Legacy

6

The crazed white hair of Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III was something of a legend at the Event Group. Crazy Charlie, as he was known to the younger members of the Group, had fought for ten years to make his Cryptozoology Department a respected part of the mainstream sciences at the complex. The amazing thing was that he had done just that by proving almost every crazed theory he had about animal life in the past and showing that those theories not only had a foundation in today’s science, but that the animal life in question might still exist. However, that was not the reason Jack Collins had insisted Charlie go along. He knew the professor was one of the quickest and sharpest minds at the Event Group, as well as a man who could formulate a theory faster than anyone Jack had ever seen-and all on a minimum of information.

At the moment, Charlie Ellenshaw was having a hard time keeping up with Everett and Collins as he tried to follow them toward the Computer Center. He was juggling an overnight bag and several books on Ecuador and its legends. He had gotten a jump on Jack and his request by learning all he could on the area of interest. He was already considering several theories on the myths and legends of that people from time immemorial. As he dropped three of his books, he ran into the back of the much thicker Captain Everett, who turned and helped Charlie collect his fallen material.

“Take it easy, Doc. We have time. Jack’s going in to inform our good Dr. Golding that he’s going on his first field assignment.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous.” Charlie stood up, nudging his load upward as he did so with his thin knee. Once upright he tried to fix his glasses, which were askew, but couldn’t. Carl rolled his eyes. He reached out and put the professor’s glasses on straight. “Look, Captain,” Dr. Ellenshaw said, “I just want to thank you and the colonel for allowing me to come along. You don’t know how boring it gets when everyone is on an assignment they deem Crypto unqualified to assist in.”

Everett patted Ellenshaw on the shoulder. “Doc, you’ve earned your stripes. We need fast thinkers where we’re going.” Carl smiled and squeezed the thin man’s shoulder. “Besides we may need your gun hand.”

“Really?” Ellenshaw said, excitement coursing through his features.

“No, not really. You’re going to stay on the plane and assist Pete with Europa.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, the disappointment clearly showing.

Everett smiled and shook his head. He noticed Jack entering the Computer Sciences Center.

Collins stood at the top of the uppermost tier of the center aisle and tried to find Pete in the mass of humanity. The computer team was spread out everywhere, all of them mixed in with people from Virginia’s Nuclear Sciences Division and the Astrophysics Department. Jack finally spied Pete. He was moving from one group to the other and looking forlorn as he listened to ways in which they could get men and women back to the Moon in record-setting time. Collins hustled down the stairs past three hundred desks that sat on differing levels off the center. He finally reached the main floor and walked up behind Dr. Pete Golding, the most brilliant computer man in the business. He watched as Pete examined a design on a large monitor as several men and women stood around.

“This is just an opinion,” said Pete, “but in light of the Russian incident, the fuel used in the Apollo program is just too highly volatile for this kind of mission. I mean, someone could sabotage it with a firecracker. It seems-”

Pete stopped talking when several of the engineers turned and faced him. Their looks said they knew how volatile hydrogen and oxygen can be, but at the moment they had no choice but to work with what they had.

Collins tapped Pete on the shoulder. Clearly the computer genius felt embarrassed at stating the obvious to the men and women next to the engineering station.

“Colonel?” Pete said, as he turned and saw it was Jack.

“Feeling left out, Pete?”

“It seems everyone is dead set on rushing this thing-and you know what that means? It means a lot of people could get killed because someone forgot to dot an ‘i’ or cross a ‘t.’”

That statement summed up was what was on the colonel’s mind. That was why the mission he and Everett were about to undertake was so important. Maybe they could save the lives of the men and women who were destined to be shot into space on very hurriedly made plans. In particular, there were three people he was most worried about.

“How would you like to get the hell out of here, Doc?”

“Out? You mean, like outside?” Pete looked a little shocked at any suggestion of going out in the sunlight.

“Yeah, Doc. Out, like to Germany. I need you on a field team, and I need what you can do with Europa. We need-”

Pete Golding turned on his heel and started for the risers.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jack called after him.

“To get my overnight bag before you change your mind,” Pete called back.

Jack shook his head and followed Golding upward into the highest tier of the Computer Center.

“They’ve got to get you people out more,” Collins mumbled as he caught up with Pete.

Ten minutes later, Jack and Carl had their black duffel bags packed with almost everything they would need overseas, including new passports and all their operations gear. As they waited for the elevator on Level 7, they were spotted from a distance.

“So, are you two off fishing or something?” Sarah asked as she stepped up to Jack. He noticed she was carrying her own duffel bag over her shoulder. She looked at the equipment both he and Everett were carrying.

“We’re going to try and stop this insanity,” Jack said, and turned to face Sarah. “You people act all excited and privileged about this crap, but I don’t feel that way. This project is hurried, and Niles is overlooking the fact that someone out there doesn’t want anything going to the Moon. And even if they get there, they may face an armed force of Chinese or someone else.”

Everett was a little shocked at the way Jack had delivered his little speech to Sarah. The venom in his voice took both him and Sarah by surprise.

Collins lowered his head and laid down his bag. “I kind of went overboard there, huh?”

Sarah placed her own bag next to Jack’s and smiled.

“Well, you weren’t shy about saying what was on your mind. You’ve come a long way, Jack. You didn’t use to say that many words in a week.”

Collins finally smiled and put his hand on the side of Sarah’s face.

“Look, short stuff, use your own common sense with this thing. Personally, I think our director could have chosen any number of geologists for this screwed-up plan of his.”

“He needs people he can trust up there, Jack. Besides, it looks like we’re the backup plan here. NASA and JPL threw a fit about axing their more experienced teams. They go first on Ares, at least that’s the word we’re getting.”

“Wait,” Everett said, looking down at the diminutive McIntire. “They get the new system and you’re going on that old relic, Atlas?”

“It probably won’t even work,” Sarah said with a smile, just as Mendenhall and Ryan walked up with their flight bags slung over their shoulders.

“That’s my damn point, the Atlas V is ancient,” Everett argued, angrier than even Jack had been a moment before. He looked at Jason Ryan and fixed him with a look that could kill. “And I don’t think Mr. Ryan can fly this one. It’s not a helicopter or a fighter jet but a million pounds of liquid explosive sitting under his ass. And where in the hell were you, Lieutenant McIntire, when the plane carrying you, Virginia, and the director took off without a preflight check? Were you in a hurry? Oh, by the way, you left Houston with a bomb attached.” Carl was actually leaning toward Sarah. “Everyone here is failing to take the right precautions on this thing, and for a bunch of brilliant people, that’s just damned stupid!”

Sarah seemed to wilt from his accusation, and the way Everett accused her of negligence made Jason and Mendenhall just as angry.

“We’re following orders, just like everyone else,” Mendenhall started to say, but he stopped when an angry Collins stared him down.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Collins hissed.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Sarah said. “Why are we being attacked? We’re only-”

“Following orders, we know,” Everett answered for Jack. “But last I heard you can only volunteer for the astronaut corps. And one more thing: There are people out there who would like to blow up every attempt at getting up there, in case you haven’t been following the news.”

“Oh, you two are ones for the books,” Sarah answered with a set jaw and firm stance, taking up the challenge of both Jack and Carl. “Like you don’t do crazy stupid stuff all the time!”

“Yeah, and Jason and I always get left behind,” Mendenhall said, becoming angry for the first time he could remember where the colonel was concerned. All of the past came flooding back to him, all the times he and Ryan were left on the sidelines as Everett and Collins took all the risks. The funny thing was, this time Mendenhall knew the best bet was to back out of this crazy thing. Being bullied into it was something altogether unacceptable, especially from Colonel Collins.

The small group was being watched and avoided by many men and women in the hallway. The group looked as if it were about to come to blows. Sarah stepped forward, close to Collins’s chest with Mendenhall right beside her. Ryan dropped his bag and took an angry step toward Everett, who smiled and waited.

“That’s enough!” The voice echoed off the plastic walls from down the hallway.

Everyone stopped talking when the voice sounded. Standing in the carpeted hallway was Niles Compton. He had a look on his face that no one had ever seen before. His clipboard and files were tucked under one arm and his glasses perched on his forehead.

“What in the hell is wrong with you people?” he asked as he approached. “Angry at each other because one group perceives the other is taking the biggest risk? Colonel, what these three are doing is dangerous. I know because I’m in charge of the attempt to get this madness under control. You’re right, Mr. Everett. Space is a voluntary act. I have ordered no one to do anything. Are we clear on that?”

Both Everett and Jack looked away, still angry, but far more embarrassed than they had ever been.

“Now, I think you two have a long-range aircraft waiting for you at Nellis. I’d suggest you get on it and try to find something that will make going to the Moon a moot point.” Niles started to walk past the stunned group of five but stopped when he saw that no one was moving. “I said, now!”

Sarah swallowed and reached for her bag, as did Mendenhall and Ryan. Jack stayed her hand and tried to smile. Everett just held out his hand to Ryan and looked him in the eye.

“Good luck, flyboy,” he said, shaking Jason’s hand. Everett then held out his hand for Mendenhall. “And watch after Will. He doesn’t do too well flying.”

Collins pulled Sarah off to the side.

“I don’t know what the hell is running through my head anymore, so all I’ll say is go and do your geology thing, short stuff. I’ll be here waiting for you. Good luck.”

Sarah smiled and looked around. Then she went to her tiptoes and kissed Jack.

“You too, jackass.” She gave him a small smile.

Jack looked at Will and Jason. He shook his head. He knew they were only doing what he had trained them to do and no one could be more proud of two young men. He shook each of their hands, and then the two groups separated after having gone through the first harsh words exchanged between any of them. Jack and Everett entered the elevator and watched as Ryan, Mendenhall, and Sarah turned and smiled. The doors closed and that was when Jack looked at Everett.

“That, Mr. Everett, could have been handled a little better.”

“We are a couple of asses, aren’t we?” Everett said, smiling at the closed elevator doors.

“And the fact that we’re asses amuses you?” Collins asked.

Everett set his bag down, then turned and looked at Jack, the smile still on his face.

“I really thought Ryan was going to kick my ass there for a minute.”

They both laughed as the elevator took them up to Level 1. The smiles didn’t last long as each of them thought about their friends and the mission they had been chosen for.

The two officers knew that the fates of Will, Jason, and Sarah, along with many others, could very well be in their hands, and at the moment they didn’t know if they could help them at all.

For one of the first times in Collins’s memory, things were happening faster than he had the ability to keep up with and that was what he hated above all else.

“Jack?”

“Yeah,” he said, as the doors opened.

“You know the main reason we were so angry back there?”

Jack threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the elevator.

“Yeah, I know. It’s because we’re too damn old to do what they’re doing.”

The New York Times

It has been widely reported that Russian commandos stormed several locations today in the Republic of Georgia, seeking out extremists in connection with the devastating attack in Kazakhstan at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. The terrorist cells that were attacked had long been known for their ties to Muslim extremist groups, including al Qaeda, where Russian authorities claim the plan had originated. Russian officials have not commented as of today about the link between Georgia and the Middle Eastern terrorist cells they claim to be responsible for the attack. There was no word on casualties in the seven separate military raids. In a related story, Chinese officials have been silent about the reports coming out of Beijing regarding large-scale protests by Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists in the wake of the Russian attack. It has been confirmed, however, that more than a thousand people have been detained by the state for illegal assembly and seven have been arrested for unspecified crimes against the state. Many slogans have begun to appear in graffiti across this city, some about the corrupt attempt to reach the Moon by this government. The fervor of these protests has not been seen in China since the Tiananmen Square incident two decades ago. Thus far, the People’s Republic has had no official comment about breakaway religion and their concerns about Chinese missions to the Moon and their true intent. Other nations are starting to report large protest demonstrations concerning the expenditure of massive amounts of money and religious ignorance of the space programs involved. Many private think tanks wonder about the cost and the danger involved in such a venture.

The conference room was full.

The hookup was a five-way link among the Event Group at Nellis, the White House Situation Room, the Pentagon Space Command, NASA, and the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who have never met him, this is Dr. Niles Compton,” said the president. “He heads a private concern here in Washington that deals with event planning and execution. I have given him the difficult task of analyzing and planning for our response to the events that have occurred on the Moon. I believe he and his team are prepared to outline what our response should be. Dr. Compton, you may begin.”

“The mission is called Operation Dark Star,” Niles told the group “It is a multilevel plan for getting not one, but two complete teams to the surface of the Moon within two weeks, with one emergency crew and their launch platform as a backup.”

Niles saw that the in-house camera systems were registering the shock on the faces of everyone who heard the launch goals. He kept speaking.

“An Ares I and an Ares V, experimental first-stage systems intended for use in the now canceled Constellation Moon program, have already been shipped in sections from their Minnesota facility. Since the emergency on the lunar surface, over two hundred thousand employees from various companies, such as Alliant Techsystems Inc., manufacturer of the Ares system, and Boeing, the contractor selected for the crew module and all upper stage systems for the Ares, have been at work since the systems were chosen. The third and final system, used as an emergency backup, is the Atlas V platform. It has been warehoused in Florida since the Apollo program cancellation in the seventies. All of these systems are viable and on their way to assembly points at Cape Canaveral and Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. We will launch in two weeks.”

The various rooms exploded with naysayers protesting that the goal was impossible. Again Niles took a deep breath and waited. Not until the president asked for calm did the commotion finally cease.

“In the matter of the crew capsules, we are axing them from the systems. We will shuttle the crews to the International Space Station via three separate shuttle launches from the Cape and from Vandenberg. This action will save payload weight and expedite the systems for readiness.”

“NASA here, Doctor. I know you’ve been working with many of my younger, far more dream-oriented quality and design engineers, but may I ask, since most of us have not been informed, just what are you using the saved payload weight for?” The director of NASA was clearly irked beyond measure that he had been cut out of the loop as far as planning went.

“First off, let me apologize to each and every person hearing of this for the first time, but the president and I felt that we needed new thinking here. That’s why we asked some of the younger engineers to assist. I must also add that they came through with flying colors and devised a viable plan in a difficult area of engineering. As for your question, we are saving the weight because of the larger lander we are using on all three of the systems. We had to cut the crew module and expand a new version of the Orion crew capsule to accommodate five astronauts and seven United States Army Special Forces personnel for each platform within Dark Star. That’s a total of thirty-six crewmen if all three sections of Dark Star are needed.”

Again, the anticipated eruption, this time over the prospect of militarizing outer space by sending armed troops to Moon.

Niles and a few of his assistants began showing the systems that they had developed with the assistance of over a thousand companies. The 3-D renderings of the Orion crew module made it look like a five-deck version of the Apollo crew system. The Altair lunar lander, the new version of the Lunar Excursion Module, was equipped to carry as many as twelve astronauts to the surface of the Moon and return them all safely to the orbiting Orion. The Altair was significantly different from the originally planned module. That one had only carried four astronauts. The new version had been expanded to a multi-deck system capable of sustaining its crew for a full week in the harsh lunar environment.

The workers at Boeing and other specialty plants across the nation had started construction and expansion on the mock-up versions of all three systems the first day that Niles had come up with the plan, and he found himself responsible for the expenditure of over $93.5 billion that the president would never be able to hide from Congress. That number would surely double as it grew closer to go time.

The president waited for calm and then he forced the issue.

“This meeting was not called to argue the validity of the plan, ladies and gentlemen. It was called to consult and advise only. We are returning to the Moon. The individual space programs will have to meet and face a new era of cooperation due to information I cannot share with you here today.” He nodded. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen. We are going back to the Moon!”

The press room was packed.

The word “Moon” was on every reporter’s lips.

Eventually, the White House press secretary walked to the podium and the crowded room fell silent.

“The president has a brief announcement and presentation. He will not, I repeat, not be taking questions afterward.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”

The president slowly walked in from the left and went directly to the podium, not nodding or greeting anyone on the way as was his custom. His tall frame was firm and his eyes serious as he placed his prepared statement in front of him.

“Good afternoon. As events have unfolded on the surface of the Moon, it has taken this government many days to assess the situation and make the decision that I am here to announce tonight. Millions of years ago, our Moon and possibly our own world were visited by humanoid beings not much different from us.”

The press corps started writing furiously and television cameras rolled to catch every nuance of the president’s bearing.

“With the exception of a few minor details, these people were the same as us in almost every way. They obviously had our spirit of adventure and exploration, the same qualities that have driven our own species to great heights. The most amazing aspect of this find on the surface of the Moon is that the humanoid remains discovered inside of Shackleton Crater have been determined to be as much as seven hundred million years old.”

With that announcement, the press room erupted. Many of the senior members had never seen this kind of excitement, or even pure astonishment, in the White House. The room quieted as an assistant press secretary stepped forward and removed the linen from the first picture. The president remained where he was.

“I am here today to clear up some misconceptions about what has transpired on the Moon and to deny any wrongdoing by the United States in the explosion that rocked Shackleton Crater last week. I will also announce preparations for the return of this country to the surface of the Moon and the reasons behind it. First, I would like to make a brief statement concerning efforts currently underway in other nations for going to the Moon. These attempts will not be based on any exploratory effort. The fact is, there’s a race on to recover not only alien military technology from seven hundred million years ago but to recover something perhaps even more important, something that will make nuclear fission outdated-a mineral that could escalate the race for far more destructive weapons than we currently possess. The United States will not allow any substance indigenous to the lunar world to be brought back from the Moon.”

The statement was as close as the president could come to making a military threat.

Joe Horn, a quiet family man from Eugene, Oregon, waited patiently outside the well-maintained house in the Pasadena suburb of Monrovia. The radio was on and he listened to the president’s address streaming live from Washington, meaning the west coast of the United States was just waking to the news that America was now in a dead-on race to the Moon. This was a mission meant to undercut the most basic statement of the Holy Bible, that man was created by God Almighty. Now the world was in a rush to prove that it wasn’t God who accomplished this miracle, but visitors to whom most of the scientific world would kneel and give their allegiance-the new Golden Calf of the heretic.

Mr. Horn, a man taken to the heights of fervor in the name of God, sat stoically and waited. He watched patiently for the person he had come to see, the leader of the zealots who had been on television day and night for the past two weeks with their little mechanicians of science. He had asked his Baptist minister yesterday for guidance before his long drive down the coast. He had been told that the discovery on the Moon meant nothing, that the faith of all religions should not be shaken by the miracle that was currently taking place, that this discovery only meant that the range of God’s miracles was not restricted to just this one solar system.

Horn didn’t believe it. The more establishment religions were calling for calm, but Joe wasn’t interested in being calm. The word of Rev. Samuel Rawlins was starting to reach the ears of the true followers of the Lord. He was calling for all men and women of the true faith to take up the cause of stopping these blasphemers before they could deface the word of God. Now Joe was here to strike the first blow for Rawlins, as he knew the voice coming over the airwaves had spoken only to him when it called for the righteous to rise up.

Joe Horn sat up straighter in his old, battered pickup truck as the man he had been waiting for stepped out onto his front porch with briefcase in hand.

Joe’s heart started pounding, threatening to break free from his chest as he watched the man kiss his wife good-bye and then pick his small daughter up and hug her. He watched as the man set his daughter down on the porch and waved to both. As the man approached his Hyundai, Joe stepped from his pickup and strode across the street.

“Mr. Nathan? Mr. Stan Nathan?”

The mission leader from Jet Propulsion Lab turned and saw an older man walk toward him from across the street. He was wearing farmer’s overalls and had a green baseball style cap on. His smile was broad and friendly. When he had called out his name, he saw out of the corner of his eye that his wife had hesitated closing the door and stood with her daughter in her arms, wondering why her husband was being approached. Two other neighbors of Nathan’s were heading for work and paid the old man no attention as they went to their own cars.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Nathan,” he said, placing his left hand on his car’s door handle. His eyes widened when he saw the man reach into the large pocket in the front of his overalls.

Joe Horn reached inside and came out with a very old. 38 Police Special. He started shooting as he ran straight at the engineer. The first two bullets struck the door and a third the driver’s side window as Nathan reacted quickly, ducking and throwing his briefcase up for what little protection it would provide. Joe Horn stopped shooting so he could take aim more carefully. He hadn’t thought to bring more bullets than the six he had chambered in his father’s gun, which had lain upon a shelf in his bedroom closet for his entire forty-year marriage.

Stan Nathan lost his balance and fell backward as the realization of what was transpiring hit him full force. He thought he heard his wife scream, but he couldn’t be sure. He heard a car start and as he fell on his backside he thought he heard the backfiring of another car. That was when he felt the first sting of being shot.

Horn had taken several strides toward the fallen engineer and now stood within five feet. He placed a trembling hand on the. 38, aimed, and fired.

“We cannot allow the blasphemers to spit in the eye of God!” he cried out. He fired twice more, finally hearing the hammer hit on nothing but an empty shell casing.

The last two bullets were more than enough to do the job. The fifth round had caught the aerospace engineer in the side of the head after careening off a large Texas Instruments calculator inside his briefcase. The sixth and final bullet hit him directly in the heart.

Mrs. Nathan screamed again as she watched her husband die in front of her. The one neighbor who had started his car heard the shots but had reacted far too slowly to stop the inevitable. When he saw the assassin standing close over his neighbor, the man threw his car in reverse and peeled rubber on his way out of the driveway. He was under the impression that the maniac would soon turn his attentions to the woman and her child. The car bounced as it careened into the roadway and then it bounced again over Stan Nathan’s driveway. Before the neighbor fully realized what he was doing, the rear bumper struck Joe Horn and sent him flying into the shrubbery Stan had planted when he and his young wife had moved into this, their first home, years before. The neighbor knew he had hit the killer of his friend hard enough, so he just sat there after bringing the car to a stop on the manicured front lawn. He was shaking badly as he heard Nathan’s wife screaming and his daughter crying.

The U.S. Air Force C-22B transport aircraft sat next to the American consulate hangar at Berlin’s busiest airport. The aircraft was on loan to Department 5656 from the U.S. Air Force, but to Jack Collins’s frustration it had become nothing more than a large mobile hotel. They hadn’t moved or disembarked since their arrival in Germany.

Jack sat in one of the large seats near the back of the aircraft while Carl was in the plane’s galley making them lunch. The plane and its occupants had been sitting at Tempelhof for the past sixteen hours while Pete Golding, with the assistance of Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III, stumbled through the elusive Columbus files that Europa had been able to uncover from German and Allied reports and documents. So far they’d hit a stone wall, and it was driving Jack crazy, especially knowing that Sarah, Mendenhall, and Ryan had flown out of Nellis bound for Houston and the training regimen that had been set up for them.

Everett cleared his throat and Jack opened his eyes. He heard the sound of Ellenshaw and Golding arguing over some fine point or the other from their station at the midway point of the aircraft. Collins shook his head and finally focused on Everett.

“It’s rough waiting for something to break, I know.”

“Yeah, so how do you handle it?” Jack asked as he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face.

“I eat,” he said, shoving a sandwich toward Jack.

Collins shook his head and accepted the offering. “What about Pete and Charlie. Are they hungry?”

“I offered them something when I took the flight crew some food. All they did was look at me as though I was asking if they’d like to dance. I think they’re out to prove their worth to you. They’re just grateful to be asked along on one of Colonel Collins’s excellent adventures.”

Jack took a large bite out of the sandwich. He chewed twice and then stopped. The look on his face was one of abject horror as he spit the single bite into a napkin.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, looking at the sandwich in his hand.

“Sardines, tortilla chips, and cheddar cheese,” Everett answered, taking a bite of his own concoction.

Collins didn’t say anything. He gently lay the sandwich down as though it were in danger of exploding. He took a long drink from his bottled water, his eyes never leaving Carl’s.

“Hmm, look at this,” Everett said, laying his own sandwich down and pulling the television monitor around for Collins to see. On the screen, it looked as though several thousand people had gathered in what the caption was telling them was Rio de Janeiro. Bottles, rocks, and other objects were being hurled toward a police barricade surrounding government buildings. The scene switched to a view of Los Angeles where the same sort of rioting and unrest was taking place. Then there was another scene, this one in London. Everett reached over and turned up the sound on the television:

“… the unrest has been repeated in countries the world over as religious fundamentalist groups have organized to halt the missions to the Moon, where they feel their beliefs will be undermined by the significance of humanlike remains discovered there.” The scene again switched. This time the caption at the bottom was Los Angeles. “Clearly the leader of this discourse is the Reverend Samuel Rawlins. His Faith Ministries has been at the forefront of this movement that has spread so quickly that it caught most government law enforcement agencies totally unaware. Reverend Rawlins, the leader of the largest privately funded evangelical organization in the world, is calling for civil disobedience to halt the advancement of what he calls a declaration of war on organized religion. The Reverend Rawlins has been rebuked by the pope and the World Evangelical Council, which he has pulled away from in the past month, declaring his own…”

“Who is this nut?” Everett asked.

Jack sat silently and watched the scenes of rioting unfold across the screen. The BBC reporter signed off. The bumper for the next segment showed a picture of a tall man with silver hair pounding a golden pulpit and looking for all the world like someone who took lessons from Adolf Hitler himself.

“I don’t know, but someone better start taking him seriously, especially after the murder of the Jet Propulsion engineer this morning,” Jack said. He reached out and shut off the view of the Reverend Samuel Rawlins.

“Well, security will be tight from here on out,” said Everett.

“Colonel, we may have something,” Charlie Ellenshaw said, leaning over Jack’s seat. As the professor was getting ready to turn away, his nose wrinkled and he looked down at the tray in front of Collins and Everett. “What is that smell?” he asked.

“Lunch. You want some?” Everett asked.

“Not on a bet,” Ellenshaw said in disgust. Jack and Carl walked past him toward the communication shack. Charlie was about to turn away, but instead looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then he reached down and took the remains of Jack’s lunch. He took a bite. His eyes widened and he made a face, then he chewed and nodded. “Not bad,” he said to himself, turning to follow the two officers with his newly acquired lunch in hand.

Collins peered into the large communications area and saw Pete Golding sitting in front of a large monitor. He was examining an old document that Europa had brought up on the screen.

“What have you got, Pete?” Jack asked anxiously.

“Ah, Colonel. Please have a seat,” Pete said. He pulled one of the rolling chairs out for Jack. “This may be what you would call a long shot, but Europa believes the men here are definitely connected.”

Jack sat as Everett and Ellenshaw also took seats.

“As you see, we have General Heinz Goetz. I believe you said he was the antagonist of Senator Lee.”

“Yes, he was involved in Operation Columbus.”

“Well, I’m sure it will surprise no one that our dear general was a confidant of none other than Heinrich Himmler himself.”

“Oh, Mr. Wonderful,” Everett said, as Europa brought up a picture from the war years showing Goetz and Himmler standing together outside one of the smaller buildings at Wolf’s Lair, Hitler’s Eastern Front headquarters in Poland.

“Goetz was what you would call a special projects coordinator for Himmler.”

Jack looked at Pete. “Special? You mean beyond the horrible historical connotations that word brings to mind?”

“Yes, Goetz had nothing to do with the Final Solution. His talents were more appropriate for the protection of projects like the Vengeance rocket program at Peenemunde. It says nothing, however, about his participating in anything called Operation Columbus.”

Jack studied the picture of the small, heavyset general. He knew that it was his old boss, Garrison Lee, and Alice’s first husband, Ben, who had dispatched the man from the world of the living.

“But there’s this,” Pete said. He ordered Europa to bring up a series of pictures of General Goetz. The photos had been taken at various places around the Third Reich and Russia. “Are you seeing what we saw, Colonel?” Pete asked. He turned around and looked at Ellenshaw and what he was eating. He made a sour face and turned back to the screen.

“This man right here,” Jack said, pointing to a small, bookish-looking officer in an SS uniform. “He’s the common denominator in every photo.”

“Very observant, Colonel. His name is Joss Zinsser, a corporal. We suspected he might be an assistant to Goetz or possibly a secretary. We cross-referenced the corporal’s name against the report filed by the FBI field office from the site where they found the empty train. While the bodies of Goetz and several others were positively identified, there was no mention of our little corporal. It seems our friend Zinsser escaped into the night, you might say.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“He disappeared after the war. He was finally captured with false papers by the British in 1947. He was convicted of assisting in the war crimes of General Goetz and was sentenced to twenty years. He was sent to Spandau Prison and released in 1956 after serving eight years of his sentence. He was a low-priority prisoner and very much ignored by the Western media at the time.”

“Okay, anything else?” Collins asked. He nodded at Everett and gestured for him to get organized. Carl immediately turned and disappeared.

“Yes, there is,” Pete said. He turned and spoke to Europa. “Please bring up the cell allocations for Spandau Prison in the years 1948 thru 1956.”

As Jack watched, several frames flashed before his eyes. Cell assignments started scrolling down until Europa locked on cell number 117. There was the name Joss Zinsser. However, it was the second name that caught his attention, the name of the man’s neighbor for almost eight years.

“Albert Speer,” Jack said, nodding.

“Exactly, Colonel. Unless you believe in happenstance, I would say that these two men who shared breathing space were the only two left after the war who’d had anything to do with a top secret project known as Operation Columbus.”

“Tell me this man is still alive,” Collins said, standing and carefully avoiding Ellenshaw and his lunch.

“That he is. He’s a spry man of ninety-one years and the best part is that he never left Berlin. He lives with his daughter in a small apartment, 236 Rosa-Luxemburg-Strasse, part of a large apartment complex.” Pete handed Jack a slip of paper. “Here are the directions,” he said.

“It’s a start, Pete. Good job. You and the Doc stay put and we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“You mean we don’t get to go?” Golding asked, removing his glasses.

“No, you two keep trying to get hold on any other links to Goetz in case this doesn’t pan out.”

Golding deflated at the prospect of being left behind. He looked at Ellenshaw, who took the seat Jack had just vacated.

“They do this all the time. I never got used to it either,” Ellenshaw said. He took another bite of the fast dwindling sandwich.

“Maybe they wouldn’t have left us behind if you didn’t smell like crap. Just what in hell are you eating?”

The rental car eased slowly past the massive demonstrations. As Carl drove, Jack read the banners. They not only protested the cost of ESA’s attempt to land on the Moon but complained that it was a slap directly to the face of God. The two groups, though different in makeup, had the same goal in mind-making the German government pull all funding from the European Space Agency’s attempt at a Moon landing.

“With the pope and the other heads of organized religion calling for calm while this mystery is solved, where are all of these fundamentalist movements getting their gas from?” Jack asked. Outside, several men and women slammed their hands and fists against their car.

“In my opinion, most people don’t need a leader anymore to show that they’re idiots,” Everett said. He reached through the car’s window and pushed one of the protesters away. The long-haired man dropped his placard, which read in both German and English: “Hoax! America is once again perpetrating the greatest fraud against God!”

As the car slowly moved through the multitude, Jack saw a large group of skinheads gathering on the street corner not far from the center of the throng. He could see immediately that these men and women were here not to demonstrate but to do what they did best-start a riot.

“This could get ugly real fast,” he said, pointing to an empty side street. “Rosa-Luxemburg-Strasse is right up there. Let’s dump the car down that alley and walk the rest of the way.”

Everett saw where Jack was pointing and steered in that direction. Several protesters refused to move, but apparently decided against any action when Everett’s eyes bore into them. They gradually moved out of the way.

Everett finally made it to the alley. Both he and Jack got out and returned to the street. The mass of humanity was growing by the thousands and the mood was becoming angrier by the minute. Sirens and the sounds of police bullhorns could be heard further down the street as authorities started ordering the protesters to disperse.

“There,” Jack called out over the noise of the chants. Voices had just started calling for a break with the United States and the European Community.

A large set of stairs fronted the apartment complex. The large structure was one of the remaining vestiges of an era long gone in Germany. It was one of the last buildings that had been owned by the Nazi Party and had once been used to house VIPs, but now housed the poorer residents of downtown Berlin, with each of the original apartments cut into three.

They pushed their way through the crowd, drawing angry looks from some very large men with shaved heads. As they made it through the first group, Jack and Carl both saw that a second line of neo-Nazis had formed a cordon at the front entrance. They stood with arms crossed, as though they were guarding the building.

“Did I ever tell you I hate these guys, Jack?” Everett said. They came to a stop ten feet in front of the group of thirty men. Everett reached behind and under his leather jacket and made sure the Beretta nine-millimeter was secured, in case he was jostled on the way in.

“I don’t particularly care for them myself, Mr. Everett, and they do seem to be blocking the exact area we need to go.” Jack started making his way to the man who looked like he was in charge.

Collins had to reach around a large man with a bandanna across his forehead to get to the first set of door handles, but the man attempted to block him. Jack’s hand remained where it was.

“Mochten Sie lhre Kugeln wo sie sind?” he asked the young German, just loud enough that only the man blocking his hand could hear. At the same time Jack allowed his jacket to part enough so that the man could see the gun tucked in his waistband.

Everett watched the man blocking Jack lick his lips and then was amazed when the black-jacketed youth stepped away from the door. He followed Jack inside as the group of Nazis crowded around wondering why their leader relented so easily.

“What in the hell did you say to that guy?” Carl asked as they went for the large staircase.

“I just asked him if he liked his balls where they were.”

Everett smiled as they started up to the next floor, taking the stairs three at a time.

“Evidently he did.”

As they went up the stairs Jack had the distinct feeling that they were being observed. He slowed to take the stairs one at a time, swiveling his head to look for security cameras. The dilapidated building didn’t seem like the type of operation that could afford much security, so he figured it must be a human element watching them. As they gained the second floor and stepped onto the scratched marble that was once a glory to behold, Jack saw the apartment they were seeking-Number 236.

Jack pulled Everett aside. He looked up and down the long hallway, then reached into his jacket and pulled out the nine-millimeter. “We have company,” he said as Everett also pulled his weapon out.

“Inside or out?” he asked, going to Jack’s left.

“Don’t know,” he answered. He knocked on the door.

Everett looked in both directions but the hallway was empty. The only sounds were the yells and chants coming from the street below.

“Ja?” a female voice answered from the other side of the door.

The voice was that of an older woman. It sounded strange, out of the norm, as if whoever answered was frightened.

“Wir sind hier, um zu sehen, Herr Zinsser,” Jack said in German.

There was no immediate answer.

“Sind Sie die Tochter von Herrn Zinsser?” he continued, asking if he was speaking to Zinsser’s daughter.

“Ja,” the voice answered.

Jack heard a shuffling from behind the door.

“La?t uns in Ruhe, geh weg!” the deep voice of a man said loudly.

“What was that?’ Everett whispered.

“He said leave them alone and go away.”

“Friendly,” Everett said. “But that doesn’t sound like a ninety-one-year-old man.”

Jack leaned closer to the door. He heard a woman softly sobbing. He shook his head as he stood back and examined the door.

“Well, there’s no sense in standing on ceremony,” Jack said. He raised his right foot and kicked as hard as he could. The door caved in and Jack saw a large man with a shaved head go flying backward with the door covering most of his frame. He entered with his gun held high. Everett, watching Jack’s every move, quickly followed through the empty door frame.

The man tried to push the door off himself, but before he could Jack raised his right foot again and brought the heel of his black shoe down into the man’s nose, instantly sending the German to dreamland. The man’s right hand stuck out from under the smashed door. Jack reached down and retrieved the gun, tossing it to one side without looking. Carl deftly caught it and went to the left of the entranceway. Jack slid by the unconscious man. The old woman had collapsed and was holding her hands over her face.

“Do you speak English?” Jack asked. He bent over and assisted the elderly woman to her feet.

“Ja,” she said, slowly wiping away her tears. “Yes,” she repeated.

“Your father, is he here?” Jack asked.

The woman started crying and pointed toward the back of the small apartment. Jack handed the woman off to Carl and slowly crept toward one of the two bedrooms. The door on the left was ajar and Collins eased it open with the barrel of the nine-millimeter. As the door opened he went to one knee as quickly as he could and scanned the room with the gun. After a moment he spotted the man they had come to question. Zinsser was lying across his bed still clad in pajamas, with only one slipper on. Jack closed his eyes and rose to his feet.

“Clear,” he called out, without much enthusiasm. With his gun still out and pointed at the closet door, he stepped forward. He eased the closet door open. It was empty of everything except the clothing of an old man in retirement. He looked down and saw that Zinsser’s throat had been cut deeply, nearly to the back of his spine. Shaking his head, Jack looked deeply into the old man’s glazed eyes, then turned and left the bedroom. He checked the daughter’s room and found it empty. He returned to the small living room where Carl had just eased the old woman into a large chair.

“She said he was alone. He got in by claiming he was a house handyman. She says he didn’t ask for anything, just took Zinsser into the bedroom and killed him. He was about to do the same to Ms. Zinsser here, when we showed up.”

Jack stepped forward and grabbed the killer by the collar, lifting him off the floor.

“Okay, wake-up time,” Collins said as he shook the man. “Come on. Time to answer a couple of questions.”

The man moaned and his eyes fluttered open. His hands came up and went to his shattered nose, where blood was still flowing.

“Come on, let me see,” Jack said, as if he were trying to help the man. The young German warily lowered his hands. That was when Jack noticed the freshness of the man’s haircut. The tan ended far lower than it would have if he had always had a shaved head.

Everett had to smile when Jack’s gun hand came up and smashed into the German’s broken nose, sending his bald head backward with a scream of agony. Even the older woman had stopped crying long enough to smile as she saw her father’s killer in pain.

“Now,” Jack said, shaking the moaning man in black. “That was to get your attention. Who sent you?”

“Fuck off,” the man managed to say in English, as blood started flowing at a significant rate, soaking Jack’s hand. The gun hand flew again, striking the man in a part of the nose that was still intact, breaking a new section.

“We can do this all day long, Fritz, it’s up to you.”

“We work for no one. We-”

Again Jack’s hand flew up, as though it was his automatic reaction to a lie. The gun butt struck the man right across the bridge of the nose, crushing the bone and gashing the skin to the cartilage. This time the kid’s weight was too much for Collins and he let the boy fall backward onto the floor.

Everett, who had just given the daughter his handkerchief, saw something on the wall that made him walk over and take a closer look. As Jack leaned over the phony, reeling neo-Nazi, Carl turned and looked at the daughter.

“Ma’am, who’s this man with your father?” he asked, his question drawing Jack’s attention away from the gagging man on the floor.

“That is Albert Speer,” she said, with sad eyes. “I’m afraid he and my father spent many years together inside Spandau.”

“Yes, but that’s not who I mean.” Carl touched the image of a blond-haired man dressed in the uniform of an American lieutenant colonel. “Who is this?”

“That was one of my father’s jailers for a time at the prison. I cannot recall his name at the moment,” she answered. She started crying again.

“Jack, you want to leave your dance partner there for a minute and look at this?”

Collins slapped the man on the side of the face.

“Will you excuse me? I’ll only be a minute.”

The man rolled to his right, clutching his gushing nose. He didn’t bother to answer.

“What have you got?”

“Does this guy look familiar to you?” Everett asked. He turned to make sure Zinsser’s killer wasn’t moving.

Collins saw the picture of the three men and tilted his head.

“He does, but I’ll be damned if I can place him.” Jack turned to the woman and sat on the armrest of the chair. He kept his gun out of view to keep from frightening her any more than she already was.

“Do you know when this photo was taken?”

“I… I… don’t know. At least I’m not positive of the date. I would think it was around 1947, a year or so after my father was convicted of crimes against humanity.” She wiped at her wet eyes. “He really wasn’t a criminal, not like the rest of those pigs. He… he was just a clerk, nothing more.”

“Yes, ma’am, we know, but the man beside-”

That was as far as Jack got. A shout sounded and several men stormed into the room with guns drawn. Jack raised his hands and let the gun slip from his grasp as he recognized the uniforms of the local German police. The five of them were followed by two men in suits. Everett muttered “shit” as the police turned him around and frisked him. Jack endured his own search stoically. Another two officers pulled the killer to his feet.

“Colonel Collins, you are under arrest for entering Germany with false papers, and you are also under arrest for murder in the Republic of Ecuador.” The smaller of the two well-dressed men took Jack’s wrists and handcuffed him.

“I take it you’re Interpol?” he asked as he was turned around.

“We have been informed of your considerable prowess at escaping from custody, and your military accomplishments are valued reading at our offices, Colonel. So please, don’t try any of your tricks. You may find out that you’re not faster than a speeding bullet.”

“Damn, Jack, you mean you really can’t outrun bullets?” Everett smirked as he was led out of the apartment, just behind Zinsser’s killer.

“No, and I can’t jump buildings in a single bound either, smartass.”

“Then I’m afraid we’re going to jail, buddy,” Everett called back.

Just as Jack was led to the door, the old woman stood and kissed him on the cheek.

“Danke,” she said, as she was pulled away by two uniformed officers. She looked at Collins with tears running down her cheeks.

“For what it’s worth, ma’am, we know your father wasn’t anything like those he spent time in jail with.”

Jack was pulled away and the woman looked lost as she watched the scene before her, grateful that her own murder had been interrupted by the two Americans who had arrived out of nowhere.

The man was dressed in the uniform of the Deutsches Heer-the fatigues of the German army. He stood at the large window across the way from the apartment building and gazed through binoculars. The woman beside him stepped anxiously from one foot to the other, waiting nervously for the result of the setup. Laurel Rawlins watched the reaction of the bearded Mechanic as he scanned the apartment building across the way. He moved the field glasses to the right and then the left, making sure his people were in place.

“You will see, Ms. Rawlins, why our plan calls for the first domino to be placed in exactly the right position for our plan to succeed. You will learn here today why things must be in a special order to achieve the results you seek.”

“If you ask me, we should have killed those men as soon as their aircraft landed at the airport. This elaborate setup is a waste of time.”

“No one is asking you,” the Mechanic said. He seemed satisfied with the placement of the men and the explosives. “However, Mr. McCabe has asked me to school you on the finer points of the domino theory he has devised.” He turned and looked directly at Laurel with his black, penetrating eyes. “The men that we allowed to enter the building would come across one of two results inside the apartment-one, our man there had succeeded in his duty and killed the two occupants, which he had plenty of time to do since we arranged his entry into the apartment at a time we knew the two Americans we were following would enter. Mission one completed. Mr. Zinsser is dead, one hole to Columbus is plugged.”

“Which should have happened years ago,” Laurel said in exasperation.

“That is not my concern. We were only recently brought into this haphazard operation. You can blame your father for that little oversight, not me. And not Mr. McCabe.” The Mechanic turned and scanned the front doors to the apartment building. As he saw the angry crowd start to shove forward toward the police barricade, he smiled. “Number two, we tip Interpol and the local police about our two American friends who just happened to be wanted for murder in Ecuador, thus they arrive and catch them in a very compromising position with one, two, or three dead men inside.”

“Again, a waste of time,” Laurel countered, trying to anger the Mechanic even further. “These men obviously have high government connections and will undoubtedly be released to their embassy-thus, as I said, a waste of time.”

“Your learning curve may not be progressing as fast as Mr. McCabe seemed to think it would, miss.” He smiled as he saw the front doors open across the street. The police and plainclothes Interpol agents walked out with the two Americans in tow. They were followed by the handcuffed killer and several other police officers. He nodded.

Down below in the area leading to the apartment building, the men he had paid handsomely started their small deceit. The neo-Nazi skinheads started crowding around the police, the agents, and the two handcuffed Americans. The police started shoving and the crowd below grew wilder as protesters from the street were attracted by the action. The Mechanic lowered his field glasses and looked at the three devices lining the window seal in front of him.

“The second domino to fall, miss.” He picked up the first remote detonator. “The police are about to be attacked by your father’s words from six thousand miles away. The demonstration below is about to turn ugly.” He turned and looked at Laurel. “Now do you see? It’s all going to be bundled into one nice package-no witnesses and our Mr. McCabe is eliminating a serious threat to your father’s plans by having this Colonel Collins and his friend blown to Allah. And all the while the blame will be placed on the civil unrest in the streets.”

“And this will make Germany pull its backing for the space launches by the ESA?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Exactly.”

“Too much. This could have been done a lot simpler.”

“But it wasn’t. Would you like to do the honors?” he asked, offering her the remote device.

Laurel smiled and all doubt about the plan seemed to vanish as the opportunity to kill presented itself.

“What am I detonating?” she asked, swallowing and starting to sweat as she caressed the detonator. The Mechanic watched her and his black brow rose. He knew beyond a doubt that this woman was trouble, and her insanity, not to mention her father’s, could very well lead to disaster.

“You are starting a series of detonations. The police will have trouble getting to their vehicles because of the delay that we have paid for. Once in the street, you will press that trigger and five claymore mines will explode in the path of the police, our assassin, and the Americans.”

“And several hundred civilians,” she said, her eyes alight.

“A necessary sacrifice if we are to deter the German government from supporting the space launch. We have people in France, Japan, and Italy doing the same things as we speak. Your father’s words of revolt have spread, as per his plan. The incident with the JPL employee, though unplanned, was a surprise result of your father’s inflammatory words.”

“My God,” Laurel said, as she closed her eyes and stepped toward the window. She opened her eyes again and saw the two large Americans being pulled through the rowdy crowd of protesters. She looked to the right and saw a hundred more Berlin policemen in riot gear trying to push through the crowd, their shields and clubs making a path as people started pushing back. All of a sudden, James McCabe’s plan started to open up before her.

“Yes, praise be to Allah,” the Mechanic said, as he saw the ecstasy cross Laurel’s beautiful face. “I see you are coming to grips with the domino theory.”

The woman didn’t say anything as her thumb played over the detonator that would cause five U.S.-made claymore mines to explode, sending five thousand ball-bearing-sized missiles flying into the mass of humanity.

“God is great,” she whispered.

Down below in the street, Jack and Carl didn’t think the angry mob was going to let them get to the police cruisers. The cars were being jostled by the protesters, each being rocked back and forth on its suspension. Suddenly Jack was pushed to the ground along with Everett. When Collins looked up, he saw that the same man he had threatened before entering the apartment building was standing above them. He had a crooked grin on his lips as Collins saw he wasn’t alone. The police were there and trying desperately to pull the skinheads away from their prisoners. Jack heard a loud grunt behind him and managed to roll onto his back just as one of the skinheads pulled a large knife from the man who had just killed Joss Zinsser upstairs. The man looked over at Jack and Carl amid the shuffling legs and feet.

“Uh-oh,” Carl yelled out loud but to no avail as the policemen were busy trying to keep men and women back from their prisoners.

Suddenly a surge from the crowd pushed the knife-wielding man away and Jack felt himself being lifted from the ground. As he was roughly turned around he saw the smiling face of the man from the front door. He tilted his head as he raised something to chest level. Jack tried to pull away but knew the knife would be faster than him. While police bullhorns shouted orders in German and somewhere in the distance loud popping sounds started sounding that Collins recognized as tear gas canisters exploding, the skinhead thrust forward with the knife.

Just as Jack thought he was about to feel cold steel penetrate his stomach, the man’s face writhed and he was yanked backward by someone’s arm. Jack took the opportunity to twist free and kick out with his foot, catching the German in the stomach just as he was pulled over backward by the person who had grabbed him. Jack assumed that this was a policeman, but he wasn’t about to wait around to confirm it. He turned and tried to find Everett, but the tear gas had started to roll into the crowded and dangerous street.

“Jack, help him!” a voice yelled out, rising above the pandemonium.

Collins turned back around, not seeing who was yelling at him, but he did see the struggle on the ground as the skinhead thrashed away at the man holding him on the ground. The German’s body covered Jack’s savior so he couldn’t see who it was, then the shout from the crowd came again.

“Jack, help him!”

Instead of finding Everett and running, Collins did what he did best. He again raised his foot and brought it down into the Nazi’s face, sending him into oblivion and stopping his struggles with the policeman holding him. Jack turned and started looking for Everett again.

“Colonel!” came a voice from the crowd.

“Jack, get the doc!”

Collins turned back and saw the Nazi’s body being pushed away. A familiar face looked up as four sets of legs came into view and stepped all over his savior. Then he recognized the crazed hair of Doc Ellenshaw. Jack figured there couldn’t be another hairdo like that in the entire world. The frizzy white hair was all over the place and Jack almost panicked when he saw that Ellenshaw was about to be trampled underfoot by the now crazed crowd. He leaned over the prone cryptozoologist.

“Grab my neck, Doc!” he shouted.

Ellenshaw threw his arms around Collins. Jack pulled up and back. His hands were still restrained by the handcuffs, so he had to use another means of rescuing the man who had just rescued him. Soon there was another set of hands pulling on Jack from behind as both men straightened.

“May I suggest we make an exit from this place?”

A totally confused Collins turned and saw the familiar thick glasses of Pete Golding. Jack shook his head and then nodded toward the street.

“That way,” he shouted.

The four men started running as fast as the crowd would let them. All around them men and women were shouting, coughing, throwing stones and bottles-one of which clipped Ellenshaw as he held on to Jack’s belt.

“The alley!” Collins yelled again, spotting a somewhat safe haven for the moment.

As they pushed and head-butted their way across the street, their bodies seemed to start flying. All motion and sound came to a stop. Jack was pushed from behind by a superheated wave of pressure as the five claymore mines detonated from their hiding places on five separate street lamps lining the street. Ball-bearing-sized pieces of steel exploded into the now panicked crowd of protesters, slicing into skin, muscle, and bone. Jack, Ellenshaw, Everett, and Golding were shoved into the alley and they all fell as one on top of one another. As they hit the cobbled alley floor, the sound and the smell hit them all at the same time. Collins rolled to his back and looked up just in time to see a horrible sight. A cloud of red mist settled into the alley, assisted by the rush of air. He knew by the smell and the sharp report of ricocheting pellets that the protesters had been hit by something similar to antipersonnel mines.

“Oh God, oh God,” Golding was saying, as he came upright and felt for the pulse of a woman who came to rest across his legs. “What happened? What do we do? Oh God, oh God-”

Everett shoved his body into Pete’s. “Get these cuffs off me,” he shouted, his ears ringing harder than he had ever experienced before. Carl was shaking his head as he saw the death in the street.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, still unable to hear his own voice. “Jack,” Everett shouted, “Jack!”

Ellenshaw was trying desperately to get Jack’s handcuffs off with a small jeweler’s screwdriver, but he was shaking so badly he couldn’t.

“Doc, take your time. Calm down. We need to get out there and help some of these people. Now take a breath.”

Ellenshaw did as he was ordered and he finally inserted the small screwdriver into the cuffs. In order to help calm Ellenshaw, Jack half turned and tried to get the professor’s mind off the horrible situation all around them.

“What possessed you two to come looking for us?” he asked while trying to see what the doc was doing.

“It was my idea. I’m sorry, Colonel,” Ellenshaw said as tears started running down under his wire-rimmed glasses. He used his free hand to swipe at the tears. “I just thought… thought-”

“Hey, hey,” Jack said, shouting above the noise of people dying around them. “You did real good, Doc, you saved our asses out there.” He turned to see a shocked and battered Pete Golding sitting and leaning against the wall of the alley. Everett was trying to calm the computer specialist.

“That’s for sure. You can come with us anytime, Pete. You see how much trouble me and Jack always get into?”

Pete didn’t respond. He was looking at the dead woman lying in front of him. Everett could see that he was in shock. He looked up at Jack just as the colonel’s hands were released from the cuffs. From the street the initial sounds of terror, fear, and pain started collecting into a wail of anguish that was close to driving both scientists mad.

“Jack, get me out of these and let’s lend a hand.”

As Jack surveyed the situation before him, for the first time in his life he felt truly helpless as the scene of devastation confronted him.

“What is it?” Everett asked, finally gaining his feet. There was blood coursing down from his left ear.

“This was an ambush,” Collins said.

Power had been restored to the square as the bodies from the attack were placed along sidewalks and lined against building walls. The protests had ceased as most Germans had come together, waiting for the right moment to start speculating on who could have perpetrated such a cowardly act. Jack, Everett, Ellenshaw, and Golding were exhausted as they leaned against a shattered wall and caught their breath. A public announcement board and video screen flickered to life above them in the square as dusk settled in.

“I think it’s time to get out of here, Jack,” Everett said. He stepped up to a broken water main and stuck his hands in the spray of water. He ran a soaking hand over his soot-covered face.

Collins shook his head without really looking up.

“I hate leaving here without any answers,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“Colonel, may I remind you of the fact that we found you in handcuffs? I’m sure the police will recover much faster from this terror attack than we think. They could come looking for you again. I think we’ve done about all we can do here to help these people. It’s time we look to ourselves.”

Jack placed his hand on Professor Ellenshaw’s shoulder and nodded. “Okay, Doc, let’s go home.”

As they started gathering themselves, the large announcement board sprang to life. A public service message flashed across the thirty-foot screen with a warning tone that demanded the attention of those watching. Most people continued their duties in helping the EMS teams who were treating the wounded and attending the dead. Policemen were everywhere as they tried desperately to get evidence of the most dastardly crime in modern German history. Collins wasn’t paying any attention to the announcement as he washed his own face in the shattered water main on the battered curb.

“Am I seeing this?” Pete Golding asked from behind Jack.

“Oh, shit,” Everett said, tapping Collins on the shoulder. “Keep your face down, Jack, and head back toward the building.”

“What now?” he asked. He did as Carl said, keeping his hands over his face.

“Take a quick look and then head down the alley. My German isn’t that good, but I think the police are announcing they have a suspect in the terror attack.”

As Collins chanced a quick look up at the announcement screen, he was greeted by a 1997 U.S. Army photo of himself taken at Fort Bragg. Beneath the picture it said he was wanted for questioning in the day’s events.

“I’ve always hated that picture,” he said. He allowed Everett to pull him deeper into the alley as Golding and Ellenshaw followed, blocking any further view.

“We may be too late, gentlemen,” Ellenshaw said, “I think the proper words are, we’ve been ratted out.”

Everett looked up and saw a tall, beautiful blonde pointing them out to blood-soaked and dirty policemen. The officer looked up and Ellenshaw couldn’t think of anything to do other than give a quick wave of his hand as he backed into the alley. When the police officer looked closer he was stunned to see four men suddenly sprint down the open alleyway. He gave pursuit, alone and unarmed, shouting for the men to halt.

The blond-haired woman watched the pursuit and then turned to her companion. They both walked away.

“Imagine, all of those mines exploding at once and this man Collins escapes without so much as a scratch,” she said, looking into the face of the Mechanic as they walked and tried to avoid the damaged areas of the street and the small puddles of blood. “It seems he’s a domino that’s hard to topple.”

The Mechanic looked up at the video board with the photo of Jack Collins still on it. After seeing Jack and the others on the street he had to react fast, so he contacted McCabe and came up with a quickly thought out alternative. He offered the U.S. Army photo of the colonel to the German authorities.

“Sometimes the domino takes a while to fall, miss, that’s all. And I suspect this particular domino we are after will continue his pursuit of the men imprisoned together after the war. That is the key for him and we’ll be waiting.”

As the two walked away into the gathering night, the sounds of sirens and shouting still filled the air of downtown Berlin.