The Alien Prophecy Read online

  “I know.”

  “This Dr. Selene Khan entered Station Thirteen and stole a hummer. The D17 agent, Jack Elliot, saw too much in the Ardennes. No, no, I do not approve. The worst is that spider in Washington. Secretary King has become too meddlesome. It is time to remove her from the board.”

  “Then…”

  “Send Mouse to Washington. It is time the head of D17 had an accident. At this late date, we will keep everything simple. Afterward…well, it won’t matter what any of them knows then.”

  PART TWO:

  RUNNING WITH THE HORSEMEN

  -28-

  36 HOURS LATER

  SIWA OASIS

  EGYPT

  “You’re never going to believe this, sir.”

  “With that smirk on your face, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

  “It’s about Dr. Selene Khan.”

  “You’ve found her? Where is she hiding, in the middle of a Sumatra jungle?”

  “She’s in Africa, sir.”

  “Impossible!”

  “She’s been clever, but she slipped up as we knew she would.”

  “No! Don’t be arrogant. She’s proven more elusive than anyone thought possible. In Africa, you say? The woman is remarkable. She’s slipped through our fingers several times already. It is unwise to underestimate her.”

  “This time, she’s ours, sir.”

  “Go ahead. Give me the report. The last two days searching the net, every Southeast Asian airport manifest—”

  “She’s given us a chase, sir, that’s true. Now, she’s in the Siwa Oasis.”

  “The Hell you say?”

  “I thought you’d be ecstatic to hear it, sir.”

  There were several moments of silence. “Yes, I suppose this should work to our advantage.”

  “She’s delivered herself into our hands, sir.”

  “Can that be blind luck or is something more nefarious going on?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll have to call Mother. We could have a situation on our hands.”

  ***

  Selene walked briskly down a dusty street. She was nervous, heading to a meeting with the Old Man. He had agreed to see her, although he’d sounded nutty on the phone. He’d given her absurd procedures to follow—“safety steps,” he’d called them.

  The Old Man had refused to say anything about Claire except that she had missed their scheduled appointment. Selene had heard some strange news about birds at Angkor Wat, but she hadn’t been able to contact either Claire or Andy.

  Had they gone to ground?

  Luckily, Selene had used throwaway cell phones each call, trashing them afterward. That had been Philip’s idea. He had done a stint in the Greek Army, working in Intelligence as a lowly private and later a corporal. Still, he knew a few tricks.

  As Selene hurried down the street, she glanced over her shoulder. An older Egyptian in a dirty robe and headdress pedaled an ancient bicycle. It had a plastic carton fixed to the back. In it, he carried several squashed chickens. They clucked in complaint as the squeaking contraption passed Selene on the street.

  Selene took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten. It felt strange to realize that just a little over thirty-six hours ago, she had been swimming in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Slowly, she let out the air.

  She wore a tan business suit, and because she was in a Muslim country, she wore a scarf over her head. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes from the sun while a snub-nosed .38—from Philip—weighed down her right suit pocket. She might have felt strange carrying a gun, but Danny had taught her to shoot one of her first years in college. “The places we’ll be traveling, a gun will be handy.” She’d learned enough throughout the years to know she’d have to be very close to hit anything more than fifty percent of the time.

  Checking her recently purchased cell phone, Selene realized she was going to be late for the first stage of the appointment. The Old Man had insisted on precision or he would cancel.

  Where did Claire find these people?

  Selene lengthened her stride, passing sleepy, rundown shops and the strong smell of coffee.

  This was the Siwa Oasis, one of the most isolated settlements in Egypt. It was near the Libyan border, bracketed in the west by the Egyptian Sand Desert and in the east by the Qattara Depression. The oasis was just fifty miles long and twenty wide. It boasted a salt lake, tens of thousands of trees—palms and olives, mainly—and lay in a depression nineteen meters below sea level. Twenty-three thousand Berbers—non-Arabs—lived at Siwa. The oasis’s great claim to fame was the ancient oracle of Ammon, which Alexander the Great had once trekked to consult after his conquest of the country.

  Across the narrow street, a man sat outside a coffee shop reading a newspaper with only his fingers visible. Cigar smoke trickled into view. The hidden man was Philip Khios. Selene felt a hundred times better knowing he was there.

  She hadn’t told him everything that had happened in the Indian Ocean. She’d even kept the tuning fork hidden from him. Selene first wanted to compare notes with Claire. Philip had a greedy side. Selene wanted him here, but she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him with everything.

  Taking out her cellphone, she pressed send.

  The left side of Philip’s spread-out newspaper folded inward. She could see the cigar clamped between his teeth. He was ready.

  Selene turned to her right, pushing through a door into an antique shop. A bell tinkled above her head. The smell of Turkish coffee and wet air struck her. The shop must have a swamp cooler instead of an air conditioner.

  Selene moved past rows of clay figurines, glass trinkets and old wooden plaques with Arabic sayings on them.

  An older man in his late forties or well-preserved fifties stood behind a wooden counter, watching her. He had creased skin and a large hooked nose. His hair was shiny black instead of its likely natural gray. Most unusual, he had a gaudy ring on each of his fingers.

  “It is apparent to me that you do not speak Arabic,” the older man said with a heavy accent. He wore a red vest over what seemed like 1930’s-era clothing.

  Selene shook her head. She only knew a few words of Arabic.

  He studied her as he rested his ringed hands against the countertop. Finally, the fingers of his left hand began to tap the wood impatiently.

  “Oh.” Selene dug out a roll of Egyptian pounds. She peeled off several high denominational notes and set them beside the man’s tapping fingers.

  He spread out the bills, shaking his head.

  “I thought the Old Man said—”

  The clerk raised an admonitory finger, waggling it back and forth. “Please permit me to point out that you have a gunman within call. That breaks the spirit of the agreement we—”

  How could he have known about Phillip? Selene thought fast. “I need protection,” she protested. “Surely, you can understand that.”

  The clerk’s gaze flickered over her form. “Please,” he said. “It is obvious you are able to protect yourself. You don’t need a lazy Greek to help you do that. In point of fact—”

  “I wasn’t sure about you. I thought this shop might be a front for kidnappers.” That sounded legitimate, didn’t it?

  “Go,” the man said, sweeping the bills off the counter so they fluttered toward the floor.

  Selene watched the money as a sinking feeling grew. She concentrated on the clerk, willing him to understand. “Don’t you see why I might bring the—?”

  He put a spread-fingered hand against his chest. “You must understand. The one I represent will not permit himself to fall into an obvious trap.”

  “Please—”

  “You must leave. You offend the spirit of Siwa with your presence.”

  Selene retrieved the bills from the floor, using the time to ponder her next step. Standing, she doubled the rejected money with fresh notes, putting the combination onto the counter.

  “I made a mistake,” she said. “Maybe this will cover it.”

/>   The man wet his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He studied the money, finally looking up and shaking his head.

  Was he really worried about Philip?

  “I’m here about the hum,” Selene said.

  “Go!” he said, fluttering the fingers of his right hand.

  Selene breathed deeply and let out the air slowly. She observed the storekeeper more carefully. In this new light, she could see that he was tense. The black ceiling glass must hide a camera, maybe several of them.

  A prickle in her neck told Selene that someone moved behind her. She didn’t turn around but used the reflection in a glass display case farther away.

  A man was in the store with them, someone who hadn’t rung the bell. The man studied her intently, and he had a gun holstered on his hip.

  This is a setup.

  She spun around, and the new man looked up in surprise. He wore a policeman’s hat with a badge on a uniform.

  I’m not falling for that.

  Selene shouted, stepping at the supposed policeman. Danny had taught her self-defense. She twisted her torso and lashed out with her right palm, striking him against the chin. There was a crack. His head shifted sharply to the right.

  To Selene’s surprise, the man crumpled, sprawling onto the floor, unmoving.

  The clerk gasped, speaking rapidly in Arabic.

  Selene turned back to him.

  The clerk was trembling. When he realized she stared at him, he flinched, stepping back from the counter.

  Selene scooped up her money. “So this was a trick all along.”

  Shock widened his eyes. “Do you know who that is? That is Captain Nasser, the chief of police. Why did you attack him?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The clerk stared at her as if she was mad.

  Selene felt a moment of doubt until she remembered the bell. “Look. How did he get inside the shop without ringing the bell?”

  “That is easily answered. The captain despises the tinkling sound. He says it reminds him of his cow of a wife. He always opens the door slowly to make sure the bell does not ring. Now, you have assaulted a police officer, the chief of police. You are in terrible danger.”

  Selene looked at the prone man. Was he really the Siwa captain of police? If that was true—

  She pushed away from the counter, stepping over the policeman.

  “Where are you going?” the clerk shouted. “You must stay for your arrest.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No,” the clerk said, racing behind the counter, lifting a board. “I will not let you leave.”

  Selene made a swift calculation. She hated to do this, but she pulled out the .38, aiming it at the clerk’s stomach.

  The man stopped as his mouth opened and closed.

  “We’re going into the back,” she told him. “You’re going to erase the video of me hitting the police captain.”

  “Never,” he said.

  “Fine!” she said. “Then I’m going to shoot you right here.” Selene couldn’t believe she was saying this. Making the one hundred mile swim, seeing all those dead bodies in the ocean must have done something to her.

  The clerk searched her eyes, nodding fast. “Yes. I will show you the computer. Then you must—”

  “Get moving,” Selene said, waving the .38 toward the back.

  “What are you planning?”

  “You’re going to find out.”

  “If you try to rob me—”

  Selene laughed, the sound coming out wildly even to her ears.

  It made the clerk’s mouth snap shut.

  “Move,” Selene told him.

  He nodded, turning around. Together, they moved behind the counter into the back area. There, the clerk showed her the heart of the security system. Then, he showed how to erase video. Finally, he did just that, getting rid of the past few minutes.

  “Please,” he said, afterward. “Leave my shop and never return.”

  Selene had a pained smile. “We’re both leaving.”

  “What? No. I cannot leave my business. Thieves—”

  “You’re taking me to see the Old Man.”

  The clerk appeared as if he wanted to plead. Instead, after a second, he became calm, studying her.

  It made Selene suspicious again. Had the clerk been faking his fear?

  “Give me the money,” he said, holding out his left hand.

  Selene poked his side with the .38. “You’ll get your money once I’m face-to-face with the one I came to Egypt to see.”

  “I cannot leave my store at this time of day.”

  “You’re leaving it. First, we’re going to bind and gag the police captain.”

  The clerk blinked several times. “No. That would be foolish. Yes. I will go with you, but we must leave at once and out the back door.”

  “Why’s that?” Selene asked.

  “I will not take you to… him if your Greek is going to follow us. Heading out the back will foil his surveillance.”

  Selene weighed her options. It was a dangerous request. Yet something in her gut said she should go. She decided to trust her instincts.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  The clerk headed for the exit, opening it, making a bell tinkle up top.

  Selene glanced at the bell and promptly ignored it as she followed the clerk into a dusty alleyway. The bell rang one more time as the door closed.

  There was a motor scooter on a kickstand waiting. The clerk went to the scooter, inserting a key and pressing the ignition switch. The man straddled the bike, revving the throttle, making the small machine sound like an out-of-control lawnmower.

  As he did all that, Selene pressed send again. It was Philip’s signal to head back to the hotel. Afterward, she climbed on back of the scooter, putting an arm around the clerk’s waist, swaying a little as he gunned the scooter, heading out of the alley onto a street.

  ***

  At the second chime of the bell, the police captain opened his eyes and sat up. He did not appear woozy, nor were his eyes particularly red, although his neck was sore where the woman had popped it.

  Selene hadn’t really knocked him out, although she had hit with uncommon strength. Instead of fighting with her—something forbidden by his instructions—the captain had feigned unconsciousness, hoping to hear something he could tell the other. Silently, he now congratulated himself on his cunning.

  Taking a walkie-talkie from his belt, the captain of police spoke softly. “She left with Souk the antique shop clerk.” He listened to a question. “I believe they’re headed to see someone called the Old Man.” The silence on the other end frightened the captain. Finally, thankfully, the speaker asked another question. “Yes, I’m certain,” the captain said, glad that he could be.

  There was further silence. Then, the captain listened once more. Relief filled him at his new instructions.

  “I will do as you say.”

  The captain hooked the walkie-talkie onto his belt, hurrying for the front door. He had one more task to perform. He was to arrest the Greek sitting across the street. He would make up something. Then, he would forget that the tall beauty had ever existed. She was out of his hands, now and forever. May Allah save her immortal soul.

  -29-

  QATTARA DESERT

  EGYPT

  It was tight inside the stationary Chief Cherokee with the three D17 agents at their consoles.

  Last night in Rome, Jack had received his instructions from Secretary King over a secure line. She had sounded winded, maybe even uncertain. That was unlike the Secretary. Jack had asked about the Ardennes, if she had received further information about the D’erlon Plant.

  Jack was still in the dark about the rest of the mission. Whatever had happened afterward in the Ardennes had become extremely hush-hush. Jack wanted to know how Simon’s information had gone over without the actual raw data. Not knowing bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  The Secretary had hesitated before br
ushing aside his question. Jack still wondered about that. Something had been off during the conversation. D17 was still after the antimatter, although King had sounded evasive when he’d asked for further details about that.

  From Rome last night, the team skimmed the Mediterranean all the way to Libya. The cargo plane had landed on a lonely stretch of road a half hour later. The team had gunned the modified Chief Cherokee down the ramp, roaring without headlights for a bumpy 116 miles to the Libyan-Egyptian border. That’s when the operation had become tricky. For fifty miles, they skirted saltpans and negotiated sand dunes, almost dumping the vehicle twice. Finally, just before dawn, they parked thirteen miles from the Siwa Oasis.

  Hours later, the engine still idled, powering the air conditioner. It hummed less for their comfort than for the expensive equipment inside.

  The fourth member of the team squatted six miles away outside a mud-brick hut on the lone tarmac road from Cairo. David Carter had trekked on foot from the jeep earlier this morning. He was Simon Green’s replacement. Carter waited for three trucks supposedly belonging to Abu Hammond, the notorious Iranian arms smuggler.

  Jack missed Simon, but he forced himself to bury his feelings. He was on an op. That meant full concentration. His agents deserved his best. He had to bring his people out alive, not leave them dead in the field as had happened to Simon.

  Get a grip, Elliot. The others are counting on you.

  Jack tapped his computer screen. He focused on the image from David Carter six miles away. The lenses from the man’s sunglasses sent a signal to the jeep. The optics showed rocks and gravel that could have been from Mars.

  “We’re right on target, boss.”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder at another screen. From a small drone’s vantage, it showed more of the rocky desolation of the Qattara Depression, made famous a little over 70 years ago. The depression had flanked El Alamein to the south, the place where Montgomery had stopped Rommel’s Africa Korps in 1943, changing the course of WWII.

  As seen from the drone, a ribbon of road snaked through the barren landscape. Three big trucks moved along the route. They’d been traveling all night from Cairo, 348 miles away.