Legacy

3

The emergency meeting of the Security Council unofficially started long before some of its members joined together inside their chamber.

The television cameras were shut down. The press was being kept in the dark by the Council membership. The arguments with the American ambassador had begun as soon he had stepped from his office thirty minutes before. The tirade had continued as he tried to make his way to the Security Council chambers. After finally reaching the Council doors, the American turned to one of his assistants and whispered something. At that moment, the ambassador from Great Britain slammed his palm on the podium. After receiving his instructions, the assistant turned and left the chamber.

“Gentlemen and ladies, we must conduct ourselves with a little more decorum,” the British head of the chamber called out. “The gentleman from the United States has a statement he wishes to be read into the record.”

Even more protests then erupted among the eight-member council.

“Tell me, sir, will the Russian Federation be able to question this so-called statement, or will this be a deniable dictate from the esteemed ambassador from the United States?”

“I’m sure he will try and answer any questions the Council has-”

“China echoes the request of the Russian Federation. We must be able to question this statement and have far more precise answers of what really happened on the Moon this morning. The introduction of nuclear material into outer space is unconscionable and will not be tolerated by the People’s Republic.”

The American ambassador sat stoically, waiting for the chamber to calm. The two protesters to his statement did not go unnoticed by the career diplomat. Neither of them had used their interpreter to state their displeasure.

The French ambassador lowered his head in deference to the American on his left. He said, “France must concur with the sentiments of our esteemed colleagues, although we are willing to hear the United States reasoning, or explanation if you will, for this very disturbing development.”

The small, bearded American diplomat had just been ambushed by the Frenchman. While guarding his closeness with the Americans on most items on the Security Council agenda, he was now stepping back and siding with China and Russia. He knew then that the French government was in the process of forming their own opinion. If Britain and Japan abandoned the United States, censure would be close behind.

“I have a brief note to read from the president of the United States. Although he is going to brief the country, and therefore the world, at six P.M. tonight, he wanted to send along a personal explanation to our friends around the world.”

“Very well. Read your statement, Mr. Ambassador,” the Englishman said as he gave the American the floor.

The ambassador didn’t stand up. He simply opened the folder in front of him and started reading. He refused to use the dramatic move of looking tense. He was calm and cool, just as the president had instructed through his secretary of state.

“Gentlemen, as you already know, an incident occurred on the surface of the Moon at 1133 hours this morning, Washington time. It was witnessed by many of you live. It would seem that an unstable, but wholly natural element detonated on the lunar surface. As this incident was accidental in nature, but instigated by our robotic instruments, the United States must therefore assume responsibility for the event and will immediately start the investigation into what exactly happened. I must stress to the member nations that this was a natural element and not a device of American origin. We are fully compliant as per the United Nations treaty of 1966 forbidding the introduction of nuclear material into outer space.”

The ambassador and every member of the Security Council knew this was a lie. The exploration spacecraft Cassini launched in 1997 had violated the treaty and almost ruined the reputation of the American space program. Its most staunch ally, Great Britain, dropped out of the project because of the nuclear reactor that would eventually be sent crashing through into Saturn’s atmosphere. The American therefore wouldn’t bring up the fact that the Chinese, Russians, and even the European Union had also violated the treaty.

“We again emphasize the fact that this detonation was accidental and was not caused by any material we introduced into the lunar environment.”

The American closed the folder in front of him and waited for the tirade to start in earnest. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I think an immediate vote to censure the United States is appropriate at this time,” the French ambassador said, with a sober nod to his American counterpart. There was an instant smattering of yeses from around the large table.

“The Russian ambassador would like to read a statement,” the distinguished British ambassador said, looking at his colleague from America with sad eyes.

The Russian stood and nodded to the Englishman, then faced the American ambassador directly.

“You take responsibility for the investigation upon the lunar surface, is this correct?” he asked.

“That was clear in the president’s statement to this body, I believe.”

“I see. And just how is the United States planning to conduct such an exhaustive endeavor, from the safety of this planet?”

“I have not been informed of the plan of action nor its timetable.”

“Mr. Vilnikov, is this a statement or a cross-examination?” asked the chairman.

“I’ll tell you how,” the Russian said as he looked at the faces watching him. “You will simply guess as to the cause, or more to the point, you will lie to the people of the world. Therefore I will state that my government has every intention of conducting its own investigation, not from the safe confines of the Earth, but directly from the surface of the Moon!”

The Russian ambassador closed his briefcase. He turned and left the chamber with his assistants trailing behind.

As the American watched, the Chinese ambassador stood, nodded his head, and he also left. The meeting broke up with every U.N. protocol broken. The American ambassador sat and looked at the tabletop.

“What’s happening?” one of his young assistants asked.

“I’ll tell you,” he said as he tapped his fingers on the folder that held the president’s statement. “They’re not doing this to investigate what happened on the Moon. They saw everything as clearly as we did. No, they’re going because there is something up there that makes our nuclear technology as obsolete as a biplane. I figure they have two agendas, and I’m not even a scientist. One, they are going to retrieve the weaponry that was uncovered in that crater, if it’s still there, and two, they want that material.”

“But the images of the weapon were not broadcast to the public,” his assistant said.

The ambassador shook his head, not even wanting to comment on how naive the young man was.

“Then what will we do?” the assistant asked, worry finally showing on his face.

“Nothing. We can’t even begin to start planning a return trip. We stripped NASA’s budget completely to the bone as far as the Moon is concerned.”

“What does that mean for the country?”

The ambassador stood and placed the president’s statement in his case and then turned and smiled sadly at his assistant.

“It means if everyone gets to that technology before we do and answers the questions concerning that mineral, the United States just may become a Third World nation.”

Dr. Pete Golding watched the Astro-Sciences Division in frustration. They had invaded the Computer Center and were working frantically. Their assignment was to find out as much from the Peregrine 1 mother craft, and from the last burst of data sent by John, as they could. The photos and strange paperwork absconded by Europa from NASA and JPL communications was spread out on the largest ten monitors at the Comp Center. The way Virginia Pollock and her hundred-person team were working the problem of finding out what they were dealing with on the Moon, Pete figured they would get nowhere quick.

Golding stood from his position in the observation seats arrayed in a semicircle high above the Computer Center floor. He was looking at the unusual language discovered on the plasticlike “paper” uncovered by the lunar rovers. He figured it would take Linguistics a full year even to figure out the alphabet of the alien tongue. The Chinese- and Cyrillic-looking characters had no rhyme or reason based on Pete’s limited expertise. He wandered from screen to screen, his eyes fixed on what appeared to be a star field. Perhaps it was a photograph, though if it was he didn’t immediately recognize the position of the stars. As his eyes roamed over the recovered material he saw another photograph taken from the Moon. He did see something familiar in this one. It was obviously Earth. He could see what looked like the west coast of North America, but that was as far as the recognition went. The rest of the globe was covered in clouds. Pete then looked more closely at the small un-detailed photo and corrected himself.

“Not regular clouds.” he mumbled under his breath. “Looks like steam, smoke, maybe even ash.” He stepped up to Virginia, who was busy arguing with a supervisor from Linguistics about the very problems Pete had thought about a moment before-the fact that they had little time to decipher the alien tongue.

Pete tapped Virginia on the shoulder and nodded his head toward an empty Europa terminal.

“Just take your linguistics team, Professor, and start trying to figure the common wordage of repeated phrases. You may have better luck in the short time we have,” she ordered, watching Pete for a moment before joining him.

“What is it, Pete?” she asked finally, stepping up to the desk and terminal.

“This,” he said, typing in a computer command. The small photo of Earth came up. It was only half a shot. He assumed the picture was taken during earthrise, when only half the globe is visible. “What do you make of these?” he said, pointing at the cloud cover.

“Clouds?” she asked, wondering if Pete was on the same level of observation as everyone else.

“I don’t think so. There’s no pattern to normal cloud cover. It looks like steam, smoke, maybe even ash. See the dark tinges embedded in the clouds and the way the center of some of them look deep and funnel-like?”

“Okay, I see it, but that could be moisture, maybe even a hurricane. Hell, Pete, it could be anything. Listen, we’re worried about the Moon at the moment, not Earth,” she said, her words trailing off as she leaned in closer to the flat screen monitor. She saw something she thought was familiar.

“I think it’s volcanic activity on a massive scale,” Pete said as he tapped the screen. “And look at this,” he added, typing in another command for Europa to execute. The picture of the strange-looking star field came up and Pete leaned back in his chair. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not an astronomer,” Virginia said, once more looking at Pete. She realized he was right about the strange cloud pattern depicted in the photo.

“Look,” he said, pointing at a spot inside the same star field. “That’s Venus.”

“Okay, I’m not an astronomer, but I know enough to tell you you’re mad. It’s not in the right spot. I would say it’s about, oh, maybe a hundred, maybe even two hundred thousand miles from where it should be.”

“Nonetheless, it’s Venus.” Pete began to type and then thought better of it. He reached out and brought the terminal microphone closer to his mouth. “Europa, shut down all inquiries from other terminals and then act on the following requests only.”

“Yes, Dr. Golding-overriding system for singular use.”

As the sexy-voiced computer started shutting down all terminals across the board, they heard the complaints from everyone in the comp center as their stations shut down. With a withering look from Virginia, who still gave Pete Golding a lot of leeway when it came to playing hunches, the operators and her team quieted and watched Pete.

“Europa, clear and enhance photo 112. Can we get an estimation of moisture content in the cloud cover?”

“Attempting to analyze,” Europa said, as the picture of an eclipsed Earth disappeared and then reappeared with grid marks and a multitude of overlaid colors. “In answer to your query, Dr. Golding, the moisture content of cloud cover cannot be analyzed with current data. However, Europa can correct a previous assumption of the objects tagged as clouds.”

Pete smiled and then looked back at Virginia. “Go ahead, Europa.”

“Objects viewed in photograph are of varying thickness. They are indicative of windblown contaminate, therefore they cannot be classified as cloud cover. Europa will tag contaminate as volcanic activity from the Asian continent. The particulate is acting as though it is caught in the North American jet stream. The thickness of volcanic contaminate is sixty-seven miles. The Asian continent is estimated at eleven thousand, eight hundred miles distant as calculated from height of contaminate.”

“That’s impossible, Asia is not that far off the west coast of the United Sates,” someone in the Comp Center said.

Pete smiled as his suspicions were confirmed. A few more of the technicians started making their way over to where Pete and Virginia stood. Seeing this, Pete switched all of Europa’s calculations and depictions to the large thirty-five-foot screen at the center of the front wall.

“Europa, analyze the distance of object from present-day Earth coordinates depicted in the lower right hand corner of photo 171. I have designated object as Venus.”

“Europa has confirmed the planet Venus as object depicted in data received.”

Pete glanced back at Virginia and raised his brows. “It’s not where, Virginia, but when.”

Virginia Pollock was beginning to understand where Pete was going. She decided to join in on Pete’s developing theory.

“Europa, overlay photo 171 with a recent star field photo of the current position of the planet Venus, and show the current position of stars in background, please.”

As they watched, recent photos from Jet Propulsion Lab, the Hubble Telescope, and the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles were placed side by side with the recovered Moon photograph, and then the four photos slowly blended into one. Venus was then clearly shown separated from its twin in the recovered photo.

“Estimate distance from the two planets depicted, please,” Pete continued, as a shocked Virginia and her large staff watched in awe. Meanwhile the computer technicians under Pete’s command looked at their boss with even more respect than they’d had just a moment before.

“One hundred fifty-six thousand thirty-two miles, plus or minus two hundred miles from current position of the planet Venus.”

Pete stood and looked at the picture above them. “Estimate time of solar system expansion from current position of Venus subtracted from photo number 171.”

“Photo marked as 171 was exposed approximately seven hundred million years prior to recent earth- and space-bound photography, plus or minus error factor of one million years.”

The room was stunned. Pete was too shocked to gloat. He turned white and faced Virginia.

“Photo 171 taken of the Earth. The reason why the estimate of the Asian continent as being so far away from the North American west coast is because Asia, at least in this photo taken from the Moon, was on the far side of the world at that time. The picture was taken-”

“Before the continents separated, and at a time when the world was inundated with volcanoes and explosive activity on its surface,” Virginia finished for him.

Pete smiled, albeit uneasily, and then removed his horn-rimmed glasses.

“Bingo.”

The Reverend Samuel Rawlins knew when he had his congregation where he wanted them. The two-hour sermon had started out chastising America’s foolish reach into space and continued with the accusation that the United States had introduced a weapon of mass destruction into God’s universe. As his Hollywood-style speaking voice reached out to the thousands attending in Long Beach, it was also reaching record numbers in eighty-six other countries that had accepted the special programming after the day’s events on the Moon.

“Were the mechanics and engineers of our wayward nation satisfied when we placed the footprint of mankind on one of the Lord’s heavenly bodies five decades ago? No, we have to reach for unspoiled ground once more and taint it with the radiation of a blackened soul. I say we have sinned a great sin, and the nation, if not the world, will pay for this egregious affront to God almighty!”

The congregation stood and shouted their approval. “I say to everyone listening and watching around the world that this reach back into space cannot be tolerated. This so-called find on the Moon is nothing but a hoax perpetrated by the leaders of this morally bankrupt nation, and assisted by their so-called allies across the globe, a trick of humankind to once more gain access to the workingman’s pocketbook-once again my brothers and my sisters, this trickery will not, cannot be tolerated, and I will fight this expansion into God’s universe with every breath in my body, even unto my own death!”

At that point the three-hundred-member choir broke out in song and the gathered parishioners stood and started clapping and shouting out amens. The Reverend Samuel Rawlins stepped away from the magnificent golden pulpit and held his hands high in the air. Women seated closest to him came near to swooning, while the men looked up at the ten-foot-high stage that was filled with palm trees and flowers with nothing but reverence and admiration etched upon their tear-streaked faces. As the choir sang the Reverend gestured to one of his younger deacons to lead the congregation in final prayer. Then he waved as if he were Elvis leaving the stage and departed to the left.

There were three men waiting for him as he stripped off his white jacket, but he ignored them as he first went to his two daughters and hugged and kissed them. The older wrapped a towel around his neck and the younger gave him a tall glass of water. He smiled and then excused himself. First, wiping his brow, he went to a man in a dark business suit.

“Numbers?” he asked.

“Our own network is carrying a forty-eight percent share. We swept the major networks off the airwaves. And listen to this-we pulled fifties in most European countries.”

“That’s good, Elliott,” Rawlins said after he drained the glass of water. “Give me real-time numbers, not percentages.”

The president of Faith Networks Worldwide saw the intense blue eyes as they bore into him and he wanted to step away, but he smiled instead. “You were seen by no fewer than one billion people here and abroad.”

Rawlins wiped his sweating face once more and then nodded. “Good. Now set up my special for Guiana. I have a sermon reserved just for our family down there. I want it to be beamed out to them no later than tomorrow evening. I’ve already recorded it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rawlins turned to the two other men as he watched his daughters, who also loved the attention and the limelight, step out onto the stage. They started singing and clapping with his choir and deacons.

“Okay, what have you got?”

The two men were part of his security team and were ruthless. They collected intelligence on anything or anyone that could possibly hurt his ministry.

“We have a special telegram from the Vatican. It seems you’ve hit a nerve with the new pope. He demands that you use-his words here, sir-common sense, and he hopes for restraint on your part. It seems you are inflaming the populace of many nations.”

“Is that right? Well, the pope and all of Catholicism haven’t seen anything yet. What else?”

“The regional board of evangelistic ministries has echoed the complaints of the Vatican. The president of the United States has been mum so far on your attack on the space program and himself. We don’t expect that to last after tonight.”

“I tremble in my shoes,” Rawlins said with a laugh, tossing the damp towel as he walked briskly toward his dressing room. “Keep up, gentlemen,” he said, not bothering to look back over his shoulder as the two men turned and followed. “I am informed by a most reliable source that the European Space Agency, along with those godless Russians and Chinese, have contingency plans to reach the Moon.” He stopped and looked intensely at the men. “Obviously they plan to attempt a recovery of both the human remains and the mineral samples. Of course, our contingency plans were predicated on something like this happening. Oh, maybe not such a worldwide attempt, but close. This cannot and will not happen, gentlemen.”

“We are ready, sir,” the largest of the two security men said, holding his own eyes steady on the Reverend.

“Now, the appropriate blame will be placed on nations and on organizations I have taken years to choose. The consequences of taking so many lives must not be traced back to me. We have spent more than two billion dollars over the years preparing our response and this is not the time to screw things up.”

The medium-sized man, actually the security chief for Faith Ministries and a former Delta operative, finally cleared his throat. His goatee was closely trimmed and his hair was recently cut.

“You have hired the best men there are from all around the world. You have paid handsomely for the loyalty of all. We will not fail you or your church, Mr. Rawlins. We will kill all who try to blunt the word of God.”

Rawlins finally smiled with true comradeship.

“God bless, Mr. Smith.”

The man known to everyone who worked with him as Smith, nodded once and then turned away, his taller assistant following.

The Reverend Rawlins watched the two men leave as he slid down the knot in his tie. The smile was gone and he felt better for it. He looked up into the girder work of the giant cathedral.

“Yes, Mr. Smith, go about God’s work. And, if need be, bring upon the heathen the Four Horsemen, for they shall deserve God’s wrath.”

Will Mendenhall was up front in the cockpit of the Air Force Learjet taking his flying lesson from Jason Ryan while Jack and Carl studied the latest satellite images provided by the Event Group’s own KH-11 satellite, code-named Boris and Natasha. The images were downloaded into a virtual reality map that showed real-time cloud cover and ocean tides. The in-motion virtual map showed and even measured the snowfall in the Andes. As Jack hit the zoom icon on the side of the plastic map, the image enlarged to the point where he and Carl could clearly see the indentation in the Earth made when the original German excavation was buried after the war.

“Let’s see,” Everett said, counting under his breath. “I count no fewer than four guard towers and three roving SUV patrols. And they claim it’s all for public safety?”

“That’s the claim. They say there are dangerous and eroding mine shafts and such. However, according to the senator, we know for a fact that the operation was an open pit mine, no shafts involved, at least none that can be found by hikers.”

“Okay, do the Ecuadorians know what was taken out of the ground there?” Everett scanned the map for more detail.

“We have no idea. Even though relations are good, they’re pretty hush-hush on what the site is hiding-or, what it hid at one time.” Jack said, correcting himself.

“These SUVs, you notice something?” Everett asked, pointing to and tapping the three roving vehicles outside the thirty-foot chain link fence.

“Nonmilitary, black in color, and expensive,” he said, adjusting the magnification on the virtual reality map. “Maybe a little bit beyond the resources of the Ecuadorian military.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Carl agreed.

“Colonel, we’re starting our descent into Quito, so you and the captain better buckle up back there,” Ryan said over the intercom.

Everett looked at his and then Jack’s seat belts, which had never been undone from takeoff. “Nah, we won’t tell him. He may think we don’t trust his flying,” he said with a crooked smile.

As Jack sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, his cell phone rang.

“Collins,” he said.

“Colonel, Niles here. I have an update for you on several fronts. Number one, the rest of the civilized world has seemingly turned an ugly eye toward us. They are using the excuse that we introduced fissionable material onto the lunar surface.”

“You’re kidding. I suppose they didn’t see the same footage we did on CNN?”

“Well, the president thinks it’s just a red herring, several of the more capable countries seem to be hell-bent on investigating the event firsthand.”

Jack sat up in his seat and then sat the cell phone down on the table between him and Everett. He hit speakerphone.

“Are they running a bluff? I mean, are they capable at this time of getting there?” Jack asked as he mouthed the word Moon to Carl.

“Well, the ESA claims they have not one, but two prototypes ready to go. I personally find that difficult to believe. They could never have hidden the budget from the European Union. But they did go on television just twenty minutes ago stating they were prepared to shuttle components into South America to start assembly of the two Ariane 7 vehicles.”

“Damn, what does CIA have to say about the accuracy of this claim?”

“Jack, all of our intelligence services were caught flat-footed on this one, and I for one won’t start pointing fingers; keeping tabs on the ESA hasn’t been the highest priority. The same goes for China and Russia. CIA counts warheads and missiles, not lunar-capable systems. For all we know they could launch as soon as they get their systems online and their vehicles assembled.”

“Is there anything we can do about it? I mean it’s obvious to anyone who’s been paying attention that there is a mineral up there that would be highly desirable. And the technology those remotes dug up, that’s not a bad second prize either.”

“The president wants me to get with DARPA and NASA to see if we have any alternatives,” Niles said, speaking of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. “I’m flying out in a few minutes to meet with the Defense Sciences Office in Arlington, and then I’m off to Houston.”

“Do we have any capability at all to get back there since the budget cuts?”

“I doubt it, Jack. That’s why you and Captain Everett had better come up with something. We need Operation Columbus and its artifacts found. One more thing, the excavation you’re visiting is owned officially by Hans Dieter Brinkman, a German businessman who leases and sells land out of his Munich offices.”

“What’s the story on this guy?” Jack asked.

“Well, Europa ran a background check on him and it seems our Mr. Brinkman is the son of Field Marshal Karl Brinkman. We have learned that the field marshal was an engineer before and during the war. He died in 1963 in, of all places, Quito. Pete Golding dug deeper and found that our man was a mining engineer. His son took over the business end of things but has never once set foot in Ecuador. Europa, as is her style, surmises that Mr. Brinkman the younger is nothing more than a front for another owner that she can’t find in the fine print of the property ownership papers. So, watch it, Jack. It could be anyone.”

“Is that all?” Collins asked, shaking his head at Everett.

“There is one more little thing. Pete Golding analyzed the material sent from the Beatles and has come up with an approximate age for the lunar site and the remains found inside Shackleton.”

“We’re listening,” Jack prompted.

“Right around seven hundred million years old,” Niles finally said. “Give or take a month.”

“A month, huh? Well, I can see you’re beginning to develop that sense of humor, Mr. Director. We’ll call when we have something.”

“Okay, Jack. I’m meeting with the president and he tells me I’m going to be incommunicado for the next eight hours, so I guess something’s pretty important. Anyway, good luck.”

As Jack, Mendenhall, Everett, and Ryan waited for the only rental car available at the Mariscal Sucre International Airport, Quito’s brand-new facility, they realized from the taxis and beat-up bus service that the airport had yet to see an influx of high-traffic rental car companies and high-end service industries. The services were somewhat lacking as the four men waited at the curb for their rental to be delivered. Ryan had gone to the only open rental counter inside the terminal and found sparkling new counters and floors, but only one company, Quito Express, was open for business. When Ryan returned he was unusually quiet as he waited beside Will Mendenhall.

“That was pretty quick,” Will stated, peeling his Hawaiian-style print shirt from the small of his back. The heat wave that had struck the foot of the Andes had surprised them when they exited the executive jet.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan answered and then handed Will a brochure from Quito Express Car Rentals. The large picture on the front showed a shiny new Lexus SUV. The flyer folded out into three large panels of makes and models. “The choice was pretty simple.” Ryan moved his feet uneasily as he looked at the colonel and captain out of the corner of his eye. They stood with their sunglasses on, stoically waiting for any sort of punch line Ryan might add to his statement. They didn’t have to wait long.

Mendenhall was the only one to jump when a large bang sounded in the underground roadway that fronted the large and shining terminal. The backfire was soon followed by the squeal of an alternator belt as their rental pulled to the curb. Jack turned and looked at Ryan, who stood and stared straight ahead.

“I see your taste in cars is right in line with your taste in women, Mr. Ryan.”

Everett just stood and looked from the 1986 Yugo to the brochure Will was comparing to the actual rental. The car was white and looked as if a giant tiger had raked large, sharp claws across its side and hood. The rental manager hopped out. With a gold tooth showing, he smiled and handed Jack the keys. Collins looked at the set of keys and saw the remote door lock. Out of curiosity he pushed a button on the key fob. Mendenhall jumped again as the horn blared and the emergency lights started blinking. Jack pushed it again and the horn stopped, the lights went dead, and they all heard the audible click as the doors locked. Jack lowered his head and handed the keys to Ryan.

“Hey, guys, this was the only thing they had,” Ryan said, objecting to the looks he was getting from everyone as Mendenhall pushed the color brochure into his chest.

“Come on, Ryan,” Everett said, opening the car door and holding the front seat forward for Jack. “Maybe we can find a used llama dealer on the way.”

Ryan looked at Mendenhall, who was just shaking his head.

“Next time, you get the car.”

An hour later, with Ryan driving and fighting the maladjusted wheel alignment along with the burning clutch, they reached the foot of the Andes. The paved roads that Ecuador boasted of in their vacation travel guide, which Will was trying to read in the passenger front seat, failed to mention that the roads had been repaved sometime in the early sixties, right around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. They hadn’t seen repair since.

“Turn right on the next road you see, Lieutenant,” Everett said, as he held the Global Positioning monitor. “Then another quick right and stop. That will put us at a safe distance from the first guard shack and place us behind the main road where the roving security patrols travel. We should be able to get a good bird’s-eye view from there.”

Ryan fought the steering as they approached the dirt road on the right side of the paved highway. With brakes squealing and the alternator belt in danger of piercing their eardrums, the Yugo made the turn.

“Jack, why don’t we have a geologist with us? I mean even if we came across this mineral, we wouldn’t know it from a granite countertop.”

“I asked Niles if we could have one of Sarah’s people, but he said they had all been assigned other duties.”

Ryan made the other quick right ordered by Everett and for the first time they saw the high cyclone fence surrounding the excavation site. Ryan slammed on the brakes and then shut down the engine as fast as he could before the alternator belt told everyone from there to South Miami they were in the neighborhood. Ryan opened the car’s door accompanied by loud cracks and squeaks and then stepped out to allow the colonel to squeeze out of the backseat. As Jack stretched his taxed legs, he saw the barbed wire that topped the high fence. Then he saw something coursing through the steel chain link.

“For a patch of dirt, someone sure doesn’t want visitors, do they?” Mendenhall said. He removed his dark glasses and looked at the wire that led to conductors, then to the power pole nearby. He read the warning signs posted every forty feet along the electrified fence.

“Serious enough that someone’s going to run up one hell of an electric bill,” Ryan said, as he read the sign out loud. “Fifty thousand volts worth of persuasion.”

Jack watched the interior of the old excavation and saw that the ground was bare. It was flat and with not one single bush, flower, or weed. He turned and reached into the car. He brought out a pair of binoculars and sighted the glasses on the silverish-looking Quonset huts that lined the sides of the fence. Then he turned and scanned two of the posted guards in their towers. They were carrying something else the satellite pictures hadn’t shown them-AK-47 assault rifles.

“Jack, I’m not getting the best feeling here,” Everett said, reaching behind him and making sure the nine-millimeter he carried in the waistband of his jeans was still in place.

“Definitely overkill for a large sandbox,” Jack said as he watched two more guards exit the largest of the six Quonset huts. “I figure they have the facilities for over a hundred men. Complete with a self-contained mess hall, and God knows what else. Will, get the parabolic mike out and let’s see if we can eavesdrop on one of these good ol’ boys and see what nationality they are, because they sure as hell aren’t Ecuadorian.” Jack handed the glasses over to Everett.

As Carl zoomed in on the first set of guards he saw that one had blond hair and the other red. He turned the glass 100 degrees to the right and saw a second set of security men as they waved at the first and then said something he couldn’t hear.

Mendenhall placed a set of headphones on his ears and pointed a short, very slim black microphone down into the compound. He adjusted the sensitivity when the words the guards were saying almost shattered his hearing. He then turned the set to external application and the words came out clear so the others could hear.

As they listened, they heard the first set discussing the horrid lunch they had just finished and that the second set of guards had that to look forward to.

“American,” Jack said. “At least the one on the left, maybe from Georgia, I’m not sure.”

“Yeah,” said Everett, as he eyed the guards. “The blond-haired gentleman may be from the south too-south Berlin. What we have here, Colonel, is a multinational security concern, heavily armed and looking like they mean business. There is no way we get in there.” Everett turned on Jack with a smile. “Unless you’re feeling brazen today.”

Jack took the glasses and scanned the interior again. “I am indeed feeling brazen, Mr. Everett,” he said, and turned the glasses on the large main gate and the guard shack beside it. “Shall we pay them a visit?” He reached into the back of his shirt and pulled out his own nine-millimeter. He handed it to Ryan as he continued to look at the gate. Everett followed suit with his own weapon and Mendenhall accepted it, shaking his head.

“Why don’t we give you a lift in something more comfortable than your rental car?”

Jack and Everett turned at the sound of the voice. A small man in tan work clothes and five others in immaculately pressed gray uniforms stood just on the other side of their Yugo. They had very lethal-looking AK-47s leveled at the four of them.

“Hi,” Jack said.

“Hello,” the small man said in German-accented English. “I predict you are going to tell me that you are four American tourists lost in the foothills of the Andes?” The small man gestured about the wilderness area and then came forward, as did his men.

“Boy, this guy’s good,” Everett said. “You get lost tourists all the time out here, then?”

The small man removed the set of headphones and parabolic microphone from Will’s grip.

“Ah, but none so well equipped as you. Listening to the local wildlife as you try to find out where you made your wrong turn?”

“Silly hobby, I know,” Jack said. “If you can just show us on our rent-a-car map here where we went wrong, we’ll get out of your hair.”

The man nodded at two of the guards and they stepped around the Yugo, deftly removing the four weapons that were being held by Ryan and Mendenhall.

“You know it is illegal in Ecuador to carry concealed weapons?”

“But they weren’t concealed,” Everett said. “Our two friends had them right out in the open.” Everett’s eyes moved from guard to guard. They didn’t have much chance of escaping without being cut to pieces.

“You know, half of my men here at the Mueller and Santiago Mining Concern are American, but after all of the years I’ve spent with them, I have yet to understand American bravado when you’re caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. Is it to cover your fear or are you just that stupid in not knowing when you have been caught.” The man shook his head. “I suppose it would be too much to ask if you have passports on your persons.”

“Damn, I told you we forgot something,” Everett said, looking at Jack.

The small man smiled and stepped as close to Everett and Collins as he could get. “To save us all a bit of time here, gentlemen, I will inform you that all private aircraft coming into Quito are thoroughly researched and checked out. It has been that way for over sixty-five years. You see, we like to know who’s visiting our friends the Ecuadorians, and when an aircraft with registry numbers identifying it as part of the United States Air Force inventory lands in this country, we become concerned not only for our friends but for ourselves as well. Imagine our surprise when the occupants of that aircraft just happen to be found on our security cameras zigzagging their way onto our property.”

“Well, we can always zigzag our asses right back out of here,” Collins said smiling.

“That you can, but I think we should escort you to our facilities and have a small chat. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you-” Jack started to say.

“Oh, but I insist. There’s lunch in it for you. Today is Salisbury steak day.”

“Then how can we say no?” Collins smiled at his three companions, then gestured toward the small man. “After you, Herr…?”

The man’s smile never wavered. “We’ll save introductions for later. We have so much time to get acquainted.”

“What about our car?” Ryan said as one of the larger guards took him by the arm.

The small man looked from Ryan to the Yugo, and then he broke out in laughter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll post a twenty-four-hour guard on your rental car. After all, its value is obvious.”

“You’d better, pal,” Ryan said, as he was shoved none too gently into the back of the car. “I signed for that piece of shit.”

From CNN World News

The reporter stood on the deck of the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R91). The wind tore at his clothing and styled hair:

“As the flagship of the French navy, the Charles de Gaulle is better protected than any other warship steaming from a European port. The great vessel has been moving at flank speed for the east coast of South America since the early hours yesterday.” The camera pulled back to show six enormous tarp- and plastic-covered cylindrical objects. “Her task is to deliver the component parts for two Ariane 7 rockets and their corresponding top secret payloads. It has been speculated among the world’s topmost intelligence agencies that an attempt is underway by not only the European Space Agency but also by the Russian Federal Space Agency and the China National Space Administration, or CNSA, to reach the surface of the Moon in a cooperative venture to find out the root cause for yesterday’s high-yield explosion at Shackleton Crater. While the United States has fervently denied any wrongdoing, it has become apparent that they have not joined in this effort to reach the lunar surface, and many in the international community are asking, why? This is Frank Dance, reporting from the deck of the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle somewhere in the central Atlantic Ocean, for CNN.”

The Reverend Rawlins closed his eyes, but this time he couldn’t contain the explosion that traveled from the pit of his stomach to his temples. He angrily threw the remote control for his television hard against the expensive high definition screen, cracking the plastic and sending shards of the remote control outward like shrapnel from a grenade. Rawlins stood and paced to the large window of his office in downtown Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the Hollywood Hills and the late afternoon sun playing off of the city’s many billboards. He calmly ran a hand through his silverish hair and then took three deep breaths.

As Rawlins moved to his desk, he straightened his blue silk tie and made sure his white vest was pulled taut over his muscled abdomen. He hit the intercom on his switchboard.

“Tom, have you reached Mr. Smith?” he asked, in a far calmer voice than he felt he could muster at that moment.

“Yes, sir. He is on line one.”

“Is the line secure?” he asked, looking down at his left hand and examining his manicured fingernails.

“Yes, Reverend. All lines were swept this morning and there were no compromises.”

Without saying anything to his assistant, he reached over and hit the first flashing button on the console.

“May I assume you have seen the news reports coming out of Europe and Asia, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, sir, I have. While the reports from Europe involving the ESA and the Russians are worrisome, they are not yet as worrisome as the developments in China.”

“Meaning?”

“As I have explained to you many times, we can get to the European agencies and stop their launches. We cannot, however, do the same in China. We have no assets there, therefore we cannot stop them from attempting a Moon shot if they so desire.”

“You told me, Mr. Smith, that you have the assets to stop them,” Rawlins asked, feeling his temper start to get the best of him once again. “What happened to those?”

“And I do have solutions to these problems. But as I explained to you, the cost in human assets and monetary losses would be extraordinary if we have to strike at China.”

“Cost is not my concern. I can outspend most nations. These blasphemers must not be allowed to bring back any evidence from the Moon. Am I making myself clear on this?”

His eyes flared, as though reflecting the fire of some burning bush.

The director of the agency sat at his desk and read the letter Niles Compton had delivered to him. Next to Niles, Lieutenant Sarah McIntire and Deputy Director Virginia Pollock stood silently watching to see Jensen Appleby’s expression when he saw the signature at the bottom of the White House stationery. They didn’t have to wait long.

“Bullshit,” he said, surprising Sarah and Virginia. Niles, however, seemed to take the anger and the rebuke of the president’s letter in stride; he simply smiled. Sarah figured Niles had gone through this before. And ever since his seven-hour meeting with the president the previous night, he seemed extra tense, so the smile gave her some relief. “I don’t know you. And your credentials, which you refuse to show me, would more than likely prove to be as false as this forged document.” Appleby punched a button on his phone. “Get me a security team in here, ASAP.”

Niles looked over at Virginia and Sarah and shook his head as he pulled out a cell phone and opened it. He hit only one button and then closed it just as the security team arrived. As the first man reached out to take Niles by the arm, Compton held his right index finger into the air, and then pointed at the phone on the desktop of Director Appleby-the phone buzzed.

Appleby hit the intercom to his outer office. “Yes,” he said, while eyeing the small man in the black jacket and plain white shirt who wore his thick glasses down toward the end of his nose. Then his eyes turned to the two striking women next to him.

“Uh, sir, the White House switchboard is calling; the president has asked to speak with you.”

Suddenly the blood drained from the man’s face as he swallowed. He had just been cursing the president in the last few weeks for cutting his budget and that of NASA. He was wondering now if he had heard about his bashing and had sent these three here to collect his scalp. He slowly lifted the phone from the cradle.

“Appleby,” he said meekly into the phone, as he held his left hand up to stay the security team from removing Niles, Sarah, and Virginia from his office. As the thin man with the lab coat listened to the president, he nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Appleby punched a button and laid the phone back in the cradle. Then he nodded for the security team to leave by moving his eyes toward the door. The speakerphone came to life.

“Mr. Compton, I owe you five dollars, you were right, he didn’t believe the letter or the signature. I’ve got to stop betting with you. Mr. Appleby is now a believer and has recognized my voice, although he will undoubtedly run a trace program for further confirmation when no one is looking.”

Niles took a step toward the desk. “Yes, sir, I’m sure he will,” he said softly as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose and stepped back.

“Okay, Mr. Appleby. Dr. Compton and the two fine scientists in his company are there to evaluate any and all contingency plans DARPA may have on the boards for getting to the Moon in one hell of a hurry. If you remember the security briefing you attended at the Pentagon three years ago, you may recall the password Case Blue?”

Neither Sarah nor Virginia had thought that still more blood could drain from the scientist’s face, but it did. Whatever that code name was it had scared the hell out of the director of the agency.

“Dr. Compton and his two assistants are to be given every consideration, and hold nothing back from them. If there is something on the boards, explain it to these three. I don’t care if it’s something your people have doodled out on the toilet wall, show it to them. At the moment, the general public and the world think that the United States is out of the investigation that is to take place on the Moon’s surface; I want it to stay that way for the time being. Do you understand everything that I have said, Mr. Appleby?”

“Yes, sir, full cooperation. However, may I ask just who these people are, and just what are their qualifications to be in our facility?”

“Now you see, Director Appleby, that’s a good, sound question, and in answer I’ll say, no, you may not ask. Dr. Compton has been designated by me as a project director for findings on how we get to the Moon, and will lead any effort in this endeavor, if there is an effort. Now, is there anything more?”

“Sir, this Case Blue, is it really-”

“Have a good day, Mr. Director.” The line went dead and Appleby slowly reached out and disconnected his end with the question officially unasked.

“He can be a bully; I actually think he enjoys it at times.”

Virginia and Sarah looked at Niles and saw that it wasn’t the president that had enjoyed being a bully, but Niles. They saw the quick little smirk that disappeared from his face before they could fully realize it had been there.

“Well, if the president says you’re qualified to be here, then you must be up on your Astro-Sciences and Gaming.”

“Yes, I believe between the three of us we won’t make complete fools of ourselves with your staff,” Niles said, nodding toward Sarah and Virginia.

As Appleby gathered his notepad, Sarah leaned in toward Niles.

“Director, if I may ask, what is Case Blue?”

“Lieutenant, as long as you live, don’t you ever say those words aloud to anyone,” Niles warned. “There are only a hundred men and women across the entire globe that know what that code name is for, so forget you ever heard it.” Niles kept his eyes on Sarah until she felt intimidated enough that she just nodded her head.

Director Appleby walked to the door and held it open for his guests.

“Then I guess we’ll start with any questions you may have about DARPA. I’ll answer them the best I can on our way to Building 11 for a tour of our Industrial Necromancy Division.”

“Excuse me?” Virginia said.

“It’s a place where dreams come true, Ms. Pollock-heavy metal dreams.”

As Niles, Virginia, and Sarah toured Building 11, they marveled at the mock-ups and engineering models they examined. There were seventeen different kinds of space vehicles that utilized everything from solid fuel to ion pulse generators for propulsion. There were over one hundred different companies currently bidding on the new Mars lander and environmental habitat and, best of all, there were full-scale mock-ups of the newest Ares I and Ares V rockets along with an Orion crew capsule from the Constellation program, which had just been canceled by the president. These were to have been used to return not only Americans, but also many other nations back to the Moon.

“Mr. Appleby, do we have anything that is real here, or are we becoming the world’s best dreamers and toy makers?”

Niles cringed at the harsh way Virginia stated her question. As for himself, he would have tried to use a little more tact, but Virginia had her way and that’s why she was with him.

“Ms. Pollock,” Appleby said, rounding on her as men and women from DARPA’s Industrial Necromancy Division stood and wondered what was happening. “I assure you these are not toys. With less than a full year’s warning, we have companies out there ready to get started on these so-called dreams. In less than two or three years, with the right budget, we can have men back on the Moon not only for a few days but for longer, very much longer, durations.”

“Mr. Appleby, you fail to understand, we may have to go back now ,” Niles said. “If we lag behind, the Russians or Chinese will get there first. Then they could have a substance that makes plutonium look like Silly Putty. May I also remind you that there has been a discovery of advanced weaponry found at that same location that we hope went up in the Shackleton explosion, but if it didn’t it will set the United States back three hundred years or more in technology if somebody else gets to it first. You can see why the president is so concerned. He knows he may have made a foolish mistake by trying to be fiscally responsible in cutting your budget, but tell me who could have foreseen this happening? There are other areas of the military that the president has to concentrate on that have nothing to do with fighting our fellow man.” Niles refused to look away after the harsh rebuke.

“That does not change the fact that we are nowhere near to getting there, even if…”

The three visitors watched Appleby’s expression change as if a sudden gust of wind had blown away all previous thought.

“Mr. Appleby?” Niles asked.

“Follow me please,” Appleby said as he spoke over his shoulder and raced down the main floor of Building 11. “As I said, we cannot get there with what we have on the design board. What we need is a proven and already built technology.”

“And you have something like that?” Virginia asked, as she tried to keep up with Appleby.

“No, we do not,” he said, opening the security door with his ID badge.

“Then-” Sarah started to ask.

“The very people who have been there before,” the thin man said, as his guests filed out into the bright sunlight.

“Who?” Niles insisted.

“Why, NASA, of course!”

Any hope of knowing exactly where they were had gone by the wayside as they were immediately hooded and moved into the back of a truck. Each of the Americans-Ryan, Mendenhall, Everett, and Collins-had a security man sitting next to him, preventing any conversation or touching, with the handcuffs making the ride that much more uncomfortable.

Jack was silent and had his eyes closed under the black hood. What he had hoped would happen was indeed happening. Given Niles’s explanation of the short time frame they had to come up with something, what better way was there to get inside any heavily guarded facility than to be arrested and thrown in? It was a risk, and more than likely that risk had now tripled, but they had to play the hand they had been dealt. For the moment Jack was busy estimating speed and time as the truck made its way to wherever they were going. They had made three turns-the first left, the next two right-and they had stopped twice, so he took all that into account for his estimate. He knew all three of his men were doing the same calculations.

Every once in a while, Jack could hear the security men whispering to each other as they joked or spoke about one thing or another. The curious thing about their conversation was that they were speaking English in two distinct accents, one American and the other German. Finally, as Collins listened and calculated at the same time, the truck came to a sudden halt and the engine was shut off. Instead of being taken from the covered back of the truck, which was probably a Mercedes brand vehicle, they felt the bottom give way on their stomachs. Although the truck had ceased moving, it was now being lowered by elevator. The colonel figured any pretense about this being an Ecuadorian government-funded operation went right out the window.

After traveling downward quite a distance, all movement ceased. They heard the tailgate being lowered, and then they felt themselves eased onto a hard surface. Jack was the first to have his hood removed. He blinked in the bright fluorescent lighting. They were in a giant concrete tunnel of engineered beauty. It was rounded above the floor and traveled in a steady downhill slope, disappearing at least half a mile ahead of them. Jack remained silent as the others had their hoods taken off.

“Hey, I thought we were going to eat Salisbury steak,” Ryan said, as a way of getting attention.

“Yeah, I’m hungry. What happened to lunch?” Mendenhall asked.

The distraction gave Everett the chance he needed. He slid in beside Collins.

“About three miles,” he whispered.

“Yeah, three miles and some change, traveled in a roundabout way. We didn’t go anywhere,” Jack said, as he watched two menacing and very large guards staring down Will and Jason. “We zigzagged in a circle around the perimeter and then ended up right back at the main gate and then up a hill to the base of a mountain. They drove in here and then we took an elevator down to this marvelous place. I figure-”

“You, silence!” one of the guards said, approaching Jack and Carl.

“He was just explaining about how he just knew the Salisbury steak thing was too good to be true,” Everett said, looking up at the guard. The man stood at least four inches taller than Everett himself, making him no less than six feet, eight inches. “But I don’t want to get hit for it,” he said, feigning fear at the man’s intimidating size. The comment put a smile on Jack’s lips as he lowered his head because he knew that the former SEAL could bust the man in two with his hands still tied behind his back.

“Is that what you came here for, Jack? Lunch?” a voice asked from behind them.

Collins turned and saw a small man signing something on a clipboard and then handing it back to one of the guards. The man with the mustache and well-trimmed beard and light blue suit looked familiar, though Collins couldn’t place him at first. But when the newcomer smiled, recognition hit him like a brick to the stomach.

“Jim McCabe?” Jack asked as he tried to focus his eyes in the harsh lighting.

“Good to see you too, Jack,” the man said as he approached.

“Has everyone you’ve ever known gone over to the dark side, Colonel?” Mendenhall asked, as he watched the smaller man join their group.

“Gentlemen,” said Jack, “I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Colonel James McCabe, former United States Delta Force leader, supposedly killed in action 12 November 2004 in Iraq.”

The man smiled again, this time even wider than before, and then turned as if he were showing off a new suit.

“Ah, the rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated, old friend.” McCabe approached the four men. “I am glad my little ruse to discharge myself from the employ of Uncle Sam was so successful, er-what is it now, Jack? Still Major?”

“Colonel,” Collins said.

“I knew you would make it. Tell me, who in hell do you work for that would send you here, of all places? DOD?”

“You can ask,” Jack said, “but you know me, Jim-hush-hush and full of mystery.”

Again the smile and the shake of the head as McCabe turned his attention to Jack’s three companions.

“I take it these three are as fully capable as yourself?”

“Nah, they just came along as valets.”

“Now, let me guess,” he said, turning back to face Everett, Mendenhall, and Ryan, “Jack and I used to play this game back at the Point, guessing the rank of military personnel in civilian clothing. They always look so out of place. Let’s see…” He stepped up to Mendenhall. “A sergeant, maybe a master sergeant?”

“Off,” Will said, although he knew the man to be right, up to a point. Will had only recently become an officer and a gentleman, a second lieutenant, and he had been promoted to that rank from master sergeant.

“Really? Well, we’ll come back to you.” McCabe then looked Ryan over and laughed out loud. “You’re hanging out with Navy men, Jack. What the hell is the world coming to?”

“Hey!” Ryan said, taking a menacing step toward the man staring at him before the guards restrained him.

As McCabe turned toward Everett, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“Could I be looking at a Navy SEAL?” he asked Jack.

“Guys, don’t let McCabe’s mind-reading ability intimidate you. Ryan, you just look Navy, not hard to guess. Will, McCabe here is a puritanical bigot, who thinks black men are only capable of reaching noncom status. Mr. Everett, your SEAL tattoo is showing.”

“Why, Jack, you are capable of giving away secrets,” said McCabe.

“What now, Jim?” Collins asked.

“Oh, my employer will want to know what a multiservice group is doing on his property. And my name is now Smith, by the way.”

“That’s original,” Jack said, eyeing the man in front of him.

“Jack, Jack, Jack! When will you get it through your head that the entire world is now a gray area? No white, no black, just gray. Gone are the bad guys and the good guys, and all that’s left is men trying to survive in a world that only cares who is strongest or who is the wealthiest.”

Collins tuned toward his three men.

“The former colonel’s last psych evaluation said that he was off his rocker, maddened by an inability to control his temper.”

“Just as I am having difficulty keeping that temper now, Colonel Collins. May I say, gentlemen-” He looked from Jack to the others. “-that you walked into the wrong fucking piece of property, and it will be my pleasure to bury you here.”

Collins, Everett, Mendenhall, and Ryan watched the small man turn away and gesture for the guards to bring them along. They headed down the tunnel where the overhead lighting disappeared to nothing as it sank into the ground.

Leave it to Ryan to anger McCabe even more with his last question.

“So I guess lunch is out of the question?”