Overlord (17 page)

The men facing him remained silent. Only the two military men in uniform actually knew about the orders the president had issued six hours before. Now they and the Russian president were in the know.

“If the power plant is found to be operational, as my sources say it is, we have to move decisively. After that I have to come clean to the American people.” The U.S. president again eyed his guests. “Especially if the mission we have planned fails and the Iranians take nuclear offense. Admiral, do we have any asset we can use in the Caspian area to support the Russians in the assault if it comes to that?”

Rear Admiral James Fuqua cleared his throat. “Mr. President, we have never had a dependable asset in the Caspian Sea. The Cold War has long been over and that was an area of responsibility we always hoped the Russians would take seriously when it came to a nuclear-armed Iran lurking at their belly.”

“Director Easterbrook?”

“Nothing, sir,” the silver-haired CIA director answered. “We will have two KH-11s in orbit over Iran, but not knowing when or even if the Russian assault happens we cannot guarantee eyes-on target. Viewing would be purely by chance. As for the human asset on the ground, we have nothing.”

The president took a deep breath and then looked at U.S. Marine Corps general Maxwell Caulfield, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“Max, please tell me you had luck with your counterpart in Moscow. Has he relented to allow at least one American Special Forces team in on the assault?”

“No luck, Mr. President,” Caulfield answered. “It seems some old Cold War jitters still persist on both sides.”

“So the only American assets we have are a navy lieutenant commander and an army first lieutenant?”

“Well,” the Marine general said with a small smile on his lips, “that’s more than we knew. Do you mind if I ask just who these officers are?” Caulfield suspected that although he might not know the men, he did have a suspicion where these two sprang from—that quirky little think tank situated under Nellis Air Force Base.

The president looked up from the file. “The naval officer was in Afghanistan and the lieutenant was in Azerbaijan. They were part of the power plant search. Hell, I guess we’re lucky the damn Russians allowed them in.”

“I suspect because whoever these two officers are they have an idea just what an alien spaceship engine looks like,” Harlan Easterbrook said with his silver right brow raised.

“If this alien power plant is found and the Iranians will not give it up peacefully, will they go to war to protect it?” The president ignored the remark about Event Group expertise, but stared at his CIA director.

“No,” Easterbrook said confidently. “The newly elected president, Rouhani, would never risk his government over something he may not even have control over.” Easterbrook opened his briefcase, then passed around a singular report. “We have made several enquiries since you informed us of this new information. As of fifteen days ago the city of Birjand, a pretty large city in eastern Iran, received a new citizen who’s taken up residence only two blocks from the University of Applied Science and Technology: the former president of Iran, our old friend, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.”

A chill went through the president’s body. The ex-president of Iran had been a thorn in the side of every U.S. president since Bill Clinton with his anti-western rhetoric and his outright hatred for the State of Israel. If he was in charge of this project, the president suspected that maybe far worse was happening in fundamentalist Iran than what they knew about.

“Jesus,” the president said. “Harlan, I need to know if the new Iranian president is backing this project if it is in existence.”

“Hassan Rouhani is a moderate cleric who is attempting to end the hostility between Iran and the West. Our intelligence analysis of his demeanor does not support him as the hardcase here. He’s trying desperately to heal old wounds and keep the peace with the more hardline clerics. No, sir, I am adamant in my belief this new president would not be a part of this—if this is really happening and they actually have a saucer engine.”

“Just look at the satellite photos of that damn resort that magically vanished, Harlan,” the president said angrily. “That should give you an idea about the validity of this event.”

“Yes, sir, I stand corrected,” Easterbrook said.

“Sidney, I need to speak with President Rouhani, ASAP. Can you arrange it please?”

Secretary of State Sidney Washburn nodded his head vigorously as he removed the cold pipe from his mouth. “Most definitely, Mr. President, and I concur one hundred percent that this is the way to go. He may even come in handy if the situation … well … worsens to the point that Ahmadinejad, if he is the culprit here, utilizes what we know the Iranians have been hiding in that nuclear closet of theirs.”

“Thanks, Sidney, give me an hour and then arrange the call. I’ll need you in the room with me as he may take some convincing. The last I knew Rouhani hadn’t been briefed on Magic and assuredly not on Overlord. The Russian president has to be conferenced in and I want to speak with him fifteen minutes before the Rouhani call. He has to kowtow to the Iranians if he doesn’t want a bunch of dead Russian boys out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. President?”

The commander-in-chief looked up from writing his order to the secretary of state and into the eyes of the man he had very little respect for in the few meetings he had been involved in. No, you could say Assistant Director of Operations Daniel Peachtree was not a presidential favorite over at CIA. He knew whose man Peachtree was—Speaker of the House Giles Camden.

“The ever silent Mr. Peachtree, what can help you with?” The president leaned forward to complete his order.

Harlan Easterbrook cringed, knowing he had made a mistake in bringing the man to the White House. He also knew any operational questions would have had to have been directed at his operations man, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He waited to see what Peachtree had to ask.

“Sir, it would be most helpful if I could get briefed on this asset you keep referring to. If I’m to make a strategic evaluation, that would go a long way to—”

“That is none of your concern, Mr. Peachtree,” Easterbrook said before the president could do so himself.

“He’s right, Mr. Peachtree,” the president finally said with a withering look at the AD. “The Chato’s Crawl information is on a need-to-know basis, and you, sir, don’t need to know.” He smiled broadly for the first time in what seemed weeks. “Neither does the Speaker of the House.”

The room went silent as the other men wanted to shout that it was about time the president called a spade a spade—or, more accurately, a spook a spook.

“Okay gentlemen, let me have my talk with the Russians and Rouhani and see if we have a larger mess on our hands than we previously thought.”

As the five men stood it was Harlan Easterbrook who saw the two words that Daniel Peachtree had written in his notepad, but he didn’t think anything more of it at that moment.

Chato’s Crawl.

Peachtree closed his notebook and followed the others out of the Oval Office, a light but confident smile on his lips. The president had obviously not intended to say the name of the location aloud. A location that the assistant director of Operations at the CIA knew well.

Chato’s Crawl, Arizona, was where Harlan Vickers’s search for the mysterious asset would start.

4

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Speaker of the House Giles Camden listened to the man he had pushed into his position at the CIA, Daniel Peachtree. His eyes kept flitting toward the man who sat in the high-backed chair next to him, Hiram Vickers, with apprehension as Vickers kept looking at his watch and his cell phone. Peachtree thought they had a golden opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“I don’t see how the president can get out of this one,” Camden said. “I mean, starting a war over this silly space engine? The American people would crucify him, and they will after he has to go public with the fact that we and the Russians are taking on the Iranians over a possible fairy tale.”

“I’m beginning to think that it may not be as big a fairy tale as you may think,” Vickers said. “Back in 2006 during another administration, the CIA filed some very strange reports on an incident in the Arizona desert. I’ve sent the reports to your e-mail and would like your opinion on them.”

Camden eyed the man and then cleared his throat.

“Mr. Peachtree has informed me of the president’s little slip about Chato’s Crawl and I did some snooping on my own. Yes, the CIA did make an attempt in 2006 to acquire that very same asset the president is leaning on so heavily, but was informed by the field commander at the site that the alien involved was killed during the event. Our predecessor never pursued it.”

“So this action in the desert actually did take place?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. And that in and of itself backs everything the president has deemed necessary for us to hear in order to get his military toys in order. Everything else regarding Operation Overlord is being guarded from the public and certain aspects of our government in a far more secure manner than even the Manhattan Project was in the forties. Yes, gentlemen, I believe there is something imminently bad happening and it’s scaring the hell out of not only our president, but the Russians, Chinese, French, and British. And when all of those military machines start getting scared other bad things are bound to happen.”

Vickers cleared his throat, knowing he was still in very deep and hot water where Peachtree and Camden were concerned, so he chose to speak only when it benefitted him. “Did the field reports from the company name the man that was in field command of the event in the desert in 2006?”

“You know it did, Mr. Vickers. The commander was a Colonel Sam Fielding, 101st Airborne Division, killed in action, same mission.” Camden watched Vickers for a moment and saw the disappointment on his face. He shook his head. “But I’m here to tell you Vickers that this, while maybe not your lucky day, may be a godsend for you … and us.”

Peachtree looked from Camden to his associate, who looked up expectantly.

“Yes, his name is all over the reports; even received a presidential citation—a citation that lists no unit or even his real military rank.”

Vickers began to smile. “Jack Collins.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes, it seems we may have lucked out on this one. Now here is something you’re both not going to like.” Camden picked up a thin sheet of paper and handed it to Peachtree. “The man you used to formulate and reinstate the Black Teams for Mr. Vickers. Your Leavenworth asset?”

“You know what the code name means?” Vickers pushed in rudely with the question.

“It’s not a code name, young man. With a little arm twisting I finally got to the truth. The name you referenced, the Matchstick Man, is what the surviving alien is being called by this mysterious think tank the president uses. Real name is Mahjtic.”

“I’ll be goddamned,” Vickers said aloud. “Mahjtic, Magic, they can’t be that simple?”

“So simple the CIA and your good offices couldn’t connect the dots, and if you ever use the Lord’s name in vain again in my presence I’ll make sure you wind up counting Russian penguins in some far off, very bad locale. Am I clear?”

Vickers wanted to look at the Speaker of the House and flip him the bird but at that moment he thought that would not be a positive career move on his part. So he just nodded that he understood the threat.

“Now that you know just about what you need, Colonel Collins will not be touched or harmed in anyway.”

Both Peachtree and Vickers leaned forward in their chairs. Camden frowned and then held up a hand to stop the protests that were going to spring forth from the two CIA men.

“You two gentlemen have to stop and think. The blunder that Vickers here did by killing Collins’s sister is getting ready to come home to roost right here in this office—if I know your competence like I think I do.” Again he held up his hand when Peachtree wanted to exclude himself from the blunder that caused this whole mess. “Mr. Vickers, get one of your Black Teams together and gather as much intelligence on this Chato’s Crawl facility as you can. The president has been lying to the American people for nearly eight years about a battle in the American desert that may lead to this world being invaded by a hostile force.”

Peachtree relaxed when he saw where the Speaker of the House was going with his thoughts. Vickers, on the other hand, did not.

“As for your other man, this Captain Everett, he just landed right here in Washington, D.C.—possibly to reverse the presidential decision to revoke his naval resignation.” He looked at Vickers and smirked. “Or he’s coming here to see you, Mr. Vickers. If that is the case I would start my Arizona assignment as quickly as possible, because you know who else’s name is in those Arizona reports?”

“Captain Carl Everett,” Vickers stated flatly.

“That’s right, and I suspect he works in that same desert think tank that this Colonel Collins is assigned to along with that strange little bald man with glasses the president seems to lean on so much. Get to the desert, Mr. Vickers, with all haste and find out what you can to assist me in stopping this military spending insanity by the president, or guess what? You could have some very disturbing company coming your way. So don’t fail me, Mr. Vickers.”

Hiram Vickers had all of his power stripped from him and had been reduced to a field agent with the responsibility of a house cat. He decided that for the moment he would have to play their game. He stood, nodded at the two men, and left the office inside the gorgeous brownstone.

Camden watched him leave and then looked at Peachtree.

“That man is not to go to Arizona. I suspect that those two crazy bastards are coming after him, and if they get Vickers I’m afraid we will become exposed and brought into his foolish attempts at playing master spy. I want him elimin—” Camden stopped short of saying it. “Well, I guess I don’t have to voice that order to you of all people, do I, Daniel?”