Island of the Star Lords Page 3

  Cellphones were forbidden, and special jamming signals were used to prevent their use in the event someone smuggled one into the facility. All outside calls were made by permission, and only on specified telephones located in a special communications room with soundproof booths. All conversations were recorded with a ten second delay, so that security operatives could delete anything that might be considered a risk before the receiving party heard it. In a manner of speaking, a tour of duty was like spending six months at sea with very few ports of call.

  Excluding the military mess hall, the civilians had access to two large cafeterias: one on the seventh level below ground and another at ground level. Military cooks prepared the food at both locations. Contrary to popular jokes, it was always good, and expertly supervised by dieticians to ensure nutrition. Entertainment consisted of a softball field, tennis courts, bowling alley, and exercise rooms equipped with the latest machines. Satellite television was piped into each apartment and viewed on fifty-inch, high-definition sets. Those not satisfied with these Spartan accommodations were invited to return to whence they came.

  While he relaxed, Matt's eyes drifted around the room. When he had first arrived at Apache Point he had been given an opportunity to inspect his brother's apartment in case he might discover something that would provide a clue to his disappearance. There, he had gotten his first glimpse into man's distant past. The walls and bookshelves had been decorated with photos and artifacts from various eras in which Edward had worked. Rome, Babylon, Egypt, Greece, and Troy were all represented. Many other locations, even more remote along the time continuum than those fabled cities, occupied places of honor in the living room.

  Matt smiled at the thought of how impressed he was at the sight of such incredible mementoes. His own walls were growing with the same diverse collection, only they were his memories instead of Edward's. One of his favorites was of Taylor dressed in a Roman gown. The garment was of pleated white silk, reaching from mid-chest to a few inches above her sandaled feet. It was belted at the waist by a thin, green rope, knotted and bound with a silver clasp in front. The sleeves were short and full, falling in folds to her elbows. Her dark hair, encircled by a silver band studded with small squares of jade, was piled on top of her head in a curly knot. Around her neck, a string of polished silver beads fell to her breasts. Her green eyes sparkled, accentuated by the silver and jade jewelry. She had only been away for a few days, but Matt missed everything about her.

  He walked into his bedroom and opened the double closet doors. His civilian clothes were all hung neatly on the left side, leaving room for five black jumpsuits that the agents were required to wear while operating in the past. However, to avoid suspicion by the locals, they were often worn beneath garments contemporaneous with the eras in which the expeditions took place. The jumpsuits had been developed by engineers in the Apache Point labs after some of the time operatives were either killed or seriously injured by violence at the hands of the ancients. Called 'L-suits' by the agents, their official name was 'element suits.' Impervious to most weapons, including swords, spears, and many firearms, they still left the head and hands vulnerable. As yet, nothing had been developed to prevent wounds to those body parts. However, the most important aspect of the garments was their protection from extremes of heat and cold. The linings of the suits were laced with tiny veins of a special liquid capable of changing temperatures to maintain normal body requirements. Matt had often made the statement that he knew many police officers who would give a year's pay for one of the suits.

  His utility belt hung draped over the closet rod beside the clothing. It was five inches wide and consisted of seven pockets, each four inches long and held shut by Velcro fasteners. A holster, which carried the standard issue nine-millimeter F92 Beretta pistol, hung on the right side. The opposite side was equipped with a holster for a solar powered walkie-talkie having an effective range of ten miles. The pockets themselves contained a folding utility knife, first aid kit, insect repellent, fishing line, extra ammo magazines, a ten-power mini-telescope, and various other paraphernalia that might be needed in the field. Larger items, including period clothing and military ready-to-eat meals, were carried in a backpack. Two pairs of black lace-up boots sat on the floor beside several pairs of civilian shoes.

  Satisfied that all was in order, he left the apartment and walked to the administration building. He went through the front door into a large lobby with expensive-looking furniture. A profusion of greenery in decorative pots sat at intervals along the walls. To the left of the entrance was a closed door marked SECURITY OFFICER. The wall directly ahead was made of marble, with a glass cubicle about five feet square and eight feet tall in its center. Beyond the cubicle was a long hallway with two elevators at the end. It was the only access to the offices and labs on the lower levels of the facility.

  Two Marines equipped with automatic weapons stood on each side of the cubicle. Admission to the hallway was restricted to those whose right palm print and security ratings were on file in the main computer. Those having business beyond the lobby were required to press their palms against a monitor screen on the wall beside the cubicle doors. To the right, a Marine corporal sat behind a large horseshoe-shaped desk equipped with several video monitors and phones. A closed door leading to the secure telephone room was located behind the Marine.

  He recognized Matt and greeted him. "Good evening, Mr. Leahy," he said in a friendly tone.

  "How are you Corporal?" Matt responded.

  "Can't complain, sir. What can I do for you?"

  "I need to make a call. My current clearance code is R6V21."

  The Marine punched the code into a computer terminal. The monitor lit up with Matt's name, photo, and security rating. "If you'll just press your right palm and fingers against the screen, sir." He indicated a twelve-inch-square flat screen built into the desktop. Matt complied, resulting in another message on the corporal's monitor: Identity confirmed, Leahy, Matthew D., 287114-A. "Thank you, sir. I'll activate the first phone booth on your right as you enter."

  "Thanks, Corporal." Matt went through the door and into the designated phone booth. With the door closed, the booth was soundproof. He picked up the phone and punched in the number of the cellphone Taylor carried when she was away from the facility.

  She answered on the third ring. "Where have you been? I haven't talked to you since last night," she demanded before he could say anything.

  Matt had to smile. Neither of them liked to be separated from the other even for short periods of time, but work and social demands sometimes required it. Though she was only a few hundred miles away, it might as well have been the other side of the world. "I'm sorry, babe," he answered. "I would have called sooner, but things have been happening here that will require cutting your vacation short. I need you to get back here as soon as possible."

  There was silence for several long seconds. "Can you tell me anything?"

  "It would be better to wait until I can explain it in person. There's no immediate danger on this end."

  Taylor understood the phrase 'on this end.' It was code, indicating the current time and place. "I'll be on the next plane tomorrow morning," she said. "Meet me at the airport?"

  "Let me know your flight information when you get it, and I'll be waiting at Albuquerque."

  After they hung up, Matt walked out of the phone room, thanked the Marine corporal and exited the building. Night had fallen, blessing the darkness with a beautiful display of the Milky Way. The thickly massed stars glowed like a ghostly parade marching across the heavens. Though he had gotten used to the clear New Mexico desert nights, the brightness of the planets and stars always touched his spirit. Sometimes he imagined that he saw God's eyes among them. The night had grown chilly, and he turned up his shirt collar as he walked back to his apartment.

  Inside, he went to the bathroom and looked into the sink mirror. A forty-one year old man with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a slightly cleft chin looked back at him. H
e always thought that his nose was a little too large, but for some reason most women found him handsome. It was something that always puzzled him. He was still astounded that a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Taylor Griffin had fallen in love with him. In his thinking, it was the classic frog and princess scenario. The thought made him smile and shake his head.

  As he stripped off his clothes and prepared for bed, he mentally reviewed the conversation with Dr. Durant and the challenge that awaited him. If the physicist was correct about the mysterious wand, it promised to be the most difficult assignment he had yet to face. The thought of such a weapon, if it really was a weapon, in the hands of unknown beings who apparently were not afraid to use it, raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Moreover, the civilization level of 3,302 BC Ireland was relatively unknown to modern scholars. For all practical purposes it could be considered a mixture of myth, legend, folklore and fact; all four inseparable when viewed in light of the stories handed down through the ages. If legend were to be believed, it was the time of mysterious gods, Fir Bolg, and Tuatha de Danann. It was a time of war, unrest, and death. To make matters worse, his team would have nothing to go on except a bloodstained super-weapon and a missing agent who may even be dead.

  As he crawled into bed he tried to put those thoughts out of his mind, but they continued to race through his brain until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

  Chapter 3

  The Mission

  Taylor Lee Griffin was born in San Antonio, Texas, an only child, whose parents had realized early on that they had been blessed with a daughter who possessed an intelligent mind and a fair amount of common sense. As she grew to maturity, her outgoing personality and physical beauty attracted many admirers; however, nothing of consequence had ever developed with members of the opposite sex. She liked men and enjoyed their company, but no single relationship had gone beyond a mild attraction. Though this puzzled her, she never really worried about it, relying instead on her mother's sage advice that she would recognize the right man when he came along. With that in mind, she was content to immerse herself in her studies at the University of Texas. Her specialty was philology, the study and translation of ancient or unknown languages. Having graduated Summa Cum Laude, she was offered a job with the NSA. She had no way of knowing that her passion for languages would lead her into realms of adventure beyond imagination, and to the man of her dreams at a place called Apache Point.

  Matt was waiting for her in the Air West concourse of the Albuquerque airport. Her flight was on time, arriving at 7:25 a.m. He watched through the tarmac windows as her plane rolled to a stop. The engines whined to a low pitch as ground crews hurried to attach the disembarking tunnel. A few minutes later, Taylor stepped into the waiting area carrying a tan leather bag over one shoulder. A broad smile lit Matt's face as he waved to catch her attention. Each time they were separated for more than just a few days, the next time he saw her was like seeing her for the first time all over again. She grinned and waved back as she made her way through the crowd to him.

  "I beg your pardon, sir, but could you direct me to the baggage receiving area?" Always a morning person, she was in a playful mood. The humorous sparkle in her eyes made Matt chuckle. She never tired of telling Matt that there was nothing like breathing air kissed by starlight just before dawn. Being an early person himself, Matt knew what she meant. Before he could make up a cute answer, she kissed him on the lips.

  He shook his head. "Under ordinary circumstances, I would gladly escort a girl as pretty as you to any place she wanted to go. But I'm waiting for someone who can be a little jealous about things like that. Besides, you're too forward for my taste, going around kissing strangers in airports."

  "Well that's a disappointing attitude. I don't suppose you'd be willing to buy me breakfast instead." She pouted for a second then gave him a glorious smile.

  "I think I could be persuaded to do that." They both laughed and kissed again.

  They went to a café in the airport. While they ate, Matt went over the details of what had happened. Taylor remained silent most of the time, asking few questions until he was finished. Finally she said, "I don't like the sound of any of this, especially the part about the blood on the wand. Mike DeLong is not the kind of man who goes down easily, so there must have been some kind of fight." Her brow wrinkled in thought as she asked, "Who's on our team?"

  "Jacob Donovan."

  She nodded. "A good choice. Does he know anything yet?"

  "No. I thought it best for us to brief him together. All he knows is that he'll be the third member of the expedition, and where it will take place. He's on standby at the facility."

  She took a last sip of coffee. "Good. I'm ready when you are. I'm anxious to get a look at the symbols on that wand."

  They left the restaurant and proceeded through the concourse. A short walk further, they turned down a side corridor with a metal door at the end. Matt inserted a card into the slot above the handle. There was a soft click as the lock disengaged. He pushed it open and they stepped through onto a large concrete tarmac. A helicopter marked MARINES in orange letters waited fifty feet away. The pilot saw them coming and started the rotors turning. A Marine guard standing outside the aircraft helped Taylor into the cabin. After she and Matt were buckled in, the Marine closed the door and they lifted off. A flash of morning sunlight came through one of the windows as the ship rotated and sped away toward Apache Point.

  By late morning Taylor had finished studying the marks on the wand. Matt had used the time to contact Jacob Donovan and invite him to the meeting in Durant's office. As they sat in front of the director's desk, Taylor said, "From a practical standpoint, I have absolutely no clue as to what these characters mean. However, I can see some obvious indications right away. For example, the symbols on each side of the ferule are probably the equivalent of our plus and minus signs. The one on the left side that looks like a lower case letter v, most likely means minus, or 'off.' The one on the right, a capital V, would be plus, or 'on.' So if you turn the ferule completely to the left, it would be at its lowest power and vice-versa to the right.

  "We know that the button is the trigger, so you set the wand at whatever power is needed by turning the ferule, and press the button. Some of the other marks, starting from the front, repeat themselves at various places along the barrel. I'll take a chance and say that they are manufacturers identification data. You can see that some of them are smaller than others and are linked together in a tight string. Those are probably numbers, while the larger ones are letters, or symbols, that represent complete words. I would need a much larger sample to actually put them into context and make a sensible interpretation." She shrugged her shoulders and looked somber.

  "It's about what I expected," Durant commented. "If it is of extraterrestrial origin, there would be no known basis for comparison. Which presents another problem." He took his empty pipe from his lab coat pocket and stuck it in his mouth. After a few seconds he removed it and looked at each of them in turn. "Not only will you be going into this with almost no information, you won't even be armed with the ability to speak the language."

  Taylor nodded and looked thoughtful. "That's true, but the wand appears to have been manufactured to fit a human hand, or something very similar. I won't go so far as to assume that these beings are human in form or nature, but if they speak with vocal cords we can learn to understand them and them us."

  "If they give us the chance to say anything." Donovan sounded pessimistic. "I think we had better keep in mind that DeLong might have tried that, and it didn't work out too well. Don't forget about the bloodstains." A former captain in the U.S. Army Rangers, Donovan reasoned with a military mind. At six-feet-four, and two hundred and twenty pounds, he presented a formidable appearance, an image that belied his amicable nature. After ten years in the military, he continued his education and received a master's degree in world history. Having written two books on ancient civilizations, he became an obvious recru
iting target for the NSA's Special Services. After being thoroughly vetted, he was offered and accepted an appointment at Apache Point. His exemplary service and keen mind had earned him the admiration of all those with whom he had shared expeditions. He looked at Taylor and grinned, his blue eyes crinkled at the edges.

  "He's right," Matt said. "But I think it's safe to say that if they really are from another world, they're not only far ahead of us in technology but in ethics as well. Besides, we obviously won't be the first humans they've encountered."

  "All of those are good points," Durant agreed, "but we won't know anything concrete until you get started. I've made arrangements for your transportation to Shannon Airport. Unless things change, you're scheduled to depart Albuquerque for Boston at nine a.m. Friday. That gives you three days and nights for wardrobe and language instruction. As far as I can see, there's nothing more to do here."

  He rose and walked around the desk to where they were seated. As he shook hands with them, he said, "Good luck. If we don't hear anything back from you within thirty days, another team will be dispatched."

  Taylor rolled her eyes and made a wry face. "That's a comforting thought," she said, as they turned and walked out the door.