The Alien Prophecy Page 33

  Jack couldn’t believe he was actually going to try this madness.

  Samson Mark Two had finished explaining the propulsion system. By the implications, it meant he was far down inside the Earth’s crust, as in many miles down. They were supposedly as low as the ocean crust. The elevator had taken them down much deeper than he had suspected.

  Magnetic tubes bored ages ago by gravitational drills linked the various stations, at least the deeper shafts. It would appear Mother knew less about the intricacies of the stations than some of her children. It was like a racecar driver not knowing everything about the engine, hard to believe but possible.

  “It’s either that,” Samson had explained, “or she’s not worried about anyone trying this.”

  Jack could believe that. He wore a force field suit. The field would deploy briefly to deflect high-speed objects that neared him. If it stayed on at all times, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. The force field suit didn’t sense lasers, so a heater could kill just as dead.

  Jack had two fully charged laser pistols—heaters. He wore goggles, a heat jacket and rebreather over his mouth and nose. Samson said he was going to need those while flitting between stations.

  “I still don’t see why I won’t be burned to death,” Jack said.

  “Magnetic force screens,” Samson whispered.

  “You mean force screens like on science fictions shows?”

  “That’s close enough,” the skeletal man said.

  “Maybe I should head back up, use a plane to get there.”

  “It’s too late for that. Besides, this is the fastest way to Libya from here. There’s another thing. Everyone should be too busy inside the pyramid to notice you slinking through the corridors. As the saying goes, they’ll never expect this.”

  “There’s a reason they’ll never expect this,” Jack said. “I’m supposed to fly underground through a tube no one has ever used before?”

  “The ancients might have used it.”

  “Great,” Jack said.

  “That’s the wrong attitude,” Samson chided him. “I wish I could go with you.”

  Jack nodded, feeling guilty about Samson’s nearness to death. He was actually going to have a chance to change the outcome—if this ancient transportation system actually worked. The problem was that Jack had always hated the rides at amusement parks. Spinning like a top or going up and down on roller coasters…it had always made him sick, which was weird in a way, because he did okay jumping from a plane or doing an underwater insertion.

  Samson turned his head, coughing. The man trembled all the time now. His sweat had a dank, sick odor to it.

  The man was dying on his feet. Yet, Samson fought death in order to keep giving Agent Elliot further instructions. Jack’s heart went out to the man.

  “This is it,” Jack said. He stuck out his hand. “It’s been an honor knowing you and your brother. Thank you, my friend. I’ll never forget you.”

  The two men clasped hands. Samson had a fierce grip. After letting go, the skeletal man began coughing harder than ever.

  He took out a rag and wiped blood from his lips. “I’ll watch from this end,” he whispered.

  Jack nodded, wishing there was something he could for the man. He knew there wasn’t, so he put the rebreathing nozzle back over his mouth and nose. He put the googles over his eyes and zipped up the heat jacket. Putting on the gloves, he realized he couldn’t hesitate any longer.

  For a moment, Jack stared at the pad before him. It was a silver disc, large enough to hold three men comfortably. Around the disc were colored-light controls. The disc was the end of the line, or the beginning, depending on one’s vantage, into the hot rock tunnel. He could hear the shimmering force screen. What happened once he passed through it?

  Taking a deep breath, Jack decided he might as well get this over with. It was time to pay his dues for living. He boldly stepped onto the silver pad.

  Nothing happened, not a damn thing.

  The two men stared at each other.

  Samson glanced around, picking a small silver tube with a button on it. “You forgot this,” he whispered. He reached out, giving the tube to Jack.

  Agent Elliot gripped it with his gloved thumb hovering over the button. He nodded once to Samson. Then, Jack faced the shimmering force screen down the tunnel. With a decisive motion, he pressed the button.

  ***

  Jack lifted off the silver disc, falling forward headfirst. It was a horrible sensation. In the wink of an eye, he plunged through the shimmering force field. Heat slammed against him, and it got dark except for the light behind the shimmering field. The light faded in seconds as he continued to plunge headfirst, falling…falling…falling…

  At first, Jack held the shout inside him. He continued to fall, though, and he flailed now, trying to grab something to steady himself. It didn’t help in the slightest. He found that it wasn’t perfectly dark. He could see the rock tunnel flashing past him in a blur.

  He shouted, and scalding air leaked past his rebreather mask. He stopped shouting, concentrating on breathing the cooler air.

  The heat jacket helped a little, but he sweated fiercely. What had Samson said? The tunnel had a magnetic sheathing, helping to keep out the worst of the heat. It didn’t help enough though.

  Jack continued to tumble through a tunnel deep under the Earth, deeper than any human drill had ever reached. He fell forward due to a change in the gravitational direction. It propelled him at faster and faster speeds until he reached terminal velocity.

  This was clearly beyond human science. This was alien, alien to Earth, at least.

  Jack slowly worked himself around, putting his feet in front so he fell feet first. It felt safer, but what did that really mean? Maybe the builders had figured out how to shoot someone down a tunnel, or along a tunnel, but they had no idea how to give the rider a safe landing. They had destroyed the first civilization. Heck, they had destroyed themselves. So just how smart were these ancients anyway?

  Jack kept falling forward, working now to keep from heaving inside the rebreather mask. He doubted he would be able to successfully breathe the hot air if he lost his rebreather. He was supposed to go from Iran to Libya. Just how long would that take?

  Get your mind in gear, Elliot. Once you land it will be go time. You have to know what you’re going to do.

  Samson had droned on and on about the underground pyramid, the first one, he’d called it. The thing was huge, and it supposedly controlled the other stations. How had it survived the great disaster of long ago?

  Focus on the mission parameters.

  Yeah. This was his show. He’d been given a second chance to make everything right. That’s why he’d survived the night his parents had died. The speed freak—

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. The night boiled up in his chest. He remembered sitting frozen on the Lazy-Boy chair. The freak had surprised him. The human monster had surprised his dad, too. If they’d known—

  Jack shook his head. That day didn’t matter. He had survived because he had concentrated on one thing: killing the speed demon unleashed on his family. The killer had come disguised as a junkie. This time, the killer was an ancient woman who called herself Mother, and she was threatening humanity’s very existence.

  It didn’t seem right that Jack’s mission was to put down Mother, but it was. Samson said she had been born during the Black Death. She was old and she was the most dangerous person in the world. No one compared to her. How many mysteries and conspiracies went back to Mother or the Mothers before her?

  If one could yank back the curtain of history, how many Mothers would one find pulling the strings? It came down to now, didn’t it. Jack could stop the giant conspiracy that had begun before the start of human history. That was a crazy idea. Who was he? He was just one man with two heaters in his pocket and a force field to snap on to stop bullets. That was pretty good.

  Get in the zone. Get pumped.

  Jack closed his eyes and snapped t
hem open a second later. He didn’t like falling forward with his eyes closed. It made his stomach turn.

  Silver light flashed before his eyes. He held his tongue. More silver flashes stuck his eyes as loud whooshing noises assaulted his hearing.

  Something weird happened. He looked at the walls. He still couldn’t see much, and the flashes and whooshes had stopped. Even so, he had the feeling of traveling at a tremendous speed. He was sure that he moved faster than terminal velocity, driven faster by some kind of magnetic propulsion.

  Was he like some bullet underground? Look at me. I’m superman.

  A feeling of claustrophobia struck then. Jack began sucking air and blinking like mad.

  Calm down, Jack. You’re fine. This is no big deal.

  In Jack Elliot’s life, when he said it was no big deal he meant that he was close to blowing a fuse and going berserk. Once, in college, a freeloader in another dorm had snuck into Jack’s room and taken his pickup’s key. The man had used Jack’s painfully earned Chevy to make a burger run, almost getting in a wreck because the guy always blew through stop signs. Jack had found out about it. Even then, he always did in the end. He remembered going to the guy’s dorm room and knocking on the door. The guy had opened up, giving him a nod. Jack had just stared at the guy, his anger building.

  “Hey,” Jack had said in a winded voice. “It’s no big deal, but did you break into my room and swipe my truck key?”

  “Who told you that?” the guy had asked.

  Jack had blinked at the freeloader, wanting to hit him in the face. Jack didn’t like others just taking his stuff. He was very territorial that way.

  “Is it true?”

  “I guess so,” the guy had said. “I was starving, you know? I needed a Big Mac.”

  Jack had nodded, even managing to smile. “Don’t ever do it again,” he said. Something in his eyes must have bothered the guy, because he looked down, no longer able to meet Jack’s gaze.

  “Okay,” the guy had said.

  “Great,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

  And that had been that, no big deal, just like this sledding through the bottom of the Earth was a piece of…of…

  Jack slowed his breathing, wondering when the hell-ride was going to end and where in the underground pyramid the gravitational tube would deposit him.

  -81-

  SAHARA DESERT

  The beast grew wary as it peered around the latest dune. The Land Rover tracks in the sand led to a large flat area and disappeared abruptly. The tracks were barely visible as it was. Sand hissed through the heated air, swirling fine particles everywhere.

  The beast shook itself. Sand flew from its shaggy fur. It hated this place: the lack of water, large game and the oppressive heat. Its tongue lolled as moisture dripped from it. Why couldn’t it have escaped in the forest? Why had it succeeded in this forbidden territory? The beast couldn’t conceive anyone coming here on their own volition. The masters—

  The beast whined. Why did it still think of them as masters? It was free. It must change its thinking on this. They were not masters. They were the oppressors, tormentors…its enemies.

  Maybe the better plan would have been to leave the desert. No, no, it had made its decision. It must not fear. It must not whine like a defeated dog.

  Even as it thought that, the beast whimpered. A fierce hum came from out of the ground. The noise hurt its sensitive ears. Lying down on the shaded sand, the beast attempted to cover its ears with its paws. That did not stop the pain. In fact, the sonic hum worsened.

  The beast jumped up and fought the urge to bark wildly. It had to stop the noise. It had to attack, but nothing was here, just the eerie sounds. Barking…that was a primitive, instinctive reaction. It could think. It could—

  The huge beast found itself racing toward the hum. A savage desire to destroy, to kill, to shake the hum by its throat and lick its blood—

  The beast reached the end of the faint tracks. It began to dig wildly in the heated sand. Its paws moved faster and faster as they sank deeper into the surface. The hum drove it wild. It panted, winded, thirsty, hungry—

  Its claws scraped against metal. It dug more, exposing the metal, a sheet of it, to the hot air.

  Ah. The beast believed it understood. This was—

  A clack of noise and movement of the metal told the beast it had found an underground opening. A section of the metal was moving.

  Maybe the tormentors did not like its exposing the hidden entrance like this. They must have sensed it and were on the way to investigate.

  Warily, the beast trotted away.

  The clacking noises increased.

  The beast raced back to the dune, running into the shadows. It lay down, and then it froze, panting on the cooler sand.

  The clacking noises ceased. It heard engines revving. The beast knew those sounds. It was like the Land Rover sounds, but whinier, two-wheeler sounds.

  Yes, the beast saw a motorcycle with a silver-clad rider roar up out of the ground. Two more followed. The three vehicles had larger than normal tires. They raced around in a circle as helmeted men studied the ground. One of them pointed at the sand.

  The men pointed out its tracks.

  Each of the riders drew a long-barreled dart gun.

  The beast growled, slowly slinking backward. It knew it could not outrun the two-wheelers. No. This was going to be a death game around the dune. He had to kill all three if he hoped to survive and wreck vengeance against the rest of the tormentors.

  Two of the men had lifted their visors. They spoke to each other. The beast could hear the murmur of their words, but not the meaning.

  One of them shut a visor. The other reached for his, and stopped.

  The beast raised its head. It heard a new sound.

  The three riders peered behind them, looking up into the sky.

  The beast scanned the sky as well. It had watched birds before. Normally, it did not worry about the—

  The beast saw a speck in the air. It was a flying machine. It made stuttering noises and it was heading toward them. Even better, it caused the motorcycle riders to pause. The beast did not think they liked the flying machine.

  What did the approaching plane mean? Sometimes, for reasons the beast did not yet understand, humans fought against each other. Was there a way to use that for its advantage?

  The plane sputtered as it came, growing larger by the moment.

  -82-

  LEARJET 85

  LIBYA

  Thick, billowing smoke poured into the passenger area of the plane. No flashing lights went off, but oxygen masks had dropped. Selene put one over her face, breathing the pure air as her eyes stung from the smoke.

  A roar and lifting power told her the engines had resumed enough to give them more motive power. Then, they cut out again. The plane sank, and the engines began once more, giving another lift.

  Selene’s stomach lurched. How long could this go on? The plane’s air-conditioning systems had stopped, and the heat in the cabin quickly became unbearable.

  Selene sweated. It had to be over one fifteen in here already.

  Marcus nursed the stalling, starting plane. The smoke didn’t quit either. Without the oxygen mask, Selene didn’t believe she would have remained conscious.

  Marcus gained height by slow degrees. Selene could tell by leaning against a window and looking outside. The sand dunes had gotten smaller. She looked up. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  Ten minutes later, the engines cut out again. The Learjet glided, the ground rushing closer much too fast. Still, it seemed like a controlled descent after a fashion. Selene wondered why Marcus hadn’t used the engines when he’d had them to land. Maybe getting nearer headquarters was more important.

  The intercom system didn’t work anymore. Sometime during the ordeal, Marcus or the navigator had shut the cockpit door.

  Selene became aware the smoke was thinning. Then it was definitely dissipating. A howling sound caused her to glance back.
Someone had opened a door to the outside. The smoke had fled through it. She saw Ney wave to her. He was buckled into a seat near the open door. Had he done that?

  Selene looked out the window. They were a mere one hundred feet above the dunes. She cinched her seatbelt and assumed the crash position with her head between her knees.

  Marcus could get them down. He was—

  The underbelly of the Learjet struck the desert, and everything became a sliding, screeching hodge-podge of noise and motion. Selene was jerked forward, backward and side-to-side. She clutched the armrests, sucking air, waiting for the final crash to end everything. Instead, the infernal screeching lessened and the motion was no longer quite so violent. All of a sudden, the motion came to a jerking halt! Selene slammed against the seatbelt, moaning. Then, the screeching also stopped. They were down, stopped and it appeared that Selene was still in once piece.

  Now what should I do? What was that smell?

  The cockpit door flew open. Marcus charged out, shouting, “Hurry up! We have to get out of here. The plane is going to explode!”

  Selene must not have moved fast enough for his tastes. The soldier plucked her from the aisle as she stood. He carried her as easily as an adult might a three-year-old. Clasped against Marcus’s chest, Selene felt his strength and had a better understanding of his speed.

  Marcus leaped from the open door, thudding onto the blistering hot sand.

  “Put me down,” Selene said.

  The soldier did not listen. He charged across the sand. Ney struggled ahead of them, dust and sand exploding from his thrusting feet.

  “Go!” Marcus shouted at Ney.

  Selene struggled to free herself. The soldier simply tightened his hold. He had muscles like steel. There was no way short of knifing him that she could tear herself loose.

  The soldier sprinted across the sand. He closed the gap between Ney and him.

  “Wait for me,” the navigator shouted.

  Selene saw the man jump from the plane. At that moment, she heard whining engines. Three motorcycles appeared around the front of the Learjet.