Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Now

And the truth shall set you…

I will say this for Airman Williams; bats in hell could take driving lessons from him. By the time I had managed to get my shirt back on and buttoned up, which I might say is not easy to do with a seatbelt on, he had barreled out through the main gate, horn blaring, flown down Craycroft and made the hard left turn onto 22nd Street and was blazing a trail for the Interstate. I could hear SMSgt. Iverson in the seat behind me cursing slow, steady and without repeating himself once as he tried to get the laptop to latch onto an Internet connection. Some of it was in languages that I do not even pretend to have a smattering, but when he hit "sin sue bak ee" I knew he had moved into Russian and the laptop was in serious peril of its continued existence if it did not start cooperating and soon.

Why is that men always refer to recalcitrant equipment in the feminine mode? I never have figured that one out. Maybe it is because we women are…wait, I had better not go there. I'll have everyone, male and female, out looking for my scalp. Never mind. Picture me strolling away, innocently whistling the theme from The Third Man, and if you have ever heard that particular piece of music, you know it is almost impossible to whistle. Just be aware that I am trying very, very hard to pretend that I did not even start to open the door on that subject.

I know we made a turn onto the Interstate but it was so fast and so slick that I did not see or feel it. Of course, in a hummer your butt is dead inside the first five minutes so unless you are watching (which I was not) you do not know where you are until you are where you are and you do not necessarily know how you got there. I looked up and we were flying down I-10. Flying up I-10? Dang it all, we were headed North on I-10 West. Uh huh, that one is a head scratcher, isn't it? Just trust me (smiles evilly); I do know whereof I speak. I-10 runs East and West, but between Tucson and Phoenix, you go North and South, and I thought we were headed for Phoenix, which just happens to be North of Tucson on any map you care to consult. Our orders told me to link up with the SAC (Special Agent in Charge) at the Field Office and the FBI Field Office in Arizona is amazingly enough in the capital, Phoenix. But before we had even gotten out of the city limits, I got a phone call.

"Rachel, pick me up at the truck stop in Eloy."

Typical man, thinks he is in charge, no please, no hello, not even a kiss my foot or how do you do. What does he think he is, in charge? Well, he might just be in this case, since it is FBI agents that went poof and he is FBI and I ain't. That is okay. The last time we worked together, I was in charge and he was the gofer.

"Which one?"

"Oh, hell." In my mind's eye I could see him looking around to see just exactly where he was. "Iron Skillet."

"Okay." I looked at my watch, looked at the speedometer, did some fast finger counting, no, I don't do math, it barely rates as arithmetic! "A half hour, give or take five minutes. Where do we go from there?"

"Not over the phone, I will tell you when you get here. Is Dan with you?"

I harrumphed. "Do you think that the Air Force allows me to move more than ten feet without my Senior NCO whispering in my ear telling me what to do, how to do it, where to do it and when to do it? Get a grip, Jones."

That got a laugh from him.

"Okay, good. I did not want to have to wait for him to show up. I hate to do this to you, Cap'n, but in this one, I call the shots. My boss talked to your boss and I got the word about two minutes ago. You should be getting the word from your brass soon."

While Jones was telling me what I had already figured out, Dan tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a fax that was still hot from the press. It said basically the same thing that Jones was telling me and more importantly, it had General Fogerty's signature at the bottom.

"Just got the word, Thomas. Ain't technology grand, darling? Flying down the Interstate at 97…SAY WHAT?! Williams! What the hell are you trying to do, kill us!? Slow down!!" Good grief, Charlie Brown! I did not know a Hummer could go that fast. In fact, I thought it was impossible. Iverson had SSgt. Farmer play with the engines on all our vehicles and it seems that the man knows engines or he is a seriously talented magician!

"Yes, ma'am." And he did, to at least 95 mph. Well, I am comforted by the fact that only the good die young. I have got it made. I will live forever.

"Sheesh!" I could hear Thomas trying without a lot of success to turn his laugh into a cough but I was big enough to ignore that. Well, I was almost big enough to ignore it.

"I am going to hurt you, Jones, really hurt you. Anyway, as I was saying, ain't technology grand? Flying down the Interstate," this time I didn't look, I figured I would just save myself the gray hairs, "and getting a fax from the Pentagon at the same time. You are the boss, Jones. Just one minor thing, you do not give my people orders. You go through me or Dan, got it?"

"Got it, sweet face." I rolled my eyes on that one. "I will be waiting out front for you." The dead air told me he had hung up.

"Sweet face?" Dan asked from over my shoulder.

I turned slowly, noting only in passing that Airman Williams had his eyes intently glued to the road and that a bright shade of red was slowly making its way up his neck and holding a conversation with his ears. Dan had a delighted grin on his face and I realized that because of the engine noise, I had turned up the volume on my phone.

"Am I going to have to sic Su Feng on you, Senior-Master-Sergeant- Daniel-No-Middle-Initial-Iverson?" Su Feng is Dan's tiny little Chinese wife and terrifies not only Dan but me as well. This is only as it should be. I want her on my side in a fight, any fight.

"Aaahhhh, no, Ma'am, no, no, no. I did not hear a thing and neither did Airman Williams, and even if he did, he has forgotten it already." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the vigorous shaking and then nodding of Airman Williams head.

I am so proud of myself. I did not laugh. I did not grin. I did not smile. I maintained a proper military bearing. It was hard, very, very hard. And I knew that my sides were going to hurt from the tight grip I had on the muscles. Repressing a laugh is not a good thing. It sneaks out on you when you are not expecting it.

"Good. Call the base and tell the kids to get everything ready to haul ass, but not to take more than two steps from the phone. If they have not heard from us by lunch time, have them contact the flight kitchen and get box lunches sent out. I do not want anyone out of pocket when the call to go comes."

"Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am."

I had to roll my eyes on that one. Excessive military courtesy is just another form of sarcasm, and Dan was really good at it. I grumbled a bit, listened to him call the base and get everything there ship shape and Bristol fashion.

I pulled the map out of the side pocket and started refamiliarizing myself with the northern area of Arizona. It is a bleakly beautiful and forbidding place. It is a death trap for the unwary, and a fantasy landscape for those who appreciate beauty. From high plateaus to deep canyons and every thing in between, it is a nightmare when you are trying to find something as small as two missing FBI agents. And just how the blue blazes did they get out of the helicopter at nearly a thousand feet, with someone looking right at them? This one was going to take some serious work to get to the truth of the matter. It was registering way over on the weird side of my weird-o-meter. If it turned out to be just another fish story and something that those Airedales had cooked up as a joke, we were going to go at it, hammer and tongs.

Williams, swinging the hummer hard into the Eloy off-ramp, jerked my thoughts back to the here and now. He barely touched the brake pedal as he banked hard right and skidded into the parking lot. Jones was already running full out toward us. I do not think that we actually came to a stop, not a full one anyway. Jones was in the back next to Iverson and Williams was headed back out toward the Interstate before I could quite manage to say hello.

"Does this thing have a siren?" That was Jones hanging over the seat and barking in Williams' ear.

"No, sir, but we have flashing lights and I have loud speaker capability, sir." Williams was quick with his answer and by the time he was through talking, he was back on the Interstate and the speedometer needle was ooching its way back toward the nineties.

"Turn them on and use the speaker on anyone stupid enough to get in our way. We will pick up a Highway Patrol escort just this side of Chandler. They are clearing a lane through Phoenix for us."

By this time, we had passed the I-8 cut off, which heads out across the desert to San Diego, and were coming up fast on Casa Grande. We flew by so fast I did not even have a moment to whine about not going to the outlet malls, Casa Grande's major claim to fame. The mind boggled at the idea of a clear lane all the way through Phoenix and on to I-17. Normally it is at least one and more likely two or more hours to get through the city, depending on the day and the time of day. I have known it to take as much as four hours to get from the south side of Phoenix to the north side. It is a nasty mess of traffic and it seems that some portion of the highway is always under construction.

I do not know whether it was Williams' aggressive driving, the time of the day or if we were just plain lucky, but there seemed to be no one in our way. Those that were on the road were moving out of the way of that dirty brown and tan war machine with alacrity. Dang, think what they would do if we had mounted the machine gun on top. Wooowee. Now that is a picture.

Sirens brought me out of my brown study of machine guns and civilian cars. We had picked up our escort. I love feeling important, even if I am not, especially when I am not. I watched Phoenix fly by and just shook my head at the fact that there was not a single car in front of us. Well, that is not exactly true, one or two tried, but they got blown out of the lane by the motorcycles and I think that the sight of our monster barreling along behind was enough to make them decide that they did not want to argue the point. Who needs a machine gun when you have three highway patrol officers, two running point and one pulling drag? Life is good.

Then

The jeeps were starting to break the leading edge of the wind. The sand was like little shards of glass and burned where they met bare skin. Sleeves were already rolled down, shirts buttoned at the neck and collars turned up. Goggles covered eyes and bandanas covered as much of the face as possible. Hats were firmly in place and gloves covered vulnerable hands. And still the sand managed to sneak into tiny openings and sting and burn when it hit. The daylight had gone a strange blood red and visibility was about six inches.

Moffitt yelled across to Troy, "Sam, we have to stop!"

Troy grimaced and nodded. He ran his thumb across his throat and both Hitch and Tully killed their engines. With the growling of the engines gone, the storm was louder and more threatening than before. The four men climbed out of the jeeps and into a well choreographed dance of survival.

The heavy guns were freed from their mounts, wrapped in canvas and laid carefully under the jeeps. Heavy tarps were dug out from under seats and by use of heavy metal hooks, were fastened from jeep to jeep to form a sort of tent-type shelter. Boxes of ammo and jerry cans of fuel and water weighted down more canvas and blocked the sand from blowing under the jeeps and soon the four men sought shelter from the ravening winds in their makeshift tent.

"Damn, I thought I'd seen some serious sandstorms before now, but

nothing like this." Troy pulled off his hat, slammed it against his leg a couple of times to knock the sand out of it and jammed it back on his head.

Tully had already hollowed out a "bed" in the sand and was settling in for a nap. He was a firm believer in never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down and always sleep when possible because you might not get any sleep for the next week.

Hitch was scrunched back against a jeep, an intense listening expression on his face. "Sounds just like a woman screaming, doesn't it?"

Moffitt was dusting the red sand off his beret, stopped, listened intently for a long minute and then nodded slowly, "It sounds alive, almost."

Troy took a deep drink from his canteen and passed it to Hitch. "Ever hear anything, anything at all like that?"

Hitch took the canteen, drank, and nudged Tully who raised a hand, grabbed the canteen, drank and passed it on to Moffitt.

Everyone thought and mentally ran sounds from their past memories against the wailing, sobbing wind.

"I have." All heads turned to Tully as he gazed up at the canvas above him. "A painter…you know, one of them cougar cats? Heard one onct. Female, had herself a den full of babies and this bear wanted lunch. She fought that bear off, got herself hurt bad in the process, but she screamed like that wind while she was fighting to save her babies. Real spooky, it was."

Moffitt looked down at Tully and then over at Sam. Both of them knew there was a lot more to the story than Tully was telling. "Alright, Tully, how did you know she was "hurt bad," how do you know she had cubs and did you raise them after you rescued them?" There was a smile in Troy's voice.

Tully squirmed a bit in the sand like he was trying to get more comfortable, "Well, no, not exactly. I just took care of 'em till mama was back on her feet and ready to take over. She weren't real grateful for the help, kept trying to slap me while I was doctorin' her."

Hitch grinned and popped a bubble. He was always delighted when he managed to get another little tidbit about his friend's past.

Moffitt smiled and leaned back against the jeep, old stories and legends tumbling over each other in his mind as he tried to find an explanation for the incredible storm.

Sam looked around; mentally double checking to make sure they were battened down and as safe as it was possible to be during a major sandstorm. He noted the far away look on Moffitt's face and grinned, "Swallow a prune pit or just constipated, Doc?"

Jack blinked himself back into the here and now, took a second to process the question that had been asked and a slow grin grew across his face. "Perhaps a bit of both, Sam. I was just trying to remember a story that I heard an old Bedouin tell my father. I was only about nine or ten at the time, and children are terribly egotistical little creatures. If it doesn't affect them directly, they pay no attention. Now, I wish I had listened more and played less."

"Yeah, I'll bet you don't remember a thing. Just start talking and pretend that we're a bunch of students." Troy was scathing in his comment that Moffitt didn't remember, hell, the guy probably remembered being born and what was said by whom or who or whatever and to who, whatever that correct grammar stuff was.

"Well, let me think. Like I said I must have been about nine or ten so it was….about 1927, yes, that was the year that Father took me out of school and brought me here so that I could "get a feel for things," I believe that is what he called it. Anyway, we were camped in the back of beyond, with a tribe of Bedouins that Father had worked with before. I was bored with my books and I crawled under the edge of the tent where my father and this ancient, old man were talking. You know how it is when you are that young, anyone over the age of fifty is older than God and that old man was probably into his 80s, so he WAS God as far as a small child is concerned. He was telling Father about a "demon wind" that could take people, places, things and spin them into the far future or the ancient past. Sometimes the people returned to tell the stories, sometimes they were never seen again. He said the demon wind screamed with the agony of all the souls it had destroyed."

All four men cast a glance over their shoulders toward the unceasing scream of the wind and more than one face was paler than before.

"I think I fell asleep about that time because I don't remember anything else about that story. I remember questioning Father about it later and he said it was just a silly legend and to forget it. I remember thinking that was the first time he had ever lied to me. He wouldn't look me in the eye and he would never talk about the story again."

Tully and Hitch both pulled their jackets closer and neither was interested in sleep any longer.

"Okay, you're leaving a great big question mark out there. Let's have the rest of the story." Troy was never one to let sleeping dogs lay, he just had to wake them up and see what happened. He was determined to get all the information out of Moffitt that he could.

"Well, there is one thing that tends to make me believe that what the old man was talking about was a scientific fact rather than an historical legend."

"Moffitt! I am going to strangle you if you don't get on with it and stop playing games."

Jack held up his hands in surrender and gave that gentle smile that lit his face up, "Gently, old man, gently. I'm getting there. In 1935, Albert Einstein and Nathan Rosen had just published their findings on wormholes. Hang about; let me see if I can explain this properly." Moffitt stopped, thought for a couple of long minutes and then began again, "Lorentzian wormholes known as Schwarzschild wormholes or Einstein-Rosen bridges are bridges between areas of space that can be modeled as vacuum solutions to the Einstein field equations by sticking a model of a black hole and a model of a white hole together. This solution was discovered by Albert Einstein and his colleague Nathan Rosen, who first published the result in 1935. Professor Einstein guested with my parents for a couple of weeks that summer and I probably drove the poor man out of his mind with my constant barrage of questions. The simplest way he explained it was that a worm is on one side of an apple. He wants to be on the opposite side. He is not going to go through all the effort to crawl all the way around the apple; he is going to burrow straight through till he comes out on the side he wants to be on. Professor Einstein said there were still some very large gaps in their knowledge and theories, but that basically, the Wormhole theory, when combined with the Relativity theory, created time travel."

Hitch swallowed his gum and choked for a second before blurting out, "You mean like H. G. Wells and the Time Machine? That kind of time travel?"

Moffitt shook his head slowly, "No, that was a mechanical creation. And a rather enjoyable story. What both the old Bedouin and Professor Einstein were talking about is a force of nature. Not something that man created, something that Nature throws at Man and then sits back to watch the fun. Can Man survive, or have I got him….again."

Troy whistled softly through his teeth, "Damn, and you think that is what is out there?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the howling winds.

Moffitt shrugged, "It is possible."