Undisclosed

The three-foot-high by four-foot-long double-paned barrier of glass stood upright on the table top. Wedged inside the half-inch spacing separating the two glass panels was an ant colony, the insect habitat composed of an edible neon-blue gel.

Michael Sutterfield’s eyes followed the intricate pattern of tunnels channeling the perpetual activity of the nest. “They’re like a well-trained army.”

Dr. Mohammad Mallouh acknowledged the comment from the other side of the table. “They certainly function as a collective consciousness.”

“And not a sociopath among them, huh Dr. M? No ants committing impulsive acts… every ant doing their job. Because if an ant were to go off the rails, the others would probably have to kill it.”

“Ants are not people, Michael.”

“You’re right. The colony wouldn’t exclude one of its own kind unless the ant first did something wrong. But me — I’m banned from CE-5 training because of something I could ‘potentially’ do against the Interstellars?”

“It’s not fair, but after what happened years ago with the sociopaths in MAJI and the climate change deniers, the world is taking no chances.”

“Didn’t President Trump ban those victims of wars from entering the country because he believed Muslims were terrorists?”

“The Syrian refugees… yes.”

“Do you know a lot of Muslim terrorists?”

“I don’t, no. Your point is well taken, however—”

“I got an email yesterday from an Army recruiter. I thought maybe it was just something they send out around your thirteenth birthday, but I did some checking. Turns out military recruiters target sociopaths. Turns out a lack of conscience is a good trait to have when your government asks you to murder thousands of enemy soldiers and innocent civilians.”

“Your points are well taken.”

“But you still won’t let me participate in CE-5?”

“It’s not up to me. I’m sorry.”

Michael stared at the ant farm, his pulse a steady 63 beats per minute. “I was wrong, Dr. M. There is one sociopath among the colony — it’s the queen. She’s the reason they stay in line.”

Lifting the ant farm in both hands, the teen smashed it upon the table, his right fist emerging from the blizzard of blue goop with a shard of glass which sliced through the air, opening Dr. Mohammad Mallouh’s throat.

There was no spurt of blood, no aftermath. The lights in the Global Village Pod simply flashed on, atomizing the hologram so that only the teen remained, his sensory suit popping loose as he rose from the bucket seat.

Climbing out of the pod, Michael Sutterfield left the basement to join his parents at the dinner table.

His mother smiled. “You’re just in time. How was school?”

“Good. Dr. Mallouh said to say hello.”

30

Adam gazed around the wood-paneled chamber as the eight Democrats and twelve Republican senators made their way to their high-backed leather chairs positioned around the half-moon-shaped dais. The chamber was filled to capacity, the audience squeezed into tightly-packed rows, Dr. Steven Greer among them. More important was the presence of the two C-SPAN cameras, one aimed at the members of the committee; the other at the witness table where the Under Secretary now sat with the individuals scheduled to give testimony during the morning session.

Senator Randy Hall took his place at the center of the dais. It had taken a lot of persuasion and the calling in of several terms worth of favors for the chairman to put together a quorum of committee members in what many in the Beltway were publicly touting as a “Department of Defense witch hunt.” It was one thing to talk about “plugging the Treasury’s leaky dam,” but no elected official wanted to be placed in a position to have to punish a defense contractor… not if they had any hope of being reelected.

Senator Hall turned on his microphone. “Good morning. “As it appears we have the minimum number of senators present to declare a quorum, I will ask everyone to take their seats so that we can begin. For the record let me state that this Hearing of the Appropriations Committee was requested by Adam Shariak, the Under Secretary of Defense — Comptroller as part of an internal investigation regarding the potential existence and funding of unaccounted for programs, collectively defined as Unacknowledged Special Access Projects. These USAPs are considered illegal if they lack approval by either the President of the United States or Congress.

“Because of existing family ties between the Under Secretary and myself, I am now going to recuse myself and turn the chair over to my esteemed colleague from Michigan, Senator Karen Sampson.”

The six-term Republican accepted Randy Hall’s handshake and gavel before situating herself in his chair. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Under Secretary Shariak, before we call on your first witness to testify, perhaps you would explain to the committee what relevance Mr. Sheehan brings to this investigation.”

“Yes, Madam Chair. Because the witnesses we’ll be calling on to testify today and throughout the week were issued top security clearances and have taken a national security oath, it’s imperative that both they and the members of this committee understand that their testimony regarding illegal activities conducted by individuals or entities operating both within and outside the United States government in no way conflicts with that sworn oath. Mr. Sheehan’s experience in these matters qualifies him to address this issue and provide a necessary comfort level so that we may proceed.”

“Very well. If the witness will state his name and occupation for the record.”

The hulking man in his early seventies, with the mop of curly white hair, adjusted his microphone as he leaned in to address the members of the committee. “My name is Daniel Sheehan. I am an attorney, admitted to the bar of New York and Washington D.C. I have practiced civil law for almost forty years since graduating from Harvard Law School in 1970. Some of my more high profile cases as a constitutional trial lawyer include serving as one of the five defense attorneys assigned by the Cahill Gordon firm representing The New York Times in the Pentagon Papers case. I was one of the three trial lawyers in F. Lee Bailey’s firm assigned to represent James McCord in the Watergate burglary defense, and it was our office that persuaded Mr. McCord to write the letter to Judge John Sirrica which helped trace the chain of command of the Watergate burglars back to the White House. I was also chief counsel in the Karen Silkwood case against the Kerr McGee nuclear facility in Oklahoma, as well as the civil case against the illegal enterprises of Richard Secord and Albert Hakim, the gentlemen who were working with Lt. Colonel Oliver North.

“Prior to today’s hearing, I met with the Under Secretary and spoke with each eyewitness in regard to their involvement with these USAPs. Madame Chair, having done a great deal of analysis of the constitution, I am completely confident that the funding of these black ops projects is a violation of the Neutrality Act. The Neutrality Act is a federal statute under Title 18 of the United States code that prohibits private citizens from engaging in any type of war-like activities against any other non-United States entity without authorization from Congress. The Oath these eyewitnesses took, known as the Oath Upon Inadvertent Exposure To Classified Security Data Or Information, does not pertain to illegal activities which violate the Constitution and, therefore, the oath cannot be enforced.”

“Does the Committee have any questions for Mr. Sheehan? No? Then Mr. Sheehan you are excused. Under Secretary Shariak, you may call your next witness.”

A green-eyed, slightly balding Caucasian man in his early sixties took the microphone.

“Please state your name and occupation for the record.”

“My name is Jonathan Graham Wade and I make a living designing furniture. Prior to that, I spent thirty-seven years with the United States Air Force as a counter-intelligence officer in the Office of Special Investigations. My first assignment to what the Under Secretary refers to as a USAP occurred in the summer of 1979 when I was transferred to the Nevada Test site, which is now the Nevada Security Site. There are actually two different locations out there. There’s the test site — known as the DET-3 Test Center — and then there’s Groom Lake, better known as Area 51. I was with a detachment of test personnel from Edwards Air Force base assigned to the Groom Lake Complex. Because my primary responsibility was to conduct counter-intelligence operations at the base, I was briefed or read in on an Unacknowledged Special Access Project.”

“Can you tell us what that project involved, Mr. Wade.”

“Yes, ma’am. The project involved the United States government’s investigation of UFOs and the Air Force’s involvement with extraterrestrials.”

The chamber erupted with the buzz generated from a hundred side conversations.

Adam looked over his shoulder to steal a quick glance at Steven Greer. Instead of appearing pleased, the UFO expert had a grim look on his face.

The repetitive rapping of Senator Sampson’s gavel eventually quieted the crowd. “Another outburst like that and I’ll be forced to clear the chamber.” She stared down at the witness from her perch. “Really, Mr. Wade? This committee is investigating the potential existence of illicit defense funding and you want to turn this into a circus?”

“Senator, I was asked to testify about these Unacknowledged Special Access Projects. The reason they’re ‘Unacknowledged’ is because the individuals running them don’t want the public, your committee, the President of the United States, or even their own employees to know about them, and the biggest, most secret USAPs all deal with UFOs and ETs. Many of you may not be able to handle that fact, but if you want to dismiss the truth by labeling it a circus or conspiracy theory, or those of us who came here today to testify as nut-jobs, then you ought to consider two things: First, every one of us was entrusted with duties requiring security clearances far above top-secret; second, dismissing anyone who comes forward to discuss this topic as being crazy is exactly what the intelligence agencies and the people in charge want you to do. I know that because hiding the truth in plain sight by attacking an eyewitness’s credibility is exactly what I used to get paid a lot of money to do.”

Catcalls of “let him testify” and “we want the truth” filled the chamber.

Senator Sampson held up her hand for quiet. “Alright, Mr. Wade, you have our full attention… please continue.”

“As I was saying… while I was stationed at the Groom Lake Complex, I conducted investigations into the UFO phenomenon, with my primary mission focused on UFO sightings and any threats imposed by these extraterrestrials on Air Force or Air Force-related properties.”

“And have you actually seen a UFO?”

“Yes, senator. I saw them when I was stationed at McGuire Air Force Base in Montana — they were always buzzing the bases where the nuclear weapons are kept. I also saw footage of an aerial demonstration at Nellis where they would accelerate to incredible speeds, stop on a dime, and execute a ninety-degree turn.

“But tens of thousands of civilians have seen them as well. Back in 1997, the ETs gave us an incredible show over Phoenix that was witnessed by tens of thousands of people and, of course, was immediately dismissed by the authorities.”

“Mr. Wade, it’s hard to believe so many people have had these… encounters, and yet there’s never anything in the news or on TV.”

“Senator, maybe you still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, because if you actually think we have a free press, then you’re fooling yourself. Thanks to Ronald Reagan and deregulation, a handful of CEOs now decide what the news is, and they take their marching orders from the CIA, who will fabricate or kill any story in order to protect their own agenda. As for members of the Armed Forces, any military personnel who speak about these encounters in public or to members of the media often find themselves transferred to some remote base far from home. Soldiers in the field who were first responders to a UFO crash have been intimidated, and in some cases beaten, by arriving members of our Blue Teams, where it is Standard Operating Procedure to physically threaten the soldier or even to kill him and his family should he ever go public with what he witnessed. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve seen one of these elite Delta Force guys crack open an American soldier’s skull with the butt of his assault rifle simply because the sentry glanced at a photo of a downed UFO.”

A brief exchange among the committee members was interrupted by Senator Tiffany Townsend from Florida. “Mr. Wade, you stated that your job was to assess any threats imposed by these extraterrestrials on our Air Force facilities. Are these aliens a threat?”

“Senator, that’s a concern which dates back to late June of 1947, the first time our radar systems knocked two of these ET craft out of the sky.”

“Are you talking about Roswell, Mr. Wade?”

“Yes, Madam Chair, only the craft didn’t actually go down at Roswell. The first crash site involving two of the three ships was located southwest of Corona, New Mexico. It took the military two years before they found the second crash site, which was way out west of Magdalena. When they read us in on Yankee Black—that was the security code on this particular USAP — the first thing they did was show us a 16mm movie of the recovery. There were dead extraterrestrials at the Corona site, along with the one survivor. The bodies at the Magdalena site were too decomposed to salvage.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Wade — did you just say the authorities managed to capture a living ET?”

“Yes, ma’am. They named it EBEN, short for Extraterrestrial Biological Entity. It was taken to Kirtland Air Force Base and then on to Los Alamos. We saw footage… they kept it alive for a few years. The other bodies were sent to Wright-Patterson field in Dayton, Ohio, and placed in a deep freeze.”

“Can you describe this creature for us?”

“He was a Grey biped and male — all of the Greys were thought to be male. He was about four feet tall and hairless, with a large skull, big eyes, an indentation for a nose, and no visible ears. The Grey’s hands were slender, with four fingers and no thumbs, and the fingers had suction devices on the tips. Their outfits were skin-tight and they wore an apparatus on their head with what appeared to be an ear piece for communicating with their craft, which were saucer-shaped. Not all of the craft are saucers; some were oval, others cigar-shaped. There are big ones that look like a kid’s top. Different species… different craft.”

“How many different species have visited Earth?”

“That’s hard to say. One source told me nine; though I’ve heard as many as thirty-seven. Mind you, I’ve only seen photos of four different species. The most bizarre one looked like an insect, with big bug eyes, a large head, and a small body. They had two different hands on each arm and several joints in their legs.”

Multiple discussions broke out, quelled by the Chair’s gavel. “Senator Townsend asked you whether the ETs pose a threat. Do they, Mr. Wade?”

“Let me answer that first from the perspectives of the Eisenhower-Truman Administrations, then post-JFK. You have to remember that the majority of these encounters first began when the United States was testing the atomic bomb, culminating in the detonations in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Those events definitely caught our visitors’ attention, and throughout the late 1940s and 1950s there was a lot of UFO activity around our nuclear installations. Roswell had the 509th Bomb Wing — the only nuclear-capable strike force in the United States at that time, so it’s no surprise they frequented New Mexico, which was also home to the lab in Los Alamos and other nuclear testing grounds. Kirtland Air Force Base had nukes, which again drew a lot of ET activity. Between the development of the hydrogen bomb and the Cold War with the Russians, our paranoia was running pretty deep, and now Eisenhower had these ETs to deal with. Were these reconnaissance flights? A prelude to an invasion? You can hardly blame the president for wanting to keep a tight lid on everything.

“A lot of the physicists who had been involved in the Manhattan Project were assigned to the ET problem, so secrecy was second nature to them. But there were no Intel groups back then, it was just the military and the scientists.

“Things changed during the Truman years. You had the establishment of the NSA, the CIA, and the eventual engagement of a group called MJ-12, which became the agency overseeing all things ET. That’s when things evolved from assessing the threat to reverse-engineering the downed interstellar craft for our own use. That required secret bases and serious black budget defense funding and that’s when Truman lost control. Once the Military Industrial Complex and MJ-12 took over, the president and Congress no longer had a need to know, and suddenly the money started pouring in.

“JFK knew about the ETs and these black budget projects and wanted to pull back the reins, beginning with the CIA. I realize that sounds like more conspiracy theory, but if you believe in the free press, then you probably believe in magic bullets and Lee Harvey Oswald too.”

“I think we can do without the sarcasm, Mr. Wade. We’re still waiting for you to answer Senator Townsend’s question… are these extraterrestrials a threat?”

“Madam Chair, if these Interstellars wanted to destroy us, they could have done so at anytime. God knows we’ve certainly provoked them, taking out several dozen of their craft since 1947. In my opinion, the bigger threat to humanity are these USAPs. Trillions of dollars have been siphoned out of the U.S. Treasury to pay for these vast subterranean complexes located miles beneath our air force bases — the Under Secretary has a pretty accurate list. The people working down there are well paid, but everything is kept extremely compartmentalized. The most advanced projects are run by our biggest defense contractors: E-Systems, Lockheed, Northrop-Grumman, Johnson Systems, Sandia, Livermore, Los Alamos, Techtronics… GE. Motorola had a huge facility where they were trying to figure out how the ETs’ communications worked.”

“These reverse-engineering projects, Mr. Wade — what have they accomplished?”

“Well, you know about the F-117 Stealth Bomber and fiber-optic cable. What you don’t know is that we solved anti-gravitics along with the energy problem more than fifty years ago. As Ben Rich, the late CEO of Lockheed-Skunkworks once said, ‘we now have the ability to take ET home.’ ”

Once more the chamber erupted in conversation.

“Mr. Wade, are you saying we may one day see flying cars?”

“No. I’m saying we’ve had the technology for decades. Unfortunately, it’s been black-shelved.”

“Black-shelved? What does that mean exactly?”

“It means the powers that be have purposely kept it from the masses by denying patents, confiscating inventions, and then murdering the scientists who made the breakthroughs. That’s the real crime you should be investigating.”

Applause broke out, overwhelming the proceedings.

Senator Sampson waited for the chamber to quiet down. “Who’s in charge of these programs, Mr. Wade?”

“Essentially, it’s a secret faction operating independently and without the knowledge of the government. Some choose to label it a New World Order… call them what you will — they run it all, just like the Under Secretary spoke about… it’s all true.”

Adam was about to pose a question of his own when he noticed Steven Greer waving at him from two rows back.

“Madam Chair, could we have a ten minute recess… it’s important.”

“Very well. We’ll reconvene at eleven o’clock.”

A buzz filled the chamber as conversations broke out among the charged-up crowd. Adam patted Jonathan Wade on the back before joining Dr. Greer at the rail separating the witness area from the spectators.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything. C-SPAN’s off the air; the bastards are jamming the signal just like they did sixteen years ago during the first hour of The Disclosure Project. Cell phones are out as well.”

“Damn it! Okay, let me speak to Senator Sampson—”

“Forget her, she’s useless.”

“Then my brother—”

“He’s long gone. Nothing said in these chambers will ever be covered by the media. Face it, Shariak, you’ve been set up and shut down, and don’t expect to find any allies on that committee. You can bet the farm they’re being issued specific instructions on what to say and how to proceed; just like the 9/11 commission was given back in 2002. I hate to say I told you so, but I’ve been down this road before. Washington is toxic with money and everyone is in on the take… hey, where are you going?”

Adam homed in on the court stenographer, her badge identifying her as Adeline Russell.

“Excuse me, Adeline, there’s been an emergency. I need you to email the transcript of this morning’s testimonials to my iPhone right away.”

“I can’t. The Internet’s down and no one can get a phone signal.”

“Then print me out a hard copy.”

“I still have to transcribe it. It’s all in shorthand.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know… twenty minutes.”

“But you can read what you wrote, correct?”

“You mean the shorthand? Of course.”

“Then get your machine, you’re coming with me.”

“But the hearing—”

“Your assistant can take over; I need you with me… now please.” He waited impatiently while she unplugged her machine and rolled up the cord.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m holding an impromptu press conference on the steps of the Capitol Building. When I say, I’ll need you to read the Jonathan Wade testimony aloud to the media.”

Pushing his way through the throng, he led her up the center aisle past security and out the rear doors of the chamber, his awkward gait helping to clear a path.

He found himself in the mezzanine where a crowd was assembling around a circle of reporters and their camera crews. “This is perfect. Come on.” Grabbing hold of the crook of the stenographer’s right arm, he worked his way closer until he could see the person the reporters were interviewing.

It was a Middle Eastern woman, dressed in a black one-piece Abaya — the coat-like garment topped with a matching scarf which concealed all but the bangs of her raven-colored hair. Though she was only in her early thirties, the dark eyes that scanned the crowd had witnessed several lifetimes of suffering.

Adam froze. He knew those eyes… he had seen them in a thousand dreams.

He was about to call out when Eugene Evans intercepted him. “Captain, we need to get you out of—”

“There he is!”

Suddenly all eyes and camera lenses were focusing in on him, his bodyguard, and the stenographer, who was backing away as the crowd parted before them, bringing him face-to-face with his past.

“Nadia?”

The Iraqi woman’s face contorted in horror. “Infidel warrior! Are you surprised to see me still alive after you murdered my father and left me for dead?”

Sweat beads broke out across Adam’s face. “Nadia… what are you talking about?”

“My father and I saved your cursed life after your death chopper crashed. We pulled you from the wreckage and carried you up three flights of stairs to our apartment in order to hide you from the Fedayeen. We risked our lives by helping you… and how did you repay us? By scorching me with a pot of boiling oil before stabbing my father to death, murdering him as he slept… leaving me screaming in agony as you made your escape… the American hero!”

Adam could hear the cameras click, the lights and flashes blinding his peripheral vision. “Nadia, nothing you just said is true. Why are telling these lies?”

“We shall see which one of us is lying.” Tearing off her scarf, she exposed the back of her hairless skull and the lump of flesh from a butchered skin graft, the burn scars and welts continuing down her neck and back.

“Now the world will see who you really are, Captain Adam Shariak. Now the world will know the truth!”

31

A cool mountain breeze rustled the sheer curtains framing the bedroom balcony’s open French doors, the “Nature Alarm Clock” rousing Jessica Marulli from a heavy sleep. She had set the hologram to a “Colorado lake scene,” hoping a change in her routine might curb the recent bout of depression brought on by her extended stay in the infirmary. But even the tapestry of gold splaying over a Rocky Mountain horizon had little effect on her wounded psyche.

Five days of I.V. drips had left her feeling toxic. Every breath was accompanied by the scent of medication. The veins in her arms were bruised; her tongue tasted of metal. After being discharged, she had promised Lydia that she would exercise in order to burn off the drugs in her system, but having awakened with a dull headache, a workout was the last thing on her agenda.

What she really wanted to do was finish her job and leave.

She had arrived more than a month earlier harboring the excitement of a freshman going off to college. While the requisite thirty-six-hour security marathon had tarnished her promotion, she understood the necessity of the interrogation and the five-star accommodations had made up for any bad feelings. But those in charge seemed more interested in testing her loyalty than her actual work. She realized that her personal relationship with Adam and his recent announcements were obviously causing a few members of Council to feel ill at ease, but there were other red flags that were giving her serious doubts about her own career choices.

At a time when climate change was arguably the most serious challenge facing the planet, why was zero-point-energy still being kept from the masses? Equally disturbing — why were alien reproduction vehicles being used to traffic drugs?

Forcing herself out of bed, she used the bathroom and then dressed in her lab attire. No longer trusting room service, she searched her refrigerator for something edible but found nothing.

Locating her hoverboard, she left the apartment, bound for the eatery.

The thoroughfare was busy with the usual morning traffic as the community of techs, security personnel, laborers, and engineers headed off to work. Watching the scene, Jessica realized that none of the commuters were speaking to one another. Even neighbors emerging from their abodes at the same time rarely exchanged a greeting.

They’ve established an Orwellian culture of fear…

Walking out onto the Maglev track, she set down the hoverboard and positioned her feet before giving the power cord a tug. Her pulse quickened as the device rose beneath a cushion of magnetic waves, propelling her forward.

Jessica remained in the pedestrian lane closest to the center divider, her confidence shot since the last accident. She looked around for Logan LaCombe, but the teen was probably still asleep. She passed his parents’ home without so much as a glance in case the authorities were watching her… which they probably were.

Hunger pangs sent her drifting into the faster peripheral lanes and she soon found herself approaching the mall.

Pulling on the power cord, she shut down the device and carried it to the eatery where a breakfast buffet was being served. Her stomach growled as she fixed herself a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a bagel. Too impatient to wait in line to use the toaster, she poured a coffee and situated herself at the nearest empty table.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked up, momentarily choking on a mouthful of eggs as Chris Mull occupied the chair across from her.

“Leave or I’ll call security.”

“I am security… counter-intelligence, to be exact. Every new Cosmic Clearance Council member is on probation until a C.I. officer checks them out.”

“And did I pass?”

“If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Is that what happened to my predecessor?”

“There’s a reason these facilities were built… a reason for all this security. You and the other eggheads are working with technologies that can alter the path of human evolution. There are two reasons an insider turns traitor — money and morality. We counter the former with an over-generous salary. The latter, unfortunately, can only be resolved one way.”

“You terminated Dr. Hopper?”

“With extreme prejudice; as we do with all traitors. Knowing the repercussions of any of these secrets reaching the masses, what would you do, Jessica?”

She pushed away her tray of food. “I’m not sure what sickens me more — when you refer to me and my colleagues as ‘eggheads’ or when you call me by my first name. Don’t.”

He smiled with his mouth, but the eyes were vacant. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

She waited for him to leave the vicinity before she hurried off for the nearest women’s room. Locating a vacant stall, she barely had time to aim before she lost her breakfast.

It was nearly noon when Jessica exited Elevator-7 onto the third floor. Tea and toast had soothed her upset stomach; a two-hour respite at the apartment settled her nerves.

She hustled through the anteroom and interior corridor, the air stream blasting her in the face as she headed for the Plexiglas barrier at the end of the wind tunnel and entered the Hive—

— startled by the level of activity taking place before her.

The far end of the four-story-high lab had been retracted, revealing the vast space launch complex containing the towering Atlas rockets and their gantries. Moving through the lab was a steady procession of Zeus satellites. Each of the twenty four-ton rectangular devices had been loaded onto anti-gravitic platforms which were floating six feet off the ground in a procession that ended at their assigned Atlas-V rocket — next stop… Earth orbit.

Jessica watched as Dr. Concannon escorted one of the satellites as it rose on its anti-gravity pedestal past the Atlas’s engine and booster before it disappeared into the open payload fairing atop the rocket. Her eyes locked onto Sarah Mayhew-Reece as she flew into the Hive from the tunnel and landed next to her.

“We finished prepping the SATS while you were in the infirmary,” she said, removing her anti-gavitics vest.

“I feel like I should be out there helping.”

“The Zeus crew can handle it.”

“I don’t see Mr. Mull.”

Ignoring Jessica’s comment, Sarah pointed to the ceiling above their heads. “The air conditioner duct leaked again; must have happened the night you were brought to the infirmary. Ceiling panels fell… it was quite the mess. Rats must have chewed through the security system’s electrical wires. They finished repairing everything a few days ago.”

She’s warning you that we’re being watched.

Sarah turned to Jessica, scrutinizing her pallid complexion. “You look peaked my dear; are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Come with me; I have just what you need.”

Sarah led her across the empty expanse to her office. The stacks of containers holding the zero-point-energy devices were gone and it appeared from the open cardboard boxes on the floor that her assistant was in the process of packing her personal belongings.

“Are you getting ready to leave?”

“My last day is Friday. I’m meeting my husband for a month-long vacation in Hawaii.”

“Sarah, that’s wonderful. When is my last day?”

“I don’t know. I heard Council has meetings scheduled through mid-October; I’m sure you’ll be leaving soon after that.”

“Two more weeks?”

“It’s not so bad; I haven’t seen my family since April. Do you like to cook?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Come with me… I’ll show you the hobby that keeps me sane.”

Sarah led her to a door sealed with a padlock. “I had to put a lock on the door when I caught my staff stealing from my private stash.”

Jessica pondered what kind of secret life her assistant could be leading while Sarah removed a key hanging from a lanyard around her neck and opened the lock and door.

Inside was a modern kitchen, complete with a walk-in refrigerator, aluminum prep stations, ovens, and two floor-to-ceiling wine racks — no doubt Sarah’s “stash.”

“This is… wow. I wouldn’t have expected such an elaborate kitchen in a lab.”

“I’ve been working for the organization going on twenty years. It’s in their best interest to keep me happy.”

She walked over to a gas stovetop where a large cast iron pot was simmering on a low flame. “Like you, I never had time to cook. However, I quickly tired of eating Jeffrey’s lunch meat sandwiches, and the room service entrees are too rich to eat every day… I must have gained ten pounds every time I had to report on assignment. Last year I decided I was going to learn how to cook — a virtual chef taught me how right in my apartment — and guess what… I love it.”

Sarah removed the lid from the cast iron pot, releasing an aroma that filled the room.

“Mmm… what is that?”

“Chicken and dumplings… a new twist on my grandmother’s recipe. There’s drinks in the walk-in — help yourself. Grab me a sparkling water, would you my dear?”

Jessica pulled on the metal handle of the vault-like refrigerator and entered.

Stacked on the floor were open wood-slat containers holding fresh fruit, heads of lettuce, and an assortment of vegetables. Shelves held large bricks of different cheeses and milk, along with the remains of a carton of thirty-six brown eggs.

She found an open case of sparkling water on the floor and extracted two bottles.

Sarah had set their lunch on a small folding table covered by a vinyl red and white checkered cloth. Steam rose from the two heaping bowls of chicken and dumplings, the scent causing Jessica’s mouth to water.

Before she could dip her spoon into the food, Sarah reached across the table and grasped her hands. “Would you like to say grace?”

“I’m a little out of practice. Would you mind?”

Sarah closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, we thank you for the food we’re about to eat and pray you’ll keep us safe from harm. Amen.”

“Amen. That was simple.”

“Spirituality is simple; religion complicates everything. As for grace, that’s simply asking God for a blessing we haven’t earned.”

“I like that.”

“Silly me… I forgot the sourdough bread. I made it from scratch last week and froze several loafs. It’ll take about four minutes to defrost in the microwave; go on and start eating while I heat up a loaf.”

Jessica waited until Sarah disappeared inside the walk-in refrigerator before dipping her tablespoon into the lumpy broth. “Oh my God, Sarah… this is amazing.”

She looked up as her assistant placed an object inside the microwave — only it wasn’t a loaf of bread. She set the timer for four minutes and pressed start, filling the room with static white noise.

Sarah returned to her seat, her expression now all business.

“The object I placed in the microwave is designed to scramble any security devices that could be eavesdropping on us, along with any psychotronic waves. As you’ve probably guessed by now, Mr. Mull was never a member of Zeus—he works in counter-intelligence. His boss is a sick bastard named Colonel Alexander Johnston, or as he prefers to be called—Dr. Death. Johnston fits the definition of a sociopath and recruits military personnel who also share this abnormality.

“A sociopath is wired differently than the rest of us, Jessica. A sociopath lacks the capacity to love. To these individuals, God is a black hole; morality a compass they were never equipped with at birth. While we may feel sorry for them, I can assure you they do not feel sorry for us. History has been poisoned by their rise through the business, political, and military ranks; millions have been tortured and murdered by their calculated cruelty. Pol Pot, Saddam and the sadistic members of his Republican Guard who now run ISIS… Kim Jung Un, Vladimir Putin… all sociopaths. Hitler was a madman, but it was psychopaths like Josef Mengele who ushered Satan into the Third Reich. Like moths to a flame, the sociopaths who ran European and American banks and corporations during World War II never hesitated to do business with the Nazis, and when the war was over, they offered them sanctuary.

“It is from this pool of soulless agents that MJ-12 recruited its most hardcore members during the fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, and into the nineties. As the Cold War ended, things began to change. Today, most of the younger members of Council, as well as the scientists and military intelligence who work for the organization now calling itself MAJI, are moral individuals who realize that we have at our fingertips an endless clean energy source that can reverse climate change and end poverty, hunger, and disease… that if we simply put aside our differences we can evolve as a species and travel across the galaxy.”

“If the sociopaths are the minority, as you say, then what’s the problem? Kick the bastards out… or terminate them. I won’t be shedding any tears.”

“Hitler’s generals had made similar plans. They tried, failed, and were executed. Any revolution in the ranks must account for Dr. Death, who has access to psychotronic devices that can drive you into madness. His version of the S.S. — the Sociopathic Security — remain loyal to him.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m trying to protect you, Jessica. The air conditioning duct… punching through the foil shield that surrounds the Hive — I had to cover your tracks. I found the anti-security device in your lab coat. I assumed you used it to access my office.”

Jessica felt the blood drain from her face. “I didn’t break in… I was thinking about it when the ceiling started falling… when the roof retracted—”

“Don’t lie, Jessica. We both know you wanted to steal one of the rotary ZPE devices.”

“Okay, I did break in, but not to steal one of the units… to return it. Mull was blackmailing me… he switched out the rotary ZPE from SAT-3 with a fake device, then had the real thing delivered to my room. Instead of handing it off to some mysterious contact, I broke into your office and returned it.”

“Who gave you the looping device?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I need to know in order to determine if I can trust you, Jessica.”

“And I need to know if I can trust you, Sarah. If you respect that, then you won’t ask who helped me.”

“Let me see your forearms.”

Jessica hesitated, then she held out her arms.

Sarah inspected each limb, tracing the veins along her assistant’s biceps.

“What are you doing?”

“This area along your left arm… is it sore?”

“Yes.”

“The physician who treated you implanted a nano-device inside your brachial artery. Dr. Death obviously doesn’t trust you either.”

“How do I get it out?”

“It will dissolve by itself in a few weeks before you leave; in less time if you exercise.”

That’s why Lydia wanted me to work out. She knew…

“Jessica, it’s very important that you not leave the facility until after the device dissolves. If the colonel arranged this, then you can bet the farm he equipped it with a charge that functions sort of like an electrical dog collar and fence.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If the dog passes outside the boundaries of the electrical fence it receives a shock. If you leave the electromagnetic shielding that surrounds this facility before that unit dissolves, a tiny charge will cause the device to explode inside your arm like a firecracker. The brachial artery is a major blood vessel; you’ll bleed to death before anyone can help you.”

32

The curvy redhead seated across from him in the beige business suit adjusted her reading glasses, revealing the wrist tattoo.

“Mr. Shariak, my name is Kim Mather and I’ll be serving as lead counsel. The purpose of this meeting is to determine the best course of action in dealing with what has quickly become a P.R. nightmare for the president.”

“Is that why he flew to Beijing three days early?”

“President Trump asked the Chinese to move up trade talks so an agreement could be in place prior to November’s Climate Change Summit in Boston. I’m sure the change in schedule had nothing to do with you.”

“Of course not.”

Ignoring the comment, the redhead opened the sealed military file before her. “We’ve reviewed the Army’s report detailing your Apache being shot down over the city of Karbala, as well as a statement from your co-pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Jared Betz.”

“And you have my report?”

“We do. But I’d rather you tell us what happened… in your own words.”

Adam gazed around at the oval conference table at the other eight attorneys — all men. He wondered whether Ms. Mather would have been included in the “boys’ club” had his accuser been a male.

He directed his response to the woman. “The cockpit had collapsed around me. Jared attempted to move me but my left leg was badly injured, the femur had snapped on impact and the pain was pulling me in and out of consciousness. I vaguely remember him telling me that he was going for help. The next thing I know I was being removed from the wreckage by men wearing masks.”

“Was the woman with them?”

“You mean Nadia? She was fourteen at the time… hardly a woman. No. I didn’t meet her until I came to inside the cellar.”

The attorney checked her notes. “Ms. Kalaf claims that she and her father carried you up three flights of stairs to their apartment.”

“I don’t know who carried me or where they took me, but the place I was kept was quite small and definitely underground. They were using it as a weapons cache.”

“What makes you so sure it was below ground?”

“Concrete floor… concrete walls. No windows. Sound was completely muted; they never worried when either one of us screamed.”

Kim Mather paused from jotting notes on her legal pad. “Tell us about Abu Anas al-Baghdadi.”

“At the time all I knew was that he was a commander in Saddam’s Republican Guard. Years later our military hired him to recruit members of the Shia Badr militia into the Wolf Brigade, the 2nd battalion of the interior ministry’s special commandos. Essentially, the interior minister hired them to terrorize insurgents. They wore red berets and sunglasses and drove around in convoys of Toyota Landcruisers. They had a reputation for torturing Iraqi prisoners using electric drills. These are the same sick fucks who are now running ISIS.”

“Tell us about the girl.”

“She told me she had been kidnapped and made a sex slave. Nadia’s mother had been a nurse; in Ali’s mind that qualified her to keep me alive. My leg was in horrible shape… my foot had swollen to twice its normal size and gangrene was setting in. Baghdadi spoke to me in English, claiming he was negotiating a prisoner exchange. What he never realized was that I understood enough Farsi to figure out that his plan was to get as much information from me as he could, then take me to a bridge located just south of Baghdad and publicly behead me.

“He quickly grew frustrated as all I ever did was babble incoherently. Some of this was exaggerated, but by the end of the first week I was in such bad shape that they no longer bothered shackling me.

“I was close to death the morning two guardsmen arrived carrying boxes of fliers. They warned Nadia not to touch them and ordered her to prepare me to travel. They’d said they’d be back in thirty minutes and left.

“The two of us were alone in the basement, but we could hear men walking on the first floor above us. I knew they were going to kill us; I just had to convince Nadia. I begged her to read one of the fliers. She translated the Arabic for me: ‘This American soldier killed innocent Iraqis and raped the girl. He has been slaughtered in accordance with God’s will.’

“When Nadia read that, she knew they were going to kill her, too. Unfortunately, there were no weapons left, but there was a small wooden table and four chairs set up in a corner for cards. With Nadia’s help, I unscrewed one of the legs and then returned to my spot on the floor, covering my makeshift club with a blanket.

“When the two men returned, they found me unconscious and Nadia naked, in the process of getting dressed. She tried to fend them off, but they quickly had her bent over the table… never noticing the missing leg — until the table collapsed.

“Nadia and the guardsman who was sodomizing her went down in a heap. By then I was standing behind his partner, who was laughing hysterically. I took him out with one blow to the back of the skull. I had his gun in my hand before his partner could react. The girl took the table leg from me and beat him senseless.”

“You said there were soldiers upstairs… how did you manage to escape? Could you even walk?”

“My leg couldn’t bear any weight. I grabbed one of the guard’s weapons and made my way up the ladder leading out of the cellar. Nadia walked out ahead of me to draw the soldiers’ attention and I came out firing. We managed to make it outside to a main thoroughfare where she flagged down one of our Hummers. The rest is a blur.”

“Was that the last time you saw Ms. Kalaf?”

“Yes. Until she showed up yesterday, I had no clue whether she was dead or alive. But I certainly didn’t rape her or pour boiling oil over her scalp.”

Kim Mather finished writing a note before turning to one of the firm’s senior partners. “Sean?”

“Why do you think she showed up now, Mr. Under Secretary?”

“I think a fifth grader could answer that. This is a classic CIA counter-intelligence move designed to focus the public’s attention on my credibility and away from the investigation and the testimony my witnesses were in the process of disclosing.”

“And what was that, Mr. Shariak? What is the big secret?”

“You’re kidding, right? It’s not in your notes?”

The female attorney searched quickly through her folder… shaking her head.

“UFOs… extraterrestrials! These Unacknowledged Special Access Projects that have been secretly channeling trillions of dollars into covert programs which successfully reverse-engineered advanced alien technologies… and yes, I know I sound like a complete and utter asshole, but it’s all true. And the Intel organizations preventing public knowledge and access to these technologies — which include free, clean zero-point-energy generators — basically shut down the message, as they have done for the last seventy years.”

Adam’s gaze fell upon the redhead’s wrist tattoo. “Courage… Strength… sorry, I can’t see the last word—”

“Faith.”

“Faith… of course. Certainly words to live by, but words without action don’t effect change. I never claimed to be a war hero, Ms. Mather, but I think you can see I’m no war criminal… that Nadia has been coerced into doing this.

“The question now is whether the Trump Administration has the balls to see this thing through.”

33

It was late in the afternoon by the time Jessica returned to her suite. She had spent two hours in the gym and the last twenty minutes buying groceries from the mini mart. After setting the perishables inside the refrigerator, she grabbed a bottle of water and flopped down on the recliner.

Her iPhone dinged with a text from Sarah. “TURN ON CNN!”

The live CNN report showed General Ronald Rahn, Head of the Defense Intelligence Agency, standing behind a podium before a room filled with reporters.

“… the president wants to make it perfectly clear that the Under Secretary has the White House’s full support and confidence. However, due to the sensitive nature of these accusations, all parties felt it was best that Mr. Shariak step down until the issue can be properly investigated.”

They fired Adam? What the hell happened? She glanced at the engagement ring on her finger. I need to call him—

“General, doesn’t it seem a bit odd that this Iraqi woman would suddenly appear out of the blue on Shariak’s first day of the DoD’s hearing? How did she get here? Who sponsored her trip?”

“There’s little doubt Ms. Kalaf timed her announcement to grab the media’s attention. As for your other questions—”

“What about the Under Secretary’s investigation? Will these secret projects be looked into now that Captain Shariak has been dismissed?”

“The Department of Defense will continue to cooperate fully with the Senate Appropriation Committee’s investigation. It’s the Chairman’s decision when the hearing will resume.”

“General, at least two dozen eyewitnesses who were in the Dirksen Senate Chamber that morning have come forward claiming these unacknowledged projects deal with advanced technologies reverse-engineered from UFOs that crash-landed… beginning with the incident years ago in Roswell, New Mexico. Can you comment on that?”

“I wasn’t in the hearing, but that sounds pretty crazy.”

“Why were C-SPAN’s cameras shut down?”

“They weren’t shut down, there were technical difficulties.”

“Is that what happened to everyone’s cell phone service?”

“Will you be making the transcript available?”

“That’s all people… thank you.”

Jessica muted the television. Reaching for her laptop, she Googled her fiancé’s name, quickly accessing the story:

She scanned the article, her pulse pounding in her neck. Lousy bastards. Adam tried to challenge MAJI and they crushed him. You’re a part of Council — you could have warned him. You could have…

She had been glancing at the giant screen, the muted sound causing the closed caption to describe what her eyes were seeing.

“Oh my God…” Jessica turned up the volume.

“… the neon blue spiral appearing in the night sky over Beijing was witnessed by more than a million people. At first it was thought to be a special effect intended to honor President Trump’s arrival earlier in the day, however, a military expert we spoke to indicated it was more likely the testing of a space-based weapon, something officials in both the United States and China firmly deny.”

Grabbing her hoverboard, Jessica fled the apartment and dashed across the thoroughfare to the side of the Maglev track heading toward the elevators. In less than three minutes she was aboard Elevator-7, the multi-directional car weaving its way to Level-3, Section-C.

Sarah was already pressing her face to the lab’s retinal scan when Jessica arrived.

“You saw the blue spiral on the news?”

“Of course I saw it.”

“You think they’ve begun deploying Zeus?”

“We need to find out.”

The two female engineers made their way through the connecting corridor and into the Hive. Wasting no time, they donned anti-gravitic helmets and vests. Thirty seconds later they were soaring over the empty expanse of concrete, heading toward the wall separating the Hive from the launch facility.

Red warning lights flashed as they approached. The automated doors failed to open, forcing the two women to pull up and hover.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, focusing her thoughts on the barrier of octagonal panels before them.

“Sarah—”

“Shh! Let me focus.”

“Listen! Do you hear that rumbling?” Moving closer to the wall, Jessica pressed both palms to the framework. “I think the roof is opening. Is there any way we can see what is happening?”

“I forgot… the panels are tinted!” Sarah focused her thoughts on several octagonal panels, causing them to turn opaque, then transparent.

From out of the darkness, a patch of blue sky appeared in the distance, illuminating the far end of the dark cavity.

“You were right; they’re getting ready to launch another satellite. Jessica, how many rockets can you see?”

Before she could get a count, the Hive’s walls began vibrating as if struck by a giant tuning fork, the thunderous reverberation followed by a brilliant orange flame which unleashed a tsunami of white smoke and an avalanche of sound.

The two women hovered before the blinding, deafening blizzard, mesmerized. Through the smoke they saw a spark rise beneath one of the Atlas’s boosters seconds before the rocket and its satellite payload rose majestically out of the subterranean complex and into the patch of blue on its journey to space.

Seconds later the scene appeared to replay in reverse as high-powered exhaust fans rapidly inhaled the smoke, returning the subterranean launch deck to its pre-flight visual.

The Eiffel Tower shimmered gold in the Parisian night sky, its presence dominating the rooftops visible from their balcony perch.

Sarah adjusted the quilt higher on her chest before pouring herself a second glass of wine. She left the bottle on the table between the two lounge chairs, glancing at Jessica. “Are you cold? I have plenty of extra blankets.”

Jessica sipped her wine, hoping the alcohol would ease the edginess of her rattled nerves. “Why don’t you just tell the computer to make it warmer?”

“This is the accurate temperature for Paris in autumn. This view… it’s the actual view from our flat. My husband and I plan on spending three weeks in Paris after our trip to Hawaii.”

“They’ve launched two satellites, Sarah. What’s the minimum number of SATS needed to engage the Zeus array?”

“Thirteen.”

“Why didn’t they tell us they were launching?”

“My dear, everything around here is strictly ‘need to know.’ We may be Cosmic Clearance, but we’re just Indians, not chiefs.” Sarah closed her eyes. “No more talk. We’ve talked all day and night and now I’m tired. You can have my bed if you want to stay over; I’m going to sleep out here with my wine and my view of Paris. Lovely Paris…”

“It’s not real, Sarah.”

“Sweetie, as John Lennon once sang, nothing is real. Life is just one big video game… when we’re out of time God tallies the score and sees if we’ve done enough good things to earn our way back inside the pearly gates… strawberry fields forever.”

Jessica reached over and took the wine glass from Sarah’s hand as the older woman passed out. “Good night, Ladybug.”

“Level-23, please.”

Jessica held on as the elevator plunged eighteen stories in under five seconds, an illuminated sign above the map of the complex flashing as the magnetic brakes took over:

The doors opened and she stepped out to white polished marble floors which led into a small circular lobby, its two-story domed ceiling illuminated bright emerald-green. From this starting point there were three long white empty corridors; one directly ahead, the other two on either side. All three appeared to run on forever.

There was not a soul in sight.

“Direct me to Dr. Joyce LaCombe.”

The corridor in front of her remained lit, the other two vanishing into darkness.

“Thank you.” She walked forward, her third stride disappearing into a gelid barrier—

— her body emerging on a grass-covered knoll overlooking a winding stream. The sun, still high in a cobalt-blue sky, warmed her face — even as a chilled mountain breeze blew in from the distant snow-covered Rockies to compensate.

Jessica inhaled the fresh air, feeling invigorated. It was the scene she had awoken to this morning. Whatever it was — a hologram or a drug-induced dream — she couldn’t fathom. Regardless, it was impressive.

Follow the brook downstream…

Joyce LaCombe’s voice cooed in her brain, and yet the words had not been spoken, they had appeared in her mind’s eye as a whisper of wind.

She made her way down the knoll to a footpath bordering the three-foot drop-off that was the brook. As instructed, she followed it downstream, its trickling waters providing a soothing chorus of sound. Gradually the diminuendo over shallow beds of pebbles and stone deepened to a crescendo of moss-covered chasms of rock as the brook widened into a swiftly-moving river, its shorelines hedged in by a forest of pine.

She stayed with the footpath as it abandoned the waterway and cut through the trees, the sound of the river steadily deadening, the air cooling noticeably as the canopy of branches grew thick overhead.

Jessica stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes catching movement up ahead. “Hello? You can come out; I know you’re there.”

The being stepped out from behind the trunk of a tree ahead and to her right. Gray-skinned and three-and-a-half feet tall, it possessed a large, hairless bulb-shaped skull which accommodated two oval eyes, the immense sight organs completely black. The being’s upper body seemed emaciated yet powerful, the cord-like tendons of its limbs making up for a lack of muscle mass. The long four-fingered hands were delicate but dexterous, ending in concave tips. From the neck down it was clothed in a sheer microfiber body suit, the fabric of which appeared to be blending in with everything it touched — the bark of the tree, the dirt path…

As she watched, the being leaned closer to the Pine tree and disappeared—

— only to step out from behind another tree trunk a second later, this one ten paces to her left.

“Well, that was a neat trick.”

It disappeared again, this time reappearing six paces ahead of her and to her right. And then it was seemingly everywhere, randomly appearing and disappearing, popping in and out of existence so fast that Jessica was convinced there had to be at least a dozen of them.

Dr. Marulli has been secured. Cease mind-control and reveal yourself.

Jessica heard a click and then the sky and forest collapsed into a trillion droplets of water, evaporating as they struck the unseen floor.

In its place was the inside of an extraterrestrial space ship. Jessica found herself lying on her back on a metallic table, unable to move.

There were three Grey ETs visible. Two appeared to be operating the vessel from a central hub; the third was hovering over her lower abdomen and groin which had gone completely numb.

Her blood pressure dropped as a wave of anxiety rushed over her.

It’s probing me!

Why did you launch the scalar weapon? Our treaty does not permit the placement of advanced weaponry in space.

Treaty? What treaty?

If another satellite is launched you will be removed from this planet.

Please… I didn’t know—

Zero-point-energy field generators are not permitted on your planet. If the quarantine is broken then both you and your mate will be abducted and removed from this planet… and your pregnancy terminated.

“Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Jessica sat up and expelled a blood-curdling scream as the lights came on, revealing her bedroom suite and a hologram of the nurse who had treated her back in the clinic.

“Dr. Marulli, are you alright?”

Still shaking from the night terror, her tee-shirt soaked in a cold sweat, Jessica fled the bedroom—

— the hologram re-engaging in the bathroom mirror. “Dr. Marulli, should we send help? Please respond.”

Dropping to her knees, Jessica bent over the toilet and puked.

34

In the end, it had come down to Newton’s Third Law of Motion — for every action there had been an equal and opposite reaction, only in his case it wasn’t equal, he had fared far worse.

When Adam had attempted to use the power of his office, they had threatened his boss, the Secretary of Defense.

When he had publicly announced his investigation, they had bribed him.

When he had brought forth witnesses, they had shut down all media coverage.

When he had attempted to enlist the public’s support as a war hero, they had tarnished his reputation; when he refused to back down they had taken his job.

And now, this afternoon, when he had called a press conference to present his side of the equation…

Using the TV remote control, Adam switched from station to station, his excitement waning, changing from frustration to outright anger.

MSNBC: “… the ousted Under Secretary of Defense claiming that eighty to one hundred billion dollars a year of taxpayer money is being spent on — are you ready for this — advanced technologies reversed-engineered from UFOs that crash-landed as far back as the late 1940s.”

FOX NEWS: “… extraterrestrials. According to the former Under Secretary, man-made flying saucers known as Alien Reproduction Vehicles, or ARVs, have been secretly reverse-engineered. Where are these man-made flying saucers, you ask?”

CNN: “… stored in secret subterranean military bases all over the country. When asked where these bases are, the former Under Secretary had this to say, “I don’t know.”

“Huh? That’s not what I said! I gave out the locations… Edwards Air Force Base, Haystack Butte, China Lakes, Nellis, Los Alamos… You bastards edited them out!”

He clicked back to MSNBC: “Chris, how will Shariak’s appointment and sudden ouster affect the Trump Administration?”

“I’d say the blowback is more on Shariak’s brother. Senator Randy Hall is up for reelection next year and—”

“Ugh!” Adam threw the remote as hard as he could at the flat screen TV, the impact cracking the surface.

Six months ago he’d had it all… a good job, the love of an incredible woman who was the girl of his dreams. Now he was jobless and blacklisted… rendered unemployable. Steven Greer had been right when he had said, “there are things worse than death.” His enemies had succeeded in making him persona non-grata while setting him firmly on a path of self-destruction.

How long will Jessica stay with a man who can no longer support himself?

Could her family accept a son-in-law who the public believed had committed a war crime?

More important — where was Jessica? Was she safe?

The knock on his apartment door startled him. “Jess?”

He hobbled to the door, the smart-prosthetic sent off-kilter by his thoughts.

The DHL delivery man looked up from his scanner as the door opened. “Adam Shariak?”

“Yes?”

“I have a package for you… just need you to sign here please.”

Adam took the inkless pen and signed his name on the tiny screen.

The delivery man scanned the package’s barcode and handed the small box to Adam. “Say, aren’t you—”

“No!” He slammed the door as he eyed the label, his heart racing as he saw Jessica’s name under SENDER. Expelling a grunt, he tore open the four-by-six inch cardboard container.

The iPhone rang the moment he removed it from its bubble wrap.

“Hello?”

“Do you recognize my voice?”

Female… definitely not Jessica. “Give me a clue.”

“I gave you a reach-around in Phoenix.”

The blonde from counter-intelligence… what was her name? He searched his wallet and found her card… Kelly Kishel.

“What do you want, Kelly?”

“Paybacks are a bitch; I thought you deserved one. I’m texting you an address. Memorize it and then dispose of this phone. I’ll see you there in twenty-four hours. Come alone.”

The home office was windowless and sound-proof — a pentagon-shaped room with a two-story-high ceiling. Three of its five walls were covered by oak bookshelves, the upper levels of which were accessible by a matching built-in ladder on wheels. The wall directly before the horseshoe-shaped desk displayed a five-by-seven-foot flat screen television, along with six smaller monitors, the signals of which were fed in from two large satellite dishes situated in the backyard.

When asked about the enormous objects, Yvonne Johnston told the homeowners association that her husband was an avid sports fan.

Of course, the only sport Colonel Johnston ever engaged in was psychotronic warfare.

The black and white images rotating across three of the small monitors were originating from two different spy satellites and a drone. Only a few members of Council’s governing body knew the colonel had tapped into the NSA’s network, but the rumors alone were enough to maintain a healthy dose of paranoia among the junior members of MAJI.

The cabal’s tentacles reached throughout all branches of the intelligence services and the colonel never hesitated to eavesdrop on the private conversations and texts of those Council members whose “politics” were suspect. When former CIA director William Colby had asked a personal friend in the military to contact Steven Greer, the colonel’s response had been swift — the TWEP order issued before the long-time member of MAJI could deliver a black-shelved ZPE generator and $50 million in start-up capital to mass produce the clean energy device. It was a professional hit involving two wet teams; the first one assigned to kidnap and kill Colby and safeguard his remains long enough to allow the victim’s internal organs to decompose beyond the point of identifying a cause of death. The other team planted his sand-filled canoe along a Potomac River shoreline so it could be discovered the next morning. As with any TWEP on a public figure, there were unanswered questions — why would Colby choose to take his canoe out on the river so late at night; how had it taken the authorities nine days to locate the body so close to where the canoe had been found less than twelve hours after he had gone missing. In the end, the coroner had ruled death by drowning, the suspicious circumstances swept away as conspiracy theory.

The colonel’s latest challenge was a bit more complicated.

Like Colby, Jessica Marulli’s parents had powerful allies in Council and the evidence against their daughter was circumstantial at best. Moreover, the importance of Project Zeus could not be understated. If a technical problem arose, the engineer’s expertise would be needed, therefore, she could not be sanctioned.

Dr. Death’s solution: Psychotronic intervention.

A Level-3 abduction was ordered two days after the subject had been admitted to the infirmary. The time-released drug that had been injected into the subject’s artery was a powerful hallucinogenic developed by the CIA as part of Project MK-Ultra. This enabled Colonel Johnston’s psychotronic warfare team to implant a holographic scenario directly into Jessica Marulli’s subconscious — in this case a staged alien abduction intended to put “the fear of extraterrestrials” into the scientist’s psyche.

Similar “abductions” had been used over the years on family members of royalty, politicians, and billionaires in an attempt to sway their opinion about Earth’s interstellar visitors. What had made Dr. Marulli’s experience especially effective was the Grey alien’s knowledge of her pregnancy — a secret she had yet to share with the fetus’s father, but which had been discovered through the clinic’s blood tests. The emotional and psychological trauma the Zeus director had experienced virtually guaranteed Dr. Marulli would not be a risk to MAJI after she left the complex.

Her fiancé, however, was proving to be quite the nuisance.

Colonel Johnston tapped his right index finger atop the armrest of his chair, his eyes glued to the large flat screen projecting a real-time black and white image of morning traffic moving along Interstate 495, the spy satellite locking on to the signal coming from Adam Shariak’s iPhone.

Johnston knew Shariak was a passenger inside the Uber-registered vehicle heading to Dulles International Airport. The round trip airline ticket to Phoenix had been purchased the previous night at 21:23 hours using his VISA card, but there had been no prior calls in the last week referencing the flight or his ultimate destination.

The fact that Shariak had been to the Wrigley Mansion in the last thirty days was not lost on the colonel, but the face-to-face meeting had taken place at a scheduled MAJI event and there were no personnel of importance permanently stationed in the area.

There were also no direct flights to Phoenix. Shariak’s American Airlines itinerary would take him by way of Minneapolis and then Chicago’s O’Hare airport en route to Sky Harbor International. It would be almost twelve hours before he arrived at his destination — the now jobless former Under Secretary of Defense forced to ride all three sold-out flights in a middle seat in the back of coach the entire way.

The colonel smirked. As soon as he arrives in Phoenix, we’ll put him out of his misery.

The United Airlines baggage check-in line inched forward. Adam waited until he was two passengers from being called before switching his iPhone to airplane mode. Unzipping his suitcase, he shoved the device deep inside the load of dirty laundry.

“Next.”

Adam handed the female attendant his ticket.

“One way to Phoenix. Are you checking any bags?”

“Just this one.” He lifted the suitcase, placing it on the scale.”

“That will be thirty-five dollars.”

She swiped his debit card and gave him his receipt and boarding pass. “Gate 27C. Have a good flight.”

“… and so I think it is imperative that we launch the other satellites and complete the array as quickly as possible, before the Interstellars detect the advanced energy devices aboard the Zeus satellites and destroy them.”

Jessica Marulli finished reading her report and looked up from her iPad. There were seventeen Council members in the chamber and six following along on Skype. Most were male and Caucasian, the exception being an Indian couple, herself, and Lydia Gagnon, who was seated at the oval table on her right.

General Cubit, being the most senior member in attendance, had been asked to chair the meeting, and he was clearly not pleased by his protégé’s comments.

“Launching twenty satellites in a short time span… how do we justify that kind of payload to POTUS, let alone the Russians and Chinese?”

“That’s your problem, General. Mine is protecting Zeus. A minimum of thirteen satellites is required to be placed in orbit before the array can protect itself.”

“Understood.”

“Understood? General, the blue spiral that appeared over Beijing was clearly a scalar burst.”

“What can I tell you, Dr. Marulli? Council obviously wanted to test the weapon.”

“While the president was in China?”

Heads turned; all eyes now on Jessica.

“What are you inferring?”

“I’m not inferring anything. As I stated in my report, testing any Zeus satellite before the array has been established is not only dumb, it’s dangerous. You need to tell Council that they can’t play head games like they did with Obama. The difference between a scalar shot using a crystalline-based ZPE generator and the rotary unit powering that missile blast over Helsinki is the equivalent of a lighthouse beacon going up against a flashlight.”

“Duly noted.”

“It’s also in direct violation of our contract with the ETs, isn’t it General?”

Lydia reached out under the table, prodding Jessica’s thigh with her thumb.

“To what contract are you referring, Dr. Marulli?”

Jessica’s face turned red. “I don’t know. It’s probably just some Internet nonsense I read. Sorry… I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

General Cubit stared at her for a long moment, debating where to take the discussion.

“You’ve had a rough few weeks, Jess. When are you scheduled to head home?”

“Not for another three weeks, sir.”

“How ’bout we give you time off for good behavior. Dr. Gagnon, would you arrange a private jet for Dr. Marulli to take her back to D.C. — today if possible.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

Jessica’s eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, General.”

“Okay then, unless anyone else has any other conspiracy theories they’d like to discuss, I think we’re done here.”

The chamber emptied quickly, General Cubit pulling Lydia aside. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Dr. Death gave her a level-three mind-fucking last night.”

“Oh, Christ…”

“We can’t let her out like this, Tom. Her expertise combined with Shariak’s dismissal makes her a newsworthy loose cannon.”

“Then we need to find a way to fix it, or Council will.”

“How?”

“Take her to La-La Land.”

35

“Thank you again for flying United. The local time in Chicago is 2:14 p.m.”

The jumbo jet’s engines powered off, the cabin lights illuminating, initiating a traffic jam in the aisle as a third of the two hundred and twenty-three passengers simultaneously attempted to retrieve their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments in order to quickly exit from a plane whose doors had yet to even open.

Adam stood as well — not because he felt the need to hold his small gym bag stuffed with personal items, but because his irritated stump was in terrible pain. It had been several years since he had worn the bare steel prosthetic leg he had switched to this morning; having been wedged between two fairly large human beings over the last four hours had not helped.

In due course, the twenty-six rows ahead of him cleared and he lumbered off the plane. Upon reaching the concourse, he checked the departure board for his connecting flight to Phoenix. Just under an hour layover, plus the four hour flight… figure five hours before your suitcase and iPhone arrive in baggage claim. They won’t know if I got off in Minneapolis or Chicago, and by that time, I’ll be out of the area… unless they’ve got eyes on the ground here?

Adam looked around before heading for the nearest restroom. When he emerged he was wearing a gray sweatshirt, black sweatpants and sneakers, a Cubs baseball cap and sunglasses — the sports jacket, slacks, dress shoes and carry-on bag having been shoved into the trashcan in one of the handicapped stalls.

Tilting the brim of the cap down low, he followed the signs for baggage claim, trying his best to conceal any trace of a limp.

The white van advertising Betz Electronics followed the airport signs for arrivals. Entering Terminal 1, the driver spotted a familiar-looking tall man in a gray sweatshirt seated on a bench outside the United Airline’s domestic baggage claim. Flashing his lights twice, he pulled over to the curbside pick-up.

Adam climbed in the front passenger seat, exchanging a quick embrace with his former Apache co-pilot. “You look good, J.B. How’s the family?”

Jared Betz waited for a cop safeguarding a pedestrian crosswalk to wave him back into traffic. “Wife’s good. Kids are good. You’re the one I’m worried about. What’s all this about, Captain?”

“Trust me, the less you know the better.”

“You’ll have to do better than that if you expect me to supply you with a loaded weapon.”

Adam nodded. “The powers that be who brought in the girl from Iraq to make me look like a war criminal may be holding my fiancée against her will. This may be my only chance to get her out.”

“By powers that be, are you referring to this secret government you’ve been talking about on the news networks?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” For a long moment Betz remained silent, focusing on staying in the correct lanes that led out of the airport complex and south onto Interstate 294. “Where’s the meet?”

“Thirty-two miles outside of Detroit.”

“What time?”

“Oh-two-hundred hours.”

“I guess that explains why you wanted the night-vision glasses.”

“Were you able to get a gun?”

“This is Chicago, Cap. Anyone who wants a gun can get a gun.”

“And the tasers?”

“I picked up two King Cobras; each one packs about three million volts.”

“Nice. What about the copper wire?”

“Everything you asked for is in back. I had my cousin drop off the rental car at a rest stop about ten miles from here.”

“Thank you.”

“Cap, that RPG strike over Karbala… it should have killed us. You saved my life.”

“Consider the debt paid.”

“It’s a four-hour ride to Detroit; at least let me drive so you can get some rest. I can always rent another car for you once we get there.”

“Appreciate the offer, Jared, but I can’t let you do that. The element I’m dealing with… they don’t mess around. If they knew you were helping me they would come after you and your family. But I’ll definitely need your help rigging the tasers before I get on the road.”

“What are you planning on doing with them?”

Adam smiled. “Let’s just call it my version of shock and awe.”

It took Jessica less than fifteen minutes to pack. Her heart was racing with adrenaline; she felt like a prisoner on death row who had just received a last-minute reprieve from the governor.

Not wanting to spend another night alone in her suite, she had hounded Lydia after the meeting. “I don’t need a private jet. Just get me to Edwards Air Force Base, I can find my own way home from there.”

Her supervisor had promised to do her best.

She jumped as her Hispanic holographic concierge materialized in the living room mirror. “Pardon, Senorita. There is an incoming message from Dr. Gagnon.”

“Put it through.”

Lydia’s image replaced Raul’s. “Bad news, Jess. I can’t get you out of here until seven a.m.”

“I told you, I don’t need a private jet.”

“And you’re not getting one. The problem isn’t flying you home; it’s getting you to Edwards. Maglev trains don’t make regular pick-ups like the D.C. Metro, they have to be scheduled in advance. Enjoy your last day; I’ll come by your suite tomorrow morning at six-thirty.”

The mirror went blank, Lydia’s words hanging in the air.

Enjoy your last day…

Her heart pounded as the doorbell rang twice, the security video displaying the image of her visitor in the mirror.

Logan?

“Let him in.”

The door unbolted and the teen entered, carrying his hoverboard. “Wow, you’re actually here. I haven’t seen you literally in forever.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Logan spotted the luggage. “You going somewhere?”

“I’m heading home. I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Damn.” He slumped sideways into the recliner. “Were you even going to tell me?”

“In fact, I was just on my way to see you. Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, but I know a really cool place to eat… let me take you.”

“Okay. Do I need my hoverboard?”

“Of course.”

Jessica located the board in the hall closet and followed Logan out onto the Maglev track, the teen crossing the center pedestrian walkway to the opposite lane.

“Where are we going?”

“Elevators.” Stepping onto his board, he yanked on the power cord and idled, waiting for her to follow suit.

Jessica slipped her feet into the two straps and activated the electromagnets beneath her board, chasing after Logan.

They rode straight to the fifth-floor lobby, their presence eliciting a friendly wave from Kirsty Brunt seated behind her work station. “I heard you’ll be leaving us tomorrow. I’m so sorry to see you go.”

“No, it’s all good… flying home… can’t wait.” She waved, once more rolling the parting phrase in her mind until she mentally kneaded it into an unhealthy snack of paranoia.

The lanky teenager pressed the wall button to summon Elevator-3, the doors of which opened instantly. He stepped inside… holding his palm against the door’s rubber seal to prevent it from closing on Jessica, who entered ahead of him and took a seat—

— as Logan stepped off, offering her a quick wave before the doors sealed shut and the elevator plunged more than a mile down the vertical shaft.

Jared Betz had labored for two hours in the back of his electronics van to rig Adam’s taser until the improvised weapon functioned to the former Apache pilot’s liking. When they finally finished, the two war vets embraced and parted company.

Adam ate lunch at one of the rest stop’s fast food restaurants. He used the bathroom before making his way to the rental car parked on the south side of the parking lot. The black 2015 Ford Taurus had been paid for earlier that morning using Jared’s cousin’s credit card.

It was 4:25 p.m. by the time Adam pulled onto Interstate 294 south-bound, heading east toward Indiana.

He had lied about his destination in order to protect his friend. The address Kelly Kishel had texted to him the night before was located in southwest Michigan only two hours from the rest stop. Earlier that morning he had stopped for coffee at an Internet café, using one of the establishment’s computers to take a Google Earth view of the property and memorize the directions.

Adam did not trust the blonde Air Force intelligence officer. She had already played head games with him once and knew all the right buttons to push. He estimated his chances of walking into a trap that would end in his own execution at over eighty percent, but according to Steven Greer, he was already a dead man anyway.

“First they’ll destroy your reputation, then they’ll render you an outcast before they finally issue the orders to Terminate With Extreme Prejudice. Before this happens you need to run. Leave everything behind but the cash in your bank account; be sure to toss your cell phone and destroy your credit cards. If you have no other choice but to use your car, swap out the license plate and remove any automated toll booth devices. Stay off the grid, Mr. Under Secretary. Any form of technology will lead them right to you.”

Interstate 294 had become I-94 East by the time he had passed through Indiana and entered Michigan. Merging onto US-12, he found himself driving in a rural countryside where he backtracked north on State Route 60.

It was dusk by the time he entered the village of Cassopolis.

Situated close to Diamond Lake, one of the largest inland lakes in Michigan, Cassopolis was a typical rural Midwestern town with a population just over 2,000. Adam had eight hours until the rendezvous, and knew he needed to sleep. But before he found a safe haven to sack out, he needed to know what he was dealing with. After a few tries he managed to guess his way out of the center square of buildings and shops until he found himself on the right stretch of country road — the two-lane tarmac bordered on either side by cow pastures and surrounded with barbed-wire fencing.

Adam slowed as he approached the mailbox marking the private gravel driveway leading up to the gray-roofed, white stucco farmhouse. He knew the residence sat on ninety-three acres of farmland. A quarter mile north of the house rose a pair of silos and an immense three-story A-roofed barn which looked like it had been erected at the turn of the 19th century.

There were no lights on inside the dwelling nor were there any vehicles present — save for a rusted jalopy rotting in the weeds by a small garage adjacent to the house.

Adam continued driving, searching for potential places to leave his car when the time came. The only viable option appeared to be an old gas station located three miles down the road, a realty sign indicating the property was for sale.

Walking three miles in the new prosthetic leg was not an option.

It was 8:20 p.m. by the time he found his way back into town. He grabbed a grilled chicken sandwich from a fast food drive-thru and then went shopping for supplies at a nearby 24-hour Walmart, purchasing a navy wool blanket, a battery-powered alarm clock, several bottles of water and trail mix, two 1000-lumen tactical flashlights, a black backpack, bolt cutters, and a 5-speed bicycle which he stowed in the trunk. Backing his car into a peripheral spot away from the lighted entrance, he set the alarm clock to wake him at 11:30 p.m. and laid down in the backseat beneath the blanket, placing the loaded 9mm on the floor by his side.

36

Jessica barely managed a scream before the elevator free-fall suddenly terminated in a cushioned one-G stop.

The doors opened, revealing Joyce LaCombe. Logan’s mother wore a white lab coat and a terse smile. “We meet again. Please don’t be upset with Logan, I instructed him to send you down here.”

“Where is here?”

“A little slice of the future we call La-La Land.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“We occupy levels twelve through twenty-three which are accessible only from the bottom up.”

“Level-23?” The blood rushed from Jessica’s face, her limbs trembling.

“Now don’t freak out on me, Marulli. Come on out of there and I’ll show you—”

“No. I’ve been down here. Take me back!”

“You’ve never been down here, Jess. The colonel blasted your brain with a psychotronic device which separated your consciousness from your body. He implanted an alien abduction scenario into your subconscious that was designed to make you fear ETs.”

“No… this was real. This Grey… it knew things about me that I’ve never told a soul.”

“Let me guess… you’re pregnant.”

Jessica’s eyebrows raised. “How—”

“Please. You’re highly emotional and you threw-up in my apartment. I’m sure they ran blood tests on you after my husband stunned you with his taser.”

“That was Captain LaCombe?”

“Delta Force runs security down here. When they detected you inside the launch area he intervened. He felt bad about tasing you, but he couldn’t let you identify him.” Joyce stepped inside the elevator. “You don’t have to worry. Down here I’m Sheriff Glinda and the Wicked Colonel of the West isn’t welcome.”

Placing her arm around Jessica’s shoulder, she led her off the elevator to a security station resembling a pedestrian version of a toll booth. An office enclosed in bullet-proof glass divided two walkways, the men’s entry on the right, the women’s on the left.

A female guard wearing a black jumpsuit addressed them from inside the women’s area. “Swipe your identity cards and go on through one at a time.”

Joyce nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Jessica removed the lanyard from around her neck and slid the card’s magnetic strip along the slot, causing the rotary bar lock before her to open. She walked through, waiting by a door designated “Women” by its stick figure.

Dr. LaCombe passed through security and pushed open the door.

Inside was a well-kept locker room. Bathrooms and showers were to one side, rows of lockers on the other. “Strip down and stow all your belongings in a locker. Then take the key and your I.D. badge and follow me into the showers.”

Jessica selected a locker across from Joyce and removed everything but her I.D. lanyard. Placing the locker key’s elastic band around her left wrist, she grabbed a clean towel from a stack and entered the showers.

Joyce cupped her hand beneath a soap dispenser, the motion detector activating the water pressure. “Lather up from head to toes. We have to pass through a bacteria detector; if you fail you’ll have to repeat it until you get it right.”

Jessica did as she was told. Rinsing the anti-bacteria body wash from her hair, she squeezed out the excess water from her blonde strands and then passed through the bacteria detector without a glitch. Joyce led her into a another locker room equipped with hair dryers and scales. Racks of scrubs and shoes were organized by size.

“Dry your hair, then swipe your card on one of the scales and weigh yourself. Once your birthday suit weight is logged in you can get dressed. Purple scrubs are for guests. You’ll find clean bras and underwear in those drawers.”

“Joyce, do you have to shower every time you enter wherever it is you’re taking me?”

“Yes. It’s for their protection, not ours.”

Their protection? Jessica grabbed a gun-shaped dryer from a wall rack and quickly dried her hair, an uneasy feeling tightening in her gut.

“Stop worrying. I would never endanger you or your baby. By the way, does Adam know?”

“No. I haven’t spoken to him in almost three weeks.”

“Well, I’m sure he could use the good news.”

Adam awoke five minutes before the battery-powered alarm clock went off. The car windows were steamy, his undershirt soaked in sweat. Unlocking the doors, he climbed out of the backseat and looked around.

It was a cool autumn night, the air muggy with humidity. The Walmart lot was empty save for three cars parked close to the entrance. Peeling off his tee-shirt, he tossed it in back and pulled on his gray sweatshirt. Then he climbed in front and started the car, the digital clock above the radio reading 11:32 p.m.

Adam drove through the center square of Cassopolis, only to follow the wrong road to a dead end. Retracing his route, he located the two lane highway that led to the closed gas station.

He parked the car and shut off the engine. Removing one of the powerful flashlights from the plastic Walmart bag, he got out to check the two bay doors and the office. Finding everything locked, he returned to his car and popped open the trunk, locating a tire jack.

Adam walked back to the gas station office. Making sure no one was around, he jammed the flat edge of the tire iron between the door and its frame and popped open the lock.

Entering the dark office, his light revealed bare shelves and a layer of dust that indicated no one had been there for quite a while. Using the tire iron to brush aside cobwebs, he entered the service area, making his way carefully to the last bay where he slid back the bolts on either side of the roll-up door before opening it.

Returning to the car, he organized his supplies. He consumed a bag of trail mix and a bottled water before placing the items Jared had acquired for him inside the backpack, along with the flashlight and bolt cutters. He checked the safety on the 9mm and climbed out of the car, tucking the gun into his waistband; the night vision glasses going around his neck. He removed the bicycle from the trunk and restarted the car, backing the Ford Taurus into the open bay. After rolling down the windows, he powered off the engine and left the keys inside the ashtray. He then sealed the garage door and exited through the office.

Adam surveyed the area using the night vision binoculars. The countryside appeared green in the glasses — the stars, glowing specks in the sky. Satisfied there was no one in sight, he secured the backpack over his shoulders and climbed onto the bike, sliding his left shoe in the peddle strap before pushing off with his right foot, following the deserted country road to the northwest.

He quickly realized his prosthetic was not going to cooperate and was forced to adapt a one-legged spin with his real leg. After a few minutes he found himself winded; after ten he stopped to gauge his bearings again with the night glasses.

He could see the farmhouse half a mile up ahead, a soft glow of light coming from one of the first floor windows.

That’s close enough…

He climbed off the bike and removed the bolt cutters from the backpack. Examining the barbed-wire fence, he selected the nearest wood post and snipped each of the three horizontal lengths of wire. After replacing the tool, he dragged the bike through the opening, laying it flat along the tall grass.

Using the night vision glasses, he headed for the farmhouse.

Orange flames danced around a log in the stone fireplace, the random crackling and popping in contrast to the rock-steady cadence of the ticking grandfather clock.

Air Force counter-intelligence agent Kelly Kishel huddled beneath the down comforter on the dining room floor. From her vantage she had a clear shot at the front door of the farmhouse, as well as most of the first floor windows. The back door, accessible through the kitchen, was her one vulnerable point. To gain entry her target would first have to enter the screened-in porch, its rusted springs alerting her to his presence. Once inside he would still have to pass through the kitchen and into the dining room, again entering her kill zone.

She had arrived at the property shortly after receiving confirmation that Adam Shariak had boarded United Flight 6324 out of Washington, D.C. The farm’s caretakers — both retired field agents — had vacated the black ops location the day before and would not return for seventy-two hours. To their credit, the couple had actually become novice dairy farmers. The sixteen cows they cared for certainly lent to their cover, though the supplemental income was far from necessary with what MAJI was paying them.

The dark screen of Agent Kishel’s laptop suddenly illuminated, revealing an aerial view of the property. Sensors had picked up a break in the security fence along the northwest access road, heat sensors locking on to the intruder as he circled the farmhouse to the north.

Kelly Kishel felt for the prescription bottle in her purse and popped her second 20mg Fluoxetine in the last two hours, chasing the megadose of serotonin with the remains of her coffee. She removed the Glock 27 from its holster and then released the safety, her eyes tracking her invited guest on her monitor as he made his way to the farmhouse.

Adam surveyed the two-story dwelling from behind the trunk of an oak tree. The driveway leading to the front door was gravel, the back door accessible only through a screened-in porch. He imagined the hinges and springs of the patio door would be rusted.

He checked the time… 12:36 a.m. He had purposely arrived early — not that it really mattered. The counter-intelligence agent was expecting him; the question was how many reinforcements were inside with her and how many more were on the way.

Kelly’s eyes followed the blinking figure on screen, her medicated pulse rock-steady as her visitor crossed the gravel driveway.

The counter-intelligence agent drew a bead on a chest-high dining room window panel that looked out to the front stoop. Atta boy… Coupla more feet and it’s nighty-night.

For several minutes Shariak remained ten to fifteen feet outside the front door. Then he appeared to have second thoughts; circling around to the southeast side of the house.

Sweat beads rolled down her neck as she heard the screen door’s rusted springs squeal open. No problem. From her vantage she could put a bullet in her quarry no matter which door he entered through.

And then the window by the kitchen sink shattered, causing her to drop to her knees. Before she could discern what the hissing sound was, a second object punched through the dining room window and rolled beneath the table, the smoke trail quickly filling the room and burning her eyes.

Tear gas!

Barely able to see, she ducked beneath the blanket with the laptop, quickly determining Shariak was heading around to the back porch. Gun in hand, she ran stooped over to the front door and flung it open, desperate for fresh air.

The light ignited from somewhere directly ahead, blinding her. Squinting and curling into a ball, she aimed her gun at the 1000-lumen tactical flashlight, firing twice before she felt the barrel of the 9mm pressing against the back of her neck, the voice coming from behind the gas mask muffled in her ear. “Hand me the weapon very slowly.”

She swore under her breath, angry at herself for falling for the diversion.

She held up the Glock — Shariak yanking it out of her hand. She heard him tuck it away before his hand slid up the back of her neck, his fingers entwining her blonde hair into a fist.

“Walk toward the light… move!”

Looking down, she moved ahead until she was at the source.

“On your knees.”

“Sounds kinky, Shariak. Is that how Jessica prefers it?”

The CIA agent never registered the blow to the back of her skull, only the gravel as her face struck the driveway, her consciousness inhaled into the sparkling purple darkness.

Freshly showered and having weighed in and dressed in purple scrubs and tennis shoes, Jessica followed Joyce LaCombe out of the women’s locker room and down a long, white-tiled corridor. Every twenty feet they passed below a translucent black-tinted half-sphere mounted in the ceiling, the objects no doubt containing security cameras.

“Joyce, why did you bring me here?”

“After what Dr. Death did to you, we felt it was important you know the truth.”

“Who’s we?”

“We are the silenced majority that needs to be heard.”

“Maybe you could start by telling me where we are.”

“We’re in Dulce, New Mexico… or more accurately, we’re beneath a mountain not far from Dulce, New Mexico. Construction on this underground base dates back to 1948 when access tunnels were expanded from out of the natural cavern system that runs through these sacred Indian grounds. The complex was originally disguised as a lumber camp; its initial source of power came from the Navajo Dam. Dulce is part military base, part genetics lab; it’s also the largest underground hub in North America. From here you have access to all of the other subterranean bases, including Los Alamos National Laboratories. Crazy story — when Bechtel’s excavating machine was completing the tunnel from Dulce to Los Alamos, the vibrations in the bedrock caused a humming sound that drove the residents of Taos, New Mexico crazy. They called it the Taos Hum. Some New Agers actually thought it was Gaia speaking to them.”

“How many subterranean bases are there?”

“Enough to warrant changing Bechtel’s mascot to a mole. You know about the complex beneath Haystack Butte at Edwards; that’s where most of the pulse beam and stealth research is carried out. A fifty-mile shuttle links the ‘Butte’ with the Tehachapi facility in Southern California. Heading east you have two of the more infamous underground complexes in Groom Lake, Nevada and Dugway Proving Grounds in the desert outside Provo, Utah. I heard there’s a really deep complex located below Denver’s International Airport, though I’ve never been there. Then there’s Fort Huachuca near Tombstone, Arizona — which serves as Army Intelligence headquarters — and bases in Burley, Idaho and Oklahoma City.

“The wildest underground facility I’ve ever visited is located about eighteen kilometers from a town called Alice Springs in Australia’s Northern Territory. The base is known as Pine Gap; to locals it simply appears to be a satellite ground station which is jointly operated by the Americans and Aussies. Anyway, they flew us in at night by helicopter. The ground station is surrounded by mountains, and suddenly, it looked like we were about to crash into one. I let out a scream… as we flew through the mountain, which was actually a hologram that concealed a massive base built deep inside the mountain. Among other things, it’s where they keep the largest triangular Alien Reproduction Vehicle ever made.”

The T-shaped corridor dead-ended; branching off to their right and left in identical white-tiled hallways.

“And what do they keep here in Dulce… besides my Zeus satellites and a bunch of empty corridors that lead nowhere?”

“I’m going to show you.” Instead of turning right or left, Dr. LaCombe took Jessica by the elbow and walked her straight into the wall—

— the two female scientists stepping through the hologram into an immense hangar which resembled the flight deck of an air craft carrier, only ten times larger.

Instead of F-16s, the underground air strip held an armada of extraterrestrial vehicles.

They were floating in holding pens, each about half an acre in size. Most were saucer-shaped discs like the ARV Jessica had witnessed entering the Level-3 launch complex. There were also cigar-shaped and diamond-shaped UFOs, and several ten-by-twenty-foot oval craft.

“These are all man-made?”

“Correct. You can tell by the seams. The real deal is seamless and they function almost as life forms.”

A herd of colorful drones whipped by, each semi-transparent object the size of a basketball. Jessica was about to inquire what these objects were when she caught sight of an imposing dark triangular vessel hovering twenty feet above the deck, its mass easily occupying a square mile of the hangar.

“A mothership? Joyce, why did they build a mothership. For that matter, why build any of this if you’re just going to keep it hidden underground?”

“All good questions that deserve answers. Come with me, I’m going to show you.”

Crossing the immense deck, they headed for an alcove marked by six vertical plastic tubes, each five-foot-in-diameter device disappearing up through the ceiling.

Joyce ducked inside one of the tubes. “There are elevators, but this is closer and more efficient.”

“Looks like something out of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Remember, I’m pregnant.”

“It’s safe up to the second trimester. Climb in and grip the rail by your sides and that will prompt the computer to ask you to state your destination.”

“Good evening, Dr. LaCombe. Please state your destination.”

“Genetics Complex.”

Before Jessica could respond, Joyce shot straight up the vertical shaft and disappeared.

Repositioning the gas mask over his face, Adam carried the unconscious woman back inside the house and up the stairs to the second floor and the master bedroom. He laid the blonde on her back on the queen-size bed and opened the window before searching the closet.

Five minutes later he had secured her wrists and ankles to the four bed posts using an assortment of belts and ties. When he was finished, he glanced at the clock on the end table.

Almost one a.m. Better pick up the pace, Shariak.

He unzipped the front pocket of the backpack and removed a small medical kit. Inside were two syringes and a small vial of clear liquid. Unscrewing the cap, he punctured the foil top with the needle and drew 20cc’s of the elixir into the syringe.

Then he rolled up the counter-intelligence agent’s sleeves, examining the veins in her forearms…

Kelly Kishel’s eyes rolled forward as she inhaled fumes from the ammonia-soaked paper towel Adam held beneath her nostrils. A second later her head snapped back against the bed board, the impact causing her to wince.

She attempted to wipe tears from her watering eyes, only to realize her limbs had been bound. “Kinky.”

“Where is Jessica?”

She looked up at Adam, her voice inflection flirtatious. “What do I get if I tell you?”

“You get to live.”

The agent smiled. “Am I supposed to be scared? We ran your psychological profile… I think we both know you’re not going to hurt me. Unfortunately the people I work for don’t share the same love for humanity. If I don’t report back at the top of the hour you can say bye-bye to the future Mrs. Shariak.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My face feels funny.”

“That’s probably the Scopolamine kicking in.”

She squirmed in her bonds, attempting to view her left forearm. “You injected me with truth serum?”

“Actually, this stuff is better than sodium pentothal. With Scopolamine you won’t remember any of this.”

“It won’t work, Adam.”

“It will if you want to tell me, and I think you do. That is why you sent me that cell phone, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So then, why am I here?”

She closed her eyes, attempting to focus through a barbiturate fog. “There’s a movement among many of the members of MAJI to release zero-point-energy to the masses; the challenge is smuggling one of the devices out of these underground military bases. We finally managed to do this — with the help of your fiancé. The device should arrive sometime before dawn.”

“And you wanted me to have it?”

“God, no. I’ve arranged a buyer… an Indian billionaire with strong government connections. If you’ve ever been to New Delhi, you’d understand his interest.”

“Where is Jessica?”

“She’s in one of the underground complexes.”

“Which one?”

“Dulce. It’s a shithole town in New Mexico. The facility is located beneath a mountain. There are access points that will take you through the natural canyons to security checkpoints. Of course, Delta Force isn’t about to let you inside.”

“Is she being held against her will?”

“I don’t think so.”

“If you’re not giving me the device why did you ask me to meet you here?”

“You’re the reason the pilot agreed to risk bringing the ZPE unit on this run; he thinks he’s delivering it to you.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know, my boyfriend set the whole thing up.”

“Why meet me out here?”

“The farm is a drop point.”

“For what?”

“Drugs. The CIA moves a couple hundred billion dollars of coke and heroin into the States every year through MAJI depots like this one.”

She paused to listen as a vehicle turned into the farm’s driveway, its wheels grinding gravel. “They’re early. Guess it’s bye-bye time.”

Adam peeked out between slats in the Venetian blinds as a black van rolled to a stop in front of the barn. Two men and a woman exited the vehicle, all three dressed in leather and jeans.

“Looks more like a motorcycle gang than Men in Black.”

Kelly Kishel’s jaw dropped. “Bikers? Are you sure?”

“I said they look like bikers… they’re driving a van.” Remembering the night vision binoculars, he fished them out from beneath his sweat shirt and zoomed in on one of the men as he opened the van’s rear doors. With his back turned, Adam was able to make out an insignia on the big man’s jacket.

“Devil’s Diciples.”

“The Diciples? Are you sure?”

“They spelled Disciples wrong, but yeah… I’m sure.” As he watched, one of the bikers rolled back the interior carpet and unlocked a hidden panel… revealing a cache of weapons.

“Shit.”

“Shariak, the Diciples are MAJI’s hired assassins.”

“No kidding.”

“Shariak, listen to me! If the colonel sent the Devil’s Diciples then he must have put out TWEP orders on both of us.”

Ignoring her, he dumped the contents of his backpack on the floor. Searching through the pile, he located the tactical flashlight he had rigged to power on when Kelly had fled the farmhouse.

He froze as one of the gang members kicked open the front door.

“Shariak, untie me! You’ll need my help.”

Pulling the 9mm from his waistband, he aimed it at the blonde. “Quiet.”

Brent “Snowman” Snowden was a 280-pound bull of a man, his shaved head and thickly-muscled tattooed arms bulged out from the sleeveless black leather Harley-Davidson jacket. Stepping over the downed front door, he entered the farmhouse, his eyes immediately burning from the remnants of tear gas.

Rather than retreat, he simply positioned his white bandana over his nose and mouth so that the fabric’s skull design aligned with the lower half of his face. Holding the Mossberg.12 gauge shotgun out in front of him with the heel of the gun’s butt pressed to his right shoulder, he motioned to “Big Tommy” Thompson to enter.

The former Army Signal Support Systems Specialist fought to see the miniature screen of the electronics device in his hand, its direction finder pinpointing the location of the cell phone that had led them to the farm. He quickly found Kelly Kishel’s iPhone on the dining room floor next to her laptop.

A creak in the floorboards overhead caused both bikers to look up.

Snowden took the lead, ascending the stairs two steps at a time. Reaching the landing, he crouched low and listened.

“Hello? Will somebody help me?”

Big Tommy recognized the woman’s voice, having eavesdropped on her cell phone conversations on the ride over from Detroit. Signaling Snowman to wait, he held the .38 snub-nose revolver with the barrel up as he crept to the closed bedroom and kicked the solid wood door off its eighty-year-old hinges.

For a moment the biker just stood in the entrance, staring.

“Well? Is she in there?”

“Stay there… I got this.” Big Tommy entered the master bedroom, his watering eyes drifting from the open window to the blonde agent. Spread-eagled on the bed, she was completely nude, her wrists bound to the bedposts with a pair of silk men’s ties, the quilt concealing her legs from the knees down.

Kelly looked up at the biker. “Are you here to rescue me or eye-fuck me?”

“Where’s Shariak?”

She nodded to the open window.

Big Tommy looked out in time to see a man in a gray sweatshirt lower himself out over the ledge of the A-framed second story roof by holding on to the rain gutter.

When he turned back, his biker pal was staring down his.12 gauge shotgun at the naked agent.

“Snowman, Shariak’s on the roof, northeast side of the house. I got this, go help Sasha!”

The big man nodded and left.

Big Tommy circled the foot of the bed, his eyes transfixed on Kelly Kishel’s body. “Now what am I gonna do with you?”

“What would you like to do with me?”

“I’m supposed to kill you.”

“But if you do that, who will get all the money?”

Big Tommy’s eyes looked up from her groin. “What money?”

“Drug money. That’s why I’m here, I’m a courier.”

“How much money we talkin’?”

“It’s usually somewhere between five and seven million. My job is to report the amount and deliver the cash to a private bank in Detroit.”

“Why do they want you dead?”

“Obviously they think I’ve been skimming off the top. I haven’t been, but that doesn’t matter anymore if they put out a TWEP on me. So let’s make a deal… I’ll take you to the drop zone and you free me with my cut of the cash.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why should I trust you? You’ve got the gun. I’m lying here, tied up and naked. Either way I’m screwed.” She glanced down at her vagina. “We’ve got a few hours until the drop… see anything you like?”

Sitting down next to her right leg, he placed his right hand and the gun flat on the mattress by her left leg and leaned over, burying his face in her groin.

Kelly moaned—

— her right hand releasing the loose necktie and snaking its way beneath the pillow…

Sensing movement, Big Tommy looked up — his right eye staring into the barrel of the Glock.

“Nighty-night.”

The shot blasted a Rorschach pattern of brains, blood, and skull fragments against the back wall of the bedroom and out the open door.

Kicking her legs free of the dead biker, Kelly hurriedly pulled on her pants, grabbed her shoes and sweater, and peeked out into the dark hallway. Hearing nothing, she slipped the sweater over her head and the shoes onto her feet and then entered the hall—

— managing two strides before a swarm of steel buckshot plastered parts of her neck and sweater to the age-yellowed wallpaper.

The counter-intelligence agent dropped to her knees, gagging on a stream of blood rising from the back of her throat. Still holding the gun, she aimed the Glock into the darkness, getting off three rounds before her body slumped over sideways.

Brent Snowden rose from his seated position at the top of the stairs. Pumping in another round, he placed the barrel of the.12 gauge shotgun inside the dead woman’s open mouth and fired, splattering her remains across the upstairs hallway.

Adam was dangling twenty feet off the ground when he heard the first shot. Forcing himself to stay focused, he worked his way hand over hand along the length of rain gutter, his target — the thick limb of an oak tree. Feeling something solid beneath his right shoe, he released the gutter, managing to maintain his balance long enough to squat and then straddle the thick branch.

He was crouching on the ground when he heard two more shots — these from a shotgun.

Ducking by a pile of firewood, he retrieved the night vision glasses from around his neck and quickly looked around.

There were three bikers. From the sound of the fired shots Kelly had taken out one of them before the second had most likely killed her.

That left two Devil’s Diciples… and the pilot — whoever he was.

Adam had a full clip and a bullet in the chamber. The night glasses offered him a slight advantage, the woodpile served as temporary cover from anyone approaching him from directly ahead, but he remained vulnerable from behind where one of the bikers could use the northeast corner of the house for cover while blasting him with their shotgun.

The sound of the kitchen door being kicked open sent him hobbling on his prosthetic leg to the northwest corner of the dwelling, the gravel driveway, garage, and barn now visible up ahead.

Targeting the black van, he leaned out to see around the corner of the house—

Whomp!

Sasha Moulder straddled the unconscious man. Spitting on his back, the female biker raised the shotgun over Shariak’s skull to strike him again when Brent Snowden grabbed her wrist.

“No, babe. We need him alive.”

“MAJI wants him dead.”

“I heard the girl telling Big Tommy this farm is a cash drop zone. Shariak may know the details. We’ll waste him after we get the money.”

Handing Sasha his weapon, the big man grabbed Adam Shariak by the arm and tossed him over his broad shoulders like a fireman.

“Snowman, where’s Big Tommy?”

“Dead. But don’t shed any tears; he went out with a smile on his face.”

37

Jessica ducked inside the clear plastic tube and stepped on a round platform covered with quarter-size holes. She gripped the rails by her side, prompting the onboard computer.

“Good evening, Dr. Marulli. Please state your destination.”

“Genetics Complex.”

Jessica felt the rubber soles of her shoes being suctioned to the porous floor a split second before she was transformed into a human bullet, soaring straight up, then sideways so fast she lost all orientation—

Stop!

Somehow she was upright again. The suction eased, her legs wobbling beneath her as she stepped out of the tube to a transportation hub, the six vertical shafts now aligned across from four elevators.

Dr. LaCombe was waiting by an impressive polished steel vault door. “Are you all right?”

“From now on, let’s take the stairs. Where are we? Fort Knox?”

“The vault contains a Faraday chamber which blocks out all electric and electromagnetic waves.” She pressed her face to the rubber housing for a retinal scan.

Eight bolts situated around the steel vault simultaneously retracted, the huge door whisper-quiet as it swung open.

“There are white noise dampeners inside; we’ll receive headsets before we enter. Make sure you keep yours on at all times.”

Jessica followed Joyce inside the vault entrance, immediately registering a faint buzzing sound in her ears. Ahead was a set of smoke-glass doors adjacent to another Plexiglas control booth, a male security guard seated inside. As they approached, a metal box similar to the ones found at a bank drive-thru ejected from inside the checkpoint.

Joyce reached in and removed two headsets wrapped in cellophane. She handed a pair to Jessica, who quickly secured the device over her ears.

The white noise disappeared, replaced by the guard’s voice, which was crisp and clear. “Evening, doc.”

“Good evening, Monroe. I assume you received security clearances for Dr. Marulli?”

“Yes, ma’am, she’s all set. I alerted Dr. Lara that you just arrived.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Prep started twenty minutes ago. At your request, the procedure was moved to TDS-2 so your friend could watch.”

“Excellent. Tell him we’re on our way.”

Joyce headed for the glass doors which were already parting outward, releasing a stream of cool air. Once inside, she turned left down a corridor, Jessica hustling to keep up.

“Procedure?”

“A little something that falls under the description Weird Science and Frickin’ Magic. Since we still have some time before the show begins I thought I’d show you a bit of history.”

The wall on their right illuminated into a ten-by-twelve-foot section of smart glass. As Jessica watched, a slide show began, featuring black and white photos taken of the 1947 UFO crash site in Corona, New Mexico. These were augmented by 16mm footage showing the remains of the vessel, along with military personnel recovering the dead bodies and the extraterrestrial vessel’s lone survivor.

The scene jumped to a series of graphic autopsy slides of the deceased ETs, which were narrated by the Army’s Medical Examiner.

“… as you can see, the EBEN’s brain possesses eleven different lobes as compared to the eight lobes of a human brain. The optic nerves are also larger and far more sophisticated than ours, and their eyes operate from different parts of the brain.

“In regard to the EBEN’s internal parts, one organ appears to function as both a heart and set of lungs. Multiple stomachs are responsible for different digestive processes. There is also an organ designed to remove the moisture from whatever they eat, eliminating the need to consume a large amount of fluids. The reproductive organs are internalized; the vocal cords nonexistent. While communication between the surviving EBEN indicates female Greys do exist, the ETs aboard the crashed vehicles all appear to be male.”

Joyce tapped her shoulder. “We need to cut this short; Dr. Lara is ready to begin.”

The two women followed the corridor signs heading for TDS Suites 1–4. Glass doors parted with a hiss of air pressure and they entered what appeared to be a hospital wing, the corridor walls covered in green tile.

Joyce led Jessica up a narrow flight of steps to an observation galley. Below was a surgical suite that looked like it had been designed by a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein.

Half-a-dozen six-foot-tall, sickle-shaped transformers surrounded a rubber-insulated surgical table like an electronic ribcage. Strapped to the table was a balding Caucasian man in his mid-forties, sporting an unkempt brown beard and mustache and wearing a pale-blue dressing gown. He was unconscious; his right leg covered in rubber pads connected to electrodes which ran from the exposed flesh of his lower right limb to a circuit board situated outside the central dais.

Jessica could see that the man’s left leg was gone, having been amputated above the knee. Just like Adam…

The only other person in the suite was a dark-haired man dressed in black scrubs who was seated at a computer terminal.

Joyce switched channels on her headset to converse with him. “Dr. Juande Lara, say hello to Dr. Jessica Marulli. Dr. Lara is our resident specialist in TDS… Transdimensional Surgery.”

The Spaniard continued typing out commands on his keyboard, never bothering to look up. “Tell me, Marulli, are you familiar with TDS?”

“Never heard the term until you just mentioned it. From the looks of your lab, I assume it has something to do with the zero-point-energy field.”

“Correct. Scientists have known for decades that animals use bioelectrical signals to regenerate body parts — this is how tadpoles regenerate their tails. Two components are required: a proton pump to remove hydrogen ions out of the cell surface, and sodium ions which flow across the cell membrane. This bioelectric state stimulates regeneration-specific genes to multiply, allowing nerves to develop in the direction of the new growth and new cells to replace the damaged ones — including those in the spinal cord, essentially reversing paralysis.”

“That’s amazing.”

“No, Dr. Marulli, amazing is what happened after we used stem cells to crack the bioelectric code and applied the regeneration recipe in a zero-point-energy field.”

Dr. Lara walked over to the man whose three limbs were grounded to the rubber-insulated surgical table. “Our patient this evening is Mr. David Griggs. Mr. Griggs worked for MAJI as a… well, let’s just call him a bounty hunter. Unbeknownst to Mr. Griggs was the fact that he had diabetes, which was left untreated for eighteen years, resulting in gangrene and the eventual amputation of his left leg.

“These six electrodes are powered by zero-point-energy. When I activate them, it will surround the patient in a transdimensional field similar to the bubble generated by the extraterrestrial vehicles. At that exact instant, the bioelectric code to regenerate Mr. Griggs’ left leg will be juiced.”

Returning to his console, Dr. Lara typed in a few commands on his keyboard, causing a neon-blue aura to surround the surgical table.

Jessica watched in amazement as the patient’s left leg began growing from out of his stump, forming a new limb from the inside out within sixty seconds.

“Oh my God…”

“You got the ‘God’ part right. The new limb is fully functional, the neurons channeling directly to Mr. Griggs’ brain.”

Joyce smiled. “Tell Dr. Marulli what else we can do.”

“In a word… everything. There’s not a disease we haven’t cured or an injury we can’t heal within minutes of the application.”

Jessica could barely contain her excitement. “This is incredible. Is this still in the trial phase? When will it be announced to the rest of the world?”

“It won’t be announced,” Dr. Lara said. “The cabal will keep it black-shelved forever, along with zero-point-energy.”

Jessica felt numb. “But why?”

“I think you already know that answer. There’s far more money to be made in treating the symptoms of a disease with prescription medicines that have to be reordered every month than by actually curing something. Eradicate a disease, and you’ve eliminated a trillion dollars from the economy. Big Pharma and the Bankocrats don’t want cures — except for themselves, of course.

“As for the amputees and the paralyzed… the diseased and the dying — MAJI could care less. This is all about money and controlling the masses — the less of them to deal with, the better.”

Jessica’s feeling of utter helplessness had quickly evolved into anger by the time Joyce had dragged her out of the debate and down the hall.

“I wasn’t through!”

“You were preaching to the choir, Jess. Dr. Lara and his colleagues would love to bring these discoveries out, only they’re scared. Physicians and biochemists who claim to have found holistic cancer remedies get shut down… or worse.”

Jessica adjusted the tension on her headset which was squeezing her temples and giving her a headache. “Watching that man’s limb grow out of his stump… all I could think of was Adam—”

She stopped walking, forcing Joyce to turn back. “What?”

“That’s why you wanted me to see that procedure… you even found a left leg amputee, just like Adam.”

“That was a coincidence.”

“Bullshit. You’re lobbying me against Council. Admit it, Joyce.”

“Okay, I admit it, only it’s not what you think.”

“What I think is that I’ve had enough. I’m going home.”

Jessica spun around on her heels, causing her headphones to slide off her head. As she reached out to catch them, her brain was accosted by a symphony of clicks and whispers, screeches and grunts.

Disoriented, she lost her balance, her legs folding beneath her.

Joyce grabbed her as she fell, minimizing the impact. She quickly returned the headphones to Jessica’s ears, tightening the tension. “You okay?”

“No. What the hell was that?”

“That is why I brought you here… to show you MAJI’s real secret.”

Joyce helped her to her feet then led her down the hall to another corridor guarded by two members of DELTA Force. She glanced at a sign posted above a set of double doors.

The garage was situated between the farmhouse and the barn and was the newest structure on the property. An assortment of tools and farming equipment hung from the back wall. Open cardboard boxes held plastic containers of engine oil, a gasoline pump fed diesel fuel from and an underground storage tank housed beneath the concrete slab.

There were two vehicles parked inside. The silver Audi A4 had been leased under a phony name and provided to Kelly Kishel for her use. The candy-apple-red 2013 Case IH Steiger 550S 4x4 tractor belonged to the agents working undercover as farmers.

Adam Shariak opened his eyes to the scent of diesel fumes. He was arched backward over one of the tractor’s enormous pair of rear tires, his arms outstretched painfully over his head, his wrists and ankles duct taped to the vehicle’s undercarriage. The tape had been hastily secured around his left sock, indicating the biker hadn’t noticed the artificial limb.

Barely able to turn his head, he looked to his left and saw the dark-haired female Devil’s Diciple rummaging through a tool chest.

“Baby, do you want a molar or a front tooth?”

“Sasha, I’m on the phone.” The big man with the shaved head and thickly-muscled tattooed arms gave the edge of his hunting knife several slow passes against the silicon carbide stone sharpener while he waited for the secured line to process the call.

“It’s Snowman. The job is done but we’ll need a clean-up crew.”

“How many?”

“Two in the house, one in the garage.”

“Understood.”

Adam tested his bonds — the duct tape around his wrists was cutting off his circulation, but there was some play on his right ankle. As for the prosthetic, the sock was loose; he knew he could slip the bare metal hinged foot out of his shoe at anytime.

He looked up as the woman filled his vision, her human tooth necklace an ugly foreshadowing of what was about to happen. Gripping his lower jaw, the female biker jammed a pair of needle-nose pliers into his mouth. In a well-practiced motion, she forcibly yanked one of his upper right molars out of his gums.

Adam’s groan was choked off by a wad of blood gushing down the back of his throat. Turning his head as far as he could, he spit, only his head was too far back and he ended up dribbling it across his chin and sweatshirt.

The big man approached, the blade of the hunting knife gleaming beneath the bare fluorescent lights anchored beneath the garage roof’s crossbeams. “Sasha… she don’t mess around. Me? I like to take my time. But I’ll make you a deal. You tell me where the drop point is and I’ll end things quick and easy with a bullet to the brain.”

“Detroit… the drop-off is in Detroit.”

“Where in Detroit?”

“A warehouse near the football stadium. I don’t know the address, but I can take you there.”

“He’s lying,” said Sasha, who was busy at a work table, fitting a drill with a narrow bit.

Brent Snowden leaned over Adam. “Are you lying?”

The former Apache pilot and prisoner of war spit again, this time managing to hit the biker in his face. “Maybe that ugly bitch is the one who’s lying?”

The biker wiped his right cheek with his skeleton bandana. “Babe, bring that drill over here.”

Sasha finished drilling a hole in Adam’s pulled tooth, then walked over to the tractor and handed the tool to her boyfriend.

Adam’s eyes went wide in terror. “No, no… please God, not in the knee!”

With a maniacal leer, the biker squeezed the trigger, his muscular right arm jamming the spinning drill bit straight into the fabric of Adam’s left pant leg and down through the metal appendage—

— as Adam’s thoughts commanded the robotic limb to hyperextend.

The sudden movement powered on both of the King Cobra tasers that Jared Betz had rigged to a briar patch of stripped copper wiring around the prosthetic leg, sending a combined six million volts of electricity through the metal and into the biker’s body, instantly stopping his heart.

For a surreal moment the Devil’s Diciple’s two-hundred-and-eighty pound torso continued to convulse in place. And then the dead man toppled forward onto Adam’s lower legs—

— the impact snapping the duct tape around his right ankle and freeing both legs!

Sasha laughed. “Snowman? Baby, get up.”

It took her a moment to realize her motionless boyfriend was dead.

Adam flipped his legs up and over his head so that he was now facing the tire. He gnawed at the twisted mess of duct tape around his left wrist with his blood-drenched teeth like a deer caught in a bear trap.

The biker chick screamed at him, venom in her eyes. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Prying the hunting knife loose from her dead boyfriend’s hand, she wheeled upon Adam—

— who had freed his left hand and was now brandishing a second 9mm that he had removed from a holster hidden inside the struts and springs of his artificial limb, the gun’s barrel aimed at Sasha’s right eye.

Without hesitation he pulled the trigger, the slug tearing through the woman’s cornea and brain before exploding out the back of her skull.

He spit out a wad of blood. “That’s for making me have to go to the dentist.”

Adam quickly chewed through the tape around his right wrist that was still pinning him to the tractor. He slid down the back of the double tires as the last piece of silver tape gave way. Locating Snowden’s knife, he cut loose the remains of his bonds.

He managed two steps — only to realize the damaged prosthetic was wobbling badly.

Fix it… then get out of here before the clean-up crew arrives.

Slicing off the pant leg, he inspected the damage to the hydraulic knee, which was bent beyond his ability to repair it.

Maybe Kishel left her keys in the car?

He attempted to limp over, only the prosthetic leg buckled. Searching the garage, he found a push broom. Inverting it, he tucked the broom’s head under his left arm and used the stick like a crutch in order to make his way over to the silver Audi.

A quick inspection turned up nothing.

And then the garage window panes startled to rattle…

38

Adam stood by the garage window, staring at the roof of the three-story barn. The A-frame of the dilapidated structure had split open like a giant pair of praying hands, its weathered shingles and struts concealing a pair of aluminum doors anchored on hydraulic rollers.

Exiting the garage, he hid behind the rusted jalopy and gazed up at a starry night sky and a bizarre amber-red light.

The disc-shaped UFO was fifty feet in diameter, with a band of multi-colored lights that circled randomly around its circumference. Descending rapidly, the ship stopped to momentarily hover above the barn’s still opening gullet — revealing tell-tale seams along its hull in the process — confirming to Adam its identification as a man-made Alien Reproduction Vehicle.

The craft disappeared inside the barn, the A-frame roof closing to seal the vessel inside its secret port.

Leaning on the broom, Adam made his way across the gravel driveway to the barn door and pressed his ear to the heavy reinforced barrier to hear two men yelling inside—

— the argument ending with a shot of gunfire.

Adam hid behind the barn door as it swung open, releasing a Caucasian man in his forties, his brown hair receding in front but long in the back, ending in a tight ponytail. He was dressed in a black Delta Force jumpsuit, a Beretta handgun in his right hand, the pilot’s helmet in his left.

“Drop the gun or I’ll drop you where you stand.”

The commando stopped; his back to Adam. “Sounds like a bad western. How am I supposed to know if you’re really armed?”

Adam fired a shot between the man’s feet.

“I guess that settles the matter.” He lowered his gun, allowing it to fall to the gravel-covered driveway by his right boot. “Your move, cowboy.”

“Who did you shoot inside the barn?”

“The guy MAJI sent to kill you. You are Adam Shariak, yes?”

“And you are?”

“Chris Mull. I work with your fiancée. May I turn around just to confirm who you are?”

Without waiting for a reply the commando turned to face Adam. “Ah, it is you… fantastic. About a week ago we learned a TWEP order had been placed on you. Jessica begged me to save your sorry ass. I managed to change the duty roster in order to accompany the hit man. His name was Captain Joshua LaCombe. The body’s inside the barn.”

“What about the girl?”

“Girl? What girl?”

“Kelly Kishel. MAJI sent her to kill me.”

“Never heard of her. Where is she?”

“Dead.”

For a brief second the commando’s eyes went vacant like a predator’s, devoid of a soul. “You killed her?”

“No, the bikers handled that. But I thought you said this guy, LaCombe was sent to kill me?”

“Apparently MAJI brought in back-up.”

“Where’s the zero-point-energy device?”

“What zero-point-energy device is that?”

The bullet splintered the gravel between Chris Mull’s feet.

“Take it easy, Shariak. I’m on your side.”

“That remains to be seen. Now show me the device.”

“No problem, it’s inside the ARV.” Mull walked back toward the barn, slipping the helmet on his head as he approached Adam. “Jessica told me you flew Apaches in Iraq. You’d love flying one of these ET ships. The helmet links your thought commands to the—”

“Stop.”

“Stop… start… get the ZPE unit… make up your mind.”

“I said stop!” Adam fired again, causing the man to halt a few paces away. “The headpiece… take it off and hand it to me.”

“It won’t work for you.”

“As long as it doesn’t work for you.”

Chris Mull’s smile cracked a second before he whipped the headpiece at Adam, the helmet knocking the broomstick out from under him.

Balancing on his only leg, Adam attempted to shoot his assailant, only Mull had circled behind him. As he turned, the MAJI agent launched a front thrust kick, catching him flush in the solar plexus and driving him backward through the open barn door.

Adam flopped on the hay-covered concrete slab like a fish out of water. He wheezed but could not draw a breath, the air driven from his lungs, the bundle of nerves below his ribcage momentarily paralyzed. He tried to raise the gun—

— only to have the Delta Force commando kick it out of his hand.

“You killed Kelly, didn’t you?”

The instep of the man’s boot struck him on the right side of his chest, bruising two ribs.

“You’re in a world of hurt, my friend. After I take care of you I’m heading back to Dulce to deal with your fiancée. Me and Jessica… we’re going to have a lot of fun as I—”

Chris Mull leaned over to retrieve Adam’s gun — and vaporized.

Adam looked up in disbelief. One moment he was there, the next… poof. All that remained was a dispersing trail of humidity.

Unable to breathe, Adam rolled over onto his back, each wheezed breath managing to push a little more air into his starving lungs. Thoughts raced at him, demanding answers but breathing was his first priority, pain a close second.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at the underside of the man-made space craft. There was no landing gear; the vessel was simply floating ten feet above the barn’s concrete floor.

And then he heard a voice.

“… to your right. Shariak, pick up the headpiece.”

He glanced to his right and saw it lying six feet away.

Forcing himself onto his belly, he crawled to the device and placed it on his head, registering a zzzzzztt of current in his brain.

“Shariak, can you hear me?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“Far side of the barn… by the bales of hay.”

Adam diverted to a metal rake and used it to lean on as he circled the floating vessel.

He saw the trail of blood… then he saw the man.

Captain Joshua LaCombe was leaning back against a bale of hay, his blood-soaked hands pressing weakly against an entrance wound in his abdomen and an exit wound in his left lung. He was pale and bleeding out very fast.

“How did you vaporize Mull?”

“Head-piece. ARVs are fully weaponized… just don’t use them in space. Listen carefully. Inside the lower level are three gravity amplifiers. Omicron configuration…”

He ceased talking, the blood gurgling in his windpipe.

Adam reached for him, only the commander’s telepathic voice interceded.

Shariak, focus! Omicron configuration flies sublight speed using one gravity amplifier. Delta configuration uses all three as a bow-wave to go transdimensional. I rigged the ZPE unit to eject from your console when you go Delta.

“You expect me to fly this thing?”

No choice. MAJI will terminate my wife and son, along with Jessica and your unborn kid. Get to Dulce and shut them down.

“But how am I—”

An ARV is like an Apache… just think and it moves. Beware of Zeus SATS… they’re armed.

“Okay. Anything else?

Tell Joyce and my boy…

Adam watched as Joshua LaCombe’s eyes glazed over. “Captain?”

Did he say my unborn kid?

He looked up as the sound of motorcycles approached in the distance.

Leaning on the rake, Adam limped to the barn door and sealed it, then returned to the hovering disk. Looking up at the curved underside, he noticed a hexagon-shaped honeycombed configuration.

“Think the hatch open.”

Open, please.

The honeycomb pattern pixilated, collapsing upon itself to become a hatch.

Okay, that was cool. Adam balanced on his right leg fourteen feet beneath the opening. Now how am I supposed to climb up in there?

A strange sensation made him smile, then he laughed out loud as his body became weightless and the ARV’s anti-gravity bubble swept him up inside the ship.

The Genetics Lab occupied two levels and more than six square miles of the subterranean complex’s lower floors. Promising to limit the tour to two locations, Joyce escorted Jessica to an ET repository — a dark chamber where the preserved remains of several dozen interstellar life forms were floating in clear vertical tubes of liquid.

“My God… How many different Interstellar species have visited Earth?”

“The reports vary. I’ve heard anywhere from sixteen to thirty-five. My genetics team was assigned to work with the three most prevalent extraterrestrial species. This first tube holds a rare specimen — a very human-like ET known as a Nordic. We believe they’ve been infiltrating society for quite some time.”

The specimen was a female and startlingly human in appearance, save for a slightly narrower skull and cat-like irises.

“With a pair of contact lenses, it would be nearly impossible to distinguish them from us. What do they want?”

“We don’t know. But neither the Nordics nor any of these other Interstellars have ever been hostile — even though we’ve repeatedly shot them down.”

“What about the times they’ve shut down our nuclear ballistic missiles?”

“I don’t consider that hostile. It’s more like a parent taking away fire-crackers from a preschooler.”

Joyce led Jessica to the next vertical container, the contrast between the Nordic and this creature startling. The six-foot biped possessed the head of a praying mantis and a pair of hand-like appendages on each upper limb.

“That is seriously ugly.”

“Don’t judge a species by its appearance. While we trace our beginnings to primates — one of the most violent life forms in the animal kingdom, this Interstellar species evolved from insects. They happen to be an extremely advanced and peaceful race that has taken a real liking to man.”

The last two rows of vertical tubes contained the remains of the Grey species that Colonel Johnston had used to infiltrate Jessica’s subconscious.

“These are Greys, of course. We believe they come from a planet in Zeta Reticuli, a binary star system about 39.5 light years away. There is increasing evidence that the Greys manipulated our genetic code as many as sixty times over the last several million years.”

“Why would they alter our genetic code?”

“There are a lot of reasons. Most fall under the category, ‘to accelerate our evolution as a species.’ Earth is a wonderful habitat, Jess, but over most of its six billion year history it has experienced multiple epochs of glaciations, each of which nearly wiped out every life form in existence. The evolution of Homo sapiens happened only because Earth has been experiencing a temperate period between ice ages.”

“And you think it’s possible the Greys accelerated our simian development in order to give us the best chance to survive?”

Joyce nodded. “And now, because of fossil fuels, we’re accelerating Global Warming. What the average American and the Climate Change deniers in Washington refuse to understand is that Global Warming causes ice ages. When Greenland’s ice melts, all of that fresh water will inundate the North Atlantic Current, diluting its saline content. Salt water is what circulates the thermohaline, and the thermohaline is what keeps Europe and North America warm.

“Unless we drastically reverse carbon emissions, the thermocline will stop. And when it does, the Earth’s temperature will plummet. Within months, most of North America and Europe could be covered in snow and ice.”

“Is that why you brought me here, Joyce? To smuggle a zero-point-energy unit off this base in order to stop Climate Change?”

“Yes and no. The zero-point-energy unit is being delivered to your fiancé as we speak, along with access to off-shore accounts totaling a hundred billion dollars.”

“My God…”

“Unfortunately, there’s another threat that supersedes Global Warming. Come with me, and keep your headpiece on.”

They left the repository and approached a set of sealed doors which opened as Dr. LaCombe approached. Jessica followed her inside to a balcony located several stories above a gymnasium-size mosh-pit.

Milling about below were hundreds of Grey extraterrestrials.

“Welcome to La-La Land.”

The ETs appeared delirious, bumping into one another, walking into walls.

“What the hell, Joyce? Did you capture these beings?”

“God, no. They were biologically cloned; we call them PLFs… Programmed Life Forms. We manufacture them here in Dulce and in the Pine Gap facility in Australia. Their neural complexes have been fitted with a microchip implant which scrambles their thoughts, forcing them to obey our commands. The lab is surrounded by a very powerful Faraday Chamber, otherwise the ETs would simply walk through the walls and disappear.”

“Why are you cloning them?”

“We’re cloning them for the same reason we’re building hundreds of ARVs. MAJI has been preparing for a fake alien invasion for decades; only in this Orwellian nightmare we are both the us and the them. The fake ships and aliens… it’s all a false flag event staged to look like a real Independence Day.”

“This is insane. Why would MAJI do this?”

“Mostly because they’re power-hungry… and endless war allows them to control the planet and regulate the human population. Then there is a religious faction of MAJI who believes Armageddon will lead to the Second Coming. So you have the military sociopaths and the religious fanatics joining forces to launch their new campaign against terror which will unite what’s left of the world against Satanic species from other worlds.”

“No… I don’t believe it.”

“Scott Hopper was assigned the task of programming the array’s target list; he revealed it to me two days before they poisoned him. The West will get hit first of course… London and Los Angeles, then Moscow and Beijing. Syria and ISIS will be incinerated, along with a billion innocent Muslims, and Iran will get theirs too. Jerusalem will be attacked but will manage to survive in order to appease the radical Christians rooting for the return of their savior. After that, America will stage a comeback as our Zeus Space Defense System, quote-unquote ‘becomes operational.’ Putin and Trump will play starring roles, their egos left to fight on Twitter as to which one of them actually saved the world.

“It should be one helluva show… a lesson on how to reduce the human race by eighty percent, brought to you courtesy of the wackos running MAJI.”

39

Adam watched in amazement as the hexagon-shaped hatch sealed beneath him.

He was weightless because he had wished it so, just as he knew he could instantly restore gravity within the tight confines of the ship with only a change of thought.

The lower level was as tight as an attic. Three large gravity amplifiers, each equipped with two-by-four-foot-long rudder-like objects that occupied most of the space.

He rose past ladder rungs leading up to the main deck. A circular console occupied the middle of the chamber, its three crew seats positioned at intervals around the controls.

Adam grabbed on to one of the seatbacks and pulled himself in, then thought away the zero-gravity setting… his body mass returning like a concrete suit.

“I need to get—” I mean, I need to get to Dulce, New Mexico. Better open the barn roof first.

Nothing happened.

The eleven Devil’s Diciples’ motorcycles rolled past the closed gas station, following the deserted two-lane highway to the northwest. Reaching the farm, they turned up the gravel drive and parked next to the van, shutting down their engines.

Aaron Edward Rahn, A.K.A. “Fast Eddie,” ordered his crew to search the farmhouse and garage. Having taken over as warlord following his predecessor’s conviction on RICO charges, Fast Eddie had moved the gang’s business from meth to Murder, Inc. The “contracts” were provided by a former Vice Admiral who Rahn’s father had served under, the victims considered enemies of the state who needed to “disappear.” The bikers had proved to be fast, reliable, and extremely ruthless, their only shortcoming — an affinity for the killers to wear the teeth of their victims on a necklace.

This job was a bit different. Adam Shariak’s body would be found in a hotel room. The woman hired to do the hit would get whacked herself, their naked corpses arranged in what was supposed to look like a lover’s tiff.

“Eddie, there’s two bodies in the farm house — the girl and Big Tommy. We found Snowman and Sasha in the garage… both dead. There’s no sign of Shariak.”

They turned as two bikers waved at the warlord from the barn door, one holding up Adam’s night glasses. “Over here!”

Adam tried rephrasing the thought command a dozen different ways. He searched the vessel for some kind of hydraulic controller. Desperate, he even tried all three pilot seats… only nothing would raise the barn roof.

Mull said the headset wouldn’t work for me…

A warning light flashed as the forward panel went translucent. He could now see through the ship and the barn door into the night where one of the bikers was removing something large from the van’s hidden compartment.

The weapon illuminated and enlarged on the screen.

“Christ… that’s an RPG.”

Open barn roof! Prepare to activate Omicron configuration.

Still nothing.

Adam’s eye tracked the biker as he stood before the barn door and hoisted the rocket-propelled grenade launcher upon his right shoulder.

Screw it. Activate Delta configuration!

Select destination.

I don’t know… how about Jupiter.

Adam opened his eyes… which, in retrospect, indicated he had closed them. Strangely, he hadn’t remembered closing them… or leaving the barn, or for that matter, experiencing any hint of a passage of time. And yet here he was, looking out a 360-degree view of space dominated by the monstrous planet whose southern hemisphere loomed over him like the epitome of creation.

Adam stared at the goliath… how could one not? The island of hydrogen, helium, and churning bands of sulfurous clouds was more than three hundred times the size of Earth, its volatile winds whipping three times faster than a Category-5 hurricane. And yet the behemoth was beautiful, its atmosphere colored in blues, browns, reds and whites; its ice rings sparkling like diamonds.

Gazing at him from the belly of the beast was the leviathan’s crimson eye — the Great Red Spot — large enough to engulf two Earths. And then there were Jupiter’s moons; four immense gravity-affecting toddlers and sixty-plus smaller tykes, all of which appeared to be trolling above the planet’s exotic seas like tiny orbs… each a world unto itself.

As he watched, a dark speck came into view, rotating counterclockwise with the planet. Too oddly shaped to be a moon, Adam realized it was following a geosynchronous orbit and would pass directly between his craft and the planet.

And now he could see it… an immense triangular Interstellar mothership that dwarfed his tiny vessel in the same manner Jupiter dwarfed Earth.

Filled with wonderment, he reached out telepathically with a greeting.

I am Adam.

Greetings, Adam. You are the first to venture this far.

I come in peace.

There are no boundaries in peace. Safe travels, friend Adam.

In that moment, in the emptiness of space, he was at one with the universe and the universe was at one with him… his soul a spark of the single creation that had given birth to the Big Bang and every atom in the physical universe.

Adam was overcome by such a feeling of brotherhood and unconditional love that he wept.

Having strapped in, he had not realized the cabin was experiencing zero gravity until the object ejected from the main console. He reached out for it as it floated by — the device an island of energy, a buoy to a future denied to humans by those who had sought only to erect boundaries.

Engage Delta configuration…

Take me back to Earth.

40

Dr. Joyce Lacombe topped her cup of coffee off with a second shot of whiskey. “Do you know who I admire?”

Jessica passed on the offering. “Who do you admire, Joyce?”

“The blissfully ignorant.”

“You mean the ones who define technology as an iPhone-7, but believe it’s impossible to run a car off of anything but gasoline?”

“Exactly. I’d love to just wake up one morning and have a blissfully ignorant life with a husband who drove a truck, or a son who could play sports instead of reside in a bunker four months out of the year.”

“Know what I think? I think you’re jealous of the ignorant, but I don’t think you admire them… that’s what I think.”

Joyce took another swig of her drink. “You know me that well, do you?”

“I know me that well. I wouldn’t want to not know the truth… the truth is beautiful. It’s the lies that are ugly.”

“And have you decided on whether you’ll be helping us to spread the truth?”

“Tell me what I have to do.”

Joyce leaned in to whisper, even though she had rigged her private office with white noise dampeners. “Getting hold of a zero-point unit was never on our radar, you sort of walked that option home. Far more important than a working device are its schematics. We’ve been able to copy the plans for three different zero-point-energy generators onto several USB flash drives. The challenge is getting them out of this facility — not an easy task given the ultra-high security present in these lower levels.”

“But you came up with an option?”

“Not an option but a real solution. The option is whether you are willing to accept a small amount of temporary discomfort in order to make the world a safer, better place for your unborn child.”

Dr. Lara ushered the two women into Transdimensional Surgical Suite-4. “Everything is set. The entire procedure should take less than four minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got about eight minutes worth of questions,” Jessica replied quickly. “Just so I understand this, you want to amputate one of my fingers and grow back a replacement finger with the flash drive grown under my skin?”

“Correct. The flash drive will be placed beneath the tendon and bone where any skilled surgeon will be able to slide it out.”

“Without removing my new finger?”

“Correct. Again Dr. Marulli, there should be no lasting effects other than a small scar.”

“Which finger?”

“That is a legitimate question; let us take a look.”

Reaching into his lab coat pocket, Dr. Lara removed a small flat flash drive sealed in white rubber latex. Holding up the object to each finger, the TDS surgeon measured the width.

“You said you were right-handed?”

“Yes.”

“Then I would say the best results should come by replacing the fourth digit of your left hand.”

“Hello? That’s where I’m wearing my engagement ring.”

“That’s an engagement ring?”

“Yeah, wise ass. Maybe I should castrate you and we can smuggle the flash drive out in your new ball sack.”

“Take it easy,” Joyce said. “Dr. Lara, use the ring finger on the right hand… it’s only a twenty-four hour inconvenience… she’ll manage.”

Jessica eased herself onto the rubber table top and laid back, looking up at the underside of half a dozen six-foot-tall sickle-shaped transformers.

Dr. Lara prepared a syringe. “I’m going to give you a few injections for the pain, then administer a local anesthetic. Dr. LaCombe, if you’d start the I.V.”

She winced at the cold spray preceding the two numbing injections, her heart beating rapidly as Joyce inserted an I.V. tube into a vein in her left forearm.

She glanced at the face of a large wall clock as the antibiotic drip entered her bloodstream.

It’s 04:17. Only two hours and forty-three minutes before I get… to… go… home…

Joyce watched as Dr. Lara engaged the transdimensional bubble around Jessica’s right hand. “The vortex will prevent any bleeding when I remove the finger… like… so—”

Joyce found herself turning away as he clipped off the digit.

“Are you squeamish, Dr. LaCombe? You should have seen what our teams went through when we were amputating the limbs off street people. The remains we left buried in the desert still give me nightmares.”

Using a probe, he positioned the flash drive beneath the flexor tendon connecting Jessica’s right hand to the fourth finger’s lower joint. “As you can see, I’m going a little lower so she’ll still maintain a bit of flexion in the—”

The detonation shook the Dulce complex, rattling the fluorescent lights mounted in the ceiling.

Dr. Lara looked up, his focus momentarily broken. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. It felt like an earthquake.”

A second tremor shook the subterranean facility; the disturbance followed a moment later by a deafening siren and whirling yellow lights.

Joyce felt the blood rush from her face.

“What the hell is going on?”

“That siren is a warning. Strategic Command is about to go into a full alert.”

“What would—”

“I have no idea,” she yelled, ripping off her surgical gown, “but you need to finish up without me. If we go into a full alert, anyone not wearing a Zebra badge or higher will have exactly sixty seconds to vacate the facility before they are shot and killed… and that includes my son!”

General Thomas J. Cubit climbed out of a transport tube, his hair and clothes disheveled from having been “vacuum-flushed” twenty-two stories out of his suite. “Christ, I hate these damn things… speak to me, gentlemen.”

“Sir, one of our ARV’s is hovering above Dulce Mountain firing low level scalar bursts at us.”

“Who’s piloting the craft?”

“According to the duty roster, Captain Joshua LaCombe is the pilot—”

The lights blinked off and on as another scalar shot penetrated the complex’s electromagnetic shielding.

“—only the ship’s computer isn’t getting a DNA match. The co-pilot is listed as Captain Jeffrey Allen… only I can’t even get a corroborative history on him.”

“Somebody get me a goddam headset and connect me by thought-wave.”

“General, three visiting Council members are demanding to know why Strategic Command hasn’t gone on full alert.”

“There are civilians with young children living here; I’m not about to give an order that leads to marines shooting kids.”

“Sir, Zeus-2 will be in firing range in seven minutes.”

“General, we have a pit crew loading an interceptor drone onto an elevator platform. ETA for launch… under sixty seconds.”

A tech arrived with a headset, offering it to General Cubit who snatched it from him and powered the device on.

This is General Thomas Cubit. Would the pilot or pilots of the ARV firing upon our facility please identify themselves.

Just me, General Cubit. Small world.

Shariak? My God… you actually made it through the rabbit’s hole.

“General, ARV-2 is on the platform. ETA for launch is twenty seconds.”

Adam, listen to me — I’m on your side… we were the ones who selected you. There’s an ARV interceptor drone ready to launch. You need to hit us with a Level-Six EMP… quickly!

The powerful electromagnetic pulse passed through the subterranean complex at near light speed, shutting down the electrical grid, reducing the Dulce facility to emergency power.

Good. That should shut down power to the lifts and buy us a few minutes. Shariak, how did you acquire the ARV?

Someone put out a TWEP on me. One of the would-be assassins was a counter-intelligence agent at OSI. Her boyfriend arrived aboard the ARV… apparently they had plans to sell a ZPE unit. The boyfriend shot the pilot… the pilot vaporized the boyfriend.

Do you know their names?

The pilot was LaCombe. The OSI agent was Kelly Kishel; her boyfriend… Chris Mull.

Colonel Johnston… you bastard—

“General, are you able to communicate with the pilot?”

“Yes. This was an unannounced test of the EMP Shield. Stand down warning.”

Shariak, I know who issued the TWEP order and I’ll handle it. Get the hell out of here before the Air Force arrives or a Zeus satellite vaporizes you.

What about Jess?

She’s safe… she’ll be heading back to D.C. today.

Why me, General?

MAJI’s silent majority is making a move against the ruling fringe element. The movement selected twelve potential access points to release zero-point-energy. Each access point was assigned an escort.

And I was yours?

No. Jessica was mine. You were Barbara Jean’s.

Jess’s mom?

Never mind that now. Implanted in the fourth finger of your fiance’s right hand is a flash drive with schematics for three different ZPE generators. Get it to Greer; he’ll know what to do with it.

What about the ARV?

Crash it or ditch it. Zeus was designed to target and destroy any vessel crossing over into our physical dimension. There are already three of them in orbit… one is moving into firing range as we speak!

The forward view screen suddenly zoomed into space, focusing upon a rectangular object…

Recognizing the killer satellite, Adam quickly engaged the ARV’s Delta configuration, slipping the ship into transdimensional space.

41

Jessica gazed out of the first-class passenger window at the autumn sky. Dusk bled over the darkening city in crimson and purple, the lights of Dulles International Airport beckoning to the east.

Her mind drifted back three thousand air miles and fifteen hours ago…

She had found herself stumbling down a dimly lit corridor illuminated by yellow emergency lights while strangers in lab coats raced by. Her mouth was dry, her right hand felt strange, and someone had taped a gauze pad to her left forearm.

Twenty minutes later the power had returned, along with the memory of being prepped for surgery.

A security guard escorted her back to the women’s lockers. Stripping down, she was weighed and searched by a female attendant, then sent through the showers to the other side. Locating her locker, she dressed, and at 6:37 a.m., rode the elevator up to the Maglev train station on Level-9, her packed bags already there along with eight other techs, all of whom seemed excited to be going home.

Sarah had packed her a breakfast sandwich and a container of freshly-squeezed orange juice. Lydia had refused to allow her to leave Dulce until she was given medical clearance. They had held the train up forty minutes before Dr. Spencer confirmed her bloodstream was clear of any foreign objects.

Finally she had boarded the train, receiving nasty looks from the other passengers. Selecting an empty row in back, she took the window seat, reclined her chair and dozed off…

“Excuse me? Are these two seats taken?”

The train had stopped at Los Alamos to pick up a single passenger — a raven haired woman, bearing the gaunt, pale complexion of someone who had spent far too many months working indoors.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I asked if these seats were taken.”

The train suddenly accelerated, causing the woman to lose her balance. She fell forward across Jessica’s lap, her right hand grabbing hold of Jessica’s bare left arm to keep from tumbling head-over-heels.

“I’m so sorry.”

Jessica wiped the woman’s sweat from her biceps. “It’s okay.”

The Maglev train arrived at the subterranean complex beneath Edwards Air Force Base at 8:13 a.m. Fifteen minutes later Jessica found herself standing beneath an actual cloudless blue sky, breathing the fresh desert air.

She could have taken a private jet bound for Pittsburgh and Washington, but turned the offer down. Instead she accepted a van ride to LAX and booked a ticket on the next direct flight to D.C., wanting nothing more to do with MAJI.

She called Adam at the airport, but only got his message machine. “Hey babe, it’s me. I’m coming home tonight, arriving in Dulles at 6:15 p.m. on Delta. I can’t wait to see you and hold you… and just love on you. I missed you so much.”

Jessica’s heart raced as the wheels touched down, her left forearm sore where the woman had dug in with her nails. She rubbed it, conscious of the stiffness coming from her fourth finger.

Maybe Adam knows an ER doctor who can take this thing out tonight.

Adam stood at the security checkpoint which separated ticketed passengers from guests.

Twenty thousand air miles and fifteen hours ago he had found himself knocking on the Greer’s back door, the ARV hovering ten feet off the ground in the clearing behind him.

“Morning, doc. I’ll swap you a pair of crutches for an ARV and a zero-point-energy device.”

Adam shared his tale over a four a.m. breakfast. Thirty minutes later they had made plans with the man who had spent the last thirty years communicating with extraterrestrials receiving an in-flight tutorial on how to operate the man-made UFO.

They embraced outside the closed gas station in Cassopolis, Michigan. Adam watched the ARV shoot straight up into the graying sky, leaving him alone on the deserted country road.

Remembering the bikers, he rolled up the garage door and climbed in the rental car. Locating the keys in the ash tray where he had left them, he started the vehicle and sped away.

Returning to Chicago was all about establishing alibis. Adam had flown into O’Hare International a day earlier; therefore, he needed to depart from O’Hare.

He had received Jessica’s voice mail when he had landed in D.C. at 3:25 p.m. He just had time to return to his apartment, shower, and strap on his regular prosthetic leg before Gene Evans arrived to drive him back out to Dulles.

The petite blonde with the athletic figure broke into a wide smile as she dashed up the inclined corridor and past the velvet ropes, leaping into her fiancé’s arms. Wrapping her lower limbs around his waist, she locked in their kiss until Adam’s legs began to buckle.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Wow, that was some kiss.”

“I’m serious. We’re going to have a baby!”

He hugged her. “That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

“Asshole!”

Adam and Jessica turned to find a middle aged woman glaring at them.

“If I were you, missy, I’d leave this scumbag before he abuses you, too.”

They watched the woman walk away while others stared and pointed.

Adam shook his head. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“And even more we can’t. Doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to take a year off from work.”

“A year, huh? You do realize I’m unemployed.”

She slid her arm around his waist as they walked together toward the escalator leading down to baggage claim. “I’m sure we’ll manage to get by.”

Ten minutes later they had Jessica’s luggage and were waiting for Evans to circle around with the car. The bodyguard pulled the black Mustang over to the curb by the passenger pick-up zone and popped open the trunk. He loaded Jessica’s bags while the couple squeezed into the tight back seat.

“Adam, wouldn’t you rather stretch out in front?”

“No, I like it back here with you.”

The bodyguard climbed in the driver’s side, rummaging through a gym bag he had retrieved from the passenger seat.

“Jess, this is Gene Evans. We served together in Iraq.”

“Nice to meet you, Gene.”

The bodyguard spun around, a big smile on his face—

— a Beretta in his hand.

He managed to fire two rounds before Adam grabbed hold of the barrel. Using both hands, he twisted the gun toward his assailant — the third shot striking Evans in the right temple, killing him instantly.

“Jess?”

“I’m okay… I’m okay.”

He turned, relieved to find one slug had hit the seat between them, the other burying itself in the quadriceps of his prosthetic left leg.

Jessica smiled nervously, her hands shaking from the adrenaline rush. “Not much of a shot for a bodyguard, was he?”

Tears of relief poured out of Adam’s eyes. “I guess not.”

The white van rolled up next to the Mustang’s driver’s side door. A hand reached out of the open passenger window… holding a palm-size controller.

The explosion splattered blood across the back windshield, blinding Adam. He spit the warm liquid out of his mouth as he screamed Jessica’s name, desperately wiping at his eyes to locate what remained of his beautiful fiancée.

42

The image could have inspired a Norman Rockwell painting; the leaves golden and red and purple with fall, the church white, the sky cobalt-blue. Autumn in America — a pastel of life… invaded by grief.

Men in black suits, women in black dresses, veils and purses. Black limousines occupied the church parking lot, the news vans relegated to film behind a barrier patrolled by police officers in black uniforms.

The explosive that had blown off Jessica Marulli’s left arm had caused her to bleed to death in under thirty seconds, making the mortician’s work especially difficult. The casket had been ordered closed, the viewing chamber limited to the immediate family and close friends.

Captain Al Marulli refused to wear his dress uniform. His wife, Barbara Jean, had to be heavily medicated before she could be led inside the limo. For forty minutes the parents of the deceased attempted to be gracious hosts — the polished-wood casket situated at the front of the room carrying its own gravitational weight.

Adam sat in the second row next to his brother, Randy, and his sister-in-law. Dr. Steven Greer was seated behind him.

No one spoke. Everything that had to be said had already been said. There were no more tears to be cried, all that remained was to channel the anger.

In due course the reverend entered the chamber to announce that it was time to begin the ceremony. Senator Hall and his wife joined the procession line of guests exiting to the chapel.

Last in line, Captain Marulli led his wife past their daughter’s fiancé. Barbara Jean paused to brush her hand along the top of Adam’s head. Then she looked at Dr. Greer, who remained seated behind him.

“Be respectful… be quick.”

The two men waited until the chamber emptied. Adam quickly locked the doors, turning his back on Dr. Greer who opened the casket. Removing a thin carrying case from his jacket pocket, the former ER physician took out a scalpel and tweezers and set to work on the deceased woman’s right ring finger.

In less than a minute he had the flash drive in a small zip-lock bag and the casket was closed.

Adam waited until Greer patted him on the back before opening the door to allow the pallbearers to wheel his fiancée’s remains into the chapel.

General Thomas J. Cubit stood in the assembly hall, addressing the members of Council who were watching him on video by invitation only.

“The zero-point-energy unit was stolen by counter-intelligence agent Chris Mull, one of Colonel Johnston’s top men. Mull and his lover, OSI agent Kelly Kishel, intended to sell the device. Against the recommendation of the majority of Council, Colonel Johnston took it upon himself to issue a TWEP order on Adam Shariak in order to cover up Mr. Mull’s tracks.

“In order to steal the ZPE unit, Mull acquired a fake device and attempted to blackmail Dr. Marulli into assisting him with the crime. Mull’s plan was to implicate the director of our Zeus program, along with our best ARV pilot, Captain Josh LaCombe. It was the ARV that would provide Mull with a means of removing the zero-point-energy unit from Dulce.

“Things went sour for Mr. Mull when he arrived at the MAJI drop-site in Cassopolis, Michigan by ARV, only to discover Colonel Johnston had double-crossed him by issuing a TWEP order on both him and his girlfriend, Agent Kishel.

“Why would the colonel issue a TWEP on Mr. Mull and his girlfriend? Because Dr. Sarah Mayhew-Reece, the assistant director at Zeus, had learned that Dr. Marulli had replaced Mull’s fake ZPE unit with the real device in order to prevent the crime. She reported Jessica’s actions to Dr. Joyce LaCombe, Captain LaCombe’s wife, and the head of our genetics department.

“Our clean-up crew arrived at the Michigan drop point to find the bodies of Agent Kishel, who had been killed by members of the Devil’s Diciples, and Captain LaCombe, who was shot and killed by Mr. Mull. There were also three dead bikers, one terminated by Agent Kishel, the other two by Mr. Mull.

“In a fit of rage, Mr. Mull then returned to Dulce aboard the ARV, intent on enacting revenge on Colonel Johnston. I attempted to talk him down while we readied our interceptor drones. He fired a disruptor burst and fled when one of the Zeus satellites moved into firing range.”

A Council member from the United Kingdom addressed him via audio hook-up. “Where is the ARV now, general?”

“It was last tracked over India.”

“Who gave the TWEP order on Dr. Marulli?”

“Again, that was Dr. Death. Shariak’s driver was hired to take out Shariak; the biological explosive had been adhered to Dr. Marulli’s skin during the ride to Edwards Air Force Base by Colonel Johnson’s co-conspirator, his wife, Yvonne.

“Gentlemen and ladies, the aftermath of these crimes is devastating to MAJI. Dr. Jessica Marulli was not only the brains behind Project Zeus and an invaluable young mind, but her parents both served MAJI loyally for a combined seventy-plus years.

“Dr. Marulli’s murder firmly splits MAJI into two camps. There’s the old guard; a radically conservative minority that has controlled MAJI’s agenda through a campaign of fear, orchestrated by Colonel Johnston and his MK-Ultra psychotronic threat. Then there is a progressive majority who feels it is time we disclosed our technological advances to the rest of humanity in an attempt to prevent an environmental cataclysm and thwart a radical false flag event that, if launched, will slaughter billions.

“Gentlemen and ladies, it is time for MAJI to crawl out of the shadows and into the light. Either we make bold changes immediately and stop this insanity, or there will be nothing left of humanity to salvage.”

The procession of black limousines continued rolling through the gated entrance of Wardour on the Severn. Relegated to the main house, the mourners fed on deli platters and attempted to comfort their hosts.

Captain Marulli and his wife remained with their guests until 5:00 p.m. when they excused themselves to adjourn to their private carriage home set along the waters of the Chesapeake River.

Entering the cottage, they made their way down the spiral stairwell into the wine cellar, where the other twenty-two members of their war Council had already assembled. They had arrived from all over the world to mourn the loss of their colleagues’ daughter and to initiate an event that would send ripples around the world.

Each man and woman held a silver goblet filled with Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945. Captain Marulli had paid $310,000 for a double magnum of the wine ten years earlier, intending on opening it on a special occasion. Regarded as one of the greatest red wines of the previous century, the 1945 vintage was purposely chosen, for its date marked the year two atomic bombs had been detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki — an event which had sent its own ripples across the galaxy.

Al Marulli raised his goblet, his companions following suit. “To all the innocent lives stolen… and to our precious child, Jessica, whose courage led to the birth of this new day.”

“To Jessica…”

Seated before her laptop, Lydia Gagnon pressed enter on her keyboard. The command initiated the download of the three zero-point-energy generator schematics to alternative energy websites around the world, along with information on how they could withdraw start-up capital from the $100 billion donated under the name J.M. ENERGY, LLC.

“Barbara Jean, where’s Dr. Greer?”

“Upstairs in one of the guest rooms, meditating. I was told the message has been sent.”

“Lydia, contact the admiral.”

Admiral Mark Hintzman, Commander-in-Chief of U.S. Fleet Forces, stood out on the balcony of Conference Room-A, watching the real-time images of the moon displayed on the theater’s main screen.

Expecting the call, he answered his iPhone on the first ring.

“Stand-by, Lydia. We’re getting some activity… there!”

Three bright sparks ignited from the moon’s dark side — three salvos streaking toward targets in orbit around the Earth.

Within seconds, the scalar strikes destroyed the three Zeus satellites, atomizing each four-ton object into tiny particles.

“You’re good to go, Lydia. The road has been paved.”

“The admiral says we’re good to go.”

Al Marulli nodded to his wife, who ascended the spiral stairwell. Exiting the cottage, she found Adam at one of the docks overlooking the Chesapeake. With him, sharing a bench as they watched the river, was a dark-haired woman and her fifteen-year-old son.

Adam turned as his fiancée’s mother joined them. “Barbara Jean Marulli, this is Dr. Joyce LaCombe and her son, Logan. It was Captain LaCombe who saved my life.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Yours, too.” Joyce motioned to the teen. “Logan taught Jessica how to use a hoverboard.”

“She was really good.”

“Well Logan, thanks to your dad and my little girl, maybe the rest of the world will finally get to experience anti-gravitics.” Barbara Jean turned to Adam. “The road is paved. Are you ready?”

Adam nodded.

Reaching beneath the bench, he pulled out a brown paper bag and removed the ARV helmet. Placing it on, he stared at the serene surface waters until they began to percolate—

— displacing the 50-foot-in-diameter, fifteen-ton vessel which rose from the river, having just reentered the physical dimension.

Barbara Jean gave Adam a hug and then pinched his earlobe, giving him a stern look. “Finish this.”

“Just give me the ball, coach.”

Adam commanded the hatch to open. Then he allowed himself to be inhaled by the zero-gravity vortex.

A moment later the vessel was gone.

“Strategic Command is on full alert! All personnel are ordered to evacuate through the canyon exits. Marine and Delta Force security are ordered to stand down. I repeat, Strategic Command is on full alert. All personnel are ordered to evacuate through the canyon exits—”

The ARV hovered a thousand feet above Dulce mountain. Inside the craft, Adam took a moment to survey the damaged complex now appearing on his main viewing screen. The scalar blast had vented the subterranean launch site to the surface, along with the seventeen remaining Atlas-V rockets, each vehicle harboring a Zeus satellite.

The second scalar wave sent them tumbling over sideways and igniting.

Wasting no time, Adam engaged the Delta configuration, slipping the vessel beyond the crossing point of light and back into transdimensional space—

— directing it through twenty stories of solid concrete and steel until the craft reemerged in a massive underground runway filled with man-made extraterrestrial vehicles.

Destroy all of them.

Colonel Alexander Johnston was livid beyond reason. General Cubit had lied about Chris Mull and now he had the evidence to prove it, his psychotronic equipment confirming it was Shariak, and not Johnston’s counter-intelligence officer, who had been operating the ARV.

It was obvious that Cubit was staging a coup, but the colonel knew he could beat it back into submission by alerting key leaders in Europe and Australia. All he had to do was get from Dulce to the Dugway Proving Grounds — a seven minute Maglev train ride. Then he’d enact his revenge.

I think I’ll begin by ripping Cubit’s soul from his body…

Bypassing the elevators, the colonel descended the stairwell to Level-9. Texting his assistant, Scott Muse, he ordered a private Maglev car sent immediately to Dulce.

The colonel emerged from the stairwell, winded but in good spirits. The platform looked deserted—

— and then he saw the bodies.

They were hanging from nooses tied to the lampposts — each man having been a member of the cabal for more than forty years. Johnston paused to gaze up at the nearest corpse, the thanatologist in him observing the angle of the cord cutting into the dead men’s Adam’s apples, making strangulation the cause of death opposed to the more traditional and expert snapping of the victim’s neck.

He exhibited no reaction as his blue-gray eyes fell upon the face of the last body.

Yvonne…

Seated on a bench beneath the dangling corpse of the colonel’s wife was General Cubit. “We had thought about burning her at the stake, but everything was so last minute. Pretty sick… using your wife to rub combustion crème on Jessica’s arm. You two made some pair. No worries, Dr. Death, I’m sure she’ll be waiting for you when you arrive in hell.”

Six Delta Force commandos stepped out of the shadows. Aiming their M-16s, they let loose a lead rope which severed Colonel Alexander Johnston’s twisting torso in half.

The ARV shot straight up through the atmosphere into space, then executed a ninety degree turn to the east.

Having removed the threat of Zeus on the Interstellars, and having impeded the chances of an alien false flag event, there was one last thing for Adam Shariak to do.

“Bob Costas here. If you’re just joining us, Game One of the National League Playoffs between the Cubs and the Nationals has been a real pitcher’s duel, with neither team able to advance a runner past second.

“And now, as advertised, joining us for tonight’s seventh inning stretch to lead the crowd in a special rendition of ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’ will be Lady Gaga.”

The singer/songwriter made her way to home plate wearing a National’s jersey, the partisan crowd rising to give her a standing ovation.

“Hey, D.C.! I’m gonna need some help here, so I want everybody to sing along. Are you ready? Here we go…

“Take me out to the ball game… take me out with the crowd—”

Suzanne Tomas was looking up when she saw the object drop straight out of the sky to hover five hundred feet above second base. “That is so cool. Is that going to be in all of Gaga’s shows?”

“Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack… I don’t care if I never get back—”

Arie Forma videotaped the object as it circled around the inside of the stadium, the hair on his arms standing on end as it passed overhead. “That’s not a real UFO, Ellie!”

“No kidding,” his older sister shot back as she refocused her iPhone on the immense saucer-shaped craft.

“Let me root, root, root for the Na-tion-als… if they don’t win it’s a shame—”

Lady Gaga waved at the ARV as it hovered ten feet above the pitcher’s mound.

“For it’s one… two… three strikes, you’re out at the old ball game.”

“Bob, that’s one helluva special effect.”

“Looks like a hatch is opening… maybe there’s little green men inside.”

Adam dropped out of the ARV onto the pitcher’s mound, dazzled by the bright lights and sparkling flashes. Three cameramen followed him as he hobbled to home plate, unsure if the moment was really happening or if this was just a lucid dream.

Was that Lady Gaga coming out to greet him with a microphone?

“Hi! What’s your name, and where can I buy one of these?”

“My name? My name is Adam Shariak—”

The crowd quieted as his face appeared on the ballpark’s massive video screen.

“Up until last week, I was the Under Secretary of Defense. The anti-gravitics machine you see before you is man-made… it can travel across our galaxy in mere minutes. It was built in secrecy by the covert government I was investigating. Trillions of your tax dollars have been spent on these Unacknowledged Special Access Projects over the years. Much of this incredible technology originated from friendly extraterrestrials whose craft the military have been shooting down and reverse-engineering since 1947.”

Adam paused as the crowd reacted.

“That’s right…UFOs are real and the species visiting us are friendly. This Alien Reproduction Vehicle, or ARV, is powered by zero-point-energy… a clean, abundant and free energy source that would have eliminated hunger, poverty, disease, and fossil fuels fifty years ago, only the bastards acting illegally as its self-appointed gatekeepers refused to allow the technology to be shared by the rest of the world.”

A cascade of boos erupted.

Adam raised his hand for quiet. “All that changes tonight. As we speak, the schematics for three zero-point-energy generators are being emailed to some of the most advanced green energy companies in the world, along with the means to apply for $100 billion in grant monies.”

Cheers erupted from the crowd — so loud that Adam couldn’t think.

“The price…” he signaled again for quiet, “the price for this gift is very high. Many people — many scientists — were murdered to keep zero-point-energy a secret… including Dr. Jessica Marulli, my fiancée”—he choked out the words “—and our unborn child.”

A hush fell over the crowd as the string of recent news stories fell into place.

And that was it… Adam had nothing more to say… nothing more to do. Surrounded by forty thousand people, he felt completely alone, his life spent. He had no desire to re-enter the ARV… he just wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and die.

It was at the moment that the mothership which had appeared at the Greer’s home dropped from out of transdimensional space to hover over the stadium… the triangular-shaped vessel so immense it blotted out the night sky.

The video screen powered off.

The stadium lights shut down.

And then, in the midst of this uncharted moment in human history, a message of light appeared on the scoreboard: