The Athena Project: A Thriller Page 8

  “With the Soviet Red Army advancing, Kammler’s team abandoned the facility and blew up the entrance. There was a much smaller, very well-hidden secondary entrance, which took the team two days to find.

  “When they got inside, they discovered that the complex had been flooded. Scuba equipment was air-dropped to the team, and they salvaged the documents they could and then photographed as much as possible. Because of sheer size, they were not able to extricate any of the equipment.

  “They’d only brought a certain amount of explosives with them, so they had to choose between trying to blow the submerged equipment and collapsing the hidden entrance to the complex.

  “They decided to destroy the equipment, but were only partly successful. The Red Army was almost on top of their position. After they had called in two airstrikes, the third finally hit the target dead center and completely sealed off the secret secondary entrance.”

  “So we’re here to make sure the doors are still closed? Why?” asked Cooper. “It doesn’t make sense. Like Megs said, this research facility is more than sixty years old.”

  Casey shrugged. “Ours is not to reason why. We’ve been tasked with reconning the complex and reporting back. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  “And after that,” said Ericsson as the women watched a handsome man exit the hotel and climb into the black Range Rover idling in front with his bodyguard detail, “I think I may have found my full set of teeth.”

  As Casey watched the Range Rover roll away from the front of the hotel, a bad feeling started to well up from deep within the pit of her stomach.

  CHAPTER 14

  There was no need to draw straws. Jean “John” Vlcek was Julie Ericsson’s contact, so she needed to be the one to go meet him. And as usual, wherever Julie went, so did Megan Rhodes.

  Vlcek had pitched a fit about having to leave his zip code. It wasn’t until Julie played the age card and asked him if he was worried that he couldn’t find decent senior discounts outside Prague that he agreed to meet the women halfway, in a town called Beroun.

  Vlcek was a former Delta operative who had served in the Bosnian invasion, taken a liking to that part of the world, and decided to retire there. He was a part-time consultant to the Czech firearms manufacturer CZ and held a minority interest in a tequila bar and music venue in Prague. He had also been one of Julie’s first instructors when she had joined Delta. It was precisely how she knew he was so sensitive about his age.

  A gentleman and a professional, Vlcek had arrived at the bar well in advance of Ericsson and Rhodes. It would have been impolite to make the ladies wait for him to get there, and old habits died hard, so he arrived early enough to reconnoiter the bar, get a feel for the clientele, and make sure it wasn’t under any sort of surveillance. When Julie and Megan walked in, Vlcek stood to greet them.

  He was in his fifties, with long gray hair that he kept tucked behind his ears. He sported a gray Van Dyke and had piercing blue eyes beneath thick gray eyebrows. His nose was long, but not unattractively so. He was good-looking, in a rugged sort of way. “Hello, Ms. Ericsson,” he said, putting his arms out for a hug.

  Julie walked right up and embraced her former instructor. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “How’s the leg?”

  Ericsson had been shot a couple of months back when the team had been taking out a terror cell in Chicago. She stepped back from him, tapped her leg, and replied, “Good as new.”

  “Ah, to be young again,” said Vlcek.

  He was staring at her teammate when he said that, and she couldn’t tell if he was referring to the ability to heal quickly or his interest in Megan. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “John, this is Megan,” she said. “Megan, John.”

  “Damn, you’re tall,” said Vlcek.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” replied Rhodes.

  “And good-looking, too.”

  So much for the benefit of the doubt. “Easy, big fellah,” said Julie.

  “How do the boys at the Unit get any work done with you ladies around?”

  Megan didn’t miss a beat. “All their trousers have bull’s-eyes painted on the flies,” she replied. “And we’ve got Tasers.”

  “Ouch,” said Vlcek as he placed his hand over his crotch, and Megan winked at him.

  A waitress came over as they took their seats, and the trio ordered coffee. They made small talk and caught up until she came back, and then they got down to business.

  “Were you able to get everything on the list?” asked Ericsson.

  “All business, this one,” said Vlcek to Megan. “I bet she does all the heavy lifting for your team.”

  “We all do the heavy lifting. That’s why it’s called a team.”

  Vlcek dismissed the remark with a wave. “What I mean is that she’s happy doing what needs to be done, even if it’s not the most glamorous stuff. I’ll bet she does most of the team’s driving, right?”

  Megan’s eyes widened. He had her nailed. “Totally.”

  Vlcek smiled. “Driving is often one of the team’s most important jobs. She never screws it up and she’s always where she’s supposed to be when she’s supposed to be there. Am I right?”

  Ericsson tried to interrupt, “John—”

  Vlcek kept going. “She may pretend not to like some of the work, but if you’re smart, you’ve made her the rock of your team. She’s someone you’ll always be able to count on. It came through on her pysch profile and I saw it for myself firsthand. Julie was consistently the most dependable person I ever trained—male or female.

  “The shrinks said it had to do with being the oldest and helping her mother raise four brothers and sisters. That’s BS. Julie is a thinker; a detail person. She sweats the small stuff, but it doesn’t paralyze her. She may go out drinking with you all and get crazy, but don’t let that fool you. She’s going to know how many drinks you’ve had, who owes what, and who’s walked in and sat where since you’ve been there. She’s also going to make sure all of you get out of there and get home safely. That goes double when you’re under fire. I would have put her on one of my teams in a heartbeat.”

  Rhodes was stunned. Finally, she said, “Wow. That’s one hell of an endorsement. If I wasn’t so good at reading people, I’d say you were just desperate to get her into the sack.”

  “Megan!” chastised Ericsson, her cheeks flushing. “John was my instructor. Our relationship has always been 100 percent professional.”

  Vlcek looked at Rhodes and it turned into a leer. “You, on the other hand, I didn’t train, so anything that happens between us I’m happy to make one hundred percent personal.”

  Megan, the consummate tease, leered right back at him. “You promise?”

  “You’ve got big stones, don’t you?” he asked. “Not afraid of anything or anyone. No problem pulling the trigger and always the first one through the door. Am I right?”

  Megan shrugged. “I’m really the shy, retiring type.”

  “I am right. Stone cold killer, it’s written all over you. I’ll bet your dad was an accountant, or a lawyer, or something like that.”

  “Nope.”

  “He wasn’t a priest, was he?”

  Rhodes laughed. “He was a cop.”

  Vlcek hadn’t been ready for that response. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Did you have any brothers?”

  “Only child. And he raised me by himself.”

  Vlcek raised his hand like an imaginary pistol and pulled the trigger. “That explains everything.” Leaning forward, he added, “I’ll also bet you’ve got a thing for older male authority figures.”

  Megan winked at him again. “A girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

  Ericsson rolled her eyes. “Can we get back to the list, please?” she interjected.

  Vlcek, whose eyes were still locked on Megan, said, “Sure.”

  Julie waved a hand in front of his face to break his stare and get his full
attention. When he finally broke off looking at Rhodes and turned to face her, Ericsson repeated her question. “Were you able to get everything on the list?”

  Vlcek nodded. “Yup. No problem.”

  “Good. What can you tell us about Zbiroh? We’ve been given very little background.”

  “The man who owns the castle is supposedly a Czech organized crime figure.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “I don’t know the guy. All I know is that in the Czech Republic, if you’re successful, everybody thinks you must be corrupt. It’s a mind-set held over from the communist days. The only thing people seem to be able to agree on is that he’s a pretty unsavory character. His name is Radek Heger,” said Vlcek as he punched up a picture on his phone and showed it to them.

  Rhodes recognized him right away. “We saw him when we were pulling up to the hotel,” she said. “He got into a black Range Rover with his security detail.”

  “All ex–Czech Special Forces,” stated Vlcek. “They not only do his security work, they also are in charge of excavations at the castle.”

  “What kind of excavations?” asked Ericsson.

  “The whisper is that Heger didn’t buy that dilapidated castle to turn it into a hotel or to help preserve a piece of Czech history. He bought it so that he could exploit any of the treasure the Nazis might have left behind.”

  Rhodes took a sip of her coffee and said, “Why hire ex-SF personnel for that?”

  “Because the crazy Nazis boobytrapped everything. The men Heger hired have EOD experience. They know how to dispose of all the hand grenades and other explosive devices the Germans rigged their tunnels and vaults with.”

  “If there’s anything of value at the castle, why didn’t the Czech government go after it themselves?” asked Ericsson.

  “Easy. They didn’t have the money or desire. Nobody knows if there’s anything there at all. The place was crumbling, and when Heger offered to buy it, the government said yes, provided Heger completely restored it and opened at least part of it to the public. They also strong-armed him into the hotel that now takes up the south wing.”

  “But obviously he believes there’s something there, or he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble and expense.”

  Vlcek nodded. “There’s lots of stories about gold and priceless pieces of art being hidden there. In the waning days of the war, villagers saw tons of things being transported up to the castle, but when the Nazis fled, they did so empty-handed. So whatever was up there must still be up there.”

  “Anything else you can tell us?”

  “Besides the fact that the castle survived a couple of near misses from bombing runs at the end of the war, that’s about it.”

  They drifted back into small talk as they finished their coffees. By the time they walked outside, they didn’t know much more about what they were looking for, or what had gone on at Zbiroh Castle, than when they had arrived.

  In a secluded area ten minutes outside of town, they transferred the gear Vlcek had procured for them into the trunk of their car.

  Giving him one last hug, Julie Ericsson said, “It was good seeing you again, John. Thanks for your help.”

  “It was good seeing you, too,” he said. “Be careful. And tell the rest of your team to be careful, too. If even half of what they say about Heger is true, you’re better off staying as far away from him as possible.”

  Vlcek then gave Rhodes one last, long look from head to toe and said, “See ya, Stretch,” before getting into his beat-up car and pulling back out onto the road.

  Megan pretended to hold a phone to her ear and teasingly whispered, “Call me.”

  As Vlcek disappeared from sight, Rhodes looked at her teammate. “God, that guy has you pegged.”

  Ericsson didn’t respond.

  Megan was about to say something else until she caught the look on Julie’s face. Reality was already settling back in. The visit with John Vlcek was over. It was time to face what they had all been quietly trying to ignore. There was something about this operation that they weren’t being told.

  CHAPTER 15

  DENVER, COLORADO

  She’s not going to screw up,” said Ben Matthews, as he and his partner, Dean Pence, sat in a dark blue Mazda in a parking garage downtown. “She’s a professional.”

  Pence was fifteen years Ben’s senior, with black hair graying at the temples. They were discussing Victoria Suffolk.

  “Really?” replied Pence. “Supposedly, so were those Russian spies the Bureau caught in New York.”

  Matthews nodded. Pence had been at the FBI a lot longer than he had. If anyone knew how the espionage game was played, it was Pence. In fact, this entire operation had been his idea.

  Neither of them really knew what the government had built beneath Denver’s sprawling international airport. All they were certain of was that it had attracted a lot of attention from foreign intelligence agencies.

  Matthews figured that it probably served as some sort of continuity-of-government facility, a place the United States could evacuate members of Congress and other key political figures to if there was ever a major threat to the nation. Of course, they’d have to have enough advance knowledge to get them from D.C. to Denver, but that didn’t seem impossible.

  Pence, though, disagreed with him. He figured it was some sort of modernized command-and-control structure meant to replace North American Aerospace Defense Command’s operations in the aging Cheyenne Mountain Complex. What better place to coordinate the nation’s air defense from, than an airport? he had asked.

  Whatever the U.S. government or the U.S. military was doing beneath Denver International, they certainly had gone to interesting lengths to camouflage it.

  Matthews could remember visiting the once top-secret congressional fallout shelter beneath the Greenbrier Hotel in West Virginia. In the late 1950s, at the behest of the U.S. government, the Greenbrier had built an entirely new wing to disguise the massive excavations needed to construct the bunker. The public had absolutely no knowledge of its existence until an investigative reporter, acting on an alleged tip, blew the lid off of the program in the mid-1990s.

  But for some reason, the powers-that-be behind Denver International had taken a completely different approach.

  In February 1995, despite massive protests, the city of Denver closed its previous airport, Stapleton International, and opened the brand-new Denver International, or DIA, as it was commonly called. It was the largest international airport in the United States and was allegedly built to allow Denver to step into the future, yet with fewer gates and fewer runways, the new airport actually had reduced capacity.

  It was built in a severe high-wind area that often forced the delay and cancellation of flights. Originally budgeted at $1.5 billion, by the time it was completed, the price tag had risen to $5.3 billion. Some said that was due to incompetence. Others said it was by design.

  Despite the fact that the fifty-three-square-mile site was perfectly flat, great effort was made to raise some areas and lower others. When all was said and done, over 110 million cubic yards of earth had been moved, the equivalent of one-third of the earth moved for the Panama Canal.

  The construction had begun with five unusual buildings built below grade. As soon as they were completed, they were deemed to have been built incorrectly. But instead of being demolished or retrofitted, the buildings were simply buried.

  There were up to eight levels of sub-basements beneath the airport itself and almost ninety miles of tunnels, many large enough to drive semi trucks through. Air vents and exchangers could be seen popping up from the ground at even the most remote, barren corners of the enormous property.

  Surrounding the entire fifty-three square miles was a continuous barbed-wire fence. But the barbed wire was not angled out, as it was at other airports. It was angled in. And things only get odder from there.

  Satellite imagery showed that the runways had been laid out in a rough swastika pattern.

 
Inside the airport were two enormous, highly disturbing murals, which many claimed to be a manifesto hidden in plain sight.

  In the first mural was a Nazi soldier wearing a gas mask with dead women and children scattered around him. In the second, a city burned in the background as Third World populations died and a handful of the elite, in specially sealed containers, were saved from the raging apocalypse. Had Ben not seen these murals for himself, he never would have believed they existed. They were right there, out in the open for anyone traveling through the airport to see.

  Embedded in the floor near the murals were the letters Au Ag, which was the abbreviation for the deadly toxin Australian Antigen. In other places bizarre acronyms like DZIT, DIT, and GAII appeared.

  Then there was the granite cornerstone in the main terminal, supposedly laid by the Freemasons and packed with Masonic symbolism. Engraved upon it were the words “New World Airport Commission,” despite the fact that there was no record of any such commission ever having existed. Ben had researched for himself.

  Mysterious electromagnetic pulse phenomena supposedly had cracked airplane windshields and caused people to fall ill. Fifteen acres of Teflon-coated radar and infrared-signature-resistant woven fiberglass covered the roof. The queen of England and other elites were rumored to be snapping up real estate around DIA, while contractors and construction workers had been allowed to work only for short periods on the project before being replaced, allegedly so that they didn’t grasp the scope of what they were working on.

  Throw in what appeared to be open-air elevator shafts big enough to swallow 747s, along with a terrifying thirty-two-foot-high statue of a rearing blue horse with glowing red eyes that airport officials claimed was necessary to ward off evil spirits, and you had a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.

  It was almost too much in Matthews’s eyes, which was exactly what made him suspect that was the government’s intent. So many crackpot theories had exploded around DIA that every single one of them was laughed off by anyone with half a brain. Little green men could walk out of baggage claim and hail a cab, and the whole thing could be reported on the front page of the Denver Post, complete with photos, and not a single sane person would believe it.