Gorgon - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Greig Beck (CHAPTER 16) #17

CHAPTER 16

Alex leaned against the wall, brooding. Hammerson had debriefed him, making him watch the VELA playback from the mission. He’d seen himself hurling the dead body like it was a sack of trash. The HAWC commander hadn’t raised his voice, thumped the table or even cursed. But Alex knew he was furious. Hammerson’s personal judgement had been called into question by the harshest judge of all — himself. That Alex had been able to pull it together later in the mission was his only saving grace. Marshal had been in the room, and had supported Alex. ‘Small setbacks are to be expected,’ he’d said. He was sure that while they were working on eradicating the rages, they would be able to help Alex manage them, perhaps even make them work for him.

Control it before it controls me — that’s the plan, thought Alex now.

He, Sam, and Matt Kearns were in Hammerson’s office, trying to understand what it was they’d actually liberated from Gianfranco Monti. Alex felt Matt Kearns staring at him. The last time Matt had seen him was on the peak of Black Mountain in the Appalachians. Alex bet the guy still had nightmares about giant beasts … and probably about Alex too. Initially Matt’s expression had suggested he’d seen a ghost. Now he just looked disorientated.

Alex nodded to the languages professor, who shook his head as though to clear his mind. He looked back down at the ancient paper in front of him, and ran his fingertips over its surface.

‘Papyrus — not great quality — working man’s paper.’ He leaned down to sniff the paper, then pulled back to scrutinize it with a magnifying glass to one eye. ‘Aluminum salts in the fibers; also egg and tree gum used to starch out the edges … definitely not fake.’

‘Old, huh?’ Hammerson said, circling the young paleolinguist as he hunched over the illuminated desk.

Matt nodded. ‘Oh yeah, it’s old all right. Hey, did you know this type of paper was probably sold in bulk to the Romans, and all along the ancient Mediterranean? Egypt exported tons of it.’ He looked up. ‘Around 2000 years ago.’

Hammerson nodded, not looking impressed. ‘So, old. What else you got?’

Matt turned back to the parchment. ‘It was written by a soldier in the year 334 AD. It’s a record of sorts.’

‘And?’

‘And… weird.’ Matt shook his head as he scanned the faded Latin text.

Hammerson gritted his teeth. ‘Jee-zuz, man, don’t make me pull this out of you. Weird, how? Give me something, Professor.’

‘Okay, okay … have you heard of the Roman emperor Constantine?’

Hammerson snorted. ‘Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus — the warrior Caesar. Of course; we studied his tactics. He was a great man. Go on.’ He half-turned toward the two huge men who were standing back, listening. ‘Alex, Sam, get over here. I want your eyes on this.’

‘The warrior Caesar — yeah, that’s certainly true.’ Matt tilted his head. ‘As well as being the first Roman emperor to convert to Christianity, he also defeated the emperors Maxentius and Licinius during civil wars when he was little more than a youth. Then he fought and beat the Franks, the Alamanni, and the Visigoths, retook the parts of Dacia that had been lost during the previous century, and also had time to build a new imperial residence at Byzantium, which he named New Rome. The people loved him so much they renamed it Constantinople in his honor.’

‘Constantinople, now Istanbul,’ Alex said.

‘That’s right. Formally renamed in 1923 by the Turks. So, what we seem to have recovered from Gianfranco Monti is a record of one of Constantine’s campaigns by someone who was involved.’ Matt bobbed his head side to side. ‘Hmm, maybe a bit less formal than a record; more like a soldier writing about his adventures for his loved ones back home. The guy was a centurion — in charge of hundreds of foot soldiers. The Roman army was unbelievably organized, and —’ He stopped at a flat stare from Hammerson. ‘But you know all that.’ He cleared his throat. ‘About 1800 years ago, give or take, the world was a wild and dangerous place. Russia was still largely unknown to the Romans. It was populated by clans of wild bearded giants, and tribes with filed teeth or body decorations made by scarifying or searing the skin.’

Sam snorted. ‘Sounds like the New York subway.’

Alex grinned.

Hammerson’s glare shut them both down. ‘Continue, Professor.’

‘Anyway, in southern Russia there used to be a kingdom called Sarmatia, or Sauromatia in ancient Roman, in the land of Scythia.’

Hammerson folded his arms, his jaw jutting. ‘Will you get on with it, son?’

Matt nodded. ‘Look, the thing about the Sauromatian was that no one really knew where they came from. They were a race out of time and place.’

Hammerson exhaled loudly, and Alex and Sam grinned.

‘Okay, got it.’ Matt cracked his knuckles, cleared his throat again, sipped some water, and began to read the parchment’s text aloud.

A time of my service for the great Emperor Constantine during the Sauromatian campaign, by Aleianus Drusus Cornelius Cassianus, Centurion of the 5th Cohort.

We stood obediently, pretending the pummeling rain caused us no discomfort, but it was hard and cold, and bounced back up from the sodden earth to coat us in mud to the thighs. The rain is never-ending in this accursed place. I miss the sun, and the fields of Rome, and most of all, Aemilia my darling, I miss you. I will come home, I promise you.

In this place I feel there is no love and the Gods jest with us. It is said that no man can defeat the army of Rome under Constantine, yet we fight something far stranger than mere men, and it tests our nerve as well as our metal.

This very day, I saw the first of these beings up close. The bound warrior was dragged before our Emperor and let fall at his feet. Even though the great man stood upon reed matting, some mud splashed upwards, and we held our breath. But he ignored it, his eyes moving over our foe, looking over its armor, its decorations, its physical form. Like all the warriors we have fought in this campaign, this too was a woman, dressed for war, with battle-armor plating that was like the scales of a snake.

Constantine drew his sword, and ran it down the breastplate, and then back up, lifting some of the shingles. We saw that they were sliced segments of horses’ hooves, sewn together in an interlocking fashion.

‘Strong and light,’ our Emperor said. We nodded, and he added, ‘But no match for Roman steel.’

He laughed, and so did we. It filled us with pride.

He used his sword again to examine the armaments in more detail. The helmet and gauntlets were of leather, but carved with a design of intertwining snakes. On the front of the skullcap helmet, an etching of a vile snake covered the woman’s face.

Constantine curled his lip in distaste. ‘Sauromatian,’ he muttered.

It was the ancient Greek name for the race of peoples we had come to make war on: the followers of the Snake Goddess.

‘Remove her gag,’ he ordered.

Matt lightly turned the page. ‘I’ve heard of this race of people, the Sauromatian,’ he said. ‘The women were bloodthirsty as hell — they fought to the death. It’s believed they were the source for the stories of the giant female Amazonian warriors. This is amazing stuff.’

He turned back to the ancient parchment and continued.

The cloth binding her lower face was ripped away, and the creature immediately convulsed and tried to fling herself at Constantine’s legs. He stepped back quickly, pointing his sword, as the woman’s blackened teeth, coated in a sticky resin, clacked shut just inches from his foreleg. One bite, and the black poison rotted the flesh.

Constantine did not recoil at the sight of her monstrous teeth filed to wicked points, even though they were more like the jaws of a wild animal than of a human. One of our men stomped a large mud-covered foot onto her chest, pinning her writhing form to the ground. She spat and convulsed before lying still, but her eyes were filled with venom. These people did not fear us, or even death at our hands.

Constantine commenced to turn away, but, like us, saw her body shake again, a little at first, and then more, until she erupted with laughter.

‘Arknoah unsor Magera. Urganoha enhoka, Magera!’ she snarled, her burning eyes never leaving our Emperor.

Her words were harsh, like the growl of a low beast, and the sound revolted us. She laughed again, but there was only scorn in the expression, and something else … A mocking tone of victory. Even now, I remember her scarred and ugly visage twisted in perverted triumph.

Constantine was unmoved and waved the miserable creature away. She was dragged backward, her horrible laughter ringing loudly over the falling rain, until it was abruptly cut off by a soldier’s blade … at last.

The great man called to me, as I am one of his advisors, and spoke soft to me. ‘Did you hear her words?’

I told him I had, and asked if it was the thing he sought.

He nodded once, then looked beyond me to the walled city. ‘It is the Magera. The legend is real.’

Matt looked up again. ‘That name: Magera — exactly like the script carved into the wall of the chamber. I’ve been doing some research, and for the life of me I can’t find any reference to it. It’s driving me nuts as it rings a bell — I’m certain I’ve heard it before.’

‘Make a note and move on. I want to hear the rest,’ Hammerson said.

Matt nodded. ‘Picks up again with Aleianus seeing a rider approach.’

A centurion rider skidded his horse to a halt in the greasy soil and jumped down. On seeing the Emperor, he threw himself to the wet ground, prostrating himself. It was young Varinius, son of Nonus, whom we had met at the theater one score years ago. He is a fine young man now.

Constantine looked down at him, sheathing his sword. ‘Speak.’

Varinius sucked in a huge lungful of air, and spat some mud. ‘We have reached the inner temple, sire.’

Constantine did not speak; he just looked again to the city. From our position on the hillside, it was possible to see inside the high wooden palisades that surrounded a collection of several hundred squat wood and stone buildings, which grew larger as they approached the city’s center. It had taken our men only days to breach the walls, but twice that time again to reach its middle. Instead of a palace, we found a temple, larger and richer than all other buildings in the compound. It seemed their god was their royalty.

The battle was hard; fanatics always fight to the death. We had done our best to ensure the Sauromatian got their wish. Now, at last, we had reached their heart.

Constantine stood for many minutes staring through the rain at the smoldering city. He held out his hand, and immediately a dry cloth was placed there for him to wipe his face.

I know a little of what our Emperor seeks in this hellhole, from the few details he has shared with me. A Greek legend, older than Rome itself, has drawn him here to this god-forsaken place filled with endless rain and worthless tribes of fanged pagan warriors. This kingdom of Sauromatia in the land of Scythia has stood for untold ages, secretive and savage. Its people are said to be the keepers of a weapon that has made them invincible to the surrounding hordes.

Our Emperor’s best scholars have spent many years unraveling the secrets of the first Greeks, and his men have purchased, stolen or unearthed fragments of their myths from their mountains, and islands, and from the lands of the ancient bull dancers. All spoke of something of great religious significance here; maybe even proof of the Gods themselves. Our great Emperor’s determination is as strong and unyielding as the iron of his sword, and I know that whether what lies within the Sauromatian temple is a sacred relic, a weapon, or even just a vase with the writing of the angels upon it, he intends to possess it.

Varinius looked up. ‘We have not yet entered, sire, but …’ He paused to suck in more air.

Constantine looked hard at the man, perhaps really seeing him for the first time. There was a gash on his neck that was still bloody and dirty with soot, a piece of his ear was missing, and there were many marks to his armor — the injuries of a soldier who leads by example; a fighter. Constantine smiled and motioned for the young man to get to his feet. He called for water, and handed his cloth to the soldier to clean his face.

‘Their warriors still fight?’ he asked.

‘No, sire; this time there are men, priests, but …’ His lips worked for a few seconds without forming words. We waited, with just the sound of the drumming rain falling in gray sheets all around us. At last he went on. ‘They are all blind. I mean blinded … their eyes have been removed. And their heads … tattooed.’

Constantine motioned the young soldier to drink. He stood close for a few seconds, studying his face. After a time, he said softly, ‘Blinded, all of them?’

Varinius nodded jerkily. ‘The priests have formed a line in front of the temple, but will not enter it themselves, even for their own protection. It seems they fear their god more than they fear our steel.’

One of Constantine’s generals, Titus, laughed. ‘Woman and blind priests; is it any wonder they have fallen so easily before us.’

Our Emperor rounded on Titus, his voice fierce. ‘But stood undefeated for more centuries than you can count.’

The general, a huge bear of a man, went down on one knee.

Constantine turned back to the city and spoke as if to the large stone temple at its core, rather than to us, his assembled heads of war. ‘Those who behold the Gorgos will be forever imprisoned in stone.’

His eyes were slightly glazed, as if seeing something far removed from the rain and mud around us. I recognized the name from an ancient legend in the work of the philosopher Pliny the Elder, of creatures far too horrible to be real.

He turned to the kneeling general. ‘Dear faithful Titus, if their city was truly protected only by women and priests, it could never have stood for so long. There must be something else.’ He turned to us all. ‘A hidden weapon perhaps?’

We remained silent, Titus still pale from the rebuke.

Constantine returned his attention to Varinius. ‘Could it be that the priests’ gaze was … unworthy? They were blinded as punishment for looking upon their ruler or deity? Or perhaps the simple act of “seeing” means something far worse.’ He looked into the young man’s face. ‘Was there anything else? Be clear and be quick.’

Varinius stood straighter, and nodded. ‘The translators said the blind men only spoke one thing, over and over: “She must not be freed.”’ His brow creased. ‘They think that is what the priests said. Their tongue is … difficult.’

‘Yes.’ The Emperor nodded and walked a few paces from us, then spun quickly. ‘Ready my horse. I wish to see for myself.’

We immediately flew into furious activity. The Caesar does not travel anywhere at whim. Our Emperor’s private guard readied themselves and his mount, and the great man ordered Varinius back onto his horse.

‘Let us see what the Sauromatian priests are trying to keep from us.’ He added in an aside for my ears only, ‘Or are they trying to protect us from it?’

Matt held up his hands, wincing. ‘That’s the end — well, the end of what we have here. Where’s the rest?’

Sam shook his head. ‘That’s all Monti had.’

Matt exhaled. ‘Probably destroyed, then — after all, it’s lucky this page is in such good condition given it was written almost 1800 years ago.’ He sat back. ‘Well, that’s it then: whatever Constantine found, they brought back and then sealed it away in the deep catacombs under the Basilica. It was probably Constantine’s personal vault back then.’

‘Why?’ Sam was looking over Matt’s shoulder at the parchment.

‘Why what? Why was it converted into a cistern?’

‘No; why would they bury it?’

Matt shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was something so valuable they wanted to —’

‘Valuable from a military perspective, more like,’ Alex cut in. ‘You said the Sauromatian were savages with filed teeth and armor made essentially from bone. At that time in the region there were the Cimmerians, the Goths, the Slavs, the Tartars — all powerful warlike tribes with hundreds of fighters. Yet the Sauromatian resisted them all for nearly 800 years.’

Matt nodded. ‘Yes, I see.’

‘Go on,’ Hammerson said.

‘Maybe this thing was sealed away because it was too dangerous,’ Alex said. ‘Constantine realized he had a tiger by the tail, and couldn’t deal with it. Maybe he’d discovered the world’s first weapon of mass destruction, and found it too horrible to use … or even understand. Maybe he tried to destroy it and couldn’t, so the best he could do was seal it up and hide it away.’

The three men looked at Alex in silence.

Then Hammerson grunted. ‘This is getting real interesting.’

‘But what could it be?’ Sam folded his massive arms. ‘An object, device, a manuscript maybe, something biological? What exactly?’

Matt shook his head. ‘Doesn’t say. Hey, I know, I bet it’s on page two. Go back and ask Monti.’

Sam’s face darkened. ‘Maybe you’d like to come with us next time.’

‘Ease up, big guy,’ Alex said. He turned to Matt. ‘If we knew there was more to the codex, you can damn well bet we’d have asked Monti for it.’ He turned back to Sam. ‘And I’m sure he’d have happily given it up.’

Sam half-smiled.

‘One thing’s for sure,’ Alex continued, ‘whatever it was, it must have been something the Sauromatian thought was mystical, magical. And Constantine had a healthy respect for it.’

‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,’ Sam said slowly. ‘Arthur C. Clarke wrote that over fifty years ago.’

‘Magic … technology …’ Matt stood up. ‘You think the Sauromatians had some kind of technology that enabled them to remain the premier force in ancient Russia for over half a millennium?’

Alex shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Constantine was a warrior general, he’d have been used to assessing risks.’

‘So he buried the weapon, leaving it for the future to sort out?’ Sam asked.

Alex grunted. ‘Maybe he tried to destroy it and couldn’t. Maybe he buried it hoping it would never be found.’

‘What could a race of savages have that would instill that sort of fear in a Caesar?’ Matt mused. ‘A weapon, a god, a disease, a book of spells, a relic …?’ He shrugged. ‘All we really know is that there was something down there in that hidden chamber, sealed in the bronze urn, and now it’s not there anymore. It’s been taken, or it … walked away.’

‘Walked away — that doesn’t make me feel real good,’ Sam said. ‘And if that isn’t enough of a problem, now Borshov’s tracking it.’

‘And now Borshov’s tracking it,’ Hammerson repeated slowly. He walked over to the world map that covered one of the walls in his office. There were thousands of dots indicating locations of US bases — red for those known to the general public, black for covert. He gazed at them and shook his head slowly. ‘If it is a weapon, and if it’s still operational, you can count on the Russians trying to use it if they get hold of it.’ He turned, his face unreadable. ‘There’s a lot of tension between our countries at the moment. Not a great time for one side to be heavily tipping the scales.’

‘And tipping them away from us,’ Sam said.

Hammerson nodded. ‘Still a domestic problem at the moment, though. Unless we get invited, we can only goddamn watch and wait.’

‘And if Russia gets hold of this thing and makes it a global problem?’ Alex asked.

Hammerson’s face turned to granite. ‘Then it’ll be too damn late.’

‘Can we see the coordinates of attacks so far?’ Alex said.

Matt sat forward, his hands hovering over the keyboard. ‘How do I …?’

‘Move it.’ Hammerson pushed him sideways and started typing.

A map appeared onscreen, showing a series of red dots starting at the Basilica Cistern in Istanbul and ending at Uşak. The number of victims at each location increased progressively, as did the distance between events.

‘It’s taking more victims and getting stronger, moving faster,’ Alex said.

‘Could it be a natural phenomenon, or some sort of toxic cloud?’ Sam asked. ‘It’s certainly obscuring satellite imagery.’

Alex shook his head. ‘Unlikely. Seems to be following a specific path — like it knows where it’s going.’

‘Looks like it’s heading for the coast,’ Sam said, moving a few steps toward the screen. ‘Why can’t the Turkish military see this?’

‘They probably can,’ Hammerson said, ‘but I think they’re doing exactly what I would do — get everyone out of the way, and watch and wait. I’d be pretty damned cautious about sending anyone else in until I knew what we were dealing with. Might just be throwing them into the meat grinder.’

‘I think Sam was right … about the coast, I mean.’

The three soldiers turned to look at Matt.

He indicated the keyboard. ‘May I?’

Hammerson slid his chair back. ‘The bridge is yours, Professor.’

Matt joined the dots of the affected areas with a line. ‘We might need to look at it with fresh eyes … or better yet, very old eyes. ‘About the time of the Minoans, there were several significant trading routes running through this region, and small villages sprang up beside them — a bit like settlements appearing beside rivers. This line could be one of the old Phrygian routes.’ He concentrated on typing, and brought up a much simpler map that showed just a few colored lines, and ancient cities such as Ur, Babylon, Susa, and Khalab, now long turned to dust beneath the desert sands. Matt adjusted its size and then laid it over the top of the modern map.

Sam snorted. ‘Holy shit.’

There was no doubt. One of the trading routes ran from Istanbul, through Izmit, Guyve, Polatli, Uşak, and continued on to the coast.

Matt pointed to the line. ‘The Middle East was the cradle of civilization. In some of these towns, human habitation has been traced back as far as 26,000 years.’

Hammerson frowned. ‘It seems to be veering off the route in places, then coming back.’

‘For the people,’ Alex said. ‘It’s veering off to areas of large population.’

Hammerson’s frown deepened. ‘It’s goddamn seeking them out. It wants to kill.’

‘Based on this projection, it’ll pass close to Salihli and Sardes on its way to Izmir,’ Matt said. ‘Sardes was the capital city of Lydia about 2500 years ago, until it was captured by the Persian Empire. After that, it —’

‘Izmir.’ Hammerson cut Matt off, and turned to Alex and Sam. Both men nodded.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Matt said. ‘The route ends at Izmir. Makes sense, as it was one of the oldest settlements in the Mediterranean basin. There are several graves there dating from about 3000 BC — that’s contemporary with the first city of Troy.’

Hammerson folded his arms, his face like stone. ‘Based on speed to date, it should be there within three days.’

‘Yeah, looks like it.’ Matt said, then looked from Hammerson to Alex and Sam, catching their expressions. ‘Huh? What is it?’

‘We got a base there,’ Hammerson said.

‘In Turkey? You mean a NATO base?’

‘Sort of. The official story is Turkey took over control of the NATO bases in 2004. But the unofficial story is they want to be part of the UN Security Council, and so we’re allowed to keep a few bits and pieces there. So do the Brits and Germans — just one big happy family.’ Hammerson smiled flatly.

Matt leaned back in his chair. ‘What are a few bits and pieces?’

‘Forty-two airplanes, twelve heavy choppers, Roland and Hawk mobile missile systems, and about 300 personnel. That’s just at Izmir.’

Matt nodded. ‘Now I see why it’s important.’

Hammerson came around the desk and grabbed his bomber jacket. ‘Damn right it’s important. And if that’s where this thing is going, then we’re involved, whether the Turks like it or not. Time to light a fuse.’ He pulled on the jacket, its material straining at his shoulders. ‘Sam, get me some eyes on what’s going on down there. If VELA’s still blind from up top, shoot down some pipes.’