8

SEVEROMORSK NAVAL AIR STATION

MURMANSK, RUSSIA

Sarah, Anya, and Jason Ryan were sitting inside the small hut, watching the Russian language news reports coming out of the United States. Many more Russian officers, scientific technicians, and civilian engineers were stunned at what was happening. Sarah knew Jack and Everett were at Camp David during the attack, but a quick, secure phone call to Nevada had informed them that the two men were safe. Sarah had a chance to speak with Pete Golding, who was now in charge of the Event Group facility since Virginia Pollock had been called to Washington. Sarah knew something was wrong when she had asked why Virginia and Niles Compton were both in the same place at one time outside of the complex and Pete Golding had become quiet for ten excruciating seconds on the international phone line. Then he said it looked as though, along with the president of the United States, the Chinese president, and the chancellor of Germany, Niles might not make it.

Since she had heard the bad news from Camp David it seemed as if the world had turned into her ultimate nightmare. Ryan watched the television as Anya Korvesky explained what was being said; she understood the Russian language fluently. Earlier Anya had been informed by General Shamni in Tel Aviv that she was now a military liaison with the project that had been formed to combat this terror from space. She was just as stunned as the rest of the world at learning they had basically been at war since July 1947—the very same year her nation, Israel, had been born. She glanced at Ryan when the news report showed the Walter Reed military hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. She saw his jaw working and then he kicked out with his foot, sending a small trash can flying through the air.

A small Russian nuclear technician nodded his head and then sat the trash can upright. Everyone in the room was as angry as the American and wanted to do the very same thing—kick out and strike anything.

“Look,” Ryan said as he turned to face Sarah, “Did Pete say anything about when my real orders would come through? I mean, we’ve babysat this fucking power plant long enough.” He looked around at the Russians and the fifteen naval police guarding them. “The damn thing seems to be in good hands, they don’t need us anymore.”

Sarah walked over and faced Jason, then smiled. “We all want new orders, but we’re supposed to take this thing wherever the Russians are taking it and inform Niles and Virginia when it’s on station—wherever that is. Until then we have to bite the bullet just like everyone here.”

“Goddamn it, Niles is probably dead along with the president, and do you think for one minute the Chinese are going to look kindly on how well we protected their president? This whole alliance could come crashing down around our ears and here we sit. I’m a United States naval aviator and I want out of here. I want orders cut by Virginia, Pete, or whoever else may be in charge releasing me from Group. I want to fight, not babysit something that may be nothing more than a small alien’s pipe dream!”

“And you shall get your wish,” an officer in a snow-white naval uniform said as he stood just inside the doorway. He quickly gestured for the naval police of the Russian navy to escort the nuclear technicians and engineers from the small office. He stepped aside for the thirty-plus people to pass. He removed his saucer cap and then closed the door. “Maybe not one of your super carriers, but it is a warship. You three are to accompany me to your transport.”

He started handing out identification badges with their pictures on them. Even Anya received one. She looked at it and saw it was a picture from her Israeli Army days. She was surprised at how the Russians got ahold of it. Then she saw the workings of Mossad. She immediately knew that General Shamni had her placed here in the guise of an army major, not a Mossad agent—it probably would make for a harder working relationship with the Russians if they knew who she really worked for.

Ryan looked closely at the man’s white uniform and the two shoulder boards he wore. The man was a captain, second rank.

“My name is Captain Vasily Lienanov. I am the first officer of the ship that will transport you and this power plant that cost many Russian lives to its destination.”

Ryan stepped up to the man and saluted. He accepted the shipboard identification and placed it around his neck.

“May I inquire, Captain, if this engine is so important and speed is of the essence, why the alliance isn’t transporting the power plant by military cargo plane?”

Sarah placed her ID over her head and then watched the two naval men discuss the situation.

“I guess you have not been updated on the military situation,” the dark-haired and handsome Lienanov began in very passable English. “All aircraft outside of military fighter cover has been grounded. The alliance issued the orders after the civilian airliner attacks in the Pacific and the downing of your aircraft in San Francisco. Our transport may be somewhat safer, but almost just as vulnerable. We will depart with one of the most powerful Russian fleets ever assembled.” The Russian captain lowered his head in near shame. “And then we will slip away from that fleet in the middle of the night and make our run for our destination.”

“Alone?” Ryan asked incredulously.

“Yes, we will run at flank speed for forty-eight straight hours.”

“Can you tell us what our destination will be?” Sarah asked as she and Anya exchanged curious looks.

“No, I cannot, as I have yet to be informed by my captain. Now, if you will follow me, we are to be underway in less than fifteen minutes—the fleet awaits.”

As they joined the rest of the technicians and engineers in the back of a two-and-half-ton Bulgarian-made truck, Ryan was still angry at his assumption he was being allowed to wither away babysitting and not fighting. Sarah felt as angry as he but unlike Ryan she suspected they were a part of something that was extraordinary. She just smiled and patted his leg as the truck sped off. They were followed by the captain in a second transport with the remainder of the techs.

Ten minutes later the truck stopped and the tailgate was lowered. Two men in black Nomex, carrying the short version of the venerable AK-47 assault rifle, allowed them to hop down. They were soon joined by Captain second-rank Lienanov, who gestured them to follow him. They walked around the transport and faced a sloping hill that ran downhill toward the naval base proper. Ryan’s eyes widened when he saw the ship they were to make the passage on. He turned and faced the Russian, who was smiling.

“May I present to you, our latest naval achievement: the nuclear-powered missile cruiser, Pyotr Veliky.”

The warship was the newest, largest cruiser in the world. Ryan had heard the rumors of her launch and even seen mockup drawings of her design. But that could never compare to the gleaming gray hull of her massive shape. It was one of the most beautiful sights any naval man in the world could ever behold. This was the Russian navy’s equivalent to the Nimitz-class carriers of the American navy.

The Russian started to explain, but Major Korvesky beat him to it. She had known about this warship even before the Russian engineers laid down her keel for her initial construction.

“The flagship of your Northern Fleet, Kirov class, although that is more of a lazy designation because she is a class of ship all her own. She displaces 26,000 tons, about the same size as a World War II aircraft carrier. She has a suspected top speed of thirty-seven knots and has a crew of nearly eight hundred sailors. It is also suspected that her weapons arsenal includes, but is not limited to, twenty SS-N-19 Shipwreck missiles, designed to engage large surface targets. Air defense is provided by twelve SA-NX-20 Gargoyle launchers with ninety-six missiles and two SA-N-4 Gecko with forty-four missiles.” Anya looked down on the ship and was truly as impressed as Ryan. All Sarah knew was that this was one of the more beautiful ships she had ever seen, with her sharply angled and raked bow and gorgeous lines. She also noticed the roped down and secured, shrink-wrapped cargo on her aft decking where a helicopter would normally be—the alien power plant.

“Impressive.” Lienanov eyed the Israeli woman closely. He and Ryan exchanged glances. Ryan only grimaced as he suspected Anya might have blurted out a little too much knowledge.

“Just a hobby of mine.” Anya had been so impressed that she forgot just who she was in company with. She smiled at the captain, who didn’t bother returning it.

“As I said, your ship awaits.”

One hour later the Pyotr Veliky put to sea. She was joined by the most powerful assemblage of Russian naval power ever documented, her course heading south.

FORT MEYER, MARYLAND

There were no less than three hundred agents from the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Capital Police on duty at the nondescript building, surrounded by even more armed U.S. Army personnel. Radio traffic was limited and the only outside communication came in from old-fashioned landlines buried deep underground.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden was sitting in an ornate room that was once used by former General of the Army George C. Marshall when he was at Fort Meyer for his weekly riding at the local stables. The senator saw the many portraits of the general and felt somewhat intimidated for the first time in his many years in Washington. The room was ripe with military history, a subject Camden was short of memory on, with the exception of military contracts and the rewards they could provide.

A light knock sounded at the door and his chief of staff entered. Lyle Morgan cleared his throat and then stepped up to the senator.

“The president was wheeled out of surgery ten minutes ago. Our friends at the White House are keeping the news of his condition secret for the few moments it will take to brief you on the situation.”

Camden looked up and grimaced.

“This should have been over with by now. The entire political system knows those people are just playing for time. What is the president’s real condition?”

“Right now it’s fifty-fifty that he recovers. He’s still in a medically induced coma.”

“I want his cabinet signed off on this, I want everything aboveboard. He obviously cannot fulfill the duties of his office at this time, so let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“We do have one slight problem in the works.”

Camden just stared at the young chief of staff and waited. He removed his glasses and then wiped them clean on a handkerchief.

“It seems the military has been placed on alert by the president’s National Security advisor and the Joint Chiefs.”

“Well, even I can see the need for that; after all we were attacked. I have no reason to call off the alert. I already have to bite the bullet for not believing any of this outer space crap to begin with. I will have to mend some very high fences.”

“That’s not the problem. Our own military forces have been placed on alert for actions in other parts of the world; it seems promises have been made to other countries in this so-called coalition formed by the president’s office and our allies, including the Russians and the Chinese.”

“And where did you come by this information?” Camden asked as his temper started to flare.

“I have my military sources. Some high-ranking officers are not pleased that we would designate forces to defend other territories outside of our own borders before we know just where any attack would happen. It’s all preplanned.”

“As soon as this official swearing-in ceremony is finished I want to speak with Caulfield, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. That man has been a pain in my side for nearly five years. This country comes first; I want to hear his reasons why that shouldn’t be the case. And don’t wait until I’m sworn in, I want you to get word out to the directors of the CIA and FBI that I would like their resignations on my desk an hour after I’m sitting in the Oval Office. Is that clear?”

“Is that wise? I mean, so soon in a time of emergency? My advice is to wait, and then if you have to, you sack the whole cabinet at once and bring in our own people. But after things calm a bit.”

Camden’s face soured at the thought of having to work with the president’s men. He hated them, but even more, they despised him as much as their boss.

He was about to speak when the door opened and most of the president’s cabinet entered the room. Camden almost smiled but caught himself when he saw that the last man to enter was the chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, attired in his long, black robes.

The Speaker of the House rose to be sworn in as the next president of the United States of America.

THE PENTAGON

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was haggard as he waited inside his large office. Several doctors had checked him out from head to toe as he made his phone calls. As he hung up his call from COMSURPAC, the commander of Surface Forces—Pacific, the door opened and the president’s national security advisor walked in and started pacing. General Caulfield nodded that everyone should leave the office. He sat at his desk and waited.

“I guess you feel the same as I do? Pressing duties keeping you away from the swearing in of the new president?”

“Please tell me that Operation Cut and Run has been initiated to its fullest?”

“It has—all with the exception of Centurion. General Collins is enroute to Nevada to finalize plans with Magic. He will depart for Hawaii within the hour. His team is waiting for him there. The new president will soon have knowledge of the Overlord plan, with the exception of our fast-reaction force.”

“Good. You know how he’ll react—he’ll recall all naval forces as soon as he can. The president knew all along that Camden would never go along with the placement of U.S. troops in any land other than this one. We predict he will run scared and then cancel Overlord. If we are hit he will insist this country comes first.”

“I have ordered Admiral Fuqua to see to it that his forces remain on course for action in any part of the world. We may be able to initiate world defense before our new man in office can stop it.”

The national security advisor stopped pacing and then faced Caulfield. “It’s treason on a massive scale, but I’m willing to hang if Overlord can continue. I hope you’re of that same opinion?”

Caulfield just smiled and then sat back in his chair. “If our new president finds out, that’s the least he will do to us and a thousand others. In case we are caught, it’s imperative that at least Centurion is operational. That could assist our allies and not affect the readiness of our armed forces.”

“In case they are called upon, is this Collins up to the task of holding the flood waters at bay?”

“I believe so. At least he has the respect of most military organizations in the world—yes, I think he can.”

“Who in the hell is this guy that the president places so much faith in him?” the national security advisor asked. “I mean, between him and that little bald guy lying in the hospital, most of our fates lie in their hands.”

“That little bald guy Compton and General Collins have been there before, many times. If they can’t pull this off, then we won’t have long to suffer the new president. Our asses will be kicked as thoroughly as Custer’s was at Little Big Horn.”

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Jack and Will sat inside the conference room. Both men had hurriedly packed and sat waiting for Matchstick to be brought in. While they waited Collins had requested that Pete and Europa try and contact Sarah McIntire. Pete reported just a few minutes later that Sarah and Ryan, and, to the surprise of both Will and Jack, Anya Korvesky, had put to sea six hours before and could not under any circumstances be contacted. The entire Russian battle fleet was off the air and would remain so. This all came from the orders pertaining to Overlord.

The conference room doors opened and Gus Tilly, dressed in a long robe, walked in holding the hand of Matchstick, who at the very least looked worried about Gus. The old man looked worn to the bone, which made Jack apprehensive about broaching the subject of trust with the small alien, as he knew upsetting Gus would do no good. Matchstick made sure Gus was sitting comfortably and then walked to a chair, where he climbed up and sat looking straight at Collins. Pete Golding, acting as temporary director of Department 5656, sat in on the meeting. It was he who spoke first.

“Jack, General Caulfield contacted us through the Oval Office. He is furious that you, Will, and Farbeaux haven’t departed for your duty stations yet.”

Collins only nodded his head. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Colonel Farbeaux is waiting in the hallway. His uniform’s arrived and he looks as if he’s miserable.”

“Good, he needs to be miserable. Thanks, Pete. Have a seat, you need to hear this too in case the new president throws Virginia in jail and Niles … remains incapacitated.”

Pete nodded and then slowly sat down. He didn’t bother to sit in Niles Compton’s chair. Everyone could see the computer genius was devastated that his friend was lying in critical condition in a Washington hospital. Jack hit the intercom to the outer office.

“Okay Alice, you can come in.”

Alice Hamilton opened the double doors and came in with several large photographs. She handed them to Jack and then sat down next to Gus Tilly, who had been adamant about being with Matchstick. Collins accepted the photos and then looked at the large and very long conference table. There were so many missing faces that he had to clear his throat.

“You haven’t been totally honest in your debriefs about the Grays, have you, Matchstick? We brought back a Gray prisoner from Camp David. You have had several hours with it. Now we need to know what you know because Alice and Pete say you have stopped talking.”

“What’s this about?” Gus asked as Matchstick remained quiet.

“Niles suspects that Matchstick is keeping something from us.” Jack had his eyes on the alien and not Gus.

“Matchstick, it’s too late in the game for you to hold back. In order for us to fight what’s ahead, we need the truth,” Alice said with a comforting smile.

“I think over three hundred and seventy hours was enough of a strain on this little fella to explain his actions,” Gus said as his temper started to rise. Matchstick reached up and easily patted the old man’s hand in an attempt to calm him.

Jack pushed a photo toward Gus and Matchstick. “Niles began to have doubts about his honesty when these showed up on the Hubble telescope.”

Gus looked at the photo, but Matchstick did not. It was the now famous photograph of the armada of saucers thousands of light-years away from Earth that had spurred the nations of the world to action. Jack tapped the photo.

“Why are they there?”

“I think he explained all of that stuff to you and every other egghead on the planet more than just once,” Gus said as he eyed Collins.

“Yes, we know Matchstick’s planet is a dying world; we assumed that was the reason for the mass exodus of saucers. Over seven hundred and fifty thousand of them, at last count. We understand that they plan to colonize this world and take it down for their own. The Grays do have a plan, which Niles is sure of. It’s just not what Matchstick told us their plan was in reality.”

“Look, you better explain,” Gus said tiredly, feeling betrayed by men he had come to trust. “Why is he being asked these questions? Does it really matter in the long run?”

“Matchstick,” Mendenhall said, trying to take some of the pressure off of Jack, “there are no less than five thousand habitable worlds just inside the Milky Way galaxy alone. Any one of them is suitable for habitation by yours and the Gray species. I think you better tell us, why Earth?”

Matchstick remained silent as his eyes traveled to Alice Hamilton, the kindest person outside of his best friend Gus Tilly he had ever known. She nodded her head that he should tell the truth. Still he remained silent as he dipped his head and squeezed Gus’s hand that much tighter.

Jack looked at his watch and then shook his head as he knew his secured flight to Hawaii was close at hand. He had to leave and he didn’t know if Alice and Pete were strong enough to force the truth out of the small green alien. He hated treating Matchstick like this but they had to know everything because it impacted the way Earth would fight this war.

“Every science fiction story ever written has the main reason for extraterrestrial invasion as a fight for our resources. Water, timber, minerals—but that isn’t it, is it? We have since discovered that fresh water is readily abundant throughout the galaxy. Minerals, there are whole worlds of precious metals just waiting to be discovered. Now, what do the Grays want?”

Matchstick released the hand of Gus and then wiped at his large eyes. Jack felt horrible as he realized he had never seen Matchstick cry before. Alice walked around the table and placed her arm around the small being, then looked at Collins and shook her head, indicating that he should stop the questioning. Jack returned the look and shook his head.

“Why would the Grays try to take out the chain of command? They have the power to come here and destroy whatever they wanted to destroy with practical immunity. They wouldn’t care who was in charge and they certainly wouldn’t risk a ground incursion. They would come in blasting and you know it. Now why did they do that?”

“That’s enough. Isn’t it ample that they have come, just like he told you in the past? Does it matter what they came for?” Gus stood from his chair as Mahjtic tried to stay him.

“Yes, Gus, they could come here and just start killing all. I mean, that is their main goal, is it not, the complete subjugation of the planet? Why would they kill the leaders of the world? There is no need.”

Gus sat back down and then took Mahjtic’s hand once again. The alien nodded his head at Tilly and the old man turned white as he couldn’t form the words. Matchstick looked from him toward Jack. A single tear fell from his large, obsidian-colored eye. He wiped it away and then with a final look at Alice he started to say something. Gus stopped him, and then nodded his head also.

“There is one thing … that … is not … abundant … in this … or any … other universe, Colonel Jack.”

Collins and Mendenhall leaned forward and Pete Golding stopped writing on his notepad. Jack nodded his head that Matchstick should continue. It was like the Green alien was hiding something that pained him to the extreme and he wanted to excise the thing so bad that its poison ripped him apart as he tried to say it.

“We’re your friends, Matchstick—always have been. And nothing you can say will ever change that.”

“My race is … all … dead. That Gray Master you brought … here … said so. They are all gone.

“What happened to them—did they die out?” Pete Golding asked, starting to feel sick for Mahjtic and his kind. Slaves to the death.

“Their … fate will be … our fate,” he said, looking from face to face.

“They were killed off?” Will asked, getting angry for the small friend before them.

“Yesss,” Mahjtic said, drawing out the answer as he lowered his eyes.

“What do they really want?” Jack said with a growing feeling of dread.

“There is … one … natural resource … not readily … available … in the universe, Colonel Jack. Not water, not minerals … but people.” Matchstick looked from Collins to his friend Gus and the old man nodded that he should continue. “They sent the Talkan to your world six years … ago, not to kill off your species … but … to study … your … close in … defenses. Your ground … attack … methods.”

Jack exchanged looks with everyone at the table and they all remembered the battle in the desert sands of Arizona where many a soldier had fought and died, killing a species of animal they had all assumed, and were told by Matchstick, was a war of extinction.

“I … I … was mistaken … that was not the truth.” He stumbled on his words. He looked at Gus for help as he choked up.

“Damn it, Colonel, the goddamned ugly bastards are here for one thing and one thing only.”

Jack stood from his chair and then paced with his back to Matchstick.

“What?” Pete asked, feeling ill himself.

“Food to feed their home fleet. They cannot take the planet while their own kind is starving.”

“Us?” Pete almost shrieked.

Jack turned around in stunned silence.

“The Greens, Matchstick’s kind, the slaves have all been consumed for the Grays’ benefit, Colonel. Their kind is starving on those saucers you see in that picture. Horrible but true. Now they are coming for the one resource only found here. Food. That’s why they are not attacking in force, they cannot afford to kill off the one thing that can sustain them—their food source.”

Gus took hold of Matchstick and they went silent as the small alien cried into Gus’s robe. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. He looked at Jack with guilt written on his face.

“When … their … starvation … is … relieved … they … will … come … in … force … but … first … they must … secure enough … food for … the major attack … Right now … they … are too weak.”

Jack turned and faced Alice. “Keep this quiet for right now. It won’t do anyone any good to hear this.”

Alice nodded her head, agreeing with his decision.

“Thank you, Matchstick. We won’t let it get that far.”

It was Mendenhall who stood and placed his hands on both Gus and Mahjtic. He patted them on the back and then left the room.

The horrible information was sickening, but to Collins it didn’t really matter what the motivation was for the attack. It just didn’t matter—one reason was as bad as the other.

“Pete, there is no need to pass this on to Virginia. She has enough on her plate for now.”

Pete stood and nodded his head and then held out his hand to shake. “Good luck, General, we’ll be working here for you.” He looked at Matchstick and Gus. “All of us.”

“I know that.” He shook Pete’s hand and then reached over and hugged Alice. As he did, Mendenhall walked back into the room and up to Matchstick and Gus.

“I’ve wanted to give this to you for a while now. I guess this is as good as time as any.” Will held out his hand to Matchstick. “Put these on your little collar. You’ve earned them, Captain.”

Matchstick’s eyes widened even larger than normal as he accepted the gift of the single silver bar of an Army first lieutenant. Gus smiled and patted his small friend on the back.

The new captain and Jack’s aide knelt down next to Mahjtic and looked at him closely.

“Do you trust General Collins and me?”

Matchstick wiped his almost nonexistent nose and nodded his large and bulbous head.

“I promise we’ll get those bastards for what they did to your kind. Isn’t that right, General?”

“Damned right.” Jack and Will started to leave for the Nellis airfield. He stopped short of the door and turned. “Alice, when and if you get a chance, get word to Short Stuff for me; tell her I love her and we’ll see each other again. Either here, or somewhere else where soldiers always meet after the shit of the world has been cleaned up.”

“I will, Jack, I promise.”

“Pete, find a way to help, if you can.”

Pete just nodded as Jack and Will left the conference room.

“What did he mean where soldiers meet?” he asked Alice.

It was Gus who answered for Alice as she choked up and wiped at her eyes with a Kleenex.

“It was his way of saying good-bye, Dr. Golding. The man doesn’t think he’ll see any of us again.”

THE ARK, EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Pete sat with a beer and a shot of Jack Daniels and stared at the shiny bar top. He was twisting a napkin into knots.

“Buy you one?”

Pete Golding looked up and saw Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III standing by the stool he was sitting in.

“I’ve already got one … or two,” he corrected himself as he noticed the untouched drinks in front of him.

Charlie got the bartender’s attention and waved him over to order more drinks. He sat next to Pete and then looked at the bottles arrayed behind the bar. Pete sniffed and noticed Charlie, the old Cal-Berkeley hippie, had indulged in a practice that Niles Compton ignored most times.

“That shit will warp your brain, Charlie,” Pete said as he downed the shot of Jack Daniels.

Ellenshaw accepted the drinks and then nodded at the bartender, a retired Air Force sergeant.

“Your point?” Charlie asked as he too downed his fresh shot.

Pete looked at the cryptozoologist and then shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I don’t have one.”

Ellenshaw didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to lose a lot of friends, Charlie.”

“Yes, I think you’re right, my friend.” He slid a fresh shot of whiskey toward Pete.

Golding looked at Ellenshaw, then nodded his head and downed the drink.

“Charlie, you didn’t think much of the military before knowing Carl, Jack, and the others, did you?”

“Well,” he said as he sipped at his glass of beer, “I was always a pacifist, you know that. I mean, Cal-Berkeley was not a haven for military leanings during the sixties.” Ellenshaw took another deep swallow of beer. “But the men I’ve known here at Group have shown me something that I never knew.” He placed the glass on the bar and turned to face the computer genius. “The people we serve with are the best men and women I have ever had the privilege to know. Now I’m just afraid I could never live up to what they stand for.”

“What do you mean?” Pete asked as he too joined Charlie in drinking his two beers.

“They stand and fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. They fight the bullies in the world that we”—he nodded his head toward Pete—“could never stand up to. I for one am going to move heaven and hell to get my friends home. That’s all we can do, Pete—fight for our friends and those other soldiers who are going into harm’s way. We have a chance here to help, what assistance that is I don’t know yet, but I for one will do anything to get these people home. That’s what hanging out with Jack, Carl, Will, Jason, and Sarah has taught me: try your best.” He looked at his friend. “And that’s what you’ll do too. You were meant to be one of them, you and Europa, and you will prove it once this thing really starts, because like Niles is smart, Jack is brave, you’re a genius, and you’ll do what needs doing.” Charlie finished off his beer and then looked at Golding.

Pete looked at Charlie and smiled. “You have any more of that crap you smoke? I think it’s time to embrace the radical left.”

“You bet. Let’s retreat to my inner sanctum and figure out how to help those boys and save the world.”

The two men toasted and then left the Ark.

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Hiram Vickers stood outside the MGM Grand and waited. He had just watched the news broadcast and had been so shocked at the reports of the Speaker’s swearing in as the president of the United States that he felt like laughing. His luck had gone from bad to worse in less than twenty-four hours.

His cell phone rang. Looking at a few of the passing guests, he cautiously answered.

“It’s about time. I was wondering if you and the new president were going to call my bluff.”

On the other end of the line, calling from his private and secure cell phone, was Daniel Peachtree. “Do you think you can try and blackmail the new administration in the middle of a war—an interstellar war, at that?”

“You don’t think the press would love to hear that the man they billed as the most despicable man in the House was in an arms purchase, possibly even the murder and cover-up of a U.S. field agent? I would think again, Mr. Future Director. With the information I have on both of you making money buying up that new technology for a war the Speaker never thought was true in the first place, and then covering up the fact that your man, me, killed two American citizens? I don’t think you would be in your new office for very long, do you?”

Vickers was starting to think that the assistant director had hung up on him before he heard the man laugh.

“As it so happens, Mr. Vickers, there is now a need for a man such as you.”

Vickers eyed two men walking into the MGM and then turned away from them, careful to hide his face.

“And what special need is that—a target for one of your field agents?”

“Mr. Vickers, you landed at McCarran International at 7:45 this very evening. You are now standing in front of the MGM Grand looking rather nervous. If I had wanted you dead any one of three very despicable people would have sliced your throat a minute into this call.”

Vickers looked around nervously. He saw about a hundred people standing around the entrance of the hotel. Any of them could be the assassins Peachtree spoke of.

“Okay, you have eyes on the target. What do you want?”

“It’s what you want we’re going to discuss, Hiram.”

“And what’s that?” He avoided a small woman with a handbag the size of Detroit as she approached.

“You wish to have this nightmare end and receive the forgiveness of the new president—and of course myself.”

“What game are you trying to run on me? Ten hours ago you had half the agency tracking me down to kill me, now you want me to come back?”

“That was then, this is now. You know how quickly things can change in Washington. Before you left Langley, you contacted several members of your now-defunct Black Teams for assisting you in a delicate matter in the Arizona desert. Well, those men reported directly to me, and explained how you were going to gain leverage on us by taking a very secret military asset and holding him hostage until we saw things your way.”

Hiram Vickers had sorely underestimated the assistant director of Operations. The man had been five steps ahead of him at all times.

“What is it you … I mean Camden wants?”

“Why, nothing more than you and your Black Teams as originally intended. You see, there is a plan in effect that our former friend in the White House had devised with certain allies. This plan was thought up by the people who guide whoever you were tracking in Arizona. This asset, as you remember from your talks in Kansas with Mr. Hendrix—the man in prison with no official name—is code-named Magic. You see, Mr. Vickers, the new administration wants to speak directly to this Magic.”

“Why, if you follow Operation Overlord, you would undoubtedly get access to him, whoever he is, eventually.”

“Please stop thinking, Mr. Vickers, and listen. We want that asset in our pocket and not hidden away by any think tank the former president has hidden away. We want our military people to evaluate this war, and whoever this Magic is has the information they will need. Get him. If it takes three months or three years, get Magic for us. Your Black Team is standing by. May I suggest you stake out that house in Arizona; Magic will show up there eventually. And if this strange group is in charge of security there, I would be extremely careful.”

“And then I will be allowed back? The Black Team won’t have orders to kill me after we take him?”

“As I said, Vickers, we could have gotten you at any time, but now you are too valuable. Get that asset so we can get the information we need for this country, not everybody who has a gun and a few tanks. Now, accept the package the man behind you is holding and get to work. This is one mission you don’t want to screw up, because if you do a certain army major will discover right where you are waiting. And he will assuredly kill you in a most brutal manner.”

Vickers’s eyes widened when a rather large hand came over his shoulder. A plastic bag was there and he turned to see the leader of the last Black Team on the CIA’s books. The man shoved the bag at him and he finally took it. Vickers felt the weight of the weapon and took a quick look inside. It was a Glock nine millimeter and a cell phone.

“Be useful to us, Hiram, and all is forgiven. Use the secure cell phone and not the one you used to call me—we don’t want certain people tracking you down the way we did, and stop you before you secure this Magic. Good luck and don’t fail.”

The phone went dead as he turned and faced the man in the black T-shirt and blue jeans.

“What are your orders?” he asked as he tossed his old cell phone in a trash can.

“To follow your orders. Other than that, we have orders that if we can’t secure the asset in Arizona, we kill him, or her, whoever the case may be.”

“And then kill me.” Vickers frowned.

“It won’t come to that. You know how good we are. I guess you can say we never fail to get our man.”

Vickers frowned as the large man gestured for him to follow. He knew his men to be stone-cold killers if they had to be.

Now he actually felt sorry for the asset known as Magic.

SOUTHERN ATLANTIC OCEAN

The Pyotr Veliky signaled the Russian flagship of the Red Banner Northern Fleet by signal light. The night was warm and moonless and the giant silhouette of the missile cruiser was hard to discern. Aboard the Pyotr Veliky Sarah, Ryan, and Anya had been allowed out on deck to observe the highly dangerous maneuver that was about to take place. Sarah watched the skies and wondered if their movements were being tracked by someone other than the American NSA or the Russian Security Service with their highly technical tracking satellites. In all honesty she wished it were the Event Group’s KH-11 Black Bird ASAT, code-named Boris and Natasha. It would make her feel more at home if she knew family eyes were on them. But she did know one thing that was certain: the Pyotr Veliky was on her own from this point forward.

The sixteen warships of the Red Banner Northern Fleet made a sharp turn to the east and made for the coast of France while the giant missile cruiser heeled sharply to port, cutting dangerously close to a small Russian destroyer, so much so that the large cruiser sent the smaller vessel rolling high in her wake. The great missile cruiser was now traveling in the opposite direction as the flotilla.

The three guests standing along the stern railing had to hang on tight as the ship rolled hard at full maneuvering speed. Seawater cascaded onto the deck as the powerful warship heeled hard over in what was known as a slink-and-dive turn. This meant that she hadn’t slowed by one single knot as she made the maneuver.

“Whoa!” Ryan said as he made to grab both Sarah and Anya as they came near to sliding over the side of the railing.

The enormous missile cruiser finally straightened and then settled back deeply into the sea as her speed increased even more than western intelligence agencies ever thought possible.

They watched the darkened forms of the sixteen ships as they made for the French coast, hopefully taking any curious, watchful eyes from space with them. The ruse had started and they all hoped it worked because now they were truly on their own.

Sarah was the first to see the after-watch take their battle stations and she was curious to know why.

“We will run the rest of the way to our destination at action stations,” came the voice from the darkened area between the fantail and the aft missile mount. They looked up and saw the first officer as he stepped onto the fantail. Captain Vasily Lienanov nodded a greeting as he joined his guests. “I would have thought you would be down with the rest of the engineers and technicians.”

“We can only listen to so many sad songs of home,” Ryan said as he shook his head. “I mean, talk about gloomy.”

“This is a ship full of frightened men.” The first officer stepped to the railing and breathed deeply of the sea air. “They fear they will never see home again.”

“Strange, I have the same feelings myself, but I’m sure as hell not going to sing about it. Bob Dylan, I ain’t.” Ryan hoped to squeeze some information from a fellow seaman. “Speaking of said event, if we do die, just how far from home will we be?”

The captain smiled and then turned to face Ryan. He looked the small American naval aviator up and down and then turned away. “You should go below; they are fitting our passengers with gear from the ship’s stores.”

“Gear?” Sarah asked as she and Anya joined the men.

“Yes, you will have need of special equipment when you arrive at our destination.”

Ryan exchanged looks with the two women and frowned as he suspected the captain wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

“Can you feel them?” Lienanov asked, looking at the dark waters of the Atlantic.

“Feel what?” Anya asked after no one else inquired.

The captain turned around and faced them. “We have company out there. I don’t know what good they would do us if our Gray friends strike, but it’s comforting to know they’ll be along for the ride.”

“Who?” Ryan asked.

“Out there we have assembled no less than four Akula attack submarines, joined by a screen of two Los Angeles–class attack boats. They are riding shotgun for this little suicide run.”

“Submarines?” Anya asked.

“Yes, so you see, we shan’t die alone.”

The smile of Lienanov made them all nervous.

“Perhaps you should get below and receive your allotted equipment, and get some rest. You will need your strength in about four days’ time.”

Anya, Sarah, and Ryan started to turn. It was Ryan who stopped and confronted Lienanov.

“I know secrecy orders, Captain; we are in the same trade. But as you can see, none of us are ugly, and definitely not Gray in color. Where in the hell is this ship taking us?”

The captain lit a cigarette and then exhaled. “I gave these up when I graduated the academy,” he said, looking at the foul cigarette, and then he tossed it over the side. “Bad habit, smoking and…” He looked directly at Ryan. “Talking.”

Sarah watched the man closely, as did Anya.

“If you must know, Commander Ryan, you will be issued cold-weather gear and, when the time comes, also weaponry.” He turned away and made for the hatchway.

Ryan was stunned as he faced the women.

“You’re the navy man,” Sarah said. “What do you think?”

Ryan shivered in the warm night air.

“Antarctica.”

INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION

HIGH EARTH ORBIT

Greg Worth, a visiting atmospheric scientist from the University of Colorado, watched from the porthole on the hugely expensive international boondoggle known as the space station. He could never get enough of the view. He floated freely while his companions ate their dinnertime meal and laughed at the way the newcomer managed to look out of the window every two minutes.

Dominique Vasturi, an Italian photojournalist, approached Dr. Worth from her position forward. She held a freeze-dried bag of casserole in her hand as she grabbed for the support ring close to the window. She gazed through the glass and saw Earth far below. The sun was just rising over the Asian continent as she joined the curious American.

“I take it home is still there?” She offered Greg some of the terrible tasting casserole. He grimaced and shook his head.

“God, you really don’t appreciate the planet until you can see it from this vantage point,” he said, turning away from the offered meal and the gorgeous Italian photojournalist.

The woman agreed as she zipped the Mylar bag of dry casserole closed. “Well, let’s hope the news footage we saw tonight was not the beginning of something.” She looked out of the porthole. “Because it looks like a long way to fall.”

Greg finally pulled back from the window and then glanced over at the Russian and American astronauts as they went about their business. They were soon joined by Nemi Takiyama, another guest who had arrived only three days before on the same flight as Greg.

“Are you scared—I mean, being out here?”

“I think if they attack, I would just as soon be here as there.” The Japanese scientist glanced out of the window as he floated up to the two observers.

“Okay, everyone, it’s time to power down. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” Peter Blasinov, a Russian Air Force colonel, started throwing switches that would send the expensive space station into sleep mode.

Greg frowned. The one thing he hated about being here was to be strapped into a sleeping bag–type device and hang from a wall just to get forty winks.

As the three young people moved from the window they heard a sharp alarm sound in module C-11, the next compartment down. They heard the call from one of the U.S. Air Force communications men.

“We have a hatch warning in the physical training module.”

“That can’t be, there’s no one in there.” The Russian maneuvered past the three startled people. The warning buzzer kept up its shrill call. “Shut down that alarm!”

The buzzer stopped and then they felt the entire station shudder.

“What in the hell was that?” Greg asked as he felt the shudder again. “Is it an open hatch venting gas to the outside?”

“No, we haven’t lost atmosphere.” Blasinov quickly took handholds and shot into the physical training module through the connecting tunnel. He saw immediately the hatch ring was turning. He hurriedly floated toward the hatch and tried to force the handle back into the locked position. It started to move back and then a tremendous force outside the door started moving the locking ring back to the open position. “Damn, help me, Lieutenant!” he shouted at the young American communications man. He was floating nearby and his eyes were as wide as spotlights.

“Come on, that’s impossible!”

“That seems to be a moot point at the moment. Something is forcing this seal open—now help me!”

The three young people watched from the module’s opening. Greg sprang forward, quickly traversing the exercise equipment, and then was able to take hold of the door’s locking ring located in the middle of the hatchway.

“Who’s out there?” Dominique asked.

The Japanese weather specialist floated over to assist. As he did he hit the window covering, sending it up and into the composite hull. His eyes widened as he saw just who it was that was turning the handle. He used his feet to spring backward with a small yelp of fear.

“What in the hell is that?” he yelled.

Blasinov looked up. Staring right at him was the most horrible thing he had ever seen. The Gray was helmeted but they could clearly see the yellow-ringed black eyes as they looked inside the station. The thing opened its mouth and he could swear the creature had smiled at him.

“Environmental suits and helmets, quickly!” Blasinov shouted. He fought to hold the handle closed. He was losing the battle. As he chanced another look he saw several more of the strangely dressed Grays as they floated up to the doorway. Too late, the handle turned and opened.

The atmosphere of the station vented outward with an explosive crash of passing air. Men and women were tossed and blown toward the open door. Blasinov was forced out through the three-inch gap between the hatch and the rubber seal. He was crushed as his large body was forced out into space, where it was immediately grabbed by one of the assaulting Grays.

Men and women quickly placed their helmets on in the midst of the flying paper and other debris forced into a whirlwind by the venting oxygen. The Grays opened the hatchway completely, and five of them entered the International Space Station.

Outside the large station, two of the silver-colored saucers held station. They were soon joined by a much larger alien vehicle as the station was raided.

The Gray assault on the blue planet below had begun in earnest.

UNITED STATES SPACE COMMAND

THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Major General Walter Shotz watched the monitor and his face turned white as he and two hundred radar and imaging technicians witnessed the International Space Station explode. The devastation was silent as large pieces of composite material, aluminum, and plastic arched into the black void of space.

“Get me General Caulfield on the horn and sound the incursion alarm. We have a serious attack starting on our front door,” he said as calmly as he could, as the horror of what just happened etched deeply into his brain.