Matthew Reilly: Temple

‘So who did he work with, then? Who could have seen him enter his codes and then pass them on to somebody?’

‘Apparently he worked closely with a guy named Martin Race Martin Eric Race. He was one of the DARPA people working on the project, the ignition system design engineer.’

‘But we checked him out too,’ the male agent said. ‘And he’s clean. No militia links, not even a history of contact with any extremist groups. He’s even married to a highranking Army scientist named Lauren O’Connor. She’s technically a major, but she’s had no combat experience. The rank is purely honorary.

Race and O’Connor were married late in 1997. No kids, No apparent discord. But…”

‘But what?’

‘But exactly three weeks ago, her FBI file was flagged when she was spotted leaving a motel in Gainesville with this man’—the agent handed Demonaco an 8 x 10 black and white photo of a man leaving a motel room—

‘Troy Copeland. Also a major with the Army’s Special Projects Unit. Seems Ms O’Connor has been having an affair with Mr. Copeland for the last month.’

‘So… ?’ Demonaco said expectantly.

‘So. Copeland has been under periodic surveillance for the past year, under suspicion of passing Army security codes to certain militia groups, one of which is—wait for it—the Republican Army of Texas.’

‘But since the affair is only a month old,’ the female agent said, ‘DARPA probably hasn’t picked up on it with any followup checks.’

Demonaco sighed. ‘And the Army and the Navy aren’t exactly the best of bedfellows. They’ve been pulling the rug out from under each other for years.’

He turned. ‘Commander Mitchell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does the Army have a Supernova?’

‘They’re not supposed to.’

‘Answer the question.’

‘We think they are working on one, yes.’

‘Is it possible, then,’ Demonaco said, ‘that this O’Connor woman was getting her husband to pass secret DARPA codes to her and the Army and then she was passing them on to her lover Copeland, not knowing that he was giving them to the Texans?’

‘That’s what we figure,’ the male agent said.

“Damn it’ With the Spirit of the People in his hands, Frank Nash stepped out of his grounded Black Hawk II. Lauren, Marty, Copeland and the pilot did the same. The two unmarked Black Hawks that had landed on either side of the Army chopper kept their rotor blades turning swiftly.

“Step away from the helicopter!’ the voice on the loud speaker demanded. Nash and the others did so. An instant later another fingerlike trail of smoke raced down from the sky at incredible speed—from one of the other Black Hawks hovering above the village. The missile slammed into the Army Black Hawk II, blasting it to smithereens. Nash winced. A long silence followed, the only sound the rhythmic whumpwhumpwhump of the rotors that still turned atop the two unmarked helicopters. After nearly a full minute had passed, a lone man got out of the nearer of the two unmarked choppers. He was dressed in full combat attire—boots, fatigues, combat webbing—and he carried in his left hand an odd looking semiautomatic pistol. It was a big gun, black in colour, and easily bigger than the famous IMI ‘Desert Eagle’, the largest production made semiautomatic pistol in the world. This gun, on the other hand, had a sturdy grip and an unusually long slide which ran for the entire length of its barrel. Nash recognised it instantly. It wasn’t a semiautomatic pistol at all. It was a rare and very expensive Calico pistol, the only truly automatic pistol in the world. You depressed the trigger and a stream of bullets blazed out from the barrel. Like an M16, the Calico could be set to fire either short three round bursts or full auto. But whatever mode you chose, the result was still the same. If you shot someone with a Calico, you opened them up bigtime.

The man with the Calico stepped up to Nash while the men in the unmarked chopper behind him kept their M16s trained on the others. The man held out his hand. ‘The idol, please,’ he said. Nash appraised him for a moment. He was middleaged but thin, gaunt, with muscly, wiry arms. He had a hollow, sanguine face that was pitted all over with scars, and a messy shock of thinning blond hair that came down to his eyes—blue eyes that brimmed over with hate. Nash didn’t hand over the idol. It was then that the man with the Calico calmly raised his pistol and blew the Army pilot’s skull open with a short threeround burst.

‘The idol, please,’ the man repeated. Reluctantly, Nash gave it to him.

‘Thank you, Colonel,’ the man said.

‘Who are you?’ Nash demanded. The man cocked his head slightly to one side. Then, slowly, the edge of his mouth curled into a sly smile.

‘The name’s Earl Bittiker,’ he said.

‘And who the fuck is Earl Bittiker?’ Nash snorted. The man smiled again, that same supercilious smile. ‘I’m the man who’s gonna destroy the world.’

Race, Renée, Gaby and Doogie were all peering out through the windows of the ATV, watching the drama outside unfold.

‘How did they know how to get here?’ Renée said. ‘Surely there can’t be another copy of the manuscript out there.’

‘No, there isn’t,’ Race said. ‘But I think I know how they got here.’

He began to look around the ATV, searching for something. A few seconds later, he found it. The BKA team’s laptop. He turned it on. After a few seconds, he brought up a familiar screen, written in German. COMMUNICATIONS SATELLITE TRANSMISSION LOG 4476’BKA32 NO. DATE TIME SOURCE SUMMARY.

1. 1 4.1.99 1930 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

2. 2 4.1.99 1950 EXT SOURCE SIGNATURE UHF SIGNAL

3. 3 4.1.99 2230 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

4. 4 5.1.99 0130 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

5. 5 5.1.99 0430 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

6. 6 5.1.99 0716 FIELD (CHILE) ARRIVED SANTIAGO, HEADING FOR COLONIA ALEMANIA

7. 7 5.1.99 0730 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

8. 8 5.1.99 0958 FIELD (CHILE) HAVE ARRIVED COLONIA ALEMANIA; BEGINNING SURVEILLANCE

9. 9 5.1.99 1030 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT STATUS

10. 10 5.1.99 1037 FIELD (CHILE) CHILE TEAM URGENT SIGNAL; CHILE TEAM URGENT SIGNAL

11. 11 5.1.99 1051 BKAHQ PERU TEAM REPORT IMMEDIATELY It was the screen they had seen yesterday, before the Nazis had arrived, the one showing every communication signal that had been received by the BKA’s Peruvian team. Race saw the line he was looking for immediately. The second line:

12. 2 4.1.99 1950 EXT SOURCE SIGNATURE UHF SIGNAL

‘Doogie,’ he said, ‘you said something about a UHF signal yesterday. What exactly is it?’

‘It’s a standard homing signal. I sent one to our air support team yesterday, so they’d know where to pick us up.’

Renée pointed at the screen. ‘But this UHF signal was sent out two days ago at 7:50 pm on January 4. That was well before my team arrived here.’

‘That’s right,’ Race said. ‘And that time has significance.’

‘How?’ Doogie asked.

‘Because at exactly 7:45 pm on the first night, Lauren did her nucleotide resonance scan of the area and determined that there was thyrium in the immediate vicinity of this village. This UHF signal was sent out exactly five minutes after that successful scan. And what were we doing at that time?’

‘We were unloading the choppers,’ Doogie said, shrugging. ‘Getting our gear ready.’

‘Precisely,’ Race said. ‘The perfect opportunity for someone to send up a UHF signal while nobody was looking, a signal that would tell his friends that the presence of thyrium had been confirmed.’

‘But who did it?’ Gaby asked. Race nodded out the window. ‘I think we’re about to find out.’