CHAPTER 4
Spencer parted ways with McPearson at the San Francisco airport. McPearson’s wife, Marta, was waiting for him in baggage claim when they arrived. The couple offered him a ride, but he couldn’t see the point in making them maneuver through downtown traffic at rush hour.
He climbed into the back seat of a cab and pulled out his cell phone. The line rang a few times before Paul picked up.
“Spencer, my man, you’re back,” Paul said. “So how did you find Egypt? Was it all you’d hoped for?”
“And more,” he said. “I finally saw the pyramids. They were more amazing than I’d imagined. Definitely the highlight of my trip.” He hesitated for a moment. “I need your opinion on something. I want to convince my boss to authorize a drilling operation. The results of my on-ground tests were inconclusive, but I’m convinced that we’ll find something down there.”
“Wow, you’ve been with Calpetro less than six months and you may have found an oil strike?”
“Yeah. My problem is not so much getting Calpetro to drill, it’s convincing them that I’m the right guy to head the operation.”
“You mean you want to be stuck in Egypt for the next year?”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes. You know how I feel about archeology. This is one chance I can’t pass up.”
“Then I say go for it. I know you can do it. Hell, with your smarts, they’d be fools not to give you the assignment.”
“Thanks, buddy, I knew I could count on you to inflate my ego,” he laughed. Oh, something else happened while I was there . . .” Spencer was about to tell Paul about the dark-haired woman at the pool. A vision of her sun-tanned, swimsuit clad body flashed through his mind and his heart skipped a beat. No, that was a story to be told in person. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Spencer walked into his department mentally rehearsing every argument he’d come up with over the weekend. He had expected to suffer from jetlag, but instead had been too excited about the possibility of an oil find—or something even more exciting—to sleep.
“Mr. McPearson said he wants to see you as soon as you get in,” Sarah said with a smile. “He’s sure in a good mood. Y’all must’ve had a good trip.”
Spencer went to his office and set his briefcase on the desk. He walked to the window and gazed out at the swirling fog. This was his chance, maybe the only one he’d get. He took a deep breath and turned to the door. It was now or never.
He tucked his hands in his pockets and casually walked down the hall. As he walked past Sarah’s station, she smiled and winked.
What was that all about?
He tapped on McPearson’s door. “Good morning, Bill,” he said.
“Spencer, come in, have a seat.” McPearson waved in the general direction of the chair opposite his desk. “Any jetlag?” he asked.
“Not really. How about you?”
“Slept like a baby the last two nights,” He laid his hands on a neat stack of folders on his desk. “There’s nothing like sleeping with the windows open on a cool San Francisco night.” Bill sighed. “Yep, I sure am glad to be out of that damnable Egyptian heat.”
“Glad to hear you slept well,” Spencer said with a smile.
McPearson leaned forward and looked Spencer in the eye. “I think you know you’ve proven yourself to be a valuable team member in a very short time here.”
Spencer nodded.
“You’ve done impressive research on this project and I’m convinced that this will be a successful dig.”
“Bill, I—”
McPearson raised his hand. “I know you’re going to ask me if you can head the drilling operation . . .”
Spencer’s heart sank. How could he deny him now, after all the work he’d done? “But I—”
McPearson raised his hand again. “And that’s why I’ve already decided to let you head up this project. Congratulations.”
Spencer opened his mouth but no words came out. “Wow,” he said finally, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say a thing, I know you’ve been itching for this for months, and I know you’ll do a great job. Now listen, it’ll take our legal department about six weeks to get permits from the Egyptian government. I think Jeff made it pretty clear how tough Egypt is when it comes to excavation projects, especially near their precious archeological sites. We do, however, have a good working relationship with them and should get our permits without too much delay.”
“I guess oil talks,” Spencer said.
“Better than cash.” McPearson said with a laugh. “You’ll need to prepare all the details of the operation so I can get the budget approved by the suits upstairs. It won’t be a problem, just have Sarah help you. She has our approved list of vendors for that region. Have her set up the necessary accounts. You’ll also need to contact our liaison in Egypt to work out the details of getting local help. Sarah knows the contact.”
Spencer stared at his boss with wide eyes. The reality of what he was hearing had him frozen in place.
“Well, get going,” McPearson said, handing him the stack of folders, “I know you’re dying to.”
“Right,” Spencer said, “I’ll get started right away.” He stood and headed for the door, then turned back. “Thanks, Bill, I won’t disappoint you.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
He walked back to his office in daze. Sarah jumped up and grabbed her steno pad. “Okay, so he told you, right? When can we get started?”
“You mean you already knew?”
“Of course,” she followed him into his office and took the stack of folders from him. “I’ve already contacted Antonio Casenza, he’s Calpetro’s legal counsel in Egypt.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him.”
“I worked with him on one of George Bellici’s digs. He’s a real shark. Anyway, McPearson probably told you it would take six weeks to get the permits, but don’t you worry, Mr. Casenza will get them in half that time.” She sat down across from him and opened the first folder. “Now, here’s who I recommend for supplies . . .”
How did Calpetro ever function before Sarah Nugent came along to keep everyone in line?
Twelve days later Spencer arrived in Cairo. He checked into the hotel after midnight, lugged his suitcases to his room, and fell into bed. Jeff Miller was waiting for him in the lobby the next morning. The pair discussed the drilling operation over breakfast.
“The drilling team will be ready to start work on Monday,” Jeff said as the waitress approached.
Spencer flipped over his mug. “Coffee, and keep it coming,” he said to the waitress. Starting on Monday would be just fine. It would give him the weekend to catch up on much-needed sleep. He’d have the weekend to sleep, relax, and prepare for the long project he had in front of him.
Jeff looked up as a small man with round glasses perched low on his nose approached. A sporty straw hat barely camouflaged the man’s baldness, and his suit was an Armani that fit him to perfection but looked out of place in the Egyptian heat.
“Spencer,” Jeff said, “Let me introduce you to Antonio Casenza, legal counsel for the Calpetro European Operations and the man in charge of getting permits from our good friends at the Egyptian government office.”
Antonio looked Spencer up and down. “So you’re the wonder kid McPearson put in charge of drilling, huh?”
“I guess that would be me.” Spencer shook the man’s moist hand.
So, Giuseppe,” Antonio said to Jeff with a smirk. “You still flying in circles these days? I heard you got another desert sandblasting.”
“Yeah, no big deal.” Jeff looked to Spencer with pleading eyes and then back to Antonio. “So where are we with the permits?”
“Hey, I’m a Casenza! We get things done.”
Jeff turned to Spencer and rolled his eyes. Clearly he was not a fan. Spencer had heard a lot about Antonio in the last few weeks and had read his Calpetro file on the flight over. The man was known for his efficiency and for his skills of persuasion. Born in Italy, he spoke fluent Italian. He had grown up in Boston and earned his corporate law degree at UC Hastings College of Law in San Francisco. Calpetro had snatched him up fresh out of school, totally impressed by his brilliance and his inability to accept failure. Spencer had heard about him and knew this was a man he wanted on his side.
“We’re ready to proceed on Monday, Mr. Casenza.” Spencer smiled.
“Call me Antonio, please.”
“Okay, everyone just calls me Spencer . . . Antonio, I want to thank you for your fine work. I’m impressed with how quickly you got our permits.”
Sarah had been right, it had taken Antonio twelve days to obtain what headquarters had said would take six weeks.
“I’m glad that I could help. McPearson seems to think you can move mountains, so you just get to work on your drilling and let me worry about keeping the spies off your back”
“Spies?”
Antonio chuckled. “Egypt is a strange land. You will be watched like a hawk by the government. Any drilling in this region is looked at as an excavation and any excavation will be monitored by Egypt’s Department of Antiquity…monitored closely.”
Spencer looked at Antonio with raised eyebrows.
“Not to worry,” Antonio said. “Egypt is a hotbed of archeological finds, it’s the basis of the tourist business here. They’re just protecting their assets.” Antonio tucked an unfiltered cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Antiquity is what brings tourists to Egypt, not the slums of Cairo. Illegal digs can get you a long prison sentence and every now and again it will get you dead.”
“I understand,” Spencer took a sip of coffee and gave Antonio a quick assessing look. “Since you’ve taken care of our permit, we have nothing to worry about then?”
“Not a thing. Just do your job and don’t piss them off.”
“How could I piss them off?”
“By not informing them of your progress and findings on a regular basis. I’ll see that you have the forms you need to submit weekly.”
“You’re shitting me. I have to fill out government forms every week?”
Antonio blew a cloud of smoke over their heads. “If you want to keep drilling you do.”
That night Spencer and Jeff went to the bar for a cold beer before calling it a night. “It’ll be a short night,” Spencer said. “I’m exhausted. This jetlag’s wiped me out.”
“No problem,” Jeff said.
He saw her in the back corner of the bar, flipping the pages of an oversized book. Waves of dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, obscuring her face. She wore khaki shorts that showed off her slender brown legs. She tapped a pencil on the table. He couldn’t see her face, but it was the woman from the pool; he was sure of it.
She looked up and their eyes locked. Had she sensed that he’d been watching her? She nodded and gave him a full smile then looked back at her book. Spencer had never seen eyes quite like hers, large and round, with the richness of dark chocolate. Her teeth had flashed white against her dark skin. “Do you know the woman at the corner table? He asked Jeff”
Jeff gazed in the woman’s direction and his brow furrowed. She had tucked her hair behind her ear, but she continued to read her book and the pencil was tap, tap, tapping on the table.
“Yeah, I’ve seen her here a few times over the last few weeks. She’s a graduate student from Cornell working on her thesis. If she is who I think she is, her name’s Roula, or something like that, and she’s some kind of whiz in hieroglyphics.” Jeff glanced in the woman’s direction and ducked his head. “Heads up, dude, she’s coming our way.”
“Hi, I’m Roula,” she said looking at Spencer. “I never got to thank you properly.”
Jeff looked from Roula to Spencer and back again. “You know each other?” he asked, and then recognition washed over his face. “You’re the lady from the pool.”
Her face flushed, “Yeah, I suppose I am.”
“He saved my life.” Roula said, nodding toward Spencer, her voice husky. “The least I can do is buy you a drink, uh . . .?”
“I’m Ralph Spencer, but people just call me Spencer.”
“Then maybe I’ll just call you Ralph,” she said with a laugh.
Jeff kicked Spencer’s foot and cleared his throat.
“Oh, and this is Jeff Miller, he’s a pilot.”
“How do you do, Jeff Miller,” she said. “May I sit?”
“Of course.” Spencer stood and pulled out the chair.
“Wow, such gentlemanly charm,” she said.
Roula sat down at the table and crossed her arms in front of her. Her fingers were long and graceful, and her oval nails were trimmed and unpolished. Her white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and open at the throat to reveal her slender neck. She wore a light dusting of eye shadow and a touch of gloss on her lips. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“And what is it you do, Ralph Spencer?”
“I’m a geologist with Calpetro. We’re here on a drilling exploration about twenty miles south of Cairo.”
“Ah, I see,” she said with a polite smile. “So about that drink, another cold beer?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Spencer replied, blushing. “Please, I want to.” Roula gestured to the waitress for a second round. “I’m rather embarrassed about my little bump on the head. I swim all the time . . . I was thinking about something else, and . . .” Her face reddened and she gazed around the room as if searching for the words. “Anyway,” she said, looking back at Spencer, “I’m a student at Cornell. I’m working on my doctoral thesis.”
“Wow, small world,” Spencer said. “I did my undergrad at Cornell. Too bad I never ran into you there.”
“I did most of my work here in Egypt. I’m majoring in hieroglyphics and the field is about as narrow as you can get.” She measured about a half inch with her thumb and forefinger. “I mean narrow,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve studied every place on earth that offers a hieroglyphics program first hand. I’ve been in Egypt four years.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Spencer said. “I love archeology, but I never had any training in hieroglyphics.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Spencer’s being modest.” He gave Spencer a nudge with his elbow. “He has a doctorate degree in archeology from Harvard.”
“Really?” Roula looked at Spencer, her brown eyes wide. “Impressive,” she said.
Spencer made a mental note to thank Jeff later.
Roula leaned forward and put her slender hand on Spencer’s arm. Her eyes darkened into black orbs. “Thanks for everything, Ralph, I really mean it.”
Spencer swallowed. The touch of her hand gave him a rush, but not the electrical shock kind he’d experienced at the swimming pool. “You’re welcome.”
“So, my name’s Roula Grazulis. It’s Greek, but I grew up in New York.” She shrugged. “Tell me, what’s a geologist drilling in Egypt doing with a degree in archeology anyway?” She tipped her head inquisitively.
“Well, geology pays my bills, but archeology is my passion. I’m working on a simple drilling exploration, but I’d much rather spend my time in a pyramid than in that damned desert.”
Roula pulled her chair closer to Spencer and took a sip of her beer.
Jeff stood up, his half-empty beer mug in his hand. “I’ve gotta get going.”
“I’m sorry, Jeff,” Roula said. “You don’t have to go.”
“No worries, I’ve got an early morning.” Jeff drank down the last of his beer and pushed in his chair. “You two have a good night.”
Spencer spent the next hour telling Roula about the site, his scanning techniques, and the firm’s curiosity about what’s in that twenty-mile span. She listened with genuine interest and interjected with questions from time to time. Her interest in his work was a pleasant surprise. There was no denying that there was chemistry between them, and that would make up for all the luxuries of home he’d been missing.
“Would you like to come over and view the site some time, Roula?” Her name seemed to roll off his tongue, as though he’d been saying it all his life. Maybe he was pushing his luck, but he wanted to see her again and she had seemed curious.
“That’d be nice.” Roula said with a smile. “I’ll check my schedule. My classes and research keep me pretty busy, but I’ll let you know.”
Jeff yawned and stretched. “Well, I guess I’ll call it a night,” he said with a wink at Spencer.
“Goodnight, Jeff,” Roula said, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“You, too.” He turned to Spencer. “See you tomorrow.”
Spencer let his gaze fall on Roula once again. She was smiling at him, and it was the kind of inviting smile every man wanted to see on a beautiful woman’s face. “Okay, Roula, now it’s your turn . . . tell me all about hieroglyphics.”
They talked until the bar was empty and the waitress told them it was time to lock up. The pair walked out of the lounge hand in hand, like lovers on a leisurely stroll. If it were up to Spencer, he would have frozen his life right there, with his fingers wrapped around this lovely woman’s hand.
CHAPTER 5
Drilling started right on time Monday morning. It was a warm January day. The plan was to drill a six-inch diameter hole some fifteen thousand feet inside the Egyptian desert. Core samples would be taken at intervals of a thousand feet for the first ten thousand feet and then increased to every five hundred feet until they reached the projected level.
The months of drilling dragged on. The cores were all the same with no sign of anything interesting. Every day Spencer had to ship the core samples to headquarters for a full analysis, along with the drudgery of clearing customs. The bureaucratic hassles seemed endless.
Spencer checked every new core sample before shipping it to the US. He would ask opinions from the team soil engineer, and each day the answer was the same. “Looks like your everyday standard dirt,” Matt would often say.
Matt Garrett was a local contractor working for Calpetro. He was in charge of the drilling team. Matt was loyal to a fault to his employer, and his knowledge of the local culture had been indispensible. He knew who was capable of handling certain jobs and who was certain trouble. Matt was approaching forty and his dark complexion and sun-dried skin gave him a rugged, angular look. He was a big man and had a spark in his eye that charmed just about everyone who met him. He had a reputation for being fair but strict. No one dared cross him. A native of Boston, he had spent seven years in Africa following a nasty divorce. His wife had had an involved affair while he was conducting a drilling project in Mexico. Here he had kept mostly to himself. He sometimes seemed to wear the pain of his divorce like a weight jacket. He put all his energy into learning the players in Egypt and at Calpetro.
Spring was near, but Spencer would never have known it from the weather. The sun radiated off the desert like a dry sauna on full blast. One blistering day seemed to melt into the next.
To his dismay, he had not seen Roula again since their night together at the bar. For the first two weeks he had fully expected to hear from her each day. By the third week doubt had replaced his optimism and a week later, on a Saturday afternoon, he went to the hotel and inquired about her. She had checked out a few days after their meeting and left no forwarding information.
How could he have been so wrong about her? She had felt the chemistry between them; he was certain of it. What had gone wrong?
He could put her out of his mind during the day, but the long nights in his hotel room were filled with thoughts of Roula. He had replayed their evening together dozens of times, but there was no explanation for her sudden disappearance. Why hadn’t she at least said goodbye?
Jeff introduced Spencer to a local hangout and the two of them spent many of their free evenings there. The place was frequented by Americans and especially by university students, which suited Spencer just fine. Having other academics around made him feel at home. Here Spencer could unwind, have a cold beer with fellow archeologists, and engage in endless debates about the origin of the great pyramids.
Early in April, Matt arrived at Spencer’s office with the day’s core sample. Spencer sighed, silently preparing himself for another dull examination; they had done this hundreds of times.
“Spencer this one is from thirteen-thousand seven-hundred feet, sample 137A. Let’s check for porosity and water content and do a stress test.”
“We really need to get some results soon,” Spencer said. “We’ll reach our final projected depth in the next few days, and we’re still coming up empty.”
Matt placed the core sample on the laboratory’s working table and removed some of the soil for testing. His face seemed to light up. “Hey, Spencer, look at this! Maybe we’ve got something here.”
Spencer looked at the soil extracted from the core. There were a few chunks of what appeared to be stainless steel, but with an unusual greenish color. Spencer’s hand went instinctively to the familiar lump in his pocket. He had taken to carrying the strange object with him everywhere. He still had no idea what it was, but he’d come to think of it as a strange sort of good luck charm. The piece of metal he was looking at had the same greenish gold color as the item in his pocket. “Did you guys break the drill bit?”
“Absolutely not,” Matt answered. “Look at the core sample, it’s intact.”
“This is strange.” Spencer used a tweezers to extract a tiny piece of the metal. It was round, smooth, and not at all splintered the way metal would be from drilling.
“What’s the matter,” Matt asked, his eyes wide.
“Nothing.” Better to not say anything until they studied the fragment a little further. “Let’s check our drill tip. When did you get this sample?”
“At 11:15 this morning. The drill tip hasn’t been used yet.”
Spencer looked at his watch. It was 12:23. “Let’s get over there before the crew resumes drilling. We need to be certain about this.”
Removing the drill tip for examination would set back the daily drilling, but it had to be done. Spencer had the tip taken to his office lab for examination.
“Like I told you,” Matt said, “it’s perfect.” He turned the bit over and tilted it from side to side. “No dents or chips anywhere.”
“What the hell did we find in that core then?” Spencer stared at the drill bit. None of this was making sense. They were looking for evidence of oil, not rare metals. Let’s get a core every twenty-five feet from now on. This could get interesting.”
Late the next morning Matt came in with core sample 137B. Spencer’s stomach was in knots. He’d been able to eat only a few bites of his breakfast that morning. He would handle the retrieval of this soil sample himself.
“Holy shit!” Matt shouted. “There it is, another fragment of that strange material. What do you make of it?”
Spencer’s heart thudded against his ribcage as he held the sample up for closer inspection. He would never find out what was in his pocket, or in this core sample, without help. “I think we’ll have to send this with special instructions to our lab in San Francisco. They’ll figure it out.”
That night Spencer couldn’t sleep. His mind was spinning, searching for explanations for the strange material he’d found in the sand, and then again some two and a half miles under the Sahara desert, and for the electrical shock that he’d felt when touching the object. Had he only imagined it?
The next morning McPearson sounded as if he might have a heart attack right there on the phone. “Spencer, my boy, you’re not playing a joke on us are you? Those two damned core samples are driving us crazy. The round fragments were found throughout both core samples, and no one in the lab seems to be able to classify them.”
“I suppose they might be artificial,” Spencer offered, “but I’m not convinced. I mean, how would they get there?”
“Our DC office has the best lab contacts in the country for that type of analysis. If we want answers, we’ll have to get them involved in this.”
Spencer sighed. He toyed with the round piece of metal in his pocket. This didn’t sound good. The fewer people involved, the better. “I didn’t know we had a lab in DC. Who are you referring to?”
“Well, unfortunately it will have to be done by our . . . er . . . outside consultants.” Not to worry, McPearson said, “They’re the best.”
There had to be a better way, but no alternative was coming to mind. “All right, let me know as soon as you hear anything. I’ve got a strong feeling those fragments are artificial. Has Calpetro drilled here before?”
“No, never, and as far as we know, no one else has either. We’ve had the drilling rights to that land for the last thirty years.”
Waiting to hear from headquarters had kept Spencer’s stomach queasy. He had warned both Matt and Jeff to keep things under wraps until they knew more. It was the middle of the night when the phone rang. “Did you get the results from Washington?” He said, not even bothering to ask who was calling.
“Catch the first flight home,” McPearson said, “we need to see you in a hurry.”
Wasn’t this the wrong time for him to leave the site? What if the Egyptian inspectors showed up? “Uh . . . well . . .”
“There’s no other choice. We’ve got a briefing set for nine on Friday and I want you here. Set up strict security on this. It’s need-to-know only. See you Friday.”
“Wait, Bill, what do I tell the crew?”
“Tell them your aunt died. Tell them your house fell in the ocean. Tell them whatever you want, but keep this find quiet.”
Spencer had never seen San Francisco in April. The cool breeze was a welcome relief after the hot Sahara sun. Sarah greeted him with her usual cheerfulness. “It’s so nice to have you back, we’ve missed you around here!”
“Yeah, it feels good to be back. Has Bill told you anything? What’s with all this rush and secrecy?”
“I think Mr. McPearson’s lost his mind over this. I’ve never seen him so agitated and elusive.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. “So you don’t know anything?”
“Nope. I’m in the dark on this one, I swear.”
Spencer approached the main conference room. A security guard was posted at the door. Now that was a new one.
“I need to see your ID badge sir.”
Spencer held out the ID that hung around his neck. The guard analyzed the badge, looked at Spencer, and then reassessed the badge. The man had either been told to use maximum security or he took his job way too seriously. “Please sign here.” The guard handed Spencer a clipboard and pointed at a handwritten X next to his name. He then peered closely at Spencer’s handwriting and compared it to the signature on the badge. He frowned at the clipboard as if he suspected Spencer of wrongdoing or was disappointed that he didn’t find any. “Okay, you’re cleared by McPearson.”
“I should hope so,” Spencer said as he brushed past the abhorrent guard.
The conference room was almost empty. McPearson came across the room and greeted him with a warm handshake. The Asian man from operations, the senior vice president above McPearson, and two men dressed like they just walked off the set of Men in Black sat around a table. No sign of John Fortica. The MIB were probably the outside consultants McPearson had mentioned over the phone. They didn’t look like scientists, or engineers for that matter. Could these be the men who performed the tests on the soil cores?
One of the MIB stood up. “Gentlemen, we are here on behalf of the US government.”
All of Spencer’s blood seemed to rush to his head. “What the hell?”
McPearson laid his hand and Spencer’s arm and nodded for the Fed to continue.
Our lab tested the abnormalities discovered in your core samples 137A and B. We are here to ensure that these results maintain the highest level of security and to enforce any breach of same.” The first Fed sat down and the second stood up.
“Unfortunately, we are not at liberty to discuss the test results. We are only here to ensure that this project receives the highest level of security.”
“That’s bullshit, those samples belong to Calpetro and—”
“Spencer, please,” McPearson said. “Let the man finish.
As agreed by your top management and CIA headquarters, you will be the only people from your firm allowed access to the project. After our briefing, those of you who will continue to work on this project . . .” He looked Spencer in the eye, “That is, those of you who are cooperative, will be requested to report to CIA headquarters in Washington for details on the results of our lab tests.”
What was this, some kind of spy novel? “Why all the secrecy?” he asked in the calmest voice he could muster.
“As I said, details will be provided in Washington.” The other Fed stood up and both men gathered their files and walked out of the conference room.
Spencer and McPearson made their way out of the down the hall. “In twenty-three years with Calpetro I’ve never had to go through anything like this.” McPearson whispered.
“But—”
“I know as much as you do.” McPearson’s face had gone pale and his hands were shaking.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure, I’ll be fine. Guess I’m just getting too old for this kind of thing.”
“Exactly what kind of thing are we talking about?”
McPearson shrugged and continued to walk down the hall in silence.
“Maybe it’s from aliens.” Spencer laughed.
McPearson gazed up at him without saying a word.
Spencer had been to Washington DC only once for a grade school field trip. Soon he would be on his way to Langley—CIA headquarters. What the CIA had to do with any of this was a mystery—a mystery he, Ralph Spencer, was going to unravel. What did they think those fragments were anyway?
He could already see himself swaggering into the CIA building with his shoulders back. And why the hell shouldn’t he? This was his big adventure—the one he’d dreamed about since the first time he’d watched Indiana Jones as a kid—he was going to enjoy it.
McPearson held up his arms and allowed the armed guard to search him. Spencer followed the same routine. The guard nodded and escorted the two men to the main conference room. Tom Detton, who introduced himself as head of research operations, greeted them. He was a tall, nondescript man with brown hair, brown eyes, and a crumpled brown suit. No one would have guessed him CIA by his appearance. A computer geek? Yes, but not CIA. He showed McPearson to his seat and then gestured for Spencer to sit across the table.
A woman dressed in a navy business suit entered with a tray and placed steaming mugs of coffee in front of each of them. Detton thanked her and signaled for the meeting to begin. McPearson watched Tom Detton closely. The agent’s face had hardly moved, as if it were fixed in stone.
“Gentlemen, you have been well briefed concerning the delicacy and security of this project. What I am about to tell you is considered highly classified and must remain within these walls. Ralph Spencer . . .” Detton looked Spencer in the eye, obviously holding his gaze long enough to make Spencer uncomfortable. “Your exploratory drilling has unearthed an unusual material. The core samples, 137A and B, submitted by Calpetro . . .” He looked at McPearson, “which I assume were not tampered with in any way . . .”
“Absolutely not. We at Calpetro have very strict procedures to ensure that core samples are kept intact.” He stopped and took a breath. Good God, he sounded like a high school kid at his first debate. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “We are required to perform a preliminary field analysis from the upper one fourth of the core and ship the rest to headquarters for full testing.”
“Well then, as you are all aware, our CIA lab ran extensive tests on the two core samples. What we found has stumped even our most skeptical scientists. The strange fragments found in both core samples are of artificial origin, and,” Detton’s voice lowered, “they are of an unidentified material.”
“What do you mean unidentified?” Spencer asked.
Detton ignored him. “This strange material has been tested for various stresses and it’s harder than diamond. It has a stress capacity of ten thousand times that of stainless steel and yet it possesses a specific gravity lower than aluminum. What we have here is a material so sophisticated that whoever developed it had abilities far beyond today’s technology.”
“Are you telling us that what we found is alien?” McPearson asked.
Detton sighed as if an errant child had interrupted him. “Like I said, the material is unidentified. We have nothing to match its characteristics. We believe the substance was buried for many centuries, maybe millennia.”
McPearson shifted in his chair and glanced at Spencer, whose jaw was hanging slack. Detton was dead serious. This was no joke.
“So what you’re saying is the substance is alien,” he said.
“No,” Detton’s stone-face reddened. “What I’m saying is that the department wants to know what’s down there and is prepared to take over the operation. Our plan is to drill a large mine shaft to the final depth.”
McPearson stood up and slammed his fists on the table. “Over my dead body,” he shouted. “Calpetro owns that dig. We’ve had the right to the site for over thirty years. It could be the biggest oil find we’ve had in decades. We’re not about to just hand it over to the CIA.”
A second agent entered the room and stood directly behind him.
“What’s this?” he demanded, “Some kind of threat?”
“Please, Bill,” Detton gestured for him to sit. “We understand that Calpetro has a big stake in this,” His voice was smooth as glass, “what I meant is that we would like to assist in this operation.”
He looked at the agent behind him and then turned to Detton. No way was he backing down now. Detton nodded at the agent and the man walked backward to the doorway and then slipped out of the room.
“Bill, please have a seat.” Detton’s ingratiating smile looked as if it might crack his granite face. “This may be the single most important discovery in the history of mankind, or it may be nothing. The sophistication of this material could imply that . . . someone, at some time, possessed weapons of sophistication that, if in the wrong hands, could put our national security in danger.
“And you’re basing all this on a few chunks of unidentified metal?” Spencer asked.
“In the interest of national security, the CIA will pursue this mission. Of course, we’ll require full cooperation from Calpetro.” He turned to face Spencer. “You have the right expertise for this project, but this is a very delicate situation that will remain classified. We’ve already done a complete background check on you—”
It was Spencer’s turn to stand. “You’ve done what?”
Detton raised his hand. “This would be easier if you gentleman would stay seated and let me finish,” he said. “Ralph—”
Spencer sat down and leaned into the table toward Detton. “Please, just call me Spencer,” he said in an icy tone.
“All right, Spencer. We had to know that we could trust you with the security of our country. Surely you understand that.”
He couldn’t let this go any further. “Mr. Detton,” McPearson said, “I can assure you that no one is better suited to manage this dig. If you consider our firm incapable of handling the scope of this project, then you underestimate Calpetro. With the proper guidance, we will be as qualified as anyone to keep this project classified. We already have strict security measures to ensure that no one else knows about our digs.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Bill, and that’s why we’re having this . . .exploratory . . . meeting.” Detton took a long sip of his coffee and sighed before he continued. “Surely you’re aware that we have the authority to take over this project without involving Calpetro at all.”
“I’m aware of your jurisdictional powers, Mr. Detton, but I would reconsider that threat. Without our cooperation, you could spend decades in that desert and never find what you’re looking for.” McPearson turned to Spencer. “Isn’t that right?”
Spencer put his hand to his mouth, coughed once, and then cleared his throat. Was he stifling a smile? “Bill is absolutely correct,” Spencer said, his tone serious. “We have full documentation of the core sample’s location as well as the drill site location. Without our cooperation, you’d be looking for a needle in a very large, not to mention hot and sandy, haystack.”
Detton stood up, red faced, and paced the room. His gaze was intent on the floor and his brow was furrowed. He was clearly trying to figure out whether or not what they said was true and if he had any way around them. He stopped, walked over to Spencer and McPearson, looked at the men one at a time and then sat down. “You realize that if I allow your company to proceed with this project, you must report to me directly. The Department will supervise the entire operation and will have full control, is that clear?”
“Certainly, but I’m afraid that if your department insists on supervising and controlling the project, Calpetro will have to insist that you also pay for it.”
Detton leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and nodded. “The project will be funded by the US government.”
Score for Calpetro’s stockholders. He’d be a hero for this win for sure.
Detton continued, “This mission is considered classified and requires the highest level of secrecy. You will be given a complete briefing of our internal procedures, equipment, satellite monitoring, and field assistance.”
The meeting had, for the most part, gone his way. Spencer couldn’t have played it better if he’d tried. No doubt, it could have been a whole lot worse. Now he just needed to be sure Calpetro had competent staff supervising and directing the project. This was his chance to make all of his demands.
“Of course Mr. Spencer will continue to be in charge of the project. I can assure you that he is a brilliant and capable geologist. It’s thanks to him that we’re here today.”
“Fine,” Detton said in a dismissive tone. “I am not here to dispute Mr. Spencer’s capabilities, but Steve Sullivan will run things for us. Mr. Spencer will report directly to him.”
“As I said, we have already checked out the Calpetro personnel vital to this project. You and Mr. Spencer are cleared. The Department will provide Spencer with a satellite hookup and you’ll have access to our latest monitoring systems. Bill, Calpetro will have to acquire permits for the mining operation from the Egyptian Department of Antiquity.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, “We’re not talking about a six-inch dig anymore. How can I explain a mining shaft the size of this office? What kind of oil am I looking for?”
“We’ve already thought that through,” Detton said.
Of course they had.
“You’ll tell them that you think there’s gold at that depth and the only way to confirm it is to widen the dig so that the men and equipment can get in there and find out. If you need proof, the department will provide you with the necessities.”
For a man with such a nondescript countenance, Detton had guided the meeting his way in a determined and authoritative manner. It was obvious he had known that he needed Calpetro’s help all along. Clearly, this CIA agent believed in his own capabilities and knew he’d been assigned a mission that required his full attention – the stakes were too high.
For Spencer the next few days were an eye opening experience. He was exposed to intricate yet mysterious procedures and technology, including some of the secret inner workings of the CIA. Tom Detton familiarized Spencer with the latest technological advancements in satellite communication and mining, and he briefed him on the inner workings of the Egyptian government. Tom introduced Spencer to Steve Sullivan, a thirty-year-old computer genius. Steve was to oversee the project for the CIA.
“Since Egypt falls within the Middle East hotbed, we’ve installed a geodesic orbit satellite for that region, so we are able to monitor any land activity twenty-fours hours a day,” Steve said. “Here, let me show you.” He turned to a giant screen on the wall and flipped on the satellite transponder. The screen came to life with the clarity of a high definition television. With a few minor adjustments, Steve focused the camera on the coordinates of the great pyramid at Giza.
“Here, look.” He pointed at the screen. “Under ideal conditions, I am able to zoom in and can read a license plate on a car if I want to.”
Spencer’s jaw fell. The great pyramid was as clear as if he were flying over it with a small plane.
Steve manipulated the controls to show Spencer different views and positions. He zoomed in on some tourists. “Watch this. I’m zooming in on that woman to the left of the screen. The computer will automatically enhance the image . . . just a few seconds . . .there see it?”
“Wow,” a tingle ran down his spine. “I can see the Nike logo on her shirt.”
“Yeah, now watch what happens when I go infrared.”
The woman turned into a blurry red heat-generated image.
“So this is useful at night?”
“With our infrared high resolution, we can detect things at night almost as well as in broad daylight.”
Spencer rolled over, punched his fist into the pillow, and laid his head in the hole. The clock on the dresser read 2:18 a.m. He’d been lying there for hours replaying everything he’d seen and heard over the last few days. Big Brother was watching in a more terrifying way than he’d ever imagined. He’d have to watch his step as the mystery of the dig unfolded. He was safe as long as he was necessary for the project, but what would happen to him after the CIA found what they wanted? And what if what they found was in fact a security threat? Make no mistake, in the eyes of the CIA, Ralph Spencer was replaceable.
The next day he received his project ID with a level five clearance. Steve explained that his clearance was specifically for this project and any other access would be restricted. His ID was exactly the same as the one he carried for Calpetro with the exception of the small number five printed in the lower right corner. The card was also coded for the operation of special equipment, communication encryption, and satellite links. He was now a first class spy working for the CIA. In the light of day, his trepidation from the night before seemed like a dream.
His briefing on the inner workings of the Egyptian government was boring compared to the previous few days spent with Steve. He would let Antonio Casenza handle this part of the assignment anyway. Antonio could get just about anything from the Egyptians. Still, he had to go through the training. There was no getting out of it.
For the next two weeks, Spencer made preparations for the biggest adventure of his life. He was about to embark upon the largest secret drilling project ever undertaken. Steve Sullivan kept close tabs on Spencer to the point of making him nervous.
“We’re on the same team,” he said to Steve one day.
“I have strict orders to ensure this project’s secrecy, Spencer. You are a civilian; a damned good geologist, but a civilian nevertheless. You’re just not used to this level of security.”
“I’ll be fine Steve, but I’ll need to see my friend Paul on the West Coast before I leave or he’ll be suspicious. He knows about the dig and that I’ve been in DC.”
“Okay, but tell him nothing.”
“Don’t worry. He knows that I’m doing exploratory drilling, but that’s all. I’ll give him the same story we’re giving the Egyptians.”
“Good.” Steve placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed. “As long as you keep this project under wraps as ordered, you’ll be just fine.” He smiled and gave Spencer a quick pat on the back.
Was he being given friendly advice or a warning? Probably the latter. “Of course,” he smiled back at Steve. “I’m aware of the delicacy of this project.”
The following Saturday morning Spencer waited for Paul at Peet’s Coffee Shop in Palo Alto. Just because he couldn’t tell Paul the truth didn’t mean he couldn’t ask for his help.
Paul had barely sat down when he started asking questions. “Do you think you guys will hit it big in Egypt?”
“We’re still at a low level of drilling. We ran into all kinds of problems at ten-thousand feet.”
“Like what?”
“Like an underground river for one. It’s flowing pretty hard. Our drilling will have to be stopped until a special casing can be designed to handle the problem.”
“Wow, an underground river in the desert. How strange.”
“It’s not so strange really. There’s underground water all over the planet.”
“It all sounds pretty fascinating, but I wouldn’t give up my gravy job at Intellisoft to go digging around in a desert.” Paul went to the counter to pick up his latte and walked back to their table. When he returned, his face was flush and his eyes wide. “We’re working on a new program that’ll blow your socks off. It’s very hush-hush, but I know I can trust you.”
A pang of guilt hit Spencer in the gut. As much as he wanted to, this was one secret he couldn’t tell Paul.
“We’re working on a new software program that’ll revolutionize virtual reality.” Paul said. “Our program involves actual stimulation to the human brain to create a virtual sensation so real that it’ll be impossible to distinguish it from a real event.”
“No way,” Spencer said, “that’s way beyond anything out there?”
“I know. It’s all built into the device. You wear it over your eyes and its built in program stimulates the optic nerve, the ears, and nose. Basically all the sense organs are stimulated, and it sends all of these stimulants to the brain, fooling it into believing in the unreal.”
“Has it been tested yet?”
“We are finishing up our logic systems now. The next step will be mounting the chip inside the virtual reality glasses and then doing our compulsory testing. It’ll probably be years before it’s released.”
“It sounds great, can I try it?”
“Sure.” Paul laughed. “Just get in line.” Paul pulled the lid off his coffee and sipped at the creamy foam. He looked over his cup at Spencer with a sparkle in his eye. “This’ll be the hottest technology since the PC, you’ll see.”
Spencer had something even bigger on his mind, but at the moment it had to remain with him. If nothing else, the meeting with the CIA and the following weeks spent with Steve had proved that he needed to make some alternate plans in case things got hot in Egypt. He was aware that between Egypt’s Department of Antiquity and the CIA, he could end up in a situation calling for a quick change of scenery.
“Paul,” I was wondering if you could do something for me while I’m in Egypt.”
“Sure, if I can. What do you need?”
“I’ll need to tell you something in confidence, okay?”
“Of course.”
Egypt’s Department of Antiquities has more power than I realized. I’ve heard stories that they employ spies to monitor the activities of digs and drillings. For Egypt, any destruction of ancient finds translates to money lost in the tourism business and any loss in tourism flips them out. Remember when I went to Africa the first time to look at the region?”
“Yeah.”
“We were followed by the Egyptians, our every move monitored. They can be very . . . persuasive . . .”
Paul frowned. “You’re worrying me—”
“No, don’t worry. It’s probably no big deal. I just need to be sure.”
“Okay, so what do you have in mind?” Paul asked.
“This may make you think I’m being paranoid, but when I’m in Egypt, I want you to discreetly find me a new apartment, possibly near the San Jose airport. It’s got to be completely secret. Tell no one and set it up under a fake name. Leave all of my things in my present apartment. Whatever I don’t take to Egypt can stay where it is.”
“Okay, that’s easy, but I’d really like to know what’s going on? Are you safe over there? It’s not like you to be paranoid.”
“It’s probably nothing, but I don’t want to take a chance. Rent some furniture for the new place too, or if you can find a furnished apartment, even better.”
“You mean you’re going to pay rent on both places?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to charge one of them off on my expense account.” He’d have plenty of discretionary money from the CIA, but he couldn’t tell Paul that.
“I’ll give you my e-mail address. When you have the apartment ready, just leave me a coded note. Say there’s a new cafe in San Jose, that you hear it’s great, and that we must try it when I get back. Get it?”
“Got it.” Paul scrutinized Spencer while sipping at his coffee. “You’re into something deep, I can tell,” he said, his eyes shining. “Whatever it is, I hope you’re having fun.”
“More than you can imagine,” Spencer said. “Once you’ve got the apartment, put the address with the key in an envelope and leave it with the concierge at the San Jose Marriott. Write on it, ‘please hold for Mr. R. Spencer.’ Let me know all the costs and use the cafe idea as a decoy.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Great, and remember this is just between the two of us. No one else can know.”
Spencer was taking all the precautions he could. Who knew what the CIA would do if things went against their plans.
Paul looked at his friend, concern in his eyes. “You’re not in any real danger Spencer, are you?”
“I don’t think so, but I like to have my bases covered.”
Paul spent the rest of the hour reminiscing about how much fun they’d had at Cornell pulling crazy fraternity stunts. He seemed to relax and was enjoying the idea of participating in a clever covert operation.
The two men stood to leave. Spencer walked to the counter, threw a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar, and winked at the blonde barista. She smiled and winked back. He didn’t think she’d overheard any of their conversation, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure she remembered his generosity.
Outdoors in the bright California sun, Spencer pulled his friend into a tight hug and patted his back. “Can’t thank you enough,” he said.
“My pleasure, I’ll take care of everything. Just relax while you’re in Egypt. Maybe you’ll meet some sexy Egyptian women to keep your mind off your paranoia,” he said.
Spencer’s chest tightened. He hadn’t thought of Roula since finding the unusual fragments. Where had she gone? “Yeah, maybe,” he said.
“When do you need everything ready?”
“Do it the minute I leave for Africa,” Spencer answered. “No one will be suspicious.”
“You got it.”
CHAPTER 6
The plane made its final descent over the Cairo airport. The early morning sun colored the sky a brilliant red. How many past generations had seen this sight? Early May in Egypt was pretty much the same as January. He hadn’t thought it could be any hotter, but it was. He’d be far too busy to let the weather bother him. He sighed and watched the desert sky as the plane taxied down the runway. Africa had never looked so beautiful.
“Mr. Spencer! How was your stay in San Francisco?” Antonio Casenza came at him across the tiled airport floor, looking like he belonged on Wall Street and not in the blazing Egyptian desert.
“Hello, Antonio. Am I that important already?” Spencer joked.
“I got the order right from McPearson. He wanted me to fill you in on our permit situation right away.”
McPearson had told Tom Detton that Antonio was key to the project’s success. After the CIA had completed it’s background check on Antonio, something Detton had demanded and that had made McPearson’s face look like an overripe tomato, Spencer had received permission to brief Antonio on the project.
“Antonio, we need to talk about something important . . . somewhere secure.”
“Yeah, sure,” Antonio said. “I’ll take you to the hotel. After you’ve had a chance to rest a bit, call me and I’ll pick you up.”
Later that day Antonio slipped in his black Mercedes into the chaotic Cairo traffic and took Spencer to a large, modern home in an affluent part of Cairo. “Welcome to my home,” Antonio said.
The pair sat under an umbrella on the verandah sipping iced tea served by a tawny Egyptian maid while Spencer explained the situation to an incredulous Antonio.
“Mamma mia! You’re planning on digging a two-and-a-half mile mineshaft . . . in secret? ”
“Yes, with your help and the help of the CIA.”
“I’ll tell you right now, it’s going to be impossible to keep this from the Egyptian government.”
“I know. We’re going to tell them that we discovered precious metal. It’s not really a lie. We think that what we’ve found is some kind of metal, and it sure is precious.”
“The CIA has a plan. If the inspector’s get too suspicious, they’ll supply us with samples of gold to offer them. Calpetro will promise a large percentage of the gold find to Egypt. We think they’ll jump at the chance. What do you think?”
“Very risky. If they find out that this is all a front, they’ll shut us down faster than you can up-link to the CIA and tell them about it.”
“Detton thinks they won’t shut us down as long as they see gold coming their way.”
“Okay, so that explains why we’re digging a large mine shaft. How long do you think it will take to drill a mine to the eighteen thousand foot level? You’ll need some damn accurate data to give me a heads up and still have the lead time to remove whatever you find before the Egyptians see it.”
“I don’t know yet. I need to find out what equipment is available. We’ve been authorized to work three shifts a day, so I estimate an average of eighty feet daily. For a seven day work week without interruptions, that translates to about a year.”
“In that case, I’d ask the Egyptians for double that time, two years at least.”
Antonio rocked back in his chair and took a sip of his tea. He gazed at Spencer with dark, unreadable eyes. “So who’s going to keep the inspectors quiet?”
“You are, Antonio. We’re counting on your expertise.”
“Ah, so that’s why I’ve been brought in on this.” Antonio chuckled. “I should’ve known.” He sighed and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Calpetro will need new contracts with Egypt. Part of the contract is the assurance that the project will be kept secret. For them, the downside will be obvious. Gold can make people crazy, and the last thing they need is an Egyptian gold rush.”
“That’s what the CIA is banking on,” Spencer said. “Egypt’s losses would be huge if thousands of gold-diggers showed up in the Valley of the Pyramids.”
“Whoever came up with this idea is pretty damn smart.”
“I can’t take the credit. It was the CIA’s idea. We’ll be able to dig our shaft without any interference from Egypt.” Spencer swirled the ice cubes in his empty tea glass. The CIA had come up with a great plan, but too much depended on how well Antonio could manage the Egyptian gatekeepers. What other option was there? He’d have to stay on top of Antonio’s actions if this was going to work. The maid refilled their glasses and disappeared into the house. He tilted his head toward Antonio, who was staring into the distance over the reading glasses that once again looked ready to slide off his nose. The man rubbed his bald head absently and his face was more pinched than usual.
“Antonio,” Spencer said, breaking the silence. “I have full confidence in you. I know you’ll make a great presentation to the Egyptians and get us the necessary contracts and permits.”
Antonio gave him a strange, crooked smile, and a light came into his eyes. He seemed to be imagining the political intrigue and strategizing that this deception would require. “I think this is going to be a fun one,” Antonio said, his smile broadening.
“You know what, Antonio,” Spencer said. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
When Spencer arrived back at his hotel there were a half a dozen messages awaiting him. One in particular made his stomach tighten. It was from Steve Sullivan, the CIA operative in charge. Steve was on his way to see Spencer to do a preliminary inspection of the site. The constant CIA monitoring was going to be a pain in the ass. He had to gain Steve’s trust if he was to get any freedom here. He’d have to keep reassuring Steve that he was on board with the CIA and be sure to run this project to the strictest CIA imposed standards.
At least until they found what they were looking for.
Steve had left instructions to meet him at the US military base near Cairo at nine a.m. the next day. At nine sharp a large C130 transport plane taxied to a stop. Steve emerged waving to Spencer and signaling him over.
“Spencer, over here. Just wait till you see what I got you.” He was grinning like a big kid.
Maybe managing Steve would be easier than he’d thought. He walked over to where Steve stood. “What do you mean, you got me something?”
“Look.”
The back of the C130 opened and the crew unloaded a large vehicle.
“A motor home?” Spencer asked.
“No, not a motor home… a CIA state of the art FOU”
“A what?”
“A CIA Field Operation Unit”
Spencer walked over to the vehicle and peered in the driver’s side window. “What does it do exactly?”
“This unit was designed to spec for this operation. It has equipment for communicating with headquarters over secured channels. You’ll have full access to our local tracking devices over this region.” Steve walked the length of the vehicle, sliding his hand along its side the way one pets a beloved animal. The guy had to be the biggest gadget geek Spencer had ever met.
Steve stopped by the side door and fondled the handle. “I think I told you before, we have a geodesic orbit satellite in this region. You’ll have twenty-four hour visual communication with headquarters. Our lab will be at your disposal. If you run into any problems, we are ready to jump in.”
Spencer gave Steve his most charming smile. He didn’t want the CIA jumping in the middle of anything, but for right now he needed to play along. “This is cool, what else is on board beside satellite hook ups?”
Steve’s eyes lit up as if Spencer had finally asked the question he’d been waiting for. “Come see for yourself. You’ll be amazed.”
Spencer climbed inside and gasped. The unit was obscenely luxurious. It contained all the modern conveniences from a microwave oven to a subzero refrigerator. He opened a few cupboards and the frig. He found the kitchen stocked with enough food to last for months. Along one wall stood a massive entertainment center flanked by a handsome desk with a state-of-the-art computer. He sunk into the microfiber sofa and then stood and moved to the matching recliner. He then walked to the back of the rig where he found an elegantly appointed bedroom and full bath. Damn, it was good to be the government.
“The entire unit is bulletproof and the generator is powered by batteries that are a top secret design, only used by the military.” Steve’s words tumbled out, like a kid whose brain was working faster than his mouth. “The batteries have a guaranteed life of six to eight months, even if you run the unit daily for twenty-four hours a day. The unit will recharge the battery packs whenever you’re driving, with the power alternating between two independent battery systems. Come here, let me show you something.” Steve took Spencer outside and opened a storage compartment hidden within the vehicle’s design. This is where a spare battery set is stored in the unit for emergencies.” He popped open a few more compartments. This is all for your gear.” His eyes lit up as he opened the last compartment. “Here’s a reverse osmosis system for drinking water and a sewer waste system that’s separate from, but circulating through, the reverse osmosis.”
“This is beyond anything I expected,” Spencer said. “I wonder what a rig like this costs—”
“That’s a question you never ask.” Steve laughed. “With this unit you could live in the desert totally self sufficient for eight months.”
“Great, I’ll turn into a monk.”
Steve laughed and clapped him on the back. “You’ll love this unit at the job site. It’ll be your home away from home. We can even up-link your favorite TV shows.”
“Doubt I’ll have much time for that.”
Steve sat down at the desk and pulled out the keyboard. He clicked a key and the monitor lit up, the CIA emblem filling the screen. “The security in this rig is unparalleled. Watch this . . .” He typed in a few codes. “This’ll blow you away.” The screen switched to a detailed map of the airport and surrounding area. A tiny curser flashed on their current position. This unit is equipped with a satellite positioning system so you’ll always know your exact position.” He typed another code. “You can also activate perimeter scanners that detect any intrusion up to a hundred feet from the unit.” The screen shifted and now looked like an advanced radar system. The unit is equipped with infrared detection and jamming so that at night you can be made virtually invisible.” Steve looked up at Spencer, an expectant look on his face.
Spencer uncrossed his arms and leaned in to get a better view of the screen. “Wow, man,” he said, “this is better than Star Trek.”
“No shit,” Steve said. “The unit is waterproof too, and it’ll navigate in water.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that out here,” Spencer said.
“Yeah, right,” Steve said with a frown. “But,” his face brightened, “it’s also hermetically sealed to protect you from a chemical gas attack. You have an emergency air supply system that’s good for ten days. As a defense system, the unit is equipped with state of the art weapons, including laser guided missile capabilities. We could take out a satellite in space with this baby if we had too.”
Spencer shuddered. What did the CIA think they were getting into here? “I sure hope we won’t need any of that,” he said.
“We at the Department cover all the possibilities,” Steve said, with a reassuring tone. “We live in a hostile world. It’s my job to be prepared for anything. You will most likely never need to know about the weapons system on this unit, but they are there just in case.” Steve went on to explain the many features of the computer system and the incredible capacity it had. Spencer was assigned an e-mail address and with his level five clearance, he had full access to the encrypted CIA computer system.
“Spencer, I also got you a personal vehicle that you will use to drive the daily commute to and from the site.” With that, Steve ordered the men to unload the four-wheel drive jeep. “This jeep” he said, “is loaded with special equipment also. You can up-link to our satellite from here.” He pointed to the GPS screen inside the vehicle. Oh, and you can up-link from your laptop computer anywhere on the planet.”
Spencer put his hands on his hips and sighed. If this was the technology the CIA was willing to tell him about, who knew what kinds of advanced systems they might have that were classified beyond his clearance. He let his gaze slide from the jeep to the FOU and back again, and his mouth went dry.
Steve opened the door of the jeep and waved Spencer into the driver’s seat. “We have a few more surprises for you, Spencer, but we can cover the rest over lunch. Let’s go to the hotel, I’m starving.”
While Steve gulped down a super-sized burger and plateful of fries, he covered some of the daily procedures that he expected Spencer to follow. Spencer was to provide a full report on each day’s progress and any unusual findings. Steve would be at headquarters monitoring daily activities and helping in any phase of the project, as needed. “Believe me, if you need computer assistance or any other service, I’ll be there for you.”
That was what he was afraid of.
When Spencer arrived at the site, the shiny FOU was in place. He’d never seen so much equipment and material or so many men for a single project. Matt Garrett was there, busily giving directions to his crew while Spencer went over the final details of the actual drilling site. Steve had personally located the unit in a strategic spot overlooking the entire site, yet far enough away to reduce the deafening sounds of the heavy equipment. Representatives from the Egyptian government attended the opening ceremonies and congratulated Antonio and Spencer on finding the site.
Antonio had drafted a bulletproof agreement. The Department of Antiquity was aware of the need for secrecy and the immediate area was surrounded with a perimeter fence that would keep it off limits to locals. Antonio had negotiated a twenty-four hour guard at the main gate as well as a patrol along the perimeter fence. The media had been kept in the dark. As far as they were concerned, this was just another oil drilling site and not worthy of coverage. Since ecologically this site had minimum impact, the media had no interest in covering the story anyway.
During the first few weeks, work proceeded without interruption, and Spencer’s life fell into a daily routine. The project involved the drilling of two parallel mine shafts; the main shaft and the air and emergency shaft. Approximately fifty feet separated the two to ensure ground stability. Both shafts were to be concrete lined for added stability. A depth of fifteen to twenty thousand feet had never been attempted before on land, only in ocean drilling. Logistically, this was a monumental project requiring a special dumping site for all excavated fill and a concrete site for the pouring of the lining. Special support bracing along the wall of the shaft was designated every fifty feet. These braces doubled as support and as a guide for the main elevator. A man-lift was to be installed in the airshaft. This lift operates as an open elevator with a running vertical belt on one side. Every twelve feet a platform would be installed for a man to stand on while holding onto specially designed straps. This lift would be used for quick evacuations if needed. Both the main elevator and the man-lift would be powered by separate generator systems as back up. In order to work at night, massive lighting systems were installed at the digging area and around the immediate surroundings. Trucks carried the excavated fill to a nearby dump area and massive concrete pumps continually filled the newly created wall cavities. In order to expedite the project, quick-setting cement was used to solidify the outer walls so that the vertical excavation could proceed uninterrupted.
Since the abrupt departure to the US to meet with the CIA, Spencer had been working non-stop. He was in desperate need of some down time. Jeff Miller had asked Spencer to join him for drinks a few times, but he’d always turned him down. When Jeff approached him with the idea this time, Spencer took him up on it.
They went to the usual hangout that was filled with university students, the place where he had met Roula. Her beautiful Greek face filled his mind and his stomach tightened.
And then she was there.
Roula, sitting in the farthest corner of the bar as if she’d never been away, her face buried in a book, and her dark hair shining under the dim bar lights. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. He made his way over to her, determined to tell her so.
“Hi, Roula.”
She took off her glasses and looked up. Her dark eyes brightened and she smiled. “Ralph,” she said, “oh my god, it’s great to see you.”
“Really?” he said. “I thought maybe you never wanted to see me again.”
“Oh, gosh . . . I’m sorry I never called. I had to go back to the States . . . suddenly. My aunt was in an accident and summoned me to her bedside.”
“I’m sorry, how is she?”
“Uh, she died.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
“I’ve thought about you a lot. I was sorry when you didn’t call.”
“I’ve been thinking about you too. I never got to see your drilling project. I’m really sorry—”
“You’ve already apologized. It’s okay, really.”
“If you forgive me, then are you still willing to show me the site? She flashed her pretty white teeth at him and her eyes deepened a few shades.
The look on her face was enough to knock a man off his feet. Damn, the woman was gorgeous. But how the hell was he going to get her into a classified project. There had to be a way. He’d just have to figure it out. He placed his hand on his chest and bowed. “I would be honored to give you a special tour.”
“It sounds fascinating, and thank you for forgiving me.”
“Okay then. Give me a few days to make my office presentable and I’ll be your host.”
“You don’t need to clean your office for me. I understand African dust. I live in it daily.”
He needed to buy time to prepare for her visit. She might ask questions that he couldn’t answer. He also needed to figure out a way around Steve. Refusing her the tour now would look bad and could jeopardize whatever their relationship might become. He tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I just need a little time to get settled and organize my crew. I want to make a good impression when you visit. After all, I should look like I know what I’m doing, I am the boss.”
“So you’re in charge, huh? Impressive.” She tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and scribbled her number on it. After folding the paper in two, she handed it to him between two long fingers. “This time, I’ll wait for your call.”
Spencer typed his personal password, ZEBRA@WORK, onto the slim keyboard and the monitor screen flickered to life. Beneath the CIA logo the word OPERALI appeared on the screen. OPERALI was the CIA’s code word for the mining project. Steve had told him that it stood for “Operation Alien,” but insisted they’d come up with it as a joke and that no one at the CIA really believed the substance to be from outer space.
He keyed in another code and a few moments later Steve’s smiling face appeared on the monitor.
“Hey Spencer, what gives?”
“I need some guidance . . .” warmth crept up his back and into his neck. The situation was awkward, but he had to get Steve’s blessings. “I met this girl—”
“You need my advice about a girl? I’m probably not the best guy for that kind of help.”
Spencer’s face turned hot. “No, nothing like that. I met her while drilling at the site a few months ago, you know, before all hell broke loose. I really like her. Anyway, she wants to visit me at the site . . . and now everything’s classified . . .”
Steve grinned. “Okay, so who is she?”
“She’s a Cornell graduate doing a thesis on hieroglyphics.”
“Hmm.” Steve scratched the stubble on his chin. “It could be tricky given the nature of the project. Although, creating secrecy among your friends might cause unwanted curiosity. That’d be worse than if we treated this as a normal project.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Listen, I’ll check her out and get back to you, but I’m not making any promises.” He grabbed a pen and notepad out of his desk drawer. “Now give me all the details on her.”
Spencer told Steve the little he knew about Roula and then fell asleep watching television. He had been working an average of sixteen hours a day and this was the first day since he had arrived back in Egypt that he had forced himself to relax. He woke up two hours later to Steve calling his name from the laptop monitor.
“Listen, Spencer, we checked out your friend.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, that’s a very interesting woman you’re courting there. She’s a real brain in hieroglyphics. Actually, she’s considered an expert in the translation of several as yet unknown writings found in Southern Israel. She’s also received several large scholarships from the Egyptian Department of Antiquity.” Steve rubbed his cheek stubble and sighed. “That worries me.”
“Why?” Spencer asked, yawning sleepily.
“Because money often has strings.”
“What kind of strings?”
“Let’s just say that Egypt could ask for favors in return.”
“You mean that she could be doing dirty work for Egypt?”
“It’s possible. We have no evidence of any such activities, but we need to be cautious.”
“I don’t know this girl all that well, but I can’t imagine her being bought by anyone.” An image of Roula filled his mind and his lips twitched.” What do you suggest?”
“I want to help you out here, I really do, but I’m not sure . . .” Steve took a couple of swigs from a Diet Coke then leaned back with his hands behind his head. “I suppose that if we keep things simple—”
“She thinks we’re only drilling for oil,” Spencer offered. “She has no idea how an oil operation should look . . . and the mining shafts could be explained as procedural.”
“I suppose, we just have to be careful,” Steve said, his face brightening. “I have an idea, tell her the site has a huge deposit that will last far into the next century. Then tell her the oil has a high viscosity so it has to be extracted differently. That’ll explain why we need broader access to the deposit, to properly get at all the oil.”
“Do you think she’ll buy it?”
“Don’t see why not, she’s studying hieroglyphics, not mining.”
“Cool,” Spencer said, with a nod. “Thanks for not pulling the plug on me. I really like this girl.”
“Spencer, my boy, I can see why. She’s wicked beautiful!”
“Have you seen her?” Spencer asked, his brow raised.
“Naw, I have pictures of her in the file,” Steve grinned, a dark look in his eyes. “I told you we were thorough.”
“Right.” Spencer nearly choked on the fake laugh he offered Steve. “There’s no doubt you guys are good at your jobs.”
Spencer clicked the off icon and the connection ceased. He stared at the screen for a long moment. Roula could visit his project, which would give him a chance to spend several hours with her. That was the good news. But would she believe his story? And what about the CIA's intrusion into her life? She’d be livid if she knew the CIA had investigated her, or that Steve had gotten off looking at her photos. His stomach wrenched. It was all because of him, because he’d wanted to impress her. And what about Steve’s concerns about her ties to the Egyptians? It was hard to imagine Roula being bullied by anyone. Yet the Egyptian government was damned ruthless. And Roula had mysteriously disappeared for several weeks. He’d have bought the sick aunt routine without question, except it was the very same lie he’d planned on using when he had to go back to the US unexpectedly. He stood up and shook himself. His imagination was taking him places he had no desire to go. Was he being paranoid? Maybe. But he had a helluva lot to be paranoid about.
Roula arrived at the site in a sparkling gold tank top, tight denim shorts, and with a beautiful smile on her full lips. “So tell me all about your big project,” she said.
His eyes were locked on her long, slender legs. God, how he’d love to run his hand along one of those beautifully sculpted thighs? His fingers tingled. He could only hope that one day he’d have the chance to touch her thighs and so much more.
“Spencer?”
“Huh . . . what?”
“I asked you to tell me about your project . . . and take a look at this site trailer. Very impressive. Calpetro must have money to burn if it can equip your field office like this.”
“Yeah,” he said, his face warming. “I guess they like me. I was told that this is standard equipment for an operation in such a harsh climate, but it’s definitely state of the art.”
“Well good for you. Cornell let’s me fend for myself. I’m lucky to get a tent at my field site.”
“A tent in the Egyptian desert doesn’t sound like much fun.” Although he wouldn’t mind seeing how much fun the two of them could make in that tent.
“More fun if you were my sheik.” She made a clicking sound out of the corner and her mouth and winked.
“Cute.”
They both laughed and then fell into an awkward silence. “So anyway,” he said finally, “this project has potential for being one of the largest oil deposits ever found. I was approved for a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week work schedule… a tent just wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, Ralph,” she said, laying her hand on his chest. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m teasing you. I love your home away from home. I just hope that I can come by once in awhile. I really enjoy your company.”
Now that was what he wanted to hear. “I enjoy your company too,” he said. “Of course you’re welcome anytime.” Just how he’d get her into the classified site another time he didn’t know. He’d have to worry about that later. “Now, let me give you a tour of this place.” He handed her a yellow hard hat. “Here, you’ll have to wear this.” He took her hand and walked her over to the mine. “These monstrous machines over here are specially designed for digging the mine shaft. The excess dirt will be transported to a local dump site,” he said pointing to three large trucks. “And over there,” he pointed, “we make fast-setting concrete for the shaft’s outer lining.”
“I don’t get it,” she said, her dark eyes gazing into his. “I thought you drilled for oil. Why the mine?”
“This site is unusual. Our exploratory drilling showed that the viscosity of the oil is so dense here it would be impossible to pump the oil out of the ground. So, Calpetro decided to gain full access through a mine. It’s worth it for such a rich deposit. ”
Her gaze swept over the concrete plant, monstrous dump trucks, the FOU, and mine. “It doesn’t seem very cost effective. It looks more like your mining for gold.”
Damn, the woman was perceptive.
“Or something just as valuable,” he said with a shrug. “As big as this find is, we could cover most of our fuel needs for the next century. This deposit is way too large to leave to chance. It could balance the oil reserve from the Arab nations and keep our fuel at the pumps affordable for a long time to come.”
“What happens if most of the cars in the next century are electric,” she asked with an elbow to his rib, “then what?”
“Good point. Calpetro projects that by 2040 seventy-five percent of all vehicles on earth will be electric, at which point the bulk of this oil will be refined for jet fuel. The viscosity is perfect for that use.”
She looked up at him, the light of curiosity shining in her dark eyes.
He touched the small of her back and steered her toward the mine’s entrance. “Let me show you the progress we’ve made,” He should have known that with her sharp mind she would have lots of questions. The problem was that sooner or later he was bound to run out of clever fabrications.