The Mongol Objective by David Sakmyster Read Free Book Online Page B

grate slammed onto the concrete floor with a force that echoed in his ears like a thunderclap.
    He turned, about to try to push the outer vault door shut, when he saw Montross standing there, gripping the bars like a prisoner in a cell.
    “Caught you,” Alexander said triumphantly.
    Montross released the bars and stepped back as the vault door drifted nearly shut. Breathing deeply, calming himself, he turned and scrutinized the room, seeing now the grate opening in the ceiling, the notches he should have noticed in his visions.
    The boy continued talking through the gap in the outer door. “Guess you didn’t see that coming, did you?”
    Montross stopped, lowered his head and gave the kid a stare, considering all this. Then he pointed through the crack. “There’s my sketch book. Look at the last page.” He turned back and approached the Emerald Tablet, saw it shimmering, giving off a surprising bit of heat, its strange symbols appearing not only three-dimensional, but multi-dimensional . Layers upon layers, hundreds of levels deep.
    His head spun and his stomach felt tingly, a little nauseous.
    “Oh crap,” he heard the boy say, the words so distant. “You did draw it—this exact scene.” Then he looked through the window, gathered his courage and yelled, “But you’re still trapped in there!”
    Montross returned, pressed his face against the thick glass porthole, let his lips pull away into a smile; and before heading back for the tablet, he said, loud enough for Alexander to hear:
    “Oh, I’m not trapped.”
     
    6.
    The air transport left within the hour, Caleb, Phoebe and Orlando sitting in the back with fifteen empty seats, painfully aware of the loss of two of their members, including one traitor. Wiped out again , Caleb thought, holding his head as if he could still hear their screams.
    “I was responsible,” he said somberly, staring out the window at the dawn rising over the vast horizon of blue ahead of them. “We need to bring them back, their bodies. Notify Ben’s family, tell them . . . I don’t know.”
    “It’s not your fault,” Phoebe said as Orlando worked on his iPad.
    “I feel as callous as Waxman,” Caleb said as he crossed his arms over his bruised ribs, “and as selfish. But we need to get back.”
    “We’ve called the police; they’re on their way to our house.”
    “It’s probably already too late.”
    “Hopefully you were seeing the future,” offered Orlando.
    Caleb shook his head. “My visions are usually firmly rooted in the past. Can we connect with the police?”
    “Trying,” said Orlando, using the VOIP voice connection on the laptop. “But they keep putting me on hold.” He looked up, and his voice trembled. “I think they’ve got a problem.”
    #
    The first officer barely got out of the cruiser before he was shot through the heart. The round had punched through the driver’s side window as he was opening the door, and he’d only had a moment to guess where the gunshot had come from before he fell back, sliding along the car and down. His partner, instead of ducking and radioing for backup, pushed his way out the passenger side, and drew his weapon.
    He turned, stood up and opened fire at the front of the house, having seen movement in that direction. His bullets strafed the door, shattered four windows and exploded an outdoor light. For a brief second he allowed himself a measure of satisfaction. That got those bastards .
    But then the door kicked open and a man in a ski mask, limping on his right leg, swung an HK MP5 submachine gun in his direction and let loose a hail of metallic death.
    #
    Lydia hit the deck as soon as the first man aimed out the window. “Robert, down!” she yelled as a barrage of gunfire burst through the house. Glass shattered, wood screamed, and one of the masked guards spun around, half his face a bloody mess.
    Cavalry’s here , she thought, as Robert dropped beside her. Then she saw the other guard kick open the door and