Flight of the Condor Page 4

  The crew’s four travel trailers had been parked in a semicircle. At the center of this semicircle, several picnic tables had been set up. It was there, when weather permitted, that meals were eaten and artifacts catalogued. This evening, the group had gathered around a large campfire, which had been built beside the table area. Sipping their teas, coffees, and hot chocolates, they watched the crackling flames and contemplated the day’s strange turn of events.

  Seated at the head of the fire was Miriam Rodgers.

  At her right was her assistant, Joseph Solares. Both sat cross-legged on the cool ground, their stares focused deep into the burning embers. Taking her last sip of deep, rich coffee, Miriam shook her head angrily.

  “You know, I still can’t believe that the colonel didn’t have the courtesy to speak to me on the phone.

  Why, his aide wouldn’t even bother contacting him.”

  Joseph shrugged his shoulders.

  “I still think that you’re silly to let this bother you, Boss. The colonel’s a busy man. He must have a damn good reason to want us off the ridge.”

  “At least he could share it with me,” returned Miriam.

  “If we’re going to be secluded here much longer, perhaps we should be looking for another dig site.”

  The crackling flames emphasized Joseph’s sharp cheekbones as his eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not thinking of abandoning the ridge now, Boss? Why, it’s just starting to get interesting.”

  Miriam sighed.

  “I’m afraid that decision has already been made for us.”

  Not liking her tone, Joseph caught her glance directly.

  “That doesn’t sound like the lady who practically moved a mountain to get us here in the first place. At least give the Air Force a couple of days before even thinking of pulling us off of Tranquillon.

  That site is just too promising.”

  As if to emphasize this observation, a young girl’s voice came from behind them.

  “Excuse me, Professor Rodgers, but we’ve completed the initial cleaning of this morning’s find. Would you like to have a look?”

  “Why, of course, Margaret,” replied Miriam.

  “Bring it by the fire.”

  With the help of a muscular coworker, the skinny brunette guided the precious artifact to the fire’s side.

  There the bowl took on a drastically new character.

  Gone was both the net and the layer of dried mud that had covered its surface before. In their place was a shiny, dark gray stone surface, polished smooth by hundreds of hours of patient craftsmanship. Unable to take her eyes off the series of sparkling penta grams that lay embedded in the bowl’s upper lip, Miriam felt her spirits lighten.

  “Why, you did an excellent job, Margaret. It’s positively breathtaking!”

  “Oh, it wasn’t just me,” responded the blushing sophomore.

  “Each one of us had a hand in the cleaning.”

  “I’ll say,” said the muscular lad who had helped carry out the artifact.

  “Why, I almost scraped the skin off of my hands cleaning off the dirt from the bottom. It was as hard as a rock.”

  “What do you expect after five hundred years?” asked Joseph lightly.

  “Does this bowl really have something to do with the dead?” queried the inquisitive male undergraduate.

  Before answering, Joseph looked to Miriam. Only after receiving a positive nod did he continue.

  “From what we know of the design etched into its surface, this piece certainly looks like an authentic spirit bowl. Yet if it is, it’s the first one to be uncovered.”

  “Why is it called a spirit bowl?” questioned Margaret.

  Again, Joseph looked toward Miriam before responding.

  “Most of you know the Chumash legend of the soul’s journey to Similaqsa. It tells us of their belief that, three days after a person has died and been buried, the soul comes up out of the grave to wander the world, visiting the places it used to frequent in life. On the fifth day after death, the soul is drawn to an isolated coastal spot, rumored to be somewhere near Point Arguello. There it prepares for the final trip to Similaqsa, the Chumash version of heaven and hell.

  “Though it was all thought to be mere storytelling, the elders told of a magical spirit bowl inbued with the power to draw the soul to this final earthly portal.

  Buried on the coastline, this relic would divert the soul to a hand-cut royal road. Following this route westward, the deceased would come to a temple, formed from a circle of enchanted charm stones Only after positioning itself in the exact axis of this circle would the soul be free to soar westward. I believe our esteemed leader beside me is better qualified to tell us just what awaits the soul in this other land.”

  Taking this cue, Miriam sat forward and, well aware of the total attention of her rapt audience, continued.

  “Before reaching the gates to Similaqsa, the soul had to pass a variety of tests, to make certain that it was still not alive. This included crossing through a valley of pounding rocks, and surviving an attack by a number of grotesque monsters. Just beyond the land of these beasts was the body of water that separated this world from the next. Spanning this liquid void was a single narrow bridge. Pity the poor souls of those that had done evil in their mortal lives, for they would be diverted into the waters to be transformed for all eternity into mutant, snakelike creatures. Yet those who did good in their lives could fear no punishment, for they would be led safely over the bridge and past the gates of Similaqsa. There they would live for all eternity, to wander in a blissful paradise free from mortal want.”

  With the conclusion of these words, a moment of pure silence followed. All of those present kept then-thoughts to themselves, as all eyes remained glued to the blazing fire. As the flames crackled and hissed, the howl of the night wind rose in the distance.

  Beyond this sounded the crash of breaking surf. The spell was only broken when a far-off metallic tone permeated the night air.

  “It’s the southbound freight train right on schedule,” offered Bobby Whitten, the group’s comedian.

  “I wonder what that engineer would have to say if he knew that he was guiding his train smack through a doorway to the afterlife.”

  Though the majority of those present laughed at this comment, two of them took it quite seriously.

  Catching Miriam’s look of concern, Joseph expressed himself in a whisper, so that only she could hear him.

  “You know, Bobby could be very well onto something.

  If we have indeed stumbled upon the portal to Similaqsa here in Vandenberg, the elders would be far from pleased. To defile this most sacred of spots with weapons of war would be a sin of the greatest degree possible. I seriously doubt that the judgment of the gods would be very favorable in our behalf.”

  Taking in these ominous words, Miriam shifted her gaze from the fire to the heavens above. A rare, crystal-clear evening sky was visible overhead. After easily picking out the Big Dipper, she looked on as a series of shooting stars streamed through the Dipper’s interior. Most aware of how little they knew of the mysterious workings of the vast universe that surrounded them, Miriam anxiously shivered. Feeling small and alone, she stifled a yawn, and knew without looking at her watch that it was well past time to douse the campfire and send her crew off to their sleeping bags. For the dawn would all too soon be upon them, and once again they would have an ample opportunity to work on a solution to this greatest of all mysteries.

  Six and half hours later, the first member of the team awoke to the distant cry of a hungry gull. It was as the twenty-year-old sophomore went to put on his morning coffee that his sleep-laden eyes wandered to the tiny trailer’s only window. Outside, Coast Road was barely visible in the morning mist. Occupying its usually vacant length was a long line of vehicles, most of which had flashing red beacons on their roofs. All of this traffic seemed to be moving slowly to the south. Well aware that something unusual was occurring, he hurriedly pulled on
his jeans and sprinted off to awaken Joseph Solares.

  As he expected, the teaching assistant didn’t mind this early wake-up call in the least. Scurrying from his bed, the broad-shouldered Indian took in the line of traffic still visible on the road and whistled appreciatively.

  Joseph didn’t have to awaken Miriam, for two minutes later she was knocking at his trailer’s door.

  In the early light of dawn, the team assembled on the parking lot. Piping-hot coffee was served to temporarily alleviate the morning chill. While the crew members milled about the campgrounds, curious as to what the line of traffic visible a half-mile away meant, a single van cut off towards Ocean Beach Park. A cloud of dust trailed behind it as the vehicle snaked down the narrow access road and ground to a halt in the lot’s far corner.

  Four men immediately emerged from the van’s interior. Two of these individuals proceeded to the rear of the vehicle, where they began unloading a large television camera and other video equipment.

  Another of the men began setting up a tripod, on top of which he mounted a sophisticated 35-mm. camera.

  The fourth individual merely stood beside the van, catching his reflection in its side windows. Tall, handsome, and immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, he studied his appearance as Miriam and Joseph approached.

  “Good morning,” greeted Miriam rather sheepishly.

  Not in the least bit surprised by this intrusion, the man made a final adjustment to his collar, then turned and flashed the two newcomers a broad, toothy smile.

  “And a top of the morning to you two,” said the tanned gentleman, his dark eyes quickly sizing up his visitors.

  “And I thought we had this story all to ourselves.”

  “You’re Roger Winslow, the TV news reporter, aren’t you?” queried Joseph, his dark eyes beaming.

  “This is me in the flesh,” answered the anchorman boldly.

  “KXBC’s finest will scoop the networks yet once again.”

  “What do you mean by that?” quizzed Miriam, who was an infrequent television viewer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” replied the reporter.

  “You mean to say you honestly don’t know what we’ve been called out of our warm beds to witness this morning?”

  Catching the pair of puzzled expressions on the faces of his two ragtag visitors, Roger Winslow stifled a laugh.

  “And here I thought that you guys were from Rolling Stone, or some other ecological journal, here to record your own story. I guess we’ll have an exclusive after all. May I ask what brings you guys to this godforsaken portion of the California coastline? It sure can’t be for the surfing.”

  It was Miriam who answered.

  “We’re here on an archaeological dig for the State University.”

  “Ah, a bunch of genuine bone-pickers,” jested Winslow.

  Rather impatiently, Miriam continued, “Would it be too presumptuous of us to ask exactly what you’re doing here this morning?”

  Checking his watch, Winslow then angled his line of sight to catch the progress of his cameramen.

  “I guess a single leak won’t hurt in this instance. You’re going to damn well know what this is all about soon enough anyway. Might as well be ready for it.”

  Shifting his glance to the south, the direction the assembled cameras were now facing, the reporter pointed to the fog-shrouded hills that lay in the distance.

  “In a couple of minutes, if all goes as scheduled, we’ll be witnessing the launch of a Titan rocket.”

  With this revelation, a look of genuine surprise showed on Miriam’s face.

  “So that’s why they made us leave Tranquillon Ridge! At least Colonel Lansford could have told us about it.”

  “I’m afraid not, lady,” retorted the newsman.

  “This whole launch is strictly a hush-hush affair, on a need-to-know basis only. We only heard about it late last night, through one of our ever-loving moles stationed inside Vandenberg. From what he gathered, it seems even the Air Force was caught off guard by the speed with which this whole thing came down.”

  “Well, this should really be something!” exclaimed Joseph.

  “I’ve always wanted to watch a real launch.

  Why don’t I go over and tell the kids what this is all about. They’re going to be thrilled.”

  As Joseph hurriedly crossed the lot to share the news with the rest of the dig team, Miriam found her gaze locked on the southern horizon. There, the surrounding hillsides were barely visible, covered in a cloak of thick, gray fog.

  “Do you think this fog will delay the launch any?” she asked softly.

  “I doubt it,” answered Winslow.

  “If the Air Force was worried about fog, they sure wouldn’t have chosen Vandenberg as their Pacific missile-launch site.

  As I’m certain you’re well aware, if you’ve spent more than a couple of days here, clear mornings are an exception, and definitely not the rule. I seriously doubt if this fog is going to stop them.”

  The reporter’s attention was diverted by a hand signal from one of the nearby technicians. Checking his watch again, he squared his shoulders and took a last look at his reflection in the van’s window.

  “It looks like it’s show time. I’d better get over to my crew and check out those last-minute details. If you’re still around afterwards, maybe we could get together. I’d like to know more about what you folks are digging for up here.”

  Not giving Miriam time to respond, the reporter took off to join his crew. Miriam watched as he stationed himself before the tripods. A tiny microphone was clipped to his tie and a dab of makeup applied to his cheeks and forehead. Standing there with his back to mist-shrouded Tranquillon Ridge and the hills beyond, the handsome anchorman looked out of place in his suit and tie. It was while Miriam was contemplating this fact that a familiar voice came from behind her.

  “Hey, Boss!” cried Joseph.

  “Why don’t you join us? We’re going to climb up the railroad trestle to see if we can get a better view of the launch site.”

  Deciding that this didn’t sound like a bad idea, Miriam crossed the parking lot and rejoined her group. Seconds later, they were off to the path that led towards the beach.

  Once the group had made it to the top of the hill that held the railroad tracks, they settled down on its sandy shoulder. The view indeed proved to be an excellent one. From this vantage point, the Pacific could be seen crashing to their right, while both the parking lot and the valley leading to the city of Lompoc were visible to their left. But all eyes remained focused straight ahead, to the hills lying to the immediate south.

  One of the students had thought to bring a thermos of coffee and a supply of cups, and they were soon available to all those who desired them. Contentedly sipping her coffee, Miriam savored its warmth and taste. As she brought the mug to her lips, she noticed a bright blue patch of sky visible above them. Well aware that the morning fog was already beginning to burn off, she stirred when a strange deep-throated rumble sounded in the distance. Steadily rising in intensity, the resulting noise was almost ear-shattering.

  Accompanying this deafening blast was a burst of brilliant white light. This was soon followed by a plume of billowing smoke as the first portion of the rocket became visible.

  Larger than she had expected, the missile rose skyward from the valley directly adjoining Tranquil Ion Ridge. It was comprised of a long central fuselage, painted white and silver, and two shorter white boosters that straddled it. Ascending steadily into the air, the rocket roared with great power from its engines. It was unlike any sound that she had ever heard before, and Miriam found herself invigorated and thrilled. Only when the Titan momentarily disappeared into a low bank of clouds did she turn to share this unique experience with her team.

  With eyes glued skywards, her crew seemed mesmerized.

  Only Joseph Solares met her gaze. A wide, wondrous smile etched her assistant’s lips, and Miriam returned a simple nod of acknowledgment.<
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  When her own glance returned to the heavens, she found herself searching the skies in vain for any sign of the huge rocket. It was veiled by a bank of dark clouds, and she could only wonder what it was carrying and where it was ultimately bound.

  The deep-throated, bass rumble noticeably abated, to be replaced by a single, explosive crack. This foreign sound was followed by a brief flash of intense light, visible even through the fog bank. Several seconds passed, and all was unnaturally quiet, when the area filled with the banshee-like wail of a warning siren.

  Confused as to what this meant, Miriam looked to Joseph, who pointed straight into the air. Following the direction of his finger, she caught sight of a strangely shaped cloud of bright orange smoke drifting high overhead. Still not sure what this indicated, she turned to her left as a loud claxon began sounding.

  She soon realized that this racket was coming from a single jeep that was rapidly approaching the parking lot. Miriam’s senses prickled alive when a man’s voice was heard emanating from this vehicle’s powerful public-address system.

  “Attention all civilians, there has been a failure of the Titan launch. You must evacuate the area at once because of the danger of toxic gases. I repeat, you must evacuate the park confines at once. Seal yourselves in your vehicles and head immediately for the Coast Road access to Lompoc.”

  Immediately Miriam snapped into action. Efficiently, she herded the team down the railroad trestle.

  With a minimum of panic, they made it to their van in less than a minute. Thirty seconds later, they were well on their way down the gravel road leading from the park, with the vehicle holding the journalists close on their tail.

  Chapter Three

  One-hundred and eighty-eight nautical miles to the southeast of Vandenberg, the attack submarine U.S.S. Razorback cut beneath the cool waters of the Pacific. The last vessel of its class, the twenty-seven year-old sub obtained its power, not from a nuclear reactor, but from a trio of diesel-electric engines.

  Though this propulsion method was the same as that which had run the subs of World Wars I and II, a reliance on fossil fuels was about the only thing that the Razorback had in common with those vessels of old.