredictable, with fierce weeklong storms common. A large portion of the island, south of this location, had been used by the Soviet government for years as a nuclear test site. This precluded anyone coming north by land, even if they could make it across the brutal terrain that had no roads. There were only two ways to this spot: by air or by icebreaker.
The man was on a steep mountainside, overlooking a cluster of buildings huddled around a landing strip be-
50
tween the base of the mountain and a glacier to the east. The ice-covered ocean stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the small level cove of land, caught between mountain, sea, and glacier.
He heard the other coming long before he saw him. The other was making his way through the thick forest, moving slowly in the thick snow. The first one didn't move, not even when the other stopped in front of him, breathing heavily and leaning on ski poles.
"I am Gergor," he said simply.
The other caught his breath and nodded. "Coridan," he introduced himself.
"Your trip went well?"
"It was difficult," Coridan allowed.
Gergor nodded. "That is why this"—he gestured at the complex—"is here. Not like the Americans putting their Area 51 in the middle of their country where civilians could drive up to the boundary."
"No one will drive here," Coridan acknowledged.
Gergor pointed to his right. "Rest there for a minute."
Coridan didn't
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