The Rock

Prologue

The chamber contained enough energy to destroy the planet five times over. More than two kilometers in diameter, one kilometer from floor to ceiling, and three times that depth under the planet's surface, it echoed with the crackle of directed power beams, all focused on a black sphere dancing in the center, just above the metal floor. The sphere was fifty meters in diameter and did not appear to be made of any solid substance, but rather contracted and expanded in a rhythmic pattern.

Halfway up the far wall, a half-kilometer from the sphere, a recessed window slid open, revealing a control room lined with consoles. Three figures dressed in long black flowing robes stood. Wires flowed from the back of the hoods to the glowing screen in front of them on which the thoughts each wished to express were displayed in a manner all could understand. "It is time for run four-five," the figure on the left communicated.

"Proceed," the one in the center ordered.

The power beams shifted across the color spectrum as the levels were increased. The sphere slowly began to change its own shade, the pitch-black gradually changing to gray then fading away until an image appeared, incongruous among the technology and power of the cave: an aircraft hangar, the edges abruptly cut off where they met the edge of the power of the sphere. Inside the hangar, an old man in a military style uniform waited patiently.

"What is the location?" The figure in the center asked.

"Coordinates two-three-five-eight dash four-eight-three-four. A town called Leesburg, in the state of Virginia, in the country called United States."

"Local date, time group?"

"Nineteen ninety-one. The twenty-second day of the sixth month. Two forty-seven local time."

"Continue tracking."

A military truck suddenly appeared in the sphere, bumper first, the entire vehicle filling out as it entered the power frame. A man jumped off the truck, wearing unmarked black fatigues and carrying a weapon. He greeted the general with a handshake. "It's good to be back, sir."

The general slapped him on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, Captain Hawkins. I've got the transcript of your in-flight debriefing and the President is very satisfied with the results of your mission."

The man nodded wearily and watched as his three men threw their rucksacks onto the floor of the hangar and secured their weapons with the unit armorer. "I'd like to give the men some time off, sir."

The general nodded. "Take a week and then give me a call. I'll put Richman's team on standby alert."

"Thanks, sir."

"Damn good job, man." With a slap on the back the general was gone, walking out of the range the sphere could see. The captain gave his men the good news and the figures dispersed one by one until only he was left standing there. He finally moved out himself, heading toward the hangar door that glimmered in the light of the sphere.

The figure on the right gave the facts. "Hawkins, Robert D. An officer in the military. Commander of a special-operations team. Program seven-one-three-two. Probability seven-six. Terminal impact projected six-three."

"He's the object. Track him," the figure in the center ordered. Around the hub of the chamber, the machinery hastened to follow the command in an intricately organized dance of power and technology.

The sphere flickered slightly, the image going out of focus, then Hawkins reappeared in the parking lot outside the hangar, walking toward a pickup truck, a young woman leaning against the front bumper. A smile blossomed across her face as she spotted Hawkins and she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

"I'm so glad you're back!"

Hawkins held the woman in his arms for almost thirty seconds. Finally, he stepped back and looked at her. "I missed you, Mary."

"Well, you're back and you don't have to miss me for a while," she replied, sliding her arm through his and pulling him toward the pickup. "Let's go home. I've got something special planned for you."

"Time line?" the center figure inquired.

"Three minutes, thirteen seconds," the figure on the right answered.

"Keep us on line."

With Hawkins at the wheel, the pickup truck rolled out of the parking lot.

"Keep tracking!"

The power being fed to the sphere surged as the automated machinery struggled to maintain pace with the truck. The vehicle appeared to be stationary, caught in the center of the sphere, the two-lane road sliding beneath its wheels, the countryside suddenly appearing at one end of the sphere and flickering by to disappear at the other end.

The entire chamber shuddered, ever so slightly. The center figure's hood twitched upward toward the metal-reinforced ceiling. "Report?"

There was a slight pause and then the figure on the left spoke. "A strike on the fourth perimeter. Magnitude three point three. Security is holding at level eight. Risk factor up to one-three. We are secure."

Attention returned to the sphere. Every few seconds the image would fade and then regain its sharpness as the technicians struggled to keep track of the vehicle.

"Time line?"

"One minute, ten seconds."

"Maintain."

The pickup truck turned onto a two-lane highway.

Mary Hawkins leaned across the front seat and nuzzled up to her husband's right side. White teeth flashed as she nipped his earlobe.

"Hey, that's not fair." Hawkins laughed.

"Thirty seconds."

Hawkins let go of the stick shift and wrapped his right arm around his wife, pulling her tight against his body.

"Ten seconds," the pickup truck was rounding a curve in the sphere, the road appearing to the watchers as it did to the man behind the wheel.

Hawkins reacted, slamming his foot on the brake and twisting the steering wheel with his left hand. The right front end of the pickup truck smashed into the rear of the stalled tractor-trailer rig with an explosion of glass and metal. Hawkins was thrown forward against the seat belt and just as abruptly slammed back against the seat in recoil. Mary Hawkins was ripped out of the desperate grip of her husband's right hand and her head thrust into the windshield, forming a flower of cracked glass as her chest crumbled against the unyielding plastic of the dashboard.

"Call an ambulance!" Hawkins screamed as he slowly pulled Mary back and laid her down on the seat. She was unconscious, her breathing coming in labored gasps. Hawkins gently slipped his hand around her head and cringed as he felt the blood slowly flowing out. He carefully pressed his hand up against the wound and held her head still.

The tableau appeared frozen in the sphere. The figure in the center finally spoke. "End four-five. Proceed with four-six."

The image of Hawkins holding his wife in his arms faded as the sphere turned black and the power shifted.