Tesla Secret, The (8 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Elizabeth pulled up the latest pass of SBIRS. The Space-Based Infra Red System consisted of 24 low orbit satellites and 4 satellites high in geo-synchronous orbits. Tracking stations spread across the globe fed a continuous data stream back to the Pentagon and the various intelligence agencies. The system's primary mission was to detect and track missiles in the event of a launch, but it had other uses.

Checking the satellite intel was part of her daily routine. For the past year she'd been watching something in Central Russia on the Western Siberian plain. That part of Russia contained no significant military capabilities. It wasn't much of a factor in the Pentagon's war game scenarios and received little attention. The installation was camouflaged to look like a grove of trees, but the infra red revealed a distinctive shape. It looked as though the Russians were building a pyramid there, which made no sense at all.

The site was near an abandoned military air base left over from the Cold War, near the fishing village of Irtysh at the junction of the Irtysh and Ob rivers. The Irtysh flowed north from Kazakhstan until it joined the Ob and then continued on to the Arctic Ocean. A paved road, rare in that part of Russia, ran from the town to the base.

SBIRS had been in operation for several years, but there were gaps in the coverage. Elizabeth pulled up the records for the location and began scanning backward. The pictures moved back in time until the shape changed and disappeared. The outline had first appeared less than two years before. She ran the photos back another two years and stopped.

Why would the Russians build a pyramid in the middle of nowhere? Why build it at all?

She began running the sequence forward a day at a time and watched. At first, nothing. Just an abandoned base. An occasional figure, walking. Two men with motorcycles, using the old runways to race each other. Then a sudden flurry of activity. Trucks, men, equipment. She checked the time stamps. Almost three years ago.

Fences went up. Soldiers began patrolling. The Russians were using the abandoned base for something. Hot spots indicated significant heat sources inside the old hangers, probably large generators. The satellite intel should have been flagged for closer observation, but there was no record of that.

She followed the trail of distribution for analysis. All surveillance of the area had been tasked to Langley. Even Langley wasn't so incompetent they would miss something as blatant as this. The only possible explanation was that the intel had been deliberately buried. Someone had shut down any inquiry. Elizabeth's intuition started setting off alarms. Very few had the power to do that.

Lodge
, she thought. The former Director of the CIA. He'd been Deputy Director when the pyramid had first shown up in the reconnaissance photos. Everything would have gone through him.

The pictures unreeled like a silent movie made of stills. A large flatbed loaded with a T-34 appeared. Men unloaded the tank in a field away from the hangers, past the runways. An old tank, non-op, in a field. It didn't make sense. The pictures moved forward. Suddenly the tank was no longer there. The time stamp was recent.

At first Elizabeth thought the shots were somehow out of sequence, or that the tank had disappeared during one of the periods when the satellite was out of range. She moved back and forth. One shot, the tank was there. Next, it was gone. The frames were one second apart. The tank had vanished in an impossible amount of time. The ground where it had been was disturbed, covered with a dark smear.

What were the Russians doing out there?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"That is really something."

Lamont spoke for all of them. The Mafra Palace sprawled stark and white and beautiful in the moonlight. It lay 18 miles outside of Lisbon, near the Portuguese coast. The palace was as big as a small city, one of the largest single structures in Europe. Two tall bell towers rose from the center. The full moon shone down on the promise of a king to his queen, Mary of Austria.

Give me an heir and I will build you a palace to rival any kingdom in the world.

She did. He had.

The team sat in a gray Fiat van parked near a zoo next to the castle grounds. In the light of the moon, the extravagant Baroque monument to a king's ego looked like a magical vision from a fairy tale.

Mafra had an elaborate security system to protect the priceless art and treasures inside, supplemented by a complement of guards. During the day the castle was patrolled by a full roster. At night two men watched monitors in a security center on the ground floor and took turns making rounds. The guards carried pistols. Cameras watched the grounds and galleries and halls.

No one could approach across the lawns and gardens without triggering an alarm. All of the windows and entrances had infra-red and motion sensors. The sheer size of the place meant the camera views had to switch in ordered sequence. There were gaps in the continuous coverage.

There hadn't been much time to prepare a plan. They'd gone over maps and old blueprints of the palace. Nick had decided to go in through the cover of the park and access the ancient sewer system under the palace. From there they would find a way into the palace itself.

"This moon could be a problem," Nick said.

"The light might keep the rats away," Selena said.

"Rats?"

"There's a legend the sewers breed giant man-eating rats that come out at night."

"I hate rats." Ronnie looked out at the trees and paths of the park. "Doesn't seem fair."

"What doesn't?"

"You said man-eating. Means they won't go after you."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Check your gear," he said.

They got out of the van. They were dressed in black. Black jackets, black pants and gloves, black Kevlar vests, black shoes with soft soles. Black balaclavas. Ronnie carried a pack. Each had a pistol, knife, light, ammunition and a suppressed MP-5. They had earpieces and microphones. If they split up, they could stay in contact.

"Remember the ROE," Nick said. Rules of Engagement. "The Portuguese guards are off limits. Subdue them if you have to, don't kill them. They have uniforms, they're easy to ID. No one else should be there. You see anyone else, they're one of the bad guys and fair game."

"Got your library card with you?" Lamont said.

"Let's go get something for Selena to read."

They moved into the park. The gravel path crunched under their feet. The moonlight made dark pools of shadow under the trees. The night air was cool and smelled of pine and the mixed, dark scent of the zoo animals. A bird called, high, mournful sounds that sent shivers up and down her spine. She felt the adrenaline kick in and forced herself to walk calmly.

They came to a large maintenance shed housing a pumping sub-station for the sewer system.

Nick consulted his map of the grounds. "The entrance should be in here."

He had the lock open in a few seconds. They stepped inside and closed the door. He flicked on his light. The pumps and a generator sat silent against one wall. A round steel plate was placed in the center of the floor. Ronnie and Lamont lifted it away. Iron rungs descended down a brick shaft into darkness. A foul odor of ancient and modern waste drifted up through the opening.

"Phew," Ronnie said.

"What did you expect? Roses? I'll go first. Lamont, you bring up the rear."

They entered the shaft and climbed down. The ladder ended on a platform with an iron railing. The platform opened onto a walkway of stone wide enough to move single file along the sewer wall.

The sewer was horseshoe shaped, big enough to stand up in. A dizzying pattern of ancient stone bricks laid in concentric circles ran off toward the palace on the right and the ocean to the left. The walls dripped with gray slime that sucked the light away. The air was thick, like breathing syrup. A trickle of dark water ran down the center of the passage.

"Smells like shit," Ronnie said.

"Good one, Sherlock." Lamont wrinkled his nose. ''At least we can stand up."

"That way." Nick pointed right.

They walked along the tunnel. There were rats. They weren't giant rats but they were black and they were big. They squeaked and ran past their feet. Selena shuddered. She met Nick's eyes.

"Like California," she said.

He nodded. "At least we've got light this time."

"And no spiders."

Ronnie kicked a squealing rat into the center channel.

There was something darker than human offal in the tunnel. A miasma of centuries, of a time when kings ruled Europe and wore golden crowns worth enough to feed thousands. As he walked, Nick thought not much had really changed since the kings ran things. The crowns were gone, but in their place were plenty of new symbols of power. Hi-tech weapons that cost countless billions of dollars. Television commercials for unneeded and meaningless products. Expensive political ads that sold dishonest hypocrites and liars as smiling men of the people. And the same age old, hopeless poverty for most of the human race.

They came around a long curve to a place where the tunnel branched in two. Nick chose the passage on the right. After ten minutes they came to a second platform, old and crumbling. Another set of rungs led upward.

Nick shone his light up the shaft. The rungs ended at an iron cover. He climbed. Bits of old rust drifted down in a shower. At the top, he pushed against the plate. He put all his strength into it. It didn't move. Nick climbed back down.

"No good. Let's look for another."

"What if they're all like that?" Selena asked.

"Then we'll figure something out."

They walked on. They'd reached the original tunnel, dating back to 1717. Moisture dripped from the walls. Nick tried not to breathe. They came to another set of rungs. Nick climbed to the top and pushed against the cover. It moved, just a little. Something popped in his back. He took a deep breath.

"Ronnie, climb up here and help me."

The two men pushed against the plate. It moved. Steady pain radiated down Nick's left leg. The plate slid to the side. They climbed out of the hole. The others came through.

"You okay?" Ronnie looked at him.

Nick wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. "Yeah. I'm fine."

The air was stale with dust. Compared to the sewer it felt like a spring day in the country.

"Glad we're out of there," Lamont said.

The room was a sub basement full of boxes, crates, broken statuary and junk of every description. It might once have been a dungeon. The ceiling was of rock, low and dark. A narrow flight of worn stone steps led upward. At the top of the steps was a solid wooden door. Nick climbed, the others behind. Pain was steady in his leg.

"You're limping," Selena said.

"It's nothing."

Nick adjusted his gear, unslung his MP-5. He opened the door into another basement.

"Looks like we got lucky," Lamont said.

They were in the electrical room, modern and clean. Thick metal conduits housing the main power supply fed into panels of circuit breakers. Dozens of lines led away from the panels into the building.

"Those look like the video feeds." Nick shone his light on a thick bundle of colored wires.

Ronnie opened his pack and took out a small video recorder, a series of probes and what looked like a pocket television with a digital meter. He went over to the wires and began probing.

"We've got cameras," he said. On the fifth try he said, "Got it." He clipped the probe onto the wire.

The screen showed 24 tiny images from the security cameras above. "This one is the main feed. Everything routes through here. We're looking at everything they see."

He plugged the video recorder into the device and turned it on.

"We'll set up a two minute loop and take the real ones off line. Whoever's looking will see what we want them to."

"Nothing."

"Right." They waited. Ronnie checked the recording and attached another lead to the main feed.

"Taking the cameras off line...now." Ronnie pressed a switch. The image flickered and steadied.

"We're good to go."

Nick said, "Once we get oriented, we head for the second floor. The library is in the rear. When we find it, Selena, you're the boss. Tell us what to do. When we get the Codex, we get out."

"What could be simpler?" Lamont said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Project security went everywhere with Elizabeth since the attacks on her team. She had 24/7 surveillance on her Georgetown home. She was always guarded when she wasn't inside Project HQ.

Elizabeth closed her office door and took the elevator down to the ground floor exit. A black, armored Lincoln waited for her. It had five inches of armor plate, bullet proof glass, steel sidewalls, run flat tires and a turbo-charged diesel engine. It wasn't good on mileage. Her driver held the rear door open for her.

"Good evening, Director."

"Good evening, Tom."

Tom closed the door after her. Her other bodyguard was a big man, a comforting presence. He got in the front passenger seat. A Remington 12 gauge pump stood upright in a rack next to him. Elizabeth began reviewing the latest satellite data from Russia as the car rolled out of the garage.

There was new activity at the Irtysh air base. She had battled with DIA over getting a satellite tasked full time to observe, with only partial success. There were windows of time when the satellite was out of range. But a picture was emerging.

The Russians had increased security. She estimated that a full company of soldiers was stationed at the base. Anyone approaching the pyramid had to pass through three checkpoints, each one more elaborate than the one before.

There was new fencing. A new road from the base to the pyramid. Guards patrolled. Dogs. Light towers were going up. Someone was putting a lot of effort into guarding something.

She glanced out through the tinted windows of the Lincoln. A yellow motorcycle with two riders in black leather sped by. Both riders wore full helmets with black visors that concealed their faces. As the bike pulled ahead, the passenger turned and threw a dark package behind him toward the car.

"Fuck!"
Tom yelled and hit the brakes.

The heavy car shuddered and slowed. The armor underneath the engine took the blast. The explosion sounded like a thunderclap inside the car. The Lincoln lifted into the air and the windshield blew out. Bits of glass cut her face. Elizabeth was thrown hard against the door as the car came down on its side and slid along the pavement to a stop.

Her driver lay unmoving against his door. His partner hung sideways from his seatbelt, unconscious and bleeding. Dazed, she saw the motorcycle turn back. The passenger leaned out with another bomb in his hand.

Elizabeth never went anywhere without her gun. She drew the Glock and aimed with shaking hands through the opening where the windshield had been. She was seeing double through the smoke, two motorcycles coming toward her. She pulled the trigger as fast as she could, again and again. It felt as if she were underwater, everything in slow motion, the sound of the gunshots muffled and indistinct. Hot brass shells fell around her, a shiny, strange rain.

The motorcycle slammed down onto the pavement and the bomb meant for her exploded. The bike and riders were enveloped in flame.

Later, she couldn't remember how she'd gotten out of the car. What she remembered was the sound of sirens and the body of her driver, covered in blood.