3

UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

BIRJAND, IRAN

Former Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was six hundred and ninety feet below the street level of the university. He stared through the two-foot-thick blast-proof glass walls into the chamber where the two hundred men and women who made up the Divine Prophet project crawled in and around the device in anticipation of the next round of tests. The ex-president narrowed his eyes as his aide approached and stood rigid next to his mentor. Ahmadinejad had been at the facility for almost a full year since the edict of the Iranian people that clearly indicated they wanted change and would not support the ex-president’s proxy for the position of president. The new president, Hassan Rouhani, would be a change that would bring on better relations with the West—the United States in particular—and that was not sitting well with the man who used to hold the Iranian presidency.

The device he was again looking at would guarantee no backward movement of the revolution with the election of the moderate, and he would need this device he had hidden away so many years before because it was suspected that the next act of the new president would be to start making overtures of recognition to the outlaw state of Israel. This could never, ever happen.

His aide cleared his throat and Ahmadinejad gave the man a look that almost made him freeze. The man’s beard had grown longer and his face was starting to show the extreme pressure he was under after the defeat of his man at the voting booths the year before. The lines in his face were growing deeper and far more ragged than they had been just the previous year. He raised his right brow, waiting for the aide to say something.

“Sir, the new president’s office has been trying to reach you for hours. The regime wishes to know the status of the project’s shutdown.”

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stared at the assistant for the longest minute of the young man’s life. The look was as if the ex-president was staring at some form of bug that had strayed onto his arm. The aide was relieved to get those haunted eyes off of him when General Hassan Yazdi stepped up to the glass. The general was silent as he looked inside the chamber. He placed his hands behind his back and looked at the young aide in the black suit. He nodded that he should leave the two men alone. The Iranian general remained silent as he stood next to the man who had made his career advancement possible and eventually placed him in charge of operation Divine Prophet. The very same man who had set the ex-president on this course of action in 1978 was now his subordinate who ran the project.

“Soon we will not be able to hide the continuance of this project from the new president. We short-circuited the entire power grid in the province last time the test was run for a full hour. The grid could not withstand the power of the device and our lines from the nuclear power plant at Cernan have yet to be repaired.” The general slightly turned to his left and watched the ex-president as he in turn spied closely the scientists and technicians preparing the Divine Prophet for another test. “They say they need another eighteen hours to find the short in the underground power lines.”

“We were very close this last time. The test was nearly flawless.”

“Close? Flawless? Is that what you call destroying an entire seaside resort and killing God knows how many people? If you call that close and flawless I have a hand grenade course you may want to instruct, old friend.”

Ahmadinejad smiled and then turned fully to face General Yazdi.

“Hand grenades get the job done also, General. I’m sure I need not remind you they kill just as efficiently as any weapon. This hand grenade kills in a wide swath but can also be a little indiscriminate, wouldn’t you say?”

He looked hard at the ex-president of Iran. “Too wide. And too indiscriminate.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. The next test will be closer and we should see the desired effects of the Divine Prophet.”

“You don’t seem worried that our new president has ordered this project of yours shut down?”

“Yes, I am well aware of that. Now, are you prepared to fulfill your promise to the revolution, General Yazdi—a promise you yourself coerced me into over thirty years ago?”

“Loyalists to the revolution swell our ranks. When we strike at the new president and his backward government he will not be able to withstand the army’s wishes, and he will resign to save Iranian lives. Every gaming scenario we have run predicts this fact.”

The ex-president placed a hand on the shoulder of the general and patted it twice.

“I have no fear the people will see our new president for what he really is, a new western patsy. But we will need every loyal man to our cause by our side.” He paused and looked at the general with his penetrating and cold eyes. “And they may have to make the supreme sacrifice when the world learns of our true intent.” He started walking slowly down the curving hallway.

The general grimaced and then turned to follow the man he had created the night he was taken from his student housing the night of the Khomeini revolution.

“Have you prepared for the inevitable military response from the West?” He placed his hands behind his back.

“Our forces are ready with three hundred strike aircraft and five divisions of troops, and that is just for the securing of the capital. I have another full division guarding our salvation here at the university. Project Divine Prophet will remain secure. But if this apparatus fails to do what we want fast enough to stun our enemies in its harshness, we may fail. In the case of an all-out invasion we will not be able to maintain a defense for more than sixteen hours before our enemies knock down anything and everything in this country with the power to generate light from a lightbulb. The securing of the nuclear power generating facilities is paramount.”

“Divine Prophet will be operational after our final test. When we strike the Sea of Galilee that will be the precursor to go with our real target.”

“If we fail to strike our main target you do realize that Tehran will be vaporized in a microsecond? This act of war will be met with vigorous nuclear retaliation.”

“How can our enemy push a button if he no longer exists in this dimension?”

“I pray to God you are right, old friend, or there won’t be an Iranian people to lead as we will all be nothing but ashes.”

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad turned and looked back through the thick glass at the power plant, the very engine of one enemy that would destroy an even more bitter and ancient foe, and one that would lead his nation into the light of the modern world to take its rightful place. He stopped and saw the round, alien engine with its many vents and steam ports through the thick glass windows as the technicians worked diligently getting the plant back online. As he watched the amazingly varied multicolored lights wrapped around its circumference blink on and off in a series of patterns he would never understand, he saw the glow of the fuel rods inside that made the glass viewing ports on the engine shimmer with magical hues not seen anywhere in the world. Only here in Iran would the righteous peoples triumph over the Zionist invaders to their south.

“After the strike of the Divine Prophet our enemies will not even have ashes to bury, my friend.”

The general saw the confidence in the man’s eyes, or was it something else—possibly something that bordered on obsessive insanity toward the one goal that kept the ex–Iranian leader awake at night.

“What of the new president?” the general asked, trying to cover all of his questions before being dismissed by the now very private Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

“It would take the new regime more than a year to find this hidden facility, and by then”—this time the smile was genuine—“his government will no longer be in existence.”

The general watched Ahmadinejad leave at a slow pace toward his room, where only a cot and a desk waited for the most powerful man inside Iran and most of the Middle East. The former head of Iranian intelligence watched the sadness of the scene, then frowned.

“I just pray that the existence you speak of extends to our cause.” He started to turn and then stopped. “And also to us.”

PRIVATE FLIGHT 3677

ISRAELI AIR FORCE

The military Learjet was cruising at 26,000 feet. The Israeli Air Force pilot relaxed and watched the European countryside far below vanish only to be replaced by the bleaker aspects as they neared their homeland. The small plane carried only two passengers.

General Shamni watched the woman as she stared at the white ceiling. She hadn’t uttered a word since their flight had lifted off from Romanian soil. He shook his head as he realized just how much of a son of a bitch he had become. He had used the dirtiest tricks in the book to get back one of his prized agents. He knew just how much Israel needed her children and this child was no exception. Anya Korvesky, again a major in the Mossad, had not said a word since she had watched Captain Carl Everett’s plane lift off an hour before their own aircraft. Shamni knew he had succeeded in breaking the young gypsy woman’s heart by pulling the mean trick that he had by using something that would drive a wedge between the American naval captain and the major—the attachment the man had with his past in the United States.

“Major, we have a dilemma at home. With this United Nations scare about extraterrestrial incursions running rampant, our friends in the world are starting to arm our old enemies with newer weapons—a lot of them.” He glanced at Major Korvesky but she made no indication that she was listening. “While we suspect that most of these weapons will be utilized against a real and not an imagined enemy like Israel, there are others that may seek to take advantage of the gifts of technology and strike at us.”

Anya remained silent and still as the general spoke seemingly to an empty seat.

“We are receiving very disturbing reports from our people inside of Iran. It seems they have redirected several power grids from major cities and provinces for what purposes we can only guess at. We suspect it has nothing to do with the reports of extraterrestrial invasion, as the Americans are also in the dark.”

“And this is the reason you have interfered in my life once again?” Anya said as she remained still. “I know Carl would have missed his home terribly, but I was willing to go anywhere to be with him. But you fed him the one piece of information that guaranteed that would never happen. You, Uncle, are a son of a bitch. Why should I risk my future and my happiness for pigs that act no differently than our enemies?” She finally looked at the military man.

He looked at her hard. “Sometimes we have to get into the gutter with those enemies, and you know that better than any agent that I have ever trained. Hell, you were better at this than I ever could be. We need you, Major, and we need to know what in the hell is happening inside the Iranian border. If we don’t get answers soon our prime minister will be forced to act against their power distribution centers.”

“You mean their nuclear facilities. That is what you people are fearful of, not the weapons being given to them for an alien invasion that will probably never happen. This is just an excuse to do what you have always wanted to do—destroy the Iranian ability to make nuclear weapons.”

The general gave the major a sincere look as he studied her angry features.

“If I cannot convince my smartest pupil, we have no hope of explaining our actions to the world if we do have to strike at the Iranian facilities.”

“You have to explain to the young people of our country why we have to be the policeman of the Middle East. If the Iranian nuclear question is so dangerous to us and the world why aren’t our friends and allies backing us in a unilateral attack?”

“Because they may not have the same intelligence we have on the situation.” He saw that she was about to throw her same old argument of sharing intel with other nations at him but he cut off the question with his raised hand. “We cannot prove a thing, but militarily speaking something is happening we cannot place our finger on. Military men are not being dispersed as their new president has ordered. Instead of keeping his many divisions on the border with Iraq as per their custom of late, the generals are spreading out divisions in very disturbing and unusual places.”

“Such as?” she asked, pretending that she wasn’t interested in the least. The general knew he had piqued her curiosity.

“Why place five divisions of their crack infantry in and around the capital without informing their new president of such a move? They have also disbursed many hundreds of their newest fighter jets to the south and we in Mossad believe those MiG-29s may be pointed directly at Israel’s throat.”

“The Americans, British, French, and Russians have been quiet on this?” she asked, finally sitting up in her seat.

“We don’t even know if they are interested at the moment due to their current political troubles over their military spending. Besides, the Americans are the ones leading the charge in the preparations for this supposed invasion of theirs.”

“You’re lying to me again, Uncle,” she said as she studied the man’s worried countenance. “You’re not telling me what else you have on the Iranians that is scaring you so badly.”

The general reached down, pulled out his small brown satchel, and placed it on his lap.

“What I am about to show you is highly classified. We stole it from the same source that gave us the information for your Captain Everett.” General Shamni pulled out a large photo. “This is from a KH-11 satellite flyover of the Lebanese coast sixteen hours ago.” He handed the photo to Anya.

“What is it I am looking at—a sea coast with nothing but sand and water?”

“You should know—you had an operational mission there three years ago. As I remember you eliminated a Lebanese national there for us.”

He could see Anya thinking as she studied the black and white recon photo. He saw her eyes widen as they roamed over the small bay area that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yes, that hole in the beach area there is where the Warwick Pangea Beach Resort used to sit.”

She sat up farther in her seat and looked more closely at the print.

“Impossible. There must have been an error in the GEO positioning the KH-11 used for her coordinates.”

“That was the initial position of our people in the analysis division, but the prime minister authorized an F-16 recon mission over the site.”

“And?” she asked when he paused.

“The resort was ripped from the sea and has vanished. The place is crawling with a United Nations contingency force and our fighter was lucky to get out before the Americans knew we were there.”

“What is the UN saying?”

“They’re not entertaining any ideas at the moment other than they believe the attacks from space have started. We have other beliefs.”

“And they are?” Anya asked as she again looked at the blank spot in the photo where one of the largest and most luxurious sea resorts in all of the Middle East used to sit. Now it was a torn-out cove of water with geysers of water from broken mains spewing forth their contribution to the mystery.

The Mossad general pulled out another piece of paper from his case after removing the space-based image from her fingers. He handed her a large computer printout.

“As you know we have kept our eyes open for any variance in the Iranian power output because they will need a massive spike to get their breeder reactor up and running. Well, we received a spike in consumption alright”—he paused and then tapped the white printout—“At the exact same moment it is believed the resort vanished into thin air.”

Anya looked at the numbers of the output from their three nuclear facilities used for power generation and saw that they had indeed spiked at the same moment it was suspected the attack had occurred.

“No, this is impossible. There is no way the Iranians would have anything near this capability. This would have to be related to the alien question everyone is so worried about.”

“Unless the Iranians have found the one thing the United Nations is searching the world for.”

“You forget, Uncle, I have been out of the military loop for a few months. You have to enlighten me.”

“Oh, yes, maybe I should have had your Captain Everett explain this part to you. The Americans and British are obsessed with finding an operating alien power plant for something they have dubbed Operation Overlord.”

“And why would Carl know anything about this?” Anya handed the printout back to Shamni.

He placed the paper back in with the highly classified photo.

“Because, my dear niece, your Mr. Everett was just assigned to the project, whatever it is.”

Anya stood so suddenly that it startled the general.

“And that is the real reason you brought me back to Mossad. So I can get the secret information about this Operation Overlord out of Carl once he learns about it!”

“Yes.” He looked away in real shame at his actions. “Also for the fact that we need the Americans and their allies to strike the killing blow in Iran and not us.”

“You’re willing to bet other lives on a strike but not our own?”

“Yes, only because we believe the Iranians have the alien technology. The Iranians are using the mass confusion around them over this alien event so they can strike without anyone getting the wiser on them. But we have.”

“You are the biggest son of a bitch I have ever known, Uncle. Tell the Americans, the British, and the Russians what you suspect, let them decide their own fates. We don’t have that right.”

The general looked out at the growing dark skies that signaled the oncoming night.

“If we don’t act soon our right to exist may be at an end.”

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Jack Collins had shaved and changed into his blue jumpsuit. It was the first time he had been dressed for duty since Director Compton took him off the field evaluation teams and anything that took him off base. The separation of Captain Everett and himself was due to the finding of the captain’s wristwatch with Collins’s blood—a timepiece that had been buried over 200,000 years ago. The situation had been especially hard on Jack, who needed to be off base to find the killer of his sister, and that just wasn’t happening. He was even having a hard time facing his mother because he could see the question in her sad eyes: had there had been any break in her daughter’s case? There hadn’t. D.C.’s Metropolitan Police Department and the Virginia state police had yet to come up with any leads. Jack knew they wouldn’t find any because Lynn had been killed by one of her coworkers at the CIA.

A light knock sounded at the door and Jack turned to open it. Will Mendenhall stuck his head inside and immediately noticed the colonel’s private quarters had been cleaned and the colonel himself was looking like a colonel again.

“Colonel, the director has arrived and Gus and Matchstick are in the conference room.”

“Got it.” Jack smiled for the first time since the murder of Lynn. He took Will Mendenhall in. “Did the director come down on you for letting me out of my cage?”

Mendenhall looked behind him into the long and curving corridor to make sure there were no ears flapping about.

“Yes, sir, I’ve only got about half my ass at the moment,” he said as he jokingly reached behind himself and hissed.

“Well, that won’t be the last ass chewing you get.” He smiled even wider. “Especially when you have people like you, Ryan, and Mr. Ever…” Jack’s words trailed away at the mention of Captain Everett’s name. Collins just nodded and Will saw the face of a man who had lost a good friend.

“Nah, when I’m in charge, I’ll just recruit better people.” Will’s smile didn’t quite make it as he tried to keep the conversation light.

“The smart move would be not to be in charge at all and refuse all promotions.” Collins gestured for his lieutenant to lead the way.

*   *   *

The Event Group supervisory staff had gathered. The sixteen department heads were represented with the only absentee being the current head of the geology department: Army 1st Lieutenant Sarah McIntire, who was off in the Middle Eastern desert looking for something they all thought wasn’t there. Jack looked at the chair occupied by her second-in-command, Sam Parker, a geologist from the University of Texas. Mendenhall, who was still the acting security chief while Jack was being protected, sat beside Collins. Will knew Jack was used to seeing Everett in this particular chair.

Director Compton cleared his throat as the semiretired Alice Hamilton, whom Niles had called in for the briefing, came through the double doors. She jumped when Matchstick—who had been standing next to Gus Tilly—ran over and wrapped his long, thin arms around her thighs. He hugged her just as he had done with the security team when they had arrived at Chato’s Crawl earlier that morning. It was now seven at night and the little guy was still buzzing about the things he suspected were happening.

“Well, hello to you too, Matchstick.” Alice tossed her writing tablet and files on the conference table, then picked the alien up to smile at his large eyes.

“Alissssss,” Matchstick hissed. His right hand went to the eighty-seven-year-old’s cheek and his index finger caressed it.

Alice smiled and then kissed Matchstick on the cheek. Thus far Gus Tilly and Sarah McIntire were the only two people Matchstick allowed to kiss him. The rest, well, he figured a hug was good enough. Alice Hamilton saw that Mahjtic was wearing the smallest military blue jumpsuit she had ever seen. She looked at Will Mendenhall, who was watching them. She nodded her head, suspecting it was the young lieutenant who was responsible for outfitting the alien. She could see that Matchstick loved dressing like the soldiers. She gently placed him in his seat next to Gus, whom she patted on the shoulder lightly; then she leaned in and kissed his grizzled cheek. He swiped at the spot and shook his head. She smiled anyway and then took her accustomed chair next to the director, who sat opposite Virginia Pollock, Niles’s number two at the Group.

Matchstick pumped up his chair’s riser until his eyes were seen over the tabletop, and then he waited. It had been over six months since he had visited the complex and the small being knew he caused a stir with Event Group personnel every time he showed up. Mahjtic had been adopted by every human he had ever been introduced to.

“Okay, first off, welcome, Gus and Matchstick. It’s been too long,” Niles said as he stood and nodded at the old man. “I’m glad we could dig you out of that mine shaft for a while.”

“Well, I’m a little more comfortable since the first time I visited this place. Never liked the thought of all that unstable sand above your heads.” He looked around the large conference room. “But I guess if it hasn’t all caved in by now it’s not goin’ to.”

All the department heads nodded their approval of Gus’s claustrophobia, especially knowing he had spent most of his life in one cave or mine shaft after the other. He was just mad at being uprooted from his home and flown to Nevada.

Niles nodded in understanding as he moved right into the briefing.

“Before we get to the suspicions of Matchstick and the conclusions he’s drawn, let’s focus on current events that will lead into our friend’s speculation. Virginia, what is the disposition of the field teams assigned to finding Matchstick’s power plant?”

Virginia Pollock cleared her throat and then glanced at her notes. Niles could see she wasn’t really happy with what it was she had to report.

“Not good. All fourteen teams have come up with nothing.” She nodded her head at Matchstick, who was holding the hand of his best friend, Gus, and listening intently to every word. “I’m afraid none of the crash sites mentioned in Matchstick’s briefing of four years ago have been uncovered or even documented. The one crash site we had the highest hopes for was the area in which Sarah McIntire’s team in Azerbaijan covered fully, but even that led to a big fat zero.” She saw Matchstick lower his lightbulb-shaped head.

Niles sat into his chair and quickly made a decision. “Okay, double the teams and then cover the fourteen sites again. Use a fine-tooth comb, Virginia.”

“Niles, we’ll have to take some of our science department personnel to cover that order.”

“Then do it—we have to find a power plant from a downed saucer. Every attempt at getting the engines of the Roswell saucers operational has met with failure. Matchstick said that the fuel rods inside the engines have been drained fully. That, ladies and gentlemen, is that. The search for the original saucer from 1947 has turned up nothing. We suspect that the Centauris Corporation dismantled it and spread its parts to the winds. Our house guest in Leavenworth, Kansas, is not cooperating with us any longer, for what reason we do not know.”

“Maybe he should be reminded of his obligations to the country,” Will Mendenhall ventured. “I’ll go to Kansas and explain it to him personally if you want,” he said with a smirk.

“As much as I would like to see that, we haven’t the time.”

Mendenhall looked slightly disappointed at not being able to explain things directly to prisoner Charles Hendrix II, the former CEO of Centauris.

Niles nodded his head at the navy communication man sitting at the Europa terminal. On the sixty-five-inch-monitor in the middle of even more, smaller monitors, the satellite image of the event in Lebanon came into full view. “Okay, Charlie Ellenshaw has Matchstick’s report and his conclusions. Doctor?”

Charlie Ellenshaw cleared his throat and stood. He nodded his head at Gus and Mahjtic and then walked toward the large screen.

“What it all boils down to, Mr. Director, is the fact that Matchstick is a firm believer that this is not an extraterrestrial event, or a Gray assault. He thinks the disappearance of the resort is due to someone on this planet having an operational alien power plant.”

This started everyone talking at once. Niles held up his right hand for silence. He nodded at Ellenshaw to continue, but his eyes studied the small alien who was watching the startled faces around him.

Every monitor around the circular conference room illuminated with photos of events throughout history. On the main viewing screen was the shot of a barren plain in the north of Scotland.

“Mass disappearances throughout human history,” Charlie began. “Many here, after the Roswell event, will say that most vanishings, like this one in Scotland of Rome’s Ninth Legion, could be blamed on everything from E.T.”—he smiled at Matchstick, who looked confused as to the reference—“to earth eruptions that swallowed everything whole, to gravity fluctuation, meaning that gravity just gave way in a lot of these instances.”

Matchstick watched the faces of the group and was pleased to see that Charlie had gained their attention.

“Matchstick said many times in his two thousand hours of debriefing that one of the effects of forming a wormhole was a time displacement occurrence that will happen if a vehicle using the time warp exits before it reaches its targeted area. In other words, at a precise moment in the traveler’s itinerary the vehicle can jump from the wormhole and hit its target area of the planet but come out in a different time period from the target he was originally seeking. This is what Matchstick claims is happening. Someone on this world has an operational power plant and is experimenting with the wormhole effect, thus the mass disappearances throughout time are occurring. They don’t know what they have on their hands.”

“I suspect whoever has it may be attempting to use it as a weapon,” Jack said, offering a military solution.

“I agree on that point,” Charlie said as he moved to the next photo in line. “The United Nations science team investigating the resort area has found some unusual soil samples. The sand had turned to glass. Tremendous heat, and then nothing of the resort was left. I am beginning to think like Matchstick, that this was no accident. Someone targeted the wormhole for that area of the planet.”

“But how can Matchstick automatically eliminate the Grays? Can’t they be responsible as an opening prelude to an attack?” Virginia asked.

Everyone was taken back as Matchstick jumped upon the tabletop. He vigorously shook his head, then placed his hands over his small ear openings.

“As you can see, Virginia, he adamantly does not think it is the Grays,” Ellenshaw said as he tried to explain Matchstick’s severe reaction to the question.

“I don’t see how he can just reject the Gray theory out of hand; I mean, who would use that as a weapon against our own planet other than an attacking alien force?” Pete Golding asked Charlie.

“Because … the Grays … know … not the theory … of … time displacement.” Matchstick looked around to make sure everyone heard his raspy voice. They had.

“You mean to say that the Grays have had this wormhole technology for a million years and don’t know how it works?” Alice ventured.

Matchstick nodded his head yes vigorously as he started to pace the tabletop.

“Remember, everyone,” Charlie said, “the Grays are a master race of beings who depend solely on their slaves for technical work and teaching. They don’t know how their own technology works because the Greens have kept that little secret from them. And thank God they had the foresight to hide that little trick or we would have Grays bypassing our time frame and going after our far weaker ancestors in the past. Easy conquering of a world, wouldn’t you say?”

Matchstick finally relaxed when he saw the looks of the scientists around him. They were starting to understand.

“Charlie, have either you or Matchstick come up with a theory as to how this earthbound entity got their hands on an alien power plant without the rest of the world knowing it?” Niles asked.

“I’m afraid we haven’t—at least not yet. Pete and I will be working closely with Gus and Matchstick in the next few days to see if we can come up with something.”

Niles opened a folder and slid a paper across the table, where it landed at Mahjtic’s bare feet. Charlie picked up the printout and examined it. His eyes scanned the lines of numbers.

“Start there,” Niles said.

“What is this, Niles?” Ellenshaw enquired.

“That was forwarded through the president’s office. The Mossad repaid some of the favors they owe our government and sent this along as an interesting event in and of itself.”

“All I can see is that it’s an official energy output for a region inside. Of…” He looked at Niles and gave the paper to Matchstick, who also examined it. Charlie was unable to say anything in response to the report.

“That’s right, inside the Iranian border—the eastern region. Evidently the Mossad believes they are using massive power outlays for something, and frankly it’s making them nervous.”

“Nuclear weapons manufacture?” Jack Collins guessed.

“We honestly do not know, Colonel. This may be a coincidence or it may be just what you suggested, Jack, but one thing is clear from Matchstick’s briefing reports: it takes more power to start up an alien power plant than we could ever believe. And if they do have one and are using their energy production to get it going they will soon be manufacturing the very by-product that Matchstick needs for Overlord. Both the engine and the expended fuel that is produced by that power plant are essential to the Overlord plan.” Niles looked around at his staff. “And as Matchstick has said to the few men and women in the know about it, Overlord is the only hope for the planet, because everything we have weapons-wise will only delay the inevitable.”

Pete Golding stood and walked over to a monitor that had the area in question. The map of Iran was multishaded as it depicted the power consumption of each region under Iranian control. The highest output of energy came from the eastern region. The computer genius worked his index finger from the east to the north. He stabbed at the plastic screen, then went to the conference table and pulled out his field team briefing report. He shook his head.

“What is it?” Niles asked.

“The suspected saucer crash in 1972 in Russia—or the old Soviet Union. Look at its suspected track that the Russians have the UFO on before they fired on it.” Pete returned to the map and traced a red line with his fingertip all the way from Azerbaijan to the Iranian border. The trace line illuminated with Pete’s track. “I think we have found one of the crash sites.”

“Whose field team investigated that possibility?” Compton asked as his hopes were raised.

Will Mendenhall opened his security brief, then looked at Collins first before answering. It seemed the colonel was already aware of whose responsibility that investigation had been assigned to.

“Uh, that would be Sarah McIntire’s team, sir,” Will finally answered.

“What team is that in Israel?” the director asked.

“That is Commander Ryan’s team. They also came up with nothing,” Will said as he studied his field team rosters.

“Okay, transfer him and his people to McIntire’s team, get them added security, and then get them into Iran. If I have to supplement security with Special Forces from the president I’ll do it.” Niles exhaled loudly and then looked at his people. “Matchstick has informed Charlie that if this is the true case of Iran testing alien equipment they may have forced the Grays to an earlier attack scenario because they know what that power plant can do for us technology-wise.”

“Mr. Director, that area is not secure enough to send anyone in. The Iranians would capture and execute anyone they catch. Even with their new moderate president they are still far from trusting,” Mendenhall said. Jack was appreciative of his pointing out the danger facet to the director.

“Enough said. Contact the lieutenant and get her people moving. Set up a meet point for Ryan and his team to join her and then Will, I want you and security to come up with a plan to get them into the eastern region where someone thinks they have found lightning in a bottle. Okay, Matchstick and Gus will work closely with Pete, Virginia, Charlie, and Europa. We need to get a line on how to get that engine out of there if it’s there at all. I’ll brief the president.”

“Request permission to join the Iranian team.”

All eyes went to Jack as he stared directly at the director.

“Denied,” Niles said matter-of-factly. “This meeting is adjourned for now. Alice and Colonel Collins, please remain behind.”

As the Group members filed out of the conference room, Matchstick held Gus’s hand as he approached Jack. To the colonel it looked as if the small green being was empathizing with him over the danger Sarah McIntire was now facing. Jack just winked at the two as they turned and exited.

When the room was cleared Alice placed her writing tablet down, then went to go get coffee for the three of them. Niles slid two folders down to Jack’s end of the table. Collins looked them over and saw that one was stamped with the seal of the United States Army, and one of the U.S. Navy.

“What are these?” he asked, feeling his heart sink.

“Yours and Mr. Everett’s orders. You have been transferred by the president for work on the Overlord plan. You’re being moved to the Pacific area of responsibility. Captain Everett goes to Texas. The president has refused to accept the captain’s resignation.”

Jack remained silent, knowing that if anything in the Overlord plan called for him and Everett participating in the highly secretive plan, it was placed there by the man who was looking at him right now. Niles Compton and Matchstick, along with the late Garrison Lee and a few others in Britain, had come up with the extensive defensive plan called Overlord. He knew the director found the orders distasteful but was doing it anyway, even though Jack needed time to try and find his sister’s killer. He now knew that task might have to wait—a thought that he truly hated.

“You realize that anything we do with Carl could be sending him to his doom in Antarctica two hundred thousand years ago?” Collins asked, refusing to even open the folder to see his new orders. “And all of this time-displacement theory from our little green friend points to Carl running into one of those exact scenarios.”

“The plan calls for you being somewhere else, Jack, I’m sorry. The president insists we stick with every detail of Overlord, and that means you and Mr. Everett have to go no matter what may happen. Hopefully the captain’s duties in Houston will keep him far from Matchstick’s wormholes.”

“What else?” Jack asked as Alice placed a cup of coffee in front of him. She glanced his way and gave him a sad twitch of her lips. He saw that Niles couldn’t meet his eyes as the lie about Carl was uttered. He was used to taking orders and obeying them to the last detail, but to knowingly send a man he respected and liked on a possible suicide mission was not something he would ever knowingly do. If it was the last thing he ever did he would warn his friend of the danger that Niles, Matchstick, and the late Senator Lee was sending him to.

“Jack, as much as I want and need my military contingent the president needs them even more. You see the rioting and protests over the military budget the president is facing. There is even impeachment talk from the Speaker of the House. He needs his people and I can’t fault him. All military personnel will be reassigned to new duties for Overlord concerns and any other military contingency that may arise. I’m sorry.”

Jack cleared his throat as he needed to ask one last question of the director. “Lieutenant McIntire? Where will she be assigned?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I really do not know.”

Collins looked away for the briefest of moments. He was about to do something he swore he would never do—interfering with another military officer’s career.

“Dr. Compt—” Jack looked into the director’s eyes. “Niles, I want you to insist that Sarah be formally discharged. I want her to stay at Group as a civilian department head.”

“Jack, I—,”

Collins held up his hand. “Please. She would be volunteering for any dangerous, stupid assignment the army saw fit to send her on. Please, Niles, pull whatever strings you have to, but keep Sarah inside the complex when all of this comes down. I need this one thing, Niles.”

Compton looked from Jack to Alice. Jack looked her way for a brief second and then lowered his eyes.

Niles studied Jack, then pursed his lips and slowly nodded.

“I’ll insist we need her at Group, maybe we can do it without discharging her from the army. The president may accede to my wishes, but with everything that’s happening, I cannot promise anything, Jack.” Compton stood and with Alice in tow walked from the room.

Jack Collins was stunned. He looked at the folders and knew that things had changed forever. How would he ever inform Sarah they would be separated for the war that was coming?

Collins gathered up his orders and those of Captain Everett and started to rise when his cell phone chimed. He looked at the patch-through from Europa and his eyes narrowed. He stared at the brief text message that Europa had allowed through.

KANSAS VENTURE PAID OFF JUST AS YOU HOPED. WE HAVE YOUR MAN.

Jack’s lips became a long thin line etched with hatred. He saw the signature at the bottom and knew the information was true. The killer of his sister Lynn had been found. He glanced at the message and glanced at the signature once more.

HENRI.

QONAQKEND, QUBA

AZERBAIJAN

Calling the small enclave of mud brick huts a village was a misleading statement, even by Azerbaijani standards. The five or six inhabitants tended herds and pastures that had long gone to seed a hundred years before the intrusion of the scientific teams from the United Nations. The few old men who remained watched as the invaders to their small mountain home packed up to leave after an exhausting six-week search for something that just wasn’t there. Every piece of modern equipment had been used but no sign of a crash had been detected in the mountainous region of the former Soviet Republic.

Sarah McIntire, barely recognizable as the scarf and hat covered most of her features, handed the last of the soil sample cases to the specialist in the back of the two-and-a-half-ton truck. She heard the Russian army sergeant curse as the weight of the case overbalanced him and he almost fell. Sarah wanted to laugh but was too tired to do so. She pulled the scarf down, shook her head, raised a water bottle to her dry lips, and drank. She looked around the rough terrain. Sometimes she swore she could smell the aroma of the sea in the high pass of the mountain. The Caspian Sea was only fifty-seven miles distant but she knew the smell was more wishful thinking than an actual aroma. She could not wait to get out of Azerbaijan. The saucer crash reported in 1972 just did not happen in this area, if at all. Matchstick had to be wrong about the location.

Most of the sixteen members of her team were made up of an international who’s who of geologists and crash specialists from all over the world, but Sarah still found herself far more comfortable around the Russian soldiers than she did the scientists. She smiled as she thought about it. Maybe it was only because as a soldier she could relate to the Russians wanting to be somewhere, anywhere, other than these godforsaken mountains in the middle of nowhere.

She was approached by a Russian lieutenant, who, like herself, was also a geologist. She thought about just how young a man he was and found it hard to believe the boy was a soldier at all.

“Lieutenant McIntire, we have company approaching from the south.”

Sarah heard the distinctive thump or rotors. She squinted her eyes against the sun, then placed her sunglasses on. She finally spied the chopper as it came in low over the small clearing between two large mountains.

“Thank you, Uri. Tell the scientists and men that we will be leaving within the hour.” She smiled at the young Russian.

The helicopter was a Russian navy bird, a Kamov Ka-27. At one time it was one of the most feared attack helicopters in the world, one that NATO always knew would be a threat in any conflict that would have arisen during the cold war between the two navies. Now it was relegated to scientific duties the Russian Navy conducted in the Caspian Sea. It could hold up to ten passengers and with its twin-boomed silhouette looked amazingly fragile. Sarah hated flying in the thing.

The helicopter slowly settled to the floor of the valley, making the few people still living there come to their doorways and curse the noise as their few goats and sheep ran off to the wilds of the mountain. The twin, counter-rotating rotors settled and the sliding door opened and out stepped a familiar shape. The man was small and dressed like Lawrence of Arabia, which was exactly the look he perpetuated around the international crew of searchers. Commander Jason Ryan, United States Navy, removed his scarf, shook out his bush hat, and smiled at Sarah.

“I find you in the strangest places.” He looked around the ancient village as he slapped away the dust raised by the helicopter. “Qonaqkend isn’t much to look at, is it?”

She laughed, as she never expected to see Ryan all the way out here. The last she knew from her briefing was that the naval aviator was searching for another saucer crash site somewhere in Afghanistan.

“Are you kidding? This is the garden spot of Qonaqkend. The Marriott has yet to begin construction on the resort they envision.”

Ryan removed his gloves and hugged his friend. He pulled away and then looked around again. “It’s still better than Afghanistan.”

“Nothing there either?” Sarah saw the weariness in Jason’s unshaved face.

“No, and I’m beginning to think that little green bastard has all his facts mixed up about reported crash areas of the past. I’m surely tired of this wild-goose chase.”

“Well,” Sarah said as she handed Ryan her water bottle, “I guess the goose chase has ended because we haven’t found a damn thing anywhere in the world. Time to go home, I guess.”

With a sad look Ryan pulled out a sheet of paper from his flight suit and handed it to Sarah. He shook his head without saying anything.

“You’re kidding,” she said as she reluctantly accepted the note. She opened it and read. “Damn, where in the hell is this, Leschenko?”

Ryan smiled as he watched the activity around him.

“The Leschenko is not a place, it’s a ship.” He turned and shook his head. “You ground-pounder types should at least know your major naval combatants in the world’s oceans.”

“Okay smart-ass, you can just—”

“It’s a Riga-class frigate of the Caspian Flotilla. She’s Russian and she’s out there.” He pointed toward the distant sea. “And she awaits your lovely face, Lieutenant.”

“What’s happening?” she asked as she folded the orders from Niles Compton and handed them back.

“I haven’t the vaguest notion, my dear. But your new friends here aren’t invited. They are to pack up and go home. It’s only us and your Lieutenant Uri … Uri…” Ryan patted his pockets looking for another note he had written.

“Lieutenant Uri Petrovich.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Well, we’re to report to the Leschenko to meet with a Lieutenant Colonel Pavel Krechenko, a Russian Army type.”

“Who in the hell is that?”

“The director wouldn’t say. We are to report to the frigate, where all will be explained.”

Sarah frowned at Ryan, knowing the navy man never settled for surprises. She could tell by that evil smirk of his that he had other information.

“Okay, Commander Dipshit, what did Europa tell you when you queried her on this colonel fella?”

Ryan’s features twisted in mock surprise. “Would I do that? I mean, that’s a criminal offense, getting Europa to search for something without Pete Golding knowing about it.”

“Okay, so you placed a call to Pete and since the good Dr. Golding always kisses your ass, you found something out.”

“Well, yes. But it doesn’t explain anything—in fact, it makes it far more mysterious than before.”

“Jason, come on!” she said, grabbing his coat collar.

“Our Russian lieutenant colonel is the commander of an assault unit operated by the Russian Army, the 106th Guards Division.” Ryan saw the blank look on Sarah’s face. “It’s the Russians’ most elite airborne division. It seems that two thousand of them have been transferred to the Caspian Flotilla. As a matter of coincidence most were transferred to the very same Riga-class frigate where we’re now headed.”

“Oh, shit,” Sarah said.

Ryan winked. “My sentiments exactly, Lieutenant McIntire.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The president entered the Oval office with the thick file that had been sent over from the Event Group that morning. The briefing with the small green asset in Arizona had given them one hell of a pill to swallow and the president knew that pill could choke them all to death.

As he made his way to his large chair behind the Lincoln desk—nodding to acknowledge the five men who had been waiting for him—he paused momentarily by the window, tempted to glance out at the protesters who had grown in number even since that morning. There had been another leak to the press about information pertaining to the expenditures being mounted by the military. The president was close to crying “uncle” and telling the world what it desperately needed to know. He eyed the five men and motioned for them to sit. The faintest of protest calls entered the room from the outside.

“Gentlemen, we have a growing mess on our hands that can no longer be contained.” He opened the folder and scanned the front briefing page. Niles Compton had been direct and to the point with his old college buddy in explaining how important tracking down this possible lead was to the coming fight. He understood what the Overlord plan called for but to go to war over finding the engine they needed was the straw that would break this particular camel’s back.

The men facing him remained silent. Only the two military men in uniform actually knew about the orders the president had issued six hours before. Now they and the Russian president were in the know.

“If the power plant is found to be operational, as my sources say it is, we have to move decisively. After that I have to come clean to the American people.” The U.S. president again eyed his guests. “Especially if the mission we have planned fails and the Iranians take nuclear offense. Admiral, do we have any asset we can use in the Caspian area to support the Russians in the assault if it comes to that?”

Rear Admiral James Fuqua cleared his throat. “Mr. President, we have never had a dependable asset in the Caspian Sea. The Cold War has long been over and that was an area of responsibility we always hoped the Russians would take seriously when it came to a nuclear-armed Iran lurking at their belly.”

“Director Easterbrook?”

“Nothing, sir,” the silver-haired CIA director answered. “We will have two KH-11s in orbit over Iran, but not knowing when or even if the Russian assault happens we cannot guarantee eyes-on target. Viewing would be purely by chance. As for the human asset on the ground, we have nothing.”

The president took a deep breath and then looked at U.S. Marine Corps general Maxwell Caulfield, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“Max, please tell me you had luck with your counterpart in Moscow. Has he relented to allow at least one American Special Forces team in on the assault?”

“No luck, Mr. President,” Caulfield answered. “It seems some old Cold War jitters still persist on both sides.”

“So the only American assets we have are a navy lieutenant commander and an army first lieutenant?”

“Well,” the Marine general said with a small smile on his lips, “that’s more than we knew. Do you mind if I ask just who these officers are?” Caulfield suspected that although he might not know the men, he did have a suspicion where these two sprang from—that quirky little think tank situated under Nellis Air Force Base.

The president looked up from the file. “The naval officer was in Afghanistan and the lieutenant was in Azerbaijan. They were part of the power plant search. Hell, I guess we’re lucky the damn Russians allowed them in.”

“I suspect because whoever these two officers are they have an idea just what an alien spaceship engine looks like,” Harlan Easterbrook said with his silver right brow raised.

“If this alien power plant is found and the Iranians will not give it up peacefully, will they go to war to protect it?” The president ignored the remark about Event Group expertise, but stared at his CIA director.

“No,” Easterbrook said confidently. “The newly elected president, Rouhani, would never risk his government over something he may not even have control over.” Easterbrook opened his briefcase, then passed around a singular report. “We have made several enquiries since you informed us of this new information. As of fifteen days ago the city of Birjand, a pretty large city in eastern Iran, received a new citizen who’s taken up residence only two blocks from the University of Applied Science and Technology: the former president of Iran, our old friend, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.”

A chill went through the president’s body. The ex-president of Iran had been a thorn in the side of every U.S. president since Bill Clinton with his anti-western rhetoric and his outright hatred for the State of Israel. If he was in charge of this project, the president suspected that maybe far worse was happening in fundamentalist Iran than what they knew about.

“Jesus,” the president said. “Harlan, I need to know if the new Iranian president is backing this project if it is in existence.”

“Hassan Rouhani is a moderate cleric who is attempting to end the hostility between Iran and the West. Our intelligence analysis of his demeanor does not support him as the hardcase here. He’s trying desperately to heal old wounds and keep the peace with the more hardline clerics. No, sir, I am adamant in my belief this new president would not be a part of this—if this is really happening and they actually have a saucer engine.”

“Just look at the satellite photos of that damn resort that magically vanished, Harlan,” the president said angrily. “That should give you an idea about the validity of this event.”

“Yes, sir, I stand corrected,” Easterbrook said.

“Sidney, I need to speak with President Rouhani, ASAP. Can you arrange it please?”

Secretary of State Sidney Washburn nodded his head vigorously as he removed the cold pipe from his mouth. “Most definitely, Mr. President, and I concur one hundred percent that this is the way to go. He may even come in handy if the situation … well … worsens to the point that Ahmadinejad, if he is the culprit here, utilizes what we know the Iranians have been hiding in that nuclear closet of theirs.”

“Thanks, Sidney, give me an hour and then arrange the call. I’ll need you in the room with me as he may take some convincing. The last I knew Rouhani hadn’t been briefed on Magic and assuredly not on Overlord. The Russian president has to be conferenced in and I want to speak with him fifteen minutes before the Rouhani call. He has to kowtow to the Iranians if he doesn’t want a bunch of dead Russian boys out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. President?”

The commander-in-chief looked up from writing his order to the secretary of state and into the eyes of the man he had very little respect for in the few meetings he had been involved in. No, you could say Assistant Director of Operations Daniel Peachtree was not a presidential favorite over at CIA. He knew whose man Peachtree was—Speaker of the House Giles Camden.

“The ever silent Mr. Peachtree, what can help you with?” The president leaned forward to complete his order.

Harlan Easterbrook cringed, knowing he had made a mistake in bringing the man to the White House. He also knew any operational questions would have had to have been directed at his operations man, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He waited to see what Peachtree had to ask.

“Sir, it would be most helpful if I could get briefed on this asset you keep referring to. If I’m to make a strategic evaluation, that would go a long way to—”

“That is none of your concern, Mr. Peachtree,” Easterbrook said before the president could do so himself.

“He’s right, Mr. Peachtree,” the president finally said with a withering look at the AD. “The Chato’s Crawl information is on a need-to-know basis, and you, sir, don’t need to know.” He smiled broadly for the first time in what seemed weeks. “Neither does the Speaker of the House.”

The room went silent as the other men wanted to shout that it was about time the president called a spade a spade—or, more accurately, a spook a spook.

“Okay gentlemen, let me have my talk with the Russians and Rouhani and see if we have a larger mess on our hands than we previously thought.”

As the five men stood it was Harlan Easterbrook who saw the two words that Daniel Peachtree had written in his notepad, but he didn’t think anything more of it at that moment.

Chato’s Crawl.

Peachtree closed his notebook and followed the others out of the Oval Office, a light but confident smile on his lips. The president had obviously not intended to say the name of the location aloud. A location that the assistant director of Operations at the CIA knew well.

Chato’s Crawl, Arizona, was where Harlan Vickers’s search for the mysterious asset would start.