The Babylon Prophecy

By Sean Salazar

Within hours of an accidental bombing in Iraq, retired CIA sniper Al Robek is summoned to investigate. While battling his own demons from post-traumatic syndrome, Al uncovers one mystery after another. He learns that a CIA agent was the pilot responsible for the bombing. Together, they find an ancient city buried by the Biblical flood and become the targets of a secret brotherhood bent on triggering an early Armageddon.

Enter Ed Collins, an unassuming British code-cracker, who has been tracking the brotherhood since the end of World War II. With the help of the CIA and the British SAS and MI-5, the trio embarks on a dangerous mission that takes them to the Middle East, Europe, and South America—slowly uncovering evidence of a conspiracy hatched thousands of years ago.

Ultra-secret espionage involving the highest level of government, the Vatican, and international banking brings about new discoveries, but with each comes new questions, new missing pieces to the puzzle.

Can they figure out what is going on before it's too late? Is there anyone they can really trust? Do they know who they're fighting against? Or even what they're fighting for?

The survival of mankind ultimately lies in this unlikely team's hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Salazar
• Release date: Sep 28, 2011

Book preview

Chapter One

7,500 FEET OVER THE IRAQI DESERT: 11 P.M.

Nice and quiet, Jess Contreras said into the silence of the F-16’s cockpit. Something about flying this nimble fighter gave her a sense of control that was hard to explain. With one gloved hand, she gently nudged the ultrasensitive hydraulic control stick side-to-side, careful not to overdo it. Once during flight training, her over-enthusiastic use of the control stick had pushed the F-16 into uncontrolled rolling.

She eyed the ground ahead through the bubble canopy. Clusters of lights indicated towns and cities. It was not that she didn’t trust the mission planners or the autopilot, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She had trained extensively for this mission; mistakes were not an option.

Jess keyed the designated flight path into the navigational computer and brought the nose of the plane up five degrees. She checked the computer again and confirmed all systems were functioning normally. It’s Go time, she thought.

She switched on her microphone, Ale House One, Ale House One. This is Forest One-Four, vectoring northwest: requesting clearance and communications check.

The aircraft controller’s voice crackled over the microphone, Forest One-Four, this is Ale House One. You are cleared into the northwest track.

Copy, Ale House One. Forest One-Four, out. Jess switched off the microphone and leveled out the F-16’s wings. She looked out beyond the pointed nose of the plane and switched on the new ground-targeting computer.

Let’s see if this works, she said to herself, watching the computer screen begin to register data from the ground sensors. She waited for the numbers to stop fluctuating, indicating actual ground penetration. The numbers were a code that combined coordinates with depth recordings. She made note of the final numbers now fixed on the screen; they were well within the limits. She made one slight navigational adjustment.

She switched on the microphone. Ale House One, this is Forest One-Four. Permission to commence testing sequence.

Forest One-Four, this is Ale House One: confirmed. You are clear to test.

Ale House One, this is Forest One-Four commencing testing sequence.

Jess placed one fingertip delicately on the newly installed silver switch. She felt the cold metal through her glove as she flipped the switch upward and took her hands off the controls. The computer and autopilot would take over now. The plane would fly perfectly level for five minutes, which at four hundred miles per hour would cover thirty-five miles of barren Iraqi desert. Jess checked her cruising speed and northwest course. The autopilot was doing its job perfectly. The numbers on the digital readout were fluctuating again but were still within the limits.

There seemed to be perfect symbiosis between woman, mission, and machine. Jess was the first CIA-trained pilot—or any pilot for that matter—to test the new computer system. This mission gave her a profound sense of accomplishment. She gave herself a wry smile.

Four minutes.

Three.

Almost finished.

It continued to amaze her that the sensors could x-ray the ground with such accuracy at this speed. It occurred to her that the computer and autopilot could soon make pilots like her redundant for these kinds of missions. There goes job security, she thought. No. No autopilot could ever replace me.

Two minutes.

The plane shuddered slightly.

Turbulence? Couldn’t be, she thought. Suddenly, the F-16 jerked upward, smashing her helmeted head into the back of her seat.

Shit. Jess took a panicked glance down at the control panel.

SYSTEM FAILURE, the computer read. The word DEPLOYED flashed on and off the screen. Shit, shit, double shit.

She had to get the plane back under her own control. Jess switched off the autopilot and pushed the control stick to the left and slightly back so she could peer down into the blackness. Or what should have been blackness. She was just passing over a sprinkling of lights.

Dear God, no, Jess muttered. Her fingers fumbling in haste, she switched on the microphone.

Ale House One, Ale House One. This is Forest One-Four: copy. Hurry up. Answer, dammit, she thought.

Forest One-Four, this is Ale House One. Go ahead.

There has been a system failure during the testing sequence, Jess said. I repeat: system failure.

Roger that, Forest One-Four. What is your location?

Three minutes into the northwest track. Agency policy dictated that details be kept limited over unsecured airwaves; the controller would know what she wasn’t saying: Just passing over a small town.

Understood, he replied.

After a moment of silence, a different voice came over the microphone. Agent Contreras, this is Agent Smith.

Shit, Jess groaned to herself. Her boss was monitoring the mission.

Tell me, Agent Contreras, his voice calm and measured, what happened?

The plane shuddered as the computer registered a system failure.

All right. His voice was oblique, What numbers were showing when the system failure occurred?

The numbers were fixed at 5252-5252. She knew they were within the acceptable range, but she wished she had been given an explanation about what the codes meant.

5252-5252? Agent Smith inquired. Are you sure?

Yes.

And you said you felt the plane shudder?

Yes, then it jerked upward right as SYSTEM FAILURE came on screen, Jess paused, as ifsomething had jettisoned.

There was silence for a moment. There is nothing else you can do. Return to base immediately.

Jess shut off the microphone and confirmed her bearings. She knew what had deployed, and if it found what it was designed for, the world would soon be a very different place. She felt a trickle of sweat creep down the back of her neck.

Jess tried to slow her breathing. Lights were still flickering below as she reversed the F-16’s course. Surely, if she had just decimated the small town with a five hundred-pound, laser-guided, bunker-busting missile, there would be no lights at all. She released a sly grin. Either way, she was now committed to investigate.

Chapter Two

WASHINGTON, D.C.: ONE WEEK EARLIER

Ralph Gordon used the old wood handrails quite a bit these days to climb the same steps he’d climbed every morning for over fifty years. He always thought the place looked more like an Irish pub than a Masonic lodge with its dim sprinkling of lights and dark wood. He kept a close eye on each step for defects and checked for loose sections of the handrail. Most of the lodge members were in their seventies and eighties. A wobbly handrail could send one of the old guys tumbling. The thought of one of his old buddies bouncing down the steps had always amused him. One by one, all the boys were dying in their sleep; never anything as dignified as falling down stairs or being hit by a heart attack during a nighttime romp. He smiled and thought, not a chance. He gave the rail a good tug and, as usual, it was solid and firm.

He shuffled up the winding steps to the upper level of the lodge. His morning rounds were quite simple: He gave the 355-year-old lodge a good once-over, fixed any minor problems, then unlocked the front door. Ralph stopped just before the last step, slipped an old feather duster from his belt, and gave the lower part of a painting a good sweep. There you go, Mr. George Washington. He reached as high as he could, but the arthritis in his shoulder and wrist limited him. The dust build-up beyond his reach was becoming obvious. He turned and went up the last step to the balcony.

Against the dark wood wall in front of him was a long row of paintings of former lodge masters. Each painting had the years they were in charge on a small copper plaque at the bottom. He stepped up to the first one. The plaque read: 1670-1675. As he gave it a light sweep with the feather duster, something caught his eye. The right side of the wood frame seemed to have a red glow to it. He shuffled back, letting his eyes focus. Huh? he uttered roughly.

He stared at the picture for another moment, then turned his head to follow the red pulsing glow from picture to picture until his old eyes found the source. The feather duster slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. He turned the rest of his body to face it. Oh, dear me, he said.

He felt a gaseous pain in his stomach that rose to the back of his throat. At the end of the hallway was a figure dressed in black, aiming a gun at him. Ralph took a few shuffled steps toward the person to assure himself that he was seeing correctly in the dim light.

The figure lowered the gun and shot him in the knee. The only sound was a light, muffled snap. Ralph fell to the ground as a searing pain shot from his knee to his hip. The pain was so intense that he could hardly breathe or speak.

The figure stepped over him and demanded, Where is the map?

He coughed, realizing the voice was a woman’s. I don’t know.

He heard another snap and his other knee exploded in pain. Lying on his side, he craned his neck upward and forced out, I knew this day would come. I will never give it to you.

The woman reached down, grabbed his limp leg, and pulled off his right shoe. She removed the old, leather insole, fished out a folded piece of paper, and threw the shoe back down.

How did you know? Ralph asked helplessly, looking up at the woman in black. His body was shaking from pain and loss of blood. After the piece of paper was stowed in her pocket, Ralph noticed the red light on his face. He heard one last snap, and everything went black.

Chapter Three

IRAQ: SEVERAL HOURS AFTER DROPPING THE BOMB

Do they have to use so many damn nails? Al Robek said to himself, as he pried the wooden lid from a crate with a long screwdriver and a wood mallet. He always tried not to damage the reusable crate lids. He placed the lid on the ground beside him and examined the contents of the container.

Al took his second career as an archaeology student very seriously. Using both hands, he gently moved away the packing straw and pulled out a small, sparkling, black statue of yet another Babylonian god. Boston Restoration does a damn good job patching these up, but they always overdo the nailing jobs, Al thought. He set the statue down next to several others. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped onto the top of the statue’s head. Al wiped it off, then glanced up at the rumbling air conditioner. What the hell? Can’t that new air conditioner work for a single day?

As Al reached for a slightly larger and heavier statue, he heard a grunting sound behind him. He turned to see his buddy Vance walking towards him, holding up a cell phone.

Now what? Al said, standing up. Vance was a good inch taller and twenty pounds heavier than Al’s six-foot, stocky frame.

Oh, shut up and take this call, Vance grinned as he tossed Al his phone. It’s the only action you’re going to get.

Al caught the phone with one hand and spoke into it, Yes?

Mr. Robek? a cordial voice asked.

Yes, this is Al Robek. He raised his eyebrows in inquiry at Vance. Vance shrugged.

This is Agent Smith. After a brief pause, he continued, Agency Station Chief in Baghdad.

Al snapped to attention. Agency brass! What the hell could they want from me after all this time? he thought. It had been over a year since they had cleaned house of the old agents and reclassified them as wartime baggage. Yes, Agent Smith, what can I do for you?

We need your help.

Al felt a sudden wave of suspicion. Asking him for help meant something had gone terribly wrong. Whatever you need.

A pilot on loan to the U.S. Air Force accidentally dropped a live bomb near your location last night.

Okay, Al answered, still wondering why they called him.

A suppressed tone of excitement entered Agent Smith’s voice. The pilot is investigating with a couple of Marines now. Apparently they, Agent Smith abruptly paused, have found something that may be of military importance.

What is it? Al asked, knowing damn well he wouldn’t tell him over the phone. Military importance meant agency importance.

Agent Smith coughed, You’re…I can’t give you details over an unsecured line.

I understand. Al was intrigued. What could they have found that they would call me?

What I can say, Agent Smith continued, is that you are the only one in Iraq qualified to investigate this.

Ahh, replied Al. It was finally clear; everything forgiven now that they needed him. Does being uniquely qualified require resurrecting me out of retirement?

Definitely, Agent Smith responded. This is a top-level priority. I need you to head there right now. Let me give you the location instructions.

Al wrote down the instructions and handed the phone back to Vance who was leaning on the open crate, listening.

What was that all about? Vance asked. And why did they call me instead of you?

Al pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and showed it to him, Probably because mine is turned off.

Fine. But couldn’t they just leave a message? Vance asked.

It’s okay, Al laughed. I wasn’t really expecting a call from them anyway. Al hesitated, then said, Someone dropped a bomb off a plane last night, and they need me to check it out. You want to come along?

You’re shittin’ me? Vance stood up from the crate. We have a crap load of projects to get done today. You know when the CIA asks a favor, it’s a big deal. Besides, you’re a forty-five-year-old college student now; we’re not a CIA lapdog anymore.

Don’t flip out, dude. I’ll be out of there in a couple of hours. Al looked around, then back at Vance, Can I borrow Tubs?

Sure, he’s outside, Vance said, reluctantly.

I’ll be back before your first beer tonight, Al said, handing Vance the screwdriver and mallet.

Al strolled into the back of the museum and saw Akmad unloading crates from a pallet. He had nicknamed him Tubs due to his slightly overweight stature and because he looked like a fireplug with a ponytail. They had recruited him from a local archaeological dig site six months ago.

Hey, Tubs, Al yelled, walking out of the raised loading door, got a project in Ur. You want to come along?

Akmad looked irritated. Yes, I go, but stop calling me Tubs.

Yeah, yeah, Al answered. Grab what tools you can. I’ll pull the truck out front, and we’ll leave in ten minutes.

* * *

As they were pulling into a small town, Akmad pointed to a puff of light grey smoke lingering a half-mile to the left. That looks out of place, he said.

That must be it, Al said, looking at his note. I didn’t get much detail other than east of town.

They drove through a dilapidated residential neighborhood toward the smoke. The paved road ended, but they continued to the outer section of town. The area was mostly barren, consisting only of hard-packed dirt and sand. Al saw a Marine Corps Humvee about a hundred yards out with three people standing near it. He also saw the unmistakable presence of a bomb crater next to them. His eyes scanned left another thirty yards and settled on a group of nice, gated homes.

That bomb must have scared the crap out of the families that live there, Al observed.

He was relieved he wasn’t going to have to sift through the remains of homes and bodies. Damn close to those houses, he repeated.

Akmad nodded in agreement, Almost.

Al backed the truck up next to the closest house, in what little shade it provided. He had never gotten used to getting inside a car as hot as an oven. This should keep the truck cool for awhile.

Al and Akmad got out and walked toward the Humvee. As they got closer, Al slowed his pace. The person standing on the right looked familiar. It was a female with ramrod-straight posture. He could tell she was soft and curvy, despite the camouflaged Air Force uniform. No way, he said. Agent Jess Contreras was the pilot.

What? Akmad said.

I used to work with that gal, Al said, thinking about their passionate and failed love affair and the unnerving fact that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. As they approached, Al forced a grin, Of all the gin-drinking pilots in the world, you’re the culprit?

She looked over at him with surprise. Agent Al Robek, what the hell are you doing here? They told me an expert on military bunkers was coming. Last I heard you had retired and gone back to school or were in therapy or something.

Al laughed. Well, yes, and yes. I am retired, or at least I thought I was until Agent Smith found me. And yes, I’m in school, but my studies brought me back here. He leaned into her and whispered, They call it therapy.

Lucky you, she said.

Her large, almond-shaped eyes were an unusually light shade of brown. He had always had a serious weakness for intelligent women, plus this one was drop-dead gorgeous. He noticed Akmad was staring at her too. Al whacked his shoulder to snap him out of her spell. Akmad returned a mean look, shrugging his shoulders, What?

Al remembered that his inability to handle the army of men swooning over the former model, now CIA agent, was what had caused their brief relationship to end. He had to snap himself out of it; he was on assignment. He looked down at the crater, then at the houses off to the left.

Were you aiming for the town? Al asked.

Jess’s demeanor became serious, Very funny. She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. Our paths are crossing at a really weird time, but since you of all people are here, I need to fill you in.

By all means, Al said. He was already struggling not to fall for her again.

Jess nodded to the two Marines and pulled Al several feet away, The missile I was carrying was a prototype of the next generation of bunker-busters. Jess paused and glanced back at the others. Essentially, it hunts down electronic signals underground.

Then throws a missile at it, Al added.

Exactly, Jess said. It’s designed to detect hidden bunkers. The technicians programmed the sensors to penetrate thirty feet and chose this area to test it. I was carrying the actual missile to test the electronics, but deploying the damn thing wasn’t the plan.

Al knew what she was saying was virtually impossible. He gestured toward the crater, Apparently it found something.

Yeah, it did. Just wait until you see what.

She motioned toward the two Marines, This is Captain McCoumb and Sergeant Blanco. The men exchanged firm handshakes.

So, what is all the fuss about, Captain? Al asked.

I’m not sure, sir, McCoumb said, his face serious. He walked to the other side of the Humvee and opened the passenger door. He pulled out a black device and carefully placed it on the hood. We found this thing partially open inside the bunker. We have no idea what it is.

So that’s why they called me, thought Al. I should’ve known it would be a bunker. Al examined the device from a distance, It looks like a big laptop. He raised his eyebrows, Well, have you opened it?

Yes, Jess answered, about an hour ago. The abruptness with which she stopped speaking suggested she had more to say.

So, Al said, it’s not a bomb? He stepped to the side of the Humvee and began to pry at the device. It opened after much resistance. I guess it’s not a laptop. There’s no keyboard, he observed. Al was startled when the screen flickered. A second later, it went black again. A second later, a small, red dot appeared in the center. It blinked like a slow heartbeat. Al leaned closer, then glanced back at the captain.

Keep watching, the captain said. There’s more.

Moments later, an image appeared as clear as Al had ever seen on a computer. He glanced at Jess who was grinning as if she had a secret. He looked back at the screen. Someone is, he paused, watching us from above. He threw his head back, scanning the sky for a drone or a plane.

There is nothing up there, sir, McCoumb said. I already checked.

Al narrowed his eyes and leaned in even closer. He looked up at Jess. Have you confirmed there are no satellites above us?

Yes, Jess and McCoumb simultaneously answered.

I confirmed with the Air Force and Langley, Jess said. There is nothing above us that can do that.

Al rubbed his chin. What about Russian or Chinese satellites?

Sir, McCoumb said, there are no satellites from any country above us.

Al returned his focus to the image. He could clearly see the tan Humvee, the five of them standing next to it, and the crater. He knew that military drones and satellites could not hold a continuous image since they were in constant motion. Al waved his hand back and forth and watched himself move on the screen.

What else can this thing do? Al asked, as the screen suddenly changed. The image zoomed out and split into three pie-like slices. A helicopter appeared perfectly centered in each of the three sections.

What the hell is this? Al asked. Symbols flashed under each helicopter until Al decided he had had enough. He slammed the screen shut and stepped backward. He straightened himself up as he tried to decide what to do next. If this was new technology, then it wasn’t from Saddam. That was too long ago. He glanced around, looking for the telltale signs of an underground base. If there was a secret base, it had to be abandoned, or a security team would have been up there by now. He glanced at Jess and McCoumb, This device is not from one of Saddam Hussein’s lost bunkers.

That is what I was going to tell you, Jess said. I’ve never seen technology like this.

Al gave her a stern look, I agree. He turned to McCoumb, What else is down there?

We really didn’t look, sir. I saw what looked like a damaged flight helmet, but the rest was buried under debris from the initial blast. We haven’t been back in.

Fine, Al said, as he grabbed his flashlight. If it was an abandoned secret base, he was going to expose it. Show me.

Yes, sir, McCoumb answered.

Al turned to Akmad, You and the, he paused to look at the sergeant’s name tag, Sergeant Blanco stand guard here. And don’t let him give you any crap about your ponytail.

Akmad smiled and turned to Sergeant Blanco, Got water?

* * *

Using a rope he had tied to the bumper of the Humvee, Captain McCoumb rapelled into the hole. Once positioned, he leaped down onto a pile of dirt in the center of the crater, then waved for Jess and Al to follow.

The bomb blasted through at least twenty feet of dirt, Jess said, shaking off her filthy hands, and this space is another ten or so feet deep.

Al cautiously eyed the large chunks of concrete and shattered rocks; it was fertile ground for re-injuring his ankle. He shaded his eyes against the bright sun and glanced at Jess. The scene reminded him of one of Jess’s modeling shots he once had the pleasure of seeing. She had been wearing a tiny, metallic-blue bikini and was under a waterfall in front of a rocky backdrop. The lingering haze of dust could almost pass as water. Damn, he was falling for her again. He decided to pry, What kind of bomb did you say you dropped?

First of all, it was an accident, Jess snapped at him.

Right. Al ignored her defensiveness. He continued examining the crater. This place reminds me of a Pakistani catacomb I visited last year, he said, changing the subject. Maybe I could make her fall for me again, he thought. Again? Did she even like me in the first place? He knew he was in trouble. He looked over at McCoumb who was standing by a damaged helmet sprouting a clump of tangled wires.

McCoumb pointed toward the helmet, We found the device here.

And there is no other way in? Al asked.

No idea, McCoumb said. As soon as we found the device, we radioed it in and were ordered to wait topside. He pointed to a darker section. There’s damp, stale air coming from a small water shaft over there.

Al pulled out his flashlight and aimed it into the darkness to see the stream of water; then he stepped around some debris to get a better look.

Jess stepped over a jagged chunk of concrete and pointed, It leads to a larger hole over there.

Kneeling down, Al aimed his light inside the shaft. A few feet in, he saw bits and pieces of stone at the base. It looks like this goes farther back than the light can penetrate. He glanced at Jess. I’m going inside.

I’m right behind you, Jess responded.

I thought so. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she loved getting dirty. He glanced back at the captain, And you?

I’d rather not, sir, he said, laughing. You guys go right ahead.

Claustrophobic? Jess asked.

Extremely.

We’ll be back in a few, Al said. He pushed away the small rocks and climbed into the tight tunnel. He crawled on smooth stone for about twelve feet, getting his hands, elbows, and knees wet, then extended his light. I can see the end, he said.

Good, Jess answered from behind him.

He crawled to where the water dropped over and looked down over the edge. A cold draft stung his face. The water hit bottom several feet below and continued over a large stone step. He double-checked the depth of the drop-off, then lowered himself carefully onto the step. He swept his flashlight right and left but couldn’t see anything.

Jess joined him on the step and unclipped her flashlight, Brrr, it’s cold in here.

There’s definitely a draft, Al said. He aimed his light down the large steps. It looks like it’s coming from down there.

This place is huge, she said, shining her light around. We need stronger lights.

You can say that again, Al added cautiously. Something about the place didn’t seem right to him.

Jess shot her light in both directions. I can’t see either end. Al illuminated a massive sheet of stone above them. Check that out, he said.

* * *

Captain McCoumb was kneeling down, pulling the wires out of the strange helmet when a distant sound caught his attention. He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He got chills as he recognized the whump, whump of beating rotor blades. What the…? he said out loud. He quickly stood up, letting go of the helmet wires.

* * *

Above ground, Akmad and Sergeant Blanco stood next to the Humvee, shielding their faces as the helicopters dropped down, kicking up a thick cloud of sand. The sergeant’s demeanor changed when he saw several armed men jump out.

This doesn’t look good, he yelled over to Akmad. Instinctively, the sergeant crouched behind the Humvee and reached for his sidearm. Get down! he yelled again.

Akmad didn’t hear him, so the sergeant kept yelling, Get your ass down! His eyes darted around furiously as he saw the men fanning out. He cursed himself for not carrying his rifle. He heard shots and turned in time to see Akmad fall hard on his back. He kicked and squirmed, and was holding his throat as blood gushed between his fingers.

Sergeant Blanco flattened himself out on the sand, watching Akmad in disbelief. He heard several more shots, then saw three men running toward the crater with satchel charges. They’re blowing up the hole, he thought. He covered his head and waited.

* * *

Inside the crater, Captain McCoumb couldn’t believe his ears as multiple gunshots rang out. He was grabbing for the rope when a satchel charge landed right next to him, kicking up dirt. He froze for an instant, then scrambled over chunks of rock and dove into the shaft as fast as he could. He had most of his body in before the double charges exploded. Everything went black.

* * *

Sergeant Blanco looked up and saw a huge dirt cloud rising up over the crater. Oh, my God, he said. He raised his head over the hood of the Humvee and saw the helicopters heading away. He crawled over to Akmad who had stopped squirming. The right side of his neck and jaw were missing, and the sand under him was soaked black with blood. It took a second for Sergeant Blanco to register the bloody mess: Akmad was dead.

The sergeant ran over to what was left of the crater. When he saw a helicopter hovering low beyond the dust cloud, he knew he was spotted. Two heavy thuds hit his body as he dove into the crater. He felt a searing pain in his back and hip before hitting the dirt hard. How did I miss this? he muttered. Slowly, he faded out.

* * *

Captain McCoumb awoke in a daze. He rallied what strength he had and began crawling slowly through the shaft. As he choked on the heavy, dirt-filled air, he heard a muffled echo. A light shone right in his eyes.

What the hell happened? Al asked, as he pulled McCoumb out of the shaft. There was blood streaming out of his ears and nose. Al and Jess helped him to the side and leaned him against the stone wall.

The concussion blew his ears out, Jess said, as she knelt next to him. Captain, can you hear me?

He slowly nodded and coughed.

You’re a bloody mess, she said, as she wiped the blood and dirt off his face.

Thanks, he coughed. It was those damn helicopters.

What? Al shot back.

That’s right, McCoumb said, coughing up more dirt. Right after I heard the choppers, shots were fired. Then they threw bombs in the crater.

Jess stood up. Damn, what did we miss?

Nothing, Al said. Whoever this bunker belongs to was returning to secure it. He glanced back at McCoumb. No word from your partner before you dove into the tunnel?

McCoumb shook his head, No, I only had a second or two before the bomb went off.

Poor Akmad. He probably didn’t have a clue what to do, Al said.

I don’t know, McCoumb answered. I heard a lot of shots fired.

Is our exit blocked? Al inquired.

Most likely, the captain answered.

Al turned and looked into the darkness. He saw a small ray of light. There’s light coming from over there, he said. He turned back to McCoumb to continue questioning him. Is there a rebel insurgency problem in this area?

This area has not had a single problem since I’ve been stationed here.

Absolutely nothing? Al asked, sharply.

Nothing, McCoumb answered, wiping his eyes.

Al knelt down in front of him. "Are you certain there are no secret military bases anywhere around here? Are you telling us everything?" he asked point blank.

I’m telling you everything, McCoumb answered.

Al turned to Jess, Are you telling us everything?

She ignored his question. You heard helicopters? she asked McCoumb.

Yes, just before the shooting.

Are they the ones we saw on that device thing? Jess asked, looking at Al.

Al took a look around, That might explain it, but how? He took another long look down the steps. All right, well, since none of us have a shovel, we can either scratch our way out or start looking for another exit.

I vote we look for another exit, McCoumb said.

From what I can tell, Jess said, we’re on the inside of an inverted pyramid or stadium, or something.

Al swung his light around, illuminating her. What makes you say that?

Look, the steps are oversized, stone blocks. And if you look at the opposite side, Jess said, pointing across the bunker, you can make out a light over more steps.

You don’t miss anything, Al said.

It must be the fighter pilot instinct. Jess smiled.

Cringing in obvious pain, McCoumb stood up and pulled out his flashlight. Okay, he said, as he slowly looked around, so, we’re in a buried city? I mean, you’re the expert, right?

That’s what it looks like, Jess answered.

Al let out a slight laugh, Of all things, I’m actually helping with a museum project here.

It looks like you’re buried in your work again, Jess said, shining her light on Al.

Apparently so, Al said, wondering if that was an attempt at humor. Al started down the steps, stumbling as he took the first step. Be careful. These steps are larger than they look.

Jess followed him, with Captain McCoumb behind her.

Al noticed the smooth stone looked like it had been fired-up by a torch.

There was a fire here at one time, Jess said loudly, her voice echoing from behind.

I was just noticing that, Al answered.

After a few minutes of careful descent into total darkness, Al stepped onto a black, glossy, stone platform. He noticed a drastic drop in temperature.

Jess stepped down behind him and shone her light in a full circle. The stone steps seem too converged together.

So, you’re right. We are in an inverted pyramid, Al said. He aimed his light back up the steps, then into a large opening to Jess’s left.

Jess stepped over to look inside the stone-rimmed archway he had illuminated. There’s probably not an exit this deep.

Al knew this was not a modern-day bunker, but why would anyone use this place? He stepped into the opening and noticed the large, square stones used to make the walkway and walls. They reminded him of the stone blocks the pyramids in Egypt were made of. The walls were darker than the ground, and they reflected the light as if in 3-D. Strange, he muttered to himself as he turned and walked back to check on McCoumb.

McCoumb stood on the platform with his light aimed up. This is so strange, he said. Nothing but total darkness up there. It’s creepy with no stars or anything.

Right, Al said. Let’s go back up and check out where that light is coming from.

McCoumb grinned. Yes, sir.

Al saw Jess inside the passageway and went to retrieve her. Inside, he saw writing etched on the wall, and he stopped to look. It was similar to the writing on the strange computer. He turned back to Jess, Okay, dear, archaeology amateur hour is over. We need to head back up.

Jess took one last look around, I wonder how old this place is. She reached down and grabbed a small knife from her boot.

You’re still carrying throwing knives? Al teased.

She smiled. Never leave home without them. She gave him a wink and arched back, throwing the knife down the passageway into the dark. They listened for the knife to hit. A clang echoed back to them. That was the deck, she said, looking at Al.

I have a feeling we’ll be back for that, Al said.

As much as Al wanted to continue exploring with his ex-girlfriend, he knew their number one priority was to get out of there. He stepped aside and motioned for Jess to come out. They climbed up the stone steps toward the sliver of light. As they reached the top, Al noticed sand on the steps. He stepped carefully to avoid slipping.

McCoumb was already under the light source. He leaned over to see where it was coming from, This sand had to get in here somehow, he observed.

Al leaned over and looked up too. A shaft. Exactly what I was hoping for.

What’s up there? Jess asked, as she walked up from behind.

This could be our ticket, Al said. I’ll go up first.

Jess handed him her sidearm. Good luck, she said.

McCoumb scooted over. Be my guest.

Thanks, Al said, stuffing the sidearm into his belt as he climbed into the shaft.

Jess turned to the captain. Chasing bad guys in tunnels was his old job.

Al inched his way up, pushing against the sides with his back and feet. When he reached the top, he slowly worked the concrete lid over to one side. It made a grinding sound as more sand spilled in. Al looked down to prevent sand from getting in his eyes. He eventually worked the heavy lid far enough to the side that he had enough space to climb out into the hot sun. He pulled himself over the edge and took a quick look around. There was a brick wall to his immediate left and another one to his right about twenty yards away. He could hear voices and engines in the distance. The strong smell of stale cigarettes was coming from behind the wall to his left. He concluded it was a fence for the homes behind it. Clear! he yelled into the shaft.

Within minutes, McCoumb and Jess climbed out.

The captain crawled next to Al and unclipped his sidearm. Al waited for McCoumb to position himself, then peeked around the corner of the wall.

Three vehicles near the crater, he whispered, and several armed men standing near it. No helicopters though. He moved back. They must be parked where we can’t see them.

McCoumb glanced around the corner, Two more armed men outside the perimeter, standing guard.

Al saw his truck in the shade and the Humvee parked by the crater. Our vehicles are still there, but no Akmad… or your sergeant.

Shit! the captain cursed.

Al realized he had to take control. Stay here, he ordered.

What are you doing? Jess whispered, looking up at him.

Just wait here, Al said. He put the sidearm under his shirt and walked toward the truck. He glanced away from the armed men and casually pulled out his dead cell phone.

One of the armed men spotted Al and ran over to block his path.

What’s your business here? he barked in rapid-fire Arabic.

Al ignored the semi-automatic machine gun aimed at his chest and looked at the lingering smoke over the crater. In perfect Arabic, he replied, I’m a contractor on a survey mission. What were they using explosives for? Al carefully observed the reaction of the well-dressed, heavily-armed man. He was not a typical insurgent. Al knew Arab men respected strength and authority, so he feigned both.

The man glanced toward the crater, making eye contact with several other armed men, then looked back at Al.

Stay away from this location, he barked.

Without appearing tense, Al nodded and climbed into his truck. He started the ignition, gave the man a slight wave, and slowly pulled out, ready to slam his foot on the gas if bullets started flying.

Jess and McCoumb nervously watched the exchange from around the corner.

He’s crazy, McCoumb said, tightening his finger on the trigger as he watched the truck pull away.

Don’t worry, Jess said. He’s a master at this.

I hope so, McCoumb muttered.

Al carefully drove around the brick wall, out of view of the man’s eagle-like stare. He stopped, and Jess and McCoumb quickly climbed in. He drove two blocks, then parked between two trucks. He turned to Jess, How long were we down there?

Jess looked at her watch. About fifty-five minutes, she replied.

That’s not very long, Al said. He stared out the window, eyeing the local residents walking past. He turned to McCoumb. You are absolutely certain you heard shooting.

A shitload of it, McCoumb answered.

Those attackers must have been very precise, Al said, because the locals don’t seem to know anything happened.

McCoumb and Jess observed the locals. I see what you’re saying, McCoumb said.

These guys are professionals, Al added, thinking back to how he used to perform surgical strikes with lightning speed in order to not disrupt the local community.

I watched the guy’s reaction when I confronted him. They’re extremely well-trained and definitely operating as a team. He twisted his torso to McCoumb who was still a bloody mess. These guys are either hired contractors or mercenaries, not your typical untrained insurgents. I suggest regrouping with backup.

I agree, Jess said.

I’m down, the captain said. But first, I have to radio my command to report in and try to find my sergeant. My radio is back in the Humvee.

Okay, Al said. Go find a radio, and meet us back here ASAP.

You got it, he said, as he jumped out of the truck.

Al and Jess stepped out onto the dirt road and walked toward the end of the block. Al wanted to get one more look at the area. When they reached the corner, Jess had a scarf over her head. He thought it highlighted her large, almond-shaped, brown eyes.

Jess returned his glance. Just blending in, she said.

Al looked around the edge of the brick building, down the semi-busy street. I can see them from here, he said. He watched as the armed men milled around beneath the remains of the smoke cloud. He took a half-step back around the corner. I want to get a better view.

There are two shops between us and that last house, Jess observed, looking down the street. We’ll be able to see them better from there.

Al looked around and saw the spot she was referring to. Most of the buildings were in good shape, and the street was getting busier with shopping pedestrians and cars. Good one, he said, as he stepped off the crumbling sidewalk and crossed to the opposite corner.

As inconspicuously as possible, he leaned back on a large shop window and glanced over at the crater. He shuddered slightly when he recognized the silhouettes of three helicopters parked in the distance. He snapped his fingers and motioned with his head for Jess to get a visual on the choppers. Jess looked over just in time to see a truck pull up next to the crater. Several men jumped out carrying shovels.

They’re definitely looking for something, Al said, but what?

Maybe the device we found, Jess suggested.

Could be, Al said calmly, his gaze fixed intently on the men. It looks like they’re going to dig out the crater. Al’s instinct was to confront challenges head-on, but he was seriously outgunned. And he wasn’t about to risk Jess’s safety. He glanced over at her, We should regroup at the museum. I don’t like the odds, and I especially don’t like not knowing who I’m dealing with.

She gave him a questioning look. My instructions are to assess the situation and assist you, she said plainly.

Perfect, Al said. He tapped her arm. Let’s get the captain and get out of here.

Captain McCoumb was waiting by the truck. I got ahold of my battalion commander using a local police radio. They are sending a company of Iraqi Army door-kickers to search for our missing guys.

Did you ask the police about the shooting? asked Al.

Sure did. They said they hadn’t heard anything about it.

Before Al could open his mouth to reply, the entire area began rumbling. They looked up as the three helicopters flew over at rooftop level. Al shouted over the rotor engines, Where are they going in such a hurry?

I don’t know, the captain shouted, as he watched them disappear beyond the town. Maybe they picked up the transmission I sent.