7

SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Before Vice President Sol Stevens knew what was happening, ten Secret Service agents and as many of San Francisco’s finest had whisked him out the back doors of the new terminal building he was dedicating. He was roughly shoved into the back of an SFPD SWAT van and moved to the east end of the airport. He was held in place by SWAT team members who hadn’t issued one word to explain the situation.

The van soon stopped and the rear doors opened and three men climbed in beside him. One of these men was his chief of staff, who was visibly shaken to a point that he looked like he was going to be sick.

“What in God’s name is going on, Stanley?” Stevens asked as the door was closed. The van once more sped off, followed by ten police cars and as many motorcycles with sirens wailing and lights flashing.

Stanley Whalen had been with the VP since he was twenty-two and was thrilled when the president had chosen his man after the former vice president was ousted before the last election. Now he wasn’t so sure it had been a good thing. He choked out something that was incomprehensible. It was the second man who answered for him when the assistant broke down.

“Sir, the president is close to death at this moment. Camp David was hit with a strike team as yet unidentified.”

“Who in the hell are you?” Stevens asked, straining to hear over the wailing sirens.

“I’m Frank Deveroux, special agent in charge of the San Francisco FBI field office.”

“Who hit Camp David?”

“That has not yet been confirmed, but the president is in surgery at this very moment. The German president is dead, the Russian president won’t make it, and the other members of the summit are bad off. Most of the president’s staff is dead. We have to get you to Oakland and a secure location ASAP. The president is unable to perform the duties of his office. Do you understand what I am saying, sir?”

Vice President Stevens sat heavily against the side of the large, black van as the eyes of every man inside looked toward him.

The VP looked into the agent’s face. “Was it…” He looked at the SWAT members guarding him, but thought he didn’t care about security, especially since the president was supposed to have explained to the world what was really happening. “The Grays?”

The agent nodded his head just once. “Right now we have an Air Force Pave Low waiting to take you to the Presidio. We have word out and the airport is going to close down immediately.”

The vice president, along with most citizens of the planet, had not fully understood the nightmare scenario the president had tried to explain to them. Now it hit home that this was not some fictional story or new game that just came on the market—this was going to be a war, one that he prayed they had prepared for.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, with ten F-15 Eagle fighters flying overhead for protection, the Air Force MH-53J Pave Low III helicopter slowly lifted free of the tarmac as aircraft of every kind was being cleared from the skies. The giant five-bladed rotors crushed the air around it as it rose into the sky, flanked by two Apache Longbow attack helicopters. The helicopter dipped its nose and fought its way into the sky just out over the bay.

*   *   *

Flight leader Sam Ellington, better known as “Viper,” led his flight of ten F-15s as they supplied combat air cover for the Pave Low. He was flying low in, dangerously close to the commercial flights inbound to San Francisco, frightening more than one pilot until they screamed bloody murder to San Francisco control at the dangerous conditions.

“Hercules flight, we have an intermittent contact bearing three-five-seven degrees heading your way. Flight speed estimated at four-seven hundred kilometers per hour. Suspected contact is confirmed hostile. You are free to engage. Say again, you are weapons free,” came the call from the Naval Air Station in Oakland. “We have support coming in from USS George Washington, six Hornets on your six, over.”

The only answer from the Air Force flight leader was two clicks on his radio. He was thinking that the Air Force would not need support from the Navy on this one.

“Air Force Pave Low, hit the deck and scatter to dry feet, over.”

The giant helicopter dropped low and when only ten feet from the choppy bay waters leveled out and made a run for land.

The small saucer was almost invisible as it came in from the sea. It flew beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and swooped low over the waters of the bay. It capsized over twenty sailing vessels out for the beautiful evening as its V-shaped vortex shattered the waters around them. The flight of fighters turned to meet the incoming threat as it slowed to under Mach speed for its attack run. Flight knew immediately that the small craft was coming for the man they were protecting.

“Hercules flight, engage!” he ordered. The F-15s broke and peeled off in twos to meet the incoming threat. As the giant Pave Low made for the docks near Fisherman’s Wharf, the fighters started launching long range AIM-120 AMRAAM radar-guided missiles at the small attacker. The saucer jigged and then went low, confusing the seeker heads of the advanced missiles with its speed and maneuvering. The missiles struck water and several large container ships by accident. The evening sky was illuminated as an oil tanker exploded with a blinding flash. The saucer rose before a second volley of missiles could leave the rails.

The Pave Low never stood a chance as the saucer easily sidestepped the protection of the fighters as it made its attack run. The initial laser flash missed the helicopter and slammed into the sea with a loud hissing noise, but then the beam was adjusted until it contacted the aluminum housing of the giant Air Force bird. It sliced through the tail boom and the Pave Low spiraled into the sea, to break apart in the water.

As the small saucer, measuring no more than fifty feet at its widest point, turned nose up, five AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles struck its rear section, pushing it down into the sea. The saucer, now smoking, rose once again. Five more missiles struck and it wobbled, then briefly made for higher altitude. But its momentum ceased and the saucer crashed into a very crowded Fisherman’s Wharf and exploded, killing well over a thousand people.

The second assassination inside the American chain of command had taken place and the might of the U.S. Air Force had been powerless to stop it.

UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

BIRJAND, IRAN

Sarah watched as the massive alien power plant was lifted free of the science building, through the giant skylight that had been built when it first arrived five years before. The circular engine was taxing the crane used to lift it. The cables strained and the Russian engineers cringed every time the wind gusted to fifty plus miles per hour. Sarah glanced at the sky and then toward the plastic shrink-wrapped engine as it finally settled on the bed of the Iranian army’s largest transport. As she allowed her nerves to settle she felt the first drops of cold rain strike her face.

Jason Ryan and Mossad agent Anya Korvesky approached. Anya had now been officially cleared by the president and the Russian authorities to be officially on location. The Israeli prime minister, as well as Rouhani of Iran, had been thoroughly briefed on the new alliance of nations and were fully onboard. Egypt, Syria, Afghanistan, and India were not.

“I don’t care for the looks of this. The Russian military meteorologists said this formation of clouds has sprung up from nowhere.” Sarah felt the electricity in the air. She used her hand to brush the hair on her head back into place.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in this region. There are storms over the Caspian Sea quite often, but never anything that resembles a hurricane,” Anya volunteered.

They turned toward the sky and braved the unusually cold rain drops to see the clouds as they formed and then were snatched away, where they joined others in a massive swirling pattern that reminded Ryan of a vortex of draining water. They could see very clear sky at the exact center of the cloud formation. Small particles of hail started to fall.

“Jason, remember the Magic briefing about the formation of wormholes?” Sarah asked.

“You don’t think this—”

“Yes, that’s what I think. It’s a wormhole.”

At that exact moment sirens sounded and Russian and Iranian military personnel started to scramble around the university. Sarah was shocked to see over a hundred Iranian Zulfiqar tanks, the new armor built by Iran to combat the forces of the West, coming through the main gate of the university. What was even stranger was the fact the 106th Guards Division of the Russian army was riding on the tops of the tanks alongside the Iranian crewmen. They screamed left, right, and were in moments totally surrounding the many science buildings. Iranian infantry from the very units that had been assigned to attack them earlier that day were now on guard and ready to defend the power plant at all costs.

“Oh, shit, this isn’t good,” Ryan shouted into the increasing strength of the storm.

“You’re not saying the Iranians have another operating engine, are you?” Anya asked. Ryan pushed her toward the large transport, where riggers were making fast the power plant to the bed of the giant tractor trailer.

“No,” he shouted at Anya as they ran, “not exactly the Iranians. As you can see they’re on our side.”

They stopped at a grouping of soldiers who would be transporting the power plant to the docks for sea transport across the Caspian. The commander of the 106th Guards Division was shouting orders to not only his subordinates but to the new Iranian allies as well. He saw the two Americans and then grabbed Sarah by the collar, making Ryan become defensive until he saw he was giving orders.

“Get to the transports and get the hell out of here. We have something coming through this storm. Space-based imagery is showing a massive power surge connected with this activity. I’m afraid your president’s scenario is not just prophecy.”

Sara, Ryan, and Anya all looked at the strengthening storm that had come out of nowhere. The swirling clouds had intensified and now there were bright streaks of blue, purple, and yellow lights shooting out like lightning. Several of these actually burst free and struck some of the surrounding buildings.

“Go get this thing to safety. We will do what we can!” the general shouted, pushing Sarah away. He and his staff ran to take control of his ground forces.

The three ran for the line of trucks that were waiting. The semi-tractor trailer with its heavy burden wasn’t even waiting for the Russian riggers and engineers to clear the flatbed as the driver, with seventeen Russian commandos riding on the back, shot the large vehicle forward. Ryan took the driver’s seat of an old university-owned car that happened to be a 1978 Ford LTD, a leftover from the days of the shah. He threw the heavy touring vehicle into gear as soon as Anya and Sarah were safely inside. They all heard the hail, which had grown in size, start pummeling the vehicle just as they fell in line inside the large convoy of trucks, cars, and armored personnel carriers assigned to the transport of the engine the hundred miles to the sea.

Sarah leaned her head into the windshield as the hail cracked the glass, and heard a sound that could only emanate from a nightmare. The bass throng of noise shook the car and as she placed her hands over her ears she saw that the Russian and Iranian ground forces were hitting the wet ground around them as the noise literally threw them to the earth. The ungodly sound seemed to intensify as they moved toward the main gate.

The first two saucers through were one hundred feet in diameter and they separated as soon as they cleared the swirling vortex of moisture. They went in opposite directions trailing moisture, lightning, and hail in their wakes. Then another two of the same-size saucers entered Iranian airspace and they also spread out high and low over the university.

The world stopped working momentarily as a bright and blinding flash illuminated the air around the university as the largest saucer came through the eye of the storm, taking the cloud formation down with it. Its speed actually burst the eardrums of over fifty of the closest men as it slammed into the largest science building. The structure pancaked as the violence of the collision broke the earth three hundred feet around the building’s foundation. Earth, water, and men were thrown two hundred feet into the rain-swept sky as the giant saucer came to rest. All inside the five-story building had to have been crushed to death. Electrostatic lightning shot from the the five-hundred-foot-diameter saucer. Its roundness was almost beautiful to behold as it settled in the rubble of the science building. Steam jets burst through the air as its skin was cooled by the falling rain and hail.

Anya ventured a look out of the now cracked and broken rear window of the LTD. “My God!”

Sarah turned in her seat as the Ford sedan shot through the front gates of the university. She saw the Iranian tanks open fire on the downed saucer, and then to her amazement Russian commandos rushed forward to engage the enemy. Her eyes widened in fear when she saw one of the smaller saucers streak low over the remaining buildings and start to shoot the very same laser systems she knew they had recovered in South America. Blue light reached out and cut the new tanks into pieces. Explosions rocked the grounds. Russian handheld missiles left their launch tubes and small arms tried desperately to fire on the smaller saucer. Sarah couldn’t take it all in as she saw the large saucer open a fifty-foot hatchway, and she choked up when she saw the dark images of hundreds of Grays as they ran down a ramp and started their assault on the facility. Russian soldiers were very brave as they ran to engage the enemy.

“It’s going to be a massacre,” Anya shouted as ten more of the Iranian tanks exploded. She saw streaks of armor-piercing rounds strike the larger saucer and she was seeing damage as large chunks of metal were thrown forth into the dwindling storm. Explosion after explosion rocked the car as they watched helplessly as the Gray attackers overwhelmed the small force of Iranian and Russian troops, but they were taking a healthy host of attackers with them. Anya and Sarah saw Grays falling by the tens and twenties as Russian marksmen and missiles found their marks.

Ryan was mentally willing the transports to move faster as a new sound entered the din of the attack. Russian MiG-31s screeched across the sky and then climbed toward the fast-disappearing storm clouds. Missiles and ground-penetrating bombs struck the large saucer but Sarah saw they were doing nothing but denting the large machine. Somehow the saucer was starting to generate a force field that adhered to its bright metal skin. Still, it took damage. She realized this was a suicide attack and quickly surmised this craft was never meant to lift off again.

Sarah turned in the front seat and looked at Ryan.

“You don’t have to say it, I’m scared as hell myself. I don’t care what weaponry we’ve come up with in the past five years, I don’t think we can stop something like this.” Ryan blared his horn for the armored transport ahead of him to close the gap between him and the transport ahead.

All Sarah could do was look at the tarp-covered alien power plant on the flatbed ahead of them in the column, and pray that the little man they knew as Matchstick knew what he was doing with the plan designated Overlord.

GEORGETOWN, MARYLAND

Speaker of the House Giles Camden watched the news footage being split between Camp David and Iran. The scroll at the bottom of the large screen was mentioning disjointed attacks in San Francisco, Beijing, and Cologne, Germany. Specifics thus far were only speculative on the reasoning for these strikes.

Camden accepted the drink from Daniel Peachtree, who was anxious to leave the Speaker’s house and get back to Langley, as he knew the director was probably reeling after news of the Camp David strike had become more specific. His cell phone was now turned off as he waited for his new lord and master to set him free. As it was, Camden didn’t seem to be in a hurry as the smallish, portly man sipped his drink while shaking his head.

The ornate study was starting to fill with assistants and interns from the Speaker’s offices, and many were in shock at what was happening here and around the world.

“Okay, we need a little damage control here, ladies and gentlemen; after all, it was me who has been decrying this military spending of the president’s and now it seems because of well-kept secrets from our nation’s past it very well seems justified. You need to come up with a quick course change to minimize the damage.”

“Don’t you think the president should have brought you in on this, to make spending these billions upon billions of dollars more acceptable to the nation, and yourself?” Peachtree offered, not really caring to air his opinion inside a room full of Camden’s people.

Camden sniffed loudly and then held his empty glass out to be refilled, which an aide promptly did.

“Not when one considers how much that man hates my guts. Hates my state, hates my budget crunching—when it’s not my party in power, of course. But hate nonetheless.”

On the television screen the view of the Iranian situation went from split screen to full as it showed the downed saucer that had completely obliterated the large building on which it rested. It was smoking and had finally been smashed by the remaining tanks of the Iranian army. Camden watched as Russian soldiers rushed from spot to spot, trying to dispatch areas of resistance. Gray bodies lay everywhere and Camden grimaced when a news camera came close to one and he saw in detail what they were fighting. The dead yellow-ringed eyes stared off into nothingness, and the sickly gray skin that was exposed underneath the strange-looking suit they wore gave the Speaker a small, cold chill.

“It seems the Russians and the Iranians dispatched the attackers soundly.” Lyle Morgan, the Speaker’s chief of staff, accepted a drink as he watched the screen. “They seemed to have destroyed the large saucer quite quickly and efficiently, if you ask me.”

“They’re saying it wouldn’t have been so easy if those four smaller saucers had stayed on station, but they left in a hurry for some reason. Now we hear that the large saucer was nothing more than a transport of some sort not designed for sustained attack. It had thick armor, but no electronic shielding. It just housed attacking troops. So, we may not know as much as our new Russian allies think,” Camden said.

The sliding doors opened and the Speaker’s housekeeper came in and whispered to Daniel Peachtree. The CIA assistant director handed her his glass of whiskey and then nodded his thanks.

“I have to leave, something big is coming down and—”

Peachtree was cut off as five Maryland state troopers burst into the study, at least ten Secret Service agents along with them. The staff was pushed aside and one of the dark-clothed agents went straight to Camden. With the assistance of two of the troopers he lifted the Speaker of the House from his large chair.

“What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” Camden insisted.

Lyle Morgan tried to stop the men from handling his boss in such a rough manner. He was pushed to the carpeted floor and two agents placed their nine millimeters close to his head. Morgan froze.

“Do not interfere, sir,” one of the agents said.

Peachtree was in shock as he first thought that the authorities had caught up to Hiram Vickers and the little weasel had spilled his guts.

“Gentlemen, I’m Assistant Director Peachtree, CIA. May ask what is happening?” he ventured, terrified he would be placed into handcuffs soon.

One of the agents holstered his weapon and then nodded to the state troopers that they could ease up on the Speaker’s staff of frightened men and women. His chief of staff was lifted from the carpet as the security detail calmed a bit.

“Apologies, Mr. Speaker, POTUS is down and the vice president was just killed in San Francisco. For the time being we are here to transport you to Fort Meyer, where we can properly secure you. Your staff will be sent for.”

“The president is dead?” Camden asked as he was moved to the doors. “The vice president also?”

“We don’t know the details, sir, but we do know that under the Constitution we are obliged to get you to safety.”

Camden was in shock at the change in luck. He realized after a moment’s hesitation that he was in a direct line of succession to the most powerful position in the world—the presidency of the United States.

CAMP DAVID

FREDERICK, MARYLAND

It had been three hours since the president had been flown out to Walter Reed hospital. Jack, Carl, Will, and Henri Farbeaux were covered in dirt, sweat, and gore as they watched the last of the world Security Council being airlifted out. Jack took a deep breath and walked toward the last remaining ambulance. He saw paramedics still working on slowing the bleeding of his friend and mentor, Dr. Niles Compton. Will Mendenhall placed a hand on Collins’s shoulder. Will finally turned away as Carl and General Caulfield approached. They watched as Niles tried to sit up on the gurney. Two medics yelled at him that he could not move. Niles struggled for a few more moments and then settled. Jack’s eyes never left the director.

“General,” Caulfield said, trying to get Jack to look away from the scene. “We have some updates.”

Collins swallowed as he feared the worst from Caulfield’s tone. He hated the title of his new rank because it made him feel that much more powerless in light of what was happening. He turned to face the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The man had his nose bandaged and his cuts tended to. He looked tired and haggard in his ripped uniform. Collins nodded his head that he should start with the bad news he knew was coming.

“To start, from what we know in Iran, your people are safe. The power plant made it out just as the attack began. Russian forces took heavy losses and the Iranian armor division has just about ceased to exist. We have more people on the ground now, but they were hit hard.”

“One thing I’ve learned as well as you, General, is the fact that you always deliver the good news first.” Jack waited for the other shoe to fall.

“The military way, huh?” Caulfield looked from Collins to Carl, then the Frenchman as he joined them.

Will Mendenhall had eased closer to the ambulance to try and let the director of the Event Group know that he was near. He swiped at his face, angry at himself for being so emotional.

“The vice president is dead. His helicopter was shot out of the sky over San Francisco Bay this evening, moments after the attack here.”

“Any word on the president’s condition?” Everett asked as he used a towel to wipe his face.

“It doesn’t look good at this point. As of right now they placed him in a medically induced coma, whatever the hell that means. His injuries are extensive, I’m afraid. The Chinese president died in the air. A heart attack, of all things.”

“What a fucking mess,” Everett said as he angrily tossed away the filthy towel.

“That, my friend, is the understatement of the year,” Caulfield said. Jack knew immediately that the other shoe would now come down as assuredly as Henri’s foot on the alien’s neck had.

“What is it?” Collins ventured.

“The line of ascension for the presidency goes to the Speaker of the House.”

Collins felt his stomach roll as he angrily turned away. Henri tried to follow what was being said beneath the actual words. He stepped closer to the men.

“Besides the insanity that comes with all politicos, may I ask the significance of this action?”

“Henri, you study history, and I assume you’re well versed in the classics. What does the name Cardinal Richelieu mean to you as a Frenchman?” Carl walked past and joined Jack.

Henri looked taken back. The cardinal was a scoundrel of the first order in Dumas’s The Three Musketeers. “This man, this speaker of the house is a—”

“He’s no friend to the president, or to us,” Everett finished.

“What he’s saying, Colonel, is that this man Camden will most assuredly cause problems for Operation Overlord—our only chance at winning this thing,” Caulfield said.

Jack shook his head, angry that his role in Overlord was being kept from him because of the dangers he and the others faced in being captured by an enemy that, as of that moment, looked unstoppable.

Will Mendenhall ran toward them.

“Colonel—I mean, General, Doc Compton wants to see us.” He looked at Henri. “All of us.”

Collins and the four others rushed to the ambulance, where the two medics were angrily holding the rear doors open.

“Look, make it fast, this man has serious blood loss and he’s lost his right eye. His left arm is going to follow and then his life, if we don’t get him—”

The EMT was pushed aside so the four men could gather around the back of the ambulance. Jack had to push Niles back down when he tried to sit up.

“Easy there, we can hear you, Niles.”

Compton seemed to relax and then patted Jack’s restraining hand as he settled.

Will momentarily turned away when he saw the white blood-soaked gauze covering Compton’s face. The damaged arm was placed inside a clear plastic cast and the director’s white shirt had been ripped open to expose several large gashes to his chest.

“Get to … your … new stations … imperative … imperative.” He was running low on steam. “Overlord … must…” Niles coughed up blood.

“Goddamn it, we have to get this man to the front gate, we have air transport standing by there,” the medic insisted. Jack gave the man a withering look until he lowered his eyes, and then turned back to his director.

“Jack … Jack?”

“I’m here, Niles.”

“Get word … to Virginia … get out … here … and … take my … place … on the … council.”

“I will before I leave for Hawaii, I promise.” Jack watched Niles trying to find his glasses on his head. Jack knew the man’s glasses were long gone and felt so bad that he choked back his anger and sorrow.

“Jack … you … don’t understand … this isn’t right…” Niles’s voice became a whisper. “General Caulfield?”

Maxwell Caulfield stepped closer so he could hear. “I’m here, Doctor.”

“You two … tell Virginia … something is wrong.”

“What do you mean, Niles?” Collins glanced at Caulfield, who shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t understand the comment either.

“Matchstick … Matchstick … is not telling us something. It may not … matter in the end … but he knows something that … he’s kept from us.”

Jack felt the blood rush from his face. But … “I’m not following.”

“He … knows … he … knows … why. He … lied to us … The Grays aren’t here … for the planet, or resources … they…”

Niles passed out. Jack and the others were roughly pushed aside by the attendants and the doors closed.

“Sorry, he’s got to go,” the man said as he rushed to the front of the ambulance. It screamed off toward the distant front gates of Camp David.

“What in the hell did that mean?” Everett asked.

Collins waited until a Black Hawk went by overhead as he turned to Caulfield. “I have a call to make, General. Can I get to a secure phone somewhere?”

“Use my car, there’s a secure phone there with a scrambler.” Caulfield removed his coat and took another from his aide. “Someday you people have to tell me just what in the hell you do for the government. The president told me never to ask, but I would really like to know.”

Everett watched Jack run toward the parking area with the general’s aide close at his heels, then turned to Caulfield.

“No you don’t, sir, you really don’t.”

*   *   *

Will Mendenhall sat on a small outcropping of stone and watched as the FBI and Marines rounded up three of the Gray aliens and bound them hand and foot to each other. The beasts hissed and spat until several of the soldiers placed black hoods over their heads. Even then the Grays fought to free themselves by kicking out with their nylon-bound legs. Will wondered just what was behind this attack, as it hadn’t matched up with anything the Event Group had come to expect from the briefings that Matchstick had given over the past eight years. He shook his head and thought about not only the president but about his boss, Niles Compton. He never knew how close he had become with the surly little man who protected his secret department like a mother bear defending her cubs. He was distant at times and hard to like, but the one thing you could never take away from the director of Department 5656 was the fact that he was serious about the charter of the Group—he knew the answers to everything lay in the shared past.

Carl Everett sat next to Will and saw what he was looking at. Carl picked up a small stone and lightly tossed it over toward the three Grays. The rock struck the middle one and again it began to hiss and spit under the black hood. The three Marines guarding them turned and looked at Everett. Carl just held up his hands in a What? kind of gesture. The Marines turned back to their charges.

“The closest I can come to figuring this out is I believe this was a suicide attack. Over a hundred sacrificed themselves to get at our chain of command.”

Both Carl and Will looked up and saw Henri Farbeaux standing over them. The Frenchman had managed to find water and a rag and cleaned himself up. Everett and Mendenhall looked as if they had come out of a cave-in in some distant coal mine.

“I have to agree with you, Colonel,” Carl said, standing and keeping his eyes on the three prisoners for a moment. He turned to the Frenchman. “This doesn’t make one hell of a lot of sense. If they just want the planet, why attack the chain of command of any country? Just come down and start cleansing the world would be the order of the day. It makes no difference who goes first.”

“Confusion, I guess,” Will said as he stood, his eyes still planted on the three prisoners. He finally looked away. “The old take-the-head-of-the-snake-and-the-body-will-die thing.”

Everett smiled for the first time that day. “Is that the way they put it at Officers Candidate School, Captain?”

“Yeah—I mean, yes sir, something like that.”

“Well, maybe he has some answers for us, or at least new orders that make sense.”

Everett and Mendenhall looked in the direction that Henri had come and saw Jack returning from his call. He was joined by General Caulfield, who gestured that his staff and aides should stay back from the small group of men. The general had just been updated by the Pentagon on what was happening elsewhere in the world. They all noticed that Jack and Caulfield had the same look on their faces—they weren’t happy.

“Well?” Everett was anxious to hear what both men had to say.

Collins looked at Caulfield. “General, you may not know what we really do in that desert facility you know about, so I’ll just say this: we are run specifically by the president of the United States, as I know you’re aware. You and just a very few others suspect we are even there, and that’s the way it’s been since President Woodrow Wilson. Only the director of the National Archives and the head of the General Accounting Office know we’re officially there.”

“Okay, do you have to shoot me or something for knowing?” the general joked.

Jack finally smiled. “No, but whatever happens, Virginia Pollock, our assistant director, has a special file just in case this exact scenario ever happened.” He looked at Will and Carl. “It seems our esteemed director was smart enough to cover all his bases, and he covered this one particularly well. Under no circumstances is the new president to know about the Group. By law he is to be informed of our existence no later than ten days after taking office and is to be briefed by the director of the National Archives and the General Accounting Office. Now, no sitting president can ever dissolve our department; we are law. We are there to stay. But the president can also hamstring us. I and Ms. Pollock believe, and Niles concurred, that Camden would indeed hamstring us, thus damaging the Overlord plan. This cannot happen. You will be the only one in his cabinet that knows anything about us and it must stay that way until…” He swallowed. “Until we know the fate of the president and Dr. Compton.”

“Well, I don’t understand, but if that is what the president wants, who the hell am I to disagree?”

“Wait, what are you saying, Jack?” Carl asked.

Collins looked from face to face, then closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He opened them and then kicked at a small piece of rubble that used to be a part of the family residence at Camp David.

“Giles Camden was just sworn into office five minutes ago at Fort Meyer.”

“Wait a minute, the goddamn president isn’t even dead yet!” Everett protested.

General Caulfield turned away, then looked up at the dazzling night sky full of stars.

“The president is now unable to fulfill his duties as commander-in-chief. Until such a time as he is mentally and physically able to perform his duties, it falls to the vice president.”

“Who’s dead,” Will Mendenhall said with a sigh.

“In that case it falls directly to the Speaker of the House.”

“Senator Giles Camden.” Caulfield turned again to face Jack and the others. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to protect you or your group, General Collins, but one thing I do know for sure is the fact that this Camden will fire me the first chance he gets. Had too many run-ins with the bastard, and he is no friend of the president’s.”

Jack placed a hand on Caulfield’s shoulder. “Do what you can, while you can. The biggest priority according to Virginia is to keep Operation Overlord alive. They all say without it we cannot win this war.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Caulfield held out his hand. They shook and the general nodded at the others. He took a particularly longer look at the man he had seen in handcuffs not five hours earlier, Henri Farbeaux. “Damn strange outfit,” he said as the strange group of men watched him leave. The general was quickly joined by his aides and they walked out of Camp David.

“What’s up, Jack?” Everett asked as the four men gathered around.

“Virginia is using a Nellis fighter to fly to Washington; she is officially taking over Group. She’ll fight for the plan as it stands, but she can only do so much. Matchstick has requested a prisoner be taken back to the facility. I arranged that already with the FBI through General Caulfield’s people. He goes back with Will, Henri, and me. Carl, you’re to get to Houston on the first military flight you can get. Arrangements have been made at Andrews Air Force Base. As for us, we have a few pointed questions for Matchstick that he has to answer before we head to Hawaii.”

The four men stood facing each other with the whine of helicopter turbines ripping the air around them. Carl Everett looked his companions. He turned to Will Mendenhall and held out his hand.

“You take care of this guy, Captain.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Will said tightly. He always hated good-byes. “And if you run into that navy flier anywhere, tell him I said he better get his ass home safe,” Will shouted over the mounting noise of the Black Hawk.

“I think you may see Ryan before I do, but if I do, I surely will pass it on.”

The two men shook hands and Everett turned away from Mendenhall quickly and faced his friend.

“Jack,” Carl said, not knowing just how to say good-bye.

Collins looked at the watch on Carl’s wrist and then nodded his head.

“Swabby, I don’t know just what Niles, Director Lee, and Matchstick had up their sleeves, but I swear to God, it better be worth it. You are the best man I have ever known.”

The two men shook hands. Then to the astonishment of all Jack bear-hugged his friend. They stayed that way for a moment.

“You better knock it off. I mean, we’re a long way from don’t ask, don’t tell,” Carl said as they parted.

“Kiss my ass, Navy,” Jack said as he backed away.

“Ditto, you Army puke,” Everett said with a smile. “We’ll meet again, Jack, you better believe it. Maybe not here, but some place where we can raise hell.”

Collins nodded and then started walking toward the waiting Humvee. Carl turned to Henri.

“I don’t like you, Froggy, I think you know that.”

“I do indeed, Admiral.”

“But that man sees something in you the rest of us don’t. Don’t let him down.” Carl, against his better judgment, held out his right hand. “Get everyone you can home safe. I don’t think I’ll be there to see it.”

“Understood.”

The two antagonists shook hands and then Henri Farbeaux left Everett with a small salute to the man who had been chasing him since 2001.

Carl watched the Humvee leave with a last wave of Jack’s hand. He smiled as he knew he would more than likely never again see the two men he admired. With a thought toward Sarah McIntire, Jason Ryan, Niles Compton, Alice Hamilton, and the rest, Admiral Carl Everett turned and made his way toward the waiting Black Hawk and his ride to Houston.

*   *   *

Collins smiled, as did Will. They both realized they might never see the man they had come to admire more than most. It was Henri Farbeaux who put the whole scene into context.

“Gentlemen, I doubt that is the last good-bye we’ll be making. I suspect that we will have many more.” He smiled sadly. “And very possibly not many hellos and welcome homes afterwards.”

The three soldiers turned and looked at the three hissing prisoners bundled in the back of the Humvee.