Sleeping Giants (Themis Files #1)(6)

The air bag slammed into my visor and knocked me out when we hit the ground. I woke up a few minutes later. I was alone in the helicopter. An old man in a white cotton tunic was trying to undo my restraints. He must have been at least sixty. He had dark, leathery skin. He looked at me and mumbled something he must have known I couldn’t understand. Then he just smiled. Some of his lower teeth were missing, but he had very kind eyes. I regained my composure and helped him unstrap me from the seat.

He helped me out slowly, putting my arm over his shoulder. Someone grabbed my other arm, a young girl, maybe sixteen years old. She was very pretty. She kept looking down, spoke only a little bit when the man addressed her. He could have been her father, maybe her grandfather. They sat me down about a hundred feet from the helicopter and the man gave me some water out of a canteen. The young girl showed me a piece of cloth and gestured toward my forehead. As I didn’t object, she put the wet cloth over my right eye. She removed it and quickly put it away, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice the blood.

—Where was your co-pilot?

—I didn’t know at first. It took a minute or two before I noticed several people gathered a few steps behind the helicopter. I couldn’t make out any of their faces, only their shadows against the turquoise light. I got up. The young woman kept repeating the same few words—“don’t get up,” I suppose. I started walking toward the light. I made it to the edge of this huge crater that defaced the pistachio field. The light was so bright.

Mitchell was there with some locals. He grabbed my arm and put it around his shoulder, then held me to his side. He seemed genuinely happy to see me. I’m not quite sure what we were staring at, but it was the most awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever seen.

It looked like a whale made of dark metal—maybe a ship, or a submarine, though it seemed a little small. It was sleek and curvy, like the body of a 747, but with no apparent opening, no propeller. It looked more like an Italian work of art than it did anything practical. Turquoise veins were running through the surface at regular intervals forming a weblike pattern.

—How long were you there?

—I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes. We were distracted by the sound of other helos and the wind blowing sand in our faces. Four Blackhawks landed around the crater, letting out more Marines than I could count. They brought Mitchell and me to one of the helicopters and we took off immediately. The Marines on the ground were moving people away from the crater. I saw two of them attempting to stop the local police from approaching the site.

—Yes, it was…unfortunate…that the local authorities got involved. It would have been a lot easier had they arrived a few minutes later. Please go on.

—That’s it. There’s nothing more to tell. I was taken to the infirmary at the base in Turkey. Then they flew me here for eye surgery an hour ago. How did you even know I was here?

—Does it really matter?

—I’ll take that to mean you won’t tell me. Can you at least tell me what that thing was?

—The State Department is now asking the Turkish government permission to repatriate wreckage of a secret WWII airplane found by local farmers in the Urfa Province.

—You’ve got to be kidding. Some old plane wreck didn’t bring down my helo. You really expect me to believe that?

—What you believe is not particularly important at this juncture. What is important is what the Turkish government believes. What they need to believe is that we are taking a seventy-year-old US plane wreck back to America.

—So what was it?

—What do you think of Chief Mitchell?

—You’re not going to answer my question?

—…

—Mitchell’s fine. He handled himself well.

—That is not what I meant. What do you think of him personally?

—Look, I nearly died because there’s a big shiny thing out there capable of bringing down a fully armed Blackhawk helicopter from a distance in a matter of seconds. You really wanna know what I think of my second on a personal level?

—I do. I am well aware that your helicopter crashed. I would have to be blind not to see that you find it insufferable not to know why. If time were not an issue, we could talk about it for a few hours to validate your feelings, but I have to leave soon.

You may see what I ask as insignificant. What you must understand is that I have access to a tremendous amount of information you are not privy to. Consequently, there is very little you can tell me that I do not already know. What I do not know, and what I wish to hear from you, is what you think of Mr. Mitchell.

—What do you want me to say? I was with him for an hour and a half. We’re both from Detroit. He’s two years older than me, but we went to some of the same schools. He thought that was quite a coincidence we ended up on the same bird. He likes country music, which I can’t stand, and neither of us thinks the Lions will make the playoffs. Is that personal enough for you?

—What is his first name?

—I have no idea. Ryan, I think. Are you going to tell me what that thing was? Can you tell me if there are more of these things lying around?

—Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Resnik…

I almost forgot. If it means anything to you, your former co-pilot also said you were the best pilot he had ever seen.





FILE NO. 007


INTERVIEW WITH DR. ROSE FRANKLIN, PH.D., SENIOR SCIENTIST, ENRICO FERMI INSTITUTE