Overlord (34 page)

“That shit will warp your brain, Charlie,” Pete said as he downed the shot of Jack Daniels.

Ellenshaw accepted the drinks and then nodded at the bartender, a retired Air Force sergeant.

“Your point?” Charlie asked as he too downed his fresh shot.

Pete looked at the cryptozoologist and then shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I don’t have one.”

Ellenshaw didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to lose a lot of friends, Charlie.”

“Yes, I think you’re right, my friend.” He slid a fresh shot of whiskey toward Pete.

Golding looked at Ellenshaw, then nodded his head and downed the drink.

“Charlie, you didn’t think much of the military before knowing Carl, Jack, and the others, did you?”

“Well,” he said as he sipped at his glass of beer, “I was always a pacifist, you know that. I mean, Cal-Berkeley was not a haven for military leanings during the sixties.” Ellenshaw took another deep swallow of beer. “But the men I’ve known here at Group have shown me something that I never knew.” He placed the glass on the bar and turned to face the computer genius. “The people we serve with are the best men and women I have ever had the privilege to know. Now I’m just afraid I could never live up to what they stand for.”

“What do you mean?” Pete asked as he too joined Charlie in drinking his two beers.

“They stand and fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. They fight the bullies in the world that we”—he nodded his head toward Pete—“could never stand up to. I for one am going to move heaven and hell to get my friends home. That’s all we can do, Pete—fight for our friends and those other soldiers who are going into harm’s way. We have a chance here to help, what assitance that is I don’t know yet, but I for one will do anything to get these people home. That’s what hanging out with Jack, Carl, Will, Jason, and Sarah has taught me: try your best.” He looked at his friend. “And that’s what you’ll do too. You were meant to be one of them, you and Europa, and you will prove it once this thing really starts, because like Niles is smart, Jack is brave, you’re a genius, and you’ll do what needs doing.” Charlie finished off his beer and then looked at Golding.

Pete looked at Charlie and smiled. “You have any more of that crap you smoke? I think it’s time to embrace the radical left.”

“You bet. Let’s retreat to my inner sanctum and figure out how to help those boys and save the world.”

The two men toasted and then left the Ark.

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Hiram Vickers stood outside the MGM Grand and waited. He had just watched the news broadcast and had been so shocked at the reports of the Speaker’s swearing in as the president of the United States that he felt like laughing. His luck had gone from bad to worse in less than twenty-four hours.

His cell phone rang. Looking at a few of the passing guests, he cautiously answered.

“It’s about time. I was wondering if you and the new president were going to call my bluff.”

On the other end of the line, calling from his private and secure cell phone, was Daniel Peachtree. “Do you think you can try and blackmail the new administration in the middle of a war—an interstellar war, at that?”

“You don’t think the press would love to hear that the man they billed as the most despicable man in the House was in an arms purchase, possibly even the murder and cover-up of a U.S. field agent? I would think again, Mr. Future Director. With the information I have on both of you making money buying up that new technology for a war the Speaker never thought was true in the first place, and then covering up the fact that your man, me, killed two American citizens? I don’t think you would be in your new office for very long, do you?”

Vickers was starting to think that the assistant director had hung up on him before he heard the man laugh.

“As it so happens, Mr. Vickers, there is now a need for a man such as you.”

Vickers eyed two men walking into the MGM and then turned away from them, careful to hide his face.

“And what special need is that—a target for one of your field agents?”

“Mr. Vickers, you landed at McCarran International at 7:45 this very evening. You are now standing in front of the MGM Grand looking rather nervous. If I had wanted you dead any one of three very despicable people would have sliced your throat a minute into this call.”

Vickers looked around nervously. He saw about a hundred people standing around the entrance of the hotel. Any of them could be the assassins Peachtree spoke of.

“Okay, you have eyes on the target. What do you want?”

“It’s what you want we’re going to discuss, Hiram.”

“And what’s that?” He avoided a small woman with a handbag the size of Detroit as she approached.

“You wish to have this nightmare end and receive the forgiveness of the new president—and of course myself.”

“What game are you trying to run on me? Ten hours ago you had half the agency tracking me down to kill me, now you want me to come back?”

“That was then, this is now. You know how quickly things can change in Washington. Before you left Langley, you contacted several members of your now-defunct Black Teams for assisting you in a delicate matter in the Arizona desert. Well, those men reported directly to me, and explained how you were going to gain leverage on us by taking a very secret military asset and holding him hostage until we saw things your way.”

Hiram Vickers had sorely underestimated the assistant director of Operations. The man had been five steps ahead of him at all times.

“What is it you … I mean Camden wants?”

“Why, nothing more than you and your Black Teams as originally intended. You see, there is a plan in effect that our former friend in the White House had devised with certain allies. This plan was thought up by the people who guide whoever you were tracking in Arizona. This asset, as you remember from your talks in Kansas with Mr. Hendrix—the man in prison with no official name—is code-named Magic. You see, Mr. Vickers, the new administration wants to speak directly to this Magic.”

“Why, if you follow Operation Overlord, you would undoubtedly get access to him, whoever he is, eventually.”

“Please stop thinking, Mr. Vickers, and listen. We want that asset in our pocket and not hidden away by any think tank the former president has hidden away. We want
our
military people to evaluate this war, and whoever this Magic is has the information they will need. Get him. If it takes three months or three years, get Magic for us. Your Black Team is standing by. May I suggest you stake out that house in Arizona; Magic will show up there eventually. And if this strange group is in charge of security there, I would be extremely careful.”

“And then I will be allowed back? The Black Team won’t have orders to kill me after we take him?”

“As I said, Vickers, we could have gotten you at any time, but now you are too valuable. Get that asset so we can get the information we need for
this
country, not everybody who has a gun and a few tanks. Now, accept the package the man behind you is holding and get to work. This is one mission you don’t want to screw up, because if you do a certain army major will discover right where you are waiting. And he will assuredly kill you in a most brutal manner.”

Vickers’s eyes widened when a rather large hand came over his shoulder. A plastic bag was there and he turned to see the leader of the last Black Team on the CIA’s books. The man shoved the bag at him and he finally took it. Vickers felt the weight of the weapon and took a quick look inside. It was a Glock nine millimeter and a cell phone.

“Be useful to us, Hiram, and all is forgiven. Use the secure cell phone and not the one you used to call me—we don’t want certain people tracking you down the way we did, and stop you before you secure this Magic. Good luck and don’t fail.”

The phone went dead as he turned and faced the man in the black T-shirt and blue jeans.

“What are your orders?” he asked as he tossed his old cell phone in a trash can.

“To follow your orders. Other than that, we have orders that if we can’t secure the asset in Arizona, we kill him, or her, whoever the case may be.”

“And then kill me.” Vickers frowned.

“It won’t come to that. You know how good we are. I guess you can say we never fail to get our man.”

Vickers frowned as the large man gestured for him to follow. He knew his men to be stone-cold killers if they had to be.

Now he actually felt sorry for the asset known as Magic.

SOUTHERN ATLANTIC OCEAN

The
Pyotr Veliky
signaled the Russian flagship of the Red Banner Northern Fleet by signal light. The night was warm and moonless and the giant silhouette of the missile cruiser was hard to discern. Aboard the
Pyotr Veliky
Sarah, Ryan, and Anya had been allowed out on deck to observe the highly dangerous maneuver that was about to take place. Sarah watched the skies and wondered if their movements were being tracked by someone other than the American NSA or the Russian Security Service with their highly technical tracking satellites. In all honesty she wished it were the Event Group’s KH-11 Black Bird ASAT, code-named Boris and Natasha. It would make her feel more at home if she knew family eyes were on them. But she did know one thing that was certain: the
Pyotr Veliky
was on her own from this point forward.

The sixteen warships of the Red Banner Northern Fleet made a sharp turn to the east and made for the coast of France while the giant missile cruiser heeled sharply to port, cutting dangerously close to a small Russian destroyer, so much so that the large cruiser sent the smaller vessel rolling high in her wake. The great missile cruiser was now traveling in the opposite direction as the flotilla.

The three guests standing along the stern railing had to hang on tight as the ship rolled hard at full maneuvering speed. Seawater cascaded onto the deck as the powerful warship heeled hard over in what was known as a slink-and-dive turn. This meant that she hadn’t slowed by one single knot as she made the maneuver.

“Whoa!” Ryan said as he made to grab both Sarah and Anya as they came near to sliding over the side of the railing.

The enormous missile cruiser finally straightened and then settled back deeply into the sea as her speed increased even more than western intelligence agencies ever thought possible.

They watched the darkened forms of the sixteen ships as they made for the French coast, hopefully taking any curious, watchful eyes from space with them. The ruse had started and they all hoped it worked because now they were truly on their own.

Sarah was the first to see the after-watch take their battle stations and she was curious to know why.

“We will run the rest of the way to our destination at action stations,” came the voice from the darkened area between the fantail and the aft missile mount. They looked up and saw the first officer as he stepped onto the fantail. Captain Vasily Lienanov nodded a greeting as he joined his guests. “I would have thought you would be down with the rest of the engineers and technicians.”

“We can only listen to so many sad songs of home,” Ryan said as he shook his head. “I mean, talk about gloomy.”

“This is a ship full of frightened men.” The first officer stepped to the railing and breathed deeply of the sea air. “They fear they will never see home again.”

“Strange, I have the same feelings myself, but I’m sure as hell not going to sing about it. Bob Dylan, I ain’t.” Ryan hoped to squeeze some information from a fellow seaman. “Speaking of said event, if we do die, just how far from home will we be?”

The captain smiled and then turned to face Ryan. He looked the small American naval aviator up and down and then turned away. “You should go below; they are fitting our passengers with gear from the ship’s stores.”

“Gear?” Sarah asked as she and Anya joined the men.

“Yes, you will have need of special equipment when you arrive at our destination.”

Ryan exchanged looks with the two women and frowned as he suspected the captain wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

“Can you feel them?” Lienanov asked, looking at the dark waters of the Atlantic.

“Feel what?” Anya asked after no one else inquired.

The captain turned around and faced them. “We have company out there. I don’t know what good they would do us if our Gray friends strike, but it’s comforting to know they’ll be along for the ride.”

“Who?” Ryan asked.

“Out there we have assembled no less than four Akula attack submarines, joined by a screen of two Los Angeles–class attack boats. They are riding shotgun for this little suicide run.”

“Submarines?” Anya asked.

“Yes, so you see, we shan’t die alone.”

The smile of Lienanov made them all nervous.

“Perhaps you should get below and receive your allotted equipment, and get some rest. You will need your strength in about four days’ time.”

Anya, Sarah, and Ryan started to turn. It was Ryan who stopped and confronted Lienanov.

“I know secrecy orders, Captain; we are in the same trade. But as you can see, none of us are ugly, and definitely not Gray in color. Where in the hell is this ship taking us?”

The captain lit a cigarette and then exhaled. “I gave these up when I graduated the academy,” he said, looking at the foul cigarette, and then he tossed it over the side. “Bad habit, smoking and…” He looked directly at Ryan. “Talking.”

Sarah watched the man closely, as did Anya.

“If you must know, Commander Ryan, you will be issued cold-weather gear and, when the time comes, also weaponry.” He turned away and made for the hatchway.

Ryan was stunned as he faced the women.

“You’re the navy man,” Sarah said. “What do you think?”

Ryan shivered in the warm night air.

“Antarctica.”

INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION

HIGH EARTH ORBIT

Greg Worth, a visiting atmospheric scientist from the University of Colorado, watched from the porthole on the hugely expensive international boondoggle known as the space station. He could never get enough of the view. He floated freely while his companions ate their dinnertime meal and laughed at the way the newcomer managed to look out of the window every two minutes.