4

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden listened to the man he had pushed into his position at the CIA, Daniel Peachtree. His eyes kept flitting toward the man who sat in the high-backed chair next to him, Hiram Vickers, with apprehension as Vickers kept looking at his watch and his cell phone. Peachtree thought they had a golden opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“I don’t see how the president can get out of this one,” Camden said. “I mean, starting a war over this silly space engine? The American people would crucify him, and they will after he has to go public with the fact that we and the Russians are taking on the Iranians over a possible fairy tale.”

“I’m beginning to think that it may not be as big a fairy tale as you may think,” Vickers said. “Back in 2006 during another administration, the CIA filed some very strange reports on an incident in the Arizona desert. I’ve sent the reports to your e-mail and would like your opinion on them.”

Camden eyed the man and then cleared his throat.

“Mr. Peachtree has informed me of the president’s little slip about Chato’s Crawl and I did some snooping on my own. Yes, the CIA did make an attempt in 2006 to acquire that very same asset the president is leaning on so heavily, but was informed by the field commander at the site that the alien involved was killed during the event. Our predecessor never pursued it.”

“So this action in the desert actually did take place?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. And that in and of itself backs everything the president has deemed necessary for us to hear in order to get his military toys in order. Everything else regarding Operation Overlord is being guarded from the public and certain aspects of our government in a far more secure manner than even the Manhattan Project was in the forties. Yes, gentlemen, I believe there is something imminently bad happening and it’s scaring the hell out of not only our president, but the Russians, Chinese, French, and British. And when all of those military machines start getting scared other bad things are bound to happen.”

Vickers cleared his throat, knowing he was still in very deep and hot water where Peachtree and Camden were concerned, so he chose to speak only when it benefitted him. “Did the field reports from the company name the man that was in field command of the event in the desert in 2006?”

“You know it did, Mr. Vickers. The commander was a Colonel Sam Fielding, 101st Airborne Division, killed in action, same mission.” Camden watched Vickers for a moment and saw the disappointment on his face. He shook his head. “But I’m here to tell you Vickers that this, while maybe not your lucky day, may be a godsend for you … and us.”

Peachtree looked from Camden to his associate, who looked up expectantly.

“Yes, his name is all over the reports; even received a presidential citation—a citation that lists no unit or even his real military rank.”

Vickers began to smile. “Jack Collins.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes, it seems we may have lucked out on this one. Now here is something you’re both not going to like.” Camden picked up a thin sheet of paper and handed it to Peachtree. “The man you used to formulate and reinstate the Black Teams for Mr. Vickers. Your Leavenworth asset?”

“You know what the code name means?” Vickers pushed in rudely with the question.

“It’s not a code name, young man. With a little arm twisting I finally got to the truth. The name you referenced, the Matchstick Man, is what the surviving alien is being called by this mysterious think tank the president uses. Real name is Mahjtic.”

“I’ll be goddamned,” Vickers said aloud. “Mahjtic, Magic, they can’t be that simple?”

“So simple the CIA and your good offices couldn’t connect the dots, and if you ever use the Lord’s name in vain again in my presence I’ll make sure you wind up counting Russian penguins in some far off, very bad locale. Am I clear?”

Vickers wanted to look at the Speaker of the House and flip him the bird but at that moment he thought that would not be a positive career move on his part. So he just nodded that he understood the threat.

“Now that you know just about what you need, Colonel Collins will not be touched or harmed in anyway.”

Both Peachtree and Vickers leaned forward in their chairs. Camden frowned and then held up a hand to stop the protests that were going to spring forth from the two CIA men.

“You two gentlemen have to stop and think. The blunder that Vickers here did by killing Collins’s sister is getting ready to come home to roost right here in this office—if I know your competence like I think I do.” Again he held up his hand when Peachtree wanted to exclude himself from the blunder that caused this whole mess. “Mr. Vickers, get one of your Black Teams together and gather as much intelligence on this Chato’s Crawl facility as you can. The president has been lying to the American people for nearly eight years about a battle in the American desert that may lead to this world being invaded by a hostile force.”

Peachtree relaxed when he saw where the Speaker of the House was going with his thoughts. Vickers, on the other hand, did not.

“As for your other man, this Captain Everett, he just landed right here in Washington, D.C.—possibly to reverse the presidential decision to revoke his naval resignation.” He looked at Vickers and smirked. “Or he’s coming here to see you, Mr. Vickers. If that is the case I would start my Arizona assignment as quickly as possible, because you know who else’s name is in those Arizona reports?”

“Captain Carl Everett,” Vickers stated flatly.

“That’s right, and I suspect he works in that same desert think tank that this Colonel Collins is assigned to along with that strange little bald man with glasses the president seems to lean on so much. Get to the desert, Mr. Vickers, with all haste and find out what you can to assist me in stopping this military spending insanity by the president, or guess what? You could have some very disturbing company coming your way. So don’t fail me, Mr. Vickers.”

Hiram Vickers had all of his power stripped from him and had been reduced to a field agent with the responsibility of a house cat. He decided that for the moment he would have to play their game. He stood, nodded at the two men, and left the office inside the gorgeous brownstone.

Camden watched him leave and then looked at Peachtree.

“That man is not to go to Arizona. I suspect that those two crazy bastards are coming after him, and if they get Vickers I’m afraid we will become exposed and brought into his foolish attempts at playing master spy. I want him elimin—” Camden stopped short of saying it. “Well, I guess I don’t have to voice that order to you of all people, do I, Daniel?”

“Vickers will be dealt with by one of his own Black Teams”—Peachtree looked at his wristwatch—“in just about thirty minutes. I’ve already warned all three Black Team leaders of the situation.”

“I don’t want particulars. The president seems to have ears everywhere.”

“You are not involved in this. Vickers has served his purpose. The technology he and his Black Teams came up with has made us quite a sum of money, thanks to the president buying up any and all war material for this fictitious fight.”

“Good, now let’s later discuss this so-called Russian invasion that’s brewing in Iran. If it succeeds, or even if it fails, I am going to crucify that sanctimonious son of a bitch in the White House, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Peachtree stood and buttoned his coat. “You don’t think Vickers would do anything on his own with that little green asset in Arizona, do you, if he makes it out of Washington?”

“Vickers doesn’t have the brains to screw me over, Daniel.”

*   *   *

As Vickers drove away through the quiet streets of Georgetown, he smiled. He had all three names and now he even had a location on where to start. He turned on his radio and started whistling a tune.

“Jack Collins, Carl Everett, and the Matchstick Man,” he mumbled to himself in the form of the song that was currently playing on his car’s radio. “All in all, not a bad meeting.”

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Niles, Virginia Pollock, and Matchstick had been sequestered inside the conference room for the past twelve hours. The remains of their dinner were spread across the large conference table, as were the many field reports from their field teams across the globe and others from archeological digs in France, England, Germany, and Russia. These countries knew the importance of finding a downed saucer with a mostly working power plant. If the president could not talk the Iranian leader into surrendering the prize, its recovery would cost many Russian soldiers their lives, not to mention the lives of Jason Ryan and Sarah McIntire. Thus far he hadn’t been able to convince their foreign ministry to even allow the president to speak to Rouhani. Niles laid down the report from China and removed his glasses in frustration. He looked up at Virginia.

“What did General Electric have to say about their attempt to restart the Chato’s Crawl engines?”

“No luck whatsoever. They lost two of their technicians just providing a nuclear jump-start to the pieced-together power plant. The explosion nearly took out their New Jersey facility.”

Compton laid his glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes. He looked back up, into the dark eyes of Matchstick. The small being sat silently on an elevated chair and chewed on a pizza roll that the chefs in the cafeteria had made especially for their guest. The remains of Gus Tilly’s sandwich sat untouched beside Matchstick. Six and a half hours ago the old prospector had excused himself and, with the assistance of Dr. Denise Gilliam, had gone to the clinic to be checked out for exhaustion.

Matchstick chewed on another pizza roll but remained silent, occasionally looking at the empty seat beside him left by his friend Gus.

Niles placed his glasses back on his nose and then looked up as the double doors to the conference room opened. Alice Hamilton, wearing a new, fresh dress, entered. Compton looked at his watch and noticed the time was three in the morning.

“What are you doing up and out at this ungodly hour?” he asked.

Alice walked over and kissed Matchstick on his green and very bald head and then looked at Compton. Matchstick smiled up at the woman and offered her one of the cold pizza rolls, which she accepted and popped into her mouth. She smiled and then made a face of disgust but managed to swallow despite the cold taste of the pastry. She held up a file and then slid it down the table to Niles. She returned to the head of the table to sit at her customary spot to Niles’s left.

“Your pitch to the Joint Chiefs of Staff paid off,” she said as she nodded a greeting to Virginia. “Three of them already had his name at the top of their own lists.”

Compton opened the file folder and perused the list of names, concentrating on the one name at the top and the number of staff members who concurred with the name submitted by Niles and the president of the United States. He nodded and closed the file. He knew that only a very few select personnel in six governments knew who led the list. Alice reached into the pocket of her print dress and placed two small black boxes on the tabletop just out of reach of Compton. He raised his eyes and took in the eighty-seven-year-old woman.

“They just came in this afternoon. I took them to the jewelers in Las Vegas and had the backs engraved.”

Niles smiled for the first time in what seemed months and then looked at Virginia.

“In 1941, what did congress and the higher-ups in the army think about President Roosevelt’s and General George Marshall’s decision?”

Virginia Pollock smiled. “Not well at all. As a matter of fact there was a significant push to have Chief of Staff Marshall removed from his post. Most said he had become incompetent, and that his choice of field generals was a clear indication that the old man could not begin to handle a world war. They wanted him removed, Niles”—she smiled even wider—“just like the politicians will want your head when that name is presented to them.”

“Well, personally the sons of bitches can have my head if this plan fails.”

“That’s only because if you and the president fail with Operation Overlord, there won’t be anyone around to demand your heads,” Alice said in her businesslike manner.

Niles laughed. “That’s what he and I planned—the perfect crime.”

Matchstick was listening and was very curious about the small boxes at Niles’s fingertips. He stood on the chair and, like a small child, stepped onto the table with his mouth full of pizza rolls and retrieved one of the small boxes, turning it over with his long fingers. He looked at Niles and the director nodded that it was all right for Matchstick to open it. He did, and his obsidian-colored eyes widened and his mouth formed the shape of that familiar O he had a habit of doing when amazed. The two stars gleamed in the recessed lighting inside of the conference room. Matchstick reached down and snapped up the other satin-lined box and opened it. There, a pair of stars were shining and the O was there again on the mouth of the alien.

“You know this hasn’t been done officially since the beginning of World War Two,” Alice said as she watched the reaction of Matchstick to the boxed ranks inside of their gilded cases. “I think the last man who wore colonel’s eagles and was selected to be a brevet general was Dwight Eisenhower. Congress is going to shit wide and hard when they get wind of this.”

“This war may be well over before they even become aware of it,” Niles countered with a sad smile. “Especially if that power plant is not recovered.”

Matchstick looked up from the two boxes as he snapped the lids closed. He looked at Niles long and hard.

“We will recover the engine.” He locked eyes with the small alien. “I promise.”

Matchstick seemed placated by Compton’s reassurance and returned to his chair, started to pop another pizza roll into his small mouth, and then quickly thought better of it. The information about the failure to find one of the many alien crash sites had taken a toll on his appetite. Mahjtic knew that without that alien power plant there would be no war, only a slaughter.

“Well, let’s get Jack in here as soon as we can and get a message and recall order out to Mr. Everett in Romania,” Compton said.

Alice didn’t respond. She exchanged a look with Virginia, who sat directly across from her. The assistant director of the Event Group saw that Alice was concerned about something as she slowly pulled a note from the same pocket. She looked it over and then looked up at Niles.

“Carl is no longer in Romania and Jack left the complex twelve hours ago.”

Niles was speechless.

“Jack left a message for me, with instructions to open it at eight tomorrow morning. Then I received a report from the State Department, telling me that Carl had used his passport to fly home on a commercial flight.”

“Where is he going?” Niles asked and not politely.

Alice remained silent for thirty seconds. “Washington. Carl flew into D.C. early this morning. If anything is going to happen it will be there. I took the liberty of opening up Jack’s e-mail early; it seems he had recent communication from Colonel Farbeaux. The subject matter in all of this is this man.” Alice opened her folder and pulled out the same photo Henri had sent Jack.

“Why does this guy look familiar?” Niles asked.

“That’s because you’ve sat in more than just one security briefing with the man. CIA—I think Jack and Carl, along with our French friend, have found the bastard that murdered Jack’s sister.”

“Did Jack and Carl have communication at any time in the last two days?” he asked as his anger grew.

“Not as far as Europa knows. Jack hasn’t seen or spoken to Captain Everett since the Group left Romania. I even went as far as checking out Anya Korvesky’s location.”

“And?” Niles fumed.

“She’s back in Israel, on active duty.”

“Which is a clear indication that something unforeseen has happened to make these three people move as quickly as they did. Carl would never have left that woman, he loved her,” Virginia said, trying to assuage Niles anger as much as she could. “And Jack knew that we had major problems mounting here. Besides, would he have left the complex knowing that Sarah was heading into harm’s way in Iran?”

Niles again angrily shook his head. “I didn’t tell him. Jack knows nothing about what we have ordered her and Ryan to do.”

“Niles, Jack should have been informed.” Alice knew that she was pushing the wrong buttons at that very moment, adding fuel to the fiery anger of Niles Compton.

“Jack is a soldier, he does not have to have everything explained to him. He cannot protect people all of the time. Sarah has a job to do.” He reached out, took the box that held the two shiny stars, and threw it against the wall. “And so did he, goddamn it!” Compton hit the second box and it also flew to the far wall and landed on the carpet. Niles placed his head in his hands and cursed again.

“Do you think Jack would do it?” Virginia asked.

Niles looked up with his swollen and reddened eyes. “You know he will, and Captain Everett, like a damn lapdog, will be right beside him. And then the two men we rely on the heaviest outside of Matchstick will be in jail for murder instead of where Matchstick and Garrison wanted them during the war. Damn it, Jack!”

Alice knew what had happened as soon as she received the note from Jack. He and Carl had somehow found out the identity of the person who killed Jack’s sister, Lynn Simpson. She shook her head, knowing that there was one thing in the world you could make a sure bet on: the fact that Jack Collins would kill the person responsible, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“What do we do, Niles?” Virginia asked.

Compton stood as he watched Matchstick slowly slide out of his overly large chair. He quickly came to a decision.

“Alice, call Kyle Stimson at the FBI and tell him to pick up Jack and Carl and place them into protective custody. Get them off the fucking streets before Overlord loses two valuable chess pieces that cannot be replaced. Inform Houston about the delay in getting Everett out there, and then inform General Wheeler in Japan that Jack is also on assignment but will arrive ASAP.”

Alice wrote all of this down.

“Are you going to inform the president?” Virginia inquired.

“What, that two of the main cogs in the wheel just went off to commit what amounts to premeditated murder? Oh, that would go over real well with a man that has more on his plate than Wilson, Churchill, or Roosevelt ever had.” He shook his head. “No, I will deal with this myself.”

Niles slowly walked to his desk and sat heavily.

None of them noticed that Matchstick had retrieved the two boxes and was staring at the stars inside. He looked up, walked over to the large desk, and placed them on the top even though he wasn’t tall enough to see it. The long fingers pushed them toward the director, then he turned and left the conference room.

Niles lowered his head, knowing that he needed to take the attitude that Matchstick was taking. He smiled lightly and reached for the brevet promotional ranks, then tapped his fingers on them.

“Jack, what am I going to do with you now?” he mumbled, then looked at Alice, who always had words to smooth things over.

She smiled in her coquettish way and batted those green eyes of hers at the director. She then became serious.

“What will you do with Jack?” She looked from Niles to Virginia and then back to the director.

Niles looked lost.

“This is what you do, just like you and I used to with Garrison: you sit here and hope that our agent in the FBI can stop them. If not, we hope he and Mr. Everett catch up to whoever this murdering son of a bitch is and kill him. Society can overlook this one minor infraction, I’m sure.” Alice gathered her things, then went to Niles and kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulder. “That’s what you do, Niles—trust in Jack, either way.”

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

The field glasses were tinted with an electrified liquid crystal, the newest creation of the Bushnell Corporation’s advancement in binocular technology; it assisted in the elimination of glare bouncing off the tri-lenses of the viewing system. The man saw the target emerge from the main building after nodding his head to several of the CIA guards who roamed the outside, looking as if they were men and women taking after-lunch walks. The watcher adjusted his lenses so he could make out the feminine features of the subject he was tasked to follow.

Henri Farbeaux tilted his head at what he would call the audacity of the man as he just strolled out the front doors of the CIA headquarters as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The colonel lowered his glasses and shook his head. He raised his small radio and hit the transmit button two times, then waited until he heard the responding three clicks in return. Once he had received the response he raised the glasses and studied Hiram Vickers. “Yes,” he mumbled. He knew automatically that this was the same man whose picture had been forwarded to him from Leavenworth. Farbeaux lowered his glasses and walked out from behind the stand of trees that fronted the open gates of the Langley facility. He walked to the small side street that was only a hundred and fifty yards away and waited. Soon a black rental car pulled up and he stepped inside. He took a deep breath and then looked at Colonel Jack Collins.

“That’s him.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the one message he had waiting for him. He frowned, then placed the cell phone in his pocket. “We can pick him up when he gets to Colonial Farm Road. That will be his way home.”

Jack didn’t say a word as he placed his foot down hard upon the gas pedal. The black Chevrolet sped into the morning sun.

“I suppose you still refuse to be persuaded to wait, Colonel?” Henri asked.

“This needs to end, and end now.” Jack looked at Henri, his enemy for many years; the man he knew beyond any doubt was in love with Sarah McIntire. “The world is not going to wait on me. I’m out of time, Colonel.”

Farbeaux took a deep breath and then looked out of the side window. This favor he owed, he knew that, but to willingly walk into a murder was something Farbeaux liked to do of his own volition, not on the whim of a man he hated for allowing his wife to die in the jungle eight years before. He looked at Jack as he drove and knew that the man he faced was not the person he always thought he had been. This American colonel was unlike any individual he had ever known, and if a man like this could love a woman such as Sarah McIntire there had to be more to him than his enemies ever saw. He had started to reassess his opinion on his wife’s demise in the Amazon at this man’s hands. Farbeaux had his doubts that Jack was capable of cold-blooded murder.

“Listen, I’m a little more experienced at being a bad guy. I think you should allow a professional to do this. From what I’ve learned, this man that you want to kill can be retired without any fuss.”

Jack said nothing. The light-gray suit Collins wore and the white shirt underneath were starting to darken with sweat as the man neared his prey. Henri had the same physical reaction as Jack when it came time to finish business that was long in coming. He knew then that the colonel was going to carry this thing through to its obvious and, to him, logical conclusion.

“Turn left and we can beat him to his town house.” Henri realized that trying to talk this man out of what he was about to do was no use. He knew because he had been there himself.

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Hiram Vickers stepped from his car and glanced around. The early evening was warm. A slight breeze brushed his sweaty features and he tossed his keys in the air. Before they reached his hand he felt the gun at his back. The keys fell to the pavement of the parking area. Vickers froze.

“Man, there are security cameras all over the place. Maybe you should have picked a better robbery target, or at least another location.”

“Tell me where the cameras are so we can wave and smile,” came the slight French-accented reply. “Now, shall we go inside and talk? Ah, ah, pick up your keys. And please lower your hands and quit being so melodramatic. After all, this is Washington, not your Dodge City. We don’t want to attract the attention of your influential neighbors, now do we?”

Vickers reached down and retrieved the keys, then straightened. He managed to see the face of the man who held the silenced weapon at his kidneys. While his face seemed familiar he couldn’t place where he had seen it before.

“Who in the hell are you?” Vickers asked as he was not too gently pushed forward toward his first-floor apartment door. He reached out to place his key in the first door he came to and was stopped by Farbeaux.

“Now why would you attempt to go into your neighbor’s house? Try the next one.”

Vickers knew then that he was in some serious trouble. He cursed his poor attempt at trying to fool the man with the gun. He went to the next apartment and shoved the key in and opened the door. Henri pushed the man inside and quickly reached behind him to lock the door, all the while keeping the gun leveled at Vickers’s kidneys.

Vickers almost lost his balance and bladder control when he saw the man in the gray suit sitting in his living room chair. The intense blue eyes bore into his frightened ones. But the one object he noticed even more than the man’s blue eyes was the silenced Beretta in his right hand. His guest was sitting casually as the barrel of the weapon gently tapped his knee.

“Look, you guys really don’t know who you’re fucking with here,” he said as he gestured that he wanted to reach into his coat. Jack Collins nodded his head that it was all right. The blue eyes went to Henri, wanting him to shoot the man if anything untoward came free of his coat. Vickers pulled out his CIA identification and tossed it to Jack, who caught it but didn’t examine it. Instead he just placed it on the small coffee table to his left and stared at the cowering man before him.

“You don’t know me?” Collins slowly stood from the chair and faced the man he had wanted to meet since his sister’s murder six months before.

“Why should I?” Vickers said as Henri strode away and into the man’s kitchen. Jack heard the refrigerator open and the Frenchman rummage through it.

“I thought since you knew my sister that you just might know me.”

Vickers felt his heart slip a notch in his chest as he realized just who was inside his home. All thoughts of the Matchstick Man were all but gone—along with his future.

“Look, I really don’t have any idea what it is you’re talking about. Who is your sister?”

Henri Farbeaux stepped from the kitchen with an opened can of Coke and watched the activity he found immensely amusing. He did notice a momentary flare in Jack’s eyes. It wasn’t one of anger, but one of doubt when Vickers said he didn’t know what the colonel was referring to. Henri sipped the cold drink.

Jack walked toward Vickers with a purposeful stride. He stopped only inches from Vickers’s nose.

“Lynn Simpson … Collins.”

Vickers’s eyes flitted to the Frenchman, who raised his soda and nodded. Vickers didn’t know if he was praising the cold drink or saying we gotcha.

Jack knew the man they sought was right in front of him. “Why was she killed?”

“You can’t shoot me right here in the middle of Georgetown for something I am not involved in. I don’t know what—”

The gun’s barrel struck the CIA man on the side of the head, making him yelp in pain. He looked at his hand when he pulled it away from his ear and it was covered in blood.

“Who said anything about shooting?” Henri said as he sipped from the can. “There are quite a number of ways to use a gun, my friend, and I think the colonel knows them all.”

“But I—”

Another gun-barrel blow to the other ear and Vickers this time went down.

“Why?” Jack persisted.

Vickers looked up at Collins and saw no mercy in the eyes of the man.

“Okay, okay,” the CIA man screamed as he tried to stand. The gun came down again, sending him to the braided carpeting. “What was that for?”

“I believe he was telling you to be forthright and straight with him before you speak again,” Henri said as he raised the can to his lips. He froze when he felt the weapon digging into his backside. The can stopped at the lips and he didn’t move.

Jack saw the other three men but it was too late. They were drawn on before he could react. They had been in the apartment the whole time and Jack hadn’t checked when he entered the building. He cursed himself for his unprofessional act.

“This man has done quite enough damage,” a tall, thin man in a black Windbreaker said as he stepped around Vickers to remove Jack’s weapon. Henri was simultaneously pushed out of the kitchen’s doorway. He was as angry as Collins for being taken by surprise. He quickly surmised that although they were both extremely adept at battlefield prowess, they were sorely lacking in the fine art of cold-blooded murder tactics.

“Maybe we should have planned this a little better, Colonel,” Farbeaux said as he joined Collins in the living room.

Collins counted four men in total. There was one more outside the front door as he had seen a shadow pass the window a moment before. They were all wearing black Windbreakers and at that moment Collins knew just who it was they were dealing with. The infamous Men in Black that had been reborn, and now he knew who it was that had reinstated the teams—the CIA. Everything became crystal clear to Jack.

Vickers finally stood and wiped the blood from both ears, then bravely punched Jack in the stomach. The colonel barely winced. One of the Black Team snickered when Collins didn’t even flinch at the assault. Instead he looked at Henri.

“Not only did this asshole kill Lynn, Henri, these are the wondrously patriotic gentlemen that hit our complex six months back, looking for the Ripper formula.” Collins turned back to face the man standing next to Vickers.

“Not us, but our commander, Mr. Smith. Don’t tell me you’re the men that dispatched him and his team?” the thin man asked.

“You bet. Killed every one of the bastards,” Jack said as he looked into the steady eyes of the man in black.

“Enough of this crap—kill the son of a bitch!” Vickers said.

The man turned the weapon away from Collins and shot Vickers in the meatiest section of his right calf. Hiram screamed and went down, sliding to the carpet against the wall.

“You must remain quiet as we attempt to sort through this, Mr. Vickers.”

Jack was surprised but held the expression in check as Vickers rolled on the bloodstained carpeting in agony. He looked up at the team leader.

“What are you doing?” he wailed as he tried to hold his wounded calf.

“You are no longer head of your desk, sir. They told me to tell you one fuck-up is all that is tolerated.” The man took deliberate aim at the face of Hiram Vickers, who covered his eyes as blood from his hands dripped onto his face.

Jack hit the floor as the front window exploded into the room as a silenced weapon opened up. The first bullet struck the man with the gun in his exposed hand, dropping him to the floor. Jack fell upon him. Henri ducked just as three of the bullets flew past him. One struck the man at his back in the nose, dropping him as if he were a mere sack of potatoes. The two men standing behind the first hit the floor as the front door was kicked in. Several more rounds found their mark, hitting the men in their exposed backs.

Jack wrestled with the first gunman, then wrenched the weapon up as the trigger was pulled. Collins felt their rescuer run into the apartment and down the hallway, where several more shots were fired just as his own efforts caught the struggling man in the lower chin. A bullet exploded into the assassin’s brain. He went limp. Henri ran by and took one of the weapons from the two fallen men and ran to the front door. As Collins pushed the dead man in black away with disgust he looked around but didn’t see Hiram Vickers. He saw the blood trail leading out of the front door. Henri stepped back inside with the silenced weapon still smoking after discharge. He shook his head.

“Your target just ran for the hills, Colonel.” Henri looked at the hallway and was surprised when a familiar face emerged from the bedroom, dragging one more of the men in black by the collar. He was also dead.

“Always have a navy man plan your ops, Jack, you know that.” Carl Everett let go of the dead man’s collar and looked over the others.

Collins finally managed to get to his feet and shook some of the blood from his exposed hand. He looked at Carl and shook his head.

“I thought you had a woman to look after in Romania?” He went to the door and looked out past Farbeaux. Vickers’s car was gone. Jack looked at the gun in his hand, then tossed it on the couch next to the door.

“Ah, she left me for another man, a general in the Mossad, as a matter of fact.” Carl slid his nine millimeter into the belt at the back of his waistband. He looked at Henri and tilted his head. “And a good thing too, it looks like you’re starting to hang out with characters that can get you into a lot of trouble.”

“You can’t be here, Carl,” Collins said. “I’ll explain later but you cannot be around me.”

“Well, if that’s not a thank-you, I’ll—”

“Jesus Christ!” a voice from behind Jack said.

“We are really losing our touch,” Henri said, realizing they had been taken by surprise once again as he spied the man with the drawn weapon standing in the doorway.

Collins turned and immediately recognized the Group’s man inside the FBI.

“Agent Stimson, how are things?” Jack wiped his hand on the white curtains at the window.

The agent placed his weapon in its holster and looked at the scene inside the apartment.

“I don’t know how in the hell I’m going to explain this one to my boss.” The FBI special agent stepped inside and eyed the three men. “Jack you have put me in a hell of a spot here.”

“How did you know where to find us?” The colonel looked from Everett to the man he had recruited himself five years before.

Stimson looked at Collins and shook his head. “How in the hell do I know how your people find these things out? I’m just an errand boy here.” Stimson shook his head as he examined the scene again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, the Bureau’s had orders for a couple of months to keep tabs on our Mr. Vickers. It seems the Oval Office doesn’t like certain factions over in Langley and wanted to start a file on more than just a few of their operatives.”

“Bullshit. Dr. Compton authorized you to use the computer chip tags Mr. Everett and I have in our arms.”

“Okay, that too.” The agent again shook his head as he looked at the three men before him. “By the way, you three … well, you’re under arrest.”

“Now you know better than that,” Carl said as he raised a brow at the agent.

“Look, you guys can take me down but I have to tell you that I have eight more agents outside. We have enough of a mess around here. By the orders of the president of the United States you are hereby placed into protective custody.”

“President, my ass. I smell Niles, correct?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know about these gentlemen,” Farbeaux said, “but I’m a foreign national who has nothing to do with secret groups or even the president of the United States. So if you would excuse me, I’ll say—”

“You’ll say thank-you and be grateful you’re not in handcuffs, Colonel Farbeaux,” Stimson said with an angry glare.

“Yes, Colonel Collins, I would say your little bald employer is indeed behind this.” Henri walked up to Jack and smiled as he slightly raised both hands. “I guess if you can’t get one bad guy, your boss thinks another will be just as good. At least enough to appease your president over this mess.” He gestured at the dead men around him.

“No, I’m afraid your own government wants to speak with you, Colonel,” Stimson said.

Henri deflated before their eyes when he realized his time on the run from his own government was now at an end. He took the gun from his pants and handed it to the agent. The look he gave Jack was not a pleasant one, and Collins knew trying to explain to Henri that he had nothing to do with his arrest would go by the wayside. Henri Farbeaux never forgot a slight and Collins knew he was back to square one with the Frenchman.

“Come, gentlemen, we have little time. We have to get you clear of this and cleared fast. Things are starting to go to hell in a handbasket across the globe. The president just placed the rapid deployment force in Kuwait on alert for action inside the borders of Iran.”

Jack was taken aback. “I didn’t know FBI field agents were briefed on presidential orders?”

“He didn’t brief me, Director Compton did. And he told me to tell you that the Azerbaijan field team is involved. I guess you’re supposed to know what that means.”

Jack’s face went slack, a reaction that both Carl and Henri noticed.

“What, Jack?” Carl asked.

“Sarah is on the field team in Azerbaijan.”

“Then we must obey your orders,” Henri said, becoming dead serious.

The men were led from Vickers’s apartment. It was Jack who remembered what they had come here for.

“Vickers could not have been working alone, you know that?” he asked no one in particular.

“I’m afraid the men he does work for are untouchable at the moment,” Stimson said. He led the men past his special agents as they rushed into the slaughterhouse that was once a beautiful condo inside Georgetown. “Call the forensics team and issue an all-points for Mr. Hiram Vickers. This is his place and his mess,” he said to the team inside.

“And why are the men in black untouchable?” Everett asked.

“Because priorities have shifted, gentlemen, from passive preparedness to a war footing. Dr. Compton said you would understand. He said to tell you, Operations Magic and Overlord are on. And that you picked one hell of a time to go rogue on him.”

Farbeaux didn’t know what either meant, but became concerned when he saw the countenance of Jack Collins go from worry to fear in a split second. “If you don’t mind telling me, what do those terms mean?”

Jack stopped before reaching the FBI sedan.

“It means, Henri, that the war we’ve been fearing is starting.”

COMMERCIAL LANDING FIELD

MASALLY, AZERBAIJAN

The three Russian-built troop transports, the Ilyushin IL-76 D “Desantnyis,” sat at the far edge of the northern-most runway. The security aspect of what was now known as Operation Zeus dictated the large force stay as far from the prying eyes of the Azerbaijani military forces as possible. From a distance the newest sets of eyes on the airstrip watched the activity of the Russian paratroopers as they made ready for their flight into Iran. It had taken close to three hours to get the Azerbaijani government’s permission to use Masally as a staging area. As it was, several large western newspapers and networks had gotten wind of the operation but were kept at bay at the main civil terminal far away.

The lone helicopter sat between the large troop transports. The pilot made ready for the flight into the Caspian Sea staging site. His passengers had just arrived and were being outfitted inside the three large tents they had set up.

Two miles away inside the run-down terminal, two Russian soldiers made their way through security and past the many prying eyes of the civilians waiting for their flights. The two officers, a man and a woman with very dark hair, turned sharply into the airline pilots’ ready room. The woman removed her cap and held a hand up, stilling the man as he stepped in behind her. She heard a shower running and a man somewhere inside the locker room whistling. She gestured for the man to take the whistler and she would address the shower situation. The man nodded, reached into his uniform jacket pocket, and removed a small syringe. He looked at the raven-haired woman one last time and she gave him a warning with her raised brows. He smiled and walked off.

The woman pulled a duplicate syringe from her own pocket and with one last glance at her male counterpart moved to the shower stalls that lined the back of the pilots’ ready room. She heard the shower turn off and the soft humming of a woman as she opened the stall door. The woman in the absconded Russian uniform moved quickly to jab the female shower taker in the arm, then held the woman’s head as she easily collapsed into her arms. She laid her gently on the tiled floor, then looked over at the man who had accompanied her as he dragged the whistler into the shower area.

“Place them in the janitor’s closet and seal the door. Someone should free them tomorrow morning when their cleaning shift arrives.”

“I don’t think that’s wise. This fellow”—the man lightly tapped the drugged man with his right foot—“got a good look at me before I stuck him.” The dark-haired woman removed the combat fatigues from the wall hook, held them up for sizing, and tilted her head, thinking the large fit would have to do. She finally spared the man a hard look.

“The last I heard, Israel wasn’t at war with Russia. We’re here to observe and report, that is all. If this weapon the Iranians have is meant for Israel, we have to know.”

“You’re the boss, Major, I just work here.”

Anya Korvesky looked at the man, then nodded at the captive at his feet. “Then by all means do your work and hide these two.” She looked at the wall clock. “And hurry, we’re on the clock.”

Anya was bone weary. The two Mossad agents had been airlifted twenty miles out from Masally and had to walk in from there. Now they had but five minutes to make the flight line to be in on the raid into Iran. She was there to confirm the suspicion that the weapon the Iranians were using was being directed at the State of Israel. If it was, the Russians would have one chance to destroy it, and if that failed it would be left in the hands of the Israeli Air Force, which was on standby just outside Tel Aviv.

Anya dressed quickly and looked around the locker room until she saw the briefcase. She opened it and made sure the two people they had replaced had all of their documentation and necessary credentials; they did. The man and woman the two agents replaced would have been the scientific advisors on nuclear energy and would be allowed on the raid to assist the American team flown in from a cruiser out in the Caspian Sea. Only it would be she and her partner who would be in on the combat jump into Iran instead of these two.

Dressed in their combat gear, they walked out of the pilots’ ready room and into the night.

The Mossad was jumping tonight with the elite of the Russian military.

*   *   *

Sarah nervously watched as the twin-rotor helicopter started up before them. She and Ryan were sitting on that cold tarmac next to a set of giant landing gear of one of the Ilyushin transports when the pilot of the helicopter waved them over for their flight to the Riga-class frigate Leschenko awaiting them in the Caspian Sea. They stood and both knew they were heading into a situation neither had expected.

“Right about now would be a good time for the colonel and Mr. Everett to make an appearance.” Ryan threw his bag over his shoulder and looked at Sarah.

“Yeah, it would be nice to have them along,” Sarah agreed as Ryan helped her to her feet.

“No, not to come along, but to replace us. I don’t know about you, but those Russian boys don’t look like they’re heading for a picnic.”

Sarah watched as the paratroopers of the elite Russian 106th Guards Division started loading onto the three transports that would take them into harm’s way.

“Strange how soldiers look the same all over the world, isn’t it?”

“It’s the look in their eyes,” Jason replied.

“Look?”

“Yeah.” He took Sarah by the elbow and started steering her toward the idling helicopter. “The look that says they would sure as hell rather be somewhere else.”

Sarah had to agree. She started forward when she accidentally bumped into a soldier making her way to the second Ilyushin in line. The two women locked eyes for the briefest of moments but it was enough to make Sarah stop in her tracks. Jason Ryan saw exactly what she had seen. Sarah managed to get her feet moving as Jason pushed her forward.

Anya Korvesky felt her heart sink when she saw who had bumped into her. She knew Sarah was going to say something and then that, as they say, would be that, and their little ruse would be over before they entered Iranian airspace. Both parties managed to separate without a word.

Sarah slowly turned her head just as Anya did. The two sets of eyes met again and then they both turned away.

“What in the hell is she doing here?” Sarah asked as Jason managed to get her moving again. “Where’s Carl?”

“I don’t know, McIntire, but if we draw attention to her we could damn well be responsible for getting the major shot, so move on and let’s forget we even saw her—at least until we can inform Group.”

Anya turned one last time. She had met the two Americans in Romania and knew them to be Carl’s best friends outside of Colonel Collins. She was grateful that Ryan and Sarah seemed to realize what would happen if Sarah had exposed her identity. With a sigh of relief Anya Korvesky adjusted her chute and equipment, then stepped onto the rear loading ramp of the Ilyushin just as it started to rise, closing out the sight of the small helicopter lifting off with Sarah and Jason.

As the ramps of the three transports closed, a large red flare shot into the sky, and then the first of the giant transports started to roll.

Operation Zeus was on the move.