This is easy. I swim to the dock and follow the edge to the shore. When I’m able to touch bottom I crawl up, remove my fins, and climb out of the water into the shadows. I avoid the boardwalk altogether and make my way up a concrete slope to level land. This is where I’m most vulnerable to being seen, so I quickly skirt into a grove of trees that abuts the docks. I get lucky and find a water drainage pipe built into the ground where I can store my SCUBA gear. The sky is clear and I don’t expect rain, so the stuff should be safe nestled inside the pipe. I strip off the tank, BCD, and other gear and leave it. I retrieve my headset and goggles from my Osprey and I’m ready.
It’s a three-mile hike to Famagusta Center. Since I’m keeping to the shadows and avoiding streetlights, it takes me nearly an hour to get there. Now it’s nearly three in the morning and I have two, maybe three hours before dawn.
The property is in a clearing outside of Famagusta, just off the main highway. At the moment a wire fence surrounds the grounds. Signs written in Turkish and English read: Keep Out — Construction Hard Hat Area. Other signs proclaim — Famagusta Center, Opening Soon! Vendor Space For Rent! The place is well lit with floodlights, trucks carrying debris periodically leave a loading dock area at the back of the complex, and men in hard hats go in and out of various entrances. That’s a clue right there that something’s afoot — construction employees normally don’t work in the middle of the night. These guys appear to be working feverishly to meet some kind of deadline. Lambert’s probably right — Tarighian means to use his weapon as soon as possible.
I’m unable to see an area of the fence that’s not covered by the bright lights. I’m beginning to wonder how the hell I’m going to get inside when providence intervenes. A pair of headlights appears on the road near where I’m crouched, and they’re headed my way. When it’s close enough I see that it’s a professional electrical company’s van, and there’s a lone driver inside. The van passes me, not traveling very fast, so I jump up and toss a rock at it. As the van slows I run behind it and slap the back doors a couple of times, loud enough for the driver to hear me. He slows even more and stops. When he lowers the window, I’m there with the Five-seveN pointing at his nose.
“You’re going my way,” I say. “Can I have a lift?”
He doesn’t understand the words, but he gets the meaning. I keep the gun trained on him, walk around the front of the vehicle, and get in the passenger side. I tell him to drive on as I crouch on the floorboard, my pistol stuck against his potbelly. He’s obviously frightened and I tell him to calm down. He nods and proceeds.
We get to the gate, where he stops the van and lowers the window. The guard there asks him something in Turkish and the driver replies, reaching for a clipboard on the passenger seat. He shows the guard the front page on the clipboard, and we’re cleared to go through. I take the opportunity to rise and peer through the windshield. I see a parking area where several vendor and construction vehicles are stationed, so I point him over there. As soon as he parks the van and shuts it off, I get in the seat beside him, motion him closer, then conk him on the back of the head.
“Sorry,” I say, but he doesn’t hear me. I lay him on the floorboard, look to see if anyone is watching, take the keys, and then get out of the van.
There seem to be several public entrances to the building made up of glass doors that are most likely locked at this time. The workers and guards are using the loading dock I saw earlier. This appears to be for a major department store, the biggest vendor in the complex. I want to avoid the heavy traffic areas and find another way in, so I opt for a set of glass doors. I scan the lightpoles for security cameras and see none — but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. I’m afraid I have to be a little reckless at this point. I’m running out of time and I want to get in and get out as quickly as possible. So what do I do? I walk out into the light, head for one of the public entrances, and use my lock picks to get inside.
No one sees me that I know of.
I’m inside the building. The lights are off here in a main corridor that passes through the shopping center. Empty storefronts line the sides of the hallway, and I find it odd that none of them are named yet. For a mall that’s set to “open” soon, from what I can see there are no real stores inside.
I move toward the central core of the mall, a wide open space that connects three wings and a passage to the unnamed, big department store. Overhead is the huge domed ceiling, and there seems to be a line on the underside dividing it into halves. A few lights are on here, so I hug the walls and try to use natural cover to mask my movements. Then I hear the sound of a motorized vehicle in one of the other dark wings, so I crouch and wait for it to come into view. It turns out to be one of those three-wheeled golf carts like the ones they used at Akdabar Enterprises in Turkey. Two guys dressed in security guard uniforms are inside.
The cart rolls past me, headed for the department store wing. It’s now or never, so I make my move. I run and chase the back of the cart, jump onto the back end, and surprise the two guards. Before they can react and say, “Hey!” I slam their heads together. One guy goes out, but the other one must have a hard head. He leaps out of his seat at me, pushing me flat onto the back of the vehicle. It continues to move forward but swerves for a wall. The guard hits me hard in the face, producing a star-filled slate in front of my eyes, but I bring up my knee in a classic Krav Maga below-the-belt crotch crunch. This causes my opponent to freeze with shock and pain.
At that moment the cart crashes into the wall. It’s a good thing it wasn’t traveling at a very high speed, or it might have attracted some attention. Instead it makes a dull
Neither guard is armed, but I relieve one of them of a security keycard. I imagine it will come in handy at some point.
I creep into the dark department store, which is — surprise, surprise — empty. But on one wall there’s a double door that looks like a big elevator. Of course, now I see what this place is. It’s not a department store at all but some kind of staging area. Supplies and stuff are brought in through the loading dock and taken to this double door — which I assume is the main entrance to whatever it is that Tarighian’s hiding. I start to move toward it, but I hear footsteps in the darkness near the loading dock area. I wait until I see two guards walk out of the shadows and to the double door. One of them inserts a keycard, the doors open, and they go in.
When the doors close, I run across the floor and use the stolen keycard to open them.
I nearly gasp aloud when I see what’s on the other side. There’s a long ramp sloping to a brightly lit underground level that’s full of workers. I leap to the side, out of the doorway, and roll to a position behind a stack of crates. I
Quite literally, it takes my breath away.
It’s a goddamned missile silo. Or something like that. The level I’m on is really a circular, perimeter “balcony” that looks down onto the lower level, much like a rotunda. In the middle of the bottom floor sits a gigantic cannon- like apparatus made of alloy and steel. The base appears to be about a hundred feet square and looks as if it weighs a few tons. Surrounding the base is a massive mechanism of hydraulics that raises and lowers the weapon. The cannon-barrel is about 100 meters long, several meters thick, and sits perpendicular to the ground floor, pointing straight up. The thing probably raises from a deep well in the ground so that it extends the full length into the air.
My God! I suddenly realize what it is! I
It’s a Babylon supergun, complete and ready for use. The shopping mall is nothing but the enclosure for the weapon. When they want to fire it, I imagine the supergun is raised to the ground level, where it sits in that central, empty space beneath the domed ceiling. The two halves of the dome separate, like an observatory, and the barrel extends into the sky as far as it will go.
Incredible! No, it’s fucking
Now I realize what those blueprints were that I saw in Tarighian’s office in Turkey. Albert Mertens, Gerard Bull’s right-hand man, designed this thing. And it’s a jaw-dropping masterpiece.
From what I remember of Bull’s original Babylon supergun and what it’s able to do, this version looks very similar. I’m guessing here, but I’d say that’s a 1000mm gun that utilizes tons of propellant to fire a humongous projectile over a range of up to 1,000 kilometers.
I immediately snap some pictures of it with my OPSAT and then type a text message to Lambert. I tell him what I’ve found and that I’m going to try and sabotage the thing. At any rate, he needs to get the United Nations, or NATO, or whoever the hell he can persuade to help out, over here as soon as possible and bomb the
