Desert Rose Cemetery,
Las Vegas, Nevada
On the four converging dirt roads leading up to the small, private cemetery, United States Air Force Humvees stopped the few vehicles filled with hikers, dirt bike enthusiasts and campers from climbing the hills that surrounded the once peaceful setting. The state highway department, with the assistance of Nellis Air Force Base, had successfully quarantined the general area to allow the largest forensics team ever assembled in Nevada to descend on the privately held property. Blackhawk helicopters on loan from the base kept the airspace clear of any unauthorized flyovers of the small cemetery. Thus far the lid on the pressure cooker had been secured tightly. That situation could change at any time. After all, news of the vandalism had been reported by the Las Vegas Sheriff’s Department, and grave robbing of any kind was indeed news. It was bound to leak out to the general public soon, so time was short.
One hundred and thirty forensics experts from the FBI and the Department of the Air Force scoured the cemetery looking for any clue as to the disposition of the vandalism that had taken place the night before. The most interested party stood aloof to allow the experts to do their jobs. The situation was beyond frustrating as they had orders to stand down by the President himself.
The large man stood off to the side of the front gate of the Desert Rose and watched silently as the government techs went about their forensics work. The approach of an even larger man with short-cropped blonde hair brought the waiting man back to the here and now.
“Just received this from the complex, Jack. The Director is throwing a fit with the President over this thing. Niles claims that because of our status as a secret department we are being kept out of something that only we can deal with. I guess there is someone in Washington making a stink about the assets being misdirected by the Department of the Air Force.”
Colonel Jack Collins looked at his friend. Captain Carl Everett handed Jack a note. He read it.
“Harold Brigs again?”
“He’s making a stink. Even has the Air Force Chief of Staff on his side about allocating resources from Nellis. The good Congressman is all over the President. He’s been chasing rumors about us ever since the war with the Greys.”
Jack wadded up the flimsy and was tempted to toss the paper away but pocketed it instead.
Carl could see the situation with the vandalism of the small alien’s grave was wreaking havoc with Jack just as it was with him. “We just have to be patient buddy. We both know the little green guy just didn’t wake up and take a walk into the desert. We’ll find out who did this.”
He could see that Jack was acting just like Director Niles Compton. He felt responsible and horrified that the Event Group had prematurely buried little Matchstick Tilly without realizing he wasn’t dead. Both Jack and Niles had agreed that because of the manner of death involved in Matchstick’s murder, an autopsy of their small friend was not needed or justified because the thought of cutting into their friend to see what made him tick was just too much for them to contemplate. Now that decision was weighing heavily on both men.
Jack’s eyes kept moving to the empty grave next to that of the still intact Gus Tilly buried site. He bit his lip and seemed to fight back the despair he was feeling.
“Jack, why don’t you take a break. Sarah is staying at Alice’s house while we figure this out. She had some harsh words with the director who wanted you and her to continue with your honeymoon plans. She tore up your tickets to Bali and threw them at Niles. I think you need to go and talk to her. All her happiness about your wedding has been zapped from her mind over this.”
“Sarah knows what’s up. Honeymoons can wait for now and the director should have known that. Just how in the hell did Niles think Sarah would react?”
Carl was about to continue to try and convince Jack to take a break, when they were approached by a man in a blue shirt. The FBI logo on the breast pocket identified him as an agent. He held out a hand to Jack and Carl both.
“Colonel, disappointed I missed the festivities last night, congratulations on your recent nuptials. Surprised the hell out of me that’s for sure. Single man Jack Collins brought down by the smallest woman I know.”
“Tom, good to see you. How is Washington?” Carl asked, trying to get the conversation of Jack’s recent wedding to Sarah off the table.
“That’s why I wasn’t able to make it to the wedding. Director Compton and the President has me tailing that asshole Congressman who is hell bent on exposing Department 5656. The man smells blood.” Tom Wilkerson, FBI agent-in-charge, and a deep mole of the Event Group through presidential order, saw his comments about Congressman Briggs had no effect on Jack. He kicked at the desert sand. “Then this came up. I guess the theft of Matchstick’s body is weighing heavily on everyone’s mind, including the President. Thus, here I am. Your man at the Bureau.”
“Thanks for handling this, Tom. I still don’t understand why the President and Niles don’t allow our people to conduct this investigation,” Jack said in abject frustration.
“Colonel, for the exact same reasons friends don’t investigate the death of a partner when a cop is killed. You and your people are just too close to make a good judgement calls where Matchstick is concerned.”
The look from the face of Jack Collins made the agent hesitate and Carl strategically stepped in between him and Collins.
“Jesus Jack, I’m sorry. I’ll get the Group some information as soon as I can. I know it’s driving your people batshit crazy trying to get an answer. If I have to torture someone for information, I’ll get whoever did this.”
The three men shook hands and the agent moved off to consult with the crime scene technicians.
“He didn’t mean anything by that, Jack,” Carl said. “You can tell the situation about that fool Briggs and his accusations to anyone in Washington who will listen, and with what happened here last night is effecting everyone. Including fearless FBI agent Tom.” Carl was about to continue when they noticed a scuffle near the empty grave of the Matchstick Man. A tall, thin, white haired man was actually rolling on the ground with a plastic-suited technician. As they watched, Will Mendenhall and Jason Ryan were in the process of running toward the two to break up the fracas. “Oh, shit!” Carl said, as he and Jack also sprinted to the scene.
As they arrived more white plastic environment suited forensics men from the FBI were nearing to join in the fight. Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III was being held at bay by a very much smaller but also stronger Jason Ryan. Will was pushing the forensics technician back from continuing the fight.
“Professor, what in the hell is this about?” Carl asked, as he and Jack took in the wild-haired Cryptozoologist. His wire-rimmed glasses were askew and he was so angry he failed to form words.
“Keep that maniac away from me!” shouted the technician being held by Will Mendenhall. The man’s clear face mask had been cracked and his nose was bleeding.
“Jesus Doc, calm down,” Jason said as he tried to move the tall man away. “Now, what in the hell happened?”
“First these fools don’t know how to catalogue evidence properly, this needs to be treated like an archeological event,” Charlie hissed and tried to break free of Ryan’s grip but steadied when Carl stepped in front of him. “And then their snide little remarks about moonlight strolls by moon men. By god I don’t have to put up with that crap. Matchstick deserves better than that!”
“So, the crazy bastard just attacks me? What kind of nut is he,” the technician asked as his friends on the FBI forensics team gathered around their man for support while the Air Force personnel watched from a safe distance. One FBI Tech was even brazened enough to get too near Will Mendenhall.
“Cowboy, you take another step towards the Doc or me, I will consider you intend us harm. Then your friends can just drop you into that empty grave to replace our friend.”
The FBI technician caught the not-so-very veiled threat and stopped moving.
“Come on Jack. Get your people out of here and let us do our thing, would you?”
Collins looked from the Agent-In-Charge to the still fuming Professor Ellenshaw to a ready-to-pounce Major Mendenhall. He reluctantly nodded his head at the lead agent, realizing his people were too much on edge over Matchsticks disappearance.
“Okay, my people, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Carl, Will, Jason, with a struggling Crazy Charlie Ellenshaw in tow, started to leave with Jack for the waiting Blackhawk sitting outside the back gate of the Desert Rose Cemetery.
As Ryan assisted Charlie into the sliding door of the Blackhawk, he smiled at the crazy haired professor as everyone crowded around waiting to hear the real story from the Cryptozoologist.
“I don’t know Doc—I think you’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowds lately. You’re turning into a crazed version of Mike Tyson.”
Carl and Jack saw the change in Ellenshaw as his demeanor calmed considerably. It was Everett, with a nod from Jack who stepped up and held out his hand to Ellenshaw.
“Yeah, he’s hanging out with the wrong crowd alright—you and Mendenhall. And yes, the Doc is crazy, but crazy like a fox. Hand it over Doctor.”
Ellenshaw smiled at Everett and he glanced at Jack Collins who nodded that he should do what the Captain asked. Continuing to smile he handed Carl the small notebook. During the scuffle Ellenshaw had removed the forensic notes from the technician who failed to notice his pocket had been picked.
“Sorry, they weren’t answering my questions. I thought this would help us start the ball rolling as they say.”
“You’re one crazy bastard Doc,” Mendenhall said, but everyone could see Will’s pride in what Ellenshaw had done.
“Mister Everett, we’ve trained a pack of thieves,” Jack said as Ryan started the Blackhawks rotor blades to spinning.
“I take it we’re not going to wait on the FBI?” Everett said as he snapped his safety harness closed.
“Have we ever?”
Novosibirsk, Siberia,
Russia
The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral was a massive stone structure erected in 1899 and was a marvel of architecture. Since the downfall of the old Soviet Union the building and its religious purpose had found new life and has since become a popular tourist destination for architectural students visiting from abroad. There was however, one aspect of the great shrine you could find no description of in any tourist brochure—that located five hundred and eighty-seven feet beneath the tiled flooring of the cathedral was housed the secret and shadowy men and women who actually ran the new Russian state. The committee hid itself in plain sight in the third most populous city in Russia. The Presidium, of which it was referred to by its members, housed eighteen floors of offices that did the bidding of the highly secretive Central Committee. The puppet committee in Moscow had no official say but for the dictates that was handed to them for public consumption. In other words, the real power of the new Russia solely resided with these powerful men and women. While each member had a name, they were referred to inside the chambers as a numbered entity. Even the numbers were never spoken outside of Siberia for security reasons. The look-a-like puppet at the head of the country in Moscow was the only person outside of the Presidium to actually know of their existence.
The council chamber was semi-dark as it usually was during the meetings that were held to govern the growing prospects of the new government. Circular in design and numbered according to power, the only empty chair was that of the new Sciences Division Chairman, Number Ten. This fact did not go unnoticed by the most powerful of these men and women, the man who held the ‘Number One’ position. As progress was reported on the new aspect of their latest triumph overseas, the handling and assistance in the United States for the audacious possibly getting a man sympathetic to the Russian cause elected as the most powerful man in the world—the Presidency of the United States of America.
The man known as Number Seven started to conclude his report to the committee after explaining the raging success of their radical social media blitz to split the United States into two waring sides of political strife, he had concluded by saying their campaign at embarrassing the man sitting in the Oval Office over his military expenditures during the war with the Greys was paying massive dividends and was propelling their man, Congressman Harold Briggs into the Independent Party nomination to replace the lame duck President.
“In conclusion, our efforts have doubled in assisting Mr. Briggs in our American plan, and we expect a substantial victory over his opponents in the upcoming election.”
Number Seven turned to the center of the table and half-bowed to the man sitting in his powerful ‘number one’ chair.
“Thank you Number Seven for that very optimistic report. We, as a committee, will be watching anxiously in the coming months for the positive result you have so optimistically stated is bound to happen.”
As Number Seven started to sit, he hesitated at the veiled threat to his safety. In other words, the American election and the positive results explained were dependent on whether he continued to serve the committee. His life now depended on the results. He sat and the other members turned their heads away with exactly that same understanding.
Number One looked to his right and lined up against the circular wall was the committee members assistants. He spied the chair of the assistant to the Science Director.
“I believe we were to hear a report on the Science Divisions recent large monetary expenditure on the front concerning the large purchases in America.”
The woman representing Dimitri Sokol stood nervously. She nodded her head at the center of the table. Number One tiredly waved his hand for her to explain.
“Uh, Mr. Sokol has been delayed and is expected shorty Mr. Chairman. As for the expenditures in American real estate and equipment, the office of Strategic Sciences has no explanations at this time.”
“Are you saying that the man’s personal staff has no idea what their boss is doing, just who is it you work for, Joseph Stalin young lady?”
Several committee members chuckled. The only one who wasn’t was Number One. He angrily turned to the member who made the comment and Number Nine, the man in charge of internal security who started the laughing, turned his head away.
“Miss Trotsky, with Mr. Sokol’s familial history, it seems he would make available all information this committee asks for. His family should be seeking less suspicion, not more.”
Everyone on the council knew that Sokol’s grandfather had been the famous Russian spy Andre Sokol, the man who had infiltrated Hitler’s inner circle during the Great Patriotic War. He had been so good at his job that Joseph Stalin had the man arrested upon war’s end as he could no longer be trusted not to turn his very adequate spying skills on the Soviet dictator. After arriving home, he had been ensconced in a Gulag only seventeen miles from where the committee currently sat to conduct business. For the committee, it was seen as Sokol’s duty to change the memory of his grandfather being a suspected traitor during his service to the German madman. Sokol had fought his way to the top and all in the Presidium knew the ruthless man was determined to stay there—regardless of who and what his Grandfather had been accused of.
The woman was clearly shaken and Number One could see that. Questioning her would just put him in the awkward position of forcing punishment on someone that it was not intended for. He nodded that she should sit.
“We’ll move onto the next agenda item. Number Four. Our friends in Nevada. Has there been any response to our offer of peace in our times?” Number One said in a joking manner mocking Neville Chamberlain’s famous quote about getting his adversary Adolph Hitler to the peace table.
“It seems their Director Compton is not a very forgiving soul,” the balding man from the dirtiest department in the committee said as he stood. “He will not even entertain the offer, nor will he convey our peace overture to his Commander-in-Chief, the President.” The man looked at the others around the table. “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. Compton will not soon be lowering his guard long enough for us to strike at that damnable Group. He suspects we will not be keeping our offer of peace between them and us.”
“Unfortunate,” Number One said as the man in charge of ‘dirty tricks’ again sat.
“Perhaps I may be of assistance in that regard, as in the case of many of our problems,” proclaimed a voice from the back of the chamber. The tall man stepped into the light cast by the bright spots circling the table.
“Director Sokol, it is indeed good of you to join our little mandatory meeting this morning,” Number One said without humor lacing his strong voice.
“Apologies to the committee,” Sokol said as he half-bowed and then stood next to the chair of number Nine. “It seems some members tongues begin to wag when one isn’t present to hear.”
They all knew then that Director Sokol had heard the comments about his family that had been broached by Number Nine. Most would not give Number Nine the sympathetic look nor the support he needed. The man just lowered his eyes. Sokol was relatively new to the committee, but all sensed his desire to strenuously clear his families name and reputation after being falsely accused by Stalin of traitorous activity.
“We will speak of that aspect of commentary from our dear Number Nine at a later time. Please explain not only your lateness to this meeting, but also your rather bold statement on assisting us with our Event Group situation.”
Sokol nodded at Number One and then pulled out his chair to sit. This was a small insult to the Number One Position as every member stood when reporting was required. He unbuttoned his coat and then took his time pouring water from a crystal decanter. He sipped the water as Number One visibly became impatient.
“Three months ago, our robotic expedition returned from the dark side of the moon. While it was widely reported that we had successfully charted a frozen water deposit inside the area reported, I can honestly state to you now of our failure. We found no such thing. The fool Putin announced our success to the world. However, it was not his doing. I reported the false success to him myself. Now I am here to explain why.”
“Explanation of that and many other things I hope,” said a now embarrassed and emboldened Number Nine.
Sokol took another drink of water and waited. He didn’t even acknowledge Number Nine but instead ignored him.
“Continue Number Ten.”
“We found no water, but we did find something of rather large import to many of our current problems and worries.” He turned and smiled, smirked really at Number Nine. “Due to the incompetence of some, it was leaked to a few people with large ears that you, Number One, are particularly interested in bringing down the American agency known as Department 5656, for the reason many here suspected but never voiced,” again he looked at the head of Internal Security, “until certain men and women talked out of the security of their own offices. It seems an entity inside this Group underneath Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada knows the true identity of you, Number One, and could very well expose you. That man is Colonel Jack Collins who you met in harder times in Iraq many years ago.”
Unseen by the committee members around the circular table Number One had pushed a button under the table and four plain clothed security men walked calmly through the door.
“Perhaps you better go into a little more detail,” Number One said as his eyes bore into Sokol.
“I am merely saying what I’ve heard through investigation as to why the committee wants to bring down this rather bothersome agency. I can only report what me and my people have heard. Punish who you will, but never the messenger—of which I am.”
Number Nine visibly turned a shade of white none had ever seen before. Number One looked at the security men and nodded for them to stand down. They left the chamber.
Sokol knew in his heart that his revenge against Number Nine for bringing up his Grandfather’s reputation and imprisonment had been fortuitous at best and advantageous to the demonstration he was about to display.
“I propose killing three birds with one stone, as the Americans are so fond of saying. Ladies and gentlemen, we have been given a gift of a magnitude that can change the world as we know it. When I am finished with my proposal, I fully expect to be elevated to the position of Number Two. This will be voted on and I will enter that position with unanimous support by the committee. This is not an opinion, but a fact. I will achieve this by not only bringing down your foe beneath the American desert in Las Vegas, but also achieve the committee’s ultimate goal of getting their desired candidate into the office of the American Presidency. Then our plan for the subjugation of Europe can proceed at a speed unforeseen by members of this August body. We will proceed with a marvelous tool and weapon that has been dealt us, and one that I now control.”
The members went wild with accusations and many stood and pointed angry and shaking fingers at the arrogant man from the Strategic Sciences Division. Sokol turned in his chair and smiled at his female assistant who watched on nervously, wondering if either she or Sokol would leave the underground Presidium complex alive that day.
Sokol stood. He slammed his palm down on the table three times until the committee settled. He looked at Number One. Instead of the steely-eyed glare he expected, the lead member of the council smiled and nodded his head. Either Sokol would have an interesting proposal, or the chairman would be soon enjoying watching the man executed in this very chamber.
“Mr. Sokol,” Number One said, forgoing his number which meant there was no hiding the fact that Sokol was close to losing his committee designation, “this Group beneath the desert in Nevada cannot be gotten to. We have tried.”
“I have plans to bring them out into the open Number One. Then I will allow our new asset recently discovered on the moon’s surface to do the dirty work. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce a new ally in our quest for retribution against the western powers for their disgraceful treatment of our nation for the past one hundred and twenty years,” he said, and then nodded back at his assistant who stood and went to a side door, one that was rarely used. She hesitated. Then she nervously reached out and pulled both doors open.
Backlighted against the lights of the exterior hallway stood a shape that made every member of the central committee gasp and stand in fright. The shadowy form was over eight feet tall and its silky white hair was highlighted by the bright lighting behind it. The legs were long and powerful looking, and each member immediately recognized it for what it was. A Grey.
The Grey eyed Sokol’s assistant who quickly scurried away to stand against the wall as far away as she could get. The clothing the Grey wore had been supplied by the Russian sciences division. The purplish and green pants were short. The robe was long. As the creature eased into the room it looked from member to member. The yellow eyes flared with inner fire. The clear eyelids closed and opened from the outside of the eye sockets.
The four security men rushed into the room and stood staunchly by Number One who was brave enough to stand his ground while other members cowered behind their vacated chairs. Sokol smiled at the bravado displayed by Number One as he knew the man he was destined to replace was inwardly as frightened as the rest, and why not, it had taken himself a month to sit comfortably with the large Grey until he had successfully communicated how advantageous their new union was to both creature and man. Sokol walked easily over and gestured for the Grey to advance further into the chamber.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, he is no danger to you whatsoever. His interest now lies elsewhere. His abilities will amaze you and his power elevate us and our country to the status we all deserve.”
“Why is it so large?” one of the members asked while semi-hiding behind her high-backed chair.
“Because it is a Grey in name only Number Six. Come, he said as he walked over to the blonde woman and took her shaking hand. “Please, he will not harm you.”
The woman was led to the Grey who looked down upon her with its penetrating yellow eyes. The mouth was ajar, and the clear and very long incisors could be seen clearly. She shook her head and looked at Sokol. Her eyes pleaded. The white hair moved in the breeze created by the flow of air-conditioned current. The creature seemed to sense the woman’s fear. It reached out with the right hand and touched the frightened committee member’s cheek and rubbed it. Its scaly skin made the woman shiver. Sokol had mercy and bade her to return to the protection of her chair’s back.
“Director Sokol, how do you know this enemy can be a friend?” Number One asked as he braved sitting once more. “After all, its kind had us a dinner menu item if I’m not mistaken.”
“This Grey had nothing to do with the attack on our planet. It was ensconced on the very ship we recovered on the dark side of the moon. The saucer had been in that crater for over five to six thousand years. My department has spent the past month explaining the results of his races attack to our new ally.”
“And what has it to say?” Number twelve asked as he took the example of Number One and sat.
The Grey answered for Sokol. It stepped forward further into the light and hissed. The mouth widened and then it hissed even louder.
“Like my Grandfather, this creature was incarcerated for being the best at what he does. Imprisoned by the very beings that could have used its help during the invasion of our world. But the Greys, like Comrade Stalin, feared that which he could not understand, and like that fool Stalin, they imprisoned it.”
Again, the giant Grey hissed and semi-crouched as if to attack.
“Number One, may I demonstrate just what the Americans will be facing when we let loose this newest asset?” Sokol smiled at Number One who saw Sokol’s eyes drift over to the still standing Number Nine, the Interior Security member whose department had leaked the weakness of Number One. The head of the committee understood Sokol’s request. He raised his left brow high and nodded as he gestured for his four security men to stand by. They lowered their sidearms and watched.
Sokol walked up to the Grey who was still in an attack crouch. The creature saw Sokol and it seemed to relax. Sokol said something that no one could hear. Then the sciences director turned and looked at the still standing Number Nine. The overweight minister knew something was wrong when the Grey turned and looked at him. The yellow eyes flared to a brightness that suggested an interior flare had been ignited. The creature hissed and then stood straight to its full height of over eight feet tall. First its bulbous head tilted left, and then right and it hissed again. This time spittle flew from the mouth as it studied Number Nine who was now backing away. The creatures right hand came up and the crystal nailed fingers waved through the air. Number Nine turned and started to run. Number One’s security men started to stop him but was again ordered to stand down.
Before the startled committee members, Number Nine stopped in mid-stride. He grabbed his throat and started clawing at it like a crazed, choking animal. When their eyes went from Number Nine to the Grey, they could see the creature still hissing and spitting but its hand had closed into a clawed, chocking position mimicking as if it were actually touching the man’s throat. Then the Grey’s other hand came up and with an elongated outstretched index finger swirled it through the air in a circle. Number Nine was lifted free of the polished floor. As the man tore at his own neck for a snatch of air, his body started spinning. Soon the gravitational pull of the powerful spin snatched his arms and hands from his throat as the centrifugal force made him pinwheel like a top. Then the Grey used both hands to shove Number Nine as he spun through the air ten feet up and his spinning form smashed into the paneled wall where his body turned into a bug on a windshield and virtually disintegrated.
There were gasps of shock. There were screams and moans of sickness from the most powerful men and women in Russia as their eyes were wide and stunned at the magic produced by the powerful Grey.
The creature turned and faced the men and women. Again, it lowered to a crouch and hissed as Sokol eased his hand over its back to calm it.” He turned and looked at his female assistant who reluctantly stepped forward and took the giant Grey by the hand. It hissed at her and then calmed. She swallowed and then led the creature from the chamber. Sokol smiled and then buttoned his suit jacket and returned to his chair as he absentmindedly stepped over bits of remains of the man who had insulted his family. Sokol once again poured a glass of water and sipped nonchalantly.
“You have my apologies for what you just witnessed. It wasn’t arrogance on my part as I assumed number ten would eventually meet and untimely death anyway.”
“A harsh demonstration, but a just end to the man. Number Ten, how soon can this committee expect an outline of your plan?”
Sokol didn’t have to look at Number One. He waited a moment until his assistant returned and handed him several sheets of papers.
“Number One, the initial stages of the plan is being transmitted by computer to you for your approval and distribution to those you deem fit for its consumption. I caution however that the abilities of the Grey are classified and for your eyes only.”
“You need not explain security protocol to me, Number Ten.”
“Of course not,” Sokol said, but had an inner smirk that only he could feel.
“Your starting point?” Number One asked.
“As I said, eliminate your nemesis in the desert in Nevada and the only organization that causes even myself and the Grey a danger. Department 5656. We will go about this in two phases. First, continue to order our new friend Congressman Briggs of Louisiana to assert pressure on the public exposure of this secretive group.”
“And?” Number One asked as he began to see Sokol’s plan come together in his mind’s eye.
“To bring the Event Group out into the light of day.”
“As I said, we can’t get into their complex for full-scale operations.”
“We don’t need to. We bring them to us. We kill all those they hold dear. I have read their compiled dossiers. Once I start to move, there is no way this Director Compton can ever control that American boy scout, Jack Collins. Collins will be the first domino to fall. If I read this Colonel correctly, he will expose his own Group through his temper after our new friend does its work.”
“Why Collins? I thought he was the one person we would steer clear of,” Number One said. “I have met him in the field, he is most formidable.”
“Without knowing it Collins has always been this Group’s weakest link.”
“How?”
Sokol smiled. “We meet him and his capable men on the ground of our choosing.”
“Again, Number Ten, how?”
“By eliminating in the harshest terms those friends of his we can get to.”