Authors: James L. Ferrell
“The ancient
Egyptians used the scarab as a symbol of the sun god,” Taylor continued. “Its
habit of rolling balls of dung across the ground made them think of the divine
being that caused the ball of the sun to roll across the sky each day.” She
paused and looked at him with an amused expression. “I suppose most people in
this day and time would find that a little repugnant. The dung balls, I mean.”
“Only the
squeamish ones,” he replied with a grin.
She laughed,
fondling the scarab, while their eyes met and held for several long seconds. Conversation
between them was easy, and it made her feel comfortable. He was not at all
unattractive, and his smile appeared natural and sincere. If things worked out
as planned they would be spending a good deal of time together. She found the
prospect appealing. She knew he was totally unaware of the reasons for his
summons to Apache Point, and when that knowledge was revealed, it could
drastically alter their budding relationship. However, there was strength in
the way he carried himself, and she doubted he was the type to run from
responsibility. In any event, within the next few hours his questions would all
be answered and he would know exactly why Apache Point needed a police
detective, especially this particular one.
“You said you were
a scientist,” he said. “Not many women wear a scarab brooch. Does that mean
you’re an archaeologist?”
“No,” she shook
her head. “I’m a linguist with a specialty in philology.
A
great deal of my work is in the interpretation of documents and inscriptions
recovered by archaeologists through their digs
. Believe it or not, I can
read hieroglyphics about as well as some people read their native language.”
He reached out and
felt the edge of her scarf where pictographic characters were embroidered in
black thread. “What do these hieroglyphics say?”
She hesitated a
few seconds before she answered. It would be taking a chance to tell him
exactly what the characters meant without going into more detail than she
wanted to. She did not want to begin their relationship with lies, so decided
to tell a partial truth, leaving out the details of how she had acquired the
exact hieroglyphics.
“They tell a story
of sorts.” She leaned her head back against the metal wall, and stared at the
overhead mass of wires and cables. “They say ‘
The
daughter of Ra holds the light of life that
causes the faithful to come forth by day. Her radiance fills the land of
Egypt and her
countenance brings
everlasting beauty among us.’
Ra, who was one of the greatest Egyptian gods, was represented by
the sun
. The daughter of Ra refers to another deity that they thought
held the power of life after death. To ‘come forth by day’ means being raised
from the dead, or to have eternal life. The inscription
was inscribed on an article found in the tomb of an Egyptian queen
who lived about 1250 B.C. I thought it was an especially beautiful passage so I
had it embroidered on silk and made into a neck scarf.” She looked at him and
waited for a response.
Instead of
speaking, he just stared back at her with a thoughtful expression. After a few
seconds he leaned forward, forearms on knees, hands clasped, and mentally
reviewed the day’s events. First, the surprise visit from the NSA operatives
who had given him almost no information about the nature of the assignment to
which he was currently en route. Second, the one-way ticket to Albuquerque;
just a stopping-off place for his ultimate destination: The mysterious Apache
Point. Third, being met at the airport by one of the most beautiful women he
had ever seen in real life, and a police detective seemingly unconnected with
whatever was going on. Now, a flight across the desert in a helicopter gunship
complete with armed Marines. A hundred unanswered questions had already formed
in his mind and he wanted answers.
At this point, one
of the most pressing question marks was the girl sitting beside him who claimed
to be a linguist. There was nothing unusual about that, but her knowledge of
archaeology indicated that she was something more than just a linguist. Certainly,
her knowledge of Egypt was more than just casual. In any event, why would a
government research facility need a linguist? For that matter, why would they
need a policeman? She had given him her interpretation of the hieroglyphics,
but he did not accept it at face value. Limited though his knowledge was, he
sensed there was more to the inscription than she had revealed. For one thing
there were too many characters for so short a message. He remembered from
reading about hieroglyphics that one symbol could convey a complete idea, and
there were at least a dozen of them on the scarf. He refused to believe that
she would deliberately lie to him, which was consistent with the feelings he
was developing for her, and he was not prepared to accept any flaw in her
character. Then there was the matter of the brooch. He had dealt with enough
stolen and recovered jewelry to know that it was genuine gold, not just a
costume ornament. Such an antique would cost many thousands of dollars, if it
could be purchased at all. She said it was a gift from someone she knew long
ago. If that was so, she had been keeping company with someone who moved in
very expensive circles. That thought annoyed him to some degree.
“What do you think
of it?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“It’s beautiful. I
never thought much about it, but the ancient Egyptians must have been very much
like people are today. It seems strange to think of someone who lived three
thousand years ago having the same dreams and hopes as I do. It must be
exciting to be a part of all that; to actually see and touch things created by
artists and craftsmen who lived so long ago.”
“Yes, it is,” she
answered with a tinge of excitement in her voice. “It’s even better when
someone shares your feelings about it.” His sensitivity impressed her and she
felt herself liking him even more.
They had been
engrossed in their conversation and neither of them noticed the interior of the
helicopter growing darker until the overhead lights came on. Leahy looked over
his shoulder at the landscape visible through the window. The sun was almost
down, leaving the desert awash in deep orange light. They seemed to be flying
only a few hundred feet above the ground. Scrub brush and sand raced by in a
blur of brown, green, and white. He turned back to Taylor.
“I took a look at
a map of New Mexico before leaving Atlanta. I couldn’t find Apache Point
anywhere on it. How far is it from Albuquerque?”
She was relieved
that the conversation was taking a turn. “An hour by helicopter, plus or minus
a few minutes. I always think of it in terms of time rather than distance. It’s
hard to judge miles when you always fly. Distance seems to be…”
They caught their
breath, as without warning, the helicopter banked hard to the right and plunged
toward the ground at stomach-wrenching speed.
T
he sudden maneuver forced a
little gasp from Taylor and made her eyes bulge. Leahy clamped his hand over
hers and clenched his teeth. After the deck leveled, the Marine who had been
standing between the two pilots came back and strapped himself into the chair
behind the minigun.
“What happened? Why
are we turning?” Taylor demanded.
“Nothing to worry
about Miss Griffin,” he assured her. “We’ve been temporarily diverted to assist
another unit. It won’t take long.”
“What kind of
assistance? We have instructions to take Mr. Leahy directly to Apache Point.”
“I think just some
trespassers,” the Marine responded. “I’m sorry, Miss Griffin, but the orders
came directly from Bird Dog. We don’t have the authority to ignore them.”
Her reaction was
defiant. “We’ll see about that!” She started to unbuckle her seat belt, but the
chopper made another sharp turn forcing her to grab the bench instead.
“Please stay
buckled-in, Miss Griffin,” the Marine warned. “We might be making some sharp
turns in the next few minutes.” He flipped up a latch and slid the door open.
Desert air rushed
in with a fury, blowing their hair and filling the helicopter with a maelstrom
of wind and noise. Leahy had a panoramic view of the ground as it raced by. The
sensation was both exhilarating and frightening. He hated heights, and less
than eight feet away was an abyss five hundred feet deep. He grabbed the back
edge of the bench with both hands. A tingling sensation ran through his groin,
and his knuckles turned white from the pressure of his grip. He clenched his
teeth and looked at the Marine, who had his head stuck out the door looking
forward. It was still light enough to see objects on the ground without using
lights, and he saw a string of gray mountains in the distance, their jagged
peaks showing a tinge of red sunset. A flicker of movement in the air just
forward of the doorway caught his attention. In spite of his acrophobia he
leaned forward to get a better look. The view amplified the sensation in his
groin, and he fought back panic. Another helicopter was just ahead, and within
a few seconds they came alongside it. The door of the other ship was also open
and he could see two men in fatigues and flight helmets standing in the
opening. One of them made a thumbs-up gesture then held up three fingers. The
Marine in their own helicopter returned the signal, then leaned out the door
and concentrated on the ground ahead. Leahy leaned forward as far as he dared,
but could see nothing. He looked questioningly at Taylor.
She shook her head
and shrugged. “It’s a perimeter security violation,” she shouted over the
noise. “Someone must have gotten inside the ten-mile security radius of the
facility.”
Leahy nodded and
said, “Does this happen often?”
“I don’t know. This
is the first time I’ve been involved in a security alert. It’s strictly a
military function. They patrol the area with helicopters twenty-four hours a
day to make sure no one gets inside the perimeter. I’ve heard that a sightseer
or desert buff occasionally gets too close and has to be warned away. Apache
Point occupies too much land to fence in except for the main buildings, so they
use the helicopters.”
Their pilot made
another sharp turn, and Leahy lost sight of the other chopper. The landscape
below indicated that they were reducing speed and altitude. The Marine behind
the gun squeezed the small mic at his throat and said something inaudible. The
aircraft tilted slightly toward the open doorway. Through it, Leahy could see
what looked like a dune buggy occupied by two men and a woman moving over the
ground at breakneck speed.
The other
helicopter became visible again, and both aircraft matched speed with the dune
buggy, one on either side. They were less than fifty feet off the ground now. The
people in the vehicle were all looking up, men in front and the woman in back. The
man on the passenger side wore a white cowboy
hat which
he was desperately trying to keep from blowing off his head. Leahy saw that the
woman had blonde hair and was wearing shorts and halter-top. Both men were
wearing jeans and cowboy shirts. The turbulence from the helicopter’s blades
was creating a small sandstorm around them.
A loudspeaker from
the other chopper burst into life. “You are trespassing on federal property,” a
voice roared. “This is a restricted area; you are ordered to immediately return
the way you came. I repeat, this is a restricted area, you must leave
immediately!”
As the choppers
paced the vehicle, Leahy could see tire tracks leading from the south,
obviously the direction from which the dune buggy had entered the reserve. The
two urban cowboys looked at each other and appeared to be speaking. Then the
passenger stood up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted something
inaudible at the helicopters. The hat flew off his head and vanished behind
them. The woman reached up and tried to pull him back into his seat, but he
shook her off. He pointed to his crotch, looked up, and made an obscene gesture
with the index finger of the other hand.
The speaker blared
again. “This is your final warning. Leave as directed or we will open fire!” In
response, the driver jerked the vehicle into a higher gear and accelerated. Twin
rooster tails of sand spewed up from its rear tires. Instead of turning around
in compliance with the directive, the driver turned west, taking them deeper
into the reservation.
The choppers gave
immediate pursuit. The Marine braced his foot against the metal track along the
doorway and pulled the minigun into firing position. Fascinated, Leahy watched
as they closed on the dune buggy. The people in the vehicle acted as though
they were playing some stupid game by showing defiance to authority. He had
seen the same type of adolescent foolishness when uniformed police officers
attempted to maintain order at rock concerts and other events that attracted
large numbers of teens and young adults. His years of experience had taught him
that social defiance really meant nothing, and best ignored when feasible. Most
of the rowdy ones knew how far they could push the police, and usually no one
got hurt. However, there was no comparison between this situation and social
defiance. These Marines were not police officers, and the game had become
deadly.
The other
helicopter pulled ahead of them, flying slightly in front and to the side of
the racing dune buggy. Their own chopper made a wide sweep to the opposite side
and took an off-center position at the rear. Leahy had a perfect view of the
vehicle. He estimated its speed at better than sixty miles per hour, an insane
velocity for such uneven terrain. One miscalculation by the driver and everyone
could be killed. The two passengers gripped the roll bar as the driver twisted
and turned, trying to steer the little vehicle around mounds
of
sand and brush.