Page 23 of Transformers-Revenge of the Fallen

  The Decepticons were not there. Their malicious presence had been eliminated from the satellite image.

  “All quiet on the western front,” one of the many military aides present observed with satisfaction as he studied the screen. “We’ll have the imagery for about ten minutes, sir. Then we lose ’em.”

  “Understood.” Odd, Morshower thought. Noth­ing of much consequence seemed to be taking place. Well, no doubt clarification would be forthcoming. “Let’s establish comms.”

  On the backside of the hacked surveillance satel­lite, Soundwave chuckled to himself as he continued to monitor and doctor the communication. The next step would be to lock and subtly manipulate the transmitting images so that it would appear that the Autobots were simply changing their position from

  time to time. A pity, he thought to himself, that the humans on the ground would not be able to see what was actually taking place.

  As for the orbiting Decepticon, his vision of what was happening far below was considerably different from the one he was passing along to the human au­thorities, and he was enjoying both versions im­mensely.

  A human driver in a car of any kind would have long since been chewed up and spit out by the re­peated attacks of Megatron and Starscream. Able to anticipate, predict, and avoid the tactics and weap­onry of the two alien aircraft, Bumblebee and the Twins somehow managed to avoid being blown to bits and their human occupants turned to organic sludge. Being able to go off-road on the flat, hard desert surface that flanked the two-lane pavement aided their evasive efforts considerably. But they could not avoid the relentless assault forever. One did not have to be an experienced military strategist to realize as much.

  “We gotta split up.” Sam seemed to be speaking to empty air, when in fact the individual he was address­ing was all around him. “Bumblebee, you lead ’em away. ”

  “Sir, yes Sir!” the Camaro’s speakers barked, quot­ing from yet another unknown radio recording.

  A tense Simmons looked across at the young driver who was not driving. “I’ll go with the Twins and help draw their fire. You kids get to those soldiers and get outta here!”

  Their eyes met. For the first time, something be­sides animosity and suspicion passed between the two men: one young, afraid, and determined, the other experienced, world-weary, and knowing. Admira­tion, perhaps, seasoned with a touch of gratitude.

  Sam nodded. He might have gone with the ex­agent, but there was Mikaela to worry about, and the still-extant faint hope that he might, just might, be able to do something for someone who had once saved his life.

  “Thanks.” Reaching forward, he lovingly stroked the dusty dash. “And Bumblebee—give ’em the ride of your life.”

  They waited until both Decepticons were ap­proaching the distant terminus of their most recent dive. Then the three cars pulled close together and screeched to a stop. Sam and Mikaela scrambled out of Bumblebee while Simmons headed for Mudflap.

  “It’s up to me, one man alone. Betrayed by the country he loves and the planet that doesn’t even know him. Now he is their last hope in the final hour of need!” Half singing to himself, half monologuing, he turned and looked back at those he had once thought to imprison.

  He was smiling.

  “Plus you guys, of course. Mission’s a go! Move- move-move!”

  Sam nodded gratefully. Considerably less apprecia­tive, Mikaela eyed the ex-agent a moment longer. Then she relented, blew him a kiss, smiled, and joined with Sam as together they raced for the nearest build­ings.

  Simmons was just settling behind the wheel of Mudflap when the passenger-side door of the tiny car swung open and a second figure slid into the empty seat. Face flushed with the kind of excitement that re­places fear, adrenaline pumping wildly, Leo looked over at the startled ex-agent.

  “Drive. I’m coming with you!”

  Simmons shook his head. “You’ll never make it, kid! Bravery’ll only get you so far.”

  Sam’s roommate didn’t back down. “Wanna talk about bravery? You live with your motherl”

  “Okay, that was a test,” Simmons replied more so­ciably. “You passed. And hey, when all this is over— just make sure there’s a plaque for me in Washington. Be great to get the Navy Cross—’cept I was never in the navy.”

  Leo grinned back. “Bet I can get your picture up in the post office. ”

  Simmons started to snap back, paused, and broke out in a wide grin. “Whatever. Good luck.” Turning his attention forward, he slapped both hands down on the waiting wheel. “Okay, small-but-tough—let’s see what you can do!”

  As the Twins and Bumblebee roared off in opposite directions, Sam and Mikaela safely reached the out­skirts of the abandoned town. Rusting construction equipment provided temporary cover as they worked their way toward the nearest intact structures and the camouflaged, heavily armed men waiting among them. More than once they had to duck under shelter as the frustrated Decepticon leader and his main min­ion came thundering past overhead.

  Doing everything but popping spinning wheelies and flashing their trunk lids at the airborne enemy, the Twins taunted the two Decepticons with sounds as well as gestures. Within the complaisant Mudflap, Simmons worked the wheel like a Nascar driver on a rainy track in Mississippi.

  “My little alien friend, prepare to be driven like never before. You got the maestro behind the wheel.” Weaving crazy curves in the desert and wild turns on the road, he sang out as he directed the diversionary effort. “One man alone, oh it’s one man alooonnneV’

  In the passenger seat beside him Leo was scream­ing, but with ire rather than enthusiasm.

  “Stop saying that. I’m in the car too!”

  Alive and unscarred, Sam and Mikaela reached the first of a series of empty whitewashed buildings and ducked inside. There was a back door, but it had been bricked up. A front window had been hand-made from pieces of bottle glass. As they debated whether to expose themselves and break for the center of town, something weighty shook dust from the ceiling: heavy footsteps, just outside. Covering Mikaela, Sam crouched low.

  “I don’t think they saw us come in here. Get down—not a peep! Once it’s clear we run as fast as we can for Optimus.” One hand gripped the sock full of glistening black sand as if it were a truncheon.

  She indicated the sock. “What if this doesn’t work?”

  “It’s gonna work,” he growled hoarsely.

  “But what if it doesn’t?”

  “Look, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I just know that we have to try—because Optimus would do it for me”

  His response steadied her. This was the Sam Witwicky she knew, the Sam she had fallen in love with. Right or wrong, success or failure, she was with him. Whatever might come.

  His other hand tightened on her arm as he stared at the bottle window. “Okay, on three we run. Outside and to the left. Ready? One—two—shit...”

  Massive and slow-moving, more footsteps sounded

  just outside their refuge. Shadows obscured the light that had been pouring through the window.

  As they drew farther back into the building, they were careful not to disturb any of the debris that was piled in places on the floor. A length of rusty rebar caught Sam’s eye, and he used it to delicately punch a hole through the crumbling wall. It was enough to allow him to see outside but not enough to draw at­tention.

  What he saw was not encouraging.

  Though the hole did not allow enough of an angle for him to make out individuals, the metal figures outside were clearly speaking Decepticon. While he could not see faces, all too many previous encounters did permit him to recognize one set of massive feet.

  Starscream.

  Conversing among themselves, the Decepticons sounded none too pleased. Starscream in particular was ripping off rapid-fire streaks of angry dialogue as if he was ready to start tearing into the ground itself. As Sam looked on, his eye glued to the peephole he had made, something suddenly blocked part of his view. Attracted to
the hole, the bug came crawling toward him.

  Well, fine. He’d let it in and it could pick out its new home while he resumed his watch. But instead of flying toward safety, once inside it came straight toward him, landed on his leg, and let out a single sharp chirp. A decidedly electronic chirp.

  It was a very small Decepticon.

  The satisfaction Sam felt in smashing it was miti­gated by the sudden silence that descended outside their hiding place. It lasted just long enough for him to realize that he much preferred the sounds of De­cepticons arguing among themselves to the ominous hush when the roof was ripped aside.

  Executed with a decided lack of surgical precision, the removal caused the rear doorway to crumble. As intent alien lenses searched the interior of the old structure, its two inhabitants bolted toward the town.

  With no time to choose another hideaway, they rushed into the nearest open doorway—and fortu­nately kept moving toward a rear stairwell as the room behind them was torn apart. The stairwell led to a traditional flat roof. Now within the town itself, they were able to jump from rooftop to congruent rooftop. Behind them the enraged figure of Star- scream pursued, tearing apart every intervening wall and structure in his path.

  Leaping from roof to roof with no more plan in mind than to stay ahead of the rampaging Decepti- con, they landed on the next in line—and promptly crashed through the rotten ceiling boards to land hard on the floor beneath.

  Chairman Morshower found himself growing in­creasingly discomfited as he studied the main monitor in the Joint Ops room. It continued to display high- resolution images of the Jordanian gulf-side village and the men of the NEST team moving in and around the abandoned buildings. Moving, searching, and ap­parently finding nothing.

  What was starting to really bother him, however, was that they were saying nothing. He turned to the row of tech specialists.

  “Something’s not right here. Lennox’s team’s got the latest quantum crypto gear; we should have heard something from them by now.” His eyes swept over the group of aides and technicians. “Somebody tell me why we can’t establish radio or cell phone con­tact. ”

  “We’re hailing them on every frequency and mode in the book,” the nearest aide responded. “We’ll keep trying, Sir.”

  Cupping his phone, the admiral standing nearby looked up to relay a message. “Sir, White House Chief of Staff wants confirmation for our intel for de­ploying the Roosevelt battle group into the northern part of the Red Sea.”

  Morshower pursed his lips. “Understandable. Tell him—it was a hunch.”

  Like anyone who had achieved such exalted rank, the admiral had been in the service a long time. Long enough to take the chairman’s response at face value. “Don’t think the President’s gonna like that answer, Sir.”

  “Nope.”

  Admiral and chairman regarded each other for a moment. Then the admiral nodded, turned, and re­sumed speaking softly into his phone. Meanwhile, Morshower returned his attention to the main moni­tor. His gaze took in first one readout and then one subsidiary set of monitor images after another before he made yet another critical call. Having gone as far as he had, there was nothing to be gained by exercis­ing caution now.

  “This doesn’t add up,” he declared to any and all within hearing range. “We should’ve heard from Lennox long before now. We need to contact the Jor­danians, see what air assets they’ve got in the area. They’ve cooperated by blocking off the zone. Tell them we’re experiencing difficulty getting a clear view of what’s happening on the ground and that we need better imagery now.” He turned his attention to the officer in charge of communications.

  “Get General Fassad. I’m gonna ask him to clear some UAV overflights. We need some way of confirm­ing the satellite visuals we’ve been receiving. Another channel, different eyes—something.”

  The aide was hesitant. “If they say no and we launch a Global Hawk into their no-fly zone, it’s an international incident.”

  Morshower was adamant. “We’ve got to verify what’s going on down there. Launch it. Rather beg their forgiveness than be too late with something. I’ll take the heat.” A grin spread slowly over his face. “Tell them we’re checking up on clandestine Israeli naval maneuvers and that we’ll pass along anything we learn. That ought to satisfy them in Amman and Cairo.”

  The minister did not like to run. He had bought his shoes in Milan, and running tended to scuff their oth­erwise mirrorlike surfaces. But he had no choice. Not today.

  He was out of breath by the time he reached the king’s office, and his honorific bow was perfunctory at best, but the king took no umbrage.

  “What is it, Marouf?”

  “Majesty: the Americans are requesting our assis­tance as well as fly-over clearance.”

  The king frowned and put down the pen he had been using. “It’s not a drill?”

  “No, Majesty. It has to do with this peculiar busi­ness on the coast south of Aqaba. The one we were told involved some sort of covert training exercise. They believe there may be a problem with some of the technology. ”

  The king considered this, then nodded slowly. “Give them what they need. Keep an eye on them, but give them what they need.”

  The Twins were forced to skid to a halt as the side road they had taken dead-ended in an open quarry. At the far end, looming above the open pit, stood an ancient pyramid, its massive size accentuated by the deep excavation. As both Autobots paused in their uncertainty, Leo looked out the back window.

  “They’re not following us anymore. Neither of ’em. I don’t think this worked. Or if it did, they’ve caught on to us.”

  Simmons nodded and climbed out while the younger man exited on the other side. Together they stood examining the road behind them as well as their present surroundings. It was evident that the quarry, unlike the town, was the scene of ongoing ac­tivity. A giant green-painted hauler stood next to a big dump truck. Not far from these two vehicles, a front loader idled next to a giant construction crane. As the two visitors stood and stared, shading their eyes from the glare of the sun, three more construc­tion vehicles came rumbling into view from another part of the quarry.

  “So, uh,” Simmons commented as he studied the oncoming machines, “what exactly do you think these people are working on here? This equipment is too big and clumsy for archeology.” He gestured at their surroundings. “It looks like they’re digging for something, but I don’t see any cut stone, slag heaps, mine tailings—nothin’.” He was tensing up all over again. “And I don’t see any people workin’, either.”

  “Maybe they’re all on lunch break?” Leo sounded more hopeful than certain. “Assuming they have lunch breaks around here. Maybe they’re mining sand.”

  Simmons eyed him as if he had just flunked the third grade. “Why would you have to ‘mine’ sand around here? It’s all sand.”

  Leo was ready to argue that there were many dif­ferent kinds and grades of sand when the three newly arrived construction vehicles joined up with the four that were already present. They did not park parallel to one another, or trundle off in a line to commence some excavation work; instead, seven shadows began to merge against the sun-baked floor of the quarry as the seven metal shapes fused together, piling one atop another to form a single Decepticon whose massive bulk blocked out the sun.

  “Did you know they could do that?” asked a stunned Leo.

  The ex-agent had to tilt his head back to take it all in. His reaction was characteristically Simmons.

  “This ain’t gonna go our way ...”

  class="center">*

  On the far side of the abandoned town, Lennox’s team had taken up the best defensive positions avail­able. Men were loading sabot-tipped Sideswipe mis­siles and preparing equally devastating yet compact munitions, while the altered Autobots stood ready to give free rein to their own weapons.

  Such a sight would surely have been encouraging to Sam and Mikaela—had they been able to pause long enough to admire it
. Explosions had begun to erupt all around them as the perturbed Decepticons stopped ripping buildings apart in favor of blowing them up. The subsurface passageway into which they had fallen provided some cover as they ran down its length. Raising an arm, Sam pointed unnecessarily. The cor­ridor ended at a set of stairs that were fortunately still intact. Without waiting to see where these led, they scrambled upward and found themselves running down an empty alleyway.

  It didn’t stay empty for long.

  The concussion as the huge Decepticon landed be­hind them nearly jolted them off their feet. Fighting to maintain his balance, Sam reached out to help steady Mikaela. In so doing he found himself looking straight back down the alley at the Decepticon that had come up behind them. As he stared, its chest opened to reveal a sizable internal compartment. In­stead of firing at the two fleeing humans the Decepti­con leaned forward, dumping the contents of this compartment into the dirt. To Sam’s shock, they were immediately recognizable.

  Ron and Judy Witwicky.

  Mikaela grabbed his arm, urging him to keep run­ning, but he could not. How could he when his par­ents were sprawled on the ground behind him, groan­ing as they tried to pick themselves up? As they fought to rise, one of the Decepticon’s arm cannons inclined downward until it was pointed directly at them, its muzzle held only feet away from his mother’s back.

  “Give me the Matrix,” the Deqepticon growled, “or your parents die.”

  No debate, no equivocation. That was the Decepti- con way. Comply without delay or face the conse­quences. Still, Sam hesitated. The sock and its gritty black contents dangled from his right hand as he stood in the alley, swaying slightly.

  Having picked himself up, a bruised and filthy Ron Witwicky blinked at his son. “Please, Sam, please— listen to me, son. I want you to ...”—he looked back up at the metal giant towering above him and his wife—“I want you to run. Whatever it is these things want, don’t give it to them! Go, get outta here!”