Atlantis (5 page)

“Oh, crap,” Flaherty muttered as they continued to the chopper. “Just what we need. Evil spirits.”

“And they're not even going with us,” Dane noted.

The refueled black Huey was waiting for them, its blades slowly turning. RT Kansas, along with Castle, got on board and the chopper immediately lifted, heading southwest.

Flaherty looked at his map, noting the location where Foreman had indicated the plane had gone down. It was near the Mekong River, about a hundred klicks from where the river crossed from Laos into Cambodia. The map was mass of dark green and contour lines in the area. No sign of civilization.

Flaherty glanced over at Dane. The younger man was tense, his hands holding his M-60 tightly. Flaherty didn't know how Dane knew what he did about Foreman and Castle and the Nungs, but he didn't doubt that it was the truth. Dane just knew things, like he had known about the cobra at the base camp.

Flaherty knew little about Dane, only what had been in his thin personnel folder he’d had with him when he’d signed in to CCN six months ago. Dane never got any mail and he kept mostly to himself, not joining the others when they unwound by getting shit-faced at the CCN bar in their compound. But Flaherty had instinctively liked the younger man when he’d first met him and over the months that feeling had deepened into mutual respect.

Flaherty shifted his gaze from Dane to the terrain below. They were flying high, over six thousand feet and the landscape below was bathed in bright moonlight. Flaherty oriented himself, but it was hard as fast as the chopper was flying. He had no doubt though, when they came over the Mekong. The wide river reflected the moon and he could see occasional rapids. They flew above the river for an hour, then the chopper suddenly banked and headed west.

Flaherty felt a hand on his arm. It was Castle. “No maps,” Castle said, his hand on the edge of Flaherty's map.

“Where the hell are we going?” Flaherty demanded as the Mekong disappeared to the east. “The crash site you indicated is south.”

“Just do what you're told,” Castle said. “We'll be in and out in twenty-four hours.”

Flaherty gave up the map. He had hoped to leave this behind when he went into Special Forces: following stupid orders that could get you killed for reasons you would never know. Flaherty now knew that Castle and the CIA were playing secret games. They didn't want the team to know exactly where the SR-71 had gone down. For all Flaherty knew they might be going into China, but that would require another right turn and a long flight north.

They flew west for an hour. Flaherty had to shrug when Dane and Thomas wanted to know why they had left the Mekong so far behind. There was nothing he could do. They were under orders and they were on board a CIA bird.

Finally, Castle turned to them, holding up a finger. “One minute out. Lock and load.”

Flaherty looked out. The land below was triple canopy jungle with mountains poking through here and there. There was no sign of humanity. No roads, no villages, nothing. He took a magazine of 5.56 mm ammunition out of his ammunition pouch and placed it in the well on the bottom of his CAR-15. He slapped it to make sure it was seated, then pulled the charging handle on the weapon to the rear and let it slam forward. Then he placed the weapon between his knees, muzzle pointing down. He also took a 40 mm flechette round and loaded his M-79. He watched as Dane carefully fed a 100 round belt of 7.62 mm into the M-60 machine-gun, making sure the first round was locked in place, then attaching the canvas bag holding the rest of the belt on the side of the gun, insuring it could freely feed, yet be covered. Flaherty had seen plenty of grunts carrying the belts of ammunition across their chests or over their shoulders; he’d also seen plenty of those guns jam up as the dirty rounds fed into the machine-gun. The other three members of RT Kansas all gave Flaherty a thumbs up.

The chopper slowed and then descended rapidly. Flaherty glanced forward. The pilots seemed to be arguing about something, pointing at the instrument panel. Still they went down. A small clearing on the side of a ridgeline loomed ahead and below. The chopper slowed further and the pilot maneuvered them in close, touching the right skid against the side of the hill while the other one hung in the air. Castle gestured and Flaherty jumped off, the rest of the team and Castle following.

The chopper was gone just as quickly, heading back east. Flaherty knelt behind his rucksack, weapon at the ready as the sound of the aircraft slowly faded. Finally, the noise of the jungle returned. Flaherty felt what he always felt on infiltration after the friendly noise of the chopper disappeared into the distance: abandoned in Indian Country. He took comfort from the presence of Dane and Thomas. Tormey he didn't feel much about either way. The man would have to earn his place.

They were all clustered together on the steep hillside, under the cover of trees just off the clearing. Castle made a low whistle and the men gathered closer.

“We go over this ridge, then down to a river on the other side. The crash site is just across it. Then we follow the river for four klicks north, re-cross, and move back east about six klicks to our pick up zone.”

Flaherty pulled out his compass and looked at the glowing needle. His eyes widened. The needle was spinning.

“Your compasses won't work,” Castle said, noticing what the team leader was doing.

“Why not?” Flaherty asked.

“Let's get out of here,” Dane said in a low voice. “This is real bad.”

Flaherty reached out and grabbed the collar of Castle's t-shirt. “What's going on?”

“You were told,” Castle said. “We're here to recover pieces of the SR-71.” He peeled Flaherty's hands off his shirt.

“How do you know the compasses won't work?” Flaherty asked, trying to get back under control.

Castle shrugged, but he didn't quite pull off his attempt at nonchalance. “That's what the pilots were saying as we came in. Their instruments were going nuts. Maybe there's a large ore deposit nearby. I don't know.”

“Call a Prairie Fire,” Dane said. He hadn't even heard what Castle said. Dane was looking about, his expression extremely worried.

Flaherty rubbed his hand along the green rag tied around his neck as he considered Dane’s words. Prairie Fire was the code for an emergency exfiltration to CCN headquarters. The CIA bird might have brought them here, but Flaherty's ace in the hole was that CCN took care of its own. He knew if he called in a Prairie Fire, a CCN chopper would be inbound, weather permitting. Or should be inbound. They might be so far over the fence now that CCN couldn't give authorization to fly. Hell, Flaherty cursed to himself; he didn't even know exactly where they were.

Flaherty looked at the circle of faces. Dane's fear was evident. Thomas was Thomas, his face inscrutable, but Dane's words were having an effect as the large black man was nodding in agreement to Dane's suggestion. Tormey also looked scared, but this was his first time across the fence. The issue for Flaherty was Dane. The man was solid. They'd been in firefights together and the weapons sergeant had always done his share and more.

Flaherty tapped Thomas on the arm. “Get up on the radio and call in a Prairie Fire. I want exfiltration ASAP. We can guide them in using radio direction off our set.”

Castle was shocked. “You can't do that. We have to recover the black box off that SR-71.”

Flaherty ignored him. “Let's get a perimeter here. Dane, there. Tormey, you cover downslope.”

Castle leveled his CAR-15. “We have to go over into the valley and get to the plane.”

Dane was looking at the ridgeline as if he could see the valley on the other side. “You go over there and you'll never come back.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Castle demanded.

“I don't know, but I trust him,” Flaherty said. He was trying to ignore the CAR-15, but Castle looked ready to lose his cool.

“You're just security and pack mules to bring back the equipment,” Castle said. “We've got imagery of the area. There's no sign of VC or NVA.”

“Put the weapon down,” Flaherty said.

Dane had his M-60 trained roughly in the direction of the CIA man's stomach.

Castle reluctantly lowered the muzzle. “Foreman will have your asses,” he said.

“He can have our asses,” Flaherty said. Hell, he was going home in less than a week and trading in his uniform for civilian clothes. He didn't need this shit. What was Foreman going to do? Give him a dishonorable discharge?

Thomas had the team's radio out. He talked quietly into the handset for a little while, then he worked on the radio, turning dials and maneuvering the antenna.

“Damn,” Thomas finally said, throwing down the handset. “I can't get diddly on FM.”

“Interference?” Flaherty asked.

“Nothing I've ever seen. Like we're on the dark side of the moon. I can't even pick up Armed Forces radio and they blanket this part of the world from Vietnam to Thailand.”

“Is the radio busted?” Flaherty asked.

“It's working,” Thomas said with conviction. “Something's interfering, but I couldn't tell you what.”

“FM Radios don't work here either,” Castle said.

“The chopper pilots told you that too?” Flaherty asked.

“Yes.”

“Any other piece of information you could dribble over to us?” Flaherty demanded.

Castle pointed to the west. “Our exfil bird is laid on for the PZ,” Castle said. “We have to go into the valley to get there anyway. I suggest we get moving if we're going to make it on time. Since radios don't work, there's no other way out of here unless you want to walk through five hundred kilometers of unfriendly territory.”

Flaherty cursed. He had no options. “Let's move. Everyone stay alert. Dane, take point.”

RT Kansas moved upslope, weapons at the ready. Once they were clear of the small opening, they were under the triple canopy of the rain forest. It was pitch black with even the faint light of the moon blocked out. Dane picked his way with care, moving uphill by feel. The other men followed, keeping their eyes on the small glowing dot on the back of the man in front's field hat.

Flaherty checked the glowing face of his watch. At least dawn wasn't far off.

Then he shook the timepiece. For all he knew, it wasn't working either.

They made slow progress up the ridge. It took two hours before they reached the crest and the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten as they broke out of the jungle onto the rocky knife edge that overlooked the river valley. In that time, Flaherty confirmed that his watch had stopped working.

Flaherty looked down. He couldn't see the river, it was too dark. On the far side the land sloped up but less steeply. As near as he could tell in the moonlight, there was a broken plateau stretching as far as they could determine on the western side of the river. Dane tapped Flaherty on the shoulder, pointing to the right, where the ridge went even higher. There was something large and blocky there.

“Ruins,” Dane said.

“Take ten,” Flaherty said and the team slid down to their stomachs, rucks in front, weapons pointing out. It was getting light fast. Flaherty could see that Castle was doing something with his ruck, his hands hidden from sight.

“Never seen anything like that,” Dane whispered, still looking at the ruin. Large stone blocks were built up into a three-story structure, with apertures for guards along the top. The tower overlooked the valley. It was about thirty feet high and each side was almost forty feet long. The jungle had encroached on the stone, creepers climbing the side, but it was still an imposing structure.

“Let's check it out,” Castle said.

Flaherty looked at him. “This part of the mission? Checking ruins?”

“It gives a good view of the valley,” Castle said. He got to his feet and headed toward the stones, a hundred meters away.

Flaherty signaled for Thomas and Tormey to remain in place. Taking Dane with him, he followed Castle. The closer they got to the structure, the more impressive it was. The stone blocks were each about six feet high and wide. The stone was cut very smoothly. The joints were so well done that Flaherty doubted he could slide a knife between them. Flaherty thought of the staggering weight each stone represented and the effort required to get them to this place.

There was an entrance on the side, and Castle disappeared. Flaherty followed. Dane paused, then slowly entered. The inside was small with stone stairs wrapping around the outside wall, leading up to what had once been a wood roof but was now open. The three men took the stairs until they were at the top landing where a small, four-foot wide stone ledge was built inside the outer wall, making a parapet for watchers to stand on. The view was unobstructed for many miles in all directions.

Nothing but jungle and mountains as far as the eye could see. Early morning fog was rolling down the valley below, covering the river and its banks. Castle had his rucksack out and was looking inside.

“What are you doing?” Flaherty asked.

“Repacking my load,” Castle said.

Flaherty figured the CIA man had some sort of transponder locator in the ruck that told him where the SR-71 was. Why Castle wouldn't check it openly was beyond Flaherty.

Dane was staring down into the valley and at the land beyond, hidden in the early morning mist. Then he stepped back and looked at the ruins they were standing on. “This is old,” he said to Flaherty, his hand resting on the parapet. “Very, very old.”

“What do you think it is? A guard outpost?” Flaherty asked. He'd never seen anything like it in Vietnam or in Laos. He'd heard there were massive ruins in Cambodia, and if this lone building was any indication, that rumor was true.

Dane nodded. “A guard post. But the question is, what did it guard against?” He pointed to a large cairn in the southwest corner of the top. “Looks like that was for a signal fire. Maybe this was an early warning post against invaders.” He lowered his voice, so Castle couldn't hear. “We shouldn't go down there, Ed.”

“VC?” Flaherty asked. “NVA?” He could see no sign of life, but maybe Dane did.

Dane shook his head. “I don't think it's either. Just something bad, real bad.” He pointed at the walls of the ruin. There were very old, faded drawings of warriors on them. The figures had spears and bows in their hands. Several were mounted on elephants. There were elongated circles in the air about them, perhaps representing the sun or moon, Flaherty guessed, except there were more than one. There were also lines drawn through every picture, some of the lines intersecting with the warriors. There was also some sort of symbols scattered about the pictures, writing, although Flaherty had never seen anything like it before. On each corner of the rampart, there was a stone sculpture of a seven-headed snake, a figure Flaherty had seen at other sites in southeast Asia. He knew it had something to do with the religion in the area. The carvings bothered Flaherty and he involuntarily jerked his shoulders and stepped back.