Williams looked puzzled. "A message?"
Matt did not answer. "Let's go rejoin the others," he said. "I think it's time for explanations."
They turned and walked back to where Taylor was still nursing Edward. Summerhour was on his knees beside them, busily stuffing the stellarite into his pack. Matt knelt beside his brother. He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. Edward swallowed but did not open his eyes.
"When I think of what he must have suffered to find that chunk of rock and bring it here," Matt said, his voice filled with emotion.
"I think he'll be okay," Taylor offered. She smoothed a few strands of hair away from the wound. "But he needs medical help. We've got to activate the pagers and get him to a hospital."
"I don't think that'll be necessary," Matt responded. "Help's a lot closer than you imagine."
She looked puzzled. "What...?"
"There are some American Navy ships anchored on the other side of the hill. That's why Edward was heading for this place. He must have been trying to reach them to get help."
"Navy ships?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about? How could......"
"I think Mike can tell us," he answered. He gave Summerhour a hard look.
Summerhour stood, slung the pack over his shoulder, and ran his arms through the straps. "Not now," he said. "This isn't the time. We've got to get this down to the base." He started toward the crest, but Williams stepped in front of him and barred his way.
"I don't think I can let you do that, Mike," he said quietly. He pointed his pistol directly at Summerhour's face.
Matt and Taylor both stood up at the same time.
Williams waved the gun at them as he stepped back a few feet. “Don’t try anything foolish. If I have to I can drop all three of you before you can clear your holsters."
Matt took a step away from Taylor.
"Don't do it, Matt," Williams warned. "I cut my teeth on one of these," he gave the pistol a little wave. "The L-suit won't protect you. I can hit you in the face without any problem. Now, the three of you unbuckle your belts and toss the weapons away."
"Are you out of your mind?" Summerhour said in disbelief. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll go to the brig for twenty years for this!"
"I don't think so. I said take off those guns and throw them away. Now!"
They did. As though on cue, a hot breeze blew across the hilltop. In spite of its warmth, it carried the chill of death.
"You want to tell us why?" Matt asked.
"I'm disappointed," Williams replied with a low laugh. "All this time I was afraid you'd figure it out before I was ready."
"Maybe I did, but I'd rather hear it first-hand from you. You can start by telling us who you really are."
Summerhour and Taylor exchanged glances. It was obvious that neither of them knew what was going on with Williams.
"My name isn't important. What's important is the stellarite. Throw it over here, Mike."
Summerhour slipped off the pack and tossed it to the ground in Williams's direction. It landed about five feet short of him.
Taylor was the only one still completely in the dark. "Chuck, why are you doing this?"
He gave her a sardonic frown and shook his head in disbelief. "Taylor, you almost make me believe that you don’t know."
"She knows nothing about it," Matt answered for her. "Why don't we talk about this, Chuck, or whoever you are. There are always options. We can work something out. I give you my word."
"I want to know what's going on!" Taylor said between clenched teeth. "Why are you holding that gun on us?"
"Because I have to stop you, Taylor. I can’t allow your country to continue stealing my country's natural resources."
She looked perplexed. “What do you mean, stealing your natural resources? What are you talking about?” She shook her head, exasperated.
Williams looked surprised. “You mean you really don’t know about Babylon Station?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Matt should have told you about that by now.”
“Matt’s not pointing a gun at me, you are," she said, her voice hard. "So why don’t you explain.”
“It’s really quite simple. Babylon Station is a code name for an operation that the United States and some of the other western countries are conducting in this time period. You’re doing here what you could never do in the twenty-first century. You couldn’t make us comply with your wishes by force, bribery, or politics, so you decided to take what you wanted by stealth.” He paused and glared at them. The jovial Williams persona was gone. The deadly serious man holding them at gunpoint was someone they had never seen before.
“Taking what by stealth?” Taylor demanded.
“Oil.”
Chapter 21
It was one of the most titanic statements ever made, but on this desolate hilltop, with the burning sun overhead, thirty-five hundred years from home, it struck Taylor as comical. She clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.
"Stealing oil? You’re out of your mind!" she managed to choke out. "Edward's the one with the head injury, not you!"
"He's telling the truth," Matt said, his voice somber. "Those ships out in the bay are supply vessels. They carry the equipment and materials to build holding tanks, pumps, pipelines, shelters, and everything else required to work an oil field. There's also a warship anchored with them. I suspect it supplies the muscle necessary to make sure that none of the locals interfere with the operation. It, or one like it, is probably responsible for knocking out Ramses's army when they tried to march here. One concussion missile should do it, I would think. They call this place Babylon Station because it's close to that ancient city. And unless I miss my guess, it's been in operation for a long time now."
"Shut up!" Summerhour screamed. "You don't know what you're doing!"
"I think I do. But it doesn't matter. Our friend here is going to kill us anyway. Right, Chuck?"
Williams let out an audible breath and shook his head. "It might surprise you Matt, but I’m not getting any pleasure out of this. None of it would have been necessary if your brother had been killed instead of just wounded. You see, our man thought he was dead and failed to see him escape into the desert while he was burying the others. If that hadn’t happened, none of you, including me, would be here right now.” He sounded genuinely sorry.
"What does it matter now? You’ve got the stellarite. Let us go," Matt replied.
"You know I can't do that."
"Just how do you plan on getting out of here after you kill us?” Summerhour asked in a sullen voice.
"You still don’t understand, do you?” Williams answered. "The main purpose of this entire affair is not just to eliminate you, it’s to keep the stellarite from being returned to Apache Point. I understand from…," he caught himself before he said the name. "Well anyway, I understand that there's no more stellarite anywhere on Earth. That means Babylon Station stops right here, right now. Without the stellarite it can’t go on." He gazed at the three of them for a long moment, then a bland smile curled his lips. "As far as anyone going back to the world we left behind, forget it. The four of you will stay on this hill forever."
"And what about you?" Matt asked. "You'll never get away with going back alone. Or have you and your friends made up a convincing lie to cover that?"
"You’re not listening, Matt,” Williams said impatiently. “Lies won't be necessary because I’m not going back either. After I've disposed of the stellarite in a place where it'll never be found, I intend to make my way to Babylon. Someone with my talent and knowledge of modern technology should be able to live there quite comfortably. After all, the people of this era are my ancestors."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Summerhour interjected. "What about the ships and the people working the oil fields. There's no way you can dispose of all of them."
“A good bluff, Mike,” he replied, “but I think you already know the answer to that.” He looked at Matt and Taylor, a smile
on his face. "Has Mr. Summerhour not told you two about the Fade Away Directive?"
From the looks on their faces it was obvious they knew nothing about it.
"I didn't think so," he said with cynicism. "Let me explain it to you. It's a little doomsday plan that was designed by your military and its allies to cover an eventuality just like the one facing them now. They considered every possible contingency in their efforts to make Babylon Station a success, but there was always a chance that something might go wrong one day. If it did, all connection to the modern world might be permanently broken and the people working the oil fields would be stranded in this time period forever. That's where Fade Away comes in. It directs the captains of those ships down there to disembark their crews and any supplies they have left. A few selected officers will then take all but one of the ships out to deep water where the destroyer will sink them. After that the warship will use its missiles, guns, and helicopters to obliterate all traces of the oil fields. There won't be anything left for archaeologists to find a few thousand years from now. Of course it’s possible that some scraps of rusted metal might be unearthed, but that’s considered a negligible risk."
"And the people? What happens to them?" Taylor asked.
"Well, that's the fun part," Williams went on. "The supplies and people will be loaded onto the remaining transport. The captain of the destroyer has been given authority over the other skippers. His orders are to escort the civilian workers and navy personnel to any deserted island in the unpopulated world that he selects. They leave the location up to him so no one in the modern world will ever know where they went. After they arrive and the passengers disembark, the two ships are to be sunk in deep water. The people will stay on the island until they all die from disease or old age."
"And what if they don't die out," Taylor prompted. "What about descendants, like those of the Bounty on Pitcairn Island?"
Williams laughed. "That's just the point, Taylor. There are no women at Babylon Station or any of the other sites. If the directive is initiated, no one will survive beyond fifty or sixty years. That's why they call it the Fade Away Directive. It leaves no trace of what happened here. So you see, the ships will be gone and the oil field workers will automatically be taken care of by nature. Without the ability to reproduce, they'll just fade away. And as far as the other agents who are in the field, since they are working either in singles or small groups in different time periods, they’re considered negligible. They’ll just blend in with the local populations until they die." He couldn’t resist an amused smile at the looks on their faces.
"You've got it all figured out haven't you?" Matt asked.
"Looks that way."
"Before you shoot, just tell me one thing."
"What's that?"
"If you wanted me dead, why did you save my life in the desert back at Apache Point? The sniper could have spared you all this trouble."
Williams pursed his lips and said, "Oh yes, Osterman. He was supposed to be a professional assassin, but he turned out to be a bumbling fool. You see, he wasn't privy to our plans. He was supposed to kill you, after which I was to kill him, supposedly in self-defense. With you dead there was little chance of ever recovering the stellarite, and this trip would have been unnecessary. Only you moved just as he squeezed off the shot and he only grazed you. You were too quick for him to get off a second round. Then when you fired the flare and caught him out in the open I was afraid you might accidentally overpower him. We couldn't afford for him to be taken alive because he might have talked to save his own skin. After all, he was just someone who was hired to do a job. When he failed I started to kill you myself, but then it occurred to me that by saving your life I might gain your confidence and have an opportunity to tie up a very important loose end. You needed a friend, and I hoped you might want to keep me around; maybe even trust me enough to take me with you on this expedition if I volunteered to go. That way I could not only eliminate you, but also take care of your brother if we actually found him. His having the stellarite in his possession was just luck. We never counted on that.”
"But the sniper shot you, too," Matt retorted.
"That was part of the plan. To avoid suspicion I had to have something to show when I got back to Apache Point. And I also knew that the .223 caliber ammunition he was using wouldn't penetrate the L-suit. It would just give me a large bruise to prove that I was also a target."
"And what if it hadn't worked out that way? What if I hadn't agreed to take you along?"
Williams gave a soft laugh and said, "Then you would have gone the same way as Colonel Pope. A few drops of a special drug manufactured in my country would have taken care of that.”
Matt clenched his fists at his sides. "You said we. Who else is involved in this plot of yours."
Williams's eyes narrowed. "You said tell you one thing. That's two." He glanced down at the pack Summerhour had tossed in front of him. "That's enough talking. All of you move back! Head for those rocks over there." He waved the gun toward the rocks behind them.
"You pull that trigger and the sound will carry to the ships," Matt said between clenched teeth. "They'll be on you before you can escape."
"Maybe, but I'll have to take that chance," Williams answered. Judging by his smiling expression, he did not seem to be overly concerned about the noise.
Matt glanced down at the big knife in his boot. He realized that Williams might not be planning to shoot them at all. The knife would be silent and equally effective.
Suddenly Summerhour made a break for the guns. Williams opened fire and struck him twice in the side. The impact from the bullets sent him sprawling before he reached the weapons, but did not disable him due to the L-suit. He got to his hands and knees and began to crawl. Williams took aim and fired at him again, hitting him in the lower jaw. At the same instant Matt grabbed Taylor's hand and took off full speed toward the hilltop thirty yards away. Williams spun toward them and rapid-fired several rounds, but missed the running targets. They reached the crest and dove headfirst on their bellies down the opposite side with Williams close behind.
Seaman First Class Roger Hull slipped and fell into the water as he stepped from the rubber boat onto the shore. He fought to recover his balance and was rewarded by only getting wet up to his knees. He slapped his hand against his pocket and felt the small bottle there. He said a little prayer of thanks that he had not fallen against a rock and smashed it.
"Damn it all!" he cursed under his breath. "It'll be a happy day in hell before I volunteer for another one of these details!" But in fact, this particular assignment was preferred duty and much sought after by the crew of the Talon. He had bribed his shipmate with two packs of cigarettes to let him take his place in the duty rotation. During daylight hours the sailors alternated serving eight hours sentry duty on top of the high hill that overlooked the sea. They had named it ‘Lloyd's Perch’ in honor of the Talon's skipper. It was the only time they were allowed off the ship, and most of them considered it prime duty. There was no other way they could escape the crowded confines of the destroyer and spend time alone. It was also the only time Hull could get enough privacy to guzzle some of the whiskey he had managed to sneak aboard the ship before sailing from Pearl Harbor. This was the longest time they had been away from Pearl, almost six months, and he was running low on all his personal supplies. Unless they departed for home soon he would be no better off than the rest of the swabs in the things that really counted: Booze and cigarettes.
He took the half-pint bottle of Jack Daniels from his pocket and unscrewed the lid. He took a small sip and enjoyed the burn as the fiery liquid cut a path down his throat. He sighed, recapped the bottle, and stuck it back in his pocket. He had three more bottles wrapped in skivvies at the bottom of his sea bag. After that, the well was dry.
He reached into the boat and retrieved his food, an M-14 rifle, and two spare magazines of ammunition. The gun was standard equipment for this assignment, but to him it was just extra bag
gage to lug up the hill. The rifles the sentries carried were all equipped with telescopic sights, and were capable of dropping an enemy at five hundred yards. They were supposed to be used for self-defense in case any locals got close to the hill and became a threat, but the land was visible for miles in all directions from the summit of Lloyd’s Perch, and so far none of them had seen anything through their binoculars but sandstorms and occasional flashes of far-off lightning. Hull found it hard to believe that anyone in his right mind would actually choose to live in such a God-forsaken place. While standing watches on the hill he had seen lush vegetation growing along the riverbanks, but a few miles from the water where the buff-colored desert began, there was little to see. It had never seriously occurred to him that there might be an actual threat of attack from anyone. It was just too deserted for that.
He pulled the boat ashore and tied it to a metal stake that had been driven into the ground at the dockage. In times past, the skipper had allowed them to be transported to the top of the hill by helicopter, but that practice had been discontinued two months ago. It was rumored that the choppers were running low on fuel, and the skipper did not want to waste any on routine transport. Since that time they had been using the rubber boat and a small outboard motor for passage between the observation post and the ship.
For several weeks Hull had been suspicious that something was wrong. It was not just the helicopters; there were other things you could pick up on if you were sharp. For example, the ships in the fleet had been on station here for almost six months without relief. U.S. Navy vessels did not stay in one place that long unless they were in dry dock. Moreover, except for the helicopters aboard the Talon, the sky had been completely devoid of any kind of aircraft since their arrival. That in itself was not impossible, but it was unusual. Then there was the rumor that a missile had been fired by the Broward, a destroyer that had been on post here in the past. No one knew who had been on the receiving end of the missile, only that it had been necessary for the defense of the construction camps scattered around the desert. The scuttlebutt was that it was not the first time one of the warships had launched a missile into the desert under the guise of maintaining the security of the fleet.