Area 51: The Sphinx-4 by Robert Doherty Page B
Authors: Robert Doherty
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Political, High Tech, Area 51 (Nev.), Ark of the Covenant
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hour, they finally turned and disappeared into the jungle, satisfied they had accomplished their task.
Mualama climbed on top of the boulder. He could jump from there to the rock face on this side of the gorge. He knew he had a hard climb, and then an even harder forced march to civilization, but there was no doubt in his mind he would make it. All he had to do was look over his shoulder and see the remains of Bauru, stripped to the bone, washed up between two rocks downstream and on the other side.
And he had the package tucked into his pants. He had to make it to the next step in the riddled path that Richard Francis Burton had left behind as his secret legacy.
-58-
CHAPTER 4
AREA 51
The gusts of wind coming off the peaks picked up sand and carried the fine particles with them, limiting visibility to less than two hundred feet in any direction. Area 51 was completely covered by the storm.
Captain Mike Turcotte kept one hand on the goggles strapped around his head, the other on the MP-5 submachine gun slung over his left shoulder. To his right, another figure braved the scouring wind, striding forward, away from the side of the mountain where the massive hangar doors that had opened slightly to allow them out, now slid closed. The doors were painted the same color as the mountain, a dull, sandy tone, and they appeared to become part of the slope as they shut.
"At our Area 51 it was snow that the wind carried," the other man yelled, his strong accent audible above the howling shrieks,
Turcotte didn't acknowledge the Russian's comment. Already the mountain from which they had emerged had faded into the brown, swirling fog. He concentrated on moving in a straight line, knowing how easy it would be to become disoriented and wander into the wasteland that surrounded Area 51.
Turcotte held up his right arm, fist closed, the military signal to stop. Yakov, the Russian, lumbered to a halt, waiting. Almost seven feet tall, Yakov seemed little bothered by either the wind or blowing sand. He wore a long black coat that flapped behind him. A short black beard covered his lower face. A fur hat, incongruous in the sandstorm, topped his large head.
-59-
"The runway." Turcotte pointed ahead at the edge of concrete that was visible in the relative lulls between the stronger gusts. He turned to the right and moved in that direction, using the edge of the runway as his guide. After several minutes he came to another stop. To the right, in between surges of the wind, they could make out the gutted ruins of the hangar that had been destroyed by the blast from space.
"With our own sword," Turcotte said, more to himself than Yakov.
"What?" The Russian leaned closer.
"We were attacked with our own weapon.'
"What was in there?" Yakov asked.
"The bodies of the two STAAR personnel we killed. The scientists were still working on the bodies, trying to figure out how much was human and how much was alien. Eight people were killed in the blast." "It is the price of war,"
Yakov said.
"We're not winning the war," Turcotte said.
Yakov didn't reply to that He reached up and made sure his hat was still attached. "We could have waited in the hangar."
"Too many prying eyes and inquisitive ears in there," Turcotte said.
Yakov laughed, a deep rumble that was ripped away by the wind. "You are learning. Paranoid is good. Paranoid keeps you alive."
"Major Quinn is doing an electronics sweep of the Cube -- the underground operations center for Area 51 where you met him. Once he's sure it's secure -and Dr. Duncan gets here -- we'll meet there and figure out what we're doing."
"Do you trust this Major Quinn? Was not he a member of Majestic-12?"
"I don't trust you, never mind Major Quinn, Turcotte said, turning from the destroyed hangar to
-60-
watch the runway, or at least the small portion he could see. "Quinn wasn't on the inner circle of MJ-12, just their military liaison in the Cube—more of a technical guy than an actual operator.
Mualama climbed on top of the boulder. He could jump from there to the rock face on this side of the gorge. He knew he had a hard climb, and then an even harder forced march to civilization, but there was no doubt in his mind he would make it. All he had to do was look over his shoulder and see the remains of Bauru, stripped to the bone, washed up between two rocks downstream and on the other side.
And he had the package tucked into his pants. He had to make it to the next step in the riddled path that Richard Francis Burton had left behind as his secret legacy.
-58-
CHAPTER 4
AREA 51
The gusts of wind coming off the peaks picked up sand and carried the fine particles with them, limiting visibility to less than two hundred feet in any direction. Area 51 was completely covered by the storm.
Captain Mike Turcotte kept one hand on the goggles strapped around his head, the other on the MP-5 submachine gun slung over his left shoulder. To his right, another figure braved the scouring wind, striding forward, away from the side of the mountain where the massive hangar doors that had opened slightly to allow them out, now slid closed. The doors were painted the same color as the mountain, a dull, sandy tone, and they appeared to become part of the slope as they shut.
"At our Area 51 it was snow that the wind carried," the other man yelled, his strong accent audible above the howling shrieks,
Turcotte didn't acknowledge the Russian's comment. Already the mountain from which they had emerged had faded into the brown, swirling fog. He concentrated on moving in a straight line, knowing how easy it would be to become disoriented and wander into the wasteland that surrounded Area 51.
Turcotte held up his right arm, fist closed, the military signal to stop. Yakov, the Russian, lumbered to a halt, waiting. Almost seven feet tall, Yakov seemed little bothered by either the wind or blowing sand. He wore a long black coat that flapped behind him. A short black beard covered his lower face. A fur hat, incongruous in the sandstorm, topped his large head.
-59-
"The runway." Turcotte pointed ahead at the edge of concrete that was visible in the relative lulls between the stronger gusts. He turned to the right and moved in that direction, using the edge of the runway as his guide. After several minutes he came to another stop. To the right, in between surges of the wind, they could make out the gutted ruins of the hangar that had been destroyed by the blast from space.
"With our own sword," Turcotte said, more to himself than Yakov.
"What?" The Russian leaned closer.
"We were attacked with our own weapon.'
"What was in there?" Yakov asked.
"The bodies of the two STAAR personnel we killed. The scientists were still working on the bodies, trying to figure out how much was human and how much was alien. Eight people were killed in the blast." "It is the price of war,"
Yakov said.
"We're not winning the war," Turcotte said.
Yakov didn't reply to that He reached up and made sure his hat was still attached. "We could have waited in the hangar."
"Too many prying eyes and inquisitive ears in there," Turcotte said.
Yakov laughed, a deep rumble that was ripped away by the wind. "You are learning. Paranoid is good. Paranoid keeps you alive."
"Major Quinn is doing an electronics sweep of the Cube -- the underground operations center for Area 51 where you met him. Once he's sure it's secure -and Dr. Duncan gets here -- we'll meet there and figure out what we're doing."
"Do you trust this Major Quinn? Was not he a member of Majestic-12?"
"I don't trust you, never mind Major Quinn, Turcotte said, turning from the destroyed hangar to
-60-
watch the runway, or at least the small portion he could see. "Quinn wasn't on the inner circle of MJ-12, just their military liaison in the Cube—more of a technical guy than an actual operator.
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