Legend

3

Army Second Lieutenant Sarah McIntire held the porous lava rock in her hand for all to see. Then she winked at Vincent Fallon, professor of Asian Studies from UC-Riverside, and gave a quick nod of her head.

"So this area of the cave had been excavated before?" he asked.

Lieutenant Commander Carl Everett stood and watched the reaction of the others. He was on detached service from the U.S. Navy, serving in his sixth year in the highly secretive Department 5656, known to a very distinct few in the United States government as the Event Group. The tightly controlled Group was established officially during the Teddy Roosevelt era with historical arms that reached all the way back to Abraham Lincoln.

Carl watched Sarah McIntire closely. She was the only other member of the Group on station. They had infiltrated the university dig three weeks earlier and he was hoping this mission was a wild-goose chase. But according to Sarah, who was a damned good geologist, it seemed very likely that the research that had been done by Dr. Fallon was accurate. Meaning they might have a biological disaster on their hands, and that meant the mission to infiltrate the archeological dig might have just risen in the danger level by a hundred percent.

Sarah tossed the flame-scorched rock to the floor of the giant cave and briefly glanced at Carl. She knew he was far better than just adequate to provide security for the unsuspecting students and professors on this dig, but it didn't stop her from wishing Major Jack Collins, the head of Event Group security, was here also. The ancient lava-formed caves were dark and powerfully evocative of a past conflict that had been brutal in its cost in human misery.

"There's not only detonation marks on the stone and surrounding lava rock formations, but the density of the back wall shows its loose fall. In layman's terms, Professor, that wall had once been open to this side of the cave and has since been hastily sealed." She adjusted one of the floodlights to show the rock fall she had just examined. "I suspect our Mr. Seito is correct, that there is another chamber behind the rock fall, just as he said there would be."

Carl looked at the old man sitting on a large rock. He had his eyes closed and was slowly rocking back and forth. The interpreter they had been using was standing next to him, silent, as he watched the analysis of the cave progress. The old man mumbled something and then the Japanese linguistics student from the University of Kyoto smiled and translated it.

"Mr. Seito says that his memory has failed in many areas, but it will never shed what had occurred during his last days on this island."

Carl half-bowed toward the old man who had reluctantly explained in detail the last terrifying days on Okinawa. He had told them with complete clarity that he was one of the men who had sealed this very cave in 1945. That he had joyously destroyed that which Professor Fallon was desperately seeking. The old Japanese soldier had closed his eyes when he recounted how he had assisted in the ritual suicide of the island's commander, Tarazawa.

"I must remind you, Professor Fallon, if the find is actually there, it must be immediately secured by my government," said Mr. Asaki, an official from the government of Okinawa, as he carefully eased his way over the loose stone. He stopped before the professor, removed his glasses, and cleaned them with a white handkerchief.

Carl kept quiet as the professor nodded and responded, "We're all well aware of your orders, Mr. Asaki, and we will be glad to turn over any substance find along with the vessel itself as soon as we verify it was actually a part of Kublai Khan's battle fleet, and not until then; that was our deal with Tokyo."

Asaki didn't comment but did bow quickly, and then he waved for his man at the cave's opening to allow the woman scientist into the excavation.

Sarah smiled and started to move away from the group to continue her inspection. She couldn't resist saying, as she patted the naval officer on the shoulder on her way by, "Oh boy, Ms. Personality is coming in, Carl. I think she has the hots for you."

Carl didn't respond, but Sarah could see him shudder at the mention of the woman they both disliked. The navy man watched as the two women passed each other and nodded their heads out of courtesy; their greeting was chilly at best. The woman was Dr. Andrea Kowalski. She had been recruited by Dr. Fallon and held credentials from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Unlike Sarah and him, she was here legitimately and not undercover. She was of average size, and that was the last place you could use the word "average" when describing this woman; she was a knockout. Her red hair was done up in a ponytail and she wore her extreme-environment suit unzipped and tied at the waist. Her one flaw as far as he could see was the small fact that the woman was a total bitch.

"I find your friend extremely rude," Andrea remarked to Carl as she joined the group of people at the mouth of the excavation.

"She has a fondness for you, too," Carl said, looking away and winking at the old Japanese soldier.

"I know she is a geologist and is needed on this venture, but what is it you do again, Mr.—"

"Knock it off, Andrea, you know he's in charge of logistics. Remember, he's the one that got all that fancy lab equipment here in one piece," Professor Fallon called out. "Now I suggest you go and set up; Sarah says we can be through the wall in the next hour if we're lucky."

After giving Carl one more questioning glance, Andrea turned away and started setting up her equipment.

"Wonderful analyst you found there, Doc; she has the personality of a vampire bat." Carl smiled and bowed at Seito, whose toothless grin seemed to indicate he understood the insult directed at the viral specialist.

As the old man sat his mind drifted back in time to those awful last days on Okinawa — the original discovery of what they now sought, and the horrible consequences that once could have changed the course of a war that had ended seventy years ago. Seito shuddered at the memory and, as he looked around the cavernous enclosure, he couldn't help but see and feel those days once again…

The American F4F Hellcats from no less than five fast attack carriers had been bombing the Ryukyu chain of islands since mid-March. For the past several weeks, the sorties had gained in intensity as the Americans prepared for the invasion of the last stepping-stone before their final thrust at the throat of the Japanese Empire.

Admiral Jinko Tarazawa, once a trusted advisor to Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, had been in disgrace for two years for his failure to stem the tide of American resistance in the Pacific at the war's turning point, known to the Americans as the Battle of Midway. He had been blamed for this along with his commander, Chuichi Nagumo, and as a result was now in command of the island's defense instead of fighting and dying for his beloved navy. A hero of the empire only three years before for his coleadership in planning the greatest naval attack since Lord Nelson ruled the seas, he now found himself a long way from Hawaii and Pearl Harbor. His dishonor was great. To be relegated to building bunkers instead of commanding one of the last battle groups remaining to the Imperial Japanese Navy was humiliation nearly beyond endurance.

As the admiral stood with his arms behind his back, looking out to sea, he was approached by his intelligence officer and handed a message. He read it quickly and gave it back to the Imperial Marine captain. The message burrowed deep into his mind, lodging there and bringing on a new wave of despair. The estimate from the naval attache based in Spain had reported to Tokyo that the Americans were mounting the largest invasion force one nation had ever assembled. More than one thousand ships of war would soon be pointing their guns and sending their young men to the shores of this island. Tarazawa quickly nodded for the young marine to return to his duties, then closed his eyes and prayed for the safety of the emperor, for he knew this was to be the last blow before the Americans invaded Japan itself.

As rumbling from the excavating of caves shook the volcanic island, he saw several Hellcat fighter aircraft fly low over the island, bringing quick eruptions of antiaircraft fire from their hidden batteries.

Tarazawa was interrupted by another marine, this one a fresh-faced lieutenant who was running up waving his hands, forgetting even to bow to his commander.

"Sir, I have a report from the naval engineers on the north side of the island."

"What is it? I cannot go rushing off from here every time they have a small cave-in!" he said. "Just tell them to clear it and start moving the medical supplies and civilians in as soon as possible; we are very short of time."

Tarazawa was surprised when the young man stood there, disobeying his order.

"I beg for your indulgence, Admiral."

"What is it?" he asked.

"The northernmost cave, sir, the army and naval engineers have found something you must see."

Tarazawa's curiosity was piqued by the boy's eagerness. "What is it they have found that has you in such a state, Lieutenant Seito?"

The nineteen-year-old finally removed his blue cap and stepped agitatedly from one foot to the other. "When we blasted through the cave's far wall we broke into another chamber, a chamber that had been sealed up for many, many years, Admiral."

"This is good, is it not? That means they won't have to expand on that particular cave as much as they had originally thought."

"Sir, they discovered — I mean they found a ship inside. A very old ship," the boy said excitedly.

"Unless the ship you speak of is a new aircraft carrier with attack planes onboard, I don't see how this would interest me, young man," Tarazawa said with a frown.

The boy momentarily looked deflated and brightened when he remembered a detail. "Sir, Colonel Yashita says it is our salvation, at least that is the information he has received from a few Chinese laborers he used to examine the vessel!"

The admiral just stared at the boy and shook his head, not understanding anything except that foolish army colonel was not following his orders to expedite the expansion of the caves. And now he is pulling his prisoner labor force from their duties? Tarazawa quickly decided he would visit the cave and have a talk with that particular soldier. This disrespect of his orders would end if he had to execute an officer as an example to the rest. He might be old and disgraced but he was still a warrior of the Bushido code.

An hour later, Admiral Tarazawa entered the front of the cave. He could see immediately that the natural feature was created by large lava flows that had once reached to the sea. It took twenty more minutes of finding his way in the semidarkness and avoiding the collisions with more than two hundred Chinese and Korean laborers clearing debris from the interior before he saw light at the rear of the monstrous cave.

There, yellowish lights played on the outline of a very old ship's hull. The admiral could see army personnel carefully crawling all over its ancient decks. They had even gone as far as erecting wooden scaffolding, even though lumber was getting scarce and thus critical. Tarazawa stopped in his tracks, fuming.

"How long has work been stopped at this site?" he asked in a very low and controlled tone of voice while grinding his teeth together.

Lieutenant Seito again removed his hat before speaking.

"Thirteen hours, sir."

Tarazawa closed his eyes and lowered his head. Then he forced himself to calm down as he breathed deeply. He reopened his eyes to the bright spectacle before him and walked slowly toward the short man who, unaware of his presence, was busy shouting orders from a large stage of lava rock.

"What is the meaning of this?" the admiral asked loudly so he could be heard above the portable generators.

Colonel Yashita had been a veteran of many campaigns in China before being ordered to Okinawa. He had had to suffer many indignities from higher-ranking officers who thought him to be an arrogant pig, but he would tolerate no interference from a disgraced admiral. He merely responded with a smirk.

"I asked you a question, Colonel!" Tarazawa said as he stepped onto the lowest scaffold below the rock that Yashita was standing upon. The workmen ceased their labors and listened.

"If you must know, Admiral, I am endeavoring to save our empire and our beloved emperor; and you, at the moment, are delaying this great task!"

"Explain yourself! I have thousands of men working until they collapse to make the defenses ready and you are here, instead of building a hospital as ordered. You are needlessly delaying construction because you are in a fit of delusion! You are not going to be fighting defenseless Chinese in the coming weeks, Colonel, but battle-hardened American marines and soldiers who actually shoot back!"

"Very well, I will indulge the admiral." Yashita calmly ordered his men back to work. "Have you seen this type of vessel before? You have vast experience; you should recognize her design. I did after only a moment." He rocked back on his heels while he bragged. "I have an advanced degree in history and engineering from London Polytechnic," he said, reminding Tarazawa of his rich heritage.

Tarazawa glared at the colonel, then quickly scanned what could be seen of the deteriorating ship. The gunwales were deep and her deck was sloped to the extreme. The stern of the vessel was high, topped with wooden railing; there was no mast as it, along with the sail, had long since succumbed to age. He knew what the vessel was and where it came from, he just couldn't fathom why it was here on Okinawa. Nor how it came to be entrapped in a cave that couldn't have seen the ocean for centuries at the very least.

"It is a Chinese junk, of course. You have stopped work on one of our important underground hospitals for this?"

Yashita turned away as if he hadn't heard the question. He paused to adjust the black-sheathed samurai sword on his belt. "This ship, according to my Chinese laborers, two of whom used to teach on the mainland, once belonged to an enemy of Japan, a seemingly invincible foe such as the Americans appear to be. But like the Chinese, they will suffer when they try to land their marines on our soil."

"Quit speaking in riddles, Colonel, and explain why you are disobeying my orders!" Tarazawa said as he stepped menacingly closer to Yashita.

"This vessel was part of an invasion of our homeland over seven hundred and thirty years ago, Admiral." He looked significantly at Tarazawa, his brown hat firmly angled on his shaved head, its single silver star blinking brightly in the lights. "Yes, I can see you understand now," he said as Tarazawa added up the years and then appeared perplexed. "The year you are searching for is 1274 and the name you have misplaced in your aged mind is Kublai Khan."

Tarazawa quickly reacted. "Impossible! The invasion fleet sank or was driven off in a storm hundreds of miles north of Okinawa. This vessel cannot belong to the grand Chinese fleet of the Khan; again, you waste our time!"

"I and my Chinese historians would have to disagree, Admiral. This ship, according to dates we have uncovered, was a part of the fleet that was destroyed by the Divine Wind."

"The Divine Wind," Tarazawa mouthed the words.

"Yes, Admiral. The Kamikaze, the Divine Wind of the gods, the very same wind that reached out to destroy the invasion of Kublai Khan in 1274. And now, the discovery of this ship, which was separated from the main fleet by a storm over seven centuries ago, will be the answer to millions of prayers. Only this will be a divine wind of our making that will carry with it the death of every American in our home waters. This war will be ours!" Yashita shouted loudly and then started laughing.

Four hours later, after the second shift of laborers left the new excavation, Tarazawa sat inside the ancient junk's cargo hold. Lieutenant Seito and one of the Chinese workers sat with him. An oil lamp sitting between them cast an eerie glow on the faces of the three men. They had been that way for the last three hours after examining the strange porcelain jars that the workmen had found inside the vessel. The jars were three feet high and there were over thirty-two of them. All were sealed permanently closed at the mouth by clay, porcelain glass, and beeswax, effectively making them airtight. The nature of their contents had been elusive to the Chinese for the first half of the day after Yashita had brought the containers into the hold. Their only clues to the jars' contents were the dried and crumbling clay markers around the neck of every jar, explaining the use of the material. Tarazawa and the others didn't know the exact name for the strange weapon that Kublai Khan had intended to use on their ancestors, but they quickly learned it was lethal.

As one of the seals was cracked open, the Chinese laborer had failed to see that some of the powder had adhered to the cork sealant. The elderly Chinaman blinked his eyes and felt the powder soak into the pores of his skin. He immediately convulsed once, then again more violently. He coughed, a deep fluidic sound that forced burst membranes to spew forth an avalanche of blood and mucous. His eyes bulged and the pupils rolled back to show the whites that were quickly filling with blood.

The admiral and Seito backed away in horror as the man started to come apart from the inside. Tarazawa watched in terrified fascination as the infected man fell to the hardened and rotted wood decking, coughed out another glob of blood, and then finally lay still in death.

"What have we uncovered?" the admiral asked aloud as he and Seito moved quickly to the makeshift ladder leading to the upper deck. They climbed as quickly as possible to safety.

Lieutenant Seito, his young face scrunched up in horror at what they had just witnessed on the old petrified vessel, hung his head. Then he looked up with hope in his young eyes. Seito was one of the Imperial Navy's brightest. He had been drafted into the service just last year. He, like many in his class, was also a realist and knew no matter what the fanatical right wingers in the government said, Japan had lost the war. He only hoped there were still people around in his homeland after the shooting stopped. He was one whom those fools called defeatist, one who wished for an immediate cessation of hostilities no matter what the price might be, even to the point of the emperor having to abdicate and admit his false divinity.

"Surely this horrible plague, this substance, shouldn't be potent after seven centuries? Well?" Tarazawa questioned the eldest of the Chinese who had only moments earlier escaped the fate of his countryman inside.

"As it is in a powder form, the Khan must have planned to disperse this substance on the winds if his invasion met with disaster."

Above them, on the makeshift scaffolds extending from the deck that they sat on, they heard the return of Colonel Yashita and his men. Then the thud of block and tackle as it struck the scaffolding and strongest parts of the ancient deck.

"He's come to take the cargo from the hold of the vessel," Seito said, removing his cap and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Are you going to allow this?"

Tarazawa stood and picked up the lantern. "Colonel Yashita's intention is the salvation of the war, and is dishonorable for the single fact he would only prolong this conflict for his own selfish reasons, and would possibly kill many hundreds of thousands of Americans, bringing on a retaliatory response that could possibly end the Japanese civilization. This must not be allowed to happen."

"What are you saying, sir?"

Tarazawa didn't answer. He just looked from the Chinese laborers to the lieutenant and then lowered the wick in the lantern until it dimmed and then died, casting them and the Japanese Empire into darkness.

As the last of the rocks were moved away by Japanese contractors hired on the island, Professor Fallon called a halt. He asked the islanders and most of the Cal Riverside students to leave the cave for safety reasons. After hearing the story as told by the old soldier Seito the week before, the professor wasn't taking any chances. The documents he had uncovered in Beijing twenty years ago with the aid of the Chinese government, during one of their more friendly and nonenlightened periods, had told him that beyond that wall could be found not only a great archaeological find with the Chinese junk, but also one of the most dangerous substances known to man.

Of the six people left to remove the last of the lava rock and stone, Sarah was out in front. A trained geologist, she would watch for instability in the rock fall when the opening was cleared. She was joined by Dr. Kowalski, who bore with her a device they called a "sniffer." It would measure and analyze the air particles, and immediately alert her if any of the substance had become airborne after Tarazawa had sealed the excavation in '45. Both women were now dressed in airtight chemical suits. Carl Everett wondered if their animosity was coming through their small speaker systems as they removed the last stone.

"Stand clear, Ms. McIntire, if you please. I must be able to get a solid reading," Andrea Kowalski said.

Sarah was about to respond when she heard Carl clear his throat from about ten feet away. She instead backed away as ordered.

Andrea handled the microphone-shaped probe expertly as she eased it cautiously through the door-size opening, careful not to touch the stone itself. Once it was inside the opening, she placed a thin panel of steel over the hole and then thumbed a switch on the sniffer's small control panel. Inside the darkness of the cave, the microphone-shaped device came apart with a small pop. The heavy springs inside engaged and sent two hundred small darts in all directions. Each dart was tungsten tipped and the small shaft was made of lypcochlorinide, which upon impact sent a burst of moisture into the air, activating any minute amounts of any substance that may be embedded in the lava rock. The tungsten heads were miniature radio units that would relay any findings to the device's control panel. Of the two hundred darts, some found rock, others sand, and still others tumbled into the blackness. Andrea slowly brought up the particle gauge and read the virtual readout. The device was so sensitive it immediately broke down all the airborne elements in the old excavation.

The others watching Andrea's progress could see the woman in her yellow chemical suit slowly relax her shoulders as the small darts sent back their vital information on the air quality in the cave. But none of them realized just how tense she had become.

Carl finally took a breath, not even knowing he had been holding it. He relaxed when he saw her remove the small steel plate from the hole.

Andrea removed a small round object from her belt, leaned into the opening, and tossed the small device as far as she could. The round object was a one-time-use portable analysis pod. Once thrown, it would separate into five different sections and its components would read the interior air of the confined space. It was so accurate that it picked up the traces of cordite and TNT that had been used in 1945, over sixty years before.

Andrea removed her hood. "All clear; only one strange reading I can't figure out," she said. "But it's nontoxic."

"What is it?" Professor Fallon asked, with concern.

"Trace amounts of blood."

The others started to remove their own protective equipment.

"Don't do that, please; just because there is nothing in the air doesn't mean we won't disturb trace amounts when we enter. The petrie darts only cover about ten percent of the cave; that leaves ninety percent capable of carrying something that could kill you all," Andrea said blandly as she placed her own hood back in place.

As she turned and entered the cave, Professor Fallon and Carl and two other members of the dig team hefted the portable lighting they would use in the initial phase of the recovery. Sarah was the first to follow the CDC specialist into the opening. She switched on her flashlight once she was inside. At first, all she caught in the light was floating dust and the back of Andrea, who was waving another metal probe that was connected to her readout, this time making sure their footsteps weren't bringing death with every movement they made. Then Sarah's light caught the geometric shape of wooden scaffolding standing out through the dust swirls. Out of the darkness rose a black ship. Still legible on its side was what looked like a faded dragon carved into the dark wood. It ran the entire length of the ship and its tail wrapped around the stern. As she played her light around it, she could see that the bottom half of the vessel had deteriorated badly. The rotted planks that made up its hull were starting to collapse, causing the top deck to sag into the interior of the vessel.

"Director Compton would have loved to have seen this."

Sarah jumped at the sound of Carl's voice. "Jesus, don't do that," she admonished. "You scared the hell out of me." But he was right, she thought, Niles Compton, the director of the Event Group, lived for discovery like this, and he also would have loved to get it into one of the Group's vaults for further study. Sarah shook off the thought of Niles and brought her focus back to where it should have been; after all, they were here to make sure the old legends about this ship weren't true. That was the whole reason for her and Carl's infiltration of this college dig in the first place.

"We may have a dangerous situation here," Andrea said from the lower-most scaffolds.

"Danger?" Fallon asked as he looked at the ship, still giddy at proving his research right and vindicating Seito's elaborate tall tale of an ancient vessel buried in a cave.

"The junk is collapsing in on itself. If that upper deck gives way, it will crush whatever cargo this vessel was once carrying, and if your theory and old Seito's memory are correct, we could contaminate all of Okinawa."

"Before we find out, doctors, I suggest you bring the old man in here and ask him a few more questions," Carl said after he gained the top of the scaffold that looked down onto the main deck of the Chinese junk.

"He isn't authorized, Mr. Everett," Fallon said as he carefully eased his way to where Carl was standing.

"What have you got up there, Carl?" Sarah asked from below.

"The reason why Dr. Kowalski's equipment was picking up trace amounts of dried blood," Carl replied as the professor joined him.

"Good God, what in the hell is this?" Fallon exclaimed when he saw what Carl was looking at.

"Are you going to keep us in suspense up there or are you going to act like professionals?" Andrea said from the lower level.

"I think our old Lieutenant Seito needs to tell us why there are three skeletons in Japanese Army uniforms up here," Carl said flatly.

They were all amazed an hour later when the old man, along with his interpreter, both now dressed in yellow chemical suits, bowed deeply at the waist at the remains of the three skeletons on the upper scaffold.

"Who is it?" Carl asked the old soldier.

The old man straightened with the aid of the interpreter. They could hear him breathing deeply of his oxygen, almost hyperventilating. Then he began to speak in his native Japanese.

"He said," his interpreter translated, "that it is his great shame that this is Colonel Yashita and two of his army soldiers. Murdered, shot in the back by himself and Admiral Tarazawa."

"He wanted to excavate the cargo, didn't he?" Carl asked. "Yashita wanted to use it if it was still viable."

The old man understood the question without need for the interpreter and nodded. Then he said something too low for the others to hear.

"Mr. Seito says it was a traitorous act on his and the admiral's part, but that he would do it again. There had been enough death. They resealed the cave and in their report attributed the unfortunate loss of the colonel and his men in a cave-in."

The group was silent. Carl just nodded his head at the old man and Sarah patted Seito on the back.

"Where is Dr. Kowalski?" Fallon asked suddenly.

Carl looked around; Andrea was nowhere to be seen. Then he heard the sound at the same time the others did. There was noise coming from inside the ancient cargo hold.

"Goddammit!" Carl exclaimed as he quickly stepped down onto the uppermost deck. His foot immediately crashed through the rotted wood as if he had stepped on a glass floor. As he gently tried to pull his booted foot free he saw the others rushing up the old wooden scaffolding. He held up his arm quickly. "Stay back! This damned thing is coming apart, I'll—"

That was as far as Carl got, as his weight was enough to crack the rest of that section of deck. He felt weightlessness at first and then his stomach lurched up into his chest as he started to fall. There was a momentary darkness, then a bright flash of light. He felt something soft break his fall. He heard a loud grunt and then an expletive that sounded like French. Then he felt himself, and whatever it had been that broke his fall, strike the bottom of the hold.

"You clumsy oaf, you could have broken my equipment," Andrea said from beneath him. "Or me! Now get off," she ordered as she pushed at him.

As they both stood up, she silently held her light on something. The sight of it made her freeze instantly. She gestured for him not to move, by holding out her hand. Carl raised his light and in its beam he was amazed to see at least thirty large containers, yellowed with age and standing three feet in height, leaning against one another, still bound with the remains of old rotted restraining ropes used to keep them in place over seven hundred years before. The jars all had a red dragon, dimmed with age, painted on their sides.

"I'll be damned," Carl murmured under his breath.

"If whatever is in there is still viable, we all may be damned," Andrea said as she stared at thirty-two containers of a mystery weapon Chinese legend said was the Breath of the Dragon.

Two hours later, after the dig team had assisted Andrea in setting up her equipment outside of the junk's hull, they waited anxiously for her to confirm their worst fears. The grad students and Professor Fallon knew if the cargo was still an active powdered agent, they wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of examining the ancient junk.

Carl finally put all the puzzle pieces together. The previous year, a seven-hundred-year-old Chinese laboratory had been unearthed during an archeological dig outside Beijing. When it was discovered by an Event Group infiltration unit that students of Beijing University had found trace evidence of a biological facility that was hundreds of years ahead of its time, the news had shaken the virologists at the Event Group badly. Trace amounts of chemical agents had been discovered inside the remains of kilns. Rudimentary microscopes made up of eight or nine different lenses of glass, providing the magnification needed to study the spread of disease, were also unearthed at a nearby, separate excavation that was also tagged by the Group. Those two elements side by side painted a historical picture that would shake modern science to its foundations if word was let out. Then it was discovered in old marching orders uncovered by the Computer Sciences Department at the Event Group that a powdered compound had been intended to be released into the air over seven centuries earlier by Kublai Khan's invading force. The findings were passed up the chain of command until the president gave reluctant permission for the Fallon dig to include Carl and Sarah for reasons of national security, after they found out that Dr. Fallon had discovered the site through an alternate means while researching survivor records in Shanghai that told of a mysterious shipwreck on the island of Okinawa.

Still in her chemical suit, Andrea set up a small worktable inside the cargo hold of the Chinese vessel. Carl strung some makeshift lighting inside and stood by as the doctor made her analysis. Carl was the only member of the dig team she allowed inside, and only then because he was already there. Thus far she had carefully used a special drill to penetrate the beeswax and porcelain. Without extracting the drill she carefully slid a rubber collar down the drill bit and made it secure to the outer wax sealant, then withdrew the drill bit from the container and rubber gasket. As she freed the tool she quickly capped the rubber gasket with a rubber stopper, then she took a deep breath and sat back. From the supplies she had assembled on her small table, she pulled out a small vile of a clear chemical and shook it up until it turned amber in color. She then placed the very tip of the probe into it.

"If you're a religious man, Mr. Everett, now's the time to pray whatever this stuff is has deteriorated over the centuries and has become inert; if not, I'm afraid there's one hell of a cleanup ahead of us."

Carl didn't respond; he had been silent throughout the entire procedure. Ever since he had fallen through the rotted decking of the junk, he had been keeping his eyes open and thinking a few things over. He had studied Dr. Kowalski's dossier that Niles Compton had forwarded from the Group in Nevada, and it had said nothing about the good doctor's speaking French. The information didn't seem critical, but the dossiers were made up by the National Security Agency and they left nothing out. Still, he would be on the alert now for other slips.

As Andrea slowly pulled the small rubber cork from the gasket, she quickly plugged it again with the telescopic probe, then began cautiously to inch it into the porcelain container. Carl could hear her short, controlled breaths as she held her arm steady. She inserted the probe into the container until she met resistance and then she let go and shook her hands as if they had fallen asleep.

"Whatever is in there has hardened over the years. That's good news; it means it may not be a powder any longer and easier to move if it proves active."

"Makes me all giddy inside to know that, Doctor," Carl said, keeping his eyes on Andrea and the container.

Andrea frowned behind her faceplate and then retrieved her portable analyzer from the table. She took two small electrical leads that protruded from the steel probe she had placed in the porcelain container and attached them to her laptop computer. Next, she took the 1/8-inch clear rubber tube on the probe and also inserted that into the side of her analyzer. Then she took a deep breath of her oxygen and started tapping commands on the keyboard. Suddenly the analyzer beeped three times in rapid succession. The indicator in the upper right corner of the analyzer flashed red.

"Well, that doesn't look or sound too good," Carl said.

Andrea didn't respond. She laid the analyzer down slowly, leaving the probe in the container, and carefully stood. She backed away slowly and keyed her radio on the yellow sleeve of her chemical suit.

"Well, what is it?" Carl asked as Andrea backed away from the container.

"Professor Fallon? I don't fully understand how the Chinese did it seven hundred years before they were supposed to be able to, but they managed to—"

"Dr. Kowalski, Mr. Everett, would you be so kind as to join us up on the scaffold please," ordered a familiar voice. "I don't wish to be unpleasant to your colleagues."

Andrea looked at Carl.

"May I assume you have a weapon on you, Mr. Everett?" Andrea whispered as she reached into a small satchel attached to her side and brought out a Beretta nine-millimeter automatic pistol.

Under his faceplate Carl raised his eyebrows. "Is that standard CDC issue, Doctor?" he mouthed as he reached into his satchel and brought out a Colt.45 automatic.

"Is that Asaki, the nerd from the Okinawa government, talking?" Andrea asked quietly.

"Yes, and I don't think I care for his tone," Carl replied as he steeled himself for confrontation.

"Mr. Everett, if you are armed, please toss your weapon out onto the upper deck before you appear, or I'm afraid our friends here will do something distasteful," Asaki warned.

Carl gestured for Andrea to slide her pistol into her chemical suit. Without hesitation she quickly released the Velcro, unzipped her suit, and plunged her Beretta inside; it was almost as if she had anticipated Carl's order.

"We can remove the protective suits for now, there's no trace of any airborne particles," Carl said loudly.

He removed his hood and faceplate, tossed his.45 through the opening he had made when he fell through the deck, and then turned back toward Andrea.

"So, what agency are you with, Doctor? NSA, CIA, or is it someone else?" he whispered.

"Please come out on deck, so we may finish our business," Asaki ordered. "Any untoward antics and we will begin harming your friends, starting with the students."

Carl took a deep breath and waited for Andrea.

As she passed him, she removed her faceplate and hood, then shook out her red hair. She stopped long enough to retrieve her glasses from the small table. Then she turned and faced Carl as she put them on.

"In answer to your question, Mr. Everett, I guess you could say you know my husband, or ex-husband to be more accurate. You see, Mr. Everett, I also know you are no field security man contracted for the university at Riverside, but actually the number two man in the security department for what is known in very private circles as the Event Group," she whispered. "My name is Danielle Serrate, formerly Mrs. Henri Farbeaux. Now I'm afraid we must do as they say before we get one of those innocent kids killed."

Carl couldn't move for a moment. He expected something, but not the former wife of the Group's number one enemy. Now he knew why she cursed in French when she was caught off guard. Colonel Henri Farbeaux had been a thorn in the side of his organization for the better part of fifteen years. Farbeaux was far better at gleaning the historical record than most nations gave him credit for. Although ruthless in his pursuit of antiquities and technology, not necessarily in that order, he was a man who rivaled Group director Niles Compton in the IQ department, which was why he was so dangerous and had a death warrant out for him by at least five countries.

"No wonder you were such a bitch," he mumbled to himself as they started up.

Carl immediately took in the situation and knew from a military, or defensive, standpoint, he was going to be like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. With the way the bad guys were deployed in and around the cave, he could see he was hamstrung. Asaki had a crew of his own men and had organized six different areas in which he was holding the field team inside the cave. Carl knew Asaki had to have additional men, either in the larger cave or outside, more than likely both. Sarah and Professor Fallon, along with the old soldier Seito, were standing next to the Okinawa field representative, which Asaki obviously wasn't or, worse, he was pulling double duty as a thug and bureaucrat; moreover, standing next to him, holding his very own Colt.45, was the old man's interpreter.

"Please step aside and let Dr. Kowalski join us, Mr. Everett, we have much to do and a very short time to do it," Asaki admonished while waiving a small pistol of his own.

Carl allowed the newly disclosed Danielle Farbeaux, or as she said, Serrate, to step up from behind him. He still wasn't sure she wasn't a part of what was happening here.

"Very good; as you can see, things are not as they seem. Your situation has turned from one of discovery to that of cooperation. Do this and I assure you no one will be harmed," Asaki said loudly enough for all in the cave to hear, his voice carrying easily in the small enclosure.

"You… are a… dishonor," said Seito in halting English.

Asaki ignored the old man and gestured for Danielle to come forward.

"Now, what sort of biological agent are we dealing with, Doctor?"

"I haven't completed my analysis yet."

"I think you are lying, but have no fear, Doctor, we have people for that; we will remove the weapon first and then—"

Andrea cut him off. "If you make one mistake, you could doom yourselves to a horrible death," she hissed as she stepped directly on the remains and tattered uniform of the World War II army colonel. Her foot had come down on the colonel's samurai sword. "Just why are you doing this?"

"The man you are so casually standing on is my grandfather. My real name is Yashita," said the man they knew as Asaki.

Carl now understood at least part of what was happening. Who would have figured?

The government man adjusted the aim of his pistol and pointed at Seito, "He was murdered by this man and the cowardly, disgraced Admiral Tarazawa because they didn't have the fortitude to save the war as my grandfather had wished to do with this gift from the gods. But today, old wounds will be healed and I will kill two birds with one single stone."

Seito, the old warhorse and feisty to the end, spat at Yashita. Sarah, seeing the rage cross Yashita's features, stepped in front of the old soldier without thinking. Then a strange calmness came over the government representative's face and he smiled as he wiped the old man's spittle from his cheek and neck.

"As I said, by the end of today my sense of justice will be satisfied."

"What will someone like you do with a biological agent? Sell it to the highest bidder?" Carl asked, his hands still up.

"Nothing so mundane, I assure you. You Americans always think it's the money. Money, money, money," he said with a snarl. "The war never ended for many of us, Mr. Everett. Like my grandfather before me, I am a patriot and still very much active in the war with your country, as are many from all over the world." He stepped forward and motioned below as ten men dressed in green chemical suits started up the scaffolding. They all carried large zippered bags. "After we have the weapon analyzed, it will be dispersed worldwide. Every element in our cause against the West will receive one canister. Who would have thought the great and mighty Kublai Khan would come to the aid of our struggle? This will be used to avenge the rape of my country and the senseless slaughter of hundreds of thousands," he said as he watched Carl take a menacing step forward.

"Please, continue to advance, Mr. Everett, and we can begin this right now if you wish," Yashita said as he aimed his gun at Sarah.

Yashita's men pushed by Carl and Danielle, knocking them together, a move that forced Carl to grab her to keep her from tumbling off the scaffold. As he righted her, he found himself standing on the old samurai sword.

Yashita shouted in Japanese and his men below herded the students to the outer cave. Then he climbed the last scaffold, placed the protective hood over his head, and easily lowered his body into the hold to see the containers for himself.

The interpreter and three of Asaki's men herded Sarah, Fallon, and the old man toward Carl and Danielle.

"You two all right?" Carl asked.

"I've never felt so damned helpless in my life," Sarah said angrily.

"This is a little different than your clean classrooms in Nevada, isn't it, Second Lieutenant McIntire?" Danielle asked.

Sarah didn't respond to Danielle's sarcasm; she instead raised her eyebrows as she looked at Carl.

"Our Dr. Kowalski, as it turns out, is Danielle Serrate, the former Mrs. Henri Farbeaux."

Sarah allowed her shock to show as she momentarily dropped her arms, eliciting a loud rebuke from their captors. She quickly raised them again. Then she laughed.

"No wonder she's such a bitch," she said, echoing Carl's earlier comment.

Twenty minutes later, the armed men allowed them to lower their arms and ordered them to sit on the creaking wooden scaffolding. Carl was careful to place his ass right over the colonel's old sword, as uncomfortable as it was.

"You work for the French Antiquities Commission?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, my being here has not been authorized. I learned that my former husband had started learning all he could about dangerous biohazards; he had an extensive file on the Kublai Khan invasion, which mentioned this vessel in several passages, so I thought he might show up here."

"You went through all that trouble to track down your ex? Were you in that much of a reconciliatory mood?" Sarah asked.

"My mood was a bit darker, little Sarah; I was going to kill him," Danielle answered coldly.

"He used to work for your department. What would your director say about that?" Carl asked her.

Danielle slowly turned toward Carl and smiled grimly. "I am the director of my department."

Sarah and Carl exchanged looks.

"Who are you people? Is anyone who they said they were, when they signed on?" Fallon asked angrily.

Poor Fallon, Sarah thought. What could she tell him, that she worked for the most secret organization in the American government? That all she did is collect data from history and analyze it, catalog it, and learn from it to make sure her country didn't make the same mistakes twice? A job that required her to infiltrate field digs from universities, and hire into private companies to gain information about anything and everything? That she was there to protect the American people and sometimes the world from themselves, because what they didn't know is that their government agency knows most everything from the truth of religion to that of UFOs?

"Professor Fallon, all we can say is that we are here to help," Sarah answered.

"I'm sure that will comfort him," Yashita said as he climbed back up from the inside of the ancient hold. He removed his protective hood. "One thing you should know, all of you: there are no more heroes left in your part of the world, only robots that do the bidding of Washington and other dying entities just like it."

"I think there may be one or two left in the West," Danielle said smiling.

As if on cue, screaming started from the outer cave. Yashita looked confused and ordered his three men to investigate. As they started down the scaffolding, Danielle unzipped her protective suit, pulled her Beretta, and quickly fired, but missed Yashita as he jumped from the topmost scaffolds to the bottom one, landing hard and rolling. As he tried to stand, a tremendous explosion rocked the cavern, knocking everyone over. The chemical-suited men began exiting the hold of the ship on the ladders they had installed for their descent, and pulled handguns from their satchels. The interpreter started shouting orders and then the men turned their weapons on their captives.

"Oh, shit," Carl yelled. He struck out with a rubber-booted foot, hitting the closest man and knocking him from his feet. He quickly grabbed for the man's weapon, a small-caliber Colt, and fired into the facemask of another of Yashita's man. As he did so he saw several others suddenly flop to the scaffold, as something unseen and unheard took them down. Their added weight hitting rotten wood was too much for the structure. It cracked and folded in on itself. Just before it did Carl saw several holes stitch across one of Yashita's men as he fell backward into the cargo hold. Then that was it — they were all falling.

There were shouts coming from all areas of the cave. Carl was lying in the hull, stunned, with Danielle on top, fighting to get a hundred pounds of rotted wood off them. He could hear Sarah from somewhere shouting that Yashita was over to the left. Suddenly Carl felt himself lifted and shoved over. He felt hands reaching under him and then whoever was assisting him disappeared into the dust and smoke. Then he heard Sarah shouting again.

As the scaffold started coming down, she had grabbed for the interpreter's weapon. It had fired and Sarah felt a searing pain crease her shoulder. The man had then fired point-blank at Seito. She yelled again in warning, and saw the old soldier jump to the right, pushing debris from the scaffolding out of his way as he did. Sarah started to pull herself out of the mess of rotted wood, when she saw Yashita above her, firing at someone in the cave below. She wondered if the students had somehow gotten free and started this nightmare. Suddenly she felt herself lifted, by none other than Yashita. He was bleeding from the mouth and shaking her.

"Who are you people?" he screamed.

Below them, Carl finally pulled Danielle to her feet, took the Beretta from her firm grasp, and then tried to step free of the debris that covered the cave floor. As two men took aim at him, he knew he couldn't get the pistol up in time, but even before he could try to shoot, a line of tracers struck the men and they went down. That was when Carl noticed someone dressed in black Nomex and wearing a nylon hood and gas mask step out from a rock out-cropping. He was about to shout when he heard other, louder screams of outrage coming from behind them. The man in black ran forward; Carl and Danielle quickly followed.

"I want out of here! You will allow me to pass or this woman's death will be on you, not I," Yashita shouted again. His pistol was pointed right at Sarah's temple. She had a scowl on her face as if she were far more angry than scared.

The man in black acted as though he hadn't heard; he slowly inched forward, his Ingram submachine gun not wavering a millimeter. Carl reached out and tried to stop the black-garbed commandos but the man easily shrugged his hand away. From behind the black goggles and a night-vision scope placed over the gas mask, the man's eyes were trained directly at Yashita. Carl knew that if the commando fired, Yashita could have a knee-jerk reaction and kill Sarah anyway.

Suddenly there was a loud shout in Japanese and a figure jumped out of the darkness. The bright and shiny edge of a blade made a streak in the darkness, and Yashita's pistol hand fell away from Sarah's head. Sarah was sprayed with blood as she pulled free of her captor's other arm. Then all movement stopped as all eyes fixed upon Seito. He held the samurai sword high. Blood was coursing down his chest, staining the yellow plastic of his chemical suit. With a scream of outrage, he brought the sword down and into Yashita, severing him from the neck to the center of his chest. The old man watched his enemy collapse. He continued to stand there quietly, sword unmoving, his brown eyes focused on the dead man before him. Then he slowly allowed the sword to fall from his arthritic grasp as he crumpled onto his right side.

The man in black ran forward with his weapon still trained on Yashita's head. When he saw no movement, he quickly went to Sarah and, with one powerful arm, lifted her to her feet. Carl and Danielle ran toward the fallen Seito. Carl immediately saw the bullethole in the old man's chest and exhaled in exasperation. He then lowered himself and raised Seito's head. Danielle sadly took the old man's hand into her own.

There were seven commandos all together. Six of them had herded the students and Fallon into a protective bunch at the cave's opening; all were in good shape, from what Carl could see.

"Had to go and play soldier again, huh?" he asked the dying Seito.

"The… man… had no… honor."

Carl nodded.

Seito smiled as he looked at the man in black Nomex. The old man started to say something in English but failed. Instead he croaked out a few sentences quickly in Japanese, the words slurring as he finished, and then his eyes closed and he was gone.

"I wonder what he said," Carl asked, brushing some gray hair out of the old man's eyes.

"He said he had heard what Yashita said about there being no heroes left," Danielle translated.

The man in black removed his night-vision gear, gas mask, and hood in one movement. Jack Collins, the director of security for the highly secretive Event Group and Carl's boss, looked down at Seito.

Danielle frowned. "He said that Yashita was wrong; where there are good men, there will always be heroes."

4

Altogether there were sixteen Japanese Red Army faction members dead, including their cell leader, Tagugi Yashita, the most wanted man in Japan. The embarrassment of the Japanese government of having a known and wanted terrorist so deeply ensconced in the Okinawa civil authority would be something debated for many years to come. But Yashita had indeed used his family influence to place himself as deeply undercover as he could, biding his time while directing the assaults on Japan's officialdom from the safety of his governmental position, even receiving notices of gains against the JRA movement. His activities would scar the government for many years.

The Japanese Army Special Forces unit that had planned and carried out the assault on the cave complex had allowed Major Jack Collins access to the operation only because Jack had had a hand in training their officers in the fine art of covert assault years before. The information Jack had given them was also a deciding factor in allowing him to come along, with the Japanese military believing fully that he was still a part of the Fifth Special Forces out of Fort Bragg. But little did they know he had been on detached service to Department 5656 for the past year and a half.

The Japanese assault element was now working closely with the home island's chemical warfare department for the safe handling and removal of the powdered agent. Altogether, 865 pounds of the unknown powder was present in the hold of the old junk.

Sarah McIntire walked up to Jack and didn't say anything; she simply grabbed his wrist for a brief moment and squeezed. Collins winked at her.

"How in the hell did you know what was happening here?" Carl asked, walking up to Jack as soon as he had made sure Fallon and his graduate students were safe and secure outside.

Collins safed his Ingram and eased it onto his shoulder; the whole time he never took his eyes off Sarah. Then he finally looked around and found the person he wanted to speak to, Danielle Serrate.

"Since it had been a woman who called Director Compton on his private line at Group two days ago, and we know it hadn't been Sarah, because we couldn't get through to you or Mr. Everett on your radios — if you check to see, I suspect they have been tampered with — and since we can eliminate Dr. Fallon's students because they don't even know we exist, may we assume it was you, Miss…"

Carl shook his head. "Jack, this is Danielle Serrate, the head of the Commission des Antiquites of the government of France."

Danielle stepped forward, her chemical suit was unzipped and the upper half tied at her waist. Carl saw that she had a few large scratches on her arms, but other than that she had come through the hostilities with little damage.

"The United States government is indebted to you. But if I may ask, why call us? French commandos would have been more than happy to jump into the fray," Jack asked.

She clicked the safety back on her Beretta and then placed the pistol in her satchel. "My government does not know about this operation. I was on a personal leave of absence."

"Okay, now can we have your real name?"

"Jack, her married name is Farbeaux," Carl said in a low tone.

"I no longer associate myself with my ex-husband, Mr. Everett. I believe I informed you of that earlier."

"Well, the plot thickens," Jack said, turning from Danielle to Carl. "That would explain how she came by Director Compton's private phone line." Jack turned back to the Frenchwoman. "Ms. Serrate, may I offer you our hospitality and a chance to explain yourself?"

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to take me to the Japanese authorities, as that would leave too much explaining to do to my government."

"No problem; we have a ride coming that'll take us to a secure location. I think we can leave the Japanese government out of this one."

"This is not the sort of hospitality I would expect after aiding you in saving all of these lives."

"That's what I'm curious about, ma'am — just why would the ex-wife of an antagonist contact us instead of using her own national resources? Commander Everett, assist our savior outside. I believe our ride is here," Jack said, as the sound of a helicopter could be heard outside of the cave.

The gray MH-60 Seahawk flew low to avoid becoming an unknown blip on any airborne radar. The navy chopper skimmed only a few feet above the masts of Japanese fishing vessels. Jack Collins, Sarah McIntire, and Carl Everett, still in their covert guise, sat calmly without talking. Their cover as naval special weapons people was still intact, a story sanctioned by Niles Compton and the president of the United States. Danielle had seen dossiers on all three from her husband's files recovered in the raid on his Los Angeles home. She knew Sarah to be a new second lieutenant in the U.S. Army, the new head of the Geology Department. Sarah had been an integral part in another mysterious operation in the American desert last year. The same with Jack Collins; it was rumored in the dark places where governments meet that it was the major who had actually headed the bizarre mission that had confronted a UFO. Danielle had only heard rumors, only bits and pieces about the Event from intelligence speculation.

The person that interested her most was Lieutenant Commander Carl Everett, a former SEAL. Currently it was surmised by French intelligence that he was the number two man in the Group's security department, under Collins. The man was a brute. But he intrigued her nonetheless. Maybe it was his immediate dislike for her, she didn't know, but she would learn as much about him as she could. He wore his emotions on the outside and thus could be very helpful to her in the future.

As she thought this over, the Seahawk started climbing at a high rate of speed. Danielle adjusted her earphones and leaned over in her seat toward Major Collins.

"Am I to assume I am to be taken to a small CIA trawler off the coast and asked some questions, to a little ship of torture perhaps?" she asked, raising her right brow.

Carl snorted and turned away, shaking his head. Sarah just absently scratched her nose. Jack Collins leaned forward and in all seriousness pointed out the side window. "No ma'am, no torture, no CIA, and definitely not a small ship," he said, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

Danielle turned to where the major was indicating and was stunned for the first time in many years. She tried not to show it as she looked upon the largest object she had ever seen in her life that wasn't anchored to the ground. The Nimitz-class aircraft carrier was making at least thirty-plus knots. Her massive bow tossed the green seas high into the air as she cut through the Pacific 130 miles off the coast of Okinawa.

The Seahawk crew chief lowered his microphone so he could speak to the others on board the naval version of the Blackhawk.

"Ma'am, please sit back for landing, and welcome to the USS George Washington."

The captain's quarters aboard Big George, as the men fondly called their ship, were spacious and very well appointed for a United States naval vessel. The skipper had excused himself and allowed the members of the Event Group to utilize the largest and most secure cabin on the ship to debrief the foreign national. The captain of Big George didn't believe they were any sort of naval special weapons people. He could smell CIA.

As the mess stewards brought in coffee and a small tray of sandwiches, Jack took the time to remove his Nomex assault gear. He would have to thank SEAL Team Six, which was aboard, for the loan. Sarah poured everyone coffee and sat heavily in one of the overstuffed chairs that lined the conference table. Her arm had been tended to by the ships surgeon and the painkillers they had given her were dragging her down.

There was a rap on the cabin door and navy lieutenant JG Jason Ryan stepped in. He smiled at everyone and walked up to Jack, who was wiping his hands on a face towel. He shook Jack's hand.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece, Major," Ryan said as he turned to shake the hands of Carl and Sarah.

"Are you getting reacquainted with old friends?" Jack asked, as he sat down and pulled his cup of coffee toward him. "Ms. Serrate, this is Jason Ryan; he used to fly off these carrier things the navy plays with. He works for me and the Group now."

Danielle took a sip of her coffee and nodded toward Ryan, who took a chair next to Sarah and winked at her.

"By the way, Jack, the captain has cleared Ms. Serrate here for a flight leaving within the hour aboard a C-2A Greyhound heading for Narita International in Tokyo. Director Compton has arranged a first-class flight out of there for our guest to Paris." Jason looked over to the redheaded Serrate. "The director wished to pass on his personal thanks for the warning you gave us that Mr. Yashita wasn't who he seemed to be."

"Can you explain how you knew this?" Jack asked.

"I came across Yashita's name in my ex-husband's file on this site. It said that he was a man of unscrupulous nature, and was known to the Okinawans as Mr. Asaki. So, when we were introduced to that gentleman on the island, it wasn't a stretch to put two and two together and that is why I called your director. Now, am to be released?" she asked, looking from Ryan to Jack.

"As far as we know, you're not wanted by Interpol, the FBI, or any other foreign intel service; in other words, Ms. Serrate, we can't link you to any of your husband's transgressions," Jack said.

"To make it crystal clear, we can't arrest you for being married to an asshole and murderer," Carl added, looking directly at Danielle, waiting for a reaction.

Jack cleared his throat. He was watching the subdued anger rise on the Frenchwoman's face. "The million-dollar question, Ms. Serrate, is why you were there in the first place."

Danielle placed her cup of coffee down on the table. "Several months ago I became aware of my ex-husband's interest in the rumors of this site on Okinawa. In this and several other locations across the world where there were bizarre rumors of lost ships, cities; anywhere there could be found the legends of ancient alchemists — advanced science, if you will. Why? I do not know, as my husb… ex-husband's schemes are his own. But he has become an embarrassment to my government, my department, and to me. As his current interest seems to be beyond his normal pursuits, I believe he may be mixed up with foul elements that may be of concern to both your government and mine."

"So, tell us what you've got," Jack said, knowing that a hidden tape recorder was running, taking down everything the Frenchwoman was saying.

"I thought he would have been here in pursuit of that vessel. We came across a safe house in Mexico and another in Los Angeles, where we uncovered several research items on the possibility of an ancient weapon of mass destruction that was buried with that ancient junk," she said as she took a sip of her coffee. "It was my hope he would show himself here so I could cancel his bogus affiliation with my government. And I wished to do this in front of his most ardent enemies, as proof of my department's commitment at cooperation."

"You and he were married for how long?" Carl asked, standing and walking over to the silver coffee service and pouring another cup. He then walked over and refilled Danielle's.

"I married him when I was eighteen."

"Please continue, Ms. Serrate," Jack said.

"My husband has been quite…" She stumbled for the right word to use. "He's been rogue for some time and is up to some very disconcerting research, for a reason that I cannot yet fathom. He even had a complete scientific investigative report commissioned on an obscure legend about a Spanish expedition in Brazil that supposedly took place over five hundred years ago, a very expensive research project."

"Do you have anything else he may be working on?" Sarah asked her.

"All I have is that he has found a new financier and has been dealing with an American professor on a project. I was hoping it was Professor Fallon and the Okinawan site. Now I fear I am at a dead end."

Jack looked at his watch. "I'm afraid we're out of time. Mr. Ryan, would you escort Ms. Serrate to the flight deck, please, and get her outfitted?" He faced the director of the French variation, albeit a far weaker version, of his very own organization. "May I assume we can count on cooperation with your agency instead of harmful competition in the future?"

Danielle stood and pushed her chair in. "That is not up to me, or you, I'm afraid. Times are dangerous and people aren't very trusting in these very violent days. But I will promise you this: where I can, I will forward as much information as possible if it affects your government where Colonel Farbeaux is concerned. I will start there."

"You do that," Carl said, as he held her eyes. "But we won't hold our breath."

"Before you go, can you let us in now on just what it was that was in those containers?" Jack asked. He looked at her sharply.

Danielle returned the stare. Obviously this man was good at his job. He knew she was aware of what they had been dealing with all along.

"The most virulent form of anthrax that has ever been produced, enough to kill most of a continent if unleashed."

"I think you could have informed us earlier," Carl said angrily as he glared at the Frenchwoman.

Danielle returned the hateful look and then turned away to follow Ryan out of the cabin. Carl watched her go without further comment, pushing his full cup of coffee away from him in disgust.

"I told you she liked you," Sarah half-joked.

5

"Have you seen the professor?" Robby shouted.

Kennedy looked past Robby and saw that two of his men were missing. The animal's assault had caught them in the middle of changing positions inside the mazelike tunnels and shafts.

"No, the last time I saw her she was…she was injured — that's all I know, kid. I just hope my two men are with her," he said loudly above the din of rushing water. He moved his flashlight from Robby to the shaft they had dove into at the last moment before the creature had brought the tunnel's ceiling down upon the survivors. A split second afterward he had heard automatic weapon fire coming from the other side of the rock fall.

Robby, Kelly, and three others had come from somewhere down the opposite direction where another small group had run to.

"Kid, is there a way out back there?" Kennedy asked, his flashlight revealing the scratches and filth that covered Robby's face.

"Yeah, but it leads right back into another tunnel, and you know what's waiting for us out there, right?" He looked at the man for a moment, noticing for the first time the deep gouges that crisscrossed his black wetsuit. A few were ringed with Kennedy's blood. "Hey, you know what's there, right?" he repeated. "You guys did something to piss it off, didn't you? Just who in the hell are you guys? Because of you, we're dead!" the boy screamed.

"Not unless it can be in two places at once," Kennedy answered. "It's not in the lagoon, because I'm pretty sure that big bastard is in here with us somewhere."

Robby was about to say something to the effect that he suspected there was more than one of the beasts, when they heard the primal roar of the animal. The sound was seeping through the rock slide the beast had created in its attempt to kill Kennedy and his people. The hoarse cry was bone chilling.

"Let's get the hell out of here, it could be anywhere. It must know this shaft as well as it knows that damned lagoon." Robby turned and waved the two women and one man forward. "Come on, guys, we'll go with Dr. Kennedy, he has a plan," he lied. Then as he counted heads he saw he was one short. "Where's Kelly?" he shouted.

"Who's Kelly?" one of the girls asked as she whimpered in pain from a possible broken arm.

"I mean Leanne, Leanne Cox!" Robby remembered her alias.

"We lost her somewhere back there," the girl answered. "She was angry because she wanted to go back and find Helen. She went back, I think." The frightened girl kept looking from Rob to her rear, terrified something was back in the darkness waiting to spring.

"Oh God, no," he said as he turned and fixed the man in the wetsuit with a withering glare. "Look, Kennedy, get us out of here any way you can; I have to find that girl!"

Kennedy didn't like having any extra baggage, but what could he do? Shoot them? No, they needed one another if they were to escape this valley. As Robby pushed angrily by, Kennedy saw that the other surviving girl was breaking out in a rash. He could tell she was feverish as she brushed against him. God, he thought, another one? The girl wore a faraway look as she reached out for Robby. Her once blue eyes were half covered in semitransparent pus. Kennedy closed his eyes to shut out the sight. This girl, Casey, he thought her name was, would mark the seventh member of the expedition to come down with the poisoning. For all he knew, they all had it. He knew he did; it had started this morning with vomiting, just as the others' had. As the three survivors from the lagoon pressed ahead of him, Kennedy pulled back the charging handle on his MP-5 machine gun and followed, stepping ahead and taking the lead.

Half the expedition, including three of his men, had been caught on the shore at the base camp. He had assigned the men to watch the sick kids that had started coming down with what looked like a bad rash. It was soon followed by fever and the shakes. Diarrhea and severe vomiting was a stage that most of the sick had stabilized at when the professor announced it was time to leave. He realized his responsibility for the people in his party after they had fielded ridicule from not only himself, but Robby also. He was reminded that they were up against not only the animals of this godforsaken valley, but also an invisible disease that struck anyone who had ventured to the lower levels of the ancient mine.

The camp was hit before they could get off a call to the mine teams inside the endless catacombs of shafts where they were gathering the last of the specimens Helen had arranged to take back with them. Then, not ten minutes after the slaughter onshore, the animal, or animals, had struck them in the mine. It had attacked the party as a whole and then hunted each splintered group down one at a time. Upon separation of the larger group, they were taken down piecemeal. Now, as far as Kennedy was concerned, this was the last group. It was a terrible assumption, but one that had to be made. He was on his own and he had collateral baggage he knew couldn't make it out of here alive. He had to move, and move as fast as possible, because he had the distinct feeling that the creatures who watched over this place weren't just killing them for being there. They were being tracked and hunted for breaching some kind of ancient rule. And he figured the hunters would be merciless in their pursuit to make sure no one left the valley.

It was close to two hours later that they saw daylight ahead. All four of them froze, almost afraid to hope that it was real. None of them had expected to ever see sunlight again.

"Okay, we can't go running out of here attracting attention to ourselves. Kid, what about the barge and ship — did either one run aground?"

"No, the ship went down like a rock. The barge stayed afloat for about an hour, but it eventually went down, too," Robby whispered. "A few things came to the surface and we gathered what we could and beached them near the base camp on shore, but then…then the creature hit us. Most didn't stand a chance. The sick were caught right in their beds and killed quickly. Some ran to the water where something else attacked them, a larger animal, long necked. I don't know what happened to them after the screaming started. I tried to radio the professor and you, but there was no answer."

Kennedy watched the kid. He had been impressed with Robby since the expedition had started; it was a shame he couldn't allow him to live.

"We didn't know what to do since you went into the mine two days ago, so we traveled north along the lagoon until we saw that." Robby pointed at the opening. They could see the small waterfall that covered the prehistoric cave's mouth and hid it to nature's perfection. A thousand times smaller than the large falls that disguised the main entrance to the mine, this fall was easy to miss.

"Listen, you saw what was in the mine, right? I don't have to spell it out for you?"

"I saw enough to make sure you and whoever you work for will stay behind bars for a long fucking time." Robby spat out the words as if they tasted sour. Then he realized he had shot his mouth off to the wrong sort of man.

Kennedy reached into his wetsuit and pulled out his old dog tags. On the chain was a strange-looking key. It was thick, then thin, then thick again. It was about six inches long and one inch wide, and almost round as it corkscrewed to a bulbous end. He held it up to examine it and made sure it wasn't damaged.

"Listen, one of our containers had a yellow rubber casing around it. It was about three feet long and two feet wide. Was that one of the crates you and your people salvaged from the ship? It was sitting on deck and should have come free once the boat went under."

Robby thought a moment, his eyes never leaving the strange key. "Yeah, I think that was one that we pulled ashore — what is that?" he asked. The key made him forget his sudden anger at Kennedy.

"Look, vacation's over; it's time to cut our losses and try and head out of here following that old trail your professor found a few days ago."

The girl behind Robby stepped forward. Her voice cracked and she looked around nervously. "That container you were asking about?"

Kennedy eyed the scared girl. "Yeah?"

"I don't know how, but I swear it was in the main chamber, by the falls. I only noticed when—"

Kennedy grabbed the girl by her thin arms and lightly shook her.

"The box is in the mine? Are you sure?"

Robby reached down and pried Kennedy's hands off the girl's arms. He then stepped between her and the man who now had a crazed expression on his face.

"That's enough, what the hell's wrong with you?"

"Get them out the best you can, kid. I have to get to that container."

"What about everyone else?" Robby asked, trying to keep his voice low so the others couldn't hear. His thoughts kept returning to Kelly and how helpless he felt, trapped in here.

"Look, kid, there is no one else. I saw that animal close up and I don't think it had a merciful bone in its huge-ass body. Maybe the smaller one, but not that big-ass motherfucker."

"How in the hell could it outthink us like that?" Robby moaned.

"I saw its eyes. They were like nothing I've ever seen before," Kennedy said as he pulled the half-empty magazine from his automatic weapon and inserted another. "It's smarter than us, kid; this is its turf and we're the visiting team. According to Zachary, its kind has been knocking around this world for one hell of a long time, a lot longer than us, at least seventy million years longer." He gripped the key in his right hand, wrapping its chain painfully tight around and around his wrist.

"It didn't strike us until you went into the mine; even then it still allowed gold to be taken out for examination. What happened to change things?"

Kennedy knew exactly what happened but wasn't going to be the one to volunteer the information. What remained of Zachary's team had not been in the main chamber, so what was there would remain a secret. They should never have brought out samples. He alone was responsible for that. He had basically killed all of those kids who became ill — and his own men, as well, in the usual attacks that followed; not only that, he had jeopardized his mission and his employers were not very understanding of failure.

Casey, the young girl with the sickness, suddenly screamed. Robby and Kennedy jumped. She was pointing at a shadow that had passed in front of the sunlit falls outside. The two men looked but saw nothing. Kennedy kept his weapon pointed in that direction nonetheless. He was about to lower it when a sudden, piercing scream almost made him pull the trigger. Robby reacted and pushed the barrel of the machine gun downward as one of the small animals ran down the damp shaft from the lagoon outside.

"No, its one of the Grunions," he said and he caught the small creature as it leaped into his arms. The professor had jokingly named them for the small fish that come onto Southern California beaches at times, using their small legs.

"Goddamned thing, why do they have to scream like that?" Kennedy asked, shaking his head.

Robby rubbed the scaly little animal between the eyes and calmed it. "I don't know, haven't exactly figured that out yet," he said, as a sad look crossed his features. Kelly had fallen in love with these strange creatures and had many theories as to their evolution. God, he prayed she had somehow escaped this massacre.

Suddenly the mine wall behind Casey split and crashed in. The roar of the large creature numbed their minds as it struck Casey and then the man and the girl with the broken arm. The man that was dressed the same as Kennedy, in a black wetsuit, was slammed hard into the rock wall as the small creature sprang from Robby's arms. Kennedy fired at the beast but his rounds only struck wall as he was thrown backward by the impact of the falling rock. He tried to move his legs but they were under at least a ton of rock. He lifted the MP-5 and fired again, knowing the dust obscured his target to the point that he couldn't be sure if he hit anything. The screams of the second woman were cut short suddenly, as if her volume control had been shut down.

"Get the hell out of here, kid," Kennedy yelled to Robby, who had jumped free of the rocks into the safety of the mine shaft. "Go find another way out!"

Robby turned and didn't hesitate as he sprinted down the small river of water that covered the shaft floor. As he sped into the dark he felt the small creature close on his heels, the small claws splashing through the water. He rounded a bend and the light was suddenly cut off as he entered the shaft that never saw outside illumination. He would have reached for one of the ancient torches that lined the old tunnel but he was terrified it would draw the other, vicious animal his way if he lit one.

The tunnel was suddenly lit up by a long burst of automatic gunfire. That was quickly followed by screams. It was Dr. Kennedy. He yelled and then screamed again as the sound of rocks being pushed aside came to Robby's ears. Then Kennedy fell silent and Robby didn't wait to hear any more. He turned and ran, the small creature now leading the way. Then he started crying and felt he would never stop.

As he rounded a bend that put him into the far reaches of the mine the Spaniards had called El Dorado, he heard the triumphal roar of the wild animal as the protector of the valley once again proclaimed his superiority against the intruder.

The second expedition to the hidden valley of the lagoon had come to the same end as the first.

The creature roared once again as the darkness engulfed Robby, wrapping around him like a blanket, and sent him on a headlong flight away from the God of the River.

Calm filled the beautiful valley as birds sang their songs and the small hairless creatures waited for their God to grow still once again.

The archbishop yawned as he slid the strap of his coveralls up over his shoulder, trying to do so without spilling his tea. It was still predawn, so he reached out and turned on the interior floodlights that had been arrayed around the church for the workmen to see by in the darkened cathedral. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he saw the ugly skeletal scaffolding that had been erected, and shook his head. His eyes traveled to the frescoed ceiling where art restorers had been working to repair the magnificent frescoes using the godawful-looking scaffolds to do so. He sipped his tea and then noticed something out of the morning norm. He lowered the cup and squinted through his thick glasses. A man was sitting in one of the front pews looking toward the dais. He had his arms outstretched, resting casually on the backrest of the long wooden pew.

"Santos?" the archbishop called out, thinking it was the renovations interior foreman.

The figure didn't move.

Archbishop Santiago was about to call out again when a hand fell on his shoulder. He was startled enough to spill his tea. As he turned he saw a large man with a shadow of a goatee standing behind him.

"Please," the man gestured toward the seated man at the front of the cathedral, "he has a few questions for Your Eminence." The words were spoken in the New World Spanish accent that Santiago immediately placed as South American.

Hesitantly the archbishop followed the large man toward the front of the church. As he approached he could see that the figure in the peak was dressed in a black suit and sat with his right leg crossed over his left. The seated man was looking at the magnificent figure of the sculpted Christ the church had received as a gift from the Vatican Archives twenty years before. Santiago sensed danger in this man.

"This is a marvelous piece. Isn't it by Fanuchi?" the man asked as he continued to look up at the Christ as depicted upon the cross.

"A modest work of Michelangelo's," Santiago said. He sat down, as his rather large escort had suggested with a gesture of his equally large hand.

"Amazing, a Michelangelo piece that has never been cataloged," the man said as he turned to face the archbishop. He was smiling. "You must have friends in high places, Your Grace."

"It's but a modest piece," Santiago responded. "Are you here to steal it?" he asked, placing his tea cup on the seat beside him.

The man laughed and removed his arms from the back of the wooden pew. "As magnificent as the work is, alas, no, I am here on an entirely different matter."

The archbishop now saw three more men had stepped into the light from the surrounding blackness of the early morning.

"And that is?"

"Your visitor of a couple of months ago, a Professor Helen Zachary, she's the reason I have come to visit you at this magnificent cathedral. I need for you to share with me the information you so readily imparted to her."

Santiago could see that the man, if he were to stand, would be tall. His blond hair was well combed. He watched as the man absentmindedly brushed some lint from his pants.

"I am afraid I fail to see your interest in a private meeting I had with Ms. Zachary."

The man smiled and leaned closer to the archbishop, once again placing his right arm on the back of the pew as he whispered, "The diary, Your Eminence, she copied two pages from the diary of Captain Padilla. Unfortunately, my former partner was also very accomplished at forgery and falsified the copies she gave to me. Now the woman has further betrayed me and gone off to adventureland without me."

"I will tell you the same thing I told Ms. Zachary, Senor —?"

"Farbeaux, Henri Farbeaux. And please, do not bother saying you did not acquiesce to her request, that would be wasting valuable time, both mine, and by the look of your renovation, yours also. Time is a quantity neither my benefactor nor I have in abundance. So please, answer carefully and be precise. Are you willing to assist my men and myself in acquiring the diary of Captain Padilla? As I said, answer carefully," he warned as his smile faded.

Santiago looked from Farbeaux toward the men, who calmly watched the proceedings. There was no doubt in his mind he was in trouble; his only hope was that he could stall them long enough until the workmen came in.

"I have seen that look a hundred times, Your Grace. You see, it's in the way the jaw sets and the eyes don't blink. You are thinking to delay in answering until help arrives. But I assure you this will have been all a memory by the time that happens. Either a memory or a news story, you choose."

Santiago heard one of the large men knock something over. When he turned toward the sound he saw that a fifty-five-gallon drum of paint thinner now lay open on its side. The clear liquid was emptying onto the floor, which had been lined with white painter's tarps.

"San Jeronimo el Real," Farbeaux said as he looked the archbishop directly in the eyes. "A most famous and beautiful structure. It would be a shame to lose such a wonderful church to such a tragic accident as fire. But things like that happen during a major renovation. Careless and senseless things." The blond man stood and buttoned his suit coat. "I personally would hate to see this tragic event come to pass, but if these walls do not contain the information I seek, that would be most upsetting, and I become rather accident prone when I'm upset. Now, the diary, if you please. That woman already has a month's head start on me."

Santiago was horrified at what was happening around him. The smell of the paint thinner had reached his nostrils. From the expression on the face leering over him, he knew beyond any doubt this man would carry out his threat. If it was just his old leathery life he would defy this man, but the church? He could not risk it.

"Your Eminence, time is a factor here, for both you and me. I truly hate threatening something as magnificent as this cathedral, but I will burn it to the ground without hesitation. I need that diary!"

"Please, I have the diary, you may take it, but do not harm the church."

Farbeaux ordered his men to right the drum of paint thinner and recap it. He instructed them to clean up what had spilled. The archbishop would never know that Farbeaux would never have given the order to burn the five-hundred-year-old church. That would have been sacrilegious to him. Farbeaux wasn't put in the world to destroy such beauty; he was born to own it. Fortunately, the archbishop would stay quiet about the theft of the Vatican secret because he loved his church so much; the mere threat of burning it to the ground would keep him silent. There would be no need for violence, even if Farbeaux's benefactor had given him orders to the contrary. He regretted even the threat of violence as he assisted the old man to his feet, but knew that was the way of the world. And the prize he was seeking was far too valuable. He was willing to do anything to attain it.

He smiled at the old man and watched as the men he had been assigned did as they were told. He knew they had been given orders to assist in eliminating all who knew about the map, but he would make sure the archbishop avoided any accidents.

Farbeaux looked around the empty cathedral to make sure he was the last man to leave. He had assured the archbishop no harm would come to the exquisite building, and, after all, he was a man of his word.

He followed the other men to three vans and they made their way to the airport. As the last vehicle exited the gravel drive, a man in a rented sedan stepped from the driver's side of his car and watched to make sure the team was not going to return. His pencil-thin mustache had small beads of sweat lined above and below it. The man removed the set of polarized sunglasses he was wearing. He adjusted his light green sport coat and walked past the now idle work trucks and equipment. He made his way easily to the rear of the mammoth church and found a back entrance that was covered only in a thick sheet of plastic. As the dark-skinned man eased the plastic away from the door frame, he placed his hand just inside the sport coat and then stepped into the cooling shadows of the small alcove that led into the back of the church. When he saw there was no one present, he stepped gracefully around several piles of books that had been removed from the shelves of the small alcove, and moved up to a door that read office. He leaned close and listened for movement. He heard only the soft hum of an air conditioner. He reached out and lightly turned the brass doorknob and eased it open. He saw movement and immediately brought out a nine-millimeter pistol with a long black silencer attached.

The rotund man dressed in work overalls didn't hear the door open as he was busy picking up books from the floor around a large desk. The man at the door noticed that the big man seemed to be crying. The gunman turned away and looked behind him to make sure his entrance into the office area had gone unnoticed. When he turned back the man in the office had straightened up and was just standing there; he was looking right at the doorway where the gunman stood. The man opened the door all the way. Archbishop Santiago placed the books he was holding on the desk, then slowly crossed himself as he saw the object the man was holding.

The tall, thin assassin knew exactly who was standing before him and it angered him that this task had fallen to him, a man raised in the Catholic faith. The Frenchman had failed to carry out his explicit orders calling for a death that looked accidental. Now, because there was a severe shortage of time, that could no longer be accomplished.

"I was given the promise that nothing shall befall my cathedral," Santiago said as he reached into his coverall and felt for the crucifix there.

"And nothing shall befall your church, Your Excellency," the man said coldly in Spanish as he raised the silenced pistol.

6

One mile below the sands of Nellis Air Force Base, the department managers of the Event Group sat around the conference table of sublevel seven. The debriefing had gone mostly without comment from the department heads, as only Niles Compton, the Group's director, asked any questions. The conversation had centered mostly on the assistance they had received from the Frenchwoman and whether this may have possibly been an attempt by her to thaw relations between the United States National Archives and their French counterpart, the Commission des Antiquites, which had been strained for many years under a corrupted director and his aide, Colonel Henri Farbeaux. The French government knew nothing of the Event Group and Department 5656, as they thought the Group was just a section of the National Archives. For reasons he could never figure out, Niles suspected Colonel Henri Farbeaux had shared their existence with his ex-wife alone. He knew the reasons were selfish ones, but still the answer to why Farbeaux didn't tell the French government about the Group was beyond him.

"So, the person who called me on my private line was the new director. And she's Farbeaux's ex-wife?" Niles Compton asked. "Looks like you two owe her your lives," he said to Lieutenant Commander Everett and Second Lieutenant McIntire.

Carl and Sarah just nodded without comment.

"And she stated that she was hunting down Farbeaux to kill him?" he asked Jack Collins.

" 'Eliminate' was her word," Jack answered.

"I guess that's what you can call irreconcilable differences," Niles said without much humor.

The others around the table thought Niles was straining to make this meeting light, but the attempt failed when they looked into his worried eyes.

"The anthrax, have we generated a report yet on how it was manufactured by the Chinese seven hundred years before it was possible?" asked Virginia Pollock, deputy director and head of Nuclear Sciences.

"There's nothing official as yet from the Japanese government. Sarah did have a chance to speak with Danielle Serrate some before we left the island."

"Did she impart a theory?" Niles asked, turning and looking at the new second lieutenant.

"Well, it's a rough theory, but she thinks they used human blood, possibly intentionally infected with the anthrax antibodies carried by cattle. Really amazing for the time to have known the extreme nature of the infectious disease they were dealing with. Anyway, our Ms. Farbeaux, or Serrate if you prefer, thinks the ancient Chinese developed a way of synthesizing the anthrax organism in the animal blood and incubating it with human material inside clay ovens. Recent discoveries of alchemist's dwellings, actually very rudimentary laboratories if you will, have been recently uncovered just outside of Beijing. The buried site was complete with eight- and twelve-lens microscopes, amazing technology for the time. The Chinese took no chances on the spread of the anthrax so the whole laboratory system was destroyed, buried forever, or so they thought. Once the incubation cycle was tested, again we assume on human guinea pigs, they mixed the dried blood with nothing more than rice starch, thus rendering the anthrax in powder form as a weapons-grade airborne bacterial substance, very ingenious for the time. God only knows how many people died in its manufacture. The Japanese can thank the heavens for the storm that sent that ship off course and the rest of Kublai Khan's invasion fleet to the bottom of the sea."

"And the former Mrs. Farbeaux thought her ex was going after the anthrax?" Niles asked.

"According to her, yes, he was. It seems our friend has expanded his interest to include weapons-grade material instead of just antiquities," Jack said. "She stated that was just one of several sites he had investigated. But since they had an eyewitness that said the Chinese junk was in reality buried inside a lava flow chamber on Okinawa, she took a leave of absence in the hope he would be there, that being the most viable site to date."

"Okay, I'll turn Ms. Serrate's interview tape over to the president and he in turn can ask the FBI and our friends at Homeland Security to keep an eye out for our French friend."

Niles looked around the table at his department heads. "All right, remember we have a briefing tomorrow at ten on the joint field trip to Iraq by the University of Tennessee and Cal Poly-Pomona. So I need names of Group personnel being assigned from the departments that are applicable." He looked at his notes, "That's you, Bonnie," he said, indicating Professor Bonnie Margate of the Anthropology Department. "And you, Kyle," he glanced at Kyle Doherty of the History Department. "Jack, I need a minimum of four security men on this trip. There's no need for a cover for them as it's Iraq — we'll just give them credentials from the State Department and National Archives; they'll be there to assist the Iraqi government at the site, okay?"

Jack nodded his agreement.

"You two." Niles pointed toward Sarah and Carl at the end of the long conference table. "If Jack agrees, stand down for a week. You did an excellent job out there. More than likely saved some lives. Be sure you get a good once-over in medical to make sure you didn't bring some of that Kublai Khan face powder back with you. Thank you, that's all I have."

The assembled group in the conference room moved for the door as the meeting broke up.

"Jack, you have a minute?" Niles asked.

Jack placed his case and notes back on the table. His uniform's silver oak leaves glittered in the light as he pulled out his chair and sat. "Sure," he answered.

"This development with Farbeaux is worrisome. Why would he switch interests when all he ever did was to go after antiquities? It's not making a whole lot of sense."

"I can't figure it myself. I did some rough estimating on the plane ride home. The anthrax, even if only thirty percent of it had been viable after so many years, it would have been worth five hundred million dollars on the open market."

"God almighty, Jack, would he have had any takers at that price?" Niles asked, astonished.

"That sum would have eliminated any low-budget fringe elements that pass themselves off as terrorists, but the new influx of Middle Eastern money has filled the wallets of JRA leadership and a few others, so they can afford it. Also, don't forget Osama bin Laden and his boys, so yeah, there are those willing to pay big money for crap like that. If we had had more time on this operation we could have passed this information on to the FBI through another channel and they could have set up some kind of sting and netted a whole bunch of bad guys," he said with regret.

"What in God's name is Farbeaux up to?" Niles asked, not wanting to comment on the lost opportunity.

Jack just sat there and shook his head. "You can bet your retirement pay it's not good, Niles."

Farbeaux was feeling the jet lag. He sat and listened to the tirade of Joaquin Delacruz Mendez, chairman of the board, Banco de Juarez International Economica, as Mendez paced in front of him. The spacious boardroom was empty save for the two men.

"What's done is done, my friend, screaming will not return the professor to us. She has five, almost six weeks on us but, regardless of that, if we move quickly we can reach the area in a quarter of that time. It's a very good thing we did not go down and chase after her with the documents we had in hand; we would have gone the long way around through Brazil instead of the direct route through Colombia to the north. I can't believe she went right under our noses, through your own country."

Mendez didn't respond to the slight insult of having Professor Zachary and all her team and equipment take a route that had brought them through his own nation, but he did force himself to calm down. His temper had climbed in the years that followed the collapse of the larger and most organized of the Colombian drug cartels. Cartels in which he had garnered an immense financial empire by handling the money end of their drug transactions. While those he served were tracked down and killed one at a time or thrown into prison, he had stayed safely behind the scenes, actually assisting in a few captures and ambushes on the government's behalf, for his self-benefit.

"What about your equipment?"

"I took the liberty a week ago of ordering replacements from the States when I found out the good professor double-crossed us. We can be ready to travel in three days. With the equipment that was left on the dock in San Pedro with her little note attached, we should be fine. I guarantee, an hour after we arrive on site, whatever Zachary has found will be in our possession."

"You are very confident for a man that was so easily fooled by this woman," Mendez said with a mocking smile that made his thick mustache look comical.

Farbeaux was tempted to tell him just how ridiculous he looked, and then thought better of it. As he looked around the richly appointed conference room at the antiquities he had personally collected for Mendez, he was reminded of just how ruthless this man could be.

"My estimation is that she could not have arrived on site any sooner than eleven days ago. Her interest lay in areas outside of the El Dorado aspect. So she will be making time-consuming exploration in areas outside of the mine, looking for her amphibious legend."

"You're sure of that?" Mendez asked as he thought of the riches that the legend of El Dorado described — the very gold mine that had supplied the great Incan and Mayan empires of the gold they had used for thousands of years.

"My friend, I have never let you down. All your treasures here and in your home are there thanks to me. Because you trusted me to get them for you, so trust me on this."

"In the past year I have been pleased with your work and the many objects of beauty and wonder you have recovered for our mutual benefit. I will stake my entire fortune for a chance at El Dorado. And then I will gladly trade that for the mineral, if it is truly there. That is where the real El Dorado lay."

Farbeaux thought about Mendez and his last statement. Yes, he was positive there was gold in that small valley and, according to Padilla's description of the mine, it had to be the legendary El Dorado. But unlike himself, gold didn't interest Mendez any longer. The Colombian was after something far darker and less shiny than gold. As the American's say, Mendez was after the gift that keeps on giving. And it had nothing to do with diamonds or gold.

"You are right, my friend, there has never been anything like this, all of this," Farbeaux said as he gestured at the priceless antiques of the Incan and Mayan civilizations, "is nothing compared to what awaits us."

Mendez paced to the large window looking down on Bogota, placed his hands behind his back, and rocked in thought.

"Very well, I approve of your expedition," he said without turning.

"Excellent, I will get started right away," Farbeaux responded.

"There is one thing more. I will be accompanying you."

The Frenchman was taken aback for a moment, but showed nothing. Then he smiled. "Either here or there, does it matter where you receive what's coming to you? Of course, you are most welcome."

As Farbeaux left, Mendez turned and watched the large double doors close in his wake. Then he went to the long table and pushed a button on the console in front of his large chair.

"Yes?" a voice answered.

"This is Mendez; I have approved the operation in South America," he said.

"What is it you wish me to do?" the voice asked.

"I want wire taps on this Professor Zachary's phone at Stanford, and I want her office watched. I am curious to know if her absence has caused curiosity from the outside."

"Yes, I can do that."

"Anything else?" Mendez asked.

"Si, jefe, it seems your French partner has recently made another large purchase of equipment not associated with the articles he told you about, which included ultrasound and other equipment stolen from a shipment belonging to Hanford National Laboratory. This fact and his failure to cover his tracks in Madrid make me believe he has his own agenda. Why this particular shipment should come from that field is suspicious, yes?"

"Enough so that we must keep a closer eye on our friend," Mendez answered thoughtfully as he broke the connection with Los Angeles.

7

Family law attorney Stan Stopher sat in his rented Chevy and made sure the address was correct. He glanced at the envelope and the name, and they matched with what was on the old neon sign out in front of the building. Stan opened the car door and stepped into the Las Vegas heat that hit him as if someone had just opened the door of a blast furnace. He walked back to the trunk, retrieved the aluminum box, then hesitated. This act of delivering the case was tantamount to admitting that he would possibly never see her again. He knew she was in trouble, but for the life of him couldn't figure out why she was sending the fossil to a pawnshop.

He closed the trunk, walked up to the door, and pushed down on the old thumb plate. The door easily opened. He didn't notice that the cameras placed in the doorway and three more across the street followed his every move. He felt the blessed air-conditioning strike him in his face, instantly cooling his sweaty brow. He set the case down and removed his sunglasses as his eyes adjusted to the brightly lit shop, then retrieved the case and followed a cramped aisle toward the back of the shop. Two young girls were going through the used CD collection, but other than them, the pawnshop was empty of customers. A large black man was seated behind the counter, reading a newspaper, both of his muscular arms resting on the glass. At least, to an untrained eye, he was reading. Stan was an observant man and he saw the black man's gaze take in his thin frame. Then the man closed the paper and looked up at him overtly. His left hand stayed on the glass countertop but his right disappeared.

"Hi, there," the black man said. "What have you got? I hope it's not vinyl LPs; can't get rid of 'em anymore," he said, indicating the aluminum case.

Stan placed the shiny box on the counter and smiled. "No, I would never sell my collection of phonograph records."

"Oh, then how can I help you?" the clerk asked. His right hand was still not in view.

"Well," Stan reached into his shirt pocket and brought out the envelope and his business card, "a close friend of mine asked me to deliver this," he said, tapping the container and handing the black man the card.

The clerk looked more closely at the bright aluminum box and then stepped on a small red button on the floor by his foot.

"I see, Mr. — " he looked at the business card, "Stopher. Let's start with who your friend is and then we'll move on to what's in the case."

At that moment another man stepped out from behind a curtain at the back of the counter and without looking, only whistling, walked around to a rack of sunglasses. He started using a pricing gun left-handedly to mark the price of the glasses.

"Well, the container belongs to a very dear friend whose name is Professor Helen Zachary. She is director of Zoology at Stanford University, and what is in the box is for the recipient only."

"And that is?"

Without looking at the envelope he said the name he had memorized, "Dr. Niles Compton. Does the good doctor own this establishment?" Stan asked.

"He owns the building, we just lease. I can deliver this, as long as it's not a bomb," the clerk said and smiled. The man pricing sunglasses didn't. The fingers of his right hand were lightly tickling a Beretta automatic pistol lodged just inside the front of his shirt.

"No, nothing as exciting as a bomb, I'm afraid."

"Well, we can get it to him. Can I help you with anything? Maybe add to your collection of LPs?"

"No, thank you, your prices are kind of steep, I noticed." Then he became deadly serious. "Look, I need to know where this case is going. This is a very dear friend of mine and I'm worried beyond measure."

"Sir, if you were instructed to deliver this package to Dr. Compton, you can bet action will be taken to help. I'm sure someone will be in touch as soon as possible."

The attorney wasn't satisfied, but put his faith in the fact that Helen must have known what she was doing.

Staff Sergeant Will Mendenhall watched as the old man left the shop. He looked at the card and then over to Lance Corporal Tommy Nance, United States Marine Corps.

"We better get this X-rayed," said Mendenhall, standing from his stool, where he had been in easy reach of the.45 automatic holstered behind the display case. As he grabbed for the aluminum box, he heard the click of an M-16 being placed on safety from behind the curtain. "Watch the store, Corporal, and try to get those two girls to buy something."

Corporal Nance straightened his collar and walked over to the girls, his broad smile gleaming.

"Hi, there," he said as suavely as he could.

The tallest one turned around and smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. She couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. Nance's interest deflated. He kept busy ticketing for the next twenty minutes, listening to the two underage girls giggle and flirt with him. Sometimes gate duty truly sucked.

The back room at the Gold City Pawnshop was no different in appearance than a hundred others with in the Las Vegas City limits. Stored there were items just tagged as collateral and others that had been pulled off the shelf for not selling. It was the door in the back that led to the office that hid the wizard behind the curtain.

Staff Sergeant Will Mendenhall was sitting and looking at the aluminum case and shaking his head. He had just finished speaking with Lieutenant Commander Carl Everett, who had ordered the attorney followed. A two-man team was currently tailing Stanley Stopher to wherever he was staying. Just in case they needed him for any reason. When Mendenhall had explained what the X-ray had turned up, security protocol went into immediate effect. The case and envelope addressed to Director Compton was sitting on the watch commander's desk.

Mendenhall heard the elevator arrive from the lower level, and the false-fronted wall slide aside. He turned and stood when he saw it was not only Carl who had arrived, but Major Collins also.

"So, we have a skeletal hand in a box?" Jack asked.

"Yes, sir, wasn't expecting that," Mendenhall said with a smile.

"And our tail is still in contact with our attorney friend?"

"Yes, sir, they just checked in. It seems Mr. Stopher is heading for McCarran airport. You want them to follow along?"

Jack pursed his lips and thought. "I'll have the USC field team pulled off duty and tail him long enough to make sure he's who he says he is."

Jack looked the container over and then read the heading on the envelope. He then pulled the computer monitor around to face him and Carl. The X-ray image was still up and he examined it. "Nothing but the aluminum case, bone, and foam, with a hard rubber gasket lining the lid and soft neoprene for atmosphere evacuation. The computer is one hundred percent on this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Still, how is it that someone can walk right in off the street and know that this is a gate to the Group?" Carl asked.

"Simple, if he didn't know it was a gate and was instructed to deliver the item to this address by a former Group member," Mendenhall ventured.

Both Jack and Carl stopped talking and stared at the sergeant.

"Or maybe not," Mendenhall said, looking embarrassed for interrupting the two officers.

Jack looked from Mendenhall and then back to Carl, who slapped the sergeant on the shoulder.

"Look, Will, anytime that you see your commanding officers overlooking the obvious, feel free to make them look and feel like idiots," Carl said.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's play postman and deliver the mail," Jack said as he pocketed the envelope and lifted the container.

Two hours after they had delivered the strange box and envelope to Director Compton, Jack was with Sarah on the first vault level. He was supervising the installation of the new eye-scan security system that was to be patched into the Cray supercomputer, Europa, which would allow the new system to be fully operational in each of the eleven thousand vaults on the three levels of artifact storage. Sarah McIntire was in charge of the actual installation, due to her experience with the surrounding granite walls, as it wouldn't do to have a cave-in on the vault level. This particular level was one of the first excavated in 1944 when the caves underneath Nellis were expanded for the new home of the Event Group, as ordered by then president Roosevelt.

Jack tested the last system installed on this level by placing his right eye to the rubber-lined glass lens. The smoke-colored glass panel to the right printed out his name and rank and parent service. Then Europa, which replaced the sexy-voiced computer system of the old Cray, told Jack that he was cleared for Vault 2777 just as the fifteen-foot stainless-steel door opened with a hiss.

"Goddammit!" Jack said aloud when the familiar sexy female voice cleared him to enter. The last time he had worked with Europa, the electronic voice had been programmed with a new male auditory system, clean, functional, and definitely not sexy. Someone had gone back and intentionally synthesized the old female voice that sounded uncannily like Marilyn Monroe's.

"What is it?" Sarah asked as she stepped up with a clipboard after checking the wall and ceiling strata for the thousandth time.

"I'm going to ream Pete Golding's ass in the computer center. Someone changed the auditory program on Europa back to that female voice."

"There was a rumor that someone was going to do it. No one liked the male voice. It sounded too much like—" Sarah caught herself before she said it and bit her lower lip. "You want to get something to eat?"

"Sounded too much like what?" Jack asked, narrowing his eyes.

Sarah smiled as she pretended to write something on her clipboard.

"Lieutenant, while you're writing, you may as well place yourself on my shit list if you don't answer my question."

"All right, everyone thought it sounded like you. It was just too damned creepy."

"Like me? It didn't sound like me… who said it sounded like me?…it wasn't me at all," he protested.

Mendenhall joined them. "Last sensor is in on this level, Major," he said as he flipped a screwdriver into the air and caught it.

"Sergeant, did the Cray auditory system sound like me?"

Mendenhall stopped suddenly in his tracks. "You know, I didn't peel the plastic protectant off the monitor screen. I'll be right back and then—"

"You're not going anywhere; answer my question."

"It was weird, Major, I'm not kidding. It felt like Big Brother…and… well…it was just… strange," he said as he looked down at his boots.

"I told you."

Jack was about to say something when Alice Hamilton's voice came out of the speaker built into the vault's door frame: "Will Major Collins please report to the main conference room, please, Major Collins to the conference room."

"Hey, wasn't that Alice?" Sarah asked brightly.

Jack didn't respond at first. He looked at Sarah and then Mendenhall.

"We're not through with this voice imprint thing. I want to know who was in on it."

"You want us to rat on our comrades? The sergeant here said you would try and track down those involved…" She stopped when she saw Jack smile. "What?"

"Lieutenant, you just told him who was involved," Mendenhall said with his chin on his chest.

"And tell Commander Everett I'll be speaking to him also," Jack said as he turned and walked away.

Sarah flinched and closed her eyes, and the sergeant grimaced.

"Shit," both Mendenhall and Sarah said at the same time.

Alice Hamilton, the semiretired administrative head of the Event Group, greeted Jack at the door just as she had when he had first arrived over a year ago. She was beaming and looking quite a bit younger than her eighty-one years. She was wearing her hair in her customary bun and holding her ever-present file to her chest. Jack walked up and hugged her.

"Alice, I forgot how your smile brightens this place up," he said, placing her at arm's length to look her over. "What the hell's going on? Did you find a fountain of youth out there?"

"Oh, knock it off," she said, embarrassed.

"How is the senator, getting along all right?"

"He's a bear, constantly pacing back and forth in his study. I suppose Niles has told you he calls the poor man every other day, asking what's going on."

Jack had only worked with the former director of the Group on one mission prior to the president's retiring him, but in that short amount of time the former OSS operative and senator from Maine had made an indelible mark upon Jack's life. The man was, to put it frankly, brilliant.

"Niles said he looks forward to bouncing things off the senator; I'm sure he's no bother. So, what brings you here?" he asked.

Alice frowned and looked around the reception area. Niles had not yet exited his office across the way to begin the meeting, so she thought to take a brief moment and fill Jack in.

"Jack, we have a serious situation down in South America. A former member of the Group has gone and gotten herself… well, lost. She hasn't been heard from as she missed her call-in time to her associate three days ago."

"Go on," Jack said as he walked with her.

"Well, this professor was asked to leave by the senator fifteen years ago. She became obsessed with something she came across and couldn't let it go. It drove her close to insanity, she even went as far as to 'borrow' certain files from the Group, from the senator's private files as it turned out, and she accessed other areas, we're not sure which, but they had to have been serious intrusions for Garrison to act as harshly as he did. It was Niles who brought all of this to the attention of the senator back then; basically he was the one responsible for the Group's firing her."

Jack stopped and looked at Alice. His brows rose as he waited for the punch line.

"She was Director Compton's fiancee, Jack. They had been engaged for two years. I'm afraid Niles is real close to this situation, but we can't dismiss his participation in this, because the good professor may have stumbled onto something she has searched for a very long time. You have the power to say no to Niles for security reasons if he wants to go after her; just hear him out before you decide."

At that moment Niles Compton walked from his office with his new assistant following close behind. He saw Jack and Alice and nodded as he continued on to the large conference room. His assistant rolled her eyes as she fought to keep up. Jack gestured for Alice to proceed, and he followed her into the room.

Five members of the upper echelon of the Event Group were present in the room, and one person Jack didn't know. They all took their seats when Niles cleared his throat. The director picked up a remote control and punched in a button. A wide-screen television slowly slid down behind him.

Consult Group number one consisted of Jack, as head of the department's security; Niles, as director; and Alice, because she knew most of the 298,000 files and vault contents by heart and could access her amazing memory at a moment's notice. Then there was Virginia Pollock, the deputy director of Department 5656; Pete Golding, of the Computer Sciences Department; and, for a reason the others weren't privy to, Heidi Rodriguez, of the Zoology Department.

"I excused Mathew Gates from this meeting as it really didn't concern languages, at least not yet. I did ask Heidi here to join us, because for the past two hours she's been quite busy assisting me with some research and can speak for the scientific end of things." Niles gestured to the dark-haired diminutive woman of about forty, who smiled and nodded to the others.

Niles pushed a button on the remote and a three-dimensional image appeared on the screen behind him. The visual was assisted by a small multicolored plate that acted as a 3-D lens. It produced a clear and precise picture that would have been the envy of Hollywood.

"Good God, what is that?" Pete asked.

"It's a fossil that former Group member Helen Zachary's ex-husband sent back from Peru fifteen years ago, when he had been a construction consultant for the Peruvian government. They were dredging and widening three tributaries of the Amazon River, for added space for commerce along the river," Niles said. On the screen behind him, a full-color image of the fossil slowly turned 360 degrees.

Virginia Pollock cleared her throat.

"Yes, Virginia?" Niles asked.

"We're not going to start this again, are we? I mean—"

"I know what you mean. For those of you that don't know, Helen Zachary was terminated from the Group for her fanaticism about this fossil," he said, frowning in the direction of Virginia. "Things have changed. Helen came into possession of new information about the Padilla expedition," he said, looking around the room.

"You can learn about the legend of that expedition from the folders in front of you; due to the hurried nature of the situation, we will not cover the historical aspects of this at this meeting. We must move on," Alice said.

"Helen used the files she stole from the Group's first complex in Virginia, where our old data and equipment are stored. She deduced from those files where the diary of Padilla was possibly hidden in the Vatican Archives in 1874. It seems one of the files contained an old OSS report of an Army Corps of Engineers study of the region in the Amazon basin and its history from the late thirties to 1940. She used that information to track down one or two known sources that depict the exact route of the Spanish expedition. In short, she may have found the valley and the very lagoon detailed in the legend, as taken from the diary."

"Did she leave you the route, Dr. Compton?" Jack asked.

Niles smiled and removed his glasses. "Helen is a very complex woman, Jack. She trusted no one in her search for the origins of the fossil." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and then continued. "The Padilla legend has many parts; the diary and lost maps were only a couple of the stories to come out of that time. As Helen reported to us a few years ago, she discovered that the Vatican put the clamps on the diary, a supposed map Padilla had made in case the diary was lost, and two samples of something, probably gold, which the survivor may have carried out."

"So, if she had made these discoveries in the old files, why didn't the Group move on her request?" Jack asked.

"Because in the end, even with all of her data, it was all just circumstantial, no hard evidence at all. In the end, the Padilla legend is just that, a legend, a story handed down, about which not one single fact has come to official light."

"Fifteen years ago, the Group was split as to the authenticity of the legend, even though our top anthropologist was adamant that she was dealing with fact, not just a myth. Her department was able to finally verify that Padilla did actually exist and that he was regarded as one of Pizarro's best officers. The files that were stolen also detailed the rescue of a group of doctors from Princeton and the University of Chicago from Brazil in 1942. I don't know what she could have learned from them. The team of OSS men was led by our own Senator Garrison Lee."

"As I said, it's all just a fanciful legend," Virginia said as she pushed the file away from her. "What have we learned about this fossil?" she asked.

"I'll let Heidi answer your question. Please make it quick, Doctor."

"Well," Heidi Rodriguez said as she stood and walked to the screen. "I'll try and abbreviate my conclusions, although this specimen hardly calls for an abbreviated anything. To begin with, the age of the fossil is between four hundred and eighty and five hundred and eighty years old," she said, "an accuracy measurement of plus or minus one hundred years."

"What?" Virginia asked as she stared at the image on the screen.

"Yes, our methods of dating fossils are much improved since Helen Zachary was here. But then she suspected its age anyway, because of the legend." Heidi picked up a pointer. "Now, if you will look here you can see dried and hardened tissue, more than likely cartilage of some sort along the third knuckle of each digit, even the thumb. It appears to have been scaled tissue that stretched from digit to digit and between the index finger and thumb."

"What are you saying?" Pete asked as he took a break from chewing on his pencil.

"I'm saying that the creature this hand belonged to had webbed fingers. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is fact and not legend," Heidi said, looking at Virginia.

"Helen is missing. She left for South America five weeks ago and hasn't returned, hasn't checked in." Niles held up the letter Helen had left him. "She stated in this letter that the diary was in the possession of the Archdiocese of Madrid. She also stated she had received help from a man," he looked at his notes, "a Mr. Henri St. Claire, a French money man. We indexed that name with our files, and lo and behold, the name of an old friend came up as using that particular alias once before, Colonel Henri Farbeaux."

Silence at first greeted Niles's revelation. Of all the people in the world to have turned up, none of them expected that.

"It seems Dr. Zachary has fallen in with a bad crowd," Jack said finally.

"Yes, it would seem," Niles answered. "I have a call in to our supposed new friend in France, and Ms. Serrate has agreed to pay us a visit here in the States in case she can be of assistance. I don't like the fact that his name has surfaced twice in just a matter of a few weeks. And now with Helen's disappearance, I fear she may have stumbled onto something outside of her expertise." He gave the letter to Alice. "Bring everyone up to speed on what Helen had to say."

"I'll read just the pertinent information," she said, opening the letter.

"Read it in its entirety; leave nothing out," Niles said as he sat heavily into his chair.

Alice scrutinized him a moment, then read

Everyone in the room looked from one to the other. None of them looked at Niles and he seemed grateful for that small mercy. He unknotted his tie and stood.

Virginia cleared her throat as she always did when she had a point to make. "She seems to give away a lot of information for someone to track."

"No. We have the files in the Group's old facility in Arlington, so no one but us can get to them," said Niles.

"If Farbeaux is involved, that makes this…this situation delicate, to say the least. Obviously, according to his history, he would be after—" She opened the file and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. She raised her glasses to her eyes and read, "The El Dorado of the Americas. Now if that is just a legend or not, it makes no difference. Between Farbeaux's making a play for whatever is there and those missing kids, I feel we must go. If we can, that is," Virginia said as she closed the file and looked at Niles expectantly.

"Jack?" Niles asked, holding his breath because he knew the auspices of the security department could veto the Event declaration for safety reasons. Niles knew he could override every voice in the room except Jack's; his was the only one Niles could not because of losses of Event personnel in the past. Jack's department was their only fail-safe to keep losses at a minimum.

"I agree, but regardless of the need you feel to hurry, we have many problems to overcome, the least of which is finding out just where in the hell it is we are going."

"I'm not as worried about that as much as what we'll find once our people get down there," Pete said as he stood.

There was a knock at the double conference room doors, and Niles's new assistant walked over to answer it. She stepped aside and a private first corporal in the red-trimmed coveralls of the Communication and Signals Department entered.

"I figured the first place to start is to get a team to Madrid to speak with the archbishop, for obvious reasons," Niles said. "PFC Hanley here was to make an appointment for us."

Instead of announcing anything to the gathered department heads, the private went straight to Niles and handed him a slip of flimsy, then departed the room. Niles scanned it and then looked around the table.

"Well, who's to go to Spain?" Virginia asked.

Compton handed the yellow paper to Alice and then removed his thick glasses.

"It looks like we have to do this the hard way," Alice said, as she lowered her own glasses, which dangled from a long gold chain. "It seems Archbishop Santiago was murdered yesterday afternoon."

The news was greeted with silence and dismayed looks.

It was Alice who broke it.

"This does not fit Mr. Farbeaux's profile at all. He's not a cold-blooded killer, he only takes life as a necessary function in saving his own skin, and the archbishop would have posed no threat to him."

"I think we may have to reevaluate certain realities here. Something is out there that is driving people to extremes, so let's start with blank paper and not go in with any preconceived notions," Jack said, looking from face to face.

"We'll have to start here, in our own files. The answer is there, Helen Zachary found it, and so will we. I'll break down everyone's duties and get back to you. As of," Niles looked at his watch, "0945, I am declaring an Event. I'll speak with the president. Excused," he finished.