Legacy

8

The four men listened to the BBC radio broadcast and heard the news just after midnight in Berlin. None of them could believe the audacity and firepower the unseen forces were bringing to bear. Jack and the others knew now that it had to be McCabe behind what was happening. The memory of the crated weapons systems haunted the men as they sat listening to the report on the loss of life involved in the Chinese incident.

“These nuts are serious,” Everett said, staring out of the windshield at the darkened street beyond.

“It seems to me that all of these governments would be more than ready to stop this foolishness and cooperate now that people are dying for nothing,” Ellenshaw said from the backseat, as he stared without interest at his McDonald’s cheeseburger.

“You’d think,” Jack said, as he adjusted the small dome light. He had begun reading the file the German commando had delivered to him. “You’ll soon learn, Charlie, that once a course of action has been initiated by any government, it’s harder to stop than an avalanche.” Jack stopped talking when he came across a picture captioned “1947-Spandau.” He saw the face he had been looking for. It was a group photo of sixteen American officers lined up in front of the Spandau military prison.

“Here’s our boy,” Jack said, as he slid the photo out of the file and handed it to Everett.

“That’s him, all right, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look as familiar as he did before. He’s a lieutenant colonel, I can see that. But I can’t see his shoulder patch. The commanding officer of the prison is listed, but his staff isn’t.”

“Here’s the list of the only seven prisoners ever kept there,” Collins said, passing the list to Carl, who handed the photo to Golding and Ellenshaw in the backseat. “Notice something odd?”

Everett read the list aloud. “Rudolf Hess, life sentence, died 1987. Walther Funk, life sentence, released 16 May 1957. Erich Raeder, life sentence, released 1955. Albert Speer, twenty-year sentence, released 1966. Baldur von Schirach, twenty-year sentence, released 1966. Konstantin von Neurath received a fifteen-year sentence but was released in 1954. Admiral Karl Donitz served a ten-year term and was released in 1956.” Everett scanned the rest of the original roster and he indeed noticed something. “No mention of our boy Joss Zinsser.”

“Quite an omission, don’t you think?” Jack asked.

“Well, we know he was there. Why would someone erase his name from the list of prisoners?”

“Simply to make what we’re currently attempting that much harder,” Collins answered as he turned back and looked at Pete. “We need Europa.”

“That means returning to the plane, Jack. That could be a little dangerous, at least until your friend clears the way for us.”

“We can’t wait. We need to know who this American lieutenant colonel is.”

“Well, get me to the plane and we’ll take a shot at it,” Pete said, looking over at an excited Ellenshaw, who reached out and lightly elbowed Pete.

“You see what I mean. We’re in danger constantly with these two, and it only gets better.”

Golding gave Ellenshaw a look and a brief smile that never touched any other part of his face. He nodded and looked out of his window as Captain Everett started the car. He saw Charlie Ellenshaw’s face reflected in the glass and noted that the rumors about crazy Charlie were accurate-he was indeed crazy.

An hour later Jack stood next to the main gate at Tempelhof International Airport as Everett, Golding, and Ellenshaw watched from the shadows. The private portion of the airport was guarded by what appeared to be military personnel and Collins knew the security situation had changed since the attack in Berlin the day before, necessitating the change in airport status. Jack hissed through his teeth as he realized that, without the use of deadly force against the soldiers, there would be no entering from that area. He turned and ducked back into the shadows of a hangar that lined the fenced-in area.

“Forget about the gate,” he said as he approached Everett and the others.

“How about this?” Everett asked, lightly tapping an aluminum building that housed a private aviation company.

Collins looked it over but saw that there was no window or door access on this side of the secured area.

“Not unless we have a blow torch or hacksaw.”

“I’m sure the owner would be very put out if you damaged his building,” a voice said from the darkness.

Jack relaxed when he recognized Sebastian Krell, who eased out of the shadows of the building next door.

“Damn, you’re getting better at that,” Collins said.

“I had a good teacher.” Krell removed the dark mask and shook Jack’s hand. He nodded at the others. “Those are my men at the gate. I told the airport security department we would be running a drill for the next three hours, so I suggest that since you’re an hour late you board your aircraft and get the hell out of Berlin before one of my brethren in law enforcement blows your ass back to the States.”

Collins slapped Krell on the shoulder. “Hang out awhile until we get airborne?”

“That was the plan.” Sebastian looked at all four men. “Now look, you have an authorized aircraft next to your own. We’re running a check on it at this time, and we can’t just board it, so we don’t know who it belongs to.”

“Why do you mention that?” Everett asked as he felt for the comfort of the nine-millimeter under his shirt.

“Because, Captain Everett, the aircraft’s pilot, like your own, never left the plane after landing two days ago. We can’t get a view inside and I neglected to bring our heat-sensing equipment.”

“Okay, at least you’re giving us a start,” Jack said. “Shall we?” he asked the others as he turned for the gate.

“We will cover your team from the tarmac, staying out of sight.” Sebastian took Jack’s hand and they shook, then Collins went toward the gate. “Auf Wiedersehen, old friend.”

As the commando team, camouflaged in airport security garb, waved them inside the gate, Jack also felt for his nine-millimeter.

“Pete, Charlie, if anything happens, get the hell out of here and run back to where we left Sebastian.”

“But-” Charlie started to say.

“But nothing, get the hell back,” Everett answered for Jack.

“All right, but under protest,” Ellenshaw said.

As they found the tarmac and the silhouette of their aircraft, Jack slowed and allowed his senses to take hold. He saw the neighboring plane and its darkened interior. Then his eyes switched to their own aircraft. He saw the cockpit cabin lights on but no movement. He figured the plane’s Air Force personnel were in the back asleep. They had been ordered to stay put for three days while the ground team was in the city. A six-day supply of food had been stored onboard because Jack had known they might be traveling to more than one continent on this investigation. When he didn’t feel any eyes on him other than those of Sebastian and his nine men, Collins waved Everett up the portable stairs. He saw Carl tap on the door with the flat of his hand.

Ellenshaw and Golding were nervously looking around them, even scanning the high control tower a mile and a half distant.

The door opened and Jack relaxed when he saw the United States Air Force captain looking sleepy-eyed and surprised to see Carl.

“Okay, guys, up the stairs, quickly,” Jack said, as he continued to study the white-painted aircraft next to their own. As he did he saw one of the window blinds raise about six inches and then lower again. Collins hurriedly took the steps two at a time and then closed and secured the large door. “Captain, warm this thing up and preflight us for London for now.”

The sleepy pilot shook his copilot and engineer awake and then turned to Collins and the others, who had shocked them with their bruised and dirty bodies.

“It’ll take us thirty minutes, Colonel, and that’s rushing it. Without filing the flight plan in person, we’re breaking about six hundred different rules.”

“We have a friend who will get us clearance. Just get her done, Captain. We don’t have much time. In case you didn’t notice, we’re wanted for mass murder.”

The captain turned and with his copilot and engineer entered the cockpit.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and gestured to Everett. “Carl, keep your eye on our mysterious friend next door.”

“Aye,” he said, as he went to the emergency door behind the cockpit and looked out into the darkness.

“Doc, you and-”

Pete and Ellenshaw had already disappeared into the communications area of the plane, and Golding was already connected to and giving orders to Europa. They had completed the uplink to the secure computer system. Jack went to join them. The lights flickered as the pilot switched over to internal systems. The copilot left the plane to disconnect the ground power source, leaving the door behind him ajar. While the door was not secured, Jack pulled his nine-millimeter and kept it at his side.

“Europa, scan the selected photo from Spandau Prison, Germany, year 1947. The object of investigation is the lieutenant colonel second from the right in the front row of officers.”

Jack watched Pete insert the photo from the file into the scanner. His eyes went to the large monitor placed on the aircraft’s wall.

“Scanning,” Europa said, in her ever-present sexy voice. “Dr. Golding,” she replied almost immediately, “there is no record of this lieutenant colonel in the archival accounts at Spandau Prison in the time frame given.”

“Damn!” Pete said, as he looked at the blowup of the photo on the screen.

“Europa, can you scan the uniform of the officer in question and find out if there are any identifying insignia or shoulder patches?” Jack asked, leaning closer to the monitor. “In particular, the lapel area of the jacket.”

“Yes, Colonel Collins.”

Jack watched as Europa started blowing the photo up into larger sections, scrambling and then descrambling the image. It finally locked on the area Jack had interest in.

“I’ll be damned,” Pete said, as the image cleared. “It was there the whole time. All we needed was a magnifying glass.”

Collins saw the silverfish-looking cross on the colonel’s left lapel.

“A priest?”

“Europa, is there any record of religious personnel stationed at Spandau?” Jack asked, starting to put a face on his developing theory.

Europa started sending a series of differing faces across the screen, pushing each photo into the upper left corner of the monitor with names and ranks and service country. The only country not represented was the Soviet Union, for obvious reasons. The man in the original photo wasn’t among those listed.

“We have two Catholic priests, three Episcopal priests, and five Baptist ministers listed as being assigned Spandau duties in that one year, but still nothing on the man in the photo.”

Jack placed his hands on Pete’s shoulders as he tried to think. Then he had an idea.

“Europa, Spandau Prison didn’t start housing prisoners of war until 1946, but there had to be a transition team stationed at that facility during the trial for preparations for criminal transfer. Is there a list of personnel that interviewed each prisoner before being transferred from Nuremberg?”

Europa only took a second to delve into U.S. Army, British and French forces, and Soviet legal personnel files before a long list appeared.

“Come on Europa, follow along,” Pete scolded the system, “please break the list down to American religious personnel or counselors.”

Europa didn’t respond; it was as if Pete had hurt her feelings as the photos and file names started dropping from the screen. They were left with two pictures, one a captain who was assigned as a Roman Catholic priest and the other a Baptist minister from Gillette, Wyoming, Lieutenant Colonel William T. Rawlins. The pictures from 1947 matched. The reason Rawlins wasn’t listed as being stationed at Spandau was because all he had done was examine and interview each prisoner before their arrival at the prison as to their religious needs. He had only been at Spandau for the one day as the prisoners arrived, and that was when the picture of the new staff was taken.

“That name is very familiar,” Ellenshaw and Pete said at almost the same time.

“Almost as familiar as the man’s face, wouldn’t you say?” Jack asked as he leaned over and instead of asking Europa a question, he typed it in with the keyboard.

As Golding and Ellenshaw watched the monitor, a videotaped segment flashed onto the screen and both scientists were amazed at what Jack had figured out before they themselves had even asked the right question.

“Unbelievable,” Ellenshaw said.

“You mean to say that the man here, this Samuel Rawlins, the evangelist, is this colonel’s son?” Pete asked with incredulity etching his voice.

“Yes,” Jack said. “And also the man that is most vociferous and adamant about us not going to the Moon.”

“What are you suggesting here, Colonel?” Ellenshaw asked.

Collins sat up straight and watched the soundless image on the monitor as the man on the world stage slammed his fists into the pulpit and screamed about something they couldn’t hear, but Jack knew the man’s tirade was directed at the president and the men and women attempting the excursion to the lunar surface, and that possibly meant Sarah and his two men. He watched the man as he delivered his words. Pete reached out and was about to turn up the volume but Collins stayed his hand and just watched the gesturing of the Reverend as he spoke.

“I believe we are looking at the man whose father discovered the truth and the whereabouts of Operation Columbus, and passed along not only the secrets of seven hundred million years ago, but also the reason why it was in their best interest to cover it up.”

“Wait,” Pete said turning around to look at Jack. “You’re saying that this man knows where the artifacts from 1945 are buried?”

“No, I’m saying he and his father own the land where the artifacts are buried. And not only that, I believe our good friend McCabe is working for him.”

“He is one of the five richest men in the world,” Ellenshaw offered.

“A lot to protect if people saw Columbus and its artifacts as an alternative to the Genesis account in the Bible,” Collins said as he finally looked away from the silver-haired man on the monitor.

“But, Colonel, religion is all faith-based, that shouldn’t have a bearing on what people perceive as threats to their beliefs,” Pete countered. “Besides, seven hundred million years ago would have thrown off the evolutionary scale somewhat. I mean, come on, that’s a long time before the birth of the dinosaurs to the coming of the mammals.”

“Normally, yes, you’re right. The more forward-thinking religions are not frightened by new discoveries and theories; after all, they believe that God created everything, even you two.”

Ellenshaw nodded his head in agreement but Pete still wasn’t convinced.

“Pete, we need to get this to Niles so he can talk to the president. I think the FBI should be brought into this as soon as possible before this maniac attempts another attack.”

Pete agreed and was about to send a message through Europa to Niles Compton when Everett called from the front.

“Jack, this doesn’t look good, we have company.”

Pete, Ellenshaw, and Collins looked out the nearest window and saw men running down the portable staircase attached to the plane next to theirs. Jack cursed just as the aircraft’s engines started to whine. He was about to shout toward the cockpit when the first bullets struck the fuselage and the window they were looking through exploded inward, sending glass and plastic into the cabin.

As quickly as the shooting started, it stopped. Everett had sealed the door only to realize that the copilot was still outside.

Jack chanced a peek through one of the windows, then he noticed something that gave him pause as he tried to figure out what was different. The angle of the aircraft had changed. It was a small but perceptible difference.

“Jack, if I didn’t know any better-” Everett started to say.

“They shot our tires out on the right side.”

Everett looked back from the doorway just as the pilot, hunched over in case they received any more gunfire, duck-walked down the aisle.

“I just shut the engines down, Colonel. We’re not going anywhere. We lost the tires on the right side and the nose wheel.”

“Take cover,” Collins said. “We’re not exactly sure who we’re dealing with here.” He ducked his head into the communications room. “You two, stay down,” he said to Golding and Ellenshaw, who had anticipated the order and were already hidden underneath the radio console.

“Jack, we have movement on the left side of the plane. Wait, it looks like Sebastian. Damn, he has his hands up and he’s speaking with someone. Crap, I think they’re German SWAT.”

Collins hunched as low as he could and joined Everett on the left side of the 727. He chanced a quick look and saw that, indeed, Sebastian had his hands raised in the air. His eyes narrowed as he saw the black Nomex uniform and the gold German lettering on the back that said “Polizei.”

“Mr. Everett, I think we’ve been had.”

“Colonel Collins, I wholeheartedly agree with your assessment. You think your friend set us up?”

“No, it’s not in him. I think he’s trying save our lives.”

As Jack spoke, Sebastian handed over his automatic weapon and accepted a bullhorn from the police officer. He took a few steps toward the plane and then held the device to his mouth.

“Colonel Collins, I am to inform you that your aircraft has been disabled and that you are surrounded.” Sebastian glanced over at the man watching him closely. “The Berlin police are guaranteeing your safety if you and your men exit the aircraft.” Sebastian lowered the bullhorn and took another five steps toward the plane. He looked up at the darkened windows. “There’s nothing I can do for you now, Jack. Give up and we’ll work at getting you out of custody, even if I have to go to the chancellor myself.”

Jack cursed under his breath and then glanced back at Golding and Ellenshaw.

“Pete, you and the Doc have exactly thirty seconds to destroy that motherboard in the computer link. Set up a tapeworm or whatever you do, but make sure no one can get into Europa from this end.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Pete said as he reached up and pulled the laptop down to his level and started typing commands.

“Aren’t we going to fight?” Ellenshaw said, with as much bravado as he could muster.

“They’re cops, Doc,” Collins said, holding out his hand. “We don’t shoot cops. Now give me that gun you’re trying to hide. These boys will not hesitate to shoot your skinny ass to pieces.”

Ellenshaw angrily reached for his nine-millimeter. Then, as if he were letting a favored relative go to his doom, he slid the weapon across the aisle toward Jack.

“Okay, Everett, open that emergency door.”

Everett stood, safed his own weapon, and turned the handle to the door, cracking it open. Then he tossed the nine-millimeter out onto the steel steps. Jack tossed him his and Ellenshaw’s weapons and Carl tossed his out also.

“Now, Doc, give me Pete’s weapon, the one you have on you, before I toss you out on the tarmac.” Jack turned and looked at the shocked Ellenshaw.

Charlie angrily safed Pete’s weapon and then tossed it to Collins.

“I told you he wouldn’t forget,” Pete said as he kept typing in commands. “Done, Colonel. The memory is totally clean,” Pete said as he lowered the laptop and hit enter.

Jack stood and went to the door. He tossed the last weapon out through the crack as Everett held it open.

“Is the arrest warrant for me only?” Jack called through the door.

“The major here says he has warrants for all of you, even the pilot and copilot. Jack, we’ll get you out of this. You have my word.”

Collins nodded and Everett held the door open as the colonel stepped outside into the night with hands raised. Everett, Pete, the pilot, engineer, and then Ellenshaw, looking like a crazed old-time gangster, followed.

The Event Group’s mission to Germany had been stopped dead in its tracks as the angry Berlin police took the men into custody.

Half a mile away, the Mechanic lowered his glasses and shook his head. He felt that the outcome, while acceptable, was far from an assurance that this American was out of the picture. This man Collins seemed to have nine lives. He watched as the Americans were roughly searched by the police for hidden weapons. While Collins was on the ground, his head turned toward the darkness and the Mechanic was surprised. It was if Collins was staring right at the shadowy position where he stood.

“You do know I am here,” the Mechanic whispered to himself. “Don’t you, my friend?”

“Amen!” declared Reverend Rawlins. “And may the will of God prevail!”

He mopped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath and turned away from the congregation.

Standing in the wings were his two daughters, the younger of whom came out on cue as the music started playing and the choir began to sing. The older, Laurel, watched her father as he clapped his hands and began ascending to where she stood. He clapped and smiled until he reached her and then accepted his usual towel and glass of sparkling water. He drank deeply as he wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

“So, did you learn anything from your little trip?” he asked softly, hiding his anger at the lack of success in Germany. The death toll should have been much higher, and the man who had been framed for the attack wasn’t dead, only under arrest.

“It’s not what I learned, it’s what I saw,” Laurel said. She turned and stepped away from her father.

“And that is?” he asked, giving the empty glass away and accepting the robe as it was placed over his shoulders. He nodded his head to indicate that the young girl who was acting as his valet that night could leave his presence. The music in the cathedral was rising to a deafening crescendo.

Laurel stepped toward her father and tied the belt of his robe tightly around his waist.

“That we are not being aggressive enough. James and his intricate plan will only slow down the attempts at getting to the Moon, not stop them, as was proved today. One of the Chinese missions may still succeed.”

“I think two out of three is acceptable.” He looked down at his daughter, who was holding his blue eyes with her own. “McCabe is doing exceptionally well, and I would have thought you would have given your lover far more credit.”

Laurel turned away and watched her little sister’s unbridled enthusiasm as she led the final moments of the worship service.

“We need a far more dramatic statement than shooting down a bunch of rockets that have just as much chance at failure at takeoff as we have of shooting them down.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You said it yourself not a few days ago. We need to eliminate the driving force, at least on the American side.”

Rawlins smiled for the first time since he had seen the drop in attendance.

“Eliminate the driving force? Even though McCabe said it would be a mistake?”

“He’s timid, and what’s most important here is the fact that he is not family. Even more important than that-he’s not a true believer in our cause. His cause is money and survival, not the sanctity of God’s written word. He is a Judas waiting for his reward.”

“And how would we achieve such a plan? You forget, daughter, that our motives are somewhat in accordance with McCabe’s. We’re the real hypocrites here.”

“The Mechanic says he has lost faith in his own cause, but I sense he has not. My plan would involve him, a man of devout beliefs but also a man who has come to doubt those around him. A man who now says he is in it for the money like his boss, McCabe.”

“You believe he has the will and the desire to see that God prevails here?”

“More than that, he sees this as a chance to right his cause. He will do what I ask.” She turned and put her arms around her father. “Chaos will be to our benefit, and it will also place a dear friend in the highest office in the land. At the same time, after the Mechanic has done our bidding, he will continue on as our fall guy.”

“And McCabe?” he asked, knowing Laurel’s answer long before she voiced it.

“I think as soon as his Houston and Cape Canaveral missions are complete, and the second gallery inside the mine is reopened, we’ll allow him to remove any weaponry and technology from the mine. Then he will cease to be an asset to our cause. Just empty baggage that needs to be left on the ground.”

Rawlins smiled and felt better about the events of the day, even more so because his sermon had relaxed him and renewed his own enthusiasm about keeping Operation Columbus under wraps until his corporations could cash in on the technologies discovered so long ago.

“Make your plans and include your offer to our friend the Mechanic. Then we’ll see if he’s a true man of God. Show me something in two days.”

Niles Compton watched the experiment unfold.

The mineral-encrusted rocks recovered from the CIA vaults were in water and the steam they were producing was actually growing in pressure. The test had been running for thirteen hours with a steady increase of heat emanating from the meteorites.

“They are truly remarkable,” Virginia Pollock said as she stood behind the glass with Niles. “If the Chinese and the Russians have samples, they know their capabilities. I suspect that with these small stones alone we could run an entire power generation plant.”

“The long-term effects?” Niles asked, watching as the steam inside the clear glass chamber channeled into a small generator.

“We can’t know that yet,” Virginia said. She watched her boss closely. “What are you thinking?”

Niles turned away from the thick glass separating them from the laboratory and fixed Virginia with a questioning look.

“Meteorites-think about the word, Virginia. They came here as meteorites. That would mean that the space body they once belonged to may not exist today. What if the planetary body they originated from exploded, not because of some interstellar incident, but because this element is so unstable?”

“That would call for too much speculation at this time,” she countered, turning back and watching the needle on the power gauge rise by increments.

“You’re seeing what I’m seeing. No power source actually gains in intensity after expending as much energy as these stones. They’re gaining power, even as we attempt to drain it.”

“It could level off, just like our nuclear fuel, at least to a controllable level,” Virginia countered.

“As you just said, that calls for too much speculation at this time. I want the experiment terminated for the time being.”

“But Niles, we have an opportunity here to-”

“Terminate the experiment, Virginia,” Niles said as an assistant stepped through the observation room doorway and handed him a small piece of paper. Niles hesitated while he made sure Virginia understood her orders.

“Very well, we’ll start a controlled shutdown,” she said, turning for the door.

“Niles.” The president spoke from a secure hookup. “I’ve spoken directly to the German chancellor and he knows the colonel is right in the middle of a frame-up. However, at the moment, with the video evidence and the two claymores found in the U.S. Air Force jet, the chancellor is between a rock and a hard place. He would get crucified if he released the American believed responsible for over a hundred deaths.”

“How soon?”

“The FBI says they can probably come up with something to give the German chancellor a reason to free him, at least on bail and as a personal favor to me, in three weeks. Captain Everett is being extradited to Ecuador to face his charges there. Even when Collins is released, the Ecuadorians will be there ready to extradite him also. It’s a big goddamn mess, Niles.”

“I want my two scientists back. Or are they going to charge them too?” Niles asked, his anger at the situation finally cracking his stoic facade.

“They’re being released this afternoon. They haven’t any evidence against them, although my FBI sources tell me they are far more trouble than either Collins or Everett.”

“That I can believe. Has Jack spoken to our envoy in Berlin?”

“He refuses to talk to anyone, other than to pass along a message to you through the embassy. He said to check out the Faith Channel on television tonight. He said all roads lead to the Lord.”

Niles looked away from the small camera and thought a moment.

“I hope you know what the hell that means, because as far as I’m concerned these fundamentalist protesters outside my window are just about all the religion I can handle at the moment.”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea what the colonel means, but I will-”

That was as far as Niles got as a tremendous swaying motion struck his office and alarm bells started jangling. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling and the lights flickered and went out. The overhead fluorescents flashed and then came back on.

“Jesus, I just got this place back together!” Niles shouted as he looked at the camera. “I’ll call you back!”

The monitor went dead.

Compton ran out of his office and saw that the false ceiling in the outer office had caved in. His assistants were struggling to free one of their own from the debris.

“Emergency extraction and fire teams to Level 23, Nuclear Sciences Laboratory 211. This is no drill,” announced the calming voice of Europa.

“Are you handling this?” Niles asked on his way to the elevators.

The three assistants had just pulled the fourth from the soft ceiling tiles and nodded that they had it under control.

“The elevators automatically shut down, sir!” one of them called out, but Niles entered the rounded doors anyway.

“Europa, Director Override 1 Alpha. Activate Elevator 3, Level 23.” he said calmly, placing his entire hand on the security glass next to the door to have it scanned.

“Yes, Director Compton,” came the reply as the doors slid closed. “Director Override 1 Alpha accepted.” The elevator started moving downward at a dizzying speed.

“Are the emergency teams responding?”

“Security, fire, and rescue teams are currently arriving on station.”

Niles leaned against the far wall of the elevator. “Cave-in or explosion?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Explosion was detected by a higher than normal rise in laboratory temperature and vibratory analysis. This was confirmed by on-site personnel at 2210 and 13 seconds.”

The elevator came to a stop and before the doors opened Niles could hear the alarms and the shouts of rescue workers; he braced himself for the worst. The doors slid open and the car was inundated with smoke and heat. Niles placed a handkerchief to his mouth and nose, and then stepped out into the chaos that was the long, curving hallway. He grabbed the first man he came to, whom he recognized as Sergeant Gomez, a Marine attached to Jack’s security department and the on-duty security chief this afternoon.

“Report, Sergeant?” Niles asked, while holding the man’s arm.

“Not clear yet, sir. We have a lot of people down and a situation in the lab that’s out of control.”

“Okay, first off, let’s get these damn alarms shut off, so we can hear.” The director slapped the sergeant on the back.

Niles turned and made his way to the lab doors, which had been blown off their reinforced hinges. Compton had just left this lab twenty minutes before and now nothing was recognizable. He saw two paramedics working on someone in the observation room, which was still smoldering from the blast. His eyes widened when he saw it was Virginia Pollock. She lay on her back with blood coursing down her face. She was fighting with the men trying to work on her, slapping at the hands that were attempting to give her oxygen. Niles ran to her side and kneeled down.

“What happened?” he asked. He became worried when he saw that Virginia’s left eye was severely swollen shut and that she had at least a ten-inch gash along her scalp. Virginia slapped away the oxygen mask and tried to fix on Niles with her good eye.

“Reroute… the nuclear core mud to… the lab, we… have… to… drown it… concrete, through… the pipes. Out… of… control, energy… still… building.” Virginia grabbed Niles by the shirt collar.

“I understand, treat it as a reactor meltdown, correct?” he asked, worried his friend and the assistant director for the Event Group wasn’t going to make it.

Virginia could only nod her head once before she passed out. The paramedics lifted her onto a gurney and started on their way to the elevators. Niles watched her for a moment and then stepped into the destroyed lab. He saw men with fire hoses and the complex’s engineering corps as they tried to see into the intense burning in the center of the room. As Compton looked on he saw numerous men and women who had been slammed into the walls and furniture by the blast. He found the Corps of Engineers captain who oversaw the Event complex, including its levels and nuclear reactors.

“We’re going to a priority scramble of the core reactor on Level 120. We can’t operate the system because we have to take the redundant safety equipment off-line there and pump it up here. Start mixing the mud and the concrete. We have to bury this lab before those damn rocks eat their way through to our own power plant. We could end up blowing half of Las Vegas away.”

“Yes, treat it as a reactor meltdown,” the engineer said loudly. “It will take twenty minutes to reroute the piping.”

“Get to it!” Niles said, but the engineer had already left, grabbing some of his people as he did.

Compton looked around and knew this lab would be buried forever in a cocoon of mud and concrete. That was the only way he could think of to cut the oxygen off from the meteorites. As he looked around, he saw the broken bodies. He ran to a young woman pinned under a large lab table. Niles flipped it over but he could see she was far past helping. He fell to his knees and lifted the girl up. He struggled to carry her out of the smoldering lab, cursing his shortsightedness for the disaster that had claimed more of the Event Group staff.

Sarah had just finished up with the six geologists who had been chosen for the three flights. They knew what to look for and how to recover samples if they had to, but what was more important, they had learned how not to handle the specimens. No water, no oxygen.

Sarah left the classroom sporting the blue coveralls that came complete with the new mission patch on the left shoulder-an eagle holding three rockets in its talons, with the words “Dark Star” emblazoned in gold lettering. Sarah saw Ryan and Mendenhall walking toward her. Ryan looked distraught and Will looked as if he were trying to console him.

“Hey guys, what’s up,” Sarah asked.

Will stopped and Ryan was so preoccupied he ran into him. Then he looked up and raised his chin in recognition of Sarah.

“Oh, Mr. I-Can-Fly-Anything crashed the lunar lander sim again. He killed us all for the thirtieth time. The thing he doesn’t realize is that he’s only the backup pilot on a mission that’s a backup to two other missions.” Will turned to face Ryan. “It just doesn’t matter. We won’t leave the space station. Can you get that through your head?”

“It’s not that,” said Ryan. “If those Air Force jocks can land that damn thing, I sure as hell can.”

Sarah smiled and slapped Ryan on the back. “They’ve been at the simulator for the last three years, Jason. You’ve had less than a week. I think you’ll do in a pinch. Besides, Will’s right. Our team is third in line. Odds are we get a nice trip to the International Space Station and that’s it. A nice view for a few days and then a shuttle ride home.”

“Forget it,” Ryan said to get a change of subject. “What’s the word on the colonel and Mr. Everett?”

Sarah lost her smile. “The last we heard, Jack was in jail in Berlin, Carl is being extradited back to Ecuador, and there’s not a damn thing that Niles or the president can do about it.”

“Jesus, we’re stuck here training for something that will never happen and we lose both our commanding officers in two friendly countries. What in the hell is going on?” Mendenhall said as he turned. “Come on, Jason, we have emergency procedures to run with Captain Harwell.”

“How is the captain faring?” Sarah asked about their mission commander.

Will stopped and faced Sarah. “He’s a by-the-book stick-in-the-mud.”

“But he doesn’t crash the lander, that says something for him,” Ryan quipped.

Will smiled for the first time since Sarah met them in the hallway.

“Yeah, at least someone can fly the damn thing.”

“Hey, are we going to get together and watch the ESA launches tonight?” Sarah asked the men.

“If we survive the emergency training, sure,” Jason said as they turned and left. Sarah looked at her watch and decided to call the complex to get an update on Jack.

She walked to the security station and asked the airman for the phone. She was notified that her call would be monitored for security reasons and Sarah bit her tongue about what they could do with their eavesdropping, but kept silent and only smiled. She was handed a cordless phone and she watched as the air policeman turned on the recording device. She punched in the number, and then a tone sounded. She tapped in her security code. The phone rang once and Europa came on the line.

“The department you are trying to reach has experienced an emergency situation and is unable to take your call at this time.” The phone was disconnected.

Sarah handed the phone back and turned away, biting her lower lip.

Things weren’t right in any aspect of their missions, and it seemed as if the fates were working against them.

“Jack, I wish we were all just back at home.”

The massive headquarters had been built in 1945 and was now the main building for the German Federal Police. Jack was caged on the fifth floor, and thus far had been questioned by the Germans, the Ecuadorians, and Interpol, and that wasn’t counting his own embassy. He sat quietly and told them that he had nothing to do with either the bombing in downtown Berlin or the murders of the couple in Ecuador. The military attache assigned to the embassy in Berlin had been in twice, telling Jack that he shouldn’t even have said what he had said; he should have just remained quiet. The attache told him that it would be all right. The president was working on getting him out of there, but things were a little iffy at the moment. He could tell by the way the man refused to look him in the eye that political pressure on the German government may not be going as well as the attache was letting on.

At the moment Collins sat on a cold, hard steel bunk and looked at the large hot dog and sauerkraut they had given him for dinner. He took a deep breath and sat the tray on the bed.

He saw a passing guard and called out, “Hey, can I take this food out to the kitchen and get something else?”

The German looked at Jack, not totally understanding what he was asking.

“You, know, maybe go out and get a hamburger or something?”

The guard finally caught on that the American was joking with him. He shook his head and walked away.

“Can I at least watch the space launch?” he called out.

The guard just kept walking. Collins shook his head, feeling helpless. He figured Carl was on his way to Ecuador. The Germans had removed him about eight hours before and he hadn’t returned. He was now thinking about Golding and Ellenshaw, hoping they were on their way home with the slim pickings of a report they had pieced together. He was also hoping that the military attache passed on his cryptic message to the State Department, and that Niles received it. That should start things rolling in the right direction, leading to the good Reverend Rawlins, especially since his Columbus investigation looked to be all but over.

Jack looked around the jail cell and knew that given time and planning he could make a break for freedom, but not without the use of deadly force. He wasn’t about to gain the fresh air again by killing policemen who were just doing their jobs.

“Colonel Collins, it is time for your washing.” The guard, whom Collins had never seen before, looked frustrated at his English. He looked away and then quickly back through the bars of the jail cell. “It is shower time,” the guard finally managed. “Will you please follow me?” he finished, waving down the block as the cell door opened.

Collins stood from his bunk and looked the guard over. The young man was larger than all the others he had seen thus far and was without a weapon of any kind, not even a nightstick like the others wore. Looking the boy over, Jack figured the kid didn’t really need one. He was also the first man to use his military title. The guard gestured for Collins to step out.

“Please, Colonel, this way.”

Jack did as he was instructed and stepped out of his cell.

“Think I can get a different color jumpsuit? Orange was never really my style.”

The kid didn’t respond to Jack’s joke. He placed a firm hand on his back and easily pushed him forward. They went to an elevator and Collins started to wonder where he was really being taken. He knew there were showers on his block’s floor, and from the way the guard acted it was as though he didn’t care that he wasn’t restrained in even the minimal sense of the word. Jack eyed the large kid again and saw that the uniform he wore was extremely tight-fitting. The cuffs of the blue jacket didn’t make it quite to the wrists and the top collar button wasn’t fastened underneath the black tie. The guard glanced over at him and Jack smiled, even though he started to get a soldier’s sense of impending danger.

As the elevator doors opened, Jack saw that two men were waiting just outside. One was wearing an orange jumpsuit like himself, obviously a guest of the state, and the other man was a guard. The two security men nodded at each other as Jack was led from the elevator. As he walked out he noticed the jail house number on the prisoner’s overalls and then Jack really started worrying-the number was the same as his own stenciled number on the left breast. He looked the prisoner over and saw that the man was dark-haired and almost exactly the same height and build as himself. Collins turned and looked at the two men as the elevator doors closed. His guard gave him a gentle shove in the back and he was moved along a long corridor.

The hackles on Jack’s neck began to rise as the guard stepped closer in behind him. He reached out and placed a large hand on his right shoulder, stopping him short of a steel door to the right side of the hallway.

“Shower room?” Jack asked watching the kid’s eyes.

“Colonel, I… was warned that you… may try something… dangerous to… us.” The man fought for the right English words.” But please, don’t… not… yet?” the guard opened the door and gestured for Jack to enter the room.

As he stepped through the doorway, Jack saw a man with his back to him dressed in all-black clothing. He was eating from a plate. Then his eyes roamed to the back of the room and that was when he saw Pete Golding and Charlie Ellenshaw sitting quietly.

“Colonel,” Charlie said, as he stood up along with Pete.

Jack was surprised to see the two scientists, but also worried that they had not been released as he was told they had been. Charlie stopped short of a handshake as the man eating the plate of food turned. Jack smiled finally when he saw Sebastian Krell. The commando put the plate down and stood. He adjusted the automatic weapon slung around his shoulder and looked from Collins to the man who escorted him to the office.

“Thank you. Sergeant. You’d better return that uniform before you bust out of it.” The large commando looked at his watch. “We leave here in three minutes.” Sebastian turned to face Jack and held out his hand. “Jonathan Dillinger I presume?”

Collins shook his friend’s hand and then looked him over. “It’s just John, and I hope my situation turns out better than Dillinger’s did.”

“That’s yet to be determined, my friend.” The two shook hands.

“What took you so long?” Jack asked, shaking hands with Ellenshaw and Golding.

“We had to wait for the president and the chancellor to come up with this plan. The major here finalized everything but we have very little time before our little ruse is discovered, because you are due to be arraigned in just eight hours. That’s when the clock starts running,” Pete said as Charlie handed Jack a new set of clothes.

“Your plane has been repaired and is awaiting our team,” Sebastian said as he waited for Jack to change.

“Team?”

“It seems my ten men and I have been assigned to you by the chancellor. He doesn’t need you caught again inside Germany. He and the president think we may be of service to you in something called Operation Columbus. The chancellor is in the same situation as your president. You see, all the astronauts for the ESA missions were trained in Cologne, and there are eight German scientists aboard the two Ariane rockets to be launched tonight. The fanatics here are charbroiling the chancellor over this. Thus you have us to assist you, even though our space programs are at odds.”

Jack buttoned his new shirt and thought about what their next move would be. As he slipped on a windbreaker he looked to the German commando.

“Well, I think there may be more to the chancellor’s and the president’s motives than meets the eye, but I can’t prove anything. Strange bedfellows for strange times, my friend,” Jack said, looking at Sebastian. “Our mission is to make all these trips to the Moon a moot point. We need to uncover artifacts found by your government in the thirties and forties. These artifacts and even the mineral can be found right here on Earth. That, I suspect, is why your chancellor and my president have become close friends.”

“Okay, I expect you will tell me everything. Where do we start this quest?” Sebastian asked.

“We’ll start with, How do you feel about committing another jail break?”

“Well,” Sebastian said, smiling, “it beats the hell out of training. Besides, I think I have an affinity for the criminal side of things.”

“You know, I’ve come to the same conclusion about myself and my men,” Jack said, slapping the German on the back. “Now, the ESA has men and women ready to die in a hurried mission to the Moon. Your government’s listening to mine and now has second thoughts, but can’t pull its astronauts without endangering the lives of their fellows. So your government is hedging its bet and going for the answer that is closer to home as well as the one on the Moon. The rest of the ESA is not, because they are not privy to this Operation Columbus intelligence. And where we start is right where Captain Everett has been taken-Ecuador.”

Sebastian nodded and then leaned in so only Jack could hear his next words. “Tell me something if you can, old man. Who are those two strange ducks? Just who the hell do you work for?”

Collins smiled as the sudden change of subject threw him for the briefest second, and then he looked the German commando in the eye.

“Number one, those two guys are among the most brilliant men in the scientific world. And in answer to your second question, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He looked at Golding and Ellenshaw once again. “But you’re right. They’re two very strange ducks.”

Jack and Sebastian walked from the room.

“May I ask where we are off to?” Pete inquired, following Sebastian and Collins through the door.

“Ecuador-Mr. Everett isn’t in for a warm welcome there; I thought we may as well kill two birds with one stone. Get my man out of jail and then find out why someone is willing to kill so many people over a bunch of rocks and an old set of bones. That answer lies beneath the ground. And that, dear Professor Golding, is where we are going.”

Ellenshaw hesitated a moment and grabbed Pete by the arm as Jack and Sebastian left the small office.

“It only gets better, Pete. You’ll never want to stay at the complex again after this.”

Golding watched Crazy Charlie leave. He shook his head and then followed.

“I find it is having the opposite effect on me. It makes me never want to get out of bed again.”

It took only thirty minutes to get from police headquarters to Tempelhof Airport. While riding in the back of a two-and-a-half-ton Mercedes truck, the ten commandos, plus Jack, Pete, Ellenshaw, and the black ops team of Germans, checked their equipment. The chancellor wasn’t going to send them out into the field lacking in firepower.

“I see you plan on running into trouble,” Ellenshaw told Sebastian as the leader of the group placed two heavy caliber long-range sniper rifles back into their cases. The German looked up and held Charlie with his gaze for a moment without saying anything. Then he relaxed and sat back against the wooden bench as his other men finished the inventory of their own equipment.

“Dr. Ellenshaw, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

Charlie just nodded his head, sending his white hair over his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Over a hundred German citizens were just murdered in the streets of Berlin. My chancellor is in a mood that dictates that we respond in kind to the people responsible. We didn’t look for this trouble, but neither shall we run from it.” Sebastian looked over at his old friend Collins. “Those days are over. No longer are we to sit out of world policies because of our past. We just saw what happens when we are perceived to be weak.”

Jack nodded, not really caring for the ominous tone coming from a man he respected, especially since his words seemed to be directed at the man who assisted in his commando training.

“Ah, we are here,” Sebastian said. He took hold of his large bag and then paused in front of Charlie. “Now the question is, Herr Doctor, are you prepared for the trouble we are going to run into or are you just along for the ride?”

Charlie’s eyes didn’t waver a moment as he returned the German’s stare.

“Captain Everett is my friend. I respect him, as I do the colonel. I also have several other friends who are nearing a time when they too shall place their lives on the line if we fail to find out who is responsible and what they are hiding. So in essence-yes, I am prepared to give my life for my friends.”

Sebastian handed out his pack to one of his men. Then he looked at Charlie again and nodded his head, not saying anything but making clear that the quirky little professor had given the right answer.

Jack also nodded as he turned and hopped down from the truck.

“Very eloquent, Charles,” Pete said, as he stood in the back of the truck.

“Do you agree?” Charlie asked.

“By all means. Couldn’t have said it better myself. But I wonder about one thing.”

Charlie Ellenshaw stood and followed Pete to the back of the truck. “And that is?”

“Since we are all being brave and, as they say in the military, gung ho, how do we plan on not only breaking Mr. Everett out of jail and taking on the entire Ecuadorian government with fourteen men, but to do all of this in less than twenty-four hours before the U.S. launches the Moon missions?”

Ellenshaw didn’t have an answer, so he just pointed out the back of the truck at the figure of the man standing next to the German. Jack Collins was watching the commandos load into the aircraft.

“I don’t have an answer for you, Pete, except to say, I’ll bet on that man right there.”

The three large ships had slipped in unnoticed since most of the French military presence was based on the mainland surrounding the ESA launch facility at Kourou. This is not to say that the French army had not sent out security details in the past three weeks to Devil’s Island to make sure there were no intruders setting up camp at the old prison facilities. They had. The last had been a small ten-man French commando team sent there one hour prior to the final countdown of the two Ariane 7 rockets awaiting launch.

The two Ariane rockets were lined up as neatly as the three ships anchored just inside the main harbor at the ominous old prison. The ten-man team had walked unsuspectingly into far more firepower than they could handle. James McCabe shook his head as he looked at the bodies.

“They should have been far more cautious and less arrogant about their abilities,” he said as he turned toward the Mechanic. “Are the men we are leaving here all understanding of their orders?”

“I have chosen these men personally. They will do their duty to Allah. They are, as you say, understanding of that duty, and are proud to bring down the infidels’ attempt at mocking God. But I am surprised, James, that you find it so easy to send men to their deaths without a moment’s hesitation.”

McCabe looked the bearded Mechanic over. The man had set up the ambush of the French commandos with the expertise of someone who had far more formal training than he realized. During the brief exchange of gunfire, the Mechanic, with his thirty-man team recently flown in from northern Pakistan, had suffered only two dead and one wounded.

“I have been in the killing and sacrifice business for a long time. You should know that I chased you and your people for many months inside Iraq.” McCabe looked at the Mechanic very closely. “You seem to have become more of your old self in the past few days. Are you seeing the light of Allah in your soul once more?” McCabe offered a slight smile.

The tall Mechanic didn’t answer the insulting question. He just stepped away from the bodies of the French soldiers and nodded at his men.

“Take your stations and know that Allah is smiling down upon you this night.”

The Mechanic was present at the demonstration put on by McCabe and the specialists he had working for Rawlins after the mine had been entered for the first time since the German army had vacated the site. One of the abandoned crates they found had contained one of the ancient weapons from the original German excavation. They had spent six months of hard work trying desperately to reverse-engineer the riflelike weapon, only to fail again and again. Then they had discovered the small satchel of meteorites that had been hidden away over 700 million years before. The properties were soon untangled and then the power source of the ore, or meteorite as the Germans had called it, had been discovered. The light weapon had performed magnificently as its bright blue light pierced solid stone, melting a three-inch steel plate. All of this in just a three-minute test. At the three-minute mark the weapon had burned out. But the source of the design’s power had been uncovered and the Mechanic had started having a slow change of heart about the men he was working with. Knowing what his movement could do with that weapon had a profound effect on him. Too bad they had left the weapon inside the mine, as he would have liked to have shown it to some very special people in Iran, Pakistan, and Afghanistan.

McCabe and the Mechanic watched the fire team as they ran into the old ruins of the reception center where prisoners were once processed for their eventual dispersal into the penal colonies on the different islands. McCabe smiled as the hum of a large generator filled the air as the four launchers were uncovered for the first time since they had been off-loaded. The Lavochkin OKB S-75, better known to NATO as the SA-2 Guideline, was a delightful bonus when McCabe and his men broke into the Raytheon Corporation’s storage facility. The Russian-made Guideline was the latest and best version of the venerable surface-to-air missiles commonly known as SAMs. The American company had come into possession of the four weapons during a raid in 2006 on a well-defended warehouse in Taliban-controlled territory in Afghanistan. Once called upon to target B-52s in Vietnam, the Guideline’s new mission would be to bring down two Ariane rockets carrying no fewer than twenty men and women. The weapon would be deadly at the short range required. As the nose cones of the four missiles rose above the shattered wall of the old administration buildings, McCabe was satisfied that the men chosen would do as ordered. He nodded and looked at the Mechanic.

“Shall we get out of here before the fireworks start?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. Then he did a double take as he saw something in the former terrorist’s eyes he didn’t like. He actually looked longingly at the shining white tips of the missiles as they rose into the air, as if he were contemplating staying behind. It didn’t take long to have his suspicion confirmed.

“Perhaps they have not had enough training on when to turn on their radars. I think I should-”

“Get on the helicopter. We have little enough time as it is. They can handle it. You trained them on when to light up their radars.”

The Mechanic looked from the missiles to his employer. The look told McCabe that the Mechanic was starting to have second thoughts about the way in which he was being rewarded for his duties. He realized there would be no virgins awaiting him in heaven upon his death, only scorn and ridicule from the true believers who had preceded him to the afterlife.

The Mechanic turned and boarded the waiting French-built Gazelle helicopter. With one last look at his unfolding plan, McCabe followed.

As soon as he settled into the backseat of the small helicopter, he put on a set of headphones and leaned forward to speak to the pilot.

“Remember, stay only a few feet off the water as we head east. We cannot be picked up on the ESA radar. They have Mirage fighters all over this area.”

The pilot nodded as the twin turbines of the helicopter started their whine.

“Now, get me Los Angeles,” he said, tapping on his microphone in a gesture that said he wanted to use the radio. McCabe only waited for a moment when his party was reached.

“The operation will commence in forty-five minutes,” he said.

Doubtless with sabotage in the air now, precautions would be made.

But then, end runs around precautions were always part of any game of sabotage!

Philippe Gardenaux was watching the monitors and the telemetry stations. His control center’s overall responsibility for the mission would take full effect as soon as the two Ariane missions cleared the two launch towers six thousand miles away in French Guiana. Until then he was a nervous bystander, as the ESA’s most ambitious mission to date was only thirty seconds from reality. He had been named over two Germans and one Netherlander for the post of chief of flight operations. As he watched the commencement of the thirty-second countdown in Guiana, he wondered why the cooperation between his agency and the men and women at NASA had suddenly ceased. Even through icy relationships between the United States and other areas of the world, the space programs of both nations had always seemed to be off limits to petty political squabbles. All that had changed, and he suspected it was because of the mineral and the alien weaponry they were going after. He prayed that both nations as well as China would come to their senses.

“… ten, nine, eight, seven, Ariane 1 has main engine start, four, three, two, Ariane 1 has full ignition start of solid fuel boosters, one, we have separation of restraining bolts and the clock is officially running.”

Gardenaux watched at the tremendous power of Ariane 1 scrambled the picture momentarily. He and others switched their view to another monitor that showed the start of the launch from a half mile away. He saw the giant rocket start to lift free of the Earth and start its climb to the sky with its fifty-ton payload and ten astronauts. He watched as the Ariane cleared the top of the tower.

“… two, we have booster start for Ariane 2,” the announcement said from Guiana. “The clock is running.”

Gardenaux moved his eyes over to another large monitor and saw the second mission to the Moon start gloriously from pad 3-b in Guiana. Another fantastic eruption of fuel and gases erupted from the tower structure as Ariane 2 started to rise into the sky as though it were chasing Ariane 1 to see which craft could achieve orbit first.

Gardenaux and every European citizen watching the launch clenched their fists and silently or vociferously cheered as the two giant rockets were fully free of the space port.

“Yes, go baby, go!” Gardenaux pushed the two missions into the black South American sky with just his willpower. Then, as suddenly as the euphoria began it came crashing down as the first missiles were seen rising into that same dark sky as they started their run for the two Ariane mission platforms.

“No, no, no, no!” Gardenaux said, as he stepped out from behind his telemetry station.

“We are a go for roll maneuver on Ariane 1,” came the announcement from Guiana.

“They don’t even realize what’s happening!” the French flight controller shouted.

The military aspect of the two Ariane missions reacted far faster than the scientific end. Four orbiting Mirage IIIs of the French air force streaked into the air a mile back from the first Ariane. The second four were trying desperately to chase Ariane 1 as it streaked to the ten-mile mark in altitude and was gaining fast. They saw the white fire of exhaust from the four SAM as they chased down the heavy beasts of the Ariane 7 like a lion against a wildebeest. The SAMs were locked on target and were relentless as they matched and then surpassed the speed of the French-made systems.

The first Mirage flared its wings as it passed between the first SAM and Ariane 2. The SAM tried to ignore the new radar flash in its seeker head but saw the French-built fighter as an obstacle and tried to swerve to the left as the Mirage placed itself between the climbing Ariane 7 and the SAM. It worked. The SAM clipped the wing of the Mirage and that was enough to send it tumbling thirty feet off course before its damaged brain told the missile to detonate. The Mirage and missile exploded at almost the same time as the second SAM targeted on the Ariane rushed through the falling debris.

The world watched as it merged with the twin set of six solid rocket boosters that encircled the base of the first stage. The SAM exploded only five feet from the outer casing of the solid fuel cells of the boosters, ripping into the thin aluminum and cardboard that lined the interior of the solid propellant boosters. The resulting explosions ripped into the first stage that carried the liquid fuel cells for the main engines of the Ariane 7, detonating the mix as it joined the combustion chambers for the engines. The resulting cataclysm sent the explosive shock wave up and into the second stage, where the fuel tanks were also ignited, and then that explosion in hit the third stage, the one carrying the lunar lander.

The Ariane 7 came apart in a gas cloud as bright as the sun. The power of the blast was felt as far away as San Francisco. Windows shook and pictures fell from walls. The detonation rocked the very sky as the crew capsule carrying the ten men and women evaporated. They never had a chance as the capsule separated from the third stage and was sent hurtling far out into the Pacific Ocean.

The third and fourth SAMs were having a far more difficult time catching their prey. Two Mirage fighters intercepted the third SAM with a heat-seeking missile, a snap shot that connected solidly with the Russian-made SAM, ripping it apart like a large piece of paper. That didn’t matter in the end as the fourth SAM found its mark. It wasn’t a hit at all, really. It was just a bee sting as the range of the SAM gave out. Sensing its low fuel state and the distance to the target, the SAM exploded fifty feet from the exhaust plume of Ariane 1. The outer casing and not the warhead is what struck all six of the solid rocket boosters, igniting fire plumes from the front, back, and sides of the large solid fuel cells.

Thinking quickly, and only because they were seconds away from an automated program sending out the impulse to separate the first and second stages, the pilot of Ariane 1 flipped the switch, bypassing the programmed separation. They saw the explosion of the rocket boosters. They saw the flash and gas release of the first stage from the second just as the debris from the solid boosters struck the fast-igniting second stage. The shrapnel tore into the lunar lander that was tucked away inside the third stage, but the Ariane continued to rise into the upper reaches of the atmosphere. Trailing far more than just the exhaust plume of the second stage, the mission flew on. With holes punched in the all-important second and third stages, Ariane 1 fought for its life to get into its natural element-space.

As the world watched, a second mission to the Moon was now limping its way along a shallow orbit where it was losing a battle to stay aloft an hour after achieving orbit. The Chinese had repaired their systems, but the ESA mission was now in serious doubt. They had lost ten men and women on Ariane 2, and now if they didn’t do some fast patching they would lose everyone on Ariane 1.

The world was now wondering if God truly was angry.

Niles Compton watched as the doctors worked on Virginia Pollock. Her heart had stopped twice as they struggled to save her life. Three ribs had fractured and punctured both lungs. She was concussed and bleeding heavily inside her chest cavity. Normally she would have been transferred to the Nellis facilities or, if her condition warranted, to the far better facilities in Las Vegas. However, Virginia had run out of time and, luckily for the assistant director of the Event Group, two of the better surgeons in the Southwest had been recruited just after their retirement from Johns Hopkins and the UCLA Medical Center. They were on their first official visit to the complex for their initial orientation; thus Virginia had the best care possible and she hadn’t needed to be moved. Her surgery was being conducted in the medical clinic on Level 9.

Niles watched through the observation glass as the two men worked furiously to get the bleeding stopped.

“Sir?” Event Group Dr. Denise Gilliam said.

Niles cleared his throat and faced his staff doctor.

“Engineering said they have the mineral in total containment. They are now devising a way of getting it out of the complex by the heavy equipment elevator.”

Niles just nodded his head without speaking. Denise placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“She’s lucky. So many more weren’t. Here’s the list of who we lost.” She held out a piece of paper.

Niles looked at it and turned away. He watched the two surgeons working on his friend.

“I’ve made the biggest error in judgment of my career in planning the Moon missions for the president. I’m sending men and women to gather, or stop this material from being recovered, when I just should have recommended a nuclear strike on that crater, no matter what we face in the future.” He finally turned and faced Denise. “People are going to die and my arrogance designed it all.”

Before Denise could say anything, one of the surgeons opened the sealed door and stepped out while removing his face mask.

“She’ll make it. We managed to stop the bleeding, but we have to evacuate her to the surface as soon as we get her sewn up.”

Niles swallowed and nodded his head. He found he had lost his voice as he was informed he wouldn’t be losing one more person, at least for the rest of the day.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Denise Gilliam said for Niles.

Compton turned away and walked a few feet away as the surgeon left the observation room. He put his hands in his pocket and looked up at the monitor, where Europa had placed the view of the events in the Nuclear Sciences Lab. He watched as the engineers and nuclear sciences people, Virginia’s men and women, started taking core temperatures to confirm the cooling of the mud and concrete cocoon. As he watched, he found he wasn’t seeing the destroyed lab; he was looking at the monitor itself. As Denise became concerned with his stillness, Niles ran from the observation room.

Compton practically sprinted for the elevators as men and women passed by with curious looks on their faces. They had never seen their director walk at even a fast pace before. As the elevator carried him back up to Level 7, his thoughts turned to the note that had been forwarded by Jack through the American embassy in Berlin. When the elevator doors finally opened, Niles ran into his office and past his assistants. Once inside the office he slammed into his seat and hit the intercom.

“Europa, bring up the Faith Channel on broadcast television please.”

“Yes, Dr. Compton.”

Niles watched the main screen monitor blaze to life and, a moment later, Compton was looking at the Reverend Samuel Rawlins as he treated his congregation to ridicule of the president of the United States and his blatantly obvious attempt at destabilizing the faith of billions across the globe.

As Niles watched, the good Reverend reminded him of the old films of Adolf Hitler as he screamed his manifesto to fanatical countrymen in 1939. As he watched, he thought about the attacks being launched against the efforts around the globe. This man couldn’t be responsible; no one man could have that much reach without a government backing him. He had heard that Rawlins was rich beyond easy measurement, but even wealth couldn’t provide a madman access to terrorist cells around the globe. They would disdain his American wealth. Niles’s thought processes hit a snag as he thought the question over from another point of view. Terrorists around the globe and the fundamentalist wings of certain religions did have a common goal, the retardation of scientific advancement and the eventual withdrawal of anything that didn’t match their interpretation of the future-the strict adherence to the Bible or the Koran.

Niles stood from his desk and approached the screen. He watched the white-suited Rawlins as he was joined onstage by a young woman of about sixteen. He introduced her as his younger daughter and swore he would protect her from the community of nonbelievers that threatened her future and the future of all true believers. He screamed for his followers to take action, to take the battle for the Lord to the steps of the White House.

At that moment Niles saw something that really caught his attention. Right in the middle of this tirade a dozen of his followers slowly stood and made their way from their seats. The camera view immediately switched back to Rawlins, who chose not to recognize the rebuke by his congregation, though Niles could see the large man stumble a bit as he hailed the calamity that had just befallen the ESA Moon shots. Instead of the large crowd cheering and applauding or shouting the amens that usually accompanied his outrageous pronouncements, the audience was silent. The Reverend stumbled again but continued with a quick change of tactic.

“These brave men and women of the misguided space organizations of the world were sacrificed in the name of science, in the name of advancing the curse of warfare. These poor souls were ordered to fight the will of God, a will that dictates we stay on the planet he created. His heavens are off limits-off limits to those who refuse to believe in his divine word.”

This time Compton heard a smattering of applause, but he knew that for some reason the Reverend had lost the crowd of over two thousand. The director of the TV program was no longer showing congregation shots. The views were locked in on the Reverend and his daughter, who were both looking very uncomfortable. This seemed to infuriate the man on the subject of the president.

“The man who is now preparing to send our men and women, our brave astronauts, to seek the hoax that is being perpetrated just to continue a space program that is and has been a drain on every economy the world over is directed-no, that’s not the right word-it’s being manipulated by one man, a man who swore there would be no future attempts at landing on the Moon, a man who lied about cutting the budget for this continual drain on the poor of this nation, a man who cares not for the word and warnings of God! This man is the president of the United States!”

Niles made a decision-Jack was telling him that this is what he was uncovering, and that meant that he had found a connection with Columbus to the man he was watching on television.

“Europa, cut the feed,” he said as he sat back down at his desk. He immediately hit the intercom. “Jimmy, get me the direct link to the president. No video, just audio.”

“Yes, sir,” came the answer.

Niles waited and then hit another switch. This time he connected with the Computer Center.

“Yes, sir,” came the voice of the man subbing for Pete Golding.

“I want everything you can dig up on Samuel Rawlins, and his corporation, Faith Ministries.”

“Sir?” the tech asked.

“I need it ASAP, and get me a link with Colonel Collins. He’s in the air on his way to Ecuador.”

“Yes, sir.”

Niles waited a moment and then his assistant stuck his head through the double oak doors.

“Sir, the president is on his way to Annapolis to watch the Ares mission launch from Vandenberg. He’s just now preparing to leave the White House on Marine One.”

“Thank you,” Compton said, leaning back in his large chair. For some reason that Niles couldn’t fathom at the moment, he had a dreadful feeling that he had been too late in heeding Jack’s cryptic message from Germany. “Europa, put CNN on the main viewer please.”

On the main screen at the center of the room he saw a reporter standing on the back lawn of the White House, just as his friend, the president of the United States, began waving at the onlookers lining the roped-off area. He saw him turn and salute the Marine guard and then bound up the short set of stairs into the helicopter designated Marine One. His wife and daughters weren’t traveling with him to Annapolis that day, and for that Niles felt relieved. He reached out and hit the intercom one last time.

“Jimmy, the president will be airborne in just a minute. Give him a moment and then contact him with a 5656 priority message. I have to speak with him.”

Niles clicked the intercom off before he received an answer from his outer office. He stood and walked toward the screen again, watching the giant rotors of Marine One start to turn.

Laurel Rawlins watched through binoculars as Marine One started spooling its twin turbine-driven engines. From her vantage point, she could only see the extreme top of the rotor. She moved the glasses to the right and saw two identical helicopters with the exact same paint scheme as Marine One. One came from the direction of Andrews Air Force Base and the other from the east, following the Potomac River. She smiled. That old fool Darby had said in passing one day many years before that the president had not one but three Marine One Sikorsky helicopters that rose into the air at exactly the same moment when the president was utilizing the aircraft-one carrying the head of state, the other two flying as decoys in case someone attempted exactly what she was about to attempt.

Laurel lowered the glasses and reached for the small radio clipped to the inside of her jacket. She felt an adrenaline rush accompanying the action she was about to perform. From the day her high school counselor informed her father that his daughter had a severe problem with authority, she had thought her wealth precluded her from any form of normal social function. She smiled at the memory and lifted the small microphone attached to her coat collar.

“Site one, are you ready?” she asked, the smile lingering on her lips as she actually started shaking with excitement.

“Site one, prepared to lock on to target.”

“Site two, are you tracking?” she asked into the microphone.

“Site two is tracking.”

“Site three?”

“Three is prepared to do the will of God.”

Laurel wanted to laugh at the phrase coming from position three. She wanted to scream that it was her will, not God’s, that was controlling the fate of the nation today. Instead, she allowed the coat collar to fall back without commenting on the foolishness spouted by site three.

The men had been chosen by the Mechanic and had been taught extensively in the use of the FIM-92 Stinger missile system. The infrared targeting system would lock on to the exhaust of Marine One and send the 10.1 kilogram missile into the proximity of the engine compartment. The Raytheon theft was about to pay off once more.

Just as Laurel was about to start down the winding staircase to the ground floor so she could make a hasty retreat, her cell phone rang and she stopped halfway to the tenth-floor exit.

“What?” she said angrily into the phone.

“My dear, may I ask what it is you are doing?” McCabe said from three thousand miles away. He had just witnessed the culmination of a major portion of his plan and wasn’t happy about the failure of the missiles from Devil’s Island in not bringing down the first Ariane rocket.

“Doing something that you don’t have the balls to do, James. I’m betting heavily that the Americans won’t launch tonight, that’s what I’m doing. Your plan has failed completely. Now you not only have one but two missions on their way to the Moon.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Laurel. The Chinese system will eventually fail. It is far too complicated for a damaged ship to make the trip and land safely. They have a three-day journey and they won’t make it. The ESA platform is heavily damaged, so they’re also ill-fated. Now stop what it is you are doing because this action will not prevent the United States from following a presidential directive. You are making us all look like amateurs.”

“Nonetheless, James, I will do what you are destined to fail at, and I have the man who signs your mercenary checks backing me on this.”

McCabe had to think fast. His plans were unraveling and he was bound to be implicated in the actions thus far if Laurel continued to be a rogue element. But if he sent out a warning she would be caught and that would lead directly to her father. McCabe had no illusions that the trail would then lead right to his front door. If so, the plan for framing the Mechanic and his movement would just be a waste of time. McCabe thought of a possible way out.

“I tried,” he said as simply as he could. “Do you have a proper escape plan?”

“I’m heading to the street now. I’m taking public transportation to the airport.”

“That’s good. Then you should tell your shooters to commence lock-on of the target now. I see on television that Marine One is just lifting off.”

“James, I was informed that locking on to the target too soon would alert the defensive equipment of not only the presidential helicopter, but the orbiting fighters as well. Just what are you trying to do?”

McCabe now knew who was involved in planning the attack on the president. It could only be the Mechanic, because no one knew the Stinger system as he did. Now he had a confirmation that the Saudi was finally reverting to his old, terrorist ways-or was it something more like avarice?

“Normally that would be true, but you’re misinformed, my beauty. You are using the Stinger FIM-101, the newer system that allows lock-on with no tracking flashback from the seeker head. You can lock on early and get the hell out of there, and save your men at the same time. Whoever you’re in this with should have explained that to you.”

Laurel bit her lower lip.

“Look, you cannot get caught. It would lead directly to your father.”

Laurel’s vanity overpowered her mistrust of her father’s mercenary. She lowered the cell phone and then her hand went to her collar. She raised the microphone to her mouth.

“All stations lock on, now!” she said into the microphone.

Flying at 39,000 feet off the coast of Mexico, James McCabe smiled as he heard the voice in his ear.

“But, miss, we are trained to-”

“Lock on the target, now!” she screamed, sounding like a spoiled child balking at a parental order.

All stations turned on their IR and radar-equipped seeker heads located in the missile itself. The signal was sent through to the microchip inside the handle of the Stinger and the blip appeared as a target that had been acquired. The three Stinger stations placed on the rooftop all called in stating they had acquired the target.

“Now get out of there,” McCabe ordered. “Flag a cab about three blocks from the building you’re in and don’t look back. Meet me in Atlanta. D.C. is going to shut down minutes after the attack.”

Laurel listened to McCabe and for the first time she started to get frightened at what she had just ordered. It was like a twelve-year-old getting caught hitting a schoolmate with a sharpened pencil-while the exhilaration was still there, it was nonetheless scary to be caught red-handed.

“But-”

“Get the hell out, now!”

Laurel snapped the phone shut and ran for the stairs.

The two U.S. Air Force F-22 Raptors were flying at fifteen thousand feet through a cleared corridor dictated by Marine One’s flight plan to Annapolis. Their job was to cover the path of the presidential helicopter the entire time it was in the air. This was a new protocol since the attacks on air and space assets in the previous week. The pilots were on a rotating roster and were stationed at Andrews. Their duty was usually one of boredom and routine as they circled well above the commander in chief.

The flight lead was Lieutenant Colonel William “Wild Bill” Lederman, a career officer who was filling in for a pilot who had just received his orders to Afghanistan. He was doing it as a favor so the other man could spend a few more days with his wife and two children. His wingman was Thomas “Hollywood” Henderson, a young first lieutenant who was performing the protection run for only the second time.

The world for both pilots was about to change in dramatic fashion.

The large Sikorsky gained altitude quickly and its occupants were unaware of what was happening a mile away at an old and decrepit brownstone. Inside the helicopter a communications line buzzed.

“Mr. President, you have a call on the secure line,” a Marine corporal said as he leaned into the cabin.

The president of the United States looked over at his national security advisor, who was the only one of his staff accompanying him that evening. He then closed his eyes as the phone rang in the armrest of his seat. He sighed and then snatched up the receiver. He knew it was going to be a long night of nervous tension watching the double launch tonight from Vandenberg. He placed the phone to his ear and heard the scrambling sounds as the Marine communications officer made the connection.

“Yes,” he said as he finally received the soft tone telling him the scramble was complete.

“We have a breakthrough from Colonel Collins, and you won’t believe it.”

The president sat up in his seat when heard the voice of his friend Niles Compton.

“What?” he asked, waving the Marine steward away from his seat.

“Samuel Rawlins, the reverend, the evangelist.”

“What about that pain in the ass?”

“We think he may behind all of this,” Niles answered.

“I think you’ve lost your mind. He’s an idiot and has been chastised by every religion on the books-they all know he’s a fundamentalist fool.”

“Jack’s reporting that Rawlins’s father was a minister at Spandau Prison in 1947, and had access not only to the man they were looking for, this Nazi clerk named Zinsser, but also to Albert Speer. They may have divulged their knowledge of Operation Columbus to Rawlins’s father, a lieutenant colonel in the Army at the time. It’s all just circumstantial, but given recent events and the Reverend’s not so hidden disdain of yourself and the attempt to get to the Moon. I’m sure we have enough to get the FBI out in California to pay him a visit.”

The president was thinking. He had never known Niles Compton to run off half-cocked about anything. His guesses were as good as Einstein’s theories.

“Okay, I’ll order-”

Alarms started sounding inside of Marine One and the communications system was shut down without warning. The president looked up as the giant Sikorsky banked hard to the right and started a nose-down plunge just past the White House grounds. The president dropped the phone and held on as the helicopter’s hard maneuver threw him deep into his seat. He heard shouting from up front, but it was controlled as the pilot and copilot started an emergency procedure the president had always heard about but never experienced.

The Marine corporal leaned outward from his seat and looked at the president. The commander in chief saw the worry in the boy’s face.

“We’ve been locked on to with an infrared and radar system. The pilots are attempting to set us down.”

The president nodded as Marine One banked in the opposite direction. He was thrown to the right and painfully so, as his ribs dug into the armrest. He managed to look at his national security advisor and saw him cross himself. His lips were moving in prayer.

“Say one for me if you have the time, Tom.”

Lieutenant Colonel Wild Bill Lederman got the call just as his threat receiver told him that he was picking up a sweeping IR targeting of the area surrounding Marine One. His reactions were fast due to his training running the same kind of missions over Afghanistan while protecting attack and personnel helicopters as they flew into hostile territory. He quickly got a fix on the return of the radar and IR signatures and saw that they were emanating from the east at one mile. Without saying anything he rolled the F-22 over and dove for the deck. He just hoped the sky was as clear as his controllers said it was.

As the two F-22s rolled into the city, the lock on Marine One started a steady warbling in the colonel’s headphones. He glanced to his right as houses began to become large in his windscreen and vapor started to stream off his wingtips. He saw Marine One start firing off chaff and flares as the large Sikorsky lost altitude very quickly, giving Lederman hope that this attack would fail. As he thought this, he saw the first two fire trails of the missiles as they left their launchers. He knew immediately that the weapons were Stingers. He had seen enough of them in Afghanistan and Iraq. They had received a security report on the theft at Raytheon and he suspected that these may be from that theft. All of this flashed through his mind in the briefest of seconds.

“Gunslinger Two, this is Lead. Take out those launchers. Take them out now!” he said as calmly as he could, just as the third missile left its tube from the rooftop. “Have you acquired target?”

“Roger, Gunslinger Lead, Two is rolling in,” came the quick reply from Hollywood.

As Gunslinger One clicked the communication button on his stick, he rolled to the right, away from his wingman just as the first missile suddenly started falling from the sky. The exhaust trail stopped and the missile went down into the office buildings below. The second and third missiles still came on. The F-22 watched as they closed on Marine One. The chaff-little pieces of aluminum foil-and the flares being ejected from the tail boom of the Sikorsky were an attempt to get the Stingers to lock on to a false target, but the colonel knew that the advanced Stinger systems Raytheon produced were programmed to avoid the countermeasures and blast through to the real target.

He decided he had little choice. He turned as hard as he could while at the same time throwing the twin Pratt amp; Whitney F119-PW-100 turbofans into afterburner. The Lockheed jet responded faster than any fighter in the world could have. It streaked toward the lead missile, trying desperately to head it off.

As the flight lead was in the process of intercepting the assault on Marine One, his wingman locked on to the rooftop of the building. He saw a team of six men attempting to run for cover as his F-22 shot through the sky toward them. Long before their missiles came into proximity of the Sikorsky, the CAP found the weapons personnel. The piper on the heads-up display turned red as the small circle sought the first and second man in line. At the same time as the fleeing men were targeted, Hollywood made the call to his controller saying he was locked, but locked in a civilian neighborhood. He was given the all clear to engage the targets.

The Raptor screamed toward the rooftop and before the men knew they had company there was the short “buruppp” of the twenty-millimeter Gatling gun. The tracers streaked toward the first two men in the line trying to reach the rooftop exit. The explosive rounds struck and tore the two men to pieces. Hollywood touched the trigger one last time for exactly a half a second. The short time span of pressure sent 306 rounds toward the remaining men. The twenty-millimeter shells ripped into the tarpaper roof and then tracked the four men and their suspected path. The men joined their first two comrades in a shower of misted blood and flying flesh.

The F-22 climbed at the last moment, sending debris and gravel from the old rooftops surrounding the attack area. The Raptor climbed back into the evening sky.

Gunslinger knew that one of the missiles was going to get through no matter what he did. There was no time for thought and no time for a quick prayer. He jigged at the last minute and caught the first warhead fifteen hundred feet from Marine One. The Stinger caught the Raptor in the right wing and blew ten feet of the composite material free of the fuselage. Just as the impact occurred, Colonel Lederman called a Mayday and reached for the ejection handle over his head. The Raptor rolled to the left at a severe angle and then the fuel lines running from the composite wing that was no longer there ignited the aircraft into a fireball. The Lockheed-built plane came apart in view of Marine One and directly in the path of the third and final Stinger missile.

The Stinger actually struck the disintegrating body and ejection seat of Lieutenant Colonel Lederman as it passed through the cloud of burning debris. It ignored the last of the Sikorsky’s chaff and flares and then detonated three feet from the helicopter’s engine compartment. The warhead was a 3 kilogram penetrating hit-to-kill warhead type that sent shrapnel out in a perfect arc that punched holes into not only the turbine-driven engines but the composite rotor blades of the helicopter as well. The fifth rotor wobbled for the briefest moment and then it too disintegrated as the helicopter fell from the sky.

It had been hit at an altitude of only eighty feet, but instead of auto-rotating when the loss of engine power dictated, Marine One came straight down and struck the street a quarter mile from the White House. Police helicopters were close by and their powerful spotlights illuminated the scene from almost two hundred feet away. The large Sikorsky struck the street and slid almost sixty feet into a median in the center of a wide thoroughfare. It hit the concrete rise and bounced, sending the green and white Marine One back into the air before it slammed down on its side sending the remaining rotors flying in all directions. Three cars were struck and the heavy aircraft spun them around into each other as the aluminum started to spark from the friction of the roadway.

The police helicopters never hesitated. They dove for the tragic scene below without regard to the power lines that crisscrossed the area. Motorists, seeing what had happened, snapped out of their paralysis faster than anyone could have believed as many rushed from cars and houses, office buildings and fast food restaurants. They all ran for the burning Marine One.

Most of the tragedy was caught live on CNN. All but the final result was broadcast live all around the world along with the frantic calls of the police helicopters.

“Marine One is down!”

The panicked rescuers were trying desperately to get inside as a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter sat down hard on the street beside the burning wreckage.

One of the only people who had not witnessed the attempted assassination of the president of the United States was climbing into a cab she had finally managed to flag down six blocks from the launch point of the Stingers.

Laurel Rawlins had the shakes, but the smile was still etched across her face. She knew her father would be proud and he would look on her favorably as a worthy successor to his vast fortune. She would take up the mantle of God’s messenger, only her message would be quite different from her father’s. Hers would be one of hope, and reconciliation.

She knew that this could only come about if all traces of Operation Columbus were removed from the mines, something her grandfather should have done many years before, and her father when he learned of the excavation many years after.

Her next target would be in Ecuador, and she knew her father may not approve, but by that time his approval might not be as important as it once was. She had to get that technology from the buried second gallery where it was suspected the real wealth was buried. She knew from her father and grandfather that the Germans, for reasons unknown, had sealed that portion of the mine and never gone back in. Her father explained once that they had been spooked by something inside, and if the German army was afraid of its contents, Laurel Rawlins knew she had to have it.

The driver looked at the pretty face of the woman in his backseat and wondered why her smile actually broadened as the cab turned off to National Airport.

For a full hour, reports of the assassination attempt filled every television screen across the land. Americans didn’t know if the president was alive or dead. The presidential physician was on duty at Georgetown Medical Center and so the U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter was diverted there instead of to Walter Reed. A thousand reporters waited outside for word on the president’s condition.