2

PATINAS PASS

DACIAN HOT SPRINGS

ROMANIA

The raven-haired woman stood silently just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame of the dilapidated house with the thatched roof. Her stance was relaxed and motionless with her arms crossed over her chest. She watched the large man in the distance as he sat at the base of the pass, staring out into the valley far below. The summer air had turned warm and the flowers inside the pass brought on a multitude of colors that usually brightened her mood—with the exception of the past week, when the flowers’ bright cheerfulness became lost amid an ever-increasing storm front she felt was sliding her way.

Captain Carl Everett seemed content, with the exception of his feelings when night started to descend upon the Patinas Pass. It was at those moments when his past life intruded upon the gentle and loving life he had chosen these past three months. The woman loved Carl and she knew her feelings were returned. But she also knew that very same love would eventually take the life right from the man she fell for. He was not a herder of sheep and he wasn’t a farmer and she would be a fool of the highest order to believe he would be content at that over the life he had led just a few months before. His spirit was drowning here in Romania and she knew it.

Anya Korvesky was alone in what was once a bustling village but was now empty, with the exception of a young couple who thought they could leave their pasts behind them and move on into a future that didn’t include killing and subterfuge. Anya didn’t miss her former life in the Mossad, but she knew Carl was slowly starting to break into pieces. He felt he’d left all of his responsibilities behind; it was eroding what happiness the two of them had found together. She knew the captain loved her dearly, but felt him slipping away in small increments.

“It used to be I could never have crept up behind you without you blowing my head off with a hidden gun.”

Anya slowly lost the smile as she heard the voice behind her. As she turned to face the man she cocked back the hammer on a nine-millimeter handgun and patted it on her bare leg. Her smile returned.

“I see you haven’t lost your trusting nature or your ability to smell a rat.”

The man was dressed in tan clothes and work boots. His bush hat looked ridiculously out of place, as did the large briefcase he carried in his right hand. The men he came with were spread out behind him and were watching the empty village with concern.

“I wouldn’t call you a rat necessarily, General, more like an unwanted pest.”

“Touché, Major, touché.”

Anya closed her eyes at the mention of her Mossad rank.

“As you well know, General Shamni, that is no longer my military rank. My name is now Korvesky, the same as yours.” She sniffed as if a bad odor had entered her nostrils. “Or so it used to be.”

General Avis Shamni—with his ridiculous safari clothes covering his large and rotund body—stood smiling at the brightest Mossad agent he had ever produced. He held out his hand while his eyes looked at the pistol in her hand. She lowered it and then refused the handshake.

“What do you want, Uncle?” She stepped to the old table that used to belong to her grandmother and set the pistol down. She turned and faced her onetime commander in the Mossad, Israel’s elite intelligence service.

“Actually,” he said as he lowered his hand, “what I have come about concerns your American friend.” He stepped up to the open doorway and saw Carl Everett just below the entrance to the pass mending a small fence. He turned back to face his niece. “And thus, indirectly, you.”

“Uncle, I am not returning to the Mossad. I don’t belong anymore, my place is here.”

“Here?” Shamni glanced around the former home of his his elder sister. “My dear, this place is now a part of history. It sits above a fiasco that was once going to be the Las Vegas of Romania, but now sits wrecked, its evil seed returning to the earth.” He looked down the mountain through the open wooden shutters of the window and saw the Edge of the World Hotel and Resort Casino lying in ruins far below. Closer were the remains of the tourist attraction, Dracula’s Castle, where only its foundation remained after it was destroyed three months before.

“It’s something of a home, General. Far more than Israel is.”

“Ah, I see.” The general opened up his briefcase and pulled out a photo of a man. He held it out to Anya, who tried her best to ignore the offering. “Does this man look familiar to you?”

Anya glanced out the window and saw that Carl had started his descent of the mountain, heading her way. Anya then turned and looked at the black and white photo without reaching for it. The man in the eight-by-ten was thin and looked to have a thinning head of hair. She smirked when she noticed the man was wearing sideburns that almost went to his jaw line.

“Not in the slightest. I’ve never seen him before.”

The general brought out another. “And this gentleman?”

Anya picked up the eight-by-ten and looked it over. This man did seem familiar to her but she couldn’t place him. The bright orange jumpsuit was a major clue; the man, whoever he was, was dressed in standard prison fashion. The general could see the face that stared back at her was familiar so he decided to help out her memory.

“That man once ran the largest arms manufacturing firm in the world. His company was into everything.”

Anya tapped the photo with her index finger. “The Centauris Corporation?”

“As the Americans say, bingo! Correct, that is Charles Hendrix II, CEO and chairman. Well, he was, now he’s just federal prisoner Hendrix.” Shamni smirked with a knowing twitch of his heavy moustache. “Secreted away federal prisoner, I should say. You see, Hendrix doesn’t really exist.”

“I take it you’ll explain this before Carl returns?”

“The man was divested of all corporate holdings, his bank accounts seized and his manufacturing divisions sold off, then he was locked away without trial and hidden away at Leavenworth penitentiary by none other than the president of the United States.”

Anya felt the tug of curiosity and then took hold of that old investigative feeling, but hid it away from the general. She handed the photo back to the general.

“Okay, I can see your hobby of photography still has a way to go on quality issues, but other than that, General, what does this have to do with me or Carl?”

Shamni smiled and then cautiously sat in a rickety old chair. The chair creaked and groaned under his immense weight.

“You told me a story when you resigned your position in the Mossad. Maybe you should have kept your secret to yourself, but perhaps it was fortuitous that you did tell me. The story you relayed to me about your American captain and his friend, Colonel Jack Collins, and their search to find the murderer of a CIA asset—an asset that turned out to be the sister of Colonel Collins. It rang a bell, for some reason. Then I remembered a man buried deep inside Langley who specialized in dirty tricks. He led a group of men that searched out and confiscated new technologies intended for the eventual buildup of military forces the world over. This man restarted one of the more infamous groups in the history of American corporations—the Black Teams, more ominously known as the Men in Black. And the man that ran this desk at the CIA is this man.” Shamni once more pulled out the photo of the man in the ugly and outdated suit. “Hiram Vickers is his name. He works directly for, now get this, not the director of the CIA, but the assistant director of Operations, Daniel Peachtree.”

“I’ve read that Peachtree’s relationship with the president isn’t all that good. As I recall, he was against his appointment but it was pushed through anyway with the help of the Speaker of the House, Giles Camden.”

“I see you still know how to read a newspaper and remember briefing reports.” Shamni placed the photos of both men into the large envelope.

“As I asked before, what does this have to do with us?” she persisted, not allowing the Israeli general to go into one of his soliloquies about loyalty and how badly the service missed her. She knew how her uncle played the game—he was good at it and very experienced in getting just what was needed for the State of Israel any way he could.

“Okay, Major, we’ll get straight to the point, then. It is the opinion of intelligence and a few other departments inside Mossad that the man with the red hair is the entity responsible for the murder of the sister of Colonel Collins, and that this Charles Hendrix gave the CIA, Peachtree in particular, the operational standards and guidelines of his Centauris’s defunct Black Teams.”

“I suppose you have evidence to back up that rather broad statement?” she asked as she started to see Shamni’s game.

“Not one shred other than the fact we have people like you, Anya, that are the best in the world in analyzing enemies and allies alike and can put two and two together.” He smiled again. “Besides, it just so happens we have an asset inside Langley that says this Hiram Vickers is an ass of the first order and no one, and I mean no one, trusts him.”

“And you think that you can tell Carl this guesswork of yours and your wunderkind back in Tel Aviv and he’ll go running back to the good old USA, and I back to you and the Mossad—is that about the gist of it, Uncle?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Anya closed her eyes as she realized that this day was always meant to come. She opened her eyes and watched as Carl stopped at the front gate of the empty village of Patinas. She saw his face as he studied the Range Rover parked along the dirt road. He looked from the car and the driver who sat silently behind the wheel, then to the small house and the men surrounding it. He saw Anya and raised a brow; she must look distressed even from the distance he was standing.

“You know he’ll leave for a chance at assisting his friend Jack in finding the lowlife that killed his sister. He may even want to return after he does what needs doing,” Anya said with hope ringing her words.

General Shamni stood and paced to the window to let Carl see who was visiting. He placed a hand on his niece’s shoulder.

“If it were any other time in the history of the world I would say yes, he will return to you. But these are not times that were meant for joy and happiness. Israel needs all her children to come home for what’s heading our way.” He held a file in front of Anya and then turned to leave. “Perhaps you’ll show him the photos, perhaps you won’t.” He stopped but didn’t turn to face her. “Maybe you can trick him into staying. But the file I just handed to you is top secret and no more than two dozen people in the world know the code names in the contents. That, my dear niece, you can’t hide from him. We are just notifying Captain Everett a few weeks ahead of time, is all. Official orders will be delivered to him from the military attaché at the American embassy in Bucharest.”

Anya didn’t look at the file and she didn’t turn as the general approached the door.

“I will have an aircraft standing by to fly you home to Tel Aviv, as we have important work to do.” The general left.

Anya Korvesky took a deep breath as she saw Carl being approached by General Shamni. He watched as Carl smiled and took the general’s hand in his own. Pleasantries were exchanged but even then Carl was looking past the general’s shoulder to view Anya’s sad countenance. She quickly turned away and looked inside the folder. She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she saw that it was an absconded copy of a United States Department of the Navy letter. It was an official notice that his resignation was not accepted and that he was to report immediately to Houston, Texas, and the new Naval Warfare Center, permanently attached to something called Overlord. She closed the folder and sat heavily in one of the old chairs.

She felt Carl standing in the doorway. Without looking up she slid the large envelope across the wooden table. She placed her hands in her lap as if the envelope had a disgusting feel to it.

Carl ignored the envelope and instead of reaching for it when he approached he went to Anya and placed his large hands on her small shoulders and squeezed lightly. She reached a hand up and took a soft hold on his arm and then just sat that way.

“Carl, you have to sit down and we have to talk.”

“The general is recalling you to Tel Aviv, isn’t he?” he asked as he kept his hands on her shoulders. He looked at the envelope sitting on the table and that was when he saw the file folder in Anya’s free hand. He patted her lightly and then sat and just looked at the large yellow envelope.

“Yes,” Anya said as she found her eyes refused to take Carl in. “And I’m returning with him as soon as possible.”

Carl sat motionless while his eyes studied Anya’s face. Her refusal to look at him told him volumes.

“And you are to be recalled by your Department of the Navy,” she said, still not looking up as she laid the file on the table next to the yellow envelope. Finally her moist eyes rose to meet Carl’s. She slowly slid the file toward him and then looked away as he opened it and studied the stolen orders.

“Pretty damn industrious of Uncle General, isn’t it? I’m sure the U.S. Navy would like to learn how he got ahold of transit orders before the ink was even dry on them.”

Anya smiled at the naiveté that Carl showed sometimes, as he liked to believe everyone in the world was as aboveboard as himself and his friends in America. It was always amazing when she had to explain the hard truths to him.

“The same place your CIA gets their information, Carl, and you know that. Some little analyst with a cheap computer broke into another computer and got the orders before release.”

Carl shook his head as he closed the folder. “Yeah, I know about little analysts and their computers and what a pain in the ass they can be. Only the computer they use isn’t cheap.” He smiled, thinking about his old friend Pete Golding and his “girlfriend,” Europa, and then reached out to take Anya’s hand. “I guess someone in Washington needs to learn to read a resignation letter. I’m done with all of that.” He squeezed her hand. “Just as I hope you’re done with the Mossad.”

Anya released his hand abruptly and then stood so suddenly she knocked the chair over as she turned for the window. “Carl, I’m leaving for Tel Aviv and you’re going home before those orders take effect. You may have enough time before you have to report to Houston to do what needs to be done.”

“Time for what, and what needs to be done?” he asked as he finally reached for the yellow envelope. He saw Anya wasn’t going to answer so he opened it and pulled the two photos free along with the report that accompanied them. He saw immediately that the written report was butchered by long, black editing lines cutting off information not meant for Carl’s eyes. He read as he looked at both pictures. His brows rose when he recognized Charles Hendrix of the defunct Centauris Corporation. He looked at Anya, who was still facing toward the mountain outside. When Carl finished the analyst’s conclusions as to the collusion between Hendrix, Assistant Director of Operations Daniel Peachtree, and this Hiram Vickers, he became silent as his fingers closed around the likeness of Vickers. He studied the man’s face and didn’t notice when Anya turned and went to Everett and sat next to him. She forcefully removed his fingers from the photo and then closed both of her smaller ones over Carl’s.

“It’s time for you to go home, my handsome captain. Both our countries need us home.” She quickly released one of her hands and swiped at the tear that rolled down her right cheek. She hated herself for being a girl as she thought if it, but this was her life, her love that she was going to force away from her. “Your friend Jack needs you, and for the little bit of time you have left before your navy steals you, you can help him end this horrible thing that befell his sister. The general says we are running out of time—about what, he didn’t say, but I believe him when he says Israel needs all her children back home.” She smiled and leaned across and kissed Carl. “And so does America.” She smiled broadly as she pulled back after kissing him. “She needs all of her Captain Americas.”

Carl swallowed as he realized his time with Anya was at an end. It was because Carl knew just what the Mossad general was referring to when he mentioned they were all running out of time. It could only mean one thing, and that business had to with the Event Group’s small green secret in the desert. But it was the other that concerned him at the moment. The information he now held could only be delivered by hand to Jack, as he could never trust sending it through any other means. Yes, he knew he had to return to Nevada and he knew he had to help Jack before the real-world problems started burning the world to cinders. Carl lowered his head as he found he was unable to speak. Anya broke down and started to cry, then leaned into Everett and held him.

Deep in the Carpathian Mountains, the sad refrain of a wolf’s cry echoed across the windswept peaks.

WARWICK PANGEA BEACH RESORT AND HOTEL

JIYEH, LEBANON

On the gleaming coast of Jiyeh sat the refurbished resort hotel that was now the pride of all Lebanon. The hotel had faced destruction many times and was partially burned in the civil war of two decades before. Sitting twenty-seven kilometers south of Beirut, the resort rarely had empty rooms as festive life had slowly returned to the war torn nation.

On this Saturday tourists filled the spa and pool areas and crowded the many restaurants that served foods from all over the world. The resort was out to make Beirut the place to visit it had been thirty years before.

As the noon hour approached the sun was blotted out by a few clouds that seemed to approach the coast without being noticed by either the guests or the resort staff. As tourists were just starting to lie out on the white sandy beaches while others were heading inside for lunch, the clouds grew heavier and thicker. The guests shielded their eyes against the fading sunlight as they watched the strange clouds swirling right above the resort.

Suddenly thunder roared as more clouds joined the first group. These were darker and strangely enough were tinged with green and blue colored highlights that seemed to emanate from deep within the small storm. As sunbathers stood and started gathering towels and belongings, the wind picked up. It went from a calm five-mile-an-hour offshore breeze to a thunderous peppering of sand and seawater as the guests were pummeled by wind-sped debris.

The hotel staff waved the guests inside as small tendrils of blackness reached out from the clouds for the earth below. The motion increased and the image of a hurricane filled most with dread. The suddenness of the storm and its power had patrons running in fear.

The circling clouds sped up. The center started down, retracted, and then began to once more creep down from the sky. The few brave guests who braved the stinging sand and sea saw the very center of the storm as it slowly passed the main section of the resort. Eyes widened as they seemed to be looking into the very visage of an angry God. The blackness beyond the dead center of the storm was like the eye of a hurricane, only it was the blackness of space that lay far beyond the top of the clouds.

Suddenly a streak of bright green lightning reached out toward the beach. Running patrons were struck down by the moving electrical fire. More strikes hit the resort. Multicolored yellow, green, and blue streaks slammed the spa area, immediately killing all inside.

Men, women, and children screamed as the clouds suddenly slammed into the earth. Eyewitnesses miles away said it looked as if a dark and viscous liquid had been dumped on the resort. The swirling clouds, wind, and lightning completely engulfed the resort and the land and sea for two miles around. The speeding tornado made the image of the resort a memory.

The storm started to diminish—not slowly, but as suddenly as it had sprung up. As the clouds lifted, the survivors heard the roar and crash of the sea as it rushed in to replace the billions of gallons of seawater that had vanished as surely as the resort itself.

Water seeped into the giant hole that was once the location of the billion-dollar resort. The hotel, all of the outer buildings, and even part of the sea had disappeared—vanished into the tornado-like storm. A few palms fell over as half of their bulk had been stripped away and sent with wood, cement, water, and 4,800 men, women, and children. Water gushed from broken water mains that ended abruptly where the hotel once stood.

The strange phenomenon had sucked up over four square miles of beachfront and had vanished as if it had never been.

SIXTEEN MILES SOUTH OF CHATO’S CRAWL, ARIZONA

The UH-60 Black Hawk hovered one mile away and sent out her coded signal to the security team at the compound. An answering bleep in the pilot’s headset told him the code had been read and acknowledged—they were clear to enter the no-fly zone. As the large Black Hawk slowly started forward it was still being tracked by three missile batteries hidden inside the compound and surrounding terrain, ready to shoot down anything that came near to the darkest asset in the United States.

The helicopter rose to two hundred feet and swung slightly west; the compound came into view. The site had changed much in the past eight years since the incursion by the Grays during that horrid summer when so many American servicemen and women had lost their lives.

The large and brand-new two-story Victorian house was the dominating feature with the small tar-paper-roofed shack sitting next to it hidden in its shadows. As Jack Collins, Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III, and Will Mendenhall watched from inside, they didn’t see any of the twenty-man security team they knew to be eyeing the Black Hawk’s approach. The pilot aimed for the very small helipad that was camouflaged by a cross of flowers from every angle except straight up. Jason Ryan eased the large Event Group bird down. Charlie started to move toward the open sliding door and was held back by Will.

“Wait, Doc, we don’t want to lose you now.” The lieutenant eased Ellenshaw back into his seat, then nodded through the doorway at the approaching man in the jeans and blue denim shirt, with a white cowboy hat that had seen far better days. The man waved his hand and then stepped up to the open doorway.

“Colonel, Lieutenant, good afternoon.” The man looked beyond the two officers and eyed the professor. “And Doc Ellenshaw.” He again nodded, held up a small black box, and extended it to Collins first. “Colonel, if you would squeeze the foam sides of the box, please.”

Jack took the Bio-Dynastic cell, squeezed it with his right hand—palm up—and handed it back to the cautious guard. The analyzer beeped twice, then a hidden green LED light glowed softly. Jack’s name appeared on the liquid crystal screen with his rank and picture. The DNA analyzer cleared Collins for entrance into the secretive compound. The guard nodded at Jack, peeled away the twin-foam-rubber grips, replaced those with two fresh ones, and handed it to Mendenhall. The process was repeated for him and Ellenshaw. The link to Europa had taken the moisture from their grips and processed it through the DNA autobase she had of every Event Group staff member.

“Thank you, sir.” The guard stepped back after checking Charlie’s vitals on the screen. He was having a hard time not laughing at the photo of the crazy, white-haired cryptozoologist and the silly look he had on his bespectacled face.

“Sergeant.” Jack stepped from the Black Hawk and then stretched. He scratched the itching beard he had yet to shave and then looked at the Marine. “Matchstick and Gus?”

“Well, Colonel, Gus is in the small house as usual. Matchstick is still held up down in the computer room in the big house.”

Will and Charlie stepped up beside Jack.

“How long has he been like this?” Will asked, trying to get a firsthand account of what had been happening the past few days.

“Five straight days and nights. We moved a small cot into the basement for the rare times the little guy lies down, and he takes all of his meals in there. The Europa link is running twenty-four hours a day. Not unusual in and of itself, but strange because he doesn’t want us looking over his shoulder.”

“Yes, we know, that’s why we’re here.” Mendenhall smiled when he saw the old man open the even older screen door to the small shack. Gus Tilly stepped off the rickety porch and halfheartedly waved at the visitors. He moved toward the group at a slow gait and Jack saw the age Gus had fended off for so long had finally managed to slow him up.

“Colonel, Will.” Gus held out his hand and shook the two officers’ hands. He stepped up and looked Ellenshaw over. “Professor,” he said, taking Charlie by the arm and ignoring his outstretched hand. “Your name is all over that damn research material Matchstick is porin’ over, and I need you to slow that boy down before he kills himself,” he said, half angry. “What is this about?”

Jack and Will watched the exchange just as confused as Ellenshaw.

“I know he’s been in Europa’s files from the Crypto department but he’s locked the file and we can’t get in. He’s classified all of his research with a security code.”

“A situation that should have been avoided,” Mendenhall mentioned as he broke into the conversation. “Pete Golding should not have given Matchstick clearance to secure his own research material or files.”

“Look, Niles has given over complete control of certain aspects of computer security directly to Matchstick…” Jack hesitated, not able to say too much. “While he does a special project.”

Jack stepped up. “Gus, are you all right?” he asked, looking at the thin, frail shape of the old prospector.

Tilly held a hand up and swished it through the air.

“Ah, gettin’ old, is all. The Group doc, that Gilliam woman, said it’s exhaustion. ’Fraid that little shit in there”—he pointed at the new house—“has me worried beyond reason with his strange behavior. He ain’t been to the mine in two weeks.”

They were interrupted by one of the civilian-attired guards as he came from the small garden hut that doubled as the main gate for the compound. He was carrying an armload of what looked like newspapers. Jack exchanged looks with Mendenhall as the guard stepped up to the four men.

“Sergeant, Matchstick’s daily reading material arrived about an hour ago. I’ve checked them all for bugs and they’re clean. Should I take them to him?” the guard asked the Marine sergeant.

Collins reached for them. “No, we’ll take them.”

“Tell him now’s not the time to hold back secrets from friends, so give the little green bastard a piece of your mind, Colonel,” the old man said with a mischievous grin on his whiskered face. “You seem to be the only human that intimidates him anymore. The way he looks at me is like he’s in disconnect … Sorta sad-like.”

A very tired Jack nodded his head and winked at Gus, then started toward the main house. All but the sergeant and guard followed. Charlie thought a moment and turned to Gus.

“Gus, why haven’t you two ever moved into the house the people of the United States built for you?”

Gus looked from Ellenshaw toward the large house. “All that place does is remind me about the many American boys and girls that lost their lives in order for us to have that monstrosity. Hell, the only reason Matchstick is in there now is because that damn Europa terminal wouldn’t fit into my old shack.” Gus’s gray eyes lingered for a brief moment longer on the Victorian house, then he abruptly turned and made his way back to the home he and a little green man from space had lived in happily since Gus had found the injured alien in the mountains eight years before.

Charlie frowned, then turned and caught up with Jack and Will.

“Gus is worried more than he’s letting on about why Matchstick is behaving the way he is,” he said as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.

Collins afforded the naive Ellenshaw a glance. “He’s old, Doc. Gus feels Matchstick is ignoring him because of this Gray problem. He’s lonely again, is all.”

Will Mendenhall stopped before reaching the wide wraparound porch of the white-painted house. “I take it all of this stuff we’re hearing about secret plans for the president is what’s keeping Matchstick away from Gus?”

“Maybe, but he always lets us know of what he needs. This latest is new behavior.”

Two guards greeted the three men and showed them into the basement by hidden elevator. The Europa connection required every inch of four-inch, bulletproof-glassed space. Jack looked inside once the elevator doors opened and saw the mess beyond the glass. Newspapers and books were spread everywhere. The four desks were overflowing with material. Of Matchstick there was no trace.

“Jesus,” Charlie said as he examined the interior of the closed off computer area, “what a mess.”

Jack saw a pile of newspapers move and then settle. It trembled once more and then stopped again. He quickly adjusted the newspapers in his arms and entered his security code at the station beside the door. The glass panel hissed as it slid open and the three men entered. Collins gave the papers and magazines to Mendenhall and stepped toward the large pile of papers. He brushed some of them away and looked down to see a sleeping Matchstick on the floor, covered in his research material and maps. The little green man was snoring lightly as his small chest heaved up and down. Jack saw the large eyes underneath the opposing lids as they worked back and forth rapidly and he knew Mahjtic was dreaming. Not for the first time Collins wondered what would a small green alien dream about? Home? His slave days amongst the Grays? He leaned down to a knee and lightly tapped Mahjtic on the T-shirt-covered belly. He smiled when he saw he was wearing a Star Wars shirt with the wise old Yoda holding up a finger. Jack shook his head and tapped Matchstick once more.

The black eyes sprang open in near panic. The small green alien looked at Collins and then recognition finally reached his very active brain. The alien smiled widely.

“Hi,” he said in his raspy voice as Collins helped him to his feet. Matchstick closed the small white terry-cloth bathrobe over the T-shirt and hugged Jack’s legs. Then he went to each, Charlie first and then Will, and repeated the process. The three men exchanged bemused looks.

“Here, I guess these are yours.” Mendenhall held out the pile of newspapers and magazines.

Matchstick’s mouth formed into a small O and then he took the offered newspapers and started going through them quickly, tossing first one, and then the next away onto the already paper-covered floor. Then his almond-shaped eyes widened as he found the one he wanted. He held it close to his giant eyes and studied the headlines. Jack, out of curiosity, leaned over and looked at which paper held the small alien’s attention. He looked up at Will and Charlie.

“The National Enquirer,” he said with a curious lilt to his voice. Matchstick dropped that one and then picked up the News of the World tabloid from Great Britain. He studied it and then with the gossip rag in his hand turned and went to a small table to sit and read. He completely ignored the three men as they followed.

Matchstick suddenly started pointing and tapping the newspaper violently, then angrily threw the tabloid away from him. He placed his large head in his arms as lowered his face onto the tabletop.

“Okay, Matchstick, what’s wrong?” Jack picked up the crumpled newspaper and examined the headline there.

ENTIRE RESORT REPORTED DESTROYED BY STRANGE HURRICANE, it said. Jack held out the front page and showed Will and Charlie.

“What are you working on, little guy?” Collins asked Matchstick as the small alien finally raised his head. “This have something to do with Overlord?”

Will and Charlie exchanged looks as that code name was heard once again. They knew better than to ask Jack what it was, but the name kept popping up from time to time.

Mahjtic didn’t answer as he stood and then walked toward the computer terminal. There was no voice synthesizer because Europa had a hard time understanding Matchstick’s English vocalizations, so he had to manually input all his requests through the antiquated keyboard, which the Green found immensely and frustratingly slow. He started tapping away with lightning speed with his long fingers.

The three men exchanged concerned looks as Matchstick completely ignored them. Jack’s eyes watched Mendenhall as he pulled away some Hot Pockets wrappers and boxes along with forty or fifty empty Jell-O cups, then lifted a file from the debris-strewn tabletop. Will held it up so Collins could see it clearer. It was a Europa printout of a White House security briefing as delivered by the president’s national security advisor. Jack took the report.

“Matchstick, you know your limits with Europa, don’t you? There was to be no, I repeat, no computer break-ins of any kind where the presidential chain of command is concerned, right? You have to go through channels, and that means Pete Golding.” Jack watched as his words seemed to have no effect. “Other than planning for Overlord, you still have limits. We can get anything you want, but we have to know why.” Jack turned and made sure his words weren’t overheard by Mendenhall or Ellenshaw.

Matchstick suddenly started shaking as if he had become cold; his slim fingers stopped typing on the keyboard. The small being grabbed one hand with the other to control the tremors. Matchstick closed his eyes, sending the side-sliding eyelids to close from the temple area of the head. This happened several times in rapid succession, then Matchstick slowed and opened his eyes wide as he slowly reached for Jack’s hand.

“Saucer?” was the only word he muttered in the soft and buzz-filled voice.

“No, we haven’t found anything.”

Matchstick still held Jack’s large hand as his head turned away in thought. Then he looked at the colonel once again, his dark, jet-black eyes intense. Collins hadn’t seen the small fella act this strangely since four years back, when he was having psychic nightmares about the events on the moon that led to the discovery of the alien and Martian technology that was recovered. Tech that eventually led to Garrison Lee and Niles Compton’s Operation Overlord plan. Only this episode looked to be worse.

“None … of the ancient … crash sites … yielded a power plant?” Matchstick stumbled with the words.

Only Jack knew any details about the Overlord plan, so Charlie and Will just listened. Part of the plan called for the acquisition of an alien-designed engine from one of the saucers, for what? Jack could only guess as neither Niles, Matchstick, the president, nor Senator Lee ever took him into their confidence on certain aspects of Overlord.

“No, but we’re still looking. We have several more leads to follow up on.” Collins saw the eyes close and the head shake. Matchstick’s hand slowly released Jack’s own and he decided to go easy on the green guy for a moment. “Sarah’s in Uzbekistan right now and she still has to file a report on the Russian claim of 1972.”

He saw Sarah’s name made the alien smile for the first time. He nodded his head as if knowing that Sarah was out looking for what they so desperately needed made his burden, whatever it was, far less than it was only a moment before.

“Sarah,” Mahjtic said, repeating the name of a woman the alien had always liked. Jack had noticed that she seemed to have that effect on the strangest of people. Henri Farbeaux flashed through his mind and stuck momentarily.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong. Will here says you’re not sleeping and working far too hard. Let us help with whatever it is. The saucer search isn’t what’s bothering you. You knew from the start it would be a long and maybe futile effort to find one. It’s something else.”

Matchstick looked as if he were thinking, then pushed some of the old newspapers aside to find what he was looking for. It was a yellow file folder with 5656 stamped upon the front. Jack looked over at Will and Charlie; they too noticed it was also marked CRYPTO SCIENCES. Charlie stepped forward, took the offered file, and opened it. He quickly scanned a report Charlie had filed himself more than ten years before for a class he instructed at the complex.

“Matchstick,” Charlie began, “you were supposed to be assisting us when your other duties allowed you to do so in the Captain Everett situation, and report on any theory of time travel you could possibly know about. Why are you delving into mass disappearances?” Charlie held the file up and Jack and Mendenhall saw the title of the report: WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO ROME’S NINTH LEGION?

Jack raised his brows and Will stepped up to the small desk, picked up another Crypto file from Charlie’s office, and opened it. He shook his head and then also held it up so Jack could read the heading of Ellenshaw’s conclusions as reported through Europa. This file was fifteen years old. ENTIRE CHINESE ARMY DIVISION VANISHES IN 1938.

“Do these have something to do with the research you were assigned on the possibilities of time travel and how Captain Everett’s watch could be found in ice two hundred thousand years old?” Charlie asked. Collins touched the front page of the newspaper. “Are the Grays responsible for this?”

Matchstick looked up into the face of the colonel and then his eyes narrowed. He shook his head in the negative, which threw Jack a curve.

“Okay, what do you suspect?” Jack asked.

Mahjtic stood and pushed away from his small desk, took Jack by the hand, and led him to the glass wall. Then Matchstick held up his long, thin arms for Collins to pick him up. Jack shook his head but lifted the small being into his arms and sat him on the window sill that looked out on the desert from the ground view of the basement. Jack didn’t care for the way Matchstick was acting. He looked out into the afternoon sun with his long fingers framing the sill.

“Someone … has … a working power … plant.” His obsidian-colored eyes blinked against the bright sunlight as he turned to face the colonel.

“Sarah and her discovery teams haven’t found one trace of any of the crash sites you sent her to. So I doubt anyone, anywhere has a working saucer engine.”

Matchstick sat on the protruding sill and then eyed Jack. “Someone on this … planet … has a working power plant, and they … are … creating … wormholes.” Matchstick hopped down from the window sill and landed at Jack’s feet, then pulled the National Enquirer from the desk to show him the big hole in the ground where the Lebanese resort site had been. “Wormhole effect when … tunnel strikes the … surface of … the … planet.”

“I’m not following your logic,” Jack said. Charlie and Will came closer as they too became interested in the theory the small alien was putting forth.

Matchstick went back to his desk and with the keyboard humming his long fingers flew across the keys. Soon Europa was online to answer their questions.

“Colonel Collins. It has been determined through debriefing that the technology of wormhole travel is complicated. When travel ends, the wormhole must not be in contact with the destination itself. The exit has to be situated no less than three thousand feet above the surface of target destination. If not, the destructive forces of the transit hole will produce catastrophic effects in the area where contact is made. By contacting the surface of target area the ground is pulled up and back into the wormhole.”

“But what about these old disappearances, Matchstick? What do they have to do with this wormhole effect? I mean, they happened so long ago it seems moot.” Charlie Ellenshaw raised his glasses to study the diagram of an animated wormhole that looked exactly like an upside-down hurricane formation ending in a faster-than-light-speed funnel cloud.

Collins looked at Ellenshaw and raised his eyebrows.

Europa answered for Matchstick when the alien typed his answer.

“It has been determined by the slave races of their home world that the wormhole effect is also a means of entering and exiting before IP contact is made. Exiting the wormhole before IP contact with the atmosphere of target area will whiplash the traveler inside to another time realm—thus the suspected experimentation with the alien power plant has affected the earth’s past in several key points.”

“Boy, you have really lost me now,” Mendenhall said.

Matchstick quickly typed in more commands.

“The suspected power plant in use must be in an experimental stage as the nation using it powers it up. While miniature wormholes have been initiated by suspected engine, the knowledge to control the wormhole has not been fail-safed or regulated. Experimentation is creating wormholes that are thus far uncontrollable.”

Again the three men exchanged looks of incredulity. Matchstick was getting frustrated. He typed in more commands and the Europa screen went to full illumination as an animated effect started. It was a wormhole as produced by Europa and her advanced graphics. The hurricane-like storm was spinning in a counterclockwise swirl. It would slink one way as a tornado would and then straighten. The animation showed the wormhole forming outside of Earth’s atmosphere, where it snaked across the screen like an undulating and angry snake. With a bright flash the end of the wormhole opened amid the violence of the storm in space and then a momentary funnel cloud formed. Several saucers flared out of the exit and into the atmosphere.

“This is … a wormhole as … the Grays … use it.” He tapped more commands. “This is what … is happening … now.”

On the screen the wormhole suddenly shot downward through the troposphere, then through the high cirrus clouds until the tunnel mouth slammed into the ground. In moments the wormhole started back up and everywhere—land mass, water, or mountain—the hole touched had gone back up with it.

“I see.” Charlie lowered his glasses back down to his nose and studied the screen further. “You’re saying whoever is experimenting with this power plant isn’t using it right?”

Matchstick closed his large eyes and then vigorously nodded his head so hard Jack thought it would fly from his shoulders.

“And the experiments have caused these mass disappearances throughout our history?” Collins asked as he pulled up one of the small chairs and sat next to Matchstick. He looked deeply into his eyes, wanting to understand why the small alien was so terrified. After all, if someone had an engine from a downed saucer it would allow Matchstick and Compton the tools they needed for Operation Overlord—whatever that was. “How are these experiments with a wormhole opening up rips in time?”

Matchstick typed more commands and then Europa tried her best to transcribe them.

“It has been determined that the wormholes are being shut down too soon after contact with the surface of the Earth, thus the victims, or area of the strike, are pulled upward into the exit hole. When power is shut down the affected traveler will exit the wormhole at a point where it wasn’t meant to go. As the traveler moves through the wormhole an exit can be found anywhere in time; if the exit appears before it hits space the subject will be tossed out. The time frame runs backward from the initial point of contact.”

“So you’re saying that the lower in the wormhole you are, the closer to real time. The higher you are the farther back in time you are?” Charlie asked as he went to a knee in front of Matchstick’s chair.

The alien nodded again, but he wasn’t sure if the humans grasped the science at all—after all, after a million years the Grays still didn’t completely understand it.

“Do you need the power plant from a saucer to create your own wormhole for Overlord?” Jack asked, knowing he was entering into very highly classified territory where Overlord was concerned.

Matchstick looked around, knowing that he was told how secure the Overlord plan was. But as he looked into the eyes of Colonel Collins he knew that if this man could not be trusted, there was no hope for this planet anyway. Mahjtic shook his head negatively once more.

“If they don’t shoot us for asking, what do you need the engine for?” Mendenhall asked ahead of Jack.

“The … power plant … gives off a … by-product … It … is like a … breeder reactor. I need not only the engine for power but … also … the spent fuel … from that engine.”

“Why?” Jack knew they were pushing their luck, as Matchstick knew the information was the most highly classified on the planet and he had been told by Niles Compton, General Garrison Lee, and the president of the United States not to mention Overlord to anyone—even the Event Group staff. Matchstick started twisting his fingers and rubbing his hands.

The small alien stood from his chair and then looked at Collins.

“Power, immense power in … the … spent … fuel of power plant. I … we … the Earth needs … this for Overlord.”

“Okay, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” Mendenhall said.

“Yeah, we’re getting into the area of treason if the president or Niles knew what we were discussing,” Jack said, straightening up and looking at Matchstick. “Now, what happens if we don’t recover an old saucer for the power plant?”

“We … lose … the war in less than six days.”

Will looked at Jack. “You mean with all of Earth’s firepower we can’t win?”

Matchstick shook his head slowly. “We … will … be totally defeated.”

Mendenhall looked away as he heard the word for the first time: defeated.

The room was silent as the statement hung in the air. Collins took a deep breath and decided if he was going to hang for questioning Matchstick, he may as well go for broke in his treason.

“Matchstick.” Jack placed a hand on the alien’s head and then knelt so he could look into the strangest eyes in the universe. “I know the first part of Operation Overlord because I was in on the planning for troop movements and allied response … but the second part of the plan had been kept pretty close to the vest by the president, Garrison, and Niles. What is the real Overlord plan?”

Matchstick shook his head sadly and turned away from Jack.

“I … cannot … tell … you … Colonel.” He turned and tilted his head at Collins, then gave him a sad smile with the small mouth. “So many will … have … to be … sacrificed to even … get … to … the point of Overlord, that … it is best that … no one … knows.” The small alien looked up, sad. “Not even … the bestest … of friends.”

“Colonel, I think the little guy is saying that Overlord includes plans for people we know, and—,” Will started to say.

“Those people are expendable and they, or we, are not to know the details.” Collins patted Matchstick on the small shoulder and then turned away.

“Mahjtic … so sorry … Colonel Jack. But many, many, friends will not survive … even if … Overlord … works.”

Jack and Charlie heard the low moan escape from Will Mendenhall.

“I knew I should have joined the Coast Guard.”

“I think you may want to wait until Matchstick tells us why he’s in a near panic to find this outside of the Overlord considerations.”

Matchstick realized that Jack was starting to suspect that it was not just Overlord that was weighing so heavily on the small alien’s large brain.

“Well, little guy, is there something else you want to let us in on?” Mendenhall asked, far more worried than he had been.

Mahjtic turned away, shut off the Europa monitor, and sat heavily in his chair. He stared at the scattering of papers strewn wide and far. He then slowly looked from one expectant face to the other. The large eyes blinked, sending the double eyelids in from the temple side of his face. They rapidly opened and closed and then settled on the colonel.

“The use of … the … power … plant now operating will force … the Gray Masters into … attacking earlier than they … wanted when they … believe … the Earth … has wormhole … technology. We must find the … engine … and … remove … it … from … the … country that … is … using it.”

“What are you saying?” Charlie removed his glasses and wiped at them vigorously with one of the discarded newspapers.

Matchstick looked at the white-haired professor.

“The Grays are coming, Charlieeee.”

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Assistant Director of Operations Daniel Peachtree sat before the appointed head of Central Intelligence, Harlan Easterbrook. He had been lambasted by the career law enforcement man for the past hour about a subject that had become a political mess for not only the director, but he himself: Hiram Vickers—special desk for “Dirty Tricks.” The euphemism meant Vickers collected technology intelligence from any nation he could gather the information on. The director just discovered Hiram had been doing far more than that.

“First the man runs a tail on a closed operative of the United States Army, and the army is a part of this country, the last that I heard, and like it or not I believe we need them to assist in the securing of this country.”

“The tail was just a test and was not meant to—,”

“I don’t care, Mr. Peachtree,” the director said, cutting his AD off at the knees before he could continue. “You happened to anger the man that appointed me to this very office, a man I owe everything to. The man you tagged is under presidential protection and is assigned to a highly classified position. And this is the man that was incidentally tagged for a test? I have never heard such bullshit in my life. And then this officer’s sister, a woman that worked in this very facility, is murdered along with another technician from Imaging and Tracking.” The director’s glare was murderous.

“Now wait, Harlan, there is nothing to that. Vickers won’t even wipe his nose without permission from me.” Peachtree began feeling very uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny of the director.

“Is that right, Mr. Peachtree? Does that mean you gave him authorization to bug and then tail this Colonel Collins? Did he inform you when he wiped his nose that time?” he asked angrily, tossing his fountain pen on his desk.

“I assure you that everything Vickers and his desk do to fulfill their task is completely aboveboard. Look at the technology he’s uncovered. He has been an asset we cannot lose with the trouble coming this way.”

“Well, I can damn well get along without that little weasel bastard!” Easterbrook’s voice rose to an uncomfortable level.

Peachtree started to say something but the director held up his right hand, staying the response to the insult of a division under the control operations director.

“I was informed that your Mr. Vickers paid a visit to USP Leavenworth to visit a prisoner with no official name or life. A man that it is forbidden to even know exists.”

“This I know nothing about,” Peachtree said in all honesty. “May I learn the name of this nonexistent prisoner?”

“Not if you want to keep your own freedom. Believe me, you don’t want to know. That subject, Mr. Peachtree, is so far above your pay-grade you would think that God himself issued the order that put this man away.”

Peachtree hated the silver-haired man sitting before him. He knew him to be, as himself, nothing more than a political appointee by men in the midst of a power struggle. The president of the United States, who appointed the director, and Speaker of the House Giles Camden, who pushed his own appointment through the hard way, were at extreme odds in the world of heavy-duty politics. His main job after the appointment Camden secured for him under Easterbrook was to keep close tabs on the director and his dealings with the president, whom Camden hated with a passion only reserved for the staunchest of political enemies.

“What do you want me to do—shut down Senator Camden’s pet project on technology gathering?”

“The Speaker of the House can appoint anyone to any project he wants, but not here. This ends today. I want the Technology Acquisitions desk shut down before too much light is pointed in our direction, as I don’t think you really know what your man Vickers has done. I believe he may or may not have informed you about all of his activities. And one more thing, if I hear that stupid phrase ‘dirty tricks’ around here one more time I’ll start firing people in a very public manner. Those days have to be over. We have got to stop making enemies here and overseas if the world is going to get through this crap, and we don’t need your Mr. Vickers creating enemies when we need everyone on the planet in the same damn huddle. Am I understood?”

“What do I do with Vickers?”

The CIA director leaned as far forward as his chair and desk would allow.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Peachtree, you either find a way to get rid of him, or I just may drop a note to an interested party serving with the army about the last official person to see his sister alive only hours before she was murdered. We can go that route if you like.”

Peachtree stared silently at the director, as he didn’t trust his voice to stay at a calm decibel level. Instead of protesting or giving any credence to the rumors swirling around about Vickers’s involvement, which would eventually lead to him knowing the truth about young Lynn Simpson’s murder, he would just stall as long as he could to keep Speaker of the House Camden from knowing his man was being fired. He would have to hide Hiram Vickers so deep that no one would ever find him.

“Until I find a way to get Vickers out of here I’ll assign him to a post as far away as I can find.”

“You can bury your trash as far away as possible, Mr. Peachtree, but the stink may still linger.”

Peachtree stood and buttoned his jacket. The director raised his brow, wondering if the assistant director of Operations would try to sway his harsh decision on Vickers. He didn’t as he turned and left the director’s large office.

Peachtree went to his own office, which was directly connected to the assistant director of Intelligence and her staff. As he walked by the enemy camp—as he came to know it after the Simpson murder—many eyes followed him. He walked past his own assistant and into the seclusion of his inner sanctum. He immediately picked up his secure phone. Peachtree waited while the call was connected.

“Vickers,” the voice said.

“Where are you?” Peachtree asked.

“I’m at the Pentagon.”

“What are you doing there? I would have thought you would want to stay away from the guys that wear uniforms as much as possible, especially since one of them wants to find and kill you.”

“Well, that’s what you think. I think I’ll find him first. Did you learn anything from the director?”

“Yes, I confirmed he’s a colonel and he’s in the army. The same thing we always knew.”

“Well, I have a lead from a very promising source.”

“Yes, and I suspect that is why we need to talk. That source you visited in Kansas doesn’t exist and it was reported to the president that you went to see this invisible man. Since he gave us the Kansas asset Black Teams he used to run for his corporate gains, it won’t be long before either the president or the FBI put two and two together and realize it was you who hit that secret archives facility in Nevada during that Ripper formula case. The director has ordered me to reassign you to another area of endeavor and then eventually fire you.”

“Number one, Daniel,” Vickers snidely said, making the name sound dirty, “the use of the Black Teams to secure advanced technology was a plan Senator Camden, yourself, and I agreed upon, so don’t even bother to threaten me on that point again. Secondly, as soon as I protect my own ass, Director Easterbrook can have my resignation.”

“I can’t give you the time it will take to find this man. I have to reassign you now or our dear director will know because now he’s watching things much too closely. With the president’s approval ratings plummeting over this military buildup we may be able to hide you in the periphery until he’s impeached.”

Vickers laughed in that irritating way he had that would set off the normally kind temperament of even the late Mother Teresa.

“And with you knowing what really happened to Lynn Simpson you feel comfortable stabbing me in the back and hiding me away?” He laughed again. “That’s the bravest thing I have ever heard, Daniel. I mean, if I’m gone from the CIA this colonel will only have one way to find me, and that’s through you.”

Peachtree didn’t like being threatened by Vickers. But he also realized that the man had the only ace in the deck up his sleeve—and that ace was Speaker of the House Camden, the man he owed his allegiance to. He was stuck and knew the only way out was to allow Vickers to track down this colonel and end the threat to their freedom because of the now-defunct Technology Acquisition department. The assistant director knew that this would be the only way he escaped this murderous mess intact.

“You have five days before I have to remove you from your desk. That’s all I can give you without the director frying my ass instead of just yours.”

“I may not even need that many days. I have a resignation letter in my hand that was filed with the Department of the Navy.”

“So, what does that do for you finding out who this army colonel is?”

“Let’s just say we may now have a stepping-stone to our army friend.”

“Okay, you have your five days, Vickers.”

“I need one thing from you to pay off my source that doesn’t officially exist.”

Peachtree exhaled in frustration and waited silently.

“I need you to get with our Mr. Speaker since he is in the know on most secret affairs, and ask him what he knows about a project called Magic. I need to know the name of that particular asset and where it is I can find her or him. That is the price my prisoner friend demanded. I just need that one thing from our benefactor and this one act will make his main enemy in life uncomfortable, to say the least.”

“And just what is that one thing, Mr. Vickers?”

“We need to know anything he has on a special project.” Vickers hesitated a moment as he thought about the name he was about to say aloud.

“Vickers, you are trying my patience.”

“We need to learn what the code word Matchstick Man means.”