MOSAIC

By

Michael C. Grumley

Copyright © 2019 Michael Grumley

All rights reserved.

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CONTENTS

BOOKS BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Prologue

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EPILOGUE

I

II

III

IV

V

MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY

BREAKTHROUGH

LEAP

CATALYST

RIPPLE

MOSAIC

AMID THE SHADOWS

THROUGH THE FOG

THE UNEXPECTED HERO

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Rick, Jim, Rob, George, Les, and Tyler

Prologue

The late afternoon sun rested well below the thick canopy of African trees, producing a rich pink-orange hue through the cloud-covered sky.  The air was still and humid, leaving the vast expanse of mahogany and kapok trees almost motionless, save for the occasional movement of African snipes as they hopped between branches.

A tranquil scene, shattered abruptly when a deafening scream arose in the distance, followed by a barrage of unintelligible shouting and cursing.

Dulce looked up, startled, still clutching a soft pink bromeliad flower between her black fingers.  With a look of confusion, the small gorilla peered up at Dexter, a smaller capuchin monkey, who was perched nervously a few feet above her.  Both turned and looked down a long narrow footpath toward the commotion.

The looks on their faces were strikingly similar to the expression of their alien companion, Ronin––unblemished but puzzled.  His smooth, bald head gradually turning pink from exposure to the subtropical sun.

It was not until DeeAnn Draper appeared in the distance that they each jumped.  DeeAnn was running.  As fast as she could, huffing loudly and pointing frantically in the direction behind them as she barreled down the path.

“Run!” she yelled between breaths.  “RUN!”

Ronin suddenly stared at the two primates who both remained frozen.

“I SAID RUN!” DeeAnn screamed and pointed again.  When she was less than twenty feet away, the computerized vest strapped to her midsection blurted out the translation in a loud mechanical voice.

With a start, Dulce dropped the flower and began stumbling backward, still watching DeeAnn.  A second later, Dexter leaped from the tree onto Ronin’s back as he too stumbled and began to run ahead of her in the same direction.

Trailing at a distance behind DeeAnn, a frail figure rounded the trees, angrily chasing after her.  Shouts in Kinyarwanda spewed forth from the old man, who wielded what appeared to be a small ax above his head.  But in his eighties, the man was already beginning to slow, which only seemed to incense him more.

The dark-skinned man finally slowed to a stop near the area where Ronin and the primates had been waiting––defiantly hurling the rusted ax forward, where it struck the ground and tumbled helplessly along the dirt path.

A hundred yards farther ahead and well out of range, Ronin pressed forward, running hard and pushing branches out of their way. Dexter and Dulce scrambled forward on his heels, and ahead of DeeAnn.

After several minutes, the trail opened into a wide, grassy area, where DeeAnn allowed herself to slow.  Her feet finally thundered to a stop, and she gasped for breath, looking back through the trees for any sign of the old man.

She held up a hand and continued sucking in air.  “It’s…okay…I think…we’re okay!”

Ronin coasted to a stop and turned back to study DeeAnn.  He then retreated a few steps toward the narrow footpath and looked past her intently.  “Are we in danger?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, still fighting for breath.  “No…we’re fine now.”  She glanced at Dulce and Dexter.  Both were on the far side of the grass and waited nervously to resume.  “Dulce…it’s okay now…We’re okay.  You can stop running.”

The translation sounded through DeeAnn’s vest, but Dulce’s hazel eyes remained skeptical.  Behind her, Dexter ambled forward anxiously.

You scare.

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to.”  She straightened and tried to slow her breathing.  DeeAnn then glanced at Ronin with an apologetic frown.  “Things didn’t go as planned.”

Ronin was still staring down the path.  “What had you planned?”

“Well…maybe not planned,” DeeAnn panted, more gently now.  “I was just hoping for a less exciting outcome.”

He peered at her, curiously.  “This was not your expected outcome?”

“You could say that.”  With a wry grin on her face, DeeAnn leaned forward and reached behind her back.  She fumbled for a moment before pulling out two thin and worn books.  She held them up in her hand triumphantly.  “But at least I got these.”

“You have retrieved your books.”

“Journals,” she corrected.  “And sure, let’s go ahead and use the word retrieved.”

Ronin did not get the sarcasm.  “These are what we came for, yes?”

DeeAnn made sure they were still intact before tucking the books back into her pants behind her.

These weren’t just journals.  They were the last remaining diaries of Dian Fossey––the legendary anthropologist who had vastly changed mankind’s understanding of gorillas in the wild, before being murdered decades before in the same jungle where they were now standing.  A murder that to this day had never been solved.

No, these texts were not just journals.  To DeeAnn, they were justice.

DeeAnn had been shocked to find that the diaries had been in possession of the old hermit.  He had managed to somehow procure them after Fossey’s death three decades ago.  But unfortunately, the old man refused to part with the books, even for a good price.  So DeeAnn returned and waited––waited for him to leave his tiny shack before sneaking inside to retrieve them.

Of course, she did not consider it stealing.  She left almost two thousand dollars on the man’s table, where he was sure to find it.  She simply could not allow the last written words of Dian Fossey to be lost again, possibly forever.

We go now?

DeeAnn glanced at Dulce and grinned.  “Yes.  We go now.”

The small gorilla smiled and hesitantly knuckle-walked back on her hands.  When she reached her human mom, Dulce raised her small black hand, allowing DeeAnn to take it.

Finally at ease, Dulce grinned up at her with a giant smile.  You run funny.

DeeAnn laughed.  “Look who’s talking.”

1

It was almost a miracle.

Will Borger and Lee Kenwood stood back to reexamine their work.  Everything was in place and connected.  The dim interior of the small concrete building made the bright green lights of the IMIS computer system appear somewhat eerie.  They flashed several times and began blinking when the system was finally turned on.

The existing racks left behind from the older weather equipment looked mismatched and shabby next to IMIS’s sleek black servers––several of which needed to be stacked sideways on the floor to fit inside the cramped room.  But fit they did.  Barely.

Borger turned and watched Lee’s face in the soft green glow, as the young engineer’s eyes moved from server to server.  Lee was looking for error lights that would indicate a hardware failure.  Seeing none, he stepped in front of an extended tray in the center rack and placed his hands on the compact keyboard.  Just above it, on a fixed monitor, a seemingly endless series of text and diagnostics scrolled up the screen.  He finally relaxed when the operating system began to load.

“How long does IMIS take to boot?” asked Borger.

“Fifteen to twenty minutes.”  Lee frowned.  “It has to run through a lot of parity checks for all the drives.”

Borger nodded and continued watching.  “Back in the old days, moving this many machines at once without something breaking was impossible.   These systems have come a long way.”

Lee grinned.  “Well, back then we were still grappling with electricity.”

Borger, struggling to keep his mind on the task at hand, chuckled from under his shabby beard.  He was really beginning to like this kid.

Together they scanned their eyes back over the systems, perhaps this time with more relief than concern.  It was still too soon to celebrate, but so far it really was a miracle.   Just the two of them, moving so many systems so quickly and in one fell swoop, without a major failure…or at least not yet.  It left them feeling both lucky and nervous at the same time––and thoroughly exhausted.

The biggest downside was that they both stank terribly.  Working for two days straight to strip down the system and immediately rebuild it some fifty miles away was no small feat.  In fact, it was an effort that only a fellow computer expert could truly appreciate.  But they had done it.  And now they stood together, prideful, watching the lines of code scroll past on the monitor.

Borger reached for a chair behind him and plunked himself down.  His button-up shirt revealed dark spots under each arm, and his brow was still covered in beads of sweat.  The old air conditioner hummed steadily in the background, not quite able to eliminate the mild dank smell from the concrete walls.

It would have been nice if they simply could have left the door open, but it was early morning, and even the dim lights in the room would have shone like a beacon to anyone outside.

The old maintenance building was comprised of three rooms––the server or equipment room, a small office, and an even tinier bathroom separating the two.  It was a strange setup, but the structure was more than fifty years old and had a huge upside in that it was rarely checked anymore, if at all.  It was the best they could do under the circumstances.

Hiding the IMIS system was far more difficult than it sounded.  Especially since they needed a strong connection to several low-flying military satellites.  Allowing them to literally hide the signal under one of the largest and most powerful radio dishes on the planet was a stroke of genius.

Of course, it wasn’t foolproof.  Given enough time, someone would eventually notice the different signals.  They could then trace them back to one of the old, forgotten maintenance buildings on the edge of Puerto Rico’s Arecibo Observatory grounds.  Or they would notice the power draw.  Or a number of other telltale signs.  But by then, with any luck, they would be gone.

Borger folded his arms over his large belly and watched Lee, still scanning the lines of scrolling text.

“So far so good?”

Lee nodded.  “So far.”  He studied the screen for several more seconds before finally turning away.  “Now we just wait and see.”

“And hold our breath.”

“I’m sure we’ll have some small problems to fix, but assuming nothing got seriously damaged, we might be able to have it all back up and running by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Borger replied, motioning at the worn-out chair behind Lee.  “Have a seat.”

Lee complied and peered back with tired eyes.  “So, what’s next?”

“We get some sleep.  When IMIS is operational, we notify the rest of the team so they can test it remotely.  Then you and I get to work.”

“With the reprogramming.”

Borger nodded.  “You’re sure IMIS is going to be able to do this?”

“Pretty sure,” Lee replied.  “Like I said, it’s not all that different from what we did for Alison and those hieroglyphs in Guyana.  At its core, IMIS is designed to find patterns––mostly in communication, but its algorithms can do more than just that.  Heuristics are used for all kinds of things these days.  Unfortunately, there’s a tradeoff in accuracy for speed.  Which is why IMIS still makes mistakes.  But once the solutions are verified…”

“We’re golden.”

“We should be.  I have to warn you though–”

“Relax kid,” Borger said.  “If anyone understands the fallibility of computers, I do.  But so far your IMIS system seems better than most.”

“So, what do we look for first?”

“Good question.  We’re not going to be looking for surface-level stuff, but deeper relationships––historically, and over a long period of time.  Things that may have been overlooked for a very long time.  Dots that haven’t been connected yet.”

“Like what?”

Borger shrugged.  “Things like Cambodia, for example, and what was discovered a couple years ago––huge medieval cities buried beneath the jungle since something like the twelfth century.  Only found when some guy decided to scan the area with airborne lasers.  I’m betting there’s a lot of stuff out there that we either haven’t found yet, or have found but haven’t realized the significance of.  And I don’t just mean cities.  How many other things do you think mankind has found over all these years that got lost or stuffed away somewhere?”

Lee Kenwood nodded his head, thinking.  “This may not be easy.  There’s an awful lot of data out there.  Fortunately, one of the reasons IMIS has been so successful with the languages is because it uses unsupervised, deep-learning algorithms with multiple layers of data representation.  So, it doesn’t just connect dots, it searches more deeply to determine what dots should or should not be connected.”

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for,” Borger said, “because if a single alien race came to Earth and secretly buried millions of embryos here with their DNA, what else might be out there…from them or someone else?”

“And we still have to figure out why.”

“Precisely.”  Borger nodded again and removed his glasses to clean them with his shirt.  “Our friend Palin said Earth has more water than most other planets, which makes us a prime candidate for relocation.  So, if other forms of alien life can live here, there’s no telling what else might already be here that we don’t know about.”

Lee Kenwood raised his eyes to the room’s concrete ceiling, chipped and littered with dozens of small cracks.  “I wonder how many of them might be out there…in space.”

“Probably a lot,” Borger answered wearily, before staring intently at Lee from his own chair.  “You remember me telling you about that Drake Equation?”

“The predictive thing?”

“Yes.  A brilliant but simple equation that most astronomers are familiar with.  In the late ’50s, when radio telescopes became big enough, some astronomers got to thinking and wondered if they would be sensitive enough to pick up extraterrestrial signals from other planets.  If there were any.”

“Like radio signals.”

“Right,” Borger said.  “All kinds of technologies work using the radio spectrum.  And if it’s true for us, it would undoubtedly be true for other races out there too.  After all, we all use the same spectrum.  So along comes a guy named Frank Drake who puts forth a question.  Actually, it was less a question than an equation, really.  The point is, everyone had already pondered or asked whether life existed elsewhere in our galaxy, but no one had really asked how much life might be out there.”

“As in?”

“As in how many.  A lot of people agreed that an alien race could be out there.  But it was Frank Drake who first attempted to estimate just how many there might be, realistically.”

“And he did this with an equation?”

“Kind of.  More than anything, he tried to quantify an answer…using his equation.”

“And you said it’s simple?”

“Very simple.  It’s really a set of questions that carry us to some reasonable conclusions.  It starts with the first question: how many stars are in our Milky Way galaxy?”

Lee shrugged.

“The answer is about three hundred billion.”

Lee whistled softly.

“Yeah, it’s a big number.”  Borger nodded.  “Once you have that answer the next question is, how many of those three hundred billion stars have planets?  Then when you have that number, the next one is how many of those planets could support life?  For example, how many might have water and oxygen?  Then, how many of those might actually develop life, and how many of those might be intelligent life, and then how many would develop technology that could transmit a radio signal, and finally, how long might that signal be transmitting for.”  He looked at Lee who was listening intently through reddened eyes.  “It might sound a little convoluted, but here’s the gist.  Let’s say you only assume one in a thousand for each question––say, one in a thousand of our galaxy’s stars actually has planets around them.  And then only one in a thousand of those planets can support life.  Then only one in a thousand is advanced life.  And so on and so on. You’re starting with such a huge number of stars that by the time you get to the end of the equation, the number of possible alien races out there is a lot bigger than you might expect.”

Lee remained quiet, eagerly waiting.  When Borger didn’t continue, he finally blurted out, “So, how many?”

“Even when assuming a one in a thousand result, over and over, you’re left at the end with a number somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand civilizations.”

“Ten thousand?!”

Borger nodded.  “Yeah. As in a one with four zeros.”

Lee blinked multiple times.  “Are you serious?”

“I’m completely serious.  There could be as many as ten thousand alien civilizations floating around out there in our own galaxy.  Maybe more.”

At that, Lee’s eyes widened.  “More than ten thousand?!”

“Maybe.  Remember, we assumed that only one out of a thousand stars had planets.  But nowadays, with all of the searching we’ve been doing with planets outside our own solar system, called exoplanets, we’re finding nearly all stars have planets.  So, imagine what happens to our calculation when one of our answers gets changed from one in a thousand to one in ten.”

“Holy crap!”

Borger smiled at the expression on Lee’s face.  “So, if Drake’s equation is even close to accurate, and there really are thousands of alien civilizations out there, do you see why it might be worthwhile to find out how many more of those have also made it to Earth?”

Lee Kenwood stared at Borger through his dark-framed glasses, pondering the question.  “Well, now I can.”

“We’re discovering all kinds of things now,” continued Borger.  “Everywhere.  Even Sanskrit, one of the oldest human languages, talks about some strange things happening.  And that’s two thousand years ago.  Imagine what else has been found since then, even accidentally.  I mean, what if the alien ship we found underwater was not even the first to arrive here? It certainly wasn’t the first strange thing to be found, that’s for sure.  And now, with a powerful enough system like IMIS, we may be able to discover things previously missed.  Not just by you and me, but all of mankind.”

Kenwood began nodding again slowly.  “Or…what mankind had found and tried to keep secret.”

“Bingo.  Which is the next piece.”  Borger grinned approvingly.  “Look, I’m a history buff, and one thing I know is that there have been a lot of wars on this planet that go back a very long time.  And the one thing every victor has done was to take whatever treasures their enemy had.  Whether it was Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, or the Spanish Conquistadors and the Aztecs.  To the victor go the spoils.  Napoleon did it.  And the Nazis.  Even we did.  At the end of World War II, we raced the Russians to grab as much of Germany’s remaining assets as we could.  In the form of both technology and people.  It’s human nature.”  Borger straightened in his chair and leaned forward toward Lee.  “So, if these treasures or assets have been taken back and forth over all these years by different empires and governments, the question is…what do they have?  And what do they know?”

“So, it’s not just about the treasures…”

“It’s about the secrets.”

Lee raised his hands and pressed them in front of his face.  Even through his tired eyes, it was clear the concept had grabbed him.  “You’re talking about the NSA.”

“The NSA,” Borger replied.  “The government organization that collects information on everyone, and I mean everyone, in every electronic medium possible.  Email, phone calls, text messages, even every digitized form of the written word.  Books, lectures, letters, everything.  You name it.  Name any medium, any country, or any person, and they’ve tried to get it.”

“But how would they store all that?  You’re talking about a tremendous amount of server space.”

“I’m guessing you don’t know about their giant data center in Utah, buried under a mountain.”

“For real?”

“For real,” he nodded.  “Located nearby Bluffdale, Utah.  It’s huge.  I mean truly massive.”

“Geez.”  Lee shook his head.  “And you think we can crack some of their encrypted files?”

“The new stuff?  No.  But the old stuff…absolutely.”  Borger glanced at the computer screen to see the IMIS software still loading.  “Cryptography goes back a long way.  The first documented ciphers were used by the Egyptians, then later by the Assyrians, and pretty much every civilization since.  Of course, everyone knows about the Enigma machines used by the Nazis, but once encryption became computerized, things really got interesting.  The first computerized encryption algorithm was developed in the ’70s by IBM.  It was called Lucifer and was comprised of 64 bits, translating plain text strings into binary.  More secure forms of encryption weren’t conceived of until the 1990s.  And just like any technology, these early versions were rife with problems and vulnerabilities for cracking them.  Believe it or not, a group of mathematics and computer-engineering students at the University of Toronto just cracked a much more advanced encryption cipher using something called quadratic curves.  Numeric sentences like Fibonacci’s sequence and a bunch of others.  But it’s the hardware they used to crack it that you might find more interesting.  A supercomputer,” Borger replied, “called Watson.”

“Watson?!  Are you serious?!”

“As a heart attack.  You used to work for IBM, didn’t you?”

“Yes!  I was on the team that wrote code for some of their original Deep Blue instructions!”  In the middle of his excitement, Lee Kenwood suddenly stopped, considering something.  “But that’s way beyond what IMIS can do.  She doesn’t have that kind of horsepower.”

“I know,” the older Borger nodded.  “We’re going to need a bigger system.”

“How much of the NSA’s data do you think is vulnerable?”

“A lot.  There have been several recent leaks from within the NSA, from analysts claiming that there’s just way too much data to go through.  And there are not that many versions of encryption out there.  So, for each one we crack, everything encrypted with that particular version becomes vulnerable–”

Kenwood finished the sentence.  “And readable.”

“That’s right.  And with all those exabytes of data, how many secrets do you think the government could be hiding?  Some that they’re not even aware of?”

2

Andrew Hayes, the Director of the CIA, gazed down over the grounds.  Over five stories below, the green grass and neatly trimmed hedges extended out along each side of the building’s entrance. Through the window, the afternoon sun shone brightly against his peppered hair, while dark eyes and olive skin reflected a mixture of Latin and European ancestry.  But his physical demeanor was anything but readable as he stood with arms behind his back, listening to the man seated nearby.

John Ambrose, the CIA’s Deputy Director, was sitting before Hayes’s huge mahogany desk.  The large office had been decorated with several pieces of Italian Gothic art and paintings, matching Hayes and his rather somber personality.

Reading from several sheets of paper in his hands, the deputy continued.  “And it’s not just Miller.  Your friend Langford appears to be part of it too.”

The term “friend” was a reflection of Ambrose’s dry sense of humor.  They both knew Admiral James Langford was anything but a friend, especially to Hayes, but the CIA Director barely batted an eye at the joke.  Instead, he merely continued listening.

“It seems there are quite a few things they haven’t shared with anyone else, including the president.  Not the least of which is the team they have quietly assembled.  Consisting of both military and civilians.  Miller and Langford are funding it from a variety of sources.  Using small amounts and generic budget descriptions to keep most people from noticing.”

Hayes did not appear the least bit surprised.  He already knew about Miller and Langford’s secret team.  “Have you been able to break into any of their satellite phones?”

“Not yet.  But there’s a lot we can still determine from the rest of the information we’ve gathered.”

“Such as?”

“Such as those plants the Chinese found in Guyana.  Or should I say what else they found.”

Hayes turned, his eyebrow rising curiously.

“They’ve referred multiple times to something one of them calls The Ark, which we believe is code.  Possibly something of historical or archeological significance.”

“Or maybe they’re trying to throw us off.”

“Possible, but doubtful.  The team displays no suspicions that their communications have been compromised.  At least not yet.”

Hayes mulled it over.  His subordinate’s phrasing reminded him of the British team who eventually broke the German’s Enigma machine during World War II––the device used to send communications to Hitler’s forces.  The British team was led by a mathematician named Turing.  But what was most notable to Hayes was not the cracking of the code itself, as miraculous as that was.  It was what happened after the code was broken.

The simple truth was that the broken code was only good if the enemy continued to use it.  Or more specifically, as long as the enemy did not change it, thus causing the entire effort to begin again.  No, what was most remarkable to Hayes was how well the British hid their secret.  How well they kept the Nazis confident their communications were still secure and continued using the same cipher.  Only then were the Allies able to use the Nazis’ own secrets against them.

But it came at a terrible cost.  Had the British or the Americans appeared to suddenly gain too much advantage in the war, the enemy would surely have suspected their code was compromised and switched to a new cipher.  So the Allies had to keep the Germans believing that their coded messages were secure, which meant they had to continue losing battles.  They had to continue to lose, intentionally, sacrificing both British and American lives, if only to keep the ruse alive.  Including civilian bombings.

Scores of their own lost to further leverage the Nazis’ code and ever so slowly turn the tide in their favor.

It was a tactic at which the American government had become increasingly deft, especially the CIA.  Breaking the enemy, without letting them know they had been broken.

And to Director Hayes, the enemy was anyone who got in their way of doing what needed to be done.  What they had to do, for the good of the country.  Without being hounded by a politicized Congress hell-bent on knowing things they didn’t need to know.

It was the sole responsibility of Hayes, one now made extraordinarily more difficult thanks to Defense Secretary Miller and Joint Chiefs Admiral Langford.  They were the two who convinced the president to force Hayes to do the unthinkable.  Damn near destroying the very heart of the Central Intelligence Agency by recalling every top and mid-level operative out of Central Asia, their actions unleashed the worst political chaos the agency and the country had ever seen.

Suddenly dozens of CIA missions were exposed, of which many departments in the government were never even aware.  Secret missions, secretly funded, with objectives only accountable to those inside the CIA itself.  Not only had Miller and Langford unleashed the greatest political firestorm in intelligence history, but they had also exposed the very underbelly of the world’s most important government spy agency and forced Hayes himself directly into the spotlight.

And as soon as he and his agency were thrust into the light for the world to scrutinize, the leaks began.  Internally and anonymously funneled through channels like the New York Times and WikiLeaks, many dirty secrets of the CIA had quickly become public knowledge.  Things like their missions, their political influence over other countries, even their techniques for hacking millions of smart devices on the internet, both foreign and domestic.  All without any legal oversight or authorization.  No warrant.  No probable cause.  Just sheer unadulterated snooping.  All condemned, as far as Hayes was concerned, by a public too naïve or too stupid to understand how necessary it truly was.

Yes, Andrew Hayes now had more problems than he could handle.  All due primarily to one particular individual with whom he had a deep and personal score to settle.  No matter what it took.  He would carefully gather every piece of information possible, and when he finally had what he needed, he would wait––patiently and silently, just as the British did with their Enigma secret.  No matter how long it took, or what it did to the agency, Andrew Hayes would wait…until the time was right.

Hayes finally blinked and spoke to his deputy.  “Who exactly is on this secret team of Langford’s?”

Ambrose quickly moved to another piece of paper.  “There are several, with varying levels of involvement.  John Clay and Steve Caesare, both Navy ex-SEALs now serving under the department’s investigative arm.  They report directly to Langford, even after his move to chairman.  Which we find odd.”

Hayes nodded slightly.  He was familiar with both Clay and Caesare.

“There’s also Will Borger, a technical expert from the same Electronics & Signaling team and a civilian.  He was apparently hired directly by Langford several years ago when one of their systems was hacked from the outside.  Borger was part of the consulting team called in to help isolate and contain the breach.”

“He was hired by Langford himself?”

“Correct.  Which we believe may be another link to more that Langford may be hiding.”

Hayes had a glint appear briefly in his eyes, but he said nothing.

“These three appear to be very tight and comprise the core of the team.  It also looks like they operated in concert to free the alien at NAS JAX––followed by clandestine missions in South America and China.  Including the murder of a former Brazilian intelligence officer.”

“Murder?”

“We believe so,” replied Ambrose.

A grin formed on his lips, and Hayes almost asked if Ambrose was sure, but it didn’t matter.  Tying Langford’s men to that crime would be child’s play.  “Go on.”

“The other civilians involved include marine biologists Alison Shaw and Chris Ramirez.  Both are involved in their dolphin translation project, along with a Lee Kenwood, their project’s lead computer programmer.  Another researcher by the name of DeeAnn Draper is also on the team––an expert in primate research and one with a somewhat checkered past.”

“How checkered?”

“She has traveled extensively in and out of third world countries and has been associated with several questionable organizations.  Some of these are foundations which we suspect may be covers for illegal activity.”

Hayes nodded and let the grin return briefly.  “What else?”

“There also appear to be some military officers involved from Captain Rudolph Emerson’s ship Pathfinder, including Emerson himself, who has received encrypted messages directly from Langford, outside of normal channels.”

At this, his eyes narrowed again.  “So ol’ Rudy Emerson is mixed up in this too.”

Ambrose nodded.  “It was his ship that just captured the Russian tycoon Dimo Belov after the attack near Trinidad.  A man with deep pockets and deeper ties to the Russian Defence Ministry.”

“Where is he now?”

Ambrose looked up at him.  “As far as we know…still onboard.”

Hayes shook his head.  “Where Langford and Miller can keep him quiet, no doubt.”

“You think they’re in with him?”

“God, I hope so.”

Ambrose responded by smiling.  Connecting dots was their specialty.  Even if there were no actual dots to connect.  “They may also have connections in Rwanda.  One of their passport photos just showed up in Kigali.”

“Kigali?”

“Yes,” Ambrose nodded.  “Steve Caesare.  His face got matched in one of our systems off a falsified passport.  We traced the other two traveling with him and found they matched Clay and the Draper woman.”

“What the hell were they in Rwanda for?”

“We don’t know yet.  But Langford’s man Caesare seems to have a sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“The name on his fake passport was Kern L. Sanders.”

Hayes promptly turned around.  “And no one caught that?”

“Are you kidding?  Next to some of those Rwandan names?”

Hayes remained silent for a long moment before turning back to the window.  “Let him laugh it up.  Let them all enjoy it.  We’ll see how funny they find this in the end.”

“There’s also the matter of China.”

“Which part?”

“A few days ago, either Langford or Miller called in a favor to the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force and borrowed one of their choppers.”

“Borrowed it for what?”

“We’re not clear on that yet.”  Ambrose avoided bringing up the matter of having limited intelligence coverage there now, even in Japan.  “But we believe it flew into Chinese airspace before returning to Japan.”

“A pickup.”

“Probably.”

“What was it?”

“We’re not sure on that either, yet.”

Hayes grew quiet, thinking.  After a long pause, he raised another eyebrow.  “The girl?”

“Wei’s daughter?  We don’t think so.  We’re pretty sure she’s dead.  It was probably something else.  Our best guess is more of the bacterium.”

“I thought the last of that was destroyed in the Pathfinder attack?”

“So did we.  But Clay and Caesare may have found another sample.”

“Possible,” Hayes said with a nod.  “So where did they go from there?”

Ambrose frowned.  “That’s where it gets a little tricky.  They were flown out of the Yokota Air Base, compliments of the 374th Airlift Wing.  Part of the Pacific Air Forces, and the primary wing serving the Department of Defense.”

“Which would put it directly under the command of Secretary of Defense Miller.”

“Correct.  Their C-21A then refueled at Midway Island then again at Oahu, Laughlin, Texas and finally San Juan, Puerto Rico.  All U.S. military base locations except the last.”

“Then where to?”

“From there the Learjet turned around and flew back.”

“Anyone onboard?”

“On the way back?  We don’t know yet,” the deputy replied, shaking his head.  “But the most likely scenario is that Langford’s men departed in Puerto Rico.  At a non-military airport.”

The office fell silent as both men stared at each other, thinking the same thing.  Given that Puerto Rico was a U.S. territory and not a state, its security standards were lacking, to say the least.  And considering the number of islands in the Caribbean with reputations for skirting U.S. laws and regulations, the region as a whole was unquestionably one of the least secure.

“So,” Hayes mused, “the question now is what did they bring back on that plane?”

“We’ll find out,” said Ambrose.

Director Hayes nodded.  All of his problems could be laid at the feet of three specific men, all the investigations into him and the agency––Jim Langford and Merl Miller, whom Hayes had despised for years and was now on a mission to publicly destroy.  The third was the man Langford had gone to such extreme lengths to keep alive, more than once.

3

John Clay remained motionless, blissfully unaware of the target slowly being drawn upon his back by the CIA.  Instead, he stared silently through a thick pane of glass alongside Commanders Neely Lawton and Steve Caesare.  On the opposite side of the large window was a hospital room with a single bed located in the middle, surrounded by several pieces of monitoring equipment.

They had needed to hide the teenage girl quickly.  After landing in San Juan, they arranged to have a boat waiting for them.  Just off the northeast coast and beyond the Cape San Juan Lighthouse, their friend and Venezuelan smuggler, Tomas Lopez, lingered patiently in the darkness.  He and his three-man crew, all veritable experts at smuggling humans to safety.

To Clay and Caesare’s relief, the transfer, even with the girl being unconscious, could not have gone more smoothly.

Too many people were looking for Li Na now, no doubt including every Chinese intelligence agent on the planet.  Their country’s own Ministry of State Security almost redefined the words brutal and unrelenting in their search for the girl.  And if there was one thing all three of them knew, standing silently together, it was that the Chinese would not give up.  Ever.  Especially when it came to Li Na Wei, lying unconscious in the room before them and carrying the mother of all discoveries deep within the veins of her small body.

Steve Caesare exhaled, shaking his head.  “She looks so…delicate.  How in the world was she able to survive?”

“Sheer will, I think.”

In a rare moment of levity, Neely Lawton turned to Caesare.  “I’m guessing I won’t be hearing any female jokes out of you today.”

Caesare grinned from under his dark mustache without looking over.  “You got that right.”

Neely turned back to the window with a smile, returning her eyes to Dr. Amir Kanna, standing inside the room, not far from the girl’s bed.  He was studying a large monitor.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Caesare asked.

Clay gave a tired nod, with his eyes still fixed ahead of him.  “Yes.  A plan would be good.”

The hall they were standing in was eerily quiet––part of a new unoccupied wing of a private hospital in Trinidad called St. Augustine.  The hospital was privately owned and operated by a close group of shareholders, all in response to the dire need for a medical facility on the west side of the island.  And as luck would have it, one of the shareholders was a longtime friend of one Andrea Sue Langford…wife of Admiral James Langford.

Neely glanced at both men’s reflections in the window.  They each looked like they were about to fall over.  “I think you two need some sleep.”

“Sleep,” Caesare murmured.  “I’m trying to remember what that’s like.”  He turned to Clay.  “We have to make sure this place is secure.”

“Agreed.  We stay until we get some reinforcement.  You find a bed.  I’ll take the first shift.”

“Done.”

Neely raised her eyebrows at Caesare.  “Well, that was quick.”

Caesare grinned.  “Hey, I’m all about chivalry when it matters.  But Clay doesn’t really do it for me.”

“That’s not what you said in Honduras,” Clay quipped.

An exhausted Caesare stared back at Clay.  “Okay, that’s funny.  But I’m too tired to laugh right now.”  With that, he turned and looked to his right down the hallway.  It was freshly painted.  Both sides were lined with new, unwrapped medical equipment and carts piled high with supplies.  “Somebody wake me up in two hours.”

The two watched him march halfway down the hall before John looked at Neely.  “You look tired too.”

“I’m okay.  I got some sleep before you arrived.  Besides, I was hoping to talk to you.”

“What about?”  Clay noticed her eyes following Caesare.  “Or should I say who?”

She glanced back after Caesare disappeared.  “Uh, so how are you both doing?”

Clay was now grinning.  “Both of us?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been worse.  But Steve will be all right if that’s what you’re asking.”

Neely’s expression grew defensive.  “I, I wasn’t–”

Clay’s grin spread into a smile.  “You know I talk to Alison, right?”

Neely opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself and folded her arms indignantly.

“What would you like to know about him?”

Neely didn’t answer.

“Let’s see.  He grew up in Houston and went to Texas Tech where he majored in mathematics and computer science and played some football.  But these are all things you can look up in his file.  You have looked at his file,” Clay teased, still smiling.  “And he’s single.  Again,” he added as a joke.

Neely glared at him, half out of embarrassment.  “Fine.  I looked at his file.  I was just…hoping to learn a little more, I guess.”

“He lost his father when he was young.  A heart attack, I think.  He was raised by his single mother.  He’s the oldest of three, so the fatherly role fell on him.  After joining the Navy, he helped put his younger sisters through college.”

Her expression softened.  “Really?”

“Yes.  And don’t let his jovial exterior fool you.  He may joke like a chauvinist, but he’s far from it.”

Neely glanced back down the hallway.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have a made that crack about woman jokes.”

“Nah.  It’s pretty hard to offend Steve.  Just don’t piss him off.”

“Why?”

“Because he might kill you.”

“What?!”

Clay laughed.  “You almost make this too easy.”

“Very funny!”

“Look, what I can tell you about Steve is this.  He’s honest and ethical, almost to a fault.  And he’s probably the most dependable person I’ve ever known.  There is no one else I’d rather be in a bad situation with.  Which is probably more than a little ironic.”

“I’m guessing that’s happened more than once,” she replied.

“Unfortunately.”

Neely’s expression softened.  “Is he…close to his mother?”

“Very.  And very protective.  Both of her and his sisters.  In fact, have him tell you about the time one of the girls found themselves trapped in an abusive relationship.  You can imagine how that went over when he found out.”

“What happened?”

“The guy made the mistake of beating on his little sister.  Just once.  But wouldn’t you know it, the guy tripped a few days later and broke both of his arms.”

Neely suddenly smiled.

“In an odd coincidence, that guy up and decided to move across the country just a few days later.  And his sister is now happily married to a man who Steve thinks the world of.  And apparently, his new brother-in-law is acutely aware of what Steve’s career in the military entailed.”

“You mean being an ex-SEAL?”

“Among other things.  But once a man becomes a SEAL, it’s with him forever.”

“Judging from the two of you, I believe it.”  She paused, considering a question.  “You said he was, um…”

“Single?”

“Right.  But what about DeeAnn Draper?”

Clay shook his head.  “There’s no romantic relationship between DeeAnn and Steve.  They’re more like brother and sister.”

“Really?”

“They care a great deal about one another, all the while never letting the other get away with anything.”

Neely fought to control the increasing interest from showing on her face.  “I didn’t know that.”

“What’s not in his file is that he loves women.  But he’s also fiercely loyal.”  Clay stopped and tilted his head.  “Then again, maybe that is in his file.”

Neely Lawton laughed and relaxed.  She unfolded her arms and took a deep breath.  “Well, thank you.  I appreciate that.”

Clay nodded.  “So, what is your plan now that Li Na is safe?”

“Actually, I was hoping to get a look at you.”

“Excuse me?”

Neely nodded.  “I’d like to get some DNA samples from you.”

“For what?”

“Alison told me all about your injuries and your recovery.  Just like the young girl whose parents brought her to the research center.  So, I’d like to get some cultures.  To study.  I already took some from Steve and the other divers aboard the oil rig, before the attack.  I’d like to see if your samples are showing similar changes.”

“What have you found so far?”

“It’s too early to draw any permanent conclusions,” she explained.  “But their cells are displaying an unusual level of resiliency.  It will take time to prove it out, but clearly, there was something in the water at the research center too––and I’d like to see what other cellular peculiarities can be compared.”

Clay began to reply when he stopped, noticing the movement of Neely’s eyes.  She was examining his face.  “What are you doing?”

“The other men were showing changes in some of their physical characteristics.  Hair color, skin texture.”  Her eyes returned to his.  “How’s your eyesight?”

Clay turned his head apprehensively.  “Fine.”

“I don’t mean is it fine.  I mean, has it changed at all?”

“You mean gotten worse?”

“No,” she said.  “Has it gotten any better?”

“I don’t…” Clay stopped, reconsidering his answer.  “Maybe.”

“Whatever is in that green liquid you found appears to be in the water here too.  And in a much stronger concentration.  I’d like to find out just how much it takes to begin affecting physiology.”

Clay shrugged.  “Okay.  What do you need to look at?”

With that, Neely studied him and put her hands on her hips.  “Take off your shirt.  Let’s have a look at you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she winked with amusement.  “Alison gave me permission.”

***

Alison Shaw was standing onboard the U.S.S. Pathfinder, both hands gripping the gray railing, trying to steady herself.  Battling both the rolling of the ship and the nausea she was feeling made it difficult just to stay on her feet.

The pain in her joints and the rashes on each arm were reminders of just how close she had come to the more serious, and sometimes terminal, effects of decompression sickness.  And made just a little worse by the tongue-lashing she received from Neely Lawton after regaining consciousness.

But the worst was now behind her.  The rest, including a stinging headache, was more than enough to keep her grateful that things had not been worse.  She just needed to push through the discomfort for a bit longer.

Thankfully her attention was redirected to the faint sound of a helicopter, long before she could find the black dot in the distance against the bright blue sky.

She found it eventually, just as the pitch from the rotors changed slightly and the craft began its descent.  Minutes later, she watched eagerly as the helicopter drew near and approached the painted yellow circle on the Pathfinder’s bow.  For several seconds it hovered, before promptly dropping the last few feet down and onto the landing pad.

Alison watched as two crewmen trotted out, pausing under the spinning blades, and attached thick chains to both sides of the fuselage.  Heavy red blocks followed, positioned securely around each of the helicopter’s thick black wheels.  Less than thirty seconds later, with the blades still winding down, a short metal set of stairs were pushed into place below the chopper’s rear door.  Only then did it open to reveal the person Alison had been waiting for.

Chris Ramirez’s head poked out from the helicopter’s dark interior and emerged into the sun, pausing a moment before her friend took his first step down onto the metal stairs.  With one arm in a sling, he used the other to reach out for one of the crewman’s shoulders.

Alison instantly pushed the nausea from her mind and hurried down her own set of stairs.  Vibrations echoed with each step before she reached the bottom and ran to meet Chris as he crossed the platform.

He wrapped his good arm around her and smiled broadly.  “I told you…you couldn’t keep me away.”

Alison’s smile was even wider.  “I am so glad you’re back!”

“Not as much as I am, believe me.”

Beneath the loud turbulence from above, she pulled a thick strand of hair back away from her face, then led Chris away with his arm still over her shoulder.

“I hear I missed a lot of excitement.”

Alison grit her teeth but outwardly managed to maintain her smile.  “You could say that.  Things got pretty rough, but we’re gradually getting back to normal.”

Chris did not press the issue.  He’d been told enough about the Russian attack on the Pathfinder to know he didn’t want to know all the details.  He glanced up and spotted several crewmen making repairs to the metal walls of the ship’s hull.  Indentations from bullets were carefully being patched and painted over.

Alison helped Chris to the galley where she fetched him a sandwich and a hot cup of coffee, causing Chris to grin at the lack of her usual sarcastic comments.  Instead, Alison sat down across the table from him and allowed him to savor the moment.  He’d been through so much over the last year, much of which she felt at least partially responsible for.  Maybe not directly at fault, but enough to worry whether he somehow blamed her for it.

But there was no hint of condemnation on Chris’s face.  Just his mouth, smiling as he sipped from his mug.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” she asked.

“How are Dirk and Sally?”

“Oh.  Right,” Alison grinned.  “They’re fine.  They came through it with no scratches.  In fact, they’re better than fine.  Sally is pregnant!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m not kidding.  She just told me a few days ago.  And Chris!” Alison exclaimed.  “You wouldn’t believe what they showed us!”

“Tell me.”

She took a deep breath.  “Okay.  Remember what we were suspecting about their pilgrimage here?”

“We originally thought it was a birthing place.”

“It is!” she said excitedly.  “It is!  And it’s not just a birthing place, it’s bigger.  It’s an enormous breeding ground.  There’s a giant depression in the coral, surrounded and protected by hundreds of males.”

Chris’s eyes widened.  “Whoa!”

“Chris, no one has seen a dolphin birth in the wild before.  And we didn’t just see it.  We were invited to probably the largest breeding environment on the planet.  It’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen.  Hundreds of males forming a wall around it, with hundreds of females and their midwives in the center birthing.”  Alison shook her head.  “I’m telling you, it’s…” she almost chuckled, “it’s almost indescribable!”

“My God, that’s incredible, Ali.  How did you get them to include you?”

Alison beamed.  “Because they trust us.”

“That’s a hell of an understatement.  No kidding.  But…why?”

Her expression faded at Chris’s question.  She bit her bottom lip softly, thinking.

“Ali?”

“Well, at first I didn’t know.  But then I realized it’s because they want something, Chris.  They showed us their birthing ground as an exchange of trust.”

“That’s huge.”

She nodded but remained quiet.  After several seconds, Chris’s eyebrows rose.  “Wait?  Who was us?”

Her expression quickly softened to sadness.  “Me and Jim Lightfoot.”

“The guy who saved John Clay from the Bowditch.”

“Yes.”

Chris read her expression easily.  “What happened?”

“He died,” Alison replied in a shaky voice.  “A few days ago.  In the attack.”

Chris dropped his head.  “Shit.”

“That’s not all.  So did Lieutenant Tay.  And Les Gorski.  The man who came to train the whole team.  And several crewmembers too.”

“Oh, God.”

She bobbed her head, lips pressed firmly together.

Chris exhaled.  He pushed the plate away from himself and raised his good hand, propping it before his mouth.  “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t…” Chris stopped, not knowing what to say.

“They’re arranging the services,” Alison said in a somber voice.  “But they haven’t found Mr. Tay’s body yet.”

Chris shook his head.  “I just can’t believe it.  Especially Tay.  God, he was so nice and so smart.”  He peered back at Alison.  “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.  But he and Lightfoot were near the alien ship when a torpedo struck.  They tried to get out of the way, but there wasn’t enough time.”

Now Chris leaned back in his chair, a hand still covering his mouth.  It was worse than he thought.  In a fleeting moment of selfishness, he considered himself lucky to have missed it.  Even in a hospital room.  Then came the guilt.

It was all exactly what he had been afraid of.  What he and Ali had talked about.  Things were getting out of control.  This discovery of the plants had a way of turning everyone into monsters.  Not to mention what they’d achieved with IMIS.  Alison said they were moving the system, but where could it possibly be safe?  And what were people going to do when they figured out what IMIS was truly capable of?

Chris looked back at Alison inquisitively.  “Wait.  What did you say before?”

“About what?”

“About their breeding ground.”

“The dolphins?  I don’t–”

“You said they showed you the breeding ground for a reason.  An exchange of trust.”

“That’s right.”

Chris shifted his head.  “You said they wanted something.”

“That’s right.”

“What did they want?”

Alison took a deep breath.  “Exactly what you’d think they’d want.”

“Meaning what?”

“Think about it for a moment.”

Chris blinked, contemplating the question, but finally shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

“I’m not even sure we can do it.”

“What, Ali?!”

Alison answered with a voice that sounded both excited and nervous.  “We’ve seen their world, Chris.  Now they want to see ours.”

4

Elgin Tay was not dead.  But he wasn’t far from it.

In complete blackness, almost every part of his body screamed in pain.  His arms, both legs, his chest, his head.  He couldn’t tell whether it was due more to his being forcefully sucked through the small opening into the alien ship or the fall afterward onto what felt like a hard metal surface.

He was barely able to move or even think.  But Tay forced himself to try to remember what had happened.  They’d drilled a hole in the alien ship.  Just before Will Borger alerted them of the incoming torpedo.  Tay remembered the sound of fighting over his headset, from aboard the Pathfinder.  Gunshots and yelling.  But he and Lightfoot were ordered to stay with the ship, not to leave the drill.

Then had come Borger’s warning.  They had no time to get out of the way.  Their only hope was to remove the drill and get themselves through that hole before it started closing again.  Before the alien ship healed itself shut.

Now Tay found himself face down on his stomach, barely able to move, and he inched forward slowly until he found a large puddle of water.  Some salty combined with fresh, the mixture seemed to be condensation from the inside of the ship’s walls.  It was enough to give him some moisture, but he couldn’t drink it forever.  Eventually, the salinity would become counterproductive in his efforts to stay hydrated.

Tay tried to remember some of his naval training and how long he could drink seawater for.  A couple weeks?  This water wasn’t that salty.  A sickening thought occurred to him.  What if it wasn’t saltwater he was tasting?  What if there was blood in the water?

His fingers found an edge, and he forced himself to think of something else.  Where was Lightfoot?

If the enormous pressure of the water had pushed Tay through before the hole closed, then it could have pushed Lightfoot inside too.  Which meant he could also be nearby.  Still unconscious perhaps, but hopefully not far away.  Unless he had tumbled over the edge of the platform Tay was on.  But if he did…how far down was it?

Tay pulled himself closer to the edge.  When he reached it, the engineer lowered an arm, searching into nothingness.  Pushing through a wave of pain, he pulled his face to the edge of the shelf.

“Jim!” he shouted.  “JIM!  Are you there?!”

There was no response.  Only a muffled echo before the silence returned.

He rolled back onto his right side, peering out into the blackness.  He could see something––a faint, indiscernible glow.  But he couldn’t make out a shape, or the distance from where he was.  He blinked several times, trying to refocus.  Christ, he couldn’t even tell whether his eyes were working right.

He had to find Lightfoot because if he was still unconscious, his injuries might be even worse.  But if Tay did find him, how much help could he really provide?

The thought prompted Tay to roll onto his back, reaching out until he found a wall behind him.  He clenched his fist and hit it against the cool metal, where a brief glow spread and promptly disappeared.  He repeated the motion again and studied the light.  The same effect they’d seen from the outside.  But the glow wasn’t bright enough for him to see anything else.  Dammit.

He lay still for several minutes, just breathing.  Each gasp painful.  Then, with a sudden recollection, he began searching his body with his hands.  His scuba gear was gone.  He remembered now.  They’d abandoned it in an attempt to free themselves from the wall’s magnetism.

His hands continued down his torso, to his hips and swim trunks, and then further below to his bare legs.  Where they suddenly stopped, on the rubberized handle of his dive knife.  It was still strapped securely to his right calf.

Excitedly, he gripped it and pulled it from the hard sheath.  The blade felt strong in his hand.  Thank God.  At least he had something!  Tay reached up and scraped the tip of the knife against the wall above him.  This time, the brief glow left behind was brighter.  Enough to reflect off the sharp blade.

He did it again and again but couldn’t make the glow bright enough to help him see anything else.  Frustrated, Tay closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain, and even more than that, the trembling.

He could not let his body go into shock.

5

There were no sounds above or below him.  No movement of any kind that he could detect.  It took less than an hour to begin fearing the worst for Lightfoot.

Tay himself had already drifted in and out of consciousness several times, which meant a day or more could have passed since the explosion.  Maybe two, judging from the rumbling in his stomach.  Hunger pangs were normally suppressed during serious injuries, at least temporarily, so his growling suggested either he wasn’t as hurt as his body was telling him or he’d been unconscious for a while. And if Lightfoot was still out, it was not a good sign.

Tay gritted his teeth and eased himself up into a sitting position, trying to think.  Trying to remember his training.  How long could he survive without food?

Three.  It was the rules of three.  Three minutes without air.  Three hours without water.  No, not water.  It was shelter.  A person could survive three hours without shelter, in a harsh environment.  Then three days without water, and three weeks without food.  That was it.  Three minutes, three hours, three days, and three weeks.

He hadn’t thought about the air until that moment.  There was oxygen inside the ship.  Fortunate, but probably not a huge surprise.  Most organic life needed oxygen to live, so it wasn’t a stretch that aliens would too.  But it meant there must be some organic process occurring inside the ship to maintain the air.  Even something small, like algae.

Nor was the environment harsh.  The air was warm and muggy, but breathable, and the metal he lay on felt only slightly cool.  More than survivable.

But he would have to find more water.  He had drunk up most of what was around him, which at best would last him a few more hours.  Meaning he would have to find a way off the ledge.

Gravity told him which way was down, but he had no idea what was below him or how far.  He scraped his knife along the metal beneath his legs, producing the same familiar glow.

His shipmates had to know they were in here. They had to know he and Lightfoot had gotten through.  Will Borger would have told them.  After all, he was the one who’d thought of going through the hole.

By now everyone had to know both men were trapped inside.  That they had survived the explosion.  That–

Tay stopped in mid-thought.  The explosion.  That explosion had to have been massive.  What was the explosive charge of a torpedo?  He couldn’t remember, but it was a lot.  A hell of a lot.  Enough to sink a ship.

A sense of fear began to well inside Elgin Tay’s chest as he sat thinking.  Anything and anyone even close to that warhead would have been obliterated by the blast.  What if the crew on the Pathfinder didn’t realize Tay and Lightfoot had made it through the opening?!  What if they assumed both men were dead?

No sooner had he finished the thought when another, even more devastating, possibility emerged.  What if…they both didn’t make it?  What if Lightfoot hadn’t made it in?  He was right behind him, but…God, what if Lightfoot never made it in at all?!  If he didn’t, it meant he was…gone.  And if they found Lightfoot’s body outside, would they assume Tay’s was still out there too, waiting to be found?

A wave of panic quickly returned.  What if they don’t know I’m in here at all?!

***

Tay had no idea how long he sat there, alone in the blackness, quietly contemplating how bad his situation truly was.  The more he thought about it, the more he was sure.  If Captain Emerson and his crew found Lightfoot, they would have to assume Tay was dead too.   After all, the pair was within arm’s reach of one another in those last moments.  And if they could not find any traces of Tay’s body, they could very well conclude that he must have been closer to the explosion, and there simply wasn’t much left to find.

Even Tay had to admit his own odds of making it through that hole before the torpedo’s impact were remote.  Why wouldn’t they think the same thing?  Even in his limited mental state, Tay knew it may be unlikely that the Pathfinder crew would consider his presence inside the ship a real possibility.   And best case, even if they did, how long would it take to get another drill and make a new hole?

Cloaked in darkness, Tay’s torturous reality was closing in around him––slowly suffocating any hope he had left.

The truth was he was alone and blind as a bat.  And no one was coming anytime soon.

6

Captain Emerson shook his head.  “Sorry, Admiral.  Still no sign.”  The captain sat stoically in his chair with his arms folded on the small table in front of him.  Next to Emerson sat his executive officer, Stan Harris.  Both men were facing a large monitor affixed to the wall.

On the monitor, the faces of Admiral Langford and Defense Secretary Miller split each side of the screen, somberly taking everything in.

“We’ve recovered Lieutenant Lightfoot’s body, as well as Les Gorski’s from the oil rig.  Appears he was shot by the Russians at close range.  We’re now searching for Lieutenant Tay.”

Langford and Miller both knew what Emerson’s last sentence meant.  A less gruesome way of saying they were searching for Tay’s body, or what remained of it.

“So, nothing yet.”

Emerson shook his head.  “No.  We found Lightfoot not far from his gear.  About a hundred feet below.  No doubt Lieutenant Tay is down there somewhere.”

“You’re sure.”

“We don’t think he made it inside if that’s what you’re asking, Admiral.  There wasn’t enough time.  Even Borger doesn’t think so.” The captain frowned.  “We lost a couple of damn good engineers in that mess.”

Langford nodded from behind his hands, firmly propped in front of his face.  His tone came across slow and frustrated.  “And the fire?”

“The Valant is now out, thanks to a DC-10 tanker out of Guyana.  But the wreckage is a real mess.  We haven’t told the crews from the new ships anything more than the official story, but they’re getting damn curious why we’re insisting on doing everything ourselves.”

Langford almost smirked but managed to keep his reaction to himself.  The official story.  The official story was even thinner than the reason the Valant oil rig was there in the first place.  The sooner they got everything out of there the better.  They couldn’t keep their warships there much longer without attracting more attention and making the story even thinner.  The whole thing was a mess.

Defense Secretary Miller leaned forward in his video frame with a deep frown.  “And how about our Russian friend?”

“We got nothing out of Belov.  He’s now headed for NAS JAX aboard a stealth Black Hawk.”

Miller nodded silently.  The aircraft was one of the same helicopters used to capture Osama bin Laden in 2011, after being retrofitted with some very expensive stealth technology.  Not an easy feat for a chopper.  If they could manage to get Belov back to Florida without being detected, he would consider it a not-so-small victory.  Now if only they could make part of the ocean itself disappear from view.

“The rest of the Russian crew are still with us on the Pathfinder.”

“Any of them talking?”

“No.”

“What else is new?”

“As for the alien ship,” Emerson continued, “it appears undamaged.  At least from what we can see.  In spite of the explosion.”

Miller nodded onscreen.  “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.  But if we’re going to attempt to turn this into a peacekeeping mission, we’d better hurry.”

“Agreed.”

The term peacekeeping was an attempt at humor by Emerson.  The truth was there was only one way they could think of to hide the alien ship.  To throw off as much attention, or suspicion, as possible while a very small group of individuals tried to quickly figure out what to do next.  Before the Russians showed up again, or others.

By turning the area into a marine reserve, the United States could engage the cooperation of dozens of allied countries.  A consortium designed to create a political blockade with enough clout to keep the rest of the international community at bay.  At least for the time being.  But they would also need to find a way to keep their allies at a healthy distance too.

Miller checked his watch and looked back at his own screen.  “All right.  Keep at it and let’s regroup again, D.C. local time, at 1900.”

“Aye, sir.”  Emerson and Harris both nodded and watched as Miller’s image blinked out, followed by Langford’s in quick succession.  Captain Emerson then reached for a small remote control and powered off their own screen.

7

Three hours later a cell phone rang and was immediately fished out from the front pocket of a pair of extremely dirty khaki pants.

“This is Borger.”

“It’s Captain Emerson.”

Still in their secret maintenance building in Puerto Rico, Will Borger stiffened when he heard the captain’s voice.  “Any sign of Tay, sir?”

“Afraid not.”

“Nothing at all?” Borger asked, glancing solemnly at Lee Kenwood.

The captain sighed on the other end.  “No.  So now I have to ask you to reconsider…what do you think our odds are that he’s inside?”

Borger thought for a moment.  “I don’t know.  Probably still not good.  But if there’s no sign of him…”

“So, it is possible.”

“Yes, the hole should have been big enough.  So, what now?”

Emerson inhaled.  “It’s time we find out.  We’ve found our drill, and my men think they can have it working again inside of twenty-four hours.”

“It still works?”

“It’s banged up pretty good, but they think they can fix it.”

A faint sound of optimism returned to Borger’s voice.  “Do you need us to fly out?”

“Not yet.  Just keep your phone handy.  I may need to bring you in on some of our discussions.  Until then, keep on your computer problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

From the bridge of the Pathfinder, Emerson ended the call and peered out over a sea of emerald water, noting the clock above the giant window.  If Tay was inside, he was most likely dead.  Which would make their exercise pointless at best.

8

Will Borger looked at Lee.  “They found the drill.  They’re trying to get it running again.”

“What does he want us to do?”

“For now, continue working on IMIS.  He’ll call us if we’re needed.”

“Okay.”  Lee checked his watch.  “We can probably be ready to do some preliminary testing within an hour or so.   After that, we’ll need the satellite connection up to test with Alison.”

Borger sat back down in front of his laptop, still thinking about Tay.  The momentary excitement of the drill being repaired had passed, followed immediately by a tsunami of gut-wrenching reality.  Even if inside, Lieutenant Tay was almost assuredly dead.  Borger was left wondering what Captain Emerson and his crew were intending to do, even if they could drill another hole in the alien ship.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked back at Kenwood.  “I’ll get us connected.  I just have to do it carefully, so no one else notices the extra load.”

“You know, we can probably rewrite part of the code to reduce some network traffic.”

Borger was determined to stay focused.  “We can do more than that.  If we can reprogram the protocol you’re using, we can make it look like the same kind of traffic people use for surfing the internet.”

Lee turned away from his monitor.  “Oh.  I like that.”

“Hacking 101,” Borger forced a wink.  “Camouflage your data.”

“What’s 102?”

“Distraction.”

Lee nodded.  “So, listen.  Speaking of programming, I’ve been thinking.  Getting IMIS to scour the internet looking for these ancient historical connections clearly isn’t all that simple.  If we can find some generic modules to use, that will help, but…these deep-learning algorithms can be hard to predict.  And since this hasn’t been done before, there’s really no way for us to gauge how much load on the system it’s going to create.  Which means, with the processing load IMIS is already under just for the language translations, we may end up completely overwhelming it.”

“Way ahead of you.  We’re going to need more powerful hardware.”

“Is this the new computer system you were talking about before?”

“It’s called The Machine,” Borger said.  “From Hewlett Packard.  A supercomputer redesigned entirely from the ground up, using computer chips that work with light itself.  They’re so fast, they can do a hundred genome decodes in under ten seconds.”

“Holy crap.”

“Believe me when I say you’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I believe.  So, how exactly do we get some of this hardware?”

Borger stopped typing and smiled thoughtfully.  “Leave that to me.”

9

Elgin Tay touched the walls gingerly with trembling fingers.  He was now standing precariously on the ledge, searching intently for anything else around him.  The surface of both the walls and the ledge had a subtle texture to them.  One that took Tay’s fingers some time to finally discern as a small pattern, not etched but rising from the surface just enough for his fingertips to feel them.  The patterns were tiny and felt like a patchwork of circles, or perhaps hexagons, covering what felt like every square inch of each surface.  He had no idea what it meant, but the tiny uninterrupted hexagons, along with the lack of a seam between the wall and ledge, suggested it was all one giant singular surface.

His left-hand flat against the wall to stabilize himself, Tay reached out further now with his knife.  Searching.  For anything.

After several slow, progressively wider arcs, the knife’s tip stopped on something.  He repeated the last swipe a second time, and it stopped again in the same place.  Then again.  There was something there.  Tay felt his right foot reach the edge of the shelf and twisted his wrist to extend his index finger out.  But he could not touch what the knife had found.  It was just out of reach.  He flipped the blade back around and checked again, tapping the object.  There was definitely something there, and it made the same sound as tapping on the wall.

Tay desperately hoped it was another ledge.  In fact, he hoped there were many more, possibly even positioned in some kind of pattern around the inside of the ship’s hull.  But any brief comfort the discovery gave him promptly evaporated as he considered what else it could be. A random protrusion.  Or something completely useless.  The thing could be anything.  Anything at all.

What if there were not more ledges?  What if there was nothing around him except a lot of empty air?

He found himself struggling with only two options.  He could either remain on this ledge beneath him and gradually die of thirst, or he could try to slide further down into the darkness, praying that there was something else below to catch him.

In other words, take a risk now or accept the near certainty of death by dehydration within a few days.  Mathematically, the choice was simple.  But emotionally, the fear of trying to lower himself down was paralyzing.

Tay tried desperately to remember the shape of the outside hull from Will Borger’s computer-generated composite.  They didn’t have every angle yet, but its estimated size and shape indicated an oblong.  How tall was it again?  Several hundred feet?  A thousand?  He was already beginning to doubt his own memory, and so far, he could not detect any curvature along the wall from where he stood.

He didn’t know how long it took before he reluctantly forced his trembling body down onto his stomach.  He gripped the side of the ledge with his right hand, pressing his left palm flat against the top, inching himself back––until he was finally able to slide one knee out and over the edge.

There was a fearful swelling in his chest when the sensation on his leg and foot suggested nothing but cool air below.  His body continued to shake as he slid further out.

Now almost to his hip, he dipped his foot and swung his leg wider, back and forth.

Still nothing.

The physical tremors grew stronger, and Tay began to panic.  This was crazy.  There had to be another way.  There had to be–

It was too late.  The tremors were manifested by a deeper fatigue setting in, and Tay suddenly found himself losing the strength he needed to pull himself back up.  In a frenzy, he clawed at the metal with desperate, sweating hands but there was nothing else to grab onto.

Then it came…all at once.  The strength in his muscles vanished, leaving his arms and shoulders screaming in protest just before they gave out.  In one swift motion, he lost any remaining hold on the ledge and tumbled uncontrollably into the darkness.

10

The plunge was beyond terrifying.

In utter horror, Tay clawed frantically with his hands as his fall accelerated into the unknown.  Seconds that felt like an eternity.

Until he suddenly hit something.  At full speed.  The impact of another shelf smashing into his leg sent him tumbling even further out into empty space before having a chance to grab for it.

He found himself in the midst of another and much longer horrifying plunge.  Seemingly countless and sickening seconds of panic…before another massive impact.

Without warning, his body crashed into and through a large surface of water, almost knocking Tay unconscious.  The instant deceleration of his body was violent and left him completely disoriented, followed promptly by renewed panic.

Tay was totally unprepared for the submersion and did not have enough breath in his lungs.  He suddenly began thrashing, desperate to get back to the surface. But in the darkness, he had no idea which way was up.

The panic intensified, causing him to thrash harder, already feeling the depletion of his air.  All made worse by his desperation.  Tay had only seconds left before his body would realize his lungs were empty and panic would truly set in.

He had a fleeting moment of rational thought and fought to seize it.  Seconds.  He had seconds.  He tried to slow his flailing limbs.  Seconds were longer than they sounded.

His lungs screaming, Tay fought with everything he had to maintain a grip on his mind. He had a chance.  If he could just think!  He had to know which way was up!

His body wouldn’t tell him in time, but his breath could!  That is if he had any air left.  Anything at all.  In one controlled motion, he brought his arms in and tried to contract his chest, trying to squeeze any remaining air out of his lungs and through his mouth.

It was a single bubble.

Large enough to be felt rolling over his lips and nose as it slowly launched to the surface.  Even momentarily, it was enough to tell him that he was upside down.  And it was all Elgin Tay needed.

With everything he had, beyond the pain and beyond his body screaming for air, he rotated and kicked.

His instincts told him that he wasn’t far from the surface.  He couldn’t be, given his splash.  And he was right.  He was only four feet below, taking less than a second to claw his way to the top.  Where a desperate and blessed breath of fresh air was waiting.  The first came in as half air and half water, immediately followed by a second, full breath which filled his lungs to capacity.  Then another and another.

Below the water, his hands and feet paddled harder than necessary, frantic to keep his head above the surface.  He could hear the constant splashing of the water around him.  The sensation of the waves and bubbles felt familiar and strangely calming, reminding him that he was still alive.

But he was not out of danger.  He may be paddling back above the water, but Tay still felt nothing beneath him.  He tried to reach out wider, feeling for safety with each stroke of his arms.  But there was nothing.  Only water and darkness.

In a sudden wave of hope, he convinced himself he could not be far from the wall.  He tried to relax, rose his mouth higher above the water, and yelled.  “HEY!”

He listened carefully.  And yelled again.  “HEEEY!”  Tay then twirled around and yelled in the opposite direction.  “HEEEY!”

He could hear it.

It was faint but noticeable.  The echo of his voice off the massive wall.  He paddled closer and continued yelling, hearing the echo grow louder until it was right on top of him.  He reached out with a hand and felt the familiar metal. But then he was rewarded with something much more exhilarating.  Just to the side, and barely a foot below the surface of the water, his left hand bumped the edge of another wide ledge.

There, alone and in pitch blackness, shaking almost uncontrollably, Tay’s emotions were instantly flooded by cascading waves of desperation and relief––followed by elation.  And as he reached out in agony to pull himself up, the short, exhausted engineer from M.I.T. broke down and cried.

11

Chris Ramirez remained still in his chair in the galley of the Pathfinder, staring at Alison over the chrome table between them.  Having listened to her plan, he glanced momentarily at one of the ship’s crew as the young sailor passed them on his way into the kitchen.  “Is that really possible?”

“It has to be.  But we’ll need help.”

“And this is what the dolphin elders asked for?”

“Not exactly.  They just want to see, Chris.  They want to see for themselves. However we can show them.”

He sat, pondering the idea.  “I guess it makes sense.  I mean who can blame them?  We’d want to do the same thing.”

“We have done the same thing,” Alison corrected.  “They just haven’t had the ability.”

“Until now.”

She nodded.  “Until IMIS.  Until they could finally ask for it.”

“Geez, they are smart.  Much more than we ever thought.”

“But we shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

Chris peered curiously at her.  “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about something.  For a while now.”

“Uh oh.”

“Very funny,” she shot him a sarcastic look.  “We’ve talked about this before.  About their capacity.  Neurologically.”

“Right.  The brain folding.”

“Exactly.  We know their brains have more folding than ours.  Which means more neural capacity.  We know they are far smarter and far more socially developed than we ever thought.  And just like us, they have higher metabolic rates, allowing them to power those huge energy-hungry brains.  So if their brains are so sophisticated and have more capacity, then what else?  What else can they do that we don’t know about?  Mother Nature wouldn’t just waste all that capability because they don’t have hands or fingers.  I mean look at their echolocation.  It’s still superior to our modern sonar.  And I mean far superior.”

Chris’s expression changed from curiosity to suspicion.  “You know something.”

Alison stared at him, contemplating.  “I saw it, Chris.  I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw what?”

“Their echolocation is much stronger than we thought.  John and I were involved in an underwater rescue on our way here.  A father and son were diving off a reef and got lost in some underwater caves.”

“What the hell were they doing out here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Alison said, brushing his remark aside and leaning forward.  “They were trapped, and it was Dirk who found them.  He led us in with extra air tanks, and we saved them!  But it wasn’t until Dirk led us out that I saw it.  Or rather, I felt it.”

“Their echolocation.”

“Yes.  You know how you can feel it in the water?  Well, I felt it then.  But that time it was much stronger.  And those caves wound around in every direction, like a maze.  And he brought us out a different way than we went in.  There’s no way the echolocation that we’ve witnessed would have been enough to penetrate the walls of that maze.  I’m telling you, Chris, Dirk was tapping into something more.  Something deeper that allowed him to see through those walls.  To see further, and to know how to get out.”

Chris raised his one good hand and extended his index finger.  “Okay, hold on.  Let’s take a deep breath here.  Even if that’s true, and I do believe you, it doesn’t necessarily suggest some vast leap in ability.  Maybe it’s a slightly different mode of echolocation or sonar.  Different frequencies or something.  Or maybe it reflects better.  For all we know, maybe he’d been in those caves before.”

“It’s just one example, Chris.  You and I both know there have been other examples too.  Like when I’m talking to Sally, and so many times she knows what I’m going to ask before I say it.  Both her and Dirk.  They just know things.  Not just things as they happen but maybe things that have already happened.  It’s a feeling, and I’m not the only one who has felt it.  You and Lee have too.  Even Juan did.  I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m sure…I am really sure that nature would simply not develop a brain like theirs without putting it to use!”

Chris stared at her without speaking.  That was one thing he definitely agreed on.  Mother Nature was not wasteful.  Not for that amount of neural capacity.  And admittedly, a more advanced form of echolocation would not be enough to account for all of it.

Chris’s frown was sanguine.  “Okay.  Say you’re right.  Say there’s still something big that we’ve missed.  How exactly do we go about figuring that out?”

At that, Alison leaned back and folded her arms.  “I don’t know,” she sighed.  “I’ve tried to ask Sally, but it feels like she’s evading the question.  They may have shared a lot with us, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re an open book either.”

“Which would mean that if they are, in fact, hiding some things, what they have shared is more…deliberate.”

“Right.”

“So, what…they have some kind of agenda?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself.”

“And?”

Alison nodded, reluctantly.  “I think so.”

“You think so what?”

“I think it’s possible their exchanges with us have been,” she hesitated, “strategic.”

“Okay.  Then if that’s true, the next question is why?”

“Maybe to get us to build this metal for them.”

“That would be giving them a tremendous amount of cognitive credit.  They’re smart, but are they that smart?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”  Alison said.  Her arms still folded.  “But what if their elders, the ones they call heads, are not just older?  What if they’re also smarter?”

12

Hello Alison.

Alison smiled weakly from the edge of the Pathfinder’s platform, wavering slightly with a hand wrapped firmly around one of the ship’s stanchions.   Half of her was trying to remain steady, while the other half tried to fight off the nausea.

“Hello, Dirk.  Where is Sally?”

Sally sleep.  Come soon.

Alison nodded.  She then turned to one of Emerson’s crewmen standing just a few feet away.  Inside her earbuds, Chris spoke in a clear voice.  “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” she replied, before reaching up and pulling down her mask with her free hand.  “I’m not going far.”

Alison’s splash into the emerald water was as gently as she could manage.  The lingering effects of her decompression sickness were still present––thus she had made promises to both Doctor Kanna and Neely. If she needed to go back into the water, it would be brief, and she would remain at the surface.

The initial turbulence of her splash was quickly replaced by the familiar coolness and gentle rolling of ocean waves around her.  She let herself relax and move with the water, breathing in deeply several times before arching back into an upright position.

Once in the water, it did not take long for her symptoms to ease.  She had long known that seasickness could be eliminated almost immediately by the person getting off of a rocking boat and into the water.  Something she had been counting on.

She moved gently under the weight of her dive equipment before wiggling her mask to test the seal.  No leaks.  She then held the lower edge of her mask and tested the microphone again.  “You still there?”

From inside a small equipment closet, Chris leaned over a metal desk previously used by Lee Kenwood.  “Hear you loud and clear.”

“Okay, good.  Let’s just–”

Alison.  You back.

Alison turned to find Dirk circling.  His dull, gray skin passed gracefully through the rays of underwater light.

“Yes, Dirk.  I’m back.”

“That was quick,” Chris said.

“Someone seems eager.”

“I’ll say.”

You better.

She smiled inside her facemask and released the button on her vest.  “Yes, I am better.”

Where Chris?  Where Lee?

“Chris is here.  On the metal.  Lee is gone.”

Why gone?

“He’s, uh, taking care of something.”  A buzz sounded in Alison’s ear, indicating a bad translation.  “He’s working.”

A short pause in Dirk’s reply reminded Alison that there was no dolphin equivalent for work.  So far, effort was the closest translation.

Dirk replied with a simple okay and continued circling.

Alison paused her vest translation again.  “He seems different.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s happy to see me, but he’s…calmer.  Not like he usually is.”

“What do you think that means?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.  “Maybe nothing.  I’m not exactly clearheaded at the moment.”

“True.  Still no Sally though.”

“She takes a little longer lately.”

“I guess pregnancy will do that.”  Chris peered closer at his video feed on the monitor.  “Do you recognize any of the others?”

Using her hands, Alison slowly spun herself around, her eyes following several more dolphins circling nearby.  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”  She reached out and let her fingers run the length of one of the dolphins, prompting it to roll to one side.  It was a female, evident by the two slits below her belly.  The creature seemed familiar but moved too fast for Alison to recognize any distinct features or scars.

“I think this one–” Alison stopped in midsentence.  “Wait a minute.”

“What is it?”

Alison didn’t reply.  Instead, she quickly rotated back around, as if listening.

“Do you hear something?” asked Chris.

“No,” she whispered.  “I feel something.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure.  A tingling.”

“Must be their echolocation.”

Alison remained frozen, squinting past Dirk and the others into the darkness below.  “I don’t think so.  This…feels different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know.”  Alison peered down at her hands, then down at her suit and equipment.  “It feels similar but not quite the same.”  She knew humans could feel the tingling of a dolphin’s echolocation; she’d felt it many times.  But this was definitely different.  It almost felt like a change in tone or frequency, although much subtler and not detected through her ears.  This she felt through her skin.

Alison continued staring, feeling the sensation grow stronger.  She was about to speak when she saw something emerge from below and into the dim, shimmering light.  It was one of the elders.

This dolphin, she recognized.  It was the one she had spoken to recently.  The one with lighter and much older skin, covered in wrinkles and scrapes.

The elder rose through the water and slowed to a near stop just a few feet away.  Like all dolphins, its curved mouth resembled a slight grin as his familiar dark eyes studied her.

You back, Alison.

IMIS’s mechanical voice sounded, making the elder sound exactly like Dirk and Sally.  But if the voice and tone were the same, the timing of its speech seemed slightly different.  Slower.  Perhaps more purposeful.  Or was she imagining that?

Alison nodded.

You answer.

“Uh, no.  Not yet.”

Why?

“I need to speak.  To more humans.”

Why?

Alison struggled to answer and looked closer at the elder’s eyes.  They were unflinching.  “I…I’m not a head.”  She opened her mouth to continue but quickly shut it again with a look of puzzlement.  It was still there.  The tingling.  But why was the elder still using echolocation?  Or whatever it was?

“You okay, Ali?” Chris asked.

She paused her vest again.  “I still feel it.”

“The buzzing?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Alison frowned sarcastically inside of her mask.  “Really?”

“Sorry,” Chris continued watching the elder through Alison’s camera.  “Why would he be using it that close?”

“I don’t know,” Alison said, turning to look behind her.  “Is he looking for something behind–”

How you long?

She tilted her head, trying to understand before IMIS corrected the translation and repeated it.

How long?

“How long for what?”

How long for head?

Alison’s eyes widened.  Even though it was a perfect translation, she never heard it.  Instead, she suddenly realized where the tingling was coming from.

By turning slightly, she could sense a direction as the sensation met her skin.  It wasn’t coming from the elder.  There was something beside him, and farther back, still hidden in the darkness.

She paused again and lowered her voice this time.  “Uh…Chris.”

“Yes.”

“There’s something else here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever this…frequency is, it’s not coming from him.  It’s coming from something else.  Behind him.”

“Can you see it?”

“No, it’s too far.  I need you to try.”  Alison twisted, centering her chest.  “Use the camera.”

Chris leaned forward, studying his screen.  “Um…I don’t know how.”

“Zoom in with the camera,” Alison said calmly, her voice still low.

Chris grabbed the computer mouse and clicked in and out of windows, looking for anything that looked like camera controls.  “How?  How do you do that?”

“I don’t know.  Lee always did it before.  You don’t see anything?”

Chris shook his head, still clicking feverishly.  “Nothing.  Nothing that looks like a zoom.  Christ, would it kill him to put some icons on this damn program?!”

Beneath the water, Alison frowned and finally turned her attention away from the darkness below her.  The elder was still floating nearby, using only a slight twisting movement from his front flippers.

Neither he nor Dirk was saying a word.

13

Lee Kenwood studied his computer screen one more time, looking for errors.  The parity checks were good, and when all was said and done, they had only two hard drives go bad as a result of the move.  Fortunately, both were in different servers and part of redundant sets, so there was no permanent harm done.

He turned and glanced at Will Borger, still seated behind him.  “Okay, all systems are good.  IMIS is back online!”

“Great job, kid.  I’m almost done with the sat link.  Then you can call Alison to test it.”

A few minutes later, Borger finished and saved his settings, then launched the command to establish the connection.  He watched the process tunnel through Arecibo’s internal network until it reached one of the outer DVB modems.

Borger shook his head.  “They really need to improve the security on this network.  Whoever is in charge of this should be fired.”

After another minute, his screen reported a successful connection.  “All right, give it a whirl,” he said just as his cell phone chimed, followed immediately by yet a different alarm from his laptop.  Borger picked up the phone and studied it curiously before turning to his laptop.

“Something wrong with the connection?” Lee asked.

“No.  This is something else.”

After verifying his own connection to the outside world, Lee nodded and turned around again, only to find Borger staring grimly at his screen.  After a long silence, he spoke up.  “Something wrong?”

Will Borger’s expression did not change.  He took a deep breath, folding his arms before raising a hand up over his mouth.

“What is it?”

It took the older Borger several more seconds to answer.  “It’s from one of the custom apps I wrote.  Designed to scan a group of systems and alert me if it notices something.”

“Did it notice something?”

Borger nodded.

Lee waited until Borger finally looked up at him.  “Someone has identified my satellite phone, and is trying to use its transmitting signal to triangulate the phone’s location.”

“What?!”

Borger frowned and continued studying his screen.

“So, someone is trying to find you?”

“Evidently.”

“Will they be able to?”

“Eventually.  Triangulating is a difficult process but not impossible.  I did it myself to find General Wei’s phone in China––from cell towers, which are faster and more accurate.  Triangulating a satellite phone will take more time, but it can be done.”

“How accurate is it?”

He shrugged.  “From satellites, maybe down to a mile or so.  But there’s not a lot of hiding places out here on the outskirts of the observatory.  It won’t take long.”  Borger’s face was stern.  “We’d better test IMIS and get the hell out of here.”

***

When Alison’s phone rang, Chris Ramirez was already frantically looking for it.  He found the source of the familiar ringtone on the small table behind him, apparently having slid off and onto the far side of one of Lee’s technical manuals.  Chris snatched the device and hit the answer button.  “This is Chris!”

“Chris?  What are you doing there?”

“Lee!  I’m here with Alison.  How the hell do you zoom the camera on her vest?!”

“When did you get there?”

“The camera, Lee!  It’s important.”

“Uh, you have to type it in manually.  On the CCD01 screen.  I haven’t created an interface for it yet.”

“No kidding,” Chris replied.  “Okay.  I’m on the window.  What now?”

“Type move near zoom max 5.”

Chris typed the text and hit enter.  In a separate window, the video feed from Alison’s camera suddenly zoomed in.  “Hold on!” Chris said, putting the phone down.  “Ali,” he barked into the mike.  “I’ve zoomed in, but I still don’t see anything.”

“Go closer!”

Chris grabbed the phone again.  “Lee!  We need to zoom more.”

“Just type the command again.”

“Okay!” Again, Chris dropped the phone.  A moment later, the camera zoomed in further but revealed nothing in the dark water below her.  “Still not seeing anything, Ali.  And the picture is starting to get grainy.”

“Okay.  Then ask Lee how to record this.”

This time Chris pressed the phone’s speaker button.  “Lee, how do we record this video?”

“It’s already recording, Chris.  It does it by default.”

“Alison–”

“Yeah, I heard him.  If it’s already recorded, then I’m coming back up.”

“Okay.  I’ll meet you at the stern.”  Chris turned and reached for the phone to end the call.  “Lee, we’ll call you back!”  With that, he jumped up and disappeared through the ship’s small, metal doorway.

On the other end, a perplexed Lee looked at his own phone after the call went dead.  “Well, that was weird.”

***

Less than thirty minutes later, Lee’s phone rang again.

“Lee, it’s Chris.  Sorry.  Things got a little exciting over here.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain.  More surprises from our dolphin friends.  I’ll tell you about it later.  What’s up?”

“I thought you were still in the hospital.  When did you get to the Pathfinder?”

“Earlier this morning.  Where are you?”

Lee looked directly at Borger, sitting quietly in their dimly lit room, still studying his own screen.  “Uh, that’s kind of hard to explain too.  But IMIS is back online, and I need you and Alison to help test it.”

“Okay, sure.  Give us ten minutes, and we’ll call you back.”

14

“She’s dead.”

CIA Director Andrew Hayes instinctively pressed the phone tighter against his ear and straightened in his seat.  “Who?”

“Reinhard.  Our unrelenting activist.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the voice of Hayes’ deputy answered.  “Just confirmed.  Someone slipped poison into her cigarette.”

Hayes couldn’t help but grin.  The irony served as a nod to Director Hayes himself, who was an agent decades ago––when the CIA tried desperately and repeatedly to assassinate Fidel Castro under its famed Operation Mongoose.  Conceived by both President John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert Kennedy, the attempts to kill the communist leader by any means possible gave way to dozens of creative, and sometimes outlandish, ideas to end the Cuban president’s life.  One idea put forth by a young agent Hayes was to poison one of Castro’s cigars.  It was promptly rejected as being too difficult.  It was ironic, given that none of the CIA’s many attempts would ever prove successful.

Nevertheless, someone in the agency remembered and used his idea.  As a silent joke.

Hayes leaned onto his right elbow, his gaze passing through the window as his town car inched its way south, down the George Washington Memorial Parkway.  Even at midday, the traffic was thick, and Hayes’ black Lincoln Continental, driven by his trusted driver, moved slowly forward.

“Good,” Hayes finally said with approval.  “It was long overdue.”

“Agreed,” Ambrose said.

Ria Reinhard was a proverbial pain in the ass as far as the two men were concerned.  An activist at UNICEF, Reinhard simply could not be convinced to shut up.  No matter how strong the threat, she would not be deterred in her attacks on the CIA over their handling of the Osama bin Laden matter in Abbottabad.

Much of the public knew about the capture and death of bin Laden.  The assassination culminated from an exceptionally intense mission of information gathering.  One that would prove to have a myriad of ramifications for not just the rest of Pakistan, but the entire Middle East.

Thanks to bin Laden’s personal courier, the CIA was finally confident as to the location of the terrorist’s hideout. But before a full-scale raid could be launched, U.S. intelligence had to be certain it was, in fact, him.  Their ruse, which proved extremely effective, was to use a respected Pakistani doctor to conduct a fake Hepatitis B vaccination drive throughout the city.

Beginning in the poorest area of town to establish credibility, Dr. Shakil Afridi systematically moved from child to child.  He had administered the alleged immunization, which was nothing of the sort.  In reality, the injections served as the means of collecting blood samples from which U.S. intelligence eventually confirmed the genetic signatures of Osama bin Laden’s children.  Only then were they sure as to whom the secret compound was hiding.

Yet it was not the raid itself to which Ria Reinhard had objected but rather the CIA’s lies surrounding the mock immunization.  For decades, UNICEF’s singular mission had been as simple as it was unswerving:  to save as many children as possible by providing essential health care, immunizations, food, and clean water––in areas of the world where none existed.

And they had.  Through their relentless efforts, UNICEF was responsible for saving the lives of more young children on the planet than any other health organization.  And while Ria Reinhard had never questioned the importance of finding and killing bin Laden, what she found beyond abhorrent was how the CIA finally did it. Lies that had been based on an immunization of which people in impoverished countries were already leery.  Rumors had been rampant for years over dark organizations planning to secretly sterilize Muslim children through the use of immunizations.  And now that the CIA had been exposed as a poster child for such deception, they had made UNICEF’s job even more difficult overnight.

Now the poor were too horrified and frightened to trust anyone, even UNICEF doctors.  And the resulting deaths quickly began to mount again.  To Ria Reinhard, it was not what the CIA had done, it was how they had done it.  The deception that finally got bin Laden captured was now killing tens of thousands of people, those too fearful of what might really be in those needles.

Many argued that the end justified the means, especially given what a dangerous man bin Laden was.  While others argued that no amount of justification was worth the deaths of twenty thousand innocent children.

What Reinhard demanded was change.  Change in how a secret organization like the CIA could operate with such impunity, anywhere in the world they wished, and with no accountability to anyone.  What she wanted was change…or at the very least, a public acknowledgment by the CIA that there were repercussions to their unbridled power and secrecy.

In the end, she got neither.

Hayes relaxed and leaned back into the car’s black leather seat.  For him, it was more than just a matter of national security.    Much more.  For Hayes, it was about power.  Pure unadulterated power.  In a world of cowards who were too timid or weak to wield it.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a cigarette.  “What else?” he asked, before subconsciously moving the butt toward his lips.  Suddenly realizing the irony, he stopped and studied it closer before reluctantly placing it back in his pocket.

“I have more good news,” Ambrose said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“We’ve narrowed the Chinese girl’s location down to the island of Trinidad.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“How did you manage that?”

“An operative found someone who witnessed the girl being transferred ashore, evidently unconscious.  From a fishing trawler.  By a young captain known to be a local smuggler.”

“Where on the island?”

“We’re not sure yet.  But we’ll find out.  We’ve got multiple operatives on the ground now.  And we’re still trying to crack their satellite phones.  Whatever they’re using to encrypt those devices is proving damn effective.  It may be Whisper Systems or something similar.”

“Wonderful,” Hayes replied sarcastically.

“We’ve also been looking into the biological samples you mentioned.  Aboard the Pathfinder.  But nothing at all on those yet.”

Hayes sighed.  “Okay, keep looking.  They’re there.  I’m sure of it.”

“Will do. Ready for the bad news now?  The House Intelligence Committee is requesting your testimony over what happened to that kid in Afghanistan.”

“Christ,” Hayes muttered.  They were never going to let this go.  The damn politicians were worse than the public.  Utterly incapable of understanding that some goals were impossible without resorting to unconventional means.  Even if it meant occasionally fighting alongside the same terrorists you were tasked with destroying.

“When?” asked Hayes.

“Three weeks.”

“Schedule something important for me to attend and stall.”

“Already working on it.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” replied Ambrose.

“I’ll be back later.  In the meantime, find those samples.”

Hayes ended the call before his Deputy Director could reply.  He tossed his phone onto the empty seat beside him without taking his eyes off the window.  He gazed out at a small rock wall lining the road and a thick grove of green trees beyond it.  When his driver abruptly slowed again, Hayes spotted an opening through the trees and glimpsed the bright green grass from a park on the other side.  Several children were playing on it.

His view vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Hayes turned back toward the interior of the car.  What he wouldn’t give to be young and naïve again.  No cares or concerns beyond their immediate world.  And a total lack of regard for those who were quietly fighting to protect it all.  No matter what the cost.

15

“The Army – At War and Transforming”

It was one of the many mottos for what was now known as America’s “Institutional Army.”  One of the three departments under the Department of Defense, it was tasked with one singular mission: “To fight and win our Nation’s wars by providing prompt, sustained land dominance across the full range of military operations and spectrum of conflict in support of combatant commanders.”

It was not just a mission, it was the operating bedrock and the very heart and soul of the greatest Army on the planet.  However much like the CIA’s prime mission, the official wording was, by design, extremely vague.  At its core, the Institutional Army’s true objective could be boiled down to a single word: transformation.

One of the greatest assets of the United States’ military was its relentless dedication to adaptation and improvement.  In the interest of innovation, the military consistently sought to leverage lessons learned from their extensive experimentation and wargaming.

In laymen’s terms, it was not just a department, but the entire military, which was nothing short of obsessed by an ever-present pursuit of tactical perfection.  A preoccupation that gave the United States the single best-militarized fighting force in human history.

It was a level of service, of loyalty and dedication that had done so much for so many.  And sadly, one whose core ideals and tenets were now being twisted, with corruption to levels never before seen.

The bright, ornate office which Andrew Hayes entered after reaching the Pentagon belonged to Leonard Bullman, the Chief of Staff for the United States Army.  The highest-ranking officer in the largest branch of the armed forces, Bullman was shorter than average, lean, and had eyes as intense as Hayes had ever seen.

In his early sixties, General Bullman appeared outwardly to be a careful and thoughtful soldier.  But inside, as most who knew him were well aware, Bullman’s steadfast dedication to his country and uniform was unmatched.  An internal fire drove his profound need to keep the U.S. Army several steps ahead of any other military on the planet.  He achieved this through relentless training, innovation, and purposeful transformation.

Bullman stood from his desk and straightened his uniform as Hayes was let in, waiting with hands behind his back for the door to close behind.  A welcome smile waited patiently for Hayes as he crossed the room.

When he did, Bullman extended his hand and the two shook before each man took his chair.

“I trust you have some good news for me.”

Hayes shrugged, relaxed.  “Some.  We’re much closer.”

“Closer meaning…”

“Days.  At the most.”

Bullman nodded.  “I can live with that.  And you’re sure about what they have?”

“Yes.  I am.  I hope you’re ready.”

“We’ve been ready.”

Hayes leaned back, silent and delighted.  To think, with everything they had been working on, for so many years, Secretary Miller and Admiral Langford were now about to give them the crown jewel.  Without even knowing it.

“They’ll find out eventually.  You know that.”

“Maybe,” Hayes shrugged.  “But by then it won’t matter.”

“Be careful,” Bullman warned.  “Words like that have a way of getting eaten.”

“I’ll take my chances.”  Hayes reached down to open a briefcase.  “In the meantime, I think it’s time to formalize our agreement.”

He retrieved several sheets of paper, printed on CIA letterhead.  An electronic version was out of the question.  For obvious reasons.

He reached forward and placed one copy on Bullman’s desk.

Without a word, the general picked them up and began reading.  After a full minute, he dropped the document back on his desk.  “I still don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.  But think of it less as reciprocity and more as…mutually assured destruction.”

“Ensuring that neither of us talks,” Bullman said dryly.

“Exactly.”

The older Bullman stared intently at Hayes before eventually shoving the papers back toward him.  “You sign first.”

The CIA Director grinned and reached for a pen.  Without hesitation, he scribbled his signature on the bottom of the last page.

He returned them to Bullman, who after holding the agreement in his hands for some time, reluctantly followed suit.  His gray eyes returned to Hayes, now smiling as he stood up.

“God bless America.”

16

“Do I smell scrambled eggs?”

Neely Lawton looked up to find a grinning Steve Caesare in the doorway.  Her visitor looked around the small, empty office.  “You really need to spruce things up in here.”

She smiled warmly, with her hands still on her laptop keyboard.  “I have a chandelier on order.”

He laughed and stepped inside, examining her makeshift desk, a metal medical tray turned sideways.  Complete with a padded swivel stool.

Neely raised an eyebrow as he approached.  “Did you want some eggs?”

“Nah, it’s just an old joke.”

“Okay,” she said, relaxing.  “I’ll bite.”

Caesare moved sideways, still grinning, and rested his arm on top of a standing file cabinet. He noted the small, protective pieces of cardboard still in place around its corners.  “It was during a mission in Eastern Europe.  There was a guy name Dugan on our team, who was taking forever to fix a problem with his rifle before an early morning exercise.  He was holding everyone up, and a lot of us were getting antsy when someone finally yelled over their headset asking if Dugan was back there cooking breakfast or something.”

Neely laughed.

“I guess it was funny enough that it stuck.  From then on, if someone on the team was doing something too slow, we’d yell ‘do I smell eggs cooking?’”

“You probably had to be there,” added Clay, stepping in behind Caesare.

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Neely grinned.

“What Steve failed to mention about that rifle is that some of the guys were playing a prank on poor Dugan.”

“Well, he got his revenge.”

Clay nodded.  “Eventually.”

Caesare’s grin faded.  “You check on Li Na?”

“Yeah.  And talked to Dr. Kanna.”

“How is she?”

“Okay.  But he says we need to pull her back out of that coma soon.  Before it begins doing more harm than good.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Neely remarked.  Both men looked at her as she folded her arms, twisting slightly on the stool.  “We may be dealing with more than we bargained for.”

Caesare frowned.  “I’d like to go on record and point out that we didn’t bargain for any of this.”

Clay moved in next to Caesare, ignoring his quip.  “What do you mean, Neely?”

“I think we may need to prepare ourselves for some surprises.”

“Like what?”

She motioned to her laptop.  “I’ve gotten the results for Li Na’s genetic sequencing.”

“I thought that took a long time.”

“Not anymore.  Most modern labs have it down to less than three days now.”

Caesare looked at Clay.  “Wow.”

“And a new technique pioneered by a man by the name of Kingsmore has cut that time in half.  It’s pretty remarkable.  It was developed using a new hardware chip named DRAGEN that’s specifically designed for genome decoding.  Anyway, I now have almost a full sequence of Li Na’s DNA, and I think we may have some problems.”  She looked at Caesare, then to Clay.  “You two may recall me telling you that most DNA in our bodies is unused.  Genes that have been deactivated over many generations for a number of reasons.  One of the ways we know this is by our mapping of active genes.  We have now documented almost a million genes and can measure which of those actively impact a person’s body and physical attributes.  And that’s where our problem lies.  You see, of all the documented active genes we now know of, and of all the variations we can observe within most humans, Li Na seems to be missing some.  Including a few that are literally active in everyone.”

“Which genes is she missing?” asked Clay.

“It’s a complicated answer.  Most of our genes are grouped into what we call clusters, and encoded for similar polypeptides and proteins, which together share a general function.  But there are certain genes that we all share, even if their behavior varies.  For example, the genes that control eye color.  These are called fixed genes or fixed alleles.  Some of the fixed alleles that Li Na is missing have to do with skin and pigmentation.  One gene helps regulate digestion, and another is linked to our hearing.  When I originally saw some of these genetic influences, first in the dolphins then in some of you, the effects were very subtle.  Things that were only affecting an existing gene but not eliminating it.”

“But Li Na is different.”

Neely nodded.  “That’s right.  Her body is actually making changes at a genetic level.  And we can see it.”  She looked back at her computer, shaking her head.  “What’s really scary is that even as worrisome as these changing active genes are, we really have no idea what this means for her inactive genes.”

“The unused DNA?”

“Yes.  They’re what most people refer to as junk DNA.  Missing some active genes is cause for concern but hopefully isn’t terminal.  There’s enough documentation on those to give us a fighting chance.  Perhaps some genomic medicine to counter what she may be lacking.  But our inactive DNA, on the other hand, has not been well documented at all. Which means that if something gets changed in there, it would be a complete unknown.”

Caesare took a deep breath.  “Oh boy.”

“The reason I’m telling you this is because we need to be ready, medically.  We don’t know how much of an impact that Chinese bacterium in her system will have.  Until we wake her up.”

Both men fell silent.  Clay looked especially concerned. “With everything that girl has been through, she doesn’t deserve this.”

“I agree.  So let’s pray that whatever does get changed…is genetically unproductive.”

“Unproductive,” Clay repeated.  He glanced at Neely, noting a strange look on her face.  A look of nervousness.  “Is there something else?”

This time Neely stared at them for a long moment before slowly nodding her head.

“What is it?”

“This all comes from that alien ship,” she said.  “Everything that’s happened.  The plants, the vaults, Li Na, everything has come from the ship.  Which Will says is actually infused with that liquid.   Causing all of this.”

Caesare nodded.  “That’s true.”

“He said that ship is designed to heal itself,” she added, almost mumbling.  “Is that true?”

“As far as we can tell.”

She continued peering at them, thinking.  “Do you two remember the plant that John retrieved from that Chinese truck in Guyana?”

“How could I forget?”

Neely looked at Clay.  “That was the first time we got a glimpse into what this liquid, or compound, could do.  It was regenerating the plant from its genetic foundation.  As if fixing it.”  Her eyes moved to Caesare.  “It was doing the same thing with you and the other divers, returning your hair back to its original color.  Improving your eyesight.  In a way, it was fixing little things about you too.”

Caesare grinned.  “If it really wanted to fix something, it should start with my personality.”

“Seriously, I’m worried that there might be something else going on here.  With Li Na.  I’m worried that these changes in her DNA may not just be random mutations but something more…intentional, somehow.”  She glanced back to her laptop screen and the genetic sequencing data.  “What if this compound is not just activating or deactivating some genes?  What if it’s actually trying to fix her?  Like it was with that plant.  From the ground up.”

“Whoa.”

Clay’s eyes narrowed.  “That’s scary.”

“It is,” she nodded.  “Because the question would then become…what exactly would that compound consider fixed…to be?”

17

At just shy of six feet, Doctor Amir Kanna stood tall over the electric bed, staring down at the serene, unconscious face of Li Na Wei.  Her long black hair sprawled across the pillow, while a white plastic mouthpiece held her ventilator in place.  Her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath a beige cotton blanket.  Both of her arms lay still on top, each connected to a clear tube inserted at the inside bend of each elbow.

Kanna looked up apprehensively to Caesare and Neely standing on the other side of the bed.  Clay lingered at the foot.  “This may take some time.  Bringing someone out of an induced coma is not like turning on a light switch.  It will take time for the thiopental to work its way out of her system.  Which could be anywhere from hours to days.”  Kanna reached down and felt Li Na’s hand as he continued.  “She does have several things going for her.  Her age and her body being significantly stronger than most patients who have to be induced.  That’s not a guarantee of anything, but at least it helps eliminate complications in regard to opiates for pain management.  The big question is going to be whether she experienced any brain damage.”  He looked around at the others.  “Any questions?”

All three shook their heads.

“Okay.  Then I’ll slowly begin reducing the thiopental.  Regardless of how long it takes for her to come out, expect Li Na to be very confused when she first regains consciousness.  From there, we can run more tests to see what kind of physical and mental condition she’s in.”

***

Langford’s voice echoed loudly over the speaker on the sat phone.  Clay quickly notched down the volume and placed the phone onto Neely’s makeshift desk.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.  Loud and clear.”

“Good.  So what’s the status of our young patient?”

Dr. Kanna, standing next to Clay, spoke up.  “We’re bringing her out, Admiral.  But it may take some time.”

“How long?”

“It’s hard to be sure.  Best case is probably twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“What’s the worst case?”

Kanna frowned.  “If we don’t see anything within, say, five days, we’ll need to get her to a trauma unit.”

“Of course, we’re hoping for a best case,” Langford said dryly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m working to see how much longer we can keep you all hidden in that hospital.  There’s only so much promising and sidestepping I can do, so it’s probably time to start thinking of a plan B.”

“Admiral,” Kanna said, leaning closer to the phone.  “If she does come out without too much trouble, our facilities aboard the Pathfinder would be more than enough to get her back on her feet.”

“Good to know.  I’ll keep you where you are if I can, but be ready to move if things go pear-shaped.  Clay, how are you and Caesare set at the moment?  Getting any sleep?”

Clay glanced smugly at Caesare.  “I drew the short straw but am about to get some shut-eye.  We could use some reinforcements though.”

“I’m working on that.  Not exactly easy when no one is supposed to know anything.  Especially where it comes to the Pathfinder.”

“How are they faring?”

“Surviving,” said Langford.  “We have a couple more ships down there to help, without getting too close.  Which is also easier said than done.”

“I can imagine.”

“And,” Langford continued, “word has it that Lieutenant Tay may still be alive.”

Clay and Caesare looked at each other.  “What?!”

“A small chance, but it’s possible.  Providing you can wrap your mind around how.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, is that Captain Emerson and his men believe Tay may actually be inside our alien ship.”

All four in the room dropped their jaws in unison, each staring at the phone in surprise until Caesare broke the silence.

“You…have got to be kidding!”

“Funny,” Langford replied.  “That’s exactly what I said.”

18

Sitting motionless on the ledge with the cool water lapping gently against his chest, Tay stared ahead into pitch blackness.  Still awash in the sense of relief, he used one hand to feel along his leg for lacerations or bleeding.  He couldn’t tell which was worse, the paralyzing damage to his leg or the pain radiating throughout the rest of his body.  But his limbs were still functioning.  He wasn’t so sure about his brain.

In the black, there in front of him, he was beginning to experience hallucinations.  Part memory and part delusion, several images had appeared sporadically, before quickly fading back into the darkness.  Most were faces.  People he did not recognize, replaced moments later by those he did.  With the most frequent image being his father.

Although dead for several years, his father’s face was clearer to him than any of the others.  He was younger, from Tay’s childhood.  With those dark stern, brooding eyes glaring down.

He’d been a hard and overbearing man who preached relentlessly to his son about how the world owed him nothing.  How that which was not earned was meaningless and destroyed character.  And how only those who were weak allowed themselves to give up.

A man, unfortunately so intent on strengthening his only son, he would never grasp the hardship he wreaked simultaneously.  The near-blind obsession Tay would develop as a child trying to please him.  And how all the years of struggle would also, ironically, leave Tay with one definable trait he would never shake.  One that, in some ways, would both redeem his father and propel himself.

Elgin Tay the boy, and Elgin Tay the man, were both stubborn.

A thought leaving him now with a faint grimace as he sat in the water as if hearing a message from above.

Tay turned his head slowly, feeling for any pain that might indicate a head injury.  Maybe a concussion.  And wondering which was responsible for the hallucinations, injury or despair.

There was only one thing visible in the blackness, besides his own images––the same indiscernible glow he saw from above.  It was soft and appeared higher now.  But how far was it?  It was either small and close, or larger and farther away.  Big help that was.

Reluctant to leave his new location, Tay closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.  He tried to think…trying to gauge where on Earth he was in relation to the ship.  And more importantly, how far away the glowing object might be.

What was the calculation for an oblong?  Similar to a rectangle––length and width.  He concentrated harder, trying to see Borger’s monitor again in his head.

An image slowly appeared behind his closed eyes.  He fought to remain focused and tried to shut out the environment around him.  Just long enough.

He could see it.  The shape in his memory looked rounded.  Enough that its depth had to be close to its height.

Maybe a thousand feet high.  It couldn’t have been more than a thousand feet.  So…less than a quarter mile, through the center.

How far from the top were they drilling?  Fifty.  Maybe sixty feet.  And how far had he just fallen?  Or, more importantly, for how long?  Five seconds?  Ten?  He could recall the calculation for falling…distance equals half of gravity’s acceleration multiplied by time squared.  And the fall, he reasoned, would certainly have felt longer than it actually was.  He settled on five seconds.

0.5 x 32 ft/sec^2 was 16.  Times 5 squared, or 25.  Which was what, a four-hundred-foot fall?

He shook his head.  It couldn’t have been that long.  He’d be dead.  Maybe three seconds then.  Or two.

Unfortunately, without knowing how far he’d fallen when first entering the ship, he couldn’t calculate how far down inside he was.  And there was no way to know how deep the water went.

He had to be conservative.  If he assumed he was halfway down, whatever was glowing out in the darkness could be up to five hundred feet away if it was in the center.  Just around a tenth of a mile.

But what if it wasn’t in the middle?  What if it was on the other side?  On the opposite wall?  That would be two-tenths of a mile.  Or more. It didn’t sound like much, but a quarter-mile swim was no walk in the park.  Especially in his condition.

Tay took a deep breath.  Even with his leg, he might be able to do one-tenth.  Slowly.  Very slowly.

But even without the swim, Tay knew he had a much bigger problem–– finding his way back.  For that, he needed a general bearing, which meant at least two points of reference besides himself.  But all he had was one.  Whatever that thing was in the distance.

Tay had a thought and lifted his left arm out of the water, searching his wrist.  Nothing.  His dive watch was gone.  With a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes for several long minutes, thinking. Until he had something.

He pushed himself up with his hands and immediately eased back into the water, where he kept hold of the ledge and attempted to measure it with his body.  Just a little longer than he could reach with both arms.

Tay eased away from the ledge, doing a gentle breaststroke along the wall and keeping it within reach using his left hand.  If there were indeed more ledges, then the question was how far apart were they?

It took almost twenty repetitions before he found it.  Another ledge, almost at the same level below the water.

He measured it with his arms.  Virtually the same length.  Excitedly, he pushed off and began swimming back, recounting his strokes.  At twenty-one, he found his previous shelf.

Now for the other side.

Tay did the same thing in the opposite direction.  Another twenty strokes revealed a third ledge, where he quickly pulled himself up.  A desperate excitement was growing inside him.  Not only were there other ledges out there in the dark, but the inside wall of the ship might actually be covered with them.

***

When he got to the tenth shelf, he felt sure.  If these things were everywhere, it wouldn’t matter which direction he swam back to if he got into trouble.

The faint green glow in the distance was still there.  Exactly as it had been.  Just too far away to discern any detail.  And yet, as faint as the object was, it was still bright enough for Tay to be sure of one thing.  Well, two.  First, it was not a hallucination.  Second, and more importantly, it was not underwater!

19

“Hello?”

“Hello, beautiful.”

Alison’s face beamed.  “John!  My God, it’s so good to hear your voice.  I miss you.”

“I miss you.  How are things?”

Alison was standing on the Pathfinder’s main deck.  Chris stood several feet away, looking down over the stern’s platform and watching several of Captain Emerson’s engineers work on the giant damaged drill.  With its housing streaked and deeply marred, it looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to the thing.

“Um, I’m okay.  How are you?”

“Just okay?”

She shrugged.  “Things are still a little strange here.  But Chris is back, so that’s good.”

“Glad to hear it.  How is Chris?”

“Better.  Still healing, but much better.”

“And Dirk and Sally?”

“They’re…good.”

Clay caught something in Alison’s voice.  “What does they’re good mean?”

She couldn’t help but grin.  She almost forgot who she was talking to––the man who noticed everything.

“Uh, well…let’s just say there’s been some developments with the dolphins.”

“Can you expand on that?” Clay teased.

She chuckled.  “Sorry.  I’m just still trying to wrap my mind around everything.  So is Chris.  The dolphins are pressing me more on their request.  Not Dirk and Sally so much as their elders.  They seem very…intent, for some reason.”

“Have you talked to anyone else yet?”

“No.  Just you and Chris.  We’re still trying to figure out how to pull it off.”

“I may have an idea.”

“Really?”

Standing outside the empty hospital wing, Clay turned and leaned against a nearby railing.  He glanced up at the afternoon sun, hidden behind a dense layer of clouds lingering over the southern end of Trinidad Island.  The air was warm and muggy, without even a whisper of a breeze.  In the distance, he could see one of the island’s main roads, the Churchill Roosevelt Highway, and watched dozens of cars and trucks pass in both directions.  Their passengers completely unaware of the events unfolding practically under their noses.

“I’m sure you know about the Navy’s past and present use of trained dolphins.”

She replied grimly.  “Of course I do.”

Alison was intimately aware of the operation.  It was called the Navy Marine Mammal Program and was run out of San Diego, where a group of seventy-five highly-trained dolphins was used by the U.S. Navy.  Publicly, the Navy characterized their use as helping to rescue lost naval swimmers or finding underwater mines.  But privately, what they were really being used for was definitely more devious.  And the U.S. was not alone.  The Soviet Navy, for example, had gone so far as to train dolphins to kill.  And in fact, had even been caught selling some of the animals to Iran in the early 2000s.

Clay trod lightly, noting Alison’s change in tone.  “As I understand it, the department does occasionally need to transport their dolphins…by air.”

“Yes.  I’ve heard that too.”

“Well, I’ve asked around,” he said.

Alison perked up, glancing at Chris as he turned back to look at her.  “Really?”

“Yep.  And you do know who has authority over the entire Navy, don’t you?”

“Secretary Miller?”

“That’s right.  Along with Admiral Langford.”

“Oh my God,” Alison gasped.  “Wouldn’t that just be perfect?!”

“Not to mention a little ironic.”

An excited Alison was now grinning from ear to ear.  “And that is why I’m in love with you.”

Clay laughed.  “I thought it was my cooking.”

She laughed with him, before suddenly stopping and almost staring into the phone.  “Wait.  You can cook?”

“Very funny.”

“I love your idea.  Although in the meantime, there’s something else Chris and I need to figure out here.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a long story, but the dolphins may not be telling us everything.  Especially the elders.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

She laughed and began to speak when something sounded from her vest.

Alison.

She looked down at the water to see Sally watching her.

“Sally!”

Alison had forgotten her vest was even on.  She immediately caught herself.  Oh no.  Did her vest translate any of her conversation with John?!

She watched Sally carefully but found the dolphin’s response showed no indication of it.

You come now.

Alison turned her attention back to the phone.  “Uh, John–”

Clay, who had been listening, grinned.  “I think that’s my cue.”

“I love you.”

“I know.  Have fun.”

Alison ended the call and continued observing Sally.  Normally, her excitement at an invitation was immediate.  But this time she hesitated.  She didn’t know what it was that was down there and it left her nervous.  She trusted Dirk and Sally implicitly, but it was also clear they were now receiving instructions directly from their elders.

And the elders seemed to be acting very differently.

***

Chris waited until she was off the phone before approaching, putting his good arm on the rail next to hers.  The ocean seemed to stretch out forever in front of them.  Eventually, it touched the pale blue sky at the horizon, through a thin, wispy layer of gray cloud.

Without a word, Chris reached out and carefully pressed the power button on Alison’s vest, turning it off.

“Listen,” he said.  “Since we’ve been catching each other up on everything…there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Is DeeAnn still in Africa?”

“Last I heard, yes.”

Chris nodded.  “Have you had any more conversations with her about that Big Brain Trio theory she told us about?”

“No, why?”

Chris shrugged.  “It was pretty boring in that hospital while I was recovering, so I did a bunch of reading.  To keep me distracted.”

“On what?”

“On a lot of things.  Everything, really.  So much has happened…” He turned back to the water.  “One of the things I thought was most interesting was that big brain theory.  It’s a very new theory and hasn’t gathered a lot of attention yet, but it’s true.  The similarities between the three brains really are startling.  She was certainly right about that.”

“And?”

“Look, I–” he paused.  “I think the world of DeeAnn.  You know that, right?”

Alison eyed him, curiously.  “What are you getting at, Chris?”

“What I’m getting at is that…I…don't think,” he paused again.  “What I’m trying to say, is I’m not sure if she’s been completely transparent with us.”

“What does that mean?”

He shook his head.  “I didn’t say that right.  What I meant to say is that she might not have told us everything.”

“DeeAnn?”

“Yes, DeeAnn.”

“As in DeeAnn Draper.”

“Yes!  DeeAnn Draper!” Chris said.  “The only person we know named DeeAnn!”

“Why don’t you think she told us everything?”

“I don’t mean about everything.  I just mean about the Big Brain Trio.”

Alison looked confused.  “This is starting to feel like an Abbott and Costello routine.”

“Sorry.  I’m not trying to drag this out.  I’m just trying to be careful here,” Chris said.  “Tell me what you remember of that theory.  Of how DeeAnn explained it.”

She stared briefly at him, trying to remember.  “Well…the three species all have brains that are extremely similar.  Too similar—both in their size and design—to be coincidental.”

“That’s right.  Three brains, all extremely similar and unlike any others, anywhere on the planet.  And what were the three species?”

Alison rolled her eyes.  “Really, Chris.  Is all this necessary?”

“Just humor me.”

She exhaled loudly.  “It was humans, primates, and dolphins.”

“Exactly!”

“Which is why we’re finding so many links between us.  Thanks to IMIS.”

“That’s right.  That’s exactly what I remember from what she told us.”

“Fine.  Great.  We remember the same thing.  Now tell me what this is all about.”

“Okay.  Here it is,” Chris said.  “I told you I was doing some reading.  It wasn’t like I was trying to fact check or anything.  I was genuinely fascinated.  So I studied up on all kinds of things, including the Big Brain Trio theory.  But here’s the thing.  What DeeAnn told us, is not what the theory says.”

“What?”

“It’s most of it.  But not all.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s more to it than that.”

“How much more?”

“Not a lot.  But what was left out is significant.  The three species are not humans, primates, and dolphins.”

“So, what then?  There’s four?”

“No, no.  There’s still only three, but humans and primates are not different species.  They are both one species, together.  So, it’s primates, dolphins, and another species.”

Alison stared at Chris.  “Humans and primates are the same?”

“That’s right.  The Big Brain Trio does not differentiate between them.  So either DeeAnn mistakenly misremembered when she told us about it, or she intentionally left out the third species.  For whatever reason.”

Alison frowned.  “I don’t think DeeAnn would lie to us.”

“I didn’t think so either.”

Alison stared at Chris for a long moment.  The warm breeze gently rustled through her hair.  “So, what is the third species?”

At that, Chris grinned widely.  “You might want to steady yourself because this is going to blow your mind!”

20

“Things are different now.  Not like before.”

DeeAnn Draper sat quietly in front of the young man, mulling over his words.  His name was Anjan Rudambage, whose tall and thin frame sat erect––though still relaxed, in the booth across from her.  His loose-fitting blue dress shirt helped to highlight his light brown skin, which was similar in color to that of Ethiopians and reflective of his Tutsi heritage.  The dark, square-framed glasses and high hairline gave the man an almost studious appearance.  A stark contrast to DeeAnn’s short, gray scattered hair and rumpled khaki pants, topped with a plain white T-shirt.

But Rudambage was no student.  He was in his mid-20’s and arguably one of the city of Kigali’s most respected journalists—even described by some as one of the best in all of Rwanda.

“Since the genocide, we have worked very hard to reestablish trust.  Both in our government and in our people.”  He reached forward and took a sip of iced tea, before instinctively pushing his glasses higher onto his nose.  “We are now the least corrupt of any East African nation.  It’s been proven and documented.”

DeeAnn grinned politely but remained quiet.  She knew enough about Rwanda to know what documentation the young man was referring to––surveys done by an international watchdog group called Transparency International.

“Some critics would claim that the reason your corruption is so low is because Rwanda has become more of a police state than anything else.”

Rudambage nodded.  “Yes.  That is true.  There are still many who fear the government, but that can be said for any country, can it not?  Even America.”

“Also true.”

“Ms. Draper, please.  My reputation is well known in Kigali.  Something I suspect you are already aware of.  I am trustworthy, regardless of what you might think of my country.  Are there still corrupt individuals in our system?  Yes.  But they are also well known.  And watched by many.  I can assure you that we in Rwanda are far more concerned with re-establishing our integrity than our secrets.”

DeeAnn studied Rudambage again before finally nodding.  “I believe you.  And you’re right, I have had some friends look into you.  I suppose if I can’t trust you…”

The confident journalist smiled sincerely.  “Then you cannot trust anyone.”

She smiled with him, revealing a softness in her brown eyes, matched by middle-aged and still attractive features.  She then glanced out the café window, past the tiny parking lot, and to another gravel lot just beyond.  There she could see the figure of Ronin standing beside their Jeep, waiting patiently.  Sitting inside, both Dulce and Dexter munched contently on a meal of kale and celery.   She almost giggled at the sight.  Ronin, dressed in a long-sleeve orange T-shirt and tan shorts, managed to appear both natural and uncomfortable at the same time.

She turned back to Rudambage who was waiting quietly.  “How much do you know about Dian Fossey?”

His brow raised with surprise.  “Her research is well documented.  And the Karisoke Research Center is not far from here.  It is a very popular destination for many students in the surrounding area.”

“I mean what do you know of her death?”

“Oh,” the man paused.  “Well, I know about her murder and that there was no conclusive evidence during the investigation.  Is that what you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Most journalists are familiar with her story.  They called her the Mountain Lady.”

“Yes, I know,” DeeAnn replied calmly.  “But she knew who did it.  And wrote about it.”

Rudambage lifted one eyebrow.  “What?”

“I said she wrote down who was harassing her and who ultimately killed her.”

“Are you sure?”  The young man leaned forward, intrigued.  “How do you know this?”

“Because I have her diaries, including those with her very last entries.”

She watched as the fascination in his eyes slowly gave way to doubt.

“How is this possible?”

“The journals have been in the hands of an old man for the last thirty years.  A recluse up in the mountains, hidden not far from where her original cabin was.”

“Is…this true?”

DeeAnn nodded.  “She knew exactly who was taunting her, and on the evening of her death, she spotted them coming for her.  Then she made a short diary entry before quickly hiding it.”

“What was the last entry?”

“It was just two words.  A name.  But the rest of the diary lays it all out.”

The young man stared at DeeAnn for a long time through his glasses before finally blinking and straightening back up in his seat.   He glanced around at the other patrons in the café and lowered his voice.  “And you will tell me this?”

“I’ll do more than that,” DeeAnn replied.  “I’ll loan you the journals.”

Rudambage’s eyes opened wide with excitement.  “You will let me borrow them?  The originals?”

“Yes.  But not yet.  I will hand them over once a new investigation has been opened.”  She turned and reached into her pack, pulling out a thick stack of paper, neatly bound at the top.  “This is a copy of most of the pages from her journals.  The quality should be more than good enough to have the handwriting verified as hers.  Once an official investigation is opened, I’ll give you the originals for authenticating.”

Rudambage took the stack and looked at the first page.  Then the next and the next.  He looked back up with eyes that were unable to hide his astonishment.  “Ms. Draper,  you will not be sorry to have chosen me.  I have enough contacts that I can promise you an investigation will be re-opened.  Some people would very much like to see this case solved.  To show the world that we are a proud and fair nation.  An ethical nation…that can be trusted.”

“I hope so,” replied DeeAnn seriously.  “Because if you don’t, I’ll be back.”

The young reporter nodded eagerly, then returned his attention to the papers.

Focusing her attention out the window again, DeeAnn found Ronin and the primates still outside waiting. He looked like he hadn’t moved at all.

She hoped she had found the right person in Anjan Rudambage.  Someone who would help her finally bring justice to the killers, both for Dian Fossey’s sake and her own.

Because now there was something else calling to her.  Something just as important…and just as earth-shattering.

21

The outside door opened wide, briefly drenching the hallway with bright sunlight.  Steve Caesare’s broad outline stepped inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.  He turned, and with his free hand, locked the door behind him before continuing down the hallway.

On the phone, John Clay continued listening to his voicemails.  He watched his partner enter their small hospital room to find himself and Neely Lawton, still in front of her laptop.

“Chow’s on,” he announced, withdrawing a wrapped sandwich from a large bag.  “Egg salad and iced tea,” he said, reaching back in for the bottle.

“Thank you,” Neely said gratefully, lowering both items down on the chrome table in front of her.

Caesare continued to unload several more sandwiches, followed by more bottles, before folding the bag and tossing it aside.  He picked one of the white packages back up and unwrapped it, taking a large bite of corned beef.  He pulled his hand back and stared at the sandwich with a look of surprise.

“Good?”

“Really good,” Caesare nodded.  He winked at her and sat down in a chair.  “Maybe we should stay a while.”

Neely chuckled.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not up to us.”

“It never is.”  He leaned back and unwrapped more of his lunch.  “Anything new?”

“You’ve only been gone forty-five minutes,” she teased.  “But no.  Nothing new.  The problem with genetic research is that it’s mostly long stretches of boredom interrupted by occasional moments of excitement.”

“Ha.  I’ve heard airplane pilots say the same thing.  But the moments of excitement are described as sudden bursts of terror.”

She laughed.  “I suppose I should count myself lucky.”

“Very.  After all, you get to work with totally amazing guys like Clay and me.  How many girls can say that?”

“Clearly, not enough,” she chided.  “Are you feeling better?”

Caesare shrugged.  “We’re used to running on limited sleep.  It doesn’t bother me, but it tends to make Clay a little pissy.”

Neely laughed again.  This time she opened her eyes wide in surprise, looking for Clay’s reaction as he stepped forward to pick up a sandwich.  “Does it ever end with you two?”

“Not really,” Clay said.  “But it does make bad situations a little more bearable.”

“I’m sure you’ve been through your share.”

“More than we can count,” Caesare admitted.

Neely reached forward for her own sandwich and neatly unwrapped half of it.  “Can I ask you two a question?”

“Sure.”

“This may sound a little strange, but you’re both ex-SEALs, right?”

“Rumor has it,” chirped Caesare, swallowing another bite.

“Well, you don’t exactly strike me as the killer type.  You know, with the kill first, ask questions later mentality.”

Clay shrugged, almost nonchalantly.  “We’ve had to fight our way out of a few bad situations.  Mostly in our past lives.”

Neely chewed, listening to his response, then shook her head.  “I bet it was more than a few.  But that’s not what I mean.  I’ve met SEALs before, and you’re not like the others.  Killing doesn’t seem to be your first instinct.”

“When it’s life or death it is.”

Next to Caesare, Clay studied the expression on her face with curiosity.  “Is there something bothering you?”

Neely hesitated before answering.  “When I was on the Pathfinder, during the attack, I knew those Russian soldiers were coming directly to the lab.  They knew what they were after.  And I was in the room with Will and Lee, with a gun.”  Her voice began to trail, almost as if she were talking to herself.  “I was ready to defend it.  Or at least I thought I was.”

She looked back up.  “I felt real fear at that moment.  So much that something inside me wasn’t sure I really would have pulled the trigger.”

Both men’s expressions softened, and they stopped chewing.

“I’ve never been faced with the possibility of taking a life before.  I’ve been close but not that close.  And the fear was almost overwhelming.”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds,” Clay said solemnly.

“And it sure ain’t glorious,” added Caesare.  “Ever.”

“Not even for us.”

Neely blinked slowly, thinking.  “Have either one of you ever frozen up?”

Clay and Caesare looked at each other and shook their heads.  “No.  As a SEAL, hesitation gets trained out of you pretty quickly.  But it comes at a cost.”

“What do you mean?”

“Killing another person takes a psychological toll,” Clay said.  “No matter who you are.  And for some, worse than others.  They try to train that out of you too, but they can’t.  Not entirely.”

Caesare nodded in agreement.  “It’s always there.  And you never forget.”

“Really?”

“Really.  It never goes away.  It only builds, slowly, and eats away at you.”

“What does that mean?”

Caesare balled up the wrapper in his hands and glanced in Clay’s direction again.  “Everybody has different thresholds.”

“And different histories.”

“Like McAuley.”  He turned to Neely.  “He was a guy in our unit.  Tough dude.  And big.  But he’d been involved in some bad stuff, long before joining the Navy.  And the SEALs put you through a lot of intense psychological stress to make sure you have what it takes.  Not just physically, but in here.”  He tapped the side of his head.  “In fact, towards the end, it all becomes psychological.  They really do a number on you.  So it’s not unusual for things to start seeping out.  Whether you like it or not.”

“What seeps out?”

“Everyone’s psychological baggage.”

“And this happened with your teammate?” Neely asked.

“Yeah.  McAuley was having a hard time keeping things together.  As it turns out, he’d been involved with a group of guys back home who preyed on some big-time drug dealers.  The worst of the worst.  The group was headed by an ex-narcotics cop who’d been thrown off the force.  I guess once off the force and out of a job, this guy rounded up a bunch of friends, including McAuley, and started hitting drug houses.  Killing the pushers and stealing their cash.  We always thought McAuley was high strung but didn’t know why until he finally started to crack.”  Caesare shrugged.  “In a perverse way, some people would consider that noble.  Who wouldn’t want fewer scumbags pushing drugs on our kids?  But for McAuley, the cost was steep.  He was continually haunted by the faces of those drug dealers he’d murdered.  He said he could remember every single one.  And not only did the guilt not go away, it got worse.  Until he couldn’t even sleep anymore.  They eventually had to pull him from the team.  Rumor has it he ended up in a psych ward upstate in California.”

Neely blinked again.  “Wow.”

“The point is,” Clay said, “that killing someone doesn’t just take a toll on your mind, it also takes a toll on your soul.  For everyone.  No matter what the circumstances, or the justification.  For a small percentage of twisted individuals out there, it’s different.  But for the rest of us, the cost is very real.  And it affects everyone differently.”

Caesare’s expression grew solemn.  “I can’t speak for John, but I can remember almost every gunfight I’ve ever been in.  And those are not pleasant memories.  I’ve seen enough death to last me a lifetime, and sometimes I have nightmares too, just like McAuley did.  As far as I’m concerned, my soul is dark enough, and I’m old enough to know I don’t want to make it any darker unless I have to.  It’s like what you always say, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.  In anything.”

Caesare then stood up and gave Neely a sympathetic wink.  “And I’ll tell you this, it’s not something you want to be in any hurry for.  But don’t worry about the fear.  If the situation is dire enough, your body will know when it needs to pull that trigger.  Unfortunately, that’s the easy part.”

22

Neely stared quietly up at Caesare, then Clay standing beside him.  She didn’t utter a word, thinking about what they had said.  It was strangely comforting.  And inside, she smiled.

She found herself continually surprised at the men these two were turning out to be.  They were very different from the other military types she had known and a world apart from the one to whom she was once married.

The silence in the room was abruptly interrupted by a pounding on the door to the outside.  Both men turned and instantly withdrew their guns.

Clay was the first to the doorway, sneaking a look down the hallway toward the exterior door, then back the other way.  He moved smoothly out and across to the opposite wall, sidestepping into another doorway.  Caesare took Clay’s spot with his .45 trained directly on the door.

Several seconds later, the pounding repeated.  Louder, this time.  Clay glanced back at Caesare and nodded, swiftly moving forward until he was just a few feet away.

Alternating in perfect unison, Caesare moved out and positioned himself closer, still maintaining a direct line of sight on the door.  When he nodded, Clay shifted his position once more, passing quickly in front and to the opposite side, where he placed a hand on the door’s handle.  Needing both hands, he replaced his gun inside his belt and reached forward.  He looked to Caesare and mouthed the word three.

Three.

Two.

One.

Clay turned the deadbolt lock and pulled simultaneously on the handle, yanking it open directly inside Caesare’s line of fire.

Steve Caesare peered intently through the sights of his gun to find a silhouette standing motionlessly in the bright sun.  Clay’s gun was instantly back out, targeting the stranger’s chest.

“Finally,” the man said.  He glanced at both gun barrels without flinching.  “If this is how you greet friends, the pizza guy must have pissed himself.”

It was a voice Caesare recognized.

The man at the door stepped back, allowing the sun to show his hair and part of his face.

As soon as he did, Caesare grinned and relaxed.  “Son of a bitch.  Tiewater.”

The man, still partly shadowed, smiled broadly.  “In the flesh.”

Clay lowered his gun only slightly, allowing Tiewater to step carefully forward.  Once inside the doorframe, the interior light revealed his full features––including a tanned face with dark eyebrows and short, prematurely graying hair.  Raising his hands, Tiewater gave Caesare a slight shrug.  “Surprise.”

Caesare replaced his gun and grinned.  “Clay, allow me to introduce you to Petty Officer Tiewater.  One of the few men dumb enough to go back to South America with me.”

Clay smiled and glanced outside over Tiewater’s shoulder before lowering his own gun.

“And I’m clearly not any brighter now,” Tiewater said.  He then turned and extended a hand.  “Nice to meet you, Commander.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Clay shook.  “Hopefully from someone other than Steve.  To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m part of your reinforcements.  Sent by Admiral Langford.  First assignment after my trip with Caesare.  When someone dropped a damn bomb on us.”

“Anyone else with you?”

“Just me so far.  But more are coming.”

“Excellent,” Caesare replied.  He approached to shake hands.  “You look as good as new.”

Tiewater, slightly shorter, shook and twisted to allow a large bag to slide off his back.  He dropped it onto the floor with a thud.  “Glad I finally found ya.  The admiral doesn’t exactly give the best directions.”  Tiewater looked up and down both hallways, noting the new equipment lining the sides, most of which was still wrapped.   “Nice digs.  Nicer than most places we’ve been.  What’s the situation?”

“At the moment, we’re simply security detail.  Protecting a girl being hunted by just about everyone in China.”

Tiewater glanced back to his left, peering closer at the large window of Li Na’s room.  He turned back when Neely emerged from the first room down the hall.

“Is it safe?”

Caesare nodded.  “Tie, this is Commander Lawton.  Lead science officer on the Bowditch.  Now part of the Pathfinder’s crew.”

Several years her junior, the younger Tiewater shook Neely’s hand respectfully.  “Commander.”

“Mr. Tiewater.”  She smiled politely and turned to Caesare.  “I need to check on Dr. Kanna.”

The three men nodded.  When she was far enough away, Tiewater gave a quiet whistle.  “Nice scenery you got here.”

“Yeah.  Don’t get your hopes up.”

***

Several hours later, Dr. Kanna was interrupted a second time by Neely.  This time, it was when she stepped into the room followed by another woman.  Tall and slender, the woman wore her hair tied back neatly into a braid.  Her features were striking, especially her dark eyelashes and speckled blue eyes.

“Doctor, this is Tricia Rhoades.  She’s come to provide you some much needed medical relief.”

A tired Kanna turned and grinned, reaching out for her hand.  “You are a welcome sight.”

Tricia’s response was polite and more than a little sympathetic.  “Sorry it took so long, but Admiral Langford sends his regards.  I hear you’ve been burning the midnight oil.”  She looked past him at Li Na, still unconscious, with her bed partially raised.   “How’s our patient?”

“Better than expected,” he said.  “I’m in the process of weaning her off the vent now.  As well as the thiopental.”

Kanna walked to the bed and retrieved a chart, handing it to Tricia.  “Seventeen-year-old female and a pretty unusual case.  Was in a medically induced coma as a result of acute neurological trauma.  She’s almost completely off the vent and looking stable.”

Tricia nodded and continued listening as she read down the chart.

“Respiratory function is good.  No signs of infection.  Cardiovascular is stable.”

“I’m impressed.  How’s her GI?”

“GI is unremarkable.  GU is normal.  And no skin breakdown.”

“None?!” Tricia looked back to Li Na in astonishment.  “That’s surprising.”

Kanna nodded in agreement.  “Like I said, pretty unusual.”

The female doctor walked forward and looked the girl over.  Li Na’s eyes remained closed and her breathing calm.  She then turned back around.  “So what happened to her?”

Standing beside Dr. Kanna, Neely Lawton frowned.  “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’m sure.”  Tricia returned the chart and put a hand on Kanna’s arm.  “Why don’t you get some rest?  You look like you need it.  Commander Lawton can fill me in.”

Kanna’s tired posture seemed to sink visibly, and he grinned appreciatively.  “That is music to my ears.”

***

It took Dr. Kanna just a few minutes to wrap up before heading out to one of their makeshift bunks.  Both women watched the door close quietly behind him before they turned back to Li Na.

Neely sighed.  “So, how much do you know?”

“Not too much yet.  Some details on her escape out of China, experiencing some neurological problems.  And all going back to that secret excavation in South America, as I understand it. Admiral Langford left it there and said I should prepare myself for a surprising story when I got here.”

Neely shrugged humorously.  “That’s an understatement. How familiar are you with medical genetics?”

“Not much.  Probably enough to dislike some pharmaceutical companies.”  Tricia grinned.  “Of course, they’re not all bad.”

“Agreed.”  Neely nodded then took a deep breath.  “Let’s just say that what the Chinese discovered in South America has been nothing short of…extraordinary.  In fact–”

Tricia abruptly held up a hand.  “One sec,” she said, motioning to Li Na.  “Does she speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should continue this outside.  She may already be able to hear us.”

“Right.”  Neely glanced affectionately at Li Na before turning and leading the way out.  As she stepped into the hall and turned to watch Tricia ease the door shut behind her, it struck Neely that Admiral Langford was right.

Trying to explain this story was no small feat.  She thought for a moment and decided, for brevity’s sake, to skip the part about the alien ship, submerged underwater barely a hundred miles away.  That was where the story really got crazy.

23

For Elgin Tay, the situation was not just crazy, it had become a fight for survival.

Trying to both fight through the pain and conserve precious energy, he swam gently forward in complete darkness, now far enough away from the wall that the echoes had disappeared.  Their absence replaced by the sound of a soft rippling turbulence around his arms and shoulders, accompanied by a heightened fear of running face first into something at any moment.  A something he wouldn’t be able to see until it was too late.

The one comfort he still had was the glowing object in front of him, drawing nearer ever so slowly.  It was still too hazy to identify, but he could see now that the glow seemed to be pulsing.  Not much, just a soft increase in brightness before fading again, only to brighten once more a few moments later.

He stopped and managed to tread water for a minute, trying to do some quick math in his head.  Judging from the measuring he’d done against the wall, he now estimated the center to be just over a tenth of a mile.  That meant he had to be getting closer, even if slowly.

Tay stared intently through the blackness. Fighting to keep himself still, he was sure whatever it was did look closer, and larger.  He was much closer.  Closer than he thought.

And then he saw it.  He hadn’t noticed it before, but a faint line stood out from beneath the flickering glow.  Indicating that whatever he was looking at…appeared to be bobbing in the water.

Tay tried to keep his eyes fixed with every stroke, spitting air and water back out in front of him.

Yes.  There was something floating there.  And it was close.  The reflective glow around it looked soft, but the edge of the object itself had a sharper outline.

He swam faster.  In less than a minute, he closed the distance and found himself almost right on top of the object.

It was big, and when Tay realized what it was, he was elated.  Wood.  A large piece, not much longer than his own body length, and probably ten to twelve inches in diameter.  Not quite large enough to float on, but it was real, and he could touch it.

Now he could see where the light was coming from.  The water was gently pushing the wood against another surface in the darkness, bumping it with enough pressure that the wood created a soft glow down its entire length each time it made contact.  Providing a gentle push, the ripples softened momentarily––allowing the narrow log to drift away before rhythmically being pushed again into the hull.

Tay wasted no time pulling the log out of the way and touching the black surface behind it.  A larger glow appeared, this time from his own hand.  Just like with the outer wall, but this surface felt different.  He could still feel the subtle impressions of the hexagons, but this surface felt cooler.   And not as smooth.  Even irregular.

At the same moment he had his thought, Tay jumped as his hand ran across something else in the metal.  One that felt like a seam.

***

He searched desperately along the wall, quickly finding a second seam.  Both had sharp and pronounced edges, rising one to two inches from the rest of the surface, or so it seemed.  It was very different compared to anything else he had felt in the ship.  And both sides felt exactly the same.

He estimated the distance between each line to be roughly five feet.  Maybe six.  And while he wanted to search more, he found himself more excited about the piece of driftwood.  How it had gotten in there, he had no idea.  Perhaps it had been trapped underwater, against the coral, and had been freed during the explosion that sucked him into the ship.  He had no idea.

Frankly, he didn’t care.  What was important was that he had the log now…and he knew exactly what to do with it.

24

Hello Alison.

“Hello, Sally.  How are you?”

Me happy.  How you?

Alison smiled inside her mask. “Better.”  The symptoms from her decompression sickness were fading, which was a relief.  She stared at Sally without saying anything, trying to sense whether there was anything else there.  There wasn’t.  Whatever the strange sensation was that she’d felt the last time was gone.  She decided it must have been her.   Most likely side effects from her sickness.

Alison.  You happy?

“Yes,” she responded, more relaxed this time.  “I’m fine.  I was just checking something.”

A sharp tone sounded in her ear.  IMIS did not understand the word checking.  She ignored it.  “How are you feeling, Sally?”

Me many happy.  Sally pumped her tail.  Me mother.

“That’s wonderful, Sally.”

Another error.

“That is very good,” she rephrased.  “I am very happy for you.  We are all very happy.”

Dirk happy.

Alison grinned.  I bet he is, she thought.  The proud father.  “How long, Sally?”

Alison waited for the response, testing to see if Sally would understand her question.

No long Alison.

Alison almost chuckled.  She clearly understood the context.  After all, dolphin pregnancies were only slightly longer than that of humans, which was something else that seemed uncannily similar between both species.  In fact, there were more similarities than most people knew, beginning with their advanced abilities in social networking.  One very strange fact even suggested a much more controversial hypothesis called the re-entrant theory.  Due to the numerous remnant hand and leg bones in a dolphin’s fins, some researchers suggested that ancestors of the cetacean species may at one time have been able to move over land.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling well,” she replied.

This time Sally did not answer.  Alison let it go and looked on through the darkness at the dozens of other dolphins swimming past––no doubt listening to her and Sally with curiosity.

“Where’s Dirk?”

He gone.  Come back.

“I see.  What about your elders?  Where are they?”

They talk.

Alison nodded to herself.  Of course they were.

After a pause, Sally spoke again.   You help us, Alison.  Yes?

“I will help if I can.”

At that, Sally pushed playfully past her.  You friend, Alison.  She came around the other side and gently bumped Alison’s hand.  We play.

“Sure.  Let’s play.”  Alison kicked forward and grabbed the top of Sally’s dorsal fin as the dolphin pumped her tail hard, pulling Alison along with her.

She loved swimming with Dirk, but there was something special for Alison when she was with Sally.  It was a connection that she just couldn’t describe.  And it was clearly mutual.  Somehow, even with only a limited vocabulary, the two seemed to understand each other.  If not simply by the words alone, then it was by something much less tangible––like an innate feeling or an improvement in their ability to read each other’s subtle expressions.  After all, the longer someone spent with another person, or even another animal for that matter, the better they became at reading them.

Of course, reading dolphins was particularly difficult given their limited facial expressions.  DeeAnn had a much easier job learning to read Dulce than Alison had reading Dirk and Sally.  But eventually, even she could detect subtle differences, which actually made the birth of the IMIS system possible.  After all, if people could learn to read animals instinctively, it shouldn’t be that much of a stretch to eventually figure out their words.

She thought of Frank Dubois—her boss and mentor and the one who had originally come up with the idea.  It was one of the phrases she remembered him using when talking about his grand vision.  If we can read animals, why can’t we teach a computer to do it?

Alison kicked her fins, working to keep up with Sally, who swam almost effortlessly through the dark water.  The pair gradually descended until she could see the green glow of the plants beneath them.  They were not only stunning but endless, spreading in all directions.

It was here that an almost accidental discovery…had put two entirely different worlds on one deeply interconnected path.

And the view was just as incredible as the first time Alison had seen it.

This time, transient clouds overhead allowed the sunlight to beam down over the surface––creating curtains of light that shimmered and wove through the rich blue water.

Walls of dolphins and fish were literally everywhere, darting in and out of the brilliant coral.  They swam through hundreds of orange fire coral rising in the distance, closer to the surface and shaped like giant flat flowers.  There, just above, dozens of silhouetted sea turtles passed overhead before Alison glanced forward again, securing her grip on Sally’s fin.

Sally made a sound that Alison’s vest could not capture moments before she rotated into a barrel roll, causing Alison to slip off.  When Sally circled back around, she laughed.

Alison.  You no strong.

“Very funny.”  Alison grinned.  You’re beginning to sound like Dirk.  In truth, Dirk was much stronger and faster, even more than Sally.  So much so, that holding onto him was almost impossible once he really got going.  The only person she’d seen successfully hold onto Dirk the whole time was John.

Alison grabbed hold again, and Sally accelerated.  She veered sharply when a large pod of dolphins passed by, joining in behind.  Alison looked incredulously back and forth at the others, all swimming together tightly in formation.  They were amazing in both grace and strength.

“Wooow,” Alison whispered.

Alison.  You happy?

She smiled.  It was Sally’s way of making sure she was okay.

“I’m fine, Sally.  Really, really fine.”

***

Alison did not immediately notice when Sally began to slow, primarily because the entire group did so in unison.  But once she felt the surge in water pressure from behind, Alison quickly looked up.  Many of the dolphins, both in and out of the group, were turning in the same direction.

“What it is, Sally?”

Sally continued to reduce her speed, eventually turning out of the pack and into the open.  Now all of the dolphins were turning.

Talk Alison.

Alison could not hear any of it.  “What kind of talk?”

Sally didn’t reply.  Instead, she remained still, listening.

Lee had long since adjusted the code for multiple conversations, but fragmented messages were still a problem for IMIS, leaving Alison unable to hear most of what was happening.  All she could make out were very brief snippets of largely unintelligible noise.

But it made her think of something else.  Something she considered fascinating.  Noise traveled faster underwater, she knew that.  It was denser and therefore more conducive.  It also traveled much farther.  And it made her wonder what that meant for their communication abilities—not just between each other but within a very large group.

Of course, dolphins could talk to each other.  They already knew that. But given the medium of water for communication, as opposed to air for humans, Alison wondered just how far that communication could go.  How far could some of their messages travel, especially if relayed from dolphin to dolphin?  And if they could relay messages long distances with the help provided by water, could a message be passed globally?!

It was a stunning concept, one with profound implications.  And one that was promptly interrupted when Sally finally responded.

Sounds, Alison.

“Yes, I know.”

No, Alison.  No talk.  Sounds.

Alison furrowed her eyebrows.  “Sounds?  What do you mean?”

Sounds below.  Talks say sounds below.

She was still confused.  “I don’t understand.”

Like before.  More many.

Alison paused, thinking.  “Chris, can you still hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Are you hearing this?”

“I am.”

“Any ideas?”

Back on the ship, Chris shook his head.  “Not really.  What does she mean by like before?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can she describe them?”

“Sally, can you describe the sounds?”

Sally remained quiet, continuing to listen.  Long quiet short, the dolphin replied.  Long quiet long short long long.

Alison blinked inside her mask, thinking and repeating the words to herself.  Long quiet short, she thought.  That didn’t make any–  “Wait!” Alison suddenly remembered that pattern.  And nearly screamed into her microphone.  “Chris!  Get a pencil!”

***

The door to the small communications room burst open and slammed against the bulkhead wall with a thunderous bang.  Chris barely noticed as he leaped through the narrow doorway and raced down the short hallway to the outside hatch.  When he reached it, he threw open the second door with just as much urgency and darted out onto the metal grating outside.  He gripped the rail with his good hand and searched up and down the walkway with a look of panic.

When he spotted what he was looking for, Chris took off running again toward the first aft ladder, where he descended as quickly as he could.  He rushed further back along the main deck until he reached the second ladder and went down again.  Finally, he made it onto the ship’s stern where the engineers were still working on the drill.

Captain Emerson was standing nearby, observing the progress and speaking with another officer.

“Captain!” Chris screamed breathlessly.  “CAPTAIN!”

Emerson turned at the commotion, wearing a frown of consternation.  He watched Chris quickly cover the distance before shoving something into his hands.

“Ramirez.  What in God’s name–”

“Read this!” Chris yelled with excitement, pointing down at the paper.  “The dolphins are hearing something down there.  Read it!”

Emerson stared at Chris before lowering his head and reading.  “This is Morse Code.”

“Yes, it is!”

It took Emerson only a moment to convert the eight characters in his head.  When he did, he looked back at Chris with wide eyes.  “Is this right?!”

“Yes,” Chris exclaimed, “we verified it!”

Emerson immediately turned and barked at the group of men behind him.  “Corbin!  Beene!”

Two of the men raised their heads and looked at the captain.

“Get your gear on!  Now!”  He pointed to the rest of the men.  “Everyone, stop what you’re doing!  Get these men into the water…RIGHT THIS MINUTE!”

The men immediately began to scramble, while Emerson looked at Chris then back down at the piece of paper.  His Morse Code may have been rusty, but the letters on the paper could not have been clearer.

T-A-Y A-L-I-V-E

25

Inside the ship, Tay dropped the log and wiped a veil of sweat from his forehead with his arm.  He was going to have to do this in shifts.  Banging hard and methodically against the wall for the last half hour had been exhausting.  His arms and back ached, partially from repeatedly swinging the log and the rest from being without food for two days.  He could feel the gradual depletion of his energy reserves.

There was no doubt he’d used up all of his glycogen stores and was now burning every last bit of fat his body could find before it was forced to begin burning muscle.  With some effort, he lowered the log and dropped it onto the shelf beneath his feet, wincing when he accidentally scraped a swath of skin off his right shin.  At least that’s what the pain felt like.  He prodded gently with his fingertips and could feel wetness emerging from the wound.

It didn’t feel severe, but Tay could not completely trust his brain.  He could feel exhaustion setting in sooner than it had before.  And more completely at this point, almost from head to toe.

Tay wasn’t sure about the thickness of the outside wall in front of him, but the acoustics of the water on the other side would give him at least a small chance of being heard.

Now he had to wait and rest before trying it again.  His hunger pangs and rapidly depleting energy told Tay he had only a couple more days before he would probably no longer be able to lift the log.

Technically he could last another couple weeks without food as long as he found more water.  But it didn’t mean his body would be able to do much.

He lowered himself onto the ledge and leaned back weakly, against the cool wall.  Someone had to hear him.  They had to.  Because if they didn’t…he was going to die inside this thing.

26

Alison returned to the Pathfinder just in time to see two muscular figures jump from the ship’s stern, splashing into the water almost simultaneously.

Chris’s voice sounded through her earbuds.  “Two divers are in the water, Ali!”

“I see them.  Can you patch me through?”

Chris scanned the computer screen and then the equipment around him, raising his hands helplessly.  “How?”

“Where is everybody?”

Before Chris could reply, the door opened and Ensign Evred Smith, known to the crew as Smitty, rushed in.  Another of the ship’s engineers, Smitty moved to the communication console behind Chris, immediately grabbing the microphone and calling to the divers.

“Beene, Corbin.  You there?”

“Affirmative.”

“How are things looking?”

“Good,” replied Corbin.  Beene spoke up next.  “No problems, we’re heading down.”

“Hey, hey,” Chris said, gesturing urgently back to his own monitor. “We have to tie them in with Alison!”

Smitty’s expression seemed to indicate he’d only just become aware that Chris was in the room.  “Sorry.  Unfortunately, the systems aren’t connected.  I’d need more time to do that.  Where is she now?”

Chris returned to his microphone.  “Alison.  Where are you?”  He reached forward and pulled his headphones out of the jack, simultaneously turning up the speaker’s volume.

“I’m near the bow.  I just saw the other two go in.”  After a pause, she continued.  “I’m watching them now.  Tell them to look up!”

“Beene, Corbin.  Look up.  Do you see Dr. Shaw?”

There was another pause before Beene’s voice replied.  “Affirmative.  She’s about fifteen feet above us.  Tell her to lead the way.”

Smitty nodded and motioned to Chris, who relayed the message.

Below the surface, Alison nodded and quickly swam to Sally, gripping her dorsal fin as firmly as she could.  “Take us to the noise, Sally.  Quickly!”

Sally instantly surged forward, darting straight down through the water.  She took only seconds to pass Beene and Corbin.

“Jesus!” cried Beene over the speaker.  “Tell her to slow down.”

“Ali, you gotta slow down.  You’re going to lose them.”

Alison looked up to see both men quickly shrinking in size behind her.  “Slower, Sally.  Slow.  Men must follow.”

Sally eased up in response, coasting to a stop until they caught up.  When they did, Sally surged forward, almost losing them again.

Sally continued downward along with dozens of other dolphins, all mingling back and forth on either side of her.  The sunlight from above was quickly beginning to fade, eliminating most other colors around them and leaving a deep rich blue.

Alison, like Beene and Corbin, repeatedly equalized the pressure in her ears as they continued downward.  They finally reached the nearest exposed section of the alien ship at about seventy feet.

When Sally did not slow, Chris called out to Alison.

“You got to slow down, Ali!  Smitty says Beene and Corbin are wearing standard SCUBA gear, so their air is going to get used up fast.”

“How far can they go?”

After a pause, Chris responded.  “He says probably not more than a hundred feet.  Otherwise, they won’t have enough in their tanks to verify anything.”

She nodded.  “Sally, not too much deeper.”

Okay, Alison.

She studied her dive watch and pulled back gently on Sally’s dorsal fin at ninety feet.  She turned to search for the men and was nearly blinded when Beene turned on a giant light he held in both hands.  Behind him, Corbin’s silhouette seemed to be carrying something smaller and heavier.

“Ali, they want to know how close we are to the sounds the dolphins heard.”

“Okay.  Sally, how close are we to the sounds?”

Sally drifted in place, listening again.  Sounds gone, Alison.  They below.  Three clicks.

Alison tried to remember how far the dolphins explained a click to be.  Chris was trying to remember the same thing and replied first.  “I think that’s about a hundred feet deeper.  Maybe more.”

“Right.  Tell the guys and let them know the dolphins aren’t hearing the sounds anymore.”

“Okay.  Stand by.”

Through her headphones, Alison could detect pieces of the exchange between Smitty and the two men now passing her on her left.  Both stopped at the wall at which point Beene directed his underwater light.  Beside him, Corbin continued a few feet further down before halting his descent.

“Alison,” Chris said, “ask the dolphins to listen for the sounds again.  There’s a good chance you three still aren’t deep enough to hear it.  We’re going to need them to relay the patterns back to us.”

She nodded.  “Sally, please tell the others to listen for the sounds.  We need to know if you hear it again.”

We listen, Alison.  With that, Sally spoke a long unintelligible sequence that IMIS could not understand.

In the glow of the bright lamp, Corbin nodded to Beene and held up a large, heavy pipe.  Grasping it with both hands, he swung it hard, slamming one end against the wall.  After a few moments, he did it again.

He waited several long seconds before he resumed pounding, this time faster and in a pattern.  Morse Code.

T-A-Y  T-A-Y  P-A-T-H-F-I-N-D-E-R  R-E-S-P-O-N-D

Tay was well over a hundred feet below but heard the pounding on the wall immediately.  Echoing down from above.

He suddenly scrambled to his feet in the darkness, almost slipping off the side of the ledge, and listened intently.  When the pattern ended, he felt excitedly around his feet for the log and picked it up.  His exhaustion was no match for the adrenaline now coursing through his body.

Whoever was talking to him was at a much higher level than he was, so he pounded with everything he had.

T-A-Y  A-L-I-V-E  I-N-S-I-D-E  S-H-I-P

Tay waited several minutes for a reply but heard nothing.  Only silence.  He hefted the log again and was ready to repeat the message when he heard more pounding overhead.

P-A-T-I-E-N-T  D-O-L-P-H-I-N-S  R-E-P-E-A-T-I-N-G

It was when he’d heard the last letter that Tay screamed excitedly in the darkness.  It was the dolphins that heard him!  The dolphins heard him!

He almost laughed.  Man, did he love those dolphins!

U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D

After another long pause, a new message sounded above him.

G-I-V-E  C-O-N-D-I-T-I-O-N

Tay began replying immediately.

F-U-N-C-T-I-O-N-A-L  S-O-M-E  W-A-T-E-R  N-O F-O-O-D

U-N-D-E-R-S-T-O-O-D  R-E-P-A-I-R-I-N-G  D-R-I-L-L  A-S-A-P

Tay’s reply was short.

H-U-R-R-Y

R-E-S-T  B-A-C-K  S-O-O-N

O-K

With that, Tay lowered the log and slid down against the wall.  All sound had disappeared except for the gentle lapping of water around him, unseen in the darkness.

He couldn’t believe it.  He now had a fighting chance.  No, better than a fighting chance.  He’d been part of Captain Emerson’s crew for several years now, and one thing he knew about the old sea dog was that if Emerson knew he was alive, the man would do absolutely anything he could to rescue one of his own.

27

Tay could not have been more right about Emerson, his determination reflected at that moment in the Captain’s steely eyes.  Eyes that were carefully scrutinizing the three men standing in front of him.

All three were engineers from one of the nearby destroyer ships.  They had been assigned to help the Pathfinder in any way they could, without asking too many questions.  Each now faced Captain Emerson with a look of curiosity that was quickly turning into concern.

Emerson frowned thoughtfully through a typically gruff exterior, with hands behind his back.  His lean frame was dressed neatly in his pressed Navy whites.  The ocean swells outside caused the bridge of the ship to sway slightly, while large droplets of rain peppered the large clear windows behind him.

The tallest of the engineers, a man called Odonnell, glanced at Emerson’s Executive Officer, standing next to the captain, and noticed his sidearm.

“Gentlemen,” Emerson began.  “I’ve been given the option of reassigning you to the Pathfinder’s crew.  Which I am now activating.  Your things will be sent over shortly, and quarters will be assigned personally by my XO, Mr. Harris here.  I probably don’t need to tell you that my ship and crew are part of a highly classified mission that will require an upgrade in your security clearance.  You’ll be briefed shortly.  But before that, I need to make something exceedingly clear.  We have a man trapped below the surface.  So as of this moment, you—as well as this ship—have one priority and one priority only.  You will fix that drill as fast as humanly possible, and then assist in an underwater rescue for which we have very little time.”

“Yes, sir.”  All three men nodded in unison.

“There are certain things,” Emerson continued, “you will learn about this mission that will test not only your minds and your grit, but the very foundation of what you thought you knew.  To repeat any of what you see or hear beyond this ship will not only result in you being court-martialed, it will border on treason.  A charge that the U.S. government and I take very seriously.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Do each of you understand what I have just told you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do I appear to be in a joking mood?”

“No, sir.”

“Good,” Emerson replied dryly.  “Because I trust that none of you are interested in spending the rest of your lives in prison.  Something I have absolutely no qualms about making happen.”

Silence.

“Now before you get too nervous, let me assure you that, as engineers, the Pathfinder is the best ship any of you could ever hope to be on.  That’s a fact.”  The captain’s eyes became even sterner.  “And as your new captain, believe me when I tell you that I can be goddam delightful!”

The men remained like stone.  Not one cracked as much as a smile.

“That is all.  Now fall out.  And get that drill repaired.”

“Yes, sir!”  Each of the men immediately fell in behind Harris as he moved quickly to lead them out through the door.

Emerson watched them go and reflected on their situation.  Each engineer had come highly recommended by their previous commanders.  All of whom were noticeably irritated at the loss from their own crew.  But there was absolutely nothing to be done.  The men’s skills were essential, and Emerson had the authority to take whomever he needed.  Permanently.  Because the risk of them leaking information after returning to their own ships was, frankly, too great.

They were now part of the conspiracy.  And Emerson still needed to commandeer two more.

28

Li Na’s eyes fluttered open slowly.  Blurry and sore, she turned them away from the overhead light and repeatedly blinked, attempting to focus on her surroundings.

The room, painted light beige, appeared to be clean and… nearly empty, except for a few monitoring devices next to her bed.  She glanced at the IV and followed the blurry tube down to her left arm where a needle was secured in place.

Hearing her name, Li Na realized she wasn’t alone and turned her head to find two women standing over her, one with dark hair and the other blonde.  Although their faces were still blurry, she could see them both glance past her at one of the machines when it started beeping.

The dark-haired woman leaned down, close to her.  “It’s okay, Li Na,” she said softly.  “We’re friends.  And you’re safe.”

The teenager struggled to first remember the language and then the words.  It seemed harder than before.  Her mind felt groggy, and some of her thoughts seemed to be slipping away as quickly as they had come.  The loud beeping began to increase in speed.  And felt like a siren in her brain.

She didn’t know who these people were.  Or if they were really friends.  Nor could she recall anything at all.   She tried to concentrate, forcing herself until scattered images finally began to emerge. She remembered…another hospital bed.  And a train.  And then being in the woods.  Running.

Then came her last memory.

Oh, God!  They were behind her in the forest!  And there were headlights.  Did they catch her?!  Her eyes instantly searched for her hands and feet to see if she was restrained.

Both Tricia and Neely could see the fear emerge abruptly in Li Na’s dark, almond-shaped eyes.  Eyes that darted back and forth between her bed and the women, before searching the room as if looking for a way out.  She was trying desperately to move her feet and legs.

But she could hardly move.  Her muscles did not just feel weak, they almost felt like they weren’t there.  They were not responding to her attempts to move them.  She was paralyzed! Had she been in an accident…or had they drugged her?

Suddenly, the blonde woman standing behind the first turned and called something in English.  Something Li Na had heard before but couldn’t remember what it meant.  Her eyes watched fearfully as the woman turned, until finally stepping to one side and allowing someone else in.

The figure was tall, with dark hair.  His strong tan jawline looked familiar.  But when Li Na saw his blue eyes, she nearly gasped.  She remembered.

All at once she relaxed and dropped her head back onto the pillow.  Her eyes softened, and her bottom lip began to quiver.  It was him.  It was the American!  It was the man who had saved her.

Tears welled in her eyes before bursting down each of her soft cheeks.  He had survived!  And he had come back for her!

Clay took Li Na’s hand in his and held it gently.  “Hello again, Li Na.”

She was crying now, her entire chin trembling, making it difficult to speak.  When she did, it was a single word. “John.”

He smiled warmly.  “That’s right.  John Clay.  Do you remember me?”

She blinked through her tears and nodded her head.

Clay reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.  “Don’t cry.  You’re safe now.  I promise.”

It was all she needed to hear.  The images came flooding back.  Running.  Being chased by those men.  And her father.  Her father was dead.  She was all alone.  Alone and afraid.  She began sobbing.

Her tears came like a flood, and her hand gripped Clay’s like a vice.

Clay said nothing.  He simply lowered himself onto a knee and reached out with his free hand to drop the side rail of her bed.  Once down, he leaned in and put a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

He held her, unmoving, and let her cry.

29

It was a release that Li Na badly needed.

All that time.  All the grief, fear, and the exhaustion had taken a heavy emotional toll that few girls her age could have endured.  Let alone survived.

And she was alive.  First because of her father.  Then because of John Clay, followed by herself––and finally Neely, although Li Na didn’t realize it yet.

The young girl finally managed to calm herself, attempting to speak in English through wet, glistening eyes.

“You saved me.”

Clay grinned.  “Well, it wasn’t all me.  I had help.”

Her expression became troubled.  “Why would you do that for me?”

“Because you’re a very impressive young lady.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re very strong.”

She frowned and shook her head.  “I wasn’t strong.  I was afraid.”

Clay’s grin faded, but his eyes remained warm.  “Fear and strength are not enemies of one another, Li Na.”

She breathed in, accepting his answer.  Then the girl turned to look around the room again before finally looking back up at the women.

“Li Na, I’d like you to meet Dr. Tricia Rhoades and Dr. Neely Lawton.  They’ve been helping take care of you.”

The teenager smiled in embarrassment.  “I thought maybe…”

“We know,” Neely smiled before the teenager could finish her sentence.  “We don’t blame you.”

“Where…did you find me?”

“That’s a complicated answer,” said Clay.  “But I’ll explain everything when you’re stronger.”

Her eyes searched the room again, more calmly this time.  “Where am I?”

“Near South America.  On an island named Trinidad.  But you’re safe.  No one knows you’re here, except us.”

She thought to herself, trying to remember where South America was on the map.  “They’ll find me.”

Clay stood up, towering over her.  “Not a chance.”

Tricia smiled at him and turned to the girl.  “Li Na, you’ve been asleep for a long time.  Healing.  So I’d like to ask you some questions to see how you’re feeling.   Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  Tricia rolled a small stool closer to the bed and sat on it, holding up a chart.  She began writing.  “How old are you, Li Na?”

She had to think.  “Seventeen.”

“Where were you born?”

“Beijing.”

“What day is your birthday?”

“July sixteenth.”

Tricia nodded.  “Do you feel pain anywhere?”

Li Na blinked, thinking.  “My throat hurts.”

“We’ll get you something for that.  Is that all?”

“I think so.”

Tricia continued writing.  “Very good.”  After a moment, she lowered the clipboard.  “Now I’m going to ask you to try to remember a few things, okay?”

“Okay.”

30

The first thing to stand out when entering the office of the Secretary of Defense was a giant, dark walnut desk, sitting precisely in the middle of the room.  Ornate rectangular etchings covered the desk’s front and sides.  The room’s rich royal-blue carpet beneath it projected a powerful and unmistakable feeling of authority.

A matching round table sat to the side, with four empty chairs tucked in neatly.  The opposite side of the room hosted a gold and blue striped couch, sitting off by itself––and facing the desk together with the large dual windows behind it.

It was the expansiveness of not just the desk but the entire room which gave the illusion of Merl Miller being shorter than he really was.  It was also the reason Admiral Langford had replaced the desk in his own office, but the illusion never failed to amuse him when entering Miller’s office.

Miller finished scribbling his signature on one of a dozen documents in front of him before looking up at Langford.

“Come in,” he waved, “before someone else does.”

After Langford sat down, Miller could see the remnants of amusement still on his friend’s face.  “I know, I know.  The desk.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“We’re too old to have to.”  Miller laid the pen down and leaned back in his leather chair, his lips pursed against his fingers.  “So you going to take it?”

Miller was referring to an offer on the table for Langford to be promoted to Secretary of the Navy.  A vacated position the president was actively looking to fill.

Langford sighed.  ‘I don’t know.”

Miller nodded and changed the subject.  “You hear the latest out of China?”

“Yeah.”

“Aligning with Russia.  This gold-backed oil contract is another slap in the face.  And this never-ending mess over North Korea is only making it worse.  One day it’s fixed and the next it’s not.”  Miller shook his head.  “I honestly don’t know how much longer we have before the wheels really come off this thing.”

“Longer than we think but never as long as we need.”

“And no one else seems to be all that worried, except the president.”  He sighed.  “Christ, does everyone want war?”

Langford frowned.  “At least with everyone focused elsewhere, it gives us more time.”

“I guess we should be grateful.”  Miller stood up and turned to face one of the windows behind him.  “This thing is getting unwieldy, Jim.  We both know it.  And when someone else gets wind of what we’re trying to do, and I mean the whole thing, it won’t end well.”  He shrugged without turning around.  “Just a couple old guys, trying to do the right thing.  And I’m not sure we even know what the hell that is anymore.”

Langford shrugged.  “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”

Miller burst out laughing.  He turned to look at his friend with a smile which quickly faded.  “Elizabeth has been working overtime trying to get me to retire.”

“To do what?”

“Beats me.  Carry her bags while she shops probably.”

Langford grinned.  “I bet you’d be good at it.”

“Shut up.”

“How much does Elizabeth know?”

Miller shook his head.  “Not much.  What about Andrea?”

“Same.”

“I guess they’ll know soon enough.  Everyone will.”

“Probably.”

Miller stared at the floor, contemplating, before finally turning back around.  “I’ve been thinking about what you said before.  About going public with the bacterium.  Give it to the world and just level the playing field.”

Langford’s eyebrows rose. “What about the consequences?”

Miller’s brooding brown eyes rose to meet Langford’s.  “Elizabeth’s sick.”

Any remaining trace of amusement disappeared.  “What is it?”

“We’re not sure yet.”

“How is she?”

“Between you and me…she’s more optimistic than I am.”

“What can we do?”

Miller smiled.  “She’s actually going to call Andrea today.”  He slid both hands into his pockets.  “It’s funny.  It’s easy to be sure about your position on things until you’re affected.  Personally.”

“Meaning?”

“If it’s what we think, she doesn’t want to do chemo,” Miller said.  “She’s seen so many friends go through that.  Watching them trade what little time they have left for…”  He shrugged.  “Christ, we all have.”

Langford leaned forward in his chair.  “We can get her down there, Merl.  To Trinidad.  Get her in the water.  You know that.”

“I know.  But that doesn’t change things for anyone else, does it?”

Langford frowned and solemnly leaned back.

“We’re all human.  All citizens of the same planet.  In the end, it doesn’t matter how much power you have.  Or how much money.  We all have to face the same music.”

“It’s different this time.  We can do something.”

“Maybe.”  Miller’s eyes remained fixed on the wall.  “It’s funny.  We spend almost our entire lives arguing over who’s good and who’s bad.  Who is greedy and who is just a bleeding heart.  Who’s part of the problem and who’s part of the solution.  But in the end, I’m not sure if it really matters.”  He turned and smiled sadly at Langford.  “Because death doesn’t care what your opinions are.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t care how you feel about this or that.  Or what your position is on religion or politics.  Doesn’t care about freedom or human rights, or even care how you feel about abortion.”  Miller frowned.  “Death doesn’t care about anything.  It just comes and takes you…indiscriminately.    Just taps you on the shoulder, like a cold dagger down your spine.  Reminding you that all of this is temporary.  Or worse, it taps your wife.”

Miller stepped forward, moving to a portrait of Thomas Jefferson on the wall.  “Do we really live by any true morals anymore?”

“We’re trying to.”

Miller turned around.  “Are we?  Are any of us really looking ahead, for the benefit of our children?  Of their children?  We say we are.  But are we really?”

“I thought that’s what this whole thing was about.”

The Secretary inhaled.  “So did I…but things change.  Things change, and you find yourself doubting what you thought was right just last year.  Or last month.  Christ, yesterday.  But there are no easy answers.  There’re not even easy questions.  And we just find ourselves in deeper and deeper, until we’re trapped by an unending string of unforeseeable complications.  With no way out, except through hope.  Innocent, idealistic hope.  Hope that a simpler solution will present itself.  A solution untainted by self-interest, exploitation, or coercion.    An easy answer that will let us all feel like we’re still doing the right thing.”

“You’re talking about the bacteria.”

“Yes,” Miller nodded.  “Here we are, faced with two impossibly difficult options.  Try to protect it and keep it from being exploited.  Or turn it loose, in the hope that it will make us all equal.”

Langford frowned.  “But you were right, it wouldn’t be that easy.  It can’t be.  It never is.  All we can do is what we think is right.  And while we agree that it’s not up to us to decide who should live and die, we’re not the ones in charge of those decisions.”

“Then who is?  Our governments?  Can you think of a single, benevolent government on this entire planet?  And then there are dictators, political zealots, and even warlords.  Which brings us back to the same question.  How long can we keep a lid on this, before the powerful eventually win?”  Miller looked dejected.  “Governments and freedom are not as compatible as we’d like to think.”

“Meaning that even if we release it to the world, it doesn’t mean it will stay that way.”

“Exactly.”

Langford nodded thoughtfully.  “So what’s your gut saying?”

Miller lowered himself into his chair and gazed across his desk.  “My gut says that I love my wife.  And I think I want more than just to save her––I want to make her proud of the man she married.  For as long as I have her.”

“Amen to that.”

The Secretary sighed.  “And who knows?  With any luck, one day people will hear a story of two old coots who managed to pull off the impossible.  Against all the odds.”

Langford was smiling when Miller finally motioned to him.  “Let’s get on with it.”

***

It took only two rings before John Clay answered.

“This is Clay.”

“John, it’s Langford. And Miller.  One second.”  Langford reached forward, placing a small disk that resembled a fat, metal hockey puck on the desk in front of him.  A scrambler for listening devices, given to him by Borger.  He depressed the button on top of the device and waited for the light to turn green.

“Okay.  We should be good.  Do you have Caesare with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You in a secure location?”

Clay and Caesare both glanced around the storage room.  A single, bright bulb overhead illuminated shelves on all sides, stacked neatly with hospital supplies.  “As secure as we’re going to get.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I think we have a problem, sir.”

Langford glanced across the desk at Miller.  “Only one?”

“Uh, well, I’m not sure.”

“So much for humor,” Langford quipped, leaning back.  “What do you have?”

“It’s about the Pathfinder, sir.  And something Commander Lawton said.”

“We’re all ears.”

“During the attack on the ship, Neely mentioned that she was in the lab.  With Will and the kid, Lee.  She said it was clear from the gunfire that the Russians knew exactly where they were headed––straight for them.”

The inference could not have been clearer and hit Langford and Miller at the same time.  “So how did they know?”

“Exactly, sir.  What was in that lab was known only to us.”

“And to the President’s Security Council.”

“Correct.”

“What was in the lab at that time?”

“Only some testing equipment and Commander Neely’s samples, Admiral.”

“Samples of the bacteria.”

“Correct.”

“Which they took.”

“Yes,” Clay answered.  “But not all of it.”

“Excuse me?”

“She hid some of it, sir.”

“She hid some?  Where?”

“She says it’s still aboard the Pathfinder.”

Langford smiled.  “That’s one smart woman.”

“Tell me about it,” cracked Caesare.

“Anything else?”

“No, sir.  Not at the moment.”

“Okay.  Give us some time.  We’ll call you back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Langford reached out and ended the call on his phone.

Across from him, Miller leaned forward onto his desk.  “It appears we have a leak.”

31

Doctor Kanna reached the end of the hall and peered through the large window to find Neely inside, helping Dr. Rhoades with the young girl.  Together the women had her sitting on the side of the bed, each holding one of the girl’s hands.

All three turned when he opened the door and stepped inside.

“Feeling better?”  Neely asked.

“Amazing what a few hours of needed sleep can do.”  He approached the bed and smiled at Li Na.  “It looks like our patient is awake.  Hello, Li Na.  My name is Doctor Kanna.”

The teenager returned his smile, weakly but welcoming.  “Hello.”

“How are we feeling?”

“Tired.”

“I’m sure.”  Kanna reached out and took her hand, gently turning it over and feeling her pulse.  “Do you mind if I check some things?”

The girl shook her head.

Kanna then reached for his stethoscope on a small table and put it on using his free hand.  He placed the small diaphragm softly against her gown and above her left breast.

“Can you take a few deep breaths?”

Li Na complied, breathing in deeply.

Kanna listened and moved the instrument gently, then switched it onto her back.  He looked at Tricia with a raised eyebrow.  She sounded strong.

Tricia’s lips curled slightly.  She’d never seen anything like it.

Kanna nodded and held the girl’s hand again.  “Can you squeeze my hand, Li Na?”

Again the doctor was surprised.  “Very good.”  He then raised a small otoscope to examine her eyes, followed by her ears.

Kanna looked at Tricia.  “How long has she been awake?”

“About an hour.”

“How’s her GCS?”

Tricia shrugged.  “Ten.”

Kanna tilted his head.  “Ten?”

“Well, that was before.”

Kanna nodded.  “Seems pretty good now.”  He stepped back and examined Li Na before turning to Neely.  “Did she sit up by herself?”

“No, we helped her.”

“Hmm.”  He raised Li Na’s arm, supporting it under the elbow.  “Have we done any therapy yet?  Some passive range of motion?”

“No, not yet.”

He looked down at Li Na’s bare feet.  “Are we dangling?”

“I thought we should get her onto her feet.”

Kanna nodded again.  “Li Na, how do you feel sitting up?  Any dizziness?”

“Just a little.”

He glanced at Tricia.  “We should get her into a chair first.”

Neely quickly stepped away and pulled a chair closer, positioning its arm against the side of the bed.  Kanna placed Li Na’s hands on his shoulders and put his own on her small hips.  With the women on either side, they moved her carefully and smoothly from the side of the bed and into the chair.

“How’s that Li Na?  Any pain?”

She peered down at her hands and legs before shaking her head.  “No.”

“Good.  Is there anything else you’re feeling?”

She nodded and looked up at him politely.  Her accent was strong and distinctly Chinese.  “Hungry.”

***

When Neely stepped out of the room, Steve Caesare was observing quietly from the large window.

“How’s she doing?”

“Good.  She’s past the liquids and on to fruit and jello.”

“Any surprises?”

Neely folded her arms and watched through the window along with him.  “Judging from both doctors’ reactions, the only surprises seem to be in how well she’s doing.  Physically and neurologically.”

“Excellent.  Does she remember anything?”

“Quite a lot actually.  There still appear to be some gaps, but I’m sure those will fill in eventually.  For now, she’s still pretty frightened over the whole thing.”

“Who can blame her?”

Together, the two watched Dr. Kanna kneel in front of Li Na’s chair.  He carefully extended one of her legs out and back in.  “Any signs of DNA trouble?”

“Unfortunately, it’s too early to tell.  If there is, it may not reveal itself for some time.”

“Sounds like a bit of a guessing game.”

“Yes and no.  Li Na’s circumstance is definitely unique, but there’s a lot of similar work being done in genome editing these days.”

“Genome editing?”

She grinned and looked at Caesare.  “Sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds like something you’d do on a word processor.”

Neely laughed.  “It does.  Genome editing has been around for a while now, and it’s getting more and more advanced.  It’s basically genetic engineering and is the process of adding, changing, or deleting specific pieces of DNA.  It’s usually done in the genome of a very small organism, like single cells, where the effects can be studied.  But now even larger organisms are being used.”

“How in the world do you edit live DNA?”

“They use something called engineered nucleases, but most call it molecular scissors.  It’s a process of making breaks in the double-helix strands of DNA, making the change, and then using enzymes to reconnect the strands.  There are several different techniques now.  And they’ve become surprisingly efficient.”

Caesare stared at her in surprise.  “Wait a minute, are you telling me they can just go in and change whatever they want now?”

“More or less.”

“They could just make my eyes blue, or my hair green?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.  You’re talking about a lot of cells, not just one.  But they can use retroviruses for that.  It would take a lot longer, but it can be done.  Similar to Li Na’s mystery bacterium, but slower.  Much slower.”

“Jesus,” Caesare breathed in.  “Where does it stop?”

“I don’t know, but even I will admit the progress has become a little unnerving.  That’s one of the reasons people are so concerned about genetically modified foods.  Genes aren’t that simple.  They often work together in groups.  Sometimes very large groups.”

“How large?”

“Well, that’s the problem.  We don’t know exactly.  We’re continually finding new connections or interdependencies among different strands and gene groups.  So it can be very easy to think all the genes have been identified for a particular genetic function when, in fact, they haven’t.”

“Good God.”

Neely grinned.  “I’m inclined to agree with you.  Consider that fundamentally men and women are essentially the same.  At least biologically speaking.  But now consider all the differences between our two sexes, all of which are due to a single Y chromosome.  One that has only 200 genes in it.”

Clay studied her curiously, repeating the thought.  “All the differences between a man and a woman come down to just 200 genes?”

“That’s right.  Out of 20,000.”

Caesare shook his head.  “So, what happens when they go in and edit these genes without knowing if the change has been fully mapped out?  Not to mention accurately!”

Neely shrugged.  “No one really knows.”

“And they’re selling these genetic medications without being completely sure?”

“That’s what worries me most,” she replied.  “Overconfidence can be a dangerous thing.  Especially in the medical industry.”

“Sounds like what they need is a little humility.”

“Without a doubt,” Neely agreed.  “The discovery of DNA and its double-helix strands was an amazing breakthrough.  But in hindsight, the potential of what it can lead to makes it downright frightening.”

32

Construction of the Dugway Proving Ground began in 1942, just over eighty-five miles outside of Salt Lake City, Utah.  Its primary mission—to test U.S. and Allies’ biological and chemical weapons—would eventually grow into one of the most secretive and perhaps controversial military installations in United States history.

Dugway, or DPG, commenced testing almost immediately that same year, testing new weapons to aid the Allies in World War II.  Weapons including flamethrowers, biological warfare, firebombing tactics, and of course, antidotes to some of the very bio-chem weapons it created.  However, unlike the mysterious and endlessly glamorized Area 51, Dugway’s secrets went virtually undetected by the general public for decades.

Until 1968.

Dugway’s extraordinary progress in modern biological agents was revealed unintentionally, and not by curious citizens or lurking investigators.  But rather by thousands of nearby animals.  Sheep.  Who suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, dropped dead.

The “Dugway Sheep Incident” could not have come at a worse time for the covert department.  It came promptly on the heels of an already growing public resistance to the use of inhumane nerve agent weapons, with VX being one of the most abhorrent.  The ensuing uproar, both domestically and internationally, nearly resulted in the disbanding of the entire U.S. Army Chemical Corps.

The incident was a monumental mistake, quickly covered up by nothing short of a herculean publicity campaign, and a lesson the Army, and now the CIA, would go to great lengths to avoid repeating.

As a result, Dugway would go completely silent for the next fifty years.

***

If not for the lack of windows, the underground, brightly lit hallway would have appeared perfectly normal.  With polished, marble tiles and light gray walls, the hall was long and wide––stretching out before General Bullman as he walked crisply forward.  His dark shoes echoed with authority with each step.

There were no breaks along the walls.  Each extended ahead of him by almost an eighth of a mile, taking Bullman and his aide almost three full minutes to reach the double metal doors at the far end.

When he finally stopped, Bullman faced a large panel to his right.  A video screen and speaker sat just beneath a cylindrically shaped camera protruding forward.  The general stared into it with a complete lack of emotion, waiting until he heard the familiar clunk from the door’s lock.  The door swung outward automatically, revealing a large white room inside.

“Wait here,” Bullman said dryly to his aide before walking through.  Behind him, the heavy door slid silently and smoothly back into place.

The area inside was enormous.  Several sections were partitioned off by even more hallways, each lined by rooms with glass walls.  Further away, above another large set of double doors, existed a sign which simply read Research & Testing.

Bullman continued moving down one of the white hallways, where a younger man broke off a conversation and hurried toward him.  His lab coat was sharply pressed, and a computer tablet was gripped tightly in his left hand.  Pressing his square-framed glasses higher onto his nose, he then raised his eyebrows.

Bullman continued walking past the younger man, forcing him to turn and catch up.

“Good morning, General.  I believe you wanted to see this one.”

“I did.”

“This way, sir.”  The younger man, by the name of Rothman, quickened his pace.  He resembled a scientist but moved and spoke like a soldier.  In truth, he was both—one of the thousands enlisted over the years by the U.S. Military, and the CIA, for a multitude of high-profile missions requiring talent in cutting-edge sciences.  The Government’s secret projects, with their funding and expertise, rivaled many of the very best technology corporations on the planet.  And what they could not develop themselves, their specialists gleaned from public companies through the use of leverage, or what others might see more as extortion.

The two turned a corner, and Rothman led the general through a smaller door and another hallway.  This one resembled a medical lab, with more rooms and floor-to-ceiling windows for observation on both sides.

The two passed several people, their heads down, before entering a larger research room.  There, three rows of white tables complete with dozens of computers and giant monitors were housed.  On the far wall sat what appeared to be two very large and oddly shaped microscopes.  Bullman noted them as Rothman leaned down in front of a monitor.

“What are those?”

The younger scientist followed Bullman’s gaze.  “Those are a new breed of microscopes from IBM, using something called AFM for imaging at the molecular level.  We’ve had atomic microscopes for a while now but using the same technique on molecules didn’t work.”  Rothman grinned as he turned back to the screen.  “IBM was nice enough to, uh, donate them.”

The general continued scanning the room, noting with amusement that several other researchers were purposely trying to avoid eye contact.  Instead, they stared even more intently at their screens.

Rothman began typing on the keyboard.  He then used the mouse and navigated to a set of newly created research videos, opening the first one.

The video began playing, and in it, the frame displayed another room.  This one looked like a testing area with dark walls, marred and deeply scratched.  In the middle of the video, the camera zoomed in on a tall, black metal apparatus, securing a set of clear glass slides in the middle of an open frame.  A sample hovered in between the two pieces of glass.

“These video files are internally classified, so I couldn’t send them to you.”

Bullman nodded and continued watching the screen.

“This is the latest sample.  A graft of living tissue about two millimeters thick, similar to the outer layer of skin on our arms and legs.”

Rothman straightened next to the general and continued watching.  Soon there was a loud beep, and a digital display appeared in the bottom left-hand corner of the video, counting down from ten.

When the counter reached zero, there was a sudden gunshot in the video and at least part of the glass panes instantly shattered.  A whiff of smoke entered the frame as someone walked past the camera to examine the glass.  The person removed the pane and carefully picked a few broken shards away.  When all were gone, the technician brought the sample closer and then faced it towards the camera.  After a few seconds observing the shattered front pane, they slowly turned it around to show the back pane of the glass, which was heavily cracked but still intact.  More importantly, there was no hole in the second pane.

When the image froze on the sample, Bullman turned and looked at Rothman.

“It’s just a small caliber,” he said.  “But it’s a success.”

Bullman grinned uncharacteristically, without taking his eyes off the screen.  “Any downsides?”

The younger man nodded.  “As expected, we cannot reach this level of strength without sacrificing the cell’s molecular composition.”

“English.”

“Sorry.”  Rothman thoughtfully rephrased, “It’s ability to regenerate.  And given that skin is the fastest growing organ, that presents a serious challenge.”

“Which is what?”

“Well, if the skin stops regenerating, it creates all sorts of problems.  And eventually kills the host.”

General Bullman placed his hands behind his back and grimaced at the screen.  They were close.  Damn close.  After years of research and thousands of trials, the elusive promises of genetic engineering were finally within reach.

Transformation was the new mission of the U.S. Army.  And prior to the 1968 incident, the Dugway Proving Ground had been at the forefront of the Army’s biological weapons development.  At least until political pressure had deemed it “inhumane.”  Thus the need to shift control to the CIA.  It was always something.

Of course, the pressure didn’t stop the development––but it did make it more difficult to eventually use some of the weapons they had just spent decades creating.  Like those sheep that suddenly died in the nearby desert valley all those years ago, the problem with chemical weapons was that trace signatures could still be isolated and eventually tracked back.  In this case, to Dugway.

But now things were about to change.  Now, thanks to the marvels of genome editing, Bullman’s newest biological weapon was not a chemical at all.

33

Two levels deeper and an hour later, Bullman found himself visiting his second secret, who could not have been more different than Rothman.  Shorter and almost twenty pounds overweight, Dr. Janice Talbot stood next to Bullman without a word.  Her heavy eyebrows and silent demeanor gave her an air of what to Bullman was somewhat of a reluctant tolerance toward those she was forced to work with.

Talbot’s light brown skin reflected her half Puerto Rican bloodline, with the other half from her Caucasian father who had spent his career in the Army.  The same father whom she had lost early and on whom Bullman pinned the woman’s lifelong obsession for medical research.  Another doctor trying to help save the world after the loss of a loved one.

General Bullman peered intently at a video monitor secured to the wall before them.  The room was a small observation area with a large one-way mirror viewing the room next door.

Containing two examination tables, both draped with clean linens and surrounded by hi-tech medical systems and monitors.  Above each table were three large, round fluorescent lights.  All of which were off, casting the room in a darkened and almost creepy glow.

But the screen in front of Bullman and Talbot stood out in contrast.  Bright and almost cheerfully lit, it gave a wide-angle camera view of yet another room.  This one was smaller with exercise machines and more monitoring equipment.  Near the edge of the video, a treadmill was being used by a young man. Next to him, one of Talbot’s team members studied a computer pad in her clutch.

The man on the treadmill faced away from the camera as he ran.  On the right side of their screen, a column of computer data overlaid the giant monitor being viewed by Bullman and Talbot, which was updated every few seconds.

“How long ago was this?” he asked.

“Yesterday.”

In the recording, a large screen was positioned several feet in front of the runner.  Most of the display showed a large yellow circle.  Suddenly, a loud sound was heard, and the screen’s circle changed to green.  Almost immediately, the runner lowered his head and increased his speed, matching the treadmill belt as it accelerated.

On the monitor, Bullman watched the digital gauge increase from twelve miles an hour to thirteen, then fourteen.  It continued steadily increasing through fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen.

When the speed approached twenty, Bullman glanced at Talbot.

“This is the upper limit of normal human range.”

Bullman turned back to the monitor without a word.  The speedometer continued counting upward.  Twenty-two.  Twenty-three.

On the treadmill, the man’s figure began to move so rapidly that Bullman could detect some blurring.  At twenty-six miles per hour, he turned again to Talbot with raised eyebrows.

She did not respond.  She merely nodded back toward the monitor.  The speed topped out at 26.9 miles per hour while the man, lean and muscular, continued running.  Charging forward as if he were trying to break the machine.

For several minutes, Bullman continued watching.  Finally, Talbot reached forward and stopped the video in mid-frame.

“Impressive,” Bullman said.

“He’s almost as fast as the world record holder,” she responded dryly.

“Jesus.”

“Not quite.”  Talbot remained staring at the screen.  “He could be faster.  He has terrible form, and increasing amounts of his energy at this speed are spent fighting wind resistance rather than propelling himself forward.  With some modifications, he could be noticeably faster.”  She moved her finger along the screen, advancing the video.  “But the purpose here is not a demonstration of speed.”

Talbot pointed to another counter on the screen that measured elapsed time.  “The record holder runs slightly faster than this, for only ten to twenty seconds.”

Bullman studied the screen.  “Eleven minutes?”

“He’s done thirteen.”  Talbot stepped back and faced Bullman.  “It’s because of his muscle strength, which we’ve more than doubled.  Now they’re more efficient, taking less energy for the same level of exertion.”

She promptly turned back to the screen and closed the video window.  Talbot then navigated to another file and played it.  The man from the treadmill was now positioned at a metal table, this time sitting and facing the camera.  He was gritting his teeth with dark eyes focused intently on his outstretched hands.

He was gripping something tightly, causing the muscles in his arms and shoulders to bulge and shake.

Bullman squinted at the screen and tried to make out the cylindrical figure between the soldier’s hands.  “What is that?” he asked, just before the object could be seen bending.

Seconds later, the soldier relaxed, twisted his hand, and held the bar up to the camera.  He slid away from the table and walked forward, sneering directly into the lens and then reaching out to slap it defiantly.  The camera toppled over, causing the picture to go erratic.  The video ended with the last frame showing the camera sideways on the floor.

Bullman continued staring.  “What was that made out of?”

“Steel.”

Fascination flashed in the general’s eyes.

“And he can do more than that.  It’s taken almost a year, but we’ve finally managed to remove all of the genes for myostatin.  Which limits muscle strength.  And recovery.”

“What else can he do?”

Talbot reached forward to queue up another video.  “A lot.  But reaching most of the genes, even using a genome sequencing process like CRISPR, takes a long time.  Too long for your schedule.”

She stared at Bullman.  “What we need…is that sample.”

34

The Treasure Cay airport on Bahama’s Great Abaco Island was as cozy as a small airport could possibly be––comprised of only one large room with two small ticketing counters and three rows of plastic molded seats.  Will Borger compared it in size to an average delicatessen back home in Washington, DC.

He watched as several dark-skinned and very friendly Bahamian women passed back and forth, putting the room in order and arranging pamphlets and ticketing cards for the wave of morning passengers.  Borger counted six people in the twenty minutes they’d been waiting.  All the while, the Bahamasair ATR 72-600, a 70-seat airplane, sat impatiently on the small tarmac outside, waiting to depart back to Nassau.

If he were completely forthright, given his dislike for flying, Borger was just thrilled to be off the plane.  Somehow, boarding an airplane only half full and having the flight attendant instruct which rows to fill to better balance the craft had left him distinctly uncomfortable for the rest of the flight.

He took a deep, relaxing breath, noting the old fan overhead, caked with dust and oscillating back and forth with a low hum.  He glanced at his watch before turning to Lee Kenwood sitting next to him, his head down and typing away on his laptop.

“You got signal here?”

Lee replied, briefly slowing his hands.  “Not a very good one.  Fortunately, I don’t need access to the internet for this part.”  He finished typing before scrolling up and down the screen, checking his code.

“Does it work?” Borger asked.

“This module does.  Thankfully.  But it still needs some tweaking.”  He blinked and looked up.  “Your friend still not here?”

“Not yet.”  Borger looked again at his watch and refolded his arms.  He leaned back for a moment, abruptly leaning forward again when two wooden shutter doors opened in the corner of the room, revealing an attractive Bahamian woman.  The airport snack bar was open.

Borger wasted no time crossing the room to grab a soda from the small glass refrigerator.  He paid the woman and returned to his plastic seat, falling into it with a satisfying thud.

Lee Kenwood studied the can and glanced up at him.  “You know it’s like 8:30 in the morning.”

Borger took a long gulp.  “Oh, yeah.”

Lee returned to his screen.  “And I thought Chris was bad with his coffee.”

Several minutes later, an old Toyota Corolla appeared and stopped just outside the airport’s entrance.  Watching through the glass doors, Borger suddenly stood up when a man stepped out of the driver’s side and looked around.

When he saw Borger exit the building, the man smirked with a mix of humor and pessimism.  He took a breath, shaking his head of thick gray hair, and rounded the front of the car before shaking Borger’s outstretched hand.

“Roland!  How the heck are you?”

A six-foot-tall, sixty-two-year-old Rick Roland nodded dubiously.  “Borger, you do know I’m on vacation here, right?”

“Yeah.  Sorry about that.  But I really needed to talk to you, post haste.  And without a lot of ears around.”

“Well,” Roland said, looking around at the empty lot.  “You certainly got that.”

“I need a favor.”

Now the man frowned.  “You always need a favor.”

“That’s not true.”  When Roland’s face did not change, Borger thought it over.  “Okay, that might be true.  But this is important.”

“Yeah.”

They both turned when Lee stepped outside, a computer backpack slung over one shoulder, and let the door close behind him.  His eyes were squinting under the bright morning sun, radiating heat that immediately penetrated his dark T-shirt.

“Rick,” Borger said.  “I’d like you to meet Lee, a colleague of mine.  He’s working with me on what I need to talk to you about.”

“Hi, Lee.  Did you have a hand in interrupting my vacation?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t tell him until we were on the plane,” Borger confessed.

“Classy.”  Roland turned and nodded to the car.  “Get in.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Roland sat forward with his arms resting on a plastic table, beneath the ramshackle roof of Junkanoo Javas.  His hand was wrapped around a Styrofoam cup with steam rising from his black coffee.  Behind Roland, just a few hundred yards away, sat a white catamaran sailboat resting at anchor in the narrow bay of Brigantine.

Borger took a drink from a new can of soda and set it down, motioning to the boat at the same time.  “Debra still sleeping?”

“She’s probably up by now.”

“Did you tell her I said hi?”

“I thought it better not to.”

Borger frowned.  “Oh.”

Roland laughed and took a sip from his cup.  “Don’t worry about it.”  He looked up as Lee approached with a juice and muffin.  “So, what’s the big reveal?”

When Borger bit his lip, thinking, Roland tilted his head.  “Let me guess.  You can’t tell me.”

“Well…not entirely.”

“Okay, so what’s the favor?”

“We need help.  With some hardware.”

“Hardware,” Roland repeated.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of hardware?”

Borger glanced around and lowered his voice.  “Powerful hardware.”

Lee, who was listening to the exchange, followed Borger’s eyes curiously.  There was no one else within fifty feet.

“I see,” Roland sipped again.

This time the younger Lee looked at Borger’s friend with curiosity.  “Uh, Mr. Roland, where did you say you worked?”

“I didn’t.”  The older man looked across the table.  “You didn’t tell him?”

Borger shook his head.  “Not yet.”

Roland responded to Lee with a trace of amusement.  “I’m the Master Solution Architect at Hewlett Packard Enterprise.”

Lee’s eyes widened.  “You work at HPE?”

“That’s right.”

“You make the new supercomputer system Mr. Borger was telling me about.”

Roland nodded assuredly.  “It’s called The Machine.”

35

“You didn’t tell me you knew someone who worked for HPE.”

Roland peered across the table at Borger, while replying to Lee.  “He knows a lot of people at HPE.”

“He does?”

Roland nodded.  “A lot of us old-timers worked at DEC together.  Including Will.”

Lee turned back to Borger.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a surprise.”

“That’s how you knew Mr. Roland was down here on vacation?”

“Kid, you’re starting to make me feel even older than I already am.  Just call me Rick.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roland leaned back in his plastic chair.  “So, you can’t tell me what this is for?”

“Not exactly.  But we’re hoping to run some deep learning algos on it.  And some historical and deep-level link analysis.”

“Piece of cake.  Our hardware won’t even break a sweat.”

Borger cleared his throat and leaned in.  “We, uh, might also need to crack some encryption ciphers.”

“Well, now that’s a little more interesting.  Are you talking about the recent WPA2 crack?”

“No, I’m talking about the old ones.  But there’s a lot of data to sort through.”

“How much data?”

Borger’s voice dropped even lower.  “Terabytes.”

Roland did not react.  He merely stared at his friend.  There were not a lot of organizations he was aware of that could have terabytes of data encrypted with the older ciphers.  Especially since most old ciphers were used in the 1990s, which is what he assumed Borger was referring to.  Back then there was a lot less data floating around.  In fact, the word terabytes wasn’t even being used yet.  That meant it would have to have been an organization capable of collecting one hell of a lot of data.  And to have that size of a net meant they would also have to have a lot of authority to go with it.

When Roland finally responded, he did so without making a sound.  He only moved his lips, slowly and deliberately––N-S-A?

Borger nodded.

Roland shook his head.  “We could get in trouble for this.”

Borger raised an eyebrow.  “We’ve done a lot worse than this before.”

His friend sighed and placed his hands together in front of his chest.  “True,” he said thoughtfully.  “You are going to need some serious hardware.  How many procs?”

“A couple hundred.”

“I can do that.  But I can only keep it hidden for so long.”  Roland raised a finger and rubbed his whiskered chin, thinking.  “It will end up on the books sooner or later.  I can probably buy you some time by burying it inside another order.  In fact, we’re in the middle of filling a giant order right now, and you’re in luck because we’ve just started shipping the first editions of our memristors.”

Lee raised an eyebrow.  “What’s a memristor?”

“The next game changer,” Roland replied.  “Computer memory that operates on an atomic level using ionized helium atoms.  It allows The Machine to work and learn at an atomic level, much like our brains do at the cellular level.  A true neural net.”

“Holy crap.”

Roland shot Lee a furtive glance.  “You can say that again.”

Studying Roland inquisitively, Borger leaned a few inches closer.  “So, who is that giant order for?”

“A large U.S. government agency.  So big that we have to fill the order in stages.”

“And which agency might that be?”

Roland smiled and finished his coffee.  “Let’s just say this could be the mother of all ironies.”

36

An hour later, Will Borger and Lee Kenwood stood in front of the tiny airport again.  The two gave a brief wave to Roland as he turned out of the small gravel driveway, heading south, back toward the harbor.

When the car disappeared beyond a field of small trees, Lee turned.  “Well, that was worth the trip.”

Borger nodded.  “Better than having to fly to Boston.”

“We were lucky he was down here on vacation.”

“Not as much as you might think.  He and his wife come for a couple weeks every year.  At almost the same time.”

“I don’t blame them.  It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not because of the scenery.”

Lee looked to see Borger shaking his head.  “Rick’s wife, Debra, was diagnosed with leukemia several years ago.  It was acute, which meant fast moving.  And he brought her down here because it had always been on her bucket list.”

“Oof.  I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” Borger said.  “During that trip, they spotted and swam with some dolphins off the bow of their boat.  Something everyone wishes they could do.  And when they got back, they found Debra’s leukemia was beginning to recede.  It eventually went into full remission, and Debra insisted that something happened when she was in the water with those dolphins.”

Lee stared back with surprise.  “Is that true?”

“Completely true.  Ever since then, they’ve come back every year to do the same thing.  And the leukemia has not returned.”

“That’s a true story?”

“More than you know.”  Borger turned back to Lee with a knowing grin.  “And that was several years ago.  Before you, Alison, and Chris had even built your IMIS system.”

“Wow.”

“Yup.”  With one hand holding his pack over his shoulder, Borger abruptly turned and reached for the door with the opposite hand.

Together, the two approached the tiny counter and checked in for the next flight.  With a broad smile shining brightly against her deep bronze skin, the attractive woman handed them tickets and motioned behind them to the plastic chairs.  Before they reached the seats, Borger’s satellite phone rang in his pocket.  Taking a few more steps, he dropped his bag and simultaneously fished out the phone with his right hand, answering on the second ring.

“Borger here.”

There was a long pause, and his eyes fell to Lee, intently listening.

He finally nodded and replied flatly.  “Yes, sir.  Right away.”

Borger ended the call and dropped his arm, still clutching the phone tightly in his hand.  He took a deep breath and turned to Lee.

“We just got some news.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re headed back to Trinidad.  ASAP.”

“What for?”

“The crew of the Pathfinder just located Lieutenant Elgin Tay.”

Lee inhaled.  “And?”

“And he’s alive.”

37

Elgin Tay’s eyes shot open when he heard the deep pounding above him.  He had dozed off.  Finally.  The first sleep he’d managed to get after waking up inside.

He blinked and stretched both eyes open wide.  Then quickly realized he’d missed some of the message.  All he’d caught were the letters ‘U’ and ‘S.’

He sat up and found the piece of driftwood next to him on the ledge.

A-G-A-I-N

It took a few minutes to hear a reply, coming from above.

S-T-A-T-U-S

Tay leaned into it and steadily pounded his answer.

S-A-M-E  H-U-N-G-R-Y  D-A-R-K  H-U-R-R-Y

Minutes later, the answer was short and sweet.

E-T-A  1-0  H-R-S

O-K

Tay waited for another reply but received only silence.  Giving a satisfied nod, he stepped back and began to lower the piece of wood, before stopping.

He felt noticeably better.  Less pain, plus his arms and legs felt stronger.  Rested.

He raised his head and peered out into the blackness.  His stomach had long since passed growling, replaced now with a deeper hunger that was almost an ache.  It felt to Tay as if his stomach was actually trying to digest itself.  Painful, but now tolerable for the next ten hours.

The thought now dominating Tay’s mind was just how they planned to extract him?  Getting in was one thing.  Getting out, against all that water pressure, was another.  At the surface, the water was about 14.7 pounds per square inch.  And each foot of seawater added almost another pound on top of that.  A calculation Tay was intimately familiar with given his work on the Pathfinder’s submersible rovers.  At sixty feet deep, including the pressure loss from the surface, it would be a modest twenty-six psi or two atmospheres.  But Tay had fallen some distance which meant the water pressure would only be that much stronger if they tried to drill lower, presenting an even bigger problem.  Which meant they would have to come in high.

He tried to think of what he could do to help.  The ledges were too far vertically from each other to climb, especially when he couldn’t see anything.  And neither his knife nor the small log would do him any good.

What he needed was more information about his environment.

With a controlled hand, Tay lowered the end of the log onto the ledge beneath him and stood it upright, thinking.  Even with eyes that had long since adjusted to the darkness, he was still virtually blind.  Which meant the only tools he really had were his hands.

***

“Well?”

All eyes stared intently at the Pathfinder’s new lead engineer, Lieutenant Commander Ronald J. Ackerman.  Burly and squat, with a thick chest and arms, he had served aboard the Pathfinder’s sister ship Henson for nine and a half years.  And being an integral part of the Navy’s Military Sealift Command, he thought he’d seen it all.  Both the good and the bad.  But this was one for the record books.

The rest of the engineers stood facing him, including the three new recruits whom Captain Emerson had sent down, filling most of the ship’s Engineering Control Room.  Behind Ackerman was a short gray metal wall, paneled from floor to ceiling with hundreds of electronics and monitors.  Above him were several screens filled with live video feeds from various sections of the ship.

Ackerman scanned the faces of the engineering ensigns in front of him.  Smitty spoke up first.  “The DSRV is our best chance.”

The rest of the engineers nodded in agreement.

“No plan A then,” Ackerman’s gruff face nodded beneath a flattop littered with specks of gray.  “And the skirt?”

This time Odonnell spoke.  “The drill’s still too big for the skirt, even without its housing.”

“Which means,” said Ackerman, “we’ll need to make the hole and get that drill detached as fast as we can.  Then we have to seal it in one godawful hurry.”

“The hydraulic vacuum can establish a seal in thirty seconds and keep it open.  If we can get it in place.”

Odonnell nodded.  “The inflow of the water should help with that.  As long as we come in straight.”

“Assuming we can come in straight.  Which won’t give us a margin of more than six or seven inches on either side,” Ackerman said.  “The biggest question is when we do get the drill through again, how fast is that hole going to try to close up on us?”

The room fell silent.

The hole Lieutenant Tay had entered through was open only briefly before the side of the alien ship took a direct hit from a torpedo.  By the time they were able to return and investigate, the opening was gone.  No one knew if, or how quickly, it would happen again.

Ackerman continued.  “Judging from the short time Tay was communicating with Borger before the impact, we could have as little as twenty seconds.”

The room nodded, all aware that part of their estimate was based on the gruesome fact that Tay made it through the hole in the ship while Lightfoot’s body did not.

“Let’s say fifteen.  So, at the very least, that gives us fifteen seconds to get the ring in place to prevent it from closing.”

The men nodded.

The ring was a three-foot-round and three-inch-thick titanium brace.  It was the best solution they could think of, certainly the strongest.  If it could not withstand the closing pressure of the alien ship, at least temporarily, then no one knew what else would.

“Okay, so we make the hole, set the ring, and make the supply drop as fast as we can.  Then work like hell to get the skirt sealed around it.  If we fail, or we lose the seal, then Lieutenant Tay at least has enough to last another week.  If we can maintain the seal, we send the harness in.”

Commander Ackerman made it sound almost rudimentary, although every man in the room knew the truth.  The plan was anything but simple.  Making a point of entry, or another hole, was the first big challenge.  Securing it was the second.  If they could just accomplish those two, they should need only seconds to drop supplies to Tay on the other side.  As long as nothing went wrong.

The hardest part...would be trying to get him out.  Odds of establishing a sealed environment around the opening, even just large enough for a human figure, were not good.  Let alone maintaining the seal.

The hydraulic vacuum was their only option since there was nothing on the alien ship’s wall to attach to.  And that meant pressure alone would be holding it in place around the circumference of the hole.  If they lost that physical tension at any point around the opening, the sudden change in pressure could be explosive.

If the seal held, they then had to contend with getting the harness in and down to Tay.

There were a lot of variables, any of which could go wrong.  And the two items that would more than anything determine their success or failure were little more than a chunk of titanium and a giant piece of rubber.

Irritated, Ackerman shook his head in silence.  There just weren’t a lot of options at the moment.  Or time.

The commander twisted away from the men to study another monitor behind him.  It was a satellite picture of their location, showing the islands of Trinidad and Tobago directly to the west and the mid-Atlantic to the east.  Overlaid on top of the picture image was a Doppler image highlighted in green, swirling slowly westward from the eastern edge of the picture.

“Just perfect,” Ackerman sighed, turning back around.  A hurricane would be a perfect addition to their problems.  “Let’s get that hydrophone in the water and find out exactly where our man is.”

***

The second time was easier.  Tay’s rested limbs had found more strength.  And it took less time before the log, being pushed ahead of him, finally bumped into what Tay was searching for.  The same interior wall he’d discovered the first time.

This time, still treading water, Tay quickly skimmed his hands in either direction, searching for the small lip he’d felt before.

But he couldn’t find it.

He moved further to the right, hands sweeping back and forth over the surface.  Then he swam farther.  Still nothing.

Just when he was about to turn back, Tay hit something.  His right hand immediately swept back to verify.  It was the lip––long and straight, like some kind of vertical groove, extending high above the waterline and over his head.  Then he found a second, farther away and past the first.

But the slight protrusion from the metal wall was not enough to hold onto.  So Tay ducked underwater and continued tracing the line downward.  It continued for several feet before he found something else.  A wide hole between both lines.

He darted his hands in and around the opening, assessing it before trying to place a foot inside.  He desperately hoped it was high enough.  All he needed was enough of a foothold to support his head above the water.

But almost immediately after Tay slid his foot into the wide gap, everything changed.

The thin, narrow lines on either side suddenly lit up.

38

After long since adjusting to the darkness, Tay’s eyes were not prepared.  Both grooves immediately flared into brilliant lines and exploded together up the wall, followed momentarily by the area between them.  The entire space directly in front of Tay had now turned a blazing white.

He forced both eyes shut and covered them with his hands, causing him to stumble back into the dark water.  The light hit him so intensely that Tay could see the glare through his fingers and eyelids.

A stunned Tay whirled around and clawed frantically at the water, desperate to remain above the surface.  He accidentally gulped a mouthful of water before spitting it back out and carefully cracking his lids back open.

With the light now behind him, Tay’s pupils painfully tried to adjust and gradually focused inside the ship for the first time.  When the picture before him grew clearer, he gasped at the sight both in front of and above him.  The entire inside of the ship’s walls was now visible, illuminating a massive interior with the shelves he had been clinging to for three days.  Now he could see just how many they were.  Not hundreds as he had guessed.  There were thousands.

And they were everywhere.

Platforms that were now visible under the glow of the bright lights behind him.  Each ledge was surrounded by deep shadows, with the wall itself appearing in the same dark gray.

Tay slowly twisted his head, completely shocked.  He was wrong again.  There weren’t thousands.  There were tens of thousands.  All arranged in careful formation at equal distances from one another, almost reminding Tay of a perfect grid.

His eyes glanced at the water, now reflecting brightly under the same light and appearing as clear as glass.

Treading water, Tay raised his hand briefly and studied it, almost crying out in elation.  It had been days since he’d seen any part of his own body.

He quickly raised the other and grinned at both hands before blinking and turning his head.  From over his shoulder, the floodlight behind him had begun to soften.  The glow was still bright but now less blinding.

Tay twisted himself around in the water and gasped.

The new wall, which he’d found in the darkness, towered over him––high into the dark, damp air.  Each line or groove he’d previously found running up the wall, now disappeared overhead into the darkness.  But it was what he saw between those two lines that caused Tay’s jaw to slowly fall open.

There was no longer a wall.  Nothing at all existed but empty space between them, revealing a darker area further inside.  An area dark and pulsing gently in a soft green glow.

It was then that it hit him.  The larger wall behind him, the one he’d come through, was not the actual ship at all.  This was the ship.  The smaller, inner wall.  Part of which was, somehow, now open before him.

39

Speechless was an understatement.

Tay’s eyes followed the opening as it extended up the metal wall, revealing a slope at the top where the bright lines curved out of sight.  The rest of the opening extended down past the surface of the water, stopping a few feet below––just inches, it appeared, from the gap he’d found with his foot.

Shaking in his excitement, Tay swam forward cautiously, until he reached the rim and peered inside, over the top of the water’s edge.  It was fascinating.  Even with the water level a few feet above the base of the door, he could not see any water inside the vessel itself.  Just a soft glowing floor forming a platform and narrow path, which led to a larger opening further inside.

Nervously, he touched one side of the opening.  Gingerly fingering the still glowing groove, he studied it closely before reaching forward with his index finger and sliding it past the edge into nothingness.  Just air.  Cool, dry air that was cold to the touch, instinctively causing him to pull it back.  Then slowly, Tay stretched out his hand and eased it through, this time higher up.

He hesitated for a moment then carefully gripped the right side, abruptly reaching out his left arm to grasp the other.  Both hands now above the waterline.

With two secure handholds, he finally relaxed his legs and allowed himself to float.

This…is…unreal.

Tay pulled himself forward, peering over the top of the water’s surface and down into the walkway.  Something was keeping the water back.  He moved a foot forward, still underwater, and watched his toes emerge from the wall of liquid below––into the cool air of the interior.

He followed the opening into the ship with his eyes before returning to what appeared to be metal flooring several feet directly below.  Remembering his knife, he reached below the waterline to retrieve it.

Now with the blade out, Tay extended it forward and touched its tip against an inside section of wall, where it made a soft clink.

He used the blade to probe the wall at various spots above and below him.   Finally gaining enough confidence to reach forward and drop the knife entirely, he watched it land with a loud bang against the strange walkway below.

At least it was solid.

Having explored what he could reach, Tay took a deep breath.  With one powerful surge, he pulled himself forward through the water until he reached the edge and fell forward into the open air.  He fell several feet and landed with a thud onto the glowing metal, less than a foot from his knife.

He immediately scrambled back to his feet and steadied himself, shifting his full weight alternately to each foot before taking a cautious step forward.  Just far enough to retrieve his knife and return it to its sheath.

Tay squinted and stared into the darkness.  He then took a second step.

40

On the other side of the giant wall, Sally remained motionless in the water.  Listening carefully, along with the rest of the dolphins.

No hear Alison.  No more.

A few yards behind her, Alison nodded.  “Neither do I.”  She tilted her mask up toward the surface, causing a beam of light to reflect off the glass faceplate.  “Did you get all that, Chris?”

From his chair, Chris glanced back at Smitty, who was wearing a set of headphones and nodding.  “Yep.  We sure did.  Make sure you thank Sally and her friends.”

Alison grinned.  “I think they can hear you.”

Friend trouble Alison.

“Yes, he is,” she replied.  “But we’re trying to help him.”

We help.

Alison reached out and gently stroked Sally’s long back as the dolphin drifted in place.  “Thank you, Sally.”  Her brown eyes fell to Sally’s soft white belly where she could see the small bump. She ran her hand closer to the area.  “May I touch, Sally?”

Yes.

She placed her hand affectionately on Sally’s stomach.  There was no movement, yet.

“Are you happy, Sally?”

The dolphin brought her head around.  Much happy Alison.  Me mother.

“It’s wonderful.  I’m very–”

Me soon male.

Alison wrinkled her brow.  “What?”

Me soon male.

“Chris, did you hear that?”

“Uh, yeah,” crackled his reply.  “That was kind of hard to miss.”

“You’re having a boy, Sally?”

Yes.  Sally turned now to stare at Alison through large round eyes.  You funny.

Alison opened her mouth to reply but stopped, and instead closed it again, trying to think through IMIS’s still limited vocabulary.  How could she explain that humans couldn’t tell the sex of their babies?  At least not without help.  Although Alison had heard some mothers claim they could sense it from the beginning, she wasn’t sure if that was really true.

“She’s saying they can tell what they’re having?” Chris questioned through his microphone.

“Sounds like it.”  Alison smiled.  “Something else to add to our list of surprises.”  She suddenly paused, thoughtfully.  “I wonder…if we were ever able to do that.”

“Beats me.  But after everything else, would we really be surprised?”

“And if Sally’s right, if they can tell the sex instinctively, can other animals too?”

“Wow.”

“Remember what Neely said.  All animals on the planet share a lot of DNA.”

“Ali, I just don’t know how much more of this my brain can take.”

Inside her mask, Alison chuckled, still studying Sally.  Below, dozens of the dolphins had dispersed.  Many were now circling her and Sally again, curiously.  “Sally, I want to talk more, okay?”

Yes Alison.  Like talk.

She stared at the dolphin through her mask, contemplating, her legs moving her fins gently to stay in place.  “How did Dirk see his way out of those caves?”

There was no error in her sentence, but she wasn’t sure Sally understood her question.  She decided to rephrase.  “How did he see through the caves?”

No understand.

Alison continued peering through puffs of breath inside her mask, the vapor briefly fogging the lower half before disappearing just as quickly.  It seemed she was always struggling to figure out a way for Sally to understand her questions.  There was much more the dolphins could do.  She was sure of it.  Their brains were hugely complex, and there were numerous telltale indicators of more capabilities than just a playful disposition.  People who spent any real time with dolphins, in captivity or not, almost universally came away with the same feeling.

After all, encephalization, or brain expansion, was the very foundation of modern social cognition.  Abilities like language, teaching, empathy, and even group decision-making were not exclusive to humans.  Not even close.  In fact, there were so many cognitive and social similarities, especially now that they’d broken the language barrier––and it only made Alison that much more certain.

She was reminded of a dolphin named Kelly, who was trained to help keep her tank clean.  She was rewarded with a fish for every piece of litter she brought to her trainer.  But what Kelly quickly learned was that, by lodging a piece of litter under a stone, she could tear off smaller pieces and present each one for another piece of fish.  That simple act might seem cute to most people, but the reasoning behind her tactic was much more complex.  And the speed at which Kelly had realized it was stunning.

However, the real surprise was when Kelly taught the same strategy to her calf.  Along with the idea of using some of their fish to lure gulls closer to the water where they could be caught.

It was a perfect lesson of how, in cognition, learning was one thing, but reasoning and teaching resided on much deeper levels.  The same realization now had some scientists concluding that the measure of intelligence was perhaps more behavioral than structural.

And then, of course, there were the whales.  Also in the cetacean species, whales held even more secrets all by themselves.  While some like the Belugas could actually emulate the language of dolphins, what was truly fascinating were their songs.  Whale songs, when dissected carefully, had been revealed to have far more depth than previously thought.

Within the songs, small units of sounds built patterns followed by phrases and finally themes––not only mimicking the same level of sophistication as a language but even a form of grammar itself.

The fact was, when coupled with a large heavy brain, there was no telling what these cetaceans knew or what they could do.

But what really excited Alison about Sally was more than just the translation they were able to achieve with IMIS.  It was the ability to really listen to them.  And she hoped IMIS would now provide them with the means of listening to what Sally would ultimately go on to teach her newborn calf.  If that happened, it would be a level of scientific observation like no other.

For hundreds of years, visual observation alone had provided human researchers a treasure trove of information about the world around them, from Zoology to Ichthyology to Mammalogy.  The stepping stones of modern study had provided vast amounts of understanding.  But now, what would it be like to hear the actual words between a mother and her young? The true instructions of life, between a mother and child in another intelligent species.  From a scientific standpoint, the idea was simply astonishing.

Then another thought struck Alison like a thunderbolt.  If they could observe speech in dolphins between mother and child, why couldn’t they do it with gorillas too?  In fact, why couldn’t they do it with many other species?

An excited Alison turned with a question for Sally but was suddenly interrupted by a strange sensation that hit her and ran through her entire body.  She recognized it immediately as the same buzzing she’d felt before while talking to Dirk.

“Chris!” she blurted out, abruptly turning and swimming backward.  “It’s back.  I’m feeling it again.  That sensation.  And it’s stronger this time.”

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

She twisted her body from side to side, scanning the depths.  “I’m not sure.  Below me, I think.”  She continued her retreat, still peering downward.  “Too deep for me to see.”

She called out to her friend.  “Sally, I feel something strange.  What is that?”

A moment later, Alison heard the frustrating sound of an error.  Sally didn’t know the word strange.  “Sally, I feel something different.”

No error this time, but it was followed only by silence.  Sally turned to watch her curiously, leaving Alison wondering if the translation was successful.

“Sally?”

Yes.

“What is that feeling?!”

No understand Alison.

The buzzing stopped without warning, just as quickly as it had begun.

Alison.  We talk.

“Yes, Sally.  But I need to know what that is.”

It was only after her words were finally translated that a slow movement showed itself in the darkness below them.  Alison stared intently, trying to determine what was there and finally recognized the outlines of two of Sally’s elders, accompanied by Dirk.  But it was the shape which appeared last that made Alison gasp inside her mask.

Her words were faint but clear enough for Chris to hear through his headphones.  “Oh…my…God.”

41

For the next sentence, Alison’s voice rose barely above a whisper.  Not out of fear, but fascination.

“Are you seeing this, Chris?”

Above her, Chris was simultaneously staring into his own screen, with Smitty hovering over his shoulder.   He turned and looked expectantly at the tall, red-haired engineer.  Smitty shook his head, prompting Chris to follow suit.  “No.  It’s too dark for the camera.  What is it?”

Alison watched, unmoving, as the unusual shape gradually approached.  It took several seconds for her eyes to confirm it was still a dolphin.  But this one looked different.  Very different.  Its outline was noticeably shorter than the others.  And fatter.

When it drew closer, Alison’s lips parted slightly.  The color of its skin was darker and on its head was a giant, oddly shaped lump: part of the melon all dolphins had.  A large mass of adipose tissue, it modulated the animal’s vocalization and acted as a powerful sound lens.  The entire species shared the adaptation, but in comparison, this dolphin’s melon was…enormous.

“Wowww,” Alison murmured, as it continued approaching.  The creature seemed to be studying her as much as she was studying it.  “Chris?”

“We see it now.  Whoa!  What the…”

She didn’t reply.  Instead, Alison merely stared at the dolphin through swirling currents, where it hovered several feet away.  The dark skin on its back and tail gave it a deceiving appearance, resembling camouflage, allowing parts of the animal to blend into the vast expanse of darkness behind it.

“Is that,” Chris said hesitatingly, “what I think it is?”

Alison nodded, simultaneously muting the microphone on her vest.

Behind Chris, Smitty raised his eyebrows.  “What is it?  A different species?”

“I don’t think so,” Alison’s voice answered.

Smitty eyed Chris, who responded in a low voice as if thinking out loud.  “It’s something we’ve wondered about for a long time but never actually seen before.”

“I think we were right, Chris,” Alison whispered.

He nodded in response, with an air of bewilderment.  “It appears so.”

“It only made sense.”

Smitty’s eyes were now darting back and forth, from the monitor to Chris and back.  “What made sense?”

Chris Ramirez leaned back in his chair, wearing a look of disbelief.  “They had to be out there, somewhere.  I just didn’t…”

“Me either,” replied Alison.

With a loud sigh, Smitty straightened behind Chris.  “You can hear me, right?”

“Most people don’t realize just how many dolphins are really out there,” Chris answered.  His eyes remained glued to the oddly shaped animal floating in front of Alison’s vest.  “But there are millions.  Maybe tens of millions.  Not unlike the number of humans just a few hundred years ago.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means that, statistically, we would at some point expect to see certain variations, just like we do in humans.”

“Variations,” Smitty repeated.  He remained still, thinking.  “What does that mean?  Like short or fat?”

“No.  More like…handicapped or exceptional.  Sort of.”

Smitty stared again at the screen.  “Are you saying this is some kind of disabled dolphin?”

“No, not disabled,” Chris shook his head.  “We’ve already seen those.  We’re talking about another possibility.  Something different, like…a savant.”

42

“That’s where it’s coming from, Chris,” Alison said.  “The buzzing.”

“From that dolphin?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, would you look at the size of that melon?”  Chris’s voice was nearly a whisper.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Mother Nature may be strange, but she’s not wasteful.”

“No, she is not.  And just like Neely says, there is no free lunch.”

Alison nodded and forced herself to relax.  It was true.  Abilities and disabilities, of all kinds, typically came at a cost over one another.  Like a biological tradeoff.  And it was especially true in human savants.  Born with incredible skills or abilities, their gifts came at the cost of having other deficiencies, often related to brain function or processing.  For example, most savants scored surprisingly low on IQ tests while simultaneously demonstrating profound talents, like music.  Or brilliance in other areas, like mathematics.

But it also went far beyond that.  Even in those who were not considered a savant.  Alison remembered an internship in her first year of college, at the local hospital.  She spent two months working with mentally disabled kids.  These children had difficulty performing a variety of physical or mental tasks, but at the same time were simply some of the sweetest and most beautiful souls she had ever met.  By the end of the summer, she came to love every one of those kids and learned that each of them had special talents or abilities that were not immediately noticeable at first glance.  Some were incredible with numbers.  Some could finish a book in barely an hour.  And one, she remembered, often seemed to know what Alison was going to say before she said it.   For Alison, the experience was a hard lesson that while Mother Nature may not always be fair, strangely and often perversely, she was always balanced.  It was just a question of how.

“Ali?” called Chris.  “Sally is trying to talk to you.”

Alison blinked and abruptly reached down to turn the vest’s speaker back on.  “What is it, Sally?”

Alison.  You help, yes?

She gulped.  “I’m trying to, yes.”

You help now.

Geez, she thought.  They were not giving up.

“Like I said, it will take time.  I have elders too.”

Talk heads soon, Alison?

Alison nodded inside her mask.  “I will.  I promise.”

Behind Sally, the two elders turned and moved away, followed by the shorter, stubbier dolphin.  When they were beyond the range of the humans’ talking metal, one of the elders slowed and allowed the shorter one to catch up.  It was not just its size.  The dolphin with the misshapen melon was also noticeably slower.

When it caught up, both elders waited for it to speak.  And when it did, the message was brief.

“She say truth.”

43

Elgin Tay peered at the floor below him in bewilderment.  With each step, the familiar green glow emanated from beneath his foot, rippling out before fading again.  And he could see something else.

Appearing as part of the floor, or embedded within it, were…lines.  Dozens of lines surrounded each foot as he moved.  All of which appeared to be perfectly straight.  Some continued forward while others broke off at ninety-degree angles before disappearing as soon as the glow faded.

Tay tilted his head, stepping several times in one place to study the patterns.  These lines looked oddly familiar, resembling something he had seen before.  They looked similar to the conductive lines etched in computer circuit boards.  But these appeared in a variety of sizes.  Some seemed barely wider than a strand of hair.

Tay paused and looked up.  He reached forward, stretching out to touch a nearby wall, and was fascinated to find the same line patterns illuminated by the glow around his hand.  They were everywhere.

He continued, reaching the end of the small walkway where the walls opened into a larger area.  There was another slight but perceptible change in the air––cooler and denser.  He could feel it in his lungs as he breathed.

Below his feet, with each step, the glow provided enough ambient light to sense an emptiness in front of him.  Yet he had a distinct feeling that something was waiting in the darkness, just out of sight.

Tay stepped back.  There was also a slight angle to the floor.  A gentle slant suggesting the ship was not entirely level.  Had it been situated that way intentionally, or had it settled over time atop an uneven ocean floor?

Tay stopped and inhaled slowly, feeling an unpleasant creeping sensation.  A subtle loss of awareness warning him that without more light he could easily get lost.  Darkness had a way of quickly enveloping a person and robbing their sense of direction.  It was the reason so many people died while cave diving.  Even experienced divers could lose their bearings within minutes.  And then begin to panic.

But there was a simple solution.  If the person could manage to remember it before the panic set in.  Always keep one hand on the wall.

No matter where they were, or how lost, if a diver could manage to keep one hand on the wall and move in the same direction, eventually they would find the exit.  Presuming, of course, they had enough air.

Fortunately, Tay did.

He placed his hand on the wall and moved to the right, leaving faint trails glowing behind his fingers.  Stay right.

44

Alison had almost reached the surface when she was startled once more by two sudden plunges into the water several feet away.  She saw the fins first, followed by two sets of powerful legs, then finally the bodies and illuminated masks of SEAL divers Corbin and Beene.

Neither man seemed to notice Alison’s look of surprise and instead briefly waved as they turned, kicking away from the edge of the ship.  A few moments later, a large shadow appeared overhead, quickly roiling the surface with its much larger splash.

It was some kind of signaling apparatus.  Less than a foot thick, it contained a wide grid made up of what appeared to be nine square ceramic plates on each side.  Thick yellow and red cables traveled upwards from each plate.  They then combined into a much thicker black cable from which the device was supported.

As it dropped several feet below the surface, both Corbin and Beene grasped the metal frame on either side and without a word, guided the device further out, while it continued to descend.

Alison watched the men as they quickly sank with it into the darker water below.  “Well, that was interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Corbin and Beene just jumped in and rode something big down.”

After a pause, Chris’s voice replied.  “Smitty says that’s a hydrophone array.  They’re using it to pinpoint where Lieutenant Tay is inside the ship.”

“Ah.”

“Which means we won’t have to use our dolphins anymore.”

Alison continued watching.  She grinned at the swarm of dolphins who hastily approached and began circling excitedly around them.  “I guess we should have told them.  It looks to me like they’re ready to go again.”

A deeper voice came through her earbuds.  “Alison, this is Corbin.  Can you ask our friends to guide us down to where they heard the sounds?  That should be close enough to pinpoint.”

“Sure.”  Alison relayed the message and heard Dirk’s reply from within the cluster below.  She watched as a few shapes broke away and chased the men downward.

“They’re coming to you.  You’ll need to hold on.”

Corbin and Beene looked curiously at each other.

“One hand on a fin.”

Both men acknowledged and reached out to wrap a gloved hand around a dolphin’s dorsal fin.

“Now hold on.”

“Whoa!” Beene said, suddenly accelerating.  “These guys are fast.”

Behind him, Corbin scrambled for a better grip on the hydrophone as Dirk took off.  He noticed small specs in the seawater as they sped past his helmet’s lights.  He turned to see dozens of other dolphins following behind, their outlines visible against the sparkling sunlight above.  He grinned inside his mask.  “I think I’ve found my preferred mode of transportation.”

As both SEALs faded into the dark blue, Alison was left floating alone near the surface.  She glanced above at the glittering surface of the water, almost dancing with millions of tiny splashes against the surface.

Raindrops.

45

“Captain.  Satellite is showing wind speeds at almost fifty miles an hour.  Still a tropical storm but building.”

Emerson frowned.  “What’s the path?”

“Northwest.  Unless it changes, it shouldn’t pass closer than a couple hundred miles.  Probably sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

The captain nodded.  Hurricanes that far south were not uncommon.  Fortunately, they were well out of the path.  And the storm was still technically closer to a tropical depression than a first stage hurricane.  Neither of which were enough to bother Emerson.

What did bother him were the ripple effects the storm would bring as it passed.  Tropical storms, even tropical depressions, could still release a lot of energy.  Currents or surges in the water were powerful and could last for days after a storm passed.  Not necessarily a problem for the Pathfinder, but they were a very real concern for anything happening below the surface.  Like a manned rescue mission.

“Get Ackerman on the comm.”

“Aye, sir.”

***

Below deck, a corded black handle was instantly pulled from its cradle.  “Ackerman.”

“Commander, this is the Captain.  Are you watching this storm?”

“Yes, sir.  We are.”

“And?”

“Corbin and Beene aren’t reporting much of a surge yet.  With any luck, we can get in and out before it gets too bad.”

Emerson stared out through the bridge windows with a solemn expression.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that luck on the ocean doesn’t usually swing in our favor.”

“Yes, sir.  But if we don’t do it now and things get worse, we may not be able to try again for days.”

“How do our chances stand now?”

“Still in our favor.  We’re going with the fastest option, which gives us the longest possible window.”  Unfortunately, they had only two divers with enough experience to pull the operation off, and they could only stay down for so long.

“All right.  Do it.  But at the first sign of trouble, you get everyone out of there in a hurry.  If we have to wait, then we wait.”

“Yes, sir.”  When the line went dead, Ackerman reached forward and replaced the receiver.  The captain’s words had just created a knot in his stomach.

The message was clear.  Do everything he could to save Lieutenant Tay, but if push comes to shove, abort the mission and leave him inside.  At least until they could try again.  But by then it could be too late.  Because regardless of how enthusiastic Tay might be after establishing contact with them, his lack of food and fresh water was about to become life-threatening.

***

“Alison, are we sure we’re in the right area?”

She called down to Dirk and waited for the response.  “Yes, they say the hydrophone is very close.”

Both SEALs glanced down from above through their clear masks.  The hydrophone was now almost a hundred feet below them, its thick black cable pulled taut and descending past both men into the blackness below.

Corbin grabbed his pipe and proceeded to knock it hard against the hull, slowly and methodically spelling out three letters.

T-A-Y

When he was done, they waited for a reply.

Above them, aboard the Pathfinder, engineers Smitty and Odonnell watched the screen together, waiting for a return signal from the hydrophone.

There was nothing.

Chris turned back to his own microphone.  “Ali, are the dolphins hearing anything?”

After a pause, she replied.  “No.  Nothing.”

Ackerman’s wide frame appeared in the doorway.  “Any reply?”

“Not yet.”

“How’s their oxygen?”

Smitty checked another screen.  “Both have enough air for a good twenty more minutes.”

The dreariness on Ackerman’s face deepened.  “Keep them down as long as possible.  And keep repeating every sixty seconds.”

Why wasn’t Tay responding?  The engineering commander began working his way through the possibilities.  Beginning with the most likely.   After several seconds, he checked his watch.  The DSRV was en route, which meant almost six hours before they could attempt the rescue.

And it had taken barely thirty minutes for their first problem to arise.  If they could not restore communication with Tay and get a lock on his location, their chances of getting him out alive would begin dropping quickly.

46

Tay didn’t hear the sounds.  Not at first.

He had counted twelve right turns in the almost pitch blackness, and a downward slant, before stopping to regain his bearings.  He tried hard to push past the pain in his leg and maintain a mental grip of the map still inside his brain.

It was only the silence between his breaths that allowed him to hear the faint echoes from Corbin’s steel pipe.

He instantly turned.  Crap!

Tay immediately scurried back the way he came.  As fast as he could manage with one hand straight out in front of him.  Glowing rings rippled under each foot in faster succession.

His hand lost contact with the wall again on his way up the ramp, and he frantically searched for it again.

I have to get back!  If they didn’t get a reply, they could think something had happened to me.

Tay found the corner and immediately rounded it.  The divers couldn’t stay down long if they were using regular gear.  Maybe twenty minutes.  And he had no idea how long they’d been calling him.

Tay ignored the throbbing in his leg.  Instead, he plowed nervously through the darkness, working backward from memory.

Around the next corner.  Then another.

Tay stopped to listen.  The banging had ceased.

***

“We’re getting nothing.”

Ackerman’s face grew more solemn.  “Is it even working?”

“Yes,” Smitty nodded.  “The hydrophone’s picking up Corbin’s sounds but nothing from Lieutenant Tay.  Nothing at all.”

Ackerman shook his head.  Son of a bitch!  Did something happen to him?!

“How much longer?”

“Corbin is down three minutes.  Beene maybe four.”  Smitty looked at the Commander.  “Unless we want them to stay longer.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t about the air.  It was about the nitrogen.  “We can’t.  We need them for the rescue, and if they absorb too much nitrogen now, we lessen the amount of time they can stay down later.”

Next to Smitty, Odonnell pressed a pair of thick headphones against each side of his head.  “They’re asking what the decision is.”

Ackerman didn’t answer.  If Tay was unable to communicate, it was a serious problem.  If he was seriously injured, it could be catastrophic.

Even if they could get a line and harness inside, it would be up to Tay to reach it and secure himself in.  If he couldn’t do that, there was no way they could get him out.  And they sure as hell weren’t about to risk sending someone else in.

“Bring them up.”

Smitty, Odonnell, and Chris Ramirez all stared at the commander.

“We have no choice,” Ackerman said.  “If he’s alive we’ll try to get someone else back down to communicate the plan.  But as of this moment, we need those two for the DSRV rescue.”

“Whoa!” Smitty nearly missed it but suddenly jumped when the hydrophone’s data stream spiked on his monitor.  A moment later, the red and blue waves peaked again, signaling another sound.

Each spike was followed by another, and all four men watched transfixed as the computer began painstakingly transcribing each incoming letter.

47

Will Borger barely seemed to notice the abrupt drop of the airplane, so pronounced it instinctively caused Lee Kenwood in the seat next to him to grab his laptop from the tiny seat-back tray.  A moment later, Borger glanced around at the other nervous passengers but quickly returned his eyes to his small satellite phone.

Lee bumped his arm excitedly, as he placed his computer back down.  “We just got a successful test!”

“What?”

“On the emulator your friend, Mr. Roland, gave us.  I just ran the first module for the deep learning algorithms, and it was successful.”

“You mean the pictures?”

“Exactly.  A few hundred pics of animals and it successfully identified not just the different species, but even different breeds.”

Borger nodded.  “Any errors?”

“Not yet, but it was a small test.”

“Still impressive.  Those are pretty subjective features that even humans can have trouble with.”

“Agreed.  I stole this piece of code from a university’s website.  It works in layers.  The lower layers run through basic shapes and sizes.  The higher levels try to differentiate between more subtle features like ears, tails, fur, those sorts of things.   It’s been used by a lot of other teams, so the code has been pretty well vetted.  Of course, it doesn’t have to just be pictures of animals.  That’s just what a lot of developers like to use.”

“More importantly, it verifies the code can work on HPE’s new platform,” said Borger.

“Yep.  Just as Mr. Roland said it would.  Which means IMIS’s deep learning computer code should also work.  Although some of those modules are going to be harder to convert than others.”

“Well, at least we have our proof of concept.”

“Right!”

Borger nodded again before turning to peer through the thick double-paned window next to him.  A ray of sunlight shone through the oval Plexiglas and crept slowly up his face, highlighting Borger’s growing beard, and eventually hitting his hazel-colored eyes.  “Now we just need the hardware.”

Lee continued typing.  “Mr. Roland said he could probably get some systems turned up for us next week when he got back.”

“Let’s hope so.  Assuming he can find a place to hide them.  We can’t exactly put them on a plane and take them to our bunker in Puerto Rico.”

Lee stopped typing.  They had the same problem trying to figure out where to relocate IMIS.  But this time they had an advantage with the HPE hardware.  It wouldn’t actually be translating anything and therefore didn’t need any dedicated feeds into it.  It didn’t even need to be encrypted for that matter.  All the HPE systems would need was a simple connection to the internet and time to scour, looking for deeper connections between data points.  Lee suspected that even if someone did stumble upon the hardware, without knowing what it was doing, all of the information would just appear like random data.  After all, even Rick Roland didn’t know what they were using it for.

“With any luck, soon we’ll have something ready, so we can try things out.”  Realizing Borger was still peering out the window, Lee frowned.  “Is everything okay?”

“I think we have a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone is still trying to find me.”  He held up his satellite phone.  “I don’t know if they can crack our encryption, but if they do, they’ll know exactly where I am.”

“How bad would that be?”

Borger shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  These phones are not connected to any of us, in any system.  And yet someone seems to have figured out which device is mine.”

Lee glanced at the phone.  “What about the others?”

“No scanning or attacks that I can detect.  As far as I know, mine is the only one being traced.  But why?”

“This might sound stupid, but maybe they have the wrong number.  I mean, maybe it used to belong to someone else.”

“Anything’s possible,” Borger said, turning to Lee.  “But the tools they’d need to be using to find this phone is more than what most computer experts have.  We’re talking about accessing multiple, highly protected networks.”  He slowly turned the phone over in his hands.  “If it’s a wrong number, it would be one hell of a coincidence.”

“Okay,” Lee replied.  “Then let’s assume the worst.  If they are targeting you, it would probably make sense.  After all, you are kind of a cornerstone in our group.  I mean you know more about this stuff than most of us put together.”

“True.”

“And if whoever they are knows that, then they may not just be looking for you.  Maybe they’re looking for all of us?  Through you.”

Now Borger’s expression froze.  Was that true?  Was someone not just trying to find him but their entire team?  If so, cracking Borger’s phone could allow them to trace things back to all of them, including Admiral Langford and Defense Secretary Miller.

Borger was growing increasingly nervous.  He’d wiped data from whole systems to keep them secret.  But what if he had missed something?  He pushed back against the seat’s headrest, contemplating the ramifications.  If someone had managed to identify him, enough to specifically target his phone, they could eventually identify the others.  And if they did, would it also provide enough information to track them all retroactively?  It was something Borger had himself done with General Wei in China––using cell towers to roll back the clock and figure out exactly where Wei had been.  Which meant someone else might be able to do the same thing to retrace the steps of Borger’s entire team.

48

Admiral Langford’s large hands were flat on each side of the speakerphone as he sat hunched over, staring at it with an expression bordering on bewilderment.  He lifted his gaze to Miller, whose expression appeared just as stunned.

“You want to do what?”

Alison Shaw’s voice came through the speaker.  There was a slight tremble in her voice.  On the other end of the phone, she stared at Chris Ramirez nervously.  “I need to cash in my favor, Admiral.”

“Ms. Shaw,” the Admiral replied dryly, “you do understand what we’re up against here.  And how hard we are trying to keep this whole thing from completely unraveling.”

“Yes, sir.  I do.  And I’m sorry.”

Langford shook his head.  “You still there, Clay?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

On the other end, on his own phone and sitting across from an amused Steve Caesare, Clay tilted his head while he answered.  “Uh…a little.”

He glared at Caesare who was grinning as he listened.

Langford shook his head.

“I know it doesn’t sound like it, Admiral,” Alison said quickly.  “But I think this is important.  I think the dolphins are holding something back.  Perhaps until we help them with this.”

“And what do you think they’re holding back, Doctor?” asked Miller.

“We’re not sure.  But they’re having conversations far enough away from us that our system cannot translate.  Things which may not be meant for us to hear.”

Langford shrugged wearily at the phone.  “Great.  Now we have the dolphins plotting against us.”

“I still don’t understand why we even care right now.”

“Well, Mr. Secretary, for starters, these dolphins have given us a heck of a lot of help over the last year, including showing us where this alien ship was buried.  Not to mention alerting us to the fact that Lieutenant Tay had survived.”

“And you’re suggesting this cooperation from them is going to end?”

“I think it could,” she replied.  “I’m worried they’re starting to doubt our intentions.”

“What intentions?” Miller shot back.  “We haven’t promised them anything.”

“Well, not technically.  No.  But until now we’ve had a pretty reciprocal relationship.  And they’re not stupid.  They’re now expecting us to help them with something they want.  Don’t forget, they were the ones who told us about Palin’s people in the first place.”

“Jesus.”  Miller threw up his hands and stared at Langford.  “Now the damn fish are holding us hostage.”

“Mammals.”

“Whatever.”

“Sir,” replied Clay.  “Alison is not suggesting this has to happen immediately.”

“That’s right,” she agreed.  “This is not imminent.  But I think we need to convey that we will help them.  And it sounds like you two may be the only ones who can ultimately make that happen.”

The two older men stared at each other for a long time.

“Admiral?”

“Fine,” Langford finally breathed.  “Fine.  Tell them we’ll do it.  But not until we get Tay out of there.  There’s an awful lot that can go wrong.”

“Yes, Admiral.  I will tell them.  Thank you.”

Langford, still frowning, almost barked his next question.  “Where’s Caesare?”

It was Clay’s turn to grin when Steve Caesare abruptly leaned forward in surprise, dropping his feet from the table.  “I’m here, Admiral.”

“Get your things together.  Your presence has been requested on the Pathfinder by Captain Emerson.”

“Now?”

“No, Commander.  Someday.  When you have nothing else to do.”

“Well, that sounds good to me, Admiral.”

“I bet. Now get moving.  Emerson’s crew is down to only two experienced deep-water divers, and it looks as though things may get a little dicey with the rescue attempt.  We’ve got a chopper en route to pick you up in Couva.  At an airstrip just north of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Merl Miller leaned forward.  “Doctor Shaw, is there anything else from your end?”

“Uh, no.  Sir.  That’s it.  Thank you.”

“Very well.  Please disconnect.”

There was a short pause, followed by a clicking sound as Alison hung up.

“Commander Caesare, there is another matter,” Miller said.  “I want you to talk to Commander Lawton, if you haven’t already, and find out where on the ship she hid her bacterium samples.  When you get aboard, I want you to find them and secure them.  Immediately.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.  Perfectly.”

Langford noticed the light flash on the phone’s second line and held up a hand.  “Gentlemen, one moment.”  He pressed a button and listened.  “Yes?”

“Admiral, I have another incoming call for you.  From Will Borger.  He says it’s urgent.”

“Fine.  Put him through.”

Langford merged the calls just before Borger spoke.  “Can you hear me, Admiral?”

“Yes, Will.  I can.  I’m here with Secretary Miller.  Clay and Caesare are also on.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Hey, Will.  What’s shakin?”

“Not much.  We just landed in Nassau.”

Caesare smiled.  “That poor flight attendant.”

“Hey, I’m getting better.”

Langford lowered himself into a padded black chair.  “Enough humor, gentlemen.  What do you have?”

“I’m afraid we have a bit of a situation, Admiral.”

“What kind of situation?”

Borger took a step closer to one of the giant floor-to-ceiling windows and peered out, watching several airport workmen below him unload luggage.  Behind him, Lee studied a long line of passengers nearby, all waiting to buy food on the far side of the tiny terminal.

“Someone’s trying to track me.”

Langford frowned.  “What?”

“Someone has identified my phone, Admiral, and is trying to identify my location.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure.  At least not yet.”

“Will they be able to find you?” Miller asked from under his heavy brow.

“Probably.  Given enough time.”

Clay spoke up.  “Which means that if they know about Will, they may know about the rest of us.  Or they’ll eventually find out.”

“Exactly,” answered Borger.  “I deleted every record I could.  But it’s conceivable that whoever this is could piece enough together to start making some connections.  Right up through you and the Secretary, Admiral.  And, sir, if they find me, that could also mean pinpointing my location aboard the Pathfinder once I get there.”

“And if that happens,” Langford replied, leaning over the table, “we might as well just raise a giant flag that says, look at us.”

Miller frowned.  “Why not just get a new phone?”

“These are not regular phones, sir,” Borger replied.  “Procuring and hardening a new one will take time.  Until then, I think it’s a bad idea for me to go out to the Pathfinder with Lee.”

“Agreed.”

“To be safe, I probably shouldn’t go much further south than Puerto Rico.  My location there shouldn’t be much of a surprise, and I can find a place to hunker down and try to find out who this is, while still providing help remotely to Captain Emerson’s crew.”

“Is there anyone else being tracked?”  Miller asked.

“Not that I can see.”

“Okay.  Kenwood, get yourself to Trinidad and let us know the minute you land.  Borger, find a place to hide out, someplace where you can maintain constant contact with Emerson and his ship.  Something tells me this is just beginning.”

***

When the call ended, Miller leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.  He and Langford shared the same weary expression.

“Who do you think it is?”

Langford shrugged.  “Could be damn near anyone.  Chinese.  Russians.  Or maybe someone new who’s found enough clues.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.  Or worse, someone we’ve even given those clues to.  And more.”

Langford stared back at him.  “You mean domestic.”

“Let’s hope not.”  Miller maintained eye contact before dropping his eyes to the table, where he studied his hand and turned it over.  “It’s times like these that I wish we had never discovered that damn ship.  Or any of this.  Beginning with those people hiding on the bottom of the ocean.”

49

Bright flames from the fire painted everything inside of thirty feet with a soft orange glow––large rocks, a few wooden stumps, and an almost complete circular curtain of thick vegetation.  Overhead the rising warmth faded, giving way to the cool night air.  And higher still, a sky littered with bright glimmering stars.

Outlines of scattered gray clouds could still be seen in the distance and those, together with the moist ground, were all that remained of an early evening rainstorm.

DeeAnn Draper sat on one of the damp logs, warmed by the fire, and watched Dulce play with something between her long dark fingers.  The small gorilla studied the substance curiously, placing her hands together and then parting them again.  She continued doing it repeatedly, each time appearing just as curious as before.

Ronin sat on a wide boulder several feet away, also watching.  “What is that?”

DeeAnn couldn’t decide whether to grin or shake her head.  “Honey,” she answered.  “She must have found a hive nearby.”

DeeAnn glanced over to the smaller capuchin monkey just a foot or two away, studying the gorilla intently.

The two adult humans watched for a while longer before DeeAnn finally chuckled.  “Dulce, what are you trying to do?”

The gorilla peered up at her with large hazel eyes.  Off.

“Honey doesn’t come off easily.  You’re better off licking them clean.”

There was a short buzz from DeeAnn’s vest, signaling an incomplete translation, but Dulce stared at her thoughtfully, as if she understood.  She surprised DeeAnn by raising one hand and extending her large pink tongue until it touched the first finger.

Her eyes instantly widened.

“It’s good.  Like an apple.  Sweet.”

Dulce licked again, this time more excitedly.  No apple.  More good!

DeeAnn continued smiling and turned to Ronin.  “It was inevitable.  She’s discovered sugar.”

Dulce’s finger-licking accelerated.  When she began going from finger to finger, Dexter took a hesitant step forward.  Carefully, he reached forward and sniffed one of Dulce’s fingers.

Ronin watched with fascination while DeeAnn studied the tiny capuchin.  “The small one seems curious.  And intelligent.”

“Very.”  She was softly illuminated in the glow of the firelight.  “He’s extremely intelligent.  And his movements…are even more human-like.”

“He is special?”

DeeAnn smiled.  “They both are.  But yes, Dexter is special in his likeness to us.  A little less monkey and slightly more human.  And he’s not the only one.  I saw troops of them in South America.”  She continued without looking away from the pair.  “He’s very similar to what we consider an ancestor of our distant past.  A different kind of ape that gave rise to humans.  What we call our missing link.  Dexter is a modern-day version of that. A result of the green liquid we found in that strange vault.  Or should I say vaults?   The same liquid that may have also created the missing link in our evolution eons ago.”

Ronin watched Dexter scrape some honey from Dulce’s hand with his tiny fingers.  “And you plan to study him?”

“Yes.  He could teach us a lot about how we came to be.  How long it took.  The stages we went through.  And maybe even some of the things we learned first.”

“Yes,” Ronin said, nodding.  “Our scientists did much the same.”

DeeAnn turned back to him.  “I assume you have a lot of animals on your planet too.”

“We used to but not anymore.  Not after the events.  The asteroids.  We now have only a small number.  They struggle to survive just like us.”

“Can’t you help them?”

“We try, but we are also struggling to save ourselves––and there are not many of us left.”

Surprised by his response, DeeAnn frowned, almost apologetically.

“But our scientists came to believe the same as yours.  About how we began.  Our…”  He stopped and nodded to the animals.  “What do you call them again?”

“Primates.”

“Our primates look different but are still very similar.  Some are smarter even than these.”

“How much smarter?”

Ronin shrugged.  “Some can speak a few of our words.”

“Really?!”

“Yes.  They are very limited, but it has given rise to many debates over how they are treated.  But that was a long time ago.”

DeeAnn was fascinated.  “What other kinds of animals do you have?  I mean did you have?”

“Mostly four legs, like many of yours here.  They were different, of course.  Most were smaller on average.  We did, however, have some that were very large.  Even some that could fly, like your birds.  But most of those are gone now.  Of the animals that survived, the majority are very small.  Good at hiding in small spaces, or those that don’t require much food.”  His eyes moved from DeeAnn back to the primates.  “Some of our scientists claim we did not understand how important our primates and the other animals were to our world until they were destroyed.”

DeeAnn shrugged.  “If it’s any consolation, it’s a challenge we also share.”

“What is consolation?”

“It means if it helps.”

“I see.”  Ronin considered her words.  “I do not understand how that would help.”

His literal interpretation made DeeAnn smile.  “Never mind.  It’s not important.  Tell me more about your people.  How are they coping?”

Ronin raised an eyebrow.

“I mean how are they managing?  How are they continuing?”

“We are all working hard.  But life is difficult.  The consequences of the impacts were greater than anyone expected.  Worse than we feared.  Our world’s environment changed faster than we could adjust.”

“You told me your people’s differences died after the impacts.”

Ronin turned toward the fire.  He studied the flames before him, made livelier by occasional loud pops from the wood.  “Most differences, yes.  But not all.  We are of the same goal, which is to survive.  But some disagree on the best path forward.”

“What does that mean?”

“Many blame our government.  What is left of it.  For not paying enough attention before the events.  For not making the safety of our planet their highest priority.  And they argue that no one could have known.  That there were only so many resources available.  Others, like I, see the arguments as pointless.  History is always clearer after it has occurred.”

Hindsight, DeeAnn nodded.

“Now a newer, younger government is fighting for power.  Not over the people but over how we are to survive.”

“How you survive?”

“They argue that we should leave our home planet.  That saving it is too difficult.  An impossibility given how much damage has taken place.  While the older generations insist we should stop at nothing to save our home.”

DeeAnn tilted her head.  “Where would you go?”

“We have other planets in our system, like you.  One of which we already have a small presence on.  Most of the water is ice, but we’ve already begun growing food there.  Those that want to leave claim that adapting is faster than repairing.”

“What do you think?”

Ronin looked at DeeAnn with a slight look of confusion.  “It doesn’t matter what I think.  I’m a soldier, not a scientist or an academic.  My role is not to decide.  My role is to carry out whatever decision is made.  And those still in power, say we are to rebuild.”

50

One of the men still in power was standing in a large cavity carved from solid granite, atop one of Rwanda’s highest mountains.  Bright lights inside the crater reflected off the dense rock around him, producing a pinkish hue influenced by the hardened quartz and feldspar.

Dressed in a light gray uniform with his arms folded across his chest, Palin’s face was expressionless.  He stoically watched a bright blue laser suddenly appear against one of many ancient glass columns filled with green liquid.

A dazzling flash from the laser illuminated the room for several long seconds before promptly disappearing again.

One of the half-dozen men near Palin stepped forward and studied the column where the laser had struck.  He ran his finger over the curved glass before holding up a small instrument.  After a careful examination, he turned to Palin.

“This will take some time.”

“How long?”

“A few days.  Perhaps more.”

Palin nodded his bald head and stepped away, turning back to the other men standing behind him, all of whom were watching intently.  “We will require more time.  Maintain the shield outside and remain alert for any visitors.”

The men nodded in unison and turned as a group toward the exit––a large square opening where a slab of granite had been removed.

Upon their departure, Palin turned back around and continued watching two of his engineers, both hunched over their equipment.  They already had a sample of water, which had absorbed some of the energy from the strange green columns.  But what they needed was the source liquid itself.  Swirling, ever so slowly, inside.

They needed to study the liquid’s properties, identify what compounds were inside, and ultimately obtain a glimpse into how it was created—and what made it so powerful.

Because whatever the substance was, its potency was far beyond the scientific ability of either of their planets.  Something Palin and his men had realized immediately.  Leaving far more at stake than they wanted to admit.

It was the rapid unraveling of their remaining social fabric that had pitted Palin and Laana against a new regime.  Engaging in a desperate fight to keep what was left of their culture together––for both a people and a planet in desperate need of a miracle.

A miracle they prayed resided inside the strange alien tubes.

51

Elgin Tay was going to need a miracle of his own.  He now estimated less than three hours until the Pathfinder’s crew would attempt to retrieve him from the ship.  And although they had managed to communicate an abbreviated version of their plan, Tay knew more than enough to be worried.

If the drill could once again pierce the alien hull, they would have to use some kind of an underwater skirt to seal the opening, and quickly.  Then they would have to try to keep the opening from closing again and try to fish him out at the same time.

Tay’s own problem, of course, was that he was no longer sure precisely which section of the wall he’d originally come through.  So, if they dropped a line and harness, which sounded like what they intended, he might have very little time to get to it.  And if there was one thing no one could move quickly in, it was water.

He continued running different scenarios through his head, trying to anticipate the unexpected.  But each version he thought of, every angle, every variable, did not leave him the least bit optimistic.

It would all have to go right.  Everything.  And Tay was experienced enough to know…that everything never went right.

52

Unfortunately, one of the most critical variables in Lieutenant Tay’s rescue operation did not have the slightest idea who Tay even was––a point of irritation for the entirety of their trip from Norfolk, Virginia.

Captain Royce Kauffman stood soberly in the control room of the U.S.S. Scranton, wearing a hard, chiseled expression.  A Los Angeles-class submarine and the second ship to be named after the city in Northeastern Pennsylvania, the sub was a pioneer in its modular construction.  It also served as the docking and transport of the U.S. Navy’s increasingly large unmanned underwater vehicle fleet.  A fleet designed specifically for naval research and assistance operations around the globe.  Including manned rescues from downed submarines.

If that’s what this was.

Procedurally speaking, Captain Kauffman’s current assignment was the strangest he had ever encountered.  Never before had Kauffman been given such precise instructions that ended abruptly with him knowing exactly zero about what the hell was going on.

Their Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, or DSRV, was the latest and most advanced unmanned vehicle the Navy had.  Suddenly procured and flown directly to Norfolk from San Diego in mere hours, it was then mounted to the top of the U.S.S. Scranton for immediate deployment.

And while there was nothing unusual in the immediacy of the operation, the puzzling lack of information for Kauffman and his crew had left them with absolutely no instructions beyond delivering their rescue vehicle to the Pathfinder at a set of predetermined coordinates.  Nothing more.  Just deliver the DSRV and wait for further instructions from Naval Command.

Kauffman leaned forward, silently.  His hands clasped behind his back, the captain stared almost blankly at one of the dozens of computer screens surrounding him.  A mission called up this quickly could only be a live rescue.  But if it was, why on Earth weren’t they being told anything?

There were dozens of things they needed to prepare for, but without knowing exactly what they were dealing with, all they could do was make assumptions.  In other words, plan for standard prep for unmounting and deploying the DSRV both with and without crewmen from the Scranton.  They had no idea how deep the wreckage might be, what kind of vessel it was, or how many men they were hoping to retrieve.  Nothing.

The whole thing reeked of political subterfuge as far as Kauffman was concerned.  Thirty-eight years old and with a healthy dose of career-based cynicism, he’d seen enough cloak and dagger missions to tell him that whatever they were headed for was not only highly secret but poorly planned.  Two elements that often led to undesirable outcomes, but two that also went hand in hand when it came to how most departments in the government operated.

The captain continued to glower, quietly, hoping there would be a lot more information waiting for them when they finally reached the Pathfinder.

Kauffman finally tried to distract himself and glanced around the well-lit control room.  His men moved about him quietly and precisely in their tasks.  The movement of their sub was virtually undetectable due to their slow speed since the Scranton had been forced to travel completely submerged from Norfolk.

Being underwater with the DSRV mounted on top created enormous drag, and a speed higher than fifteen knots would risk ripping the vehicle right from the sub’s mounting.

To Kauffman, it felt like they had been ordered to rush to an emergency without taking the ambulance out of second gear.

Without a word, he brought his right arm around and checked his watch.  Captain Emerson had better have some damn good answers.

53

Captain Emerson burst into the Pathfinder’s engineering control room, inadvertently slamming the metal door hard against the wall behind it.  Several of the engineering team were waiting for him, namely Smitty and Odonnell with the ship’s chief engineer Ackerman in front.

“What is it?”

Ackerman frowned.  “Sir, we may have a problem.”  He turned and motioned to the screen behind him.  “With the drill.”

The captain squinted at the picture.  “What problem?”

“We’ve found a small crack in the drill bit.  It’s not large, microscopic really, but the integrity and strength of the bit may be compromised.”

“So where does that leave us?  The Scranton should be here inside of an hour.”

“Uh…we don’t know.  Exactly.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

The engineer shrugged hesitantly.  “It’s possible the drill was damaged in the explosion and not by drilling into the alien hull.  Which means it may be able to withstand another attempt to pierce it.  On the other hand, if it was damaged during the previous drilling attempt, it may fail before we can get through the second time.”

Emerson’s jawline tensed and his eyes remained fixed on the screen.  Now displayed was a close-up spectral image of the bit and a faint line, indicating a crack inside the metal.  “Unbelievable.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And our storm is getting worse.”

“Yes, sir.”

Emerson shook his head and muttered under his breath.  “Shit.”  He straightened and turned back around, walking out through the heavy door and into the fading sunlight.  The cloud cover was darkening.

Emerson stared over the railing at the swirling waters below and shook his head again.  He then looked over his shoulder to find Ackerman waiting at the door.  “Tay knows we’re coming.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Man’s down there, starving in the dark, just trying to keep his damn wits about him.”

“We still have time to tell him we have to wait.”

Emerson took a deep breath and turned around.  “No.  We’ve come this far.  It’s time to go for broke.  Let’s go get our man.”

54

Li Na’s eyes opened suddenly and gradually focused on Dr. Tricia Rhoades, approaching with a small needle in her hand.  Li Na inhaled through her nose and looked around.  There was no one else in the room.

“Look who’s awake.”  Tricia smiled.  She reached the bed and placed a soft hand on Li Na’s forearm.  “How are we feeling?”

The teenager answered apprehensively but politely.  “Better.  I think.”

“Good.”  Tricia tenderly slid her fingers to Li Na’s wrist and checked her pulse.  “That was a solid three hours of sleep and very much needed, I think.  Any dreams?”

“I don’t think so.”  Li Na looked at the needle in Tricia’s hand.  “What is that?”

“Just some vitamins.  Your blood levels are pretty low on electrolytes.  Not surprising given what you’ve been through.”

“What is an electrolyte?”

Tricia set the needle down and examined Li Na’s eyes and face as she spoke.  “They’re important minerals that provide nourishment for your cells and tissues.  They also help you stay hydrated, which is important for your recovery.”

“Where is Dr. Kanna?”

“He’s still catching up on some sleep.  Do you need anything?”

“No.  Thank you.”  She looked at the needle again, now on the small table.  “I…don't like needles.”

Tricia grinned sympathetically.  “Most people don’t.  Unfortunately, this is the fastest way for your body to absorb the vitamins.  But I’ll make you a deal.  One last shot for this dose and then just pills after that.”

Further down the hall, Neely watched Steve Caesare enter the wing’s short hallway, unexpectedly carrying a large pack.

“Going somewhere?”

“The Admiral’s sending me out to the Pathfinder to help with Tay.”  He grinned at her.  “You gonna miss me?”

Neely worked quickly to hide her surprise.  “Actually, I am going to miss you.  A lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “Who else is going to get me my lunch every day?”

Caesare’s expression deflated.  “Very funny.”

“No, really.  Now I’ll actually have to go out and get it myself.”

“Okay, okay.”

She smiled playfully.  “Aw, are we being sensitive?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that men have fragile egos?”

“Uh, yeah.  Girls figure that out in like the third grade.”

“We boys start figuring girls out,” Caesare countered, “somewhere around eighty.”

This time Neely laughed out loud, just as John Clay turned the corner.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes, thank God,” said Caesare.  “You ready?”

“Yep.”  Clay raised a hand and displayed a set of dangling keys.  “Borrowed a car from one of the nurses next door.”

“And exactly how hard did you have to ask?” Neely teased.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.”

“I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.  Tiewater will be here, so you’ll be in good hands until I get back from dropping Steve off.”

Both men had turned toward the door when Caesare stopped again, “Oh, one more thing.  The Admiral wants me to find that bacterium sample of yours.  Where on the Pathfinder did you hide it?”

Neely folded her arms and glanced over her shoulder, before lowering her voice.  “The only place I could think of at the time.  And hopefully where no one has thought to look yet.”

55

Opening the large door to the outside, Clay squinted and scanned the area before stepping out into the hot sun.  The unfinished wing of the hospital was quiet and void of any activity.  Thanks mostly, Clay assumed, to Admiral Langford’s contact on the hospital’s board.  Construction appeared to have been temporarily halted.

Still missing its concrete curbs, a black unfinished parking lot separated the new building and a row of short, imported cycad palm trees further out.  Beyond the palms, a chain-link fence could be seen running the length of the parking lot.  It then connected to the adjacent lot and fencing surrounding the rest of the hospital.

Caesare grinned at the old, green Subaru Forrester waiting nearby.  “That must have been some serious sweet talking to land this baby.”

Clay shrugged as he circled to the driver’s side.  “Well, I’m no Steve Caesare.”

“Amen to that.”  He opened the back door and tossed his bag onto the cloth seat.

Clay settled in and turned the ignition, while Caesare squeezed in next to him.  “Tight fit.”

“Or too much corned beef.”

“Hey,” Caesare defended with a pat of his stomach.  “All muscle, baby.”

“Right.”

Clay shifted into gear and turned the car around, watching Caesare examine the radio before pushing the eject button on the cassette deck.  When the tape appeared, he pulled it from the slot and examined it.

“Barbara Streisand.  Just how old was the nurse you borrowed this from?”

“I don’t know.  Late sixties maybe.”

“Yeah.  That was some real sweet talking all right.”

Clay smiled without taking his eyes off the road.  “I don’t know.  I’ve met quite a few attractive older women.”

Caesare thought about it and shrugged.  “Very true.”

***

Over a half mile away, on the roof of a cheap, sun-faded motel, a wide figure remained motionless in a bent-knee, sitting position.   His right eye peered steadily through a scope mounted atop a small tripod.  The man waited several seconds before finally leaning back.

With his naked eye, he watched the Subaru wind through the rest of the hospital parking lot before turning onto the main street.

The man seemed unaware of the beads of sweat dotting his tanned shaved head, focusing instead on the wide metal door from which Clay and Caesare had just emerged.

Anvil would not have been the man’s first choice for a nickname, but it was the one that had stuck years ago in the military.  Especially given his frame.  Thick, wide, and bald, the man closely resembled a walking piece of forged iron.  But in this case, it was solid muscle.

After serving for a decade in the Army Special Forces, followed by a short stint as part of Washington D.C.’s S.W.A.T. team, those who knew him were surprised when The Anvil unexpectedly retired and subsequently disappeared from public life.  None of his friends would have guessed that he had secretly become a contractor for the Central Intelligence Agency.

After peering through the scope for another full minute, Anvil finally leaned back and quickly collapsed the tripod.  With his left hand, he reached down to his feet and lifted up a small radio from the hot roof’s surface.

56

Inside the wing, Neely jumped and tried to grab a nearby towel when, in one sudden and violent movement, Li Na lurched forward and vomited on top of her bed.

But Neely’s reaction wasn’t fast enough, instead bringing the towel up and holding it to the girl’s mouth.  “It’s okay, honey.  You’re okay.”

Li Na closed her eyes in pain and promptly heaved again.  This time into the towel.  Her hand instinctively reached out to grip Neely’s arm.

“It’s okay,” Neely repeated, cupping a free hand behind Li Na’s head.  She turned to shout for help and was relieved to see Dr. Kanna entering the room.

“More towels!”

Kanna stopped in his tracks and raced to a shelf to retrieve more.  Together they covered the mess on her blanket and quickly stripped it clean, leaving Li Na covered with only the untouched sheet.

Dr. Kanna leaned over Li Na.  “Are you okay?”  He felt her head and studied her eyes carefully.

The teenager convulsed again briefly through gritted teeth, one hand grasping Neely and the other keeping a white towel to her mouth.  She tried to speak but was interrupted by another convulsion.

She closed her eyes again and lowered her head onto the pillow, exhaling hard through her nose.  The trembling in her hands faded and her grip relaxed around Neely’s arm.

“Tell me what hurts.”

“M-my stomach.”

Kanna probed carefully around her midsection, dropping toward the diaphragm, then moved higher to her solar plexus.  “Any pain here or here?”

She shook her head.

Gently, he moved his fingers back to center.  “Just here?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…just the stomach.  Nothing in the nerves.”  His hands moved in a small circle around her belly.  “Feels a little bloated.”

“Maybe something she ate?” Neely offered.

“Could be.  What did she have?”

“Uh…a little salmon.  With some rice and steamed leeks.”

“How much salmon?”

“Maybe an ounce.”

Kanna nodded.  “Anything in the rice or leeks?”

Neely thought a moment.  “Just some vegetable broth.  And a little salt and pepper.”

“Anyone else eat it?”

Neely nodded.  “Yes.  I did.”

“You feel anything?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing.”

The doctor nodded again and turned back to Li Na.  Her breathing had calmed, and she was listening to them.  She suddenly clenched again and moaned, but only for a moment this time.

“Still hurts?”

Li Na nodded hesitantly.  “Less now.”

“Good.  Did you taste anything wrong in the food?”

“No.”

Kanna opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Neely.

“Oh, wow!”  Gently, she held up Li Na’s forearm and studied the skin.  Kanna quickly moved around the bed to her side where he took Li Na’s arm, and reaching over his head, flipped on an overhead lamp.

“What the–”  He slowly rotated Li Na’s arm back and forth, gazing at it under the bright light.  A patch of tiny lines could be seen on the surface of the teenager’s soft, pale skin.  “Looks like dry skin or something.  But just right here.”  Kanna circled the area with his finger, then rotated the girl’s arm even further.  “Nothing up here…or down lower.  Just this one spot.”  His eyes moved to her other arm, and he reached across her to lift it.  A similar patch was visible.  “Strange.”

Dr. Kanna ran his finger gently over each spot.  “Does that hurt, Li Na?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

The doctor turned to Neely.  “Feel this and tell me what it feels like.”

Neely frowned.  “Dry.  Kind of scaly or flakey.”

Kanna nodded.  He rubbed the spot more firmly, careful to watch Li Na’s reaction.  He raised his thumb and examined it.  “It feels flakey, but nothing’s coming off.”

“Li Na, do you feel anything different along your arms here?  Anything at all?”

She thought about it.  “A little maybe.  Like…”  She struggled with the translation and instead wiggled two fingers back and forth.

“Like a tingle?” Neely asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

Li Na shook her head.

Kanna stood up.  “Let’s keep an eye on that.  Could be some kind of allergic reaction, perhaps triggering a mild rash.  So, we’ll need to be careful.  The last thing we want to do is introduce something here that she’s allergic to.”

They both looked down at the teenager, whose breathing was finally beginning to slow.  When she closed her mouth and breathed in deeply through her nose, Kanna raised an eyebrow.  “Something else wrong, Li Na?”

She paused.  “No.”

He continued studying her with a curious expression.

“Where is the other doctor?” Li Na asked.

“You mean Dr. Tricia?”

“Yes,” Li Na nodded.

“She’s here.  Down the hall.”

When the girl did not respond, Neely gave her a sidelong glance.  “Is there something…about Dr. Tricia?”

Li Na’s dark eyes looked into Neely’s, but there was no reply.

“Li Na?” she pressed.  “Is something wrong?”

The girl’s reply was reluctant.  “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

The teenager checked the door again, nervously.  “I feel when she is here.”

“You feel what?”

“Afraid.”

Neely and Kanna both looked at each other.  “Why do you feel afraid?”  When Li Na didn’t respond, Neely rephrased.  “Is she doing something to make you afraid?”

The girl shook her head.

“Did she say something?”

“No.”

This time Dr. Kanna lowered his voice.  “Li Na, what are you seeing that makes you afraid?”

She stared at the older man for a long moment.  “I do not see something,” she said, just above a whisper.  “I smell it.”

57

Kanna raised his head and looked directly at Neely.  “I need to speak with you.”

Immediately, the doctor led her away from the bed, to the far wall.  He kept his voice low.  “Have you noticed anything about her?  About Tricia?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything.”

Neely frowned.  “I…don’t think so.”

“I have,” Kanna replied dryly.

“What do you mean?”

“Little things.  Medical things.”  He glanced over his shoulder toward the door.  “Mistakes.”

“What sort of mistakes?”

“Just…procedural things.  Medically.  Things that she should know.  That anyone should know with her kind of experience.”

Neely stared at him.  “Like what?”

“Like Li Na’s GCS.  The Glasgow Coma Scale that gives an estimate of a patient’s conscious state.  What she gave to me after Li Na had woken up was completely wrong.”

“Maybe it was just a mistake.”

“Maybe,” Kanna said.  “But there are other things.  Like checking the girl’s muscle strength and range of motion before trying to sit her up.  And you sure as hell don’t try to get her to stand!  She also didn’t seem to know the word ambulate.”

Neely continued staring at Kanna.  “What does ambulate mean?”

“It means to stand up.  Even a medical dropout would know that.”

Neely’s gaze became curious.  She calmly looked over the doctor’s shoulder to the room’s window and door.  Then turned to Li Na, who was lying quietly in her bed and watching them.

“It’s not just that,” Kanna whispered fiercely.  “There’s more.  A lot of little things that just weren’t adding up.  At first, I thought she was just nervous, or out of practice.  But she’s missing things even a first-year resident would know!”

“So, what does that mean?”

Kanna shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  But something’s not right about her.”

Neely turned back to the teenager.  With a frown, she approached the bed again.

“Li Na.  Tell me more about what you’re smelling.”

58

The powerful odor wafting through the window of the small Subaru was easily recognizable to both Clay and Caesare.  It was the unmistakable smell of oil.

Barely twenty miles south of the Port of Spain, and originally constructed as an emergency auxiliary air base during World War II, the small Camden Airstrip was now surrounded by Point Lisas, Trinidad’s world-class petrochemical plant.  A truly impressive site created during, and in response to, a decades-long decline of the island’s sugar cane industry.

To the west and beyond a row of monstrous oil storage tanks, both men could make out heavy equipment and other signs of construction.  It was a major upgrade of the three-thousand-foot Camden Airstrip, which would soon be the island’s second international airport.

Steve Caesare peered up through the front window as the Subaru Forrester passed one of the giant tanks, massive and gleaming in a bright white beneath the Caribbean’s blazing sun.

“Man, those things are huge.  How many barrels do you think they hold?”

Clay whistled.  “Hundreds, at least.”

“Are you ever serious?”

Clay turned and glanced at him.  “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey,” Caesare retorted, holding up a finger.  “I’m affable!  There’s a difference.”

“Right.”

Caesare chuckled and turned to peer out his side window, noting more tanks in the distance along what looked to be large sprawling neighborhoods was even farther out.  “This is one big island.”

Clay nodded.  “Big enough to have its own natural gas production.”

“Oh, Mr. Tour Guide, do tell me more.  What other fascinating things do you know?”

“I was making conversation.”

“Do you have to read everything about every place we ever go?”

Clay leveled his gaze, only to find Caesare grinning directly at him.

Steve kept his grin and turned back, his brawny arm resting out the open window.  Outside, tall lime-green-colored grass sped past them in a blur.  Warm tropical air whipped through the window, tousling his black hair.  He fingered his upper lip curiously and turned back to Clay.

“I think I miss the ‘stache.”

Clay grinned.  “Makes you look more responsible.”

“Greeeat.”  After a long pause, Caesare turned again.  “So, what do you think of Neely?”

“Commander Lawton?”

“Yes.  Commander Lawton.”

“I already told you.  I think she’s out of your league.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Caesare scoffed, proudly.  “No one’s out of my league.”

“Sure they are.  They just don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

“Oh, you’re funny.”

Clay corrected, holding up a finger, “Affable.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m still working with you,” Caesare deadpanned, shaking his head and looking back out the window.  After the humor had faded, he shook his head again, keeping his eyes fixed on another towering oil tank.  “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“When we were part of the team, back in Virginia.  Things were a lot easier.”  He looked at Clay.  “Simpler.”

“Well, for starters, we were a lot younger.”

“I don’t mean physically.  It was easier back then because we knew who the bad guys were.”

Clay nodded.

“But getting older, things change.  You realize it’s not as easy as you thought it was.  That nothing is truly black and white.  Especially people.  Even those you thought you could rely on, implicitly, are usually a mass of contradiction beneath the surface.”

“Everyone more or less acts in their own interest,” Clay replied.

“Exactly.  Everyone’s playing their own game.”

“I detect a revelation coming.”

Caesare wrinkled his nose.  “Not a revelation.  Enlightenment, maybe.  Or a realization.  Or maybe just a long gradual acceptance of the naiveté of our youth.”

“Spit it out.”

Caesare looked back at him.  “My point is that there are no bad guys, John.  Everyone, on all sides, believes they are the good guys.  That they are the ones doing the right thing.  For the good of their country, or their people, or whatever.  No one actually believes they’re a bad guy.  Everyone else is the bad guys.”

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Clay nodded thoughtfully.  “That’s true.”

“With everyone acting in their own interest, whether individuals, groups, or entire governments, there are only good guys.  Sure, we’re told the Chinese or the Russians are the bad guys, and in turn, they’re told that we are.  But in the end, we all think we’re right.”

“That is enlightening.”

“So, are we really enemies?  Or are we all just fighting over the same thing?  Like dogs in some desperate battle over the same bone?”

Considering the question, Clay frowned.  “I think you may be onto something.”

Caesare turned back to the open window.  “The worst part is that it never ends.  We all think we’re right, and we all continue to fight over it.”  He shrugged.  “I thought we were all supposed to be evolving here.  You know, becoming better humans or something.”

“I guess that’s where things get a little gray.”

“Yeah.  Everyone just wants more.  Especially governments.”

“Even our own,” Clay acknowledged.

“Even our own.  And let me ask you this.  If we’re so damn smart, if humans are so evolved, why are we constantly fighting?”

Clay furrowed his brow, pondering the question.

“I mean sure, there’s the obvious, like oil and money.  But then you throw in religion and politics, and everything else.  So it’s not just about resources.”

“It’s about righteousness,” Clay answered.  “Everyone thinks they’re right.”

“Exactly.  Which brings us right back to everyone believing they’re the good guy.”

“Doesn’t sound very evolved at all.”

“So, are we really moving forward as a species?  Or are we going backward?”

“I’m not sure.  But I think we can be certain about one thing,” he said, grinning at Caesare.  “You’re smarter than your average squid.”  He glanced back at the road and then up through the windshield in time to see the faint shape of a helicopter approaching in the distance.  Caesare’s ride.

It was then that his satellite phone rang.

Clay fished it out of a pocket and glanced at the screen before handing it to Caesare.  “It’s Langford.”

Caesare quickly rolled up his window and answered on speakerphone.

“Hello, Admiral.”

“That you, Steve?”  Langford’s stride slowed briefly as he approached the large double doors to his office.  His secretary stood and extended a clipboard and pen, motioning to papers that needed signing.  He nodded and took the pen as he spoke.  “Is Clay with you?”

“Yes sir, he’s right here.  And driving a little like my grandmother, to be honest.”

“Good,” Langford’s voice retorted.  “I forgot to mention something earlier.  I found more help for you and am flying someone down.  A doctor to provide some relief for Dr. Kanna.  I’m sure he can use it.”

Both men stared at the phone.  “Another doctor?”

“Yes,” Langford answered.  “A Navy man, out of Virginia.  Name’s Tappan.  Do me a favor and pass along my apologies to our good doctor.  It took me a while to find someone we could trust.”

In the Subaru, Clay and Caesare slowly turned in unison and looked at each other.

“What about the female doctor?”

“What female doctor?”

“Tricia Rhoades.”  Clay’s response was slow and deliberate.  “She’s been here for a few days.”

On the other end, Langford finished scribbling and handed his pen back to his secretary.  “Who the hell is Tricia Rhoades?”

59

SEAL team members referred to it as a scent, but in truth, nothing about Tiewater’s feeling had anything to do with his nose.  It was more instinct than anything else.  An inkling.  That when something didn’t feel exactly wrong, it probably meant something wasn’t exactly right.  A gut feeling that caused Tiewater to head soundlessly over the polished tile floor toward the room at the end of the hall.

In the fifteen minutes or so since Clay and Caesare had left, there was a distinct change in the female doctor’s demeanor.  A new intensity, for lack of a better word, could be seen in the woman’s gaze as she passed Tiewater in the hall––before walking directly to the end and disappearing into the last room.

He slowed and remained standing near the wall for a few minutes, watching.  Noting with curiosity that she never turned the light on.  Instead, the room remained dark with the door partially ajar.

Tiewater stepped closer, continuing to watch the room’s entrance.  Still no light.  Only subtle sounds of movement from within.

He approached quietly, rolling each step from heel to toe.  As he got closer, Tiewater calmly reached down to wrap his hand over the grip of his holstered Glock.  And listened.

In his head, he knew it was probably nothing.  The doctor likely just kept the lights off to get some needed rest.  And the sounds were probably just her lying down and trying to get comfortable.

Since he had arrived, Rhoades had been friendly with him, even jovial with a hint of flirtation.  Which even Tiewater had to admit, felt a little odd for the situation.  Almost like someone trying a little too hard.

Tiewater abruptly stopped.  He lowered his breathing and could now hear mumbling inside the room.  He turned his head to one side but was unable to make out the words.

Most likely a phone call, he thought.  Or trying to decompress before getting some sleep.

But barely ten feet from the door, things were not sounding much like a conversation.  Instead, the sentences seemed short and brief, almost broken.

Tricia Rhoades had left the door open intentionally, and for precisely the same reason as her pursuer.  To listen.  For sounds of anyone approaching.  Like the faint rustling she now heard just outside her door.

She immediately lowered her arm, and with one hand, flipped the small phone closed.

She watched as Tiewater’s dark outline swept into view, as he quickly reached forward and turned on the light switch.

Tricia stared at him.  “Can I help you?”

Tiewater didn’t reply immediately.  Instead, his eyes scanned the near-empty room, noting the desk and chair positioned between them.  His eyes switched to her and stopped on the phone in her left hand.  Her right was empty and rested down by her side.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied.  “I was just making a phone call.”

“We’re lockdown on comms.  Which includes unauthorized cell phones.”

Tricia tilted her head.  “Well, no one told me.”

“Langford didn’t mention that to you?”

“No.”

Tiewater’s eyes were unmoving.  “Then what did he tell you?”

Rhoades suddenly glared at him.  “Are you interrogating me?”

“I’m just wondering why everyone here knows we’re on lockdown, except you.”

Her glare turned to irritation.  “Do you have any idea how far I had to come to help all of you?  What I had to go through just to get here?  And now you’re giving me the third degree?”

“I’ve asked you two questions, doctor.  I wouldn’t call that the third degree.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I’d call it two questions.”

She continued staring icily at him.  It wasn’t working.  Her aggression hadn’t put him off in the slightest.  He was experienced.

“Fine,” she sighed.  “I wasn’t supposed to make a phone call, but I did.  My mother is sick.  So sue me.”

The SEAL didn’t reply.

“Look, I’m sorry.”  She dropped her phone onto the desk and brought both hands up in front of her as if pleading.  “I just had to make sure she was okay.”

“Is she?”

“For the moment,” Rhoades nodded.  “She’s going through another round of chemo, and it’s not going well.”  She paused before taking a deep breath.  “It’s a horrible thing to have to go through.”

She softened her expression and continued watching him, eventually seeing a hint of conflict.

Finally, he blinked.  “My father went through it.”

“Then you understand.”

After a long moment, Tiewater blinked again, more heavily.  “It’s not easy, watching that.”

Rhoades sighed.  “Especially with your parents.  It’s even worse when you’re a doctor, and you can’t do a damn thing to help them.”  As she watched Tiewater frown, she also noticed his right hand relax and ease away from his gun.

“You’re not going to turn me in for this are you?”

Reluctantly, he shook his head and motioned to her phone.  “No.  But you can’t use that here.”

“I won’t again.  I promise.”  She smiled and moved her hands to her hips.  “I think I’m just tired.  I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“I’m sure that’s a good idea.”

She gently broke off eye contact and looked around.  “Can you, uh, help me move this desk and make some more room?  I need to move my things.”

“Sure.”

Tiewater pushed the door open, taking a heavy step onto the new carpet.  As he approached, Tricia bent over casually, as if ready to grip the side of the desk, but continued smoothly down, allowing her hand to dip below the top.  When she pulled it back up, it was in a single, instantaneous movement.

All Tiewater saw was a blur as she lifted her right hand over the top of the desk and aimed a black, long-barreled gun squarely at his chest.

60

Li Na gasped, only moments before Kanna and Neely whirled at the sound of two muted explosions.

Gunshots.

Both stared at each other and turned to find Li Na desperately trying to get out of the bed.  Instinctively, they rushed to catch her as she slid weakly from the edge and onto the cold floor.  Her body trembling.

“Get down, Li Na!  Get down!”  Neely yelled under her breath and laid the girl flat against the floor.  She pulled Kanna down over the teenager and twisted around, searching frantically.

Two rounds were all Tiewater fired before his trigger finger stopped.

He blinked, confused, and stared down at the right side of his chest.  The dart, a short black cylinder with a yellow tuft, was lodged firmly into his pectoral muscle.

“What the f–”

He raised his head and looked for Rhoades.  Her head came into view again, just above the desk.  From there she peered up at him, waiting patiently.

“What the–” This time Tiewater’s mouth stopped prematurely on its own.  He fought to move his jaw but couldn’t control it.  He attempted to aim his gun again at Rhoades but found his hand shaking badly.

His fingers were not responding.  Only his arm.

Then his arm itself began to tremble, followed by both legs.  Until all at once, Tiewater stumbled and collapsed onto the floor.

He tried to look at his hands and found himself quickly losing the ability to move his head.

With a look of complete panic on his face, he watched Tricia Rhoades slowly stand up from behind the desk.  Two bullet holes had buried themselves in the wall behind her, one surrounded by red spatter.  Tiewater could see a thick stream of blood running down the woman’s left arm.

He was beginning to salivate heavily, and his chest now felt like it was on fire.

Still holding the dart gun, Rhoades slowly reached back down into her bag with her free hand and retrieved another gun.  She then circled around the desk with eyes fixed on Tiewater as he continued struggling.

She lowered herself to a knee and examined her bleeding arm.  “You’re very fast.  I’ll give you that.”  She shrugged.  “But not very bright.  If only you’d shot sooner.”

Tiewater was desperately trying to move but could only manage slight reactions in his head and legs.

“I’m sorry about this,” Rhoades continued.  “We’re supposed to be on the same side.”  She followed Tiewater’s eyes to the gun in her hand.  “But this is too important.”  She set the gun aside and reached forward, carefully removing Tiewater’s Glock from his paralyzed hand.  “The drug is called succinylcholine.  A paralytic agent that is now shutting down the organs in your body.  The end will come relatively fast, but I’m afraid the last few minutes are going to be rough.”

Tiewater’s eyes flared, and he struggled even harder. Breathing erratically through his nose, he could no longer feel the saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “But we needed something that wouldn’t leave any traces.”  She picked up her gun and stood back up.  “I want you to know it was nothing personal.”

Where was it?!  Neely dug again through her bag, finally turning it over and dumping it onto the floor in a panic.  It had been almost a full minute since the shots and she couldn’t find her gun!  Desperately, she searched through her empty bag, finding nothing.  Turning to scan the room again, she froze instantly when she saw Tricia Rhoades in the doorway.

Instantly, she yanked her Sig Sauer off the floor and stripped away the black fabric holster.

“Don’t.”

Neely remained still.

“Drop it and raise your hands.”

Neely complied.  She then straightened, turning to face Rhoades.   She noticed the bloody arm before moving to the woman’s icy blue eyes.

“Now hands behind your head.”

Behind her, Rhoades turned slightly, glancing briefly at the open doorway.  “Where’s Kanna?”

“Who are you?”

“I said, where’s Kanna?”

A loud banging was heard from the hallway.  Rhoades took a step back and motioned Neely forward with her gun.  Together they left the room and moved down the hall until reaching the large exterior door.  Neely, just a few feet away, jumped when the banging sounded again.  Coming from the opposite side.

Rhoades abruptly shoved her forward.  “Open it.”

She stared at the door and reached forward, fumbling momentarily with the lock.  Quickly grabbing the handle, she began pulling the giant door inward.

In the doorway, silhouetted by the bright sunlight outside, stood the grim outline of The Anvil.  He was dressed in light fatigues and holding a compact assault rifle.  Behind him stood several more dark-skinned and exceedingly dangerous-looking men.

61

Kanna froze when the door to Li Na’s room was kicked open.  It smashed forcefully against the wall and bounced back halfway before Tricia Rhoades reached forward to stop it from closing.  She leered at Kanna, poised with one of Li Na’s arms over his shoulders.  His left hand held the girl around her waist, steadying her as they tried to walk.

“And where might we be going?”  Rhoades asked as she stepped into the room, closely followed by Anvil.

Neither replied.  Nor did the determined look on Kanna’s face change.  His eyes remained steady, searching behind them for Neely but not finding her.

“Trying to escape, apparently.”  She smiled at Li Na who appeared absolutely petrified.  “But I guess we can’t move very fast.”

Kanna’s eyes widened when the Anvil stepped out from behind Rhoades.  The man was enormous and looked like a piece of rock, covered in human skin.

But irrespective of his own intentions, Kanna had no time to reply.  In a sudden burst, Li Na pulled her arm back and pushed the doctor away from her, hard.  He stumbled and fell just as Rhoades pointed her gun and fired.  Sending a dart zipping through the space between and cracking one of the monitor screens behind them.

A wobbly Li Na twisted and grabbed the only thing she could reach––a food tray from the rolling table.  She whipped around and threw it with everything she had.  The spinning tray glanced off Tricia Rhoades’ shoulder and hit the giant man beside her.  It left little damage, but Li Na’s speed was enough to surprise them both.  Together they watched the girl hop backward looking for something else.  Finding nothing, she reached back, grabbed the edge of the rectangular table, and whirled it around herself.  The sudden torque sent the table crashing to the floor where it slid and stopped less than a foot from the Anvil’s black boots.

Without a word, Rhoades calmly re-aimed the gun and fired another dart at Kanna, hitting him directly below his rib cage.

62

Less than ten minutes later, the giant door to the outside opened again, this time very slowly.

From opposite sides of the wide frame, Clay and Caesare edged in while peering over the top of their rifles.  Silently, Caesare nodded and pressed quickly inside.  He immediately backed himself against the wall, followed rapidly by Clay.

In perfect unison, they moved toward the door to Li Na’s room and peered carefully inside.  Clay quickly ducked inside to clear the corner, only to find the figure of Dr. Kanna on the floor leaning motionless against the wall.  His lifeless brown eyes were frozen and staring at the floor.

Almost immediately, Caesare leaned back against the door jam and yelled.  “NEELY!”

There was no response.

“NEELY!”

He looked at Clay as his friend called out for Li Na.

There was only silence.

Together both men moved carefully back into the hall, pressing into any available crevice or opening as they went, methodically checking each room.

One by one, they searched and found nothing but empty rooms.  Until they reached the last one.  Tiewater’s still frame was in a sitting position on the floor with one shoulder against the wall.  Legs apart, he wore a final, desperate grimace on his face, below a set of barren eyes.

Clay stepped forward and pressed two fingers against Tiewater’s neck.  There was no pulse.

“No,” growled Caesare.  “No!  Goddamit, NO!”  He turned and smashed the butt stock of his gun repeatedly against the wall.  “NO! NO! NO!”

63

Admiral Langford lowered his face into his hands.  Emotionally, he felt like he had just been punched in the gut.

Kanna and Tiewater were dead.  And Neely and the teenager, Li Na, were missing.  Without a trace.  All in the span of thirty minutes.

“The only thirty minutes,” he mumbled, “in several days that neither Clay nor Caesare were present.”

Miller nodded, his arms folded across his chest. “Someone not only found us but waited for their opportunity.”

“Jesus Christ,” Langford shook his head, thinking.  “Clay, you there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anything at all?”

Clay eyed Caesare as he spoke.  “Not much.  Kanna and Tiewater both have a similar mark under their clothing.  Our guess is some kind of fast-moving agent, probably delivered by a dart.  It appears like Commander Lawton and Li Na may have put up a fight.  But only briefly.  It also looks like Tiewater wounded one of them.”

“That’s it?”

“So far.  Everything else is clean.  Which means they were experienced.  No signs of forced entry and no mess.  Rhoades, or whoever she is, probably let them in.  We have no idea how they got the jump on Tiewater.”

Langford rubbed his eyes with one hand.  “Son of a bitch.  How in God’s name–”

“Clay,” Secretary Miller spoke up.  “Who knew where you were?”

“As far as I know, only the eight of us.”

“What about Alison or the rest of the group?”

Clay paused.  The implication was clear.  But necessary.  They had to consider everything and everyone.  What Miller was really asking was whether Clay had told his girlfriend where he was.

“No, sir.  She only knew we were on the island somewhere.”

Miller nodded and looked at Langford.  “What about Andrea’s friend?”

“Possible, but doubtful.”  Miller’s suggestion was also clear to the Admiral.  It was not just a question about the friend but Langford’s wife as well.

“If one of their phones were hacked, they could have revealed where the group was without even knowing it.”

Langford nodded reluctantly.

Caesare spoke in a low tone, trying unsuccessfully to contain his anger.  “I don’t think…it matters how they found out,” he said.  “What we need to know is who they are and where Neely and Li Na are now.”

Miller’s reply was steely.  “Keep it together, Commander.  Whoever found us needed some serious resources to do it.  We need to know how, so we can find out who.  Beginning with Rhoades.”

“And how she got past us,” Clay added.  “All of us.”

“So how exactly did she?”

Clay hesitated before answering.  “She knew too much.”

“What does that mean?”

“She knew too much,” he repeated.  “She knew about Guyana.  She knew about the bacteria.  And about the Valant.  Or at least what it’s hiding.  There was a lot she didn’t know, but she knew far more than anyone on the outside could have, including where we were.”

“That’s because this thing has turned into a damn mess,” growled Langford.

He was right.  All four men knew it.  Things were being thrown together so quickly, both on the Pathfinder and on Trinidad, that it was simply inevitable.  Something was bound to slip through the cracks.  And this was an enormous slip.

“So who knows?” asked Miller.  “Who else knows about Guyana?  About the Valant?  And the bacteria?”

No one spoke.  The truth was it could have been almost anyone at this point.  The Russians knew enough to attack already, and the Chinese could probably piece enough together, especially after what the Americans had stolen from them.  And there were dozens of more countries with spying capabilities rivaling the U.S.

The call was still silent when Miller looked at Langford, already staring intently at him.  Yes, it could have been anyone on the globe.  But it also could have been a source much closer to home.  They could both think of several other high-powered individuals who had more than enough information.  Information that could have easily ended up in the hands of an agent like Tricia Rhoades.

Some of the most powerful sources in the United States.  All the members of the White House National Security Council.

Worse still, if someone inside the NSC had leaked the information, it meant Miller and Langford had a horrendous problem on their hands.  One that would make every other headache they had pale in comparison.

The two men had already read each other’s expressions when Miller spoke.

“Clay’s right.  We need to find out who this woman really is.  And who she’s working for.  Because it’s clearly someone big.   The question is who?”  Miller said, thinking.  He finally looked at Langford.  “Where is Will Borger?”

64

From several thousand feet up, Will Borger could clearly make out the northeast coast of Puerto Rico through his small window.

Knowing the island was still recovering from a recent hurricane, he could see dozens of cranes and large areas of construction spread across its vast green hills.  Scattered occasionally with small patches of brown, the industrious scene lay within the shadowed backdrop of the island’s distant La Cordillera mountain range.

While he watched the ground slowly rise to meet them, Borger felt the Boeing 737 bank and adjust course, now in its final descent just a few minutes outside of San Juan.

As they drew closer, his eyes nervously returned to the seat-back in front of him while each of his hands slid down to grip their armrest tightly.

For Borger, two times during every flight caused his blood pressure to skyrocket––takeoff and landing, the two points in time during which most airline accidents historically occurred.  It was the last thing he wanted to think about but the only thing he could think about at the moment.  One of the many drawbacks in being what Caesare called a tad paranoid.

The touchdown seemed rougher than usual, though the sudden scream of the engine’s reverse-thrust provided at least some solace, followed by the familiar shuddering from the craft’s braking system.

When the aircraft turned off the runway, Borger bent forward to retrieve his phone and powered it on.  He smiled, relieved, at the woman and her husband sitting next to him, noting how the husband’s youthful appearance was further helped by his baseball cap with its wide, flat bill.  It reminded Borger of the way surfers and skateboarders wore their hats.

When the satellite phone powered up, he typed in a lengthy security code and immediately saw a text message appear.

It was from Clay.  And it was urgent.

“Oh geez.”

Waiting in a lone corner of the airport’s waiting area, Borger sat with his head down.  His gray-haired ponytail hung to the side over a wrinkled red and orange Hawaiian dress shirt.  “How long ago?”

“Forty minutes.”

“You’re sure about Kanna and Tiewater?”  It was a rhetorical question.

“We blew it, Will.  I blew it.”  Clay’s voice was somber.  “And now we need to find out who this woman was, in a hurry.  We need to find out where they are,” Clay paused uncomfortably, “and whether Neely and Li Na are still alive.”

“Oh, God.”  Borger’s head sank even further.  “There’s a chance they might not be, isn’t there?”

“We’re praying they were taken for a reason.  But we can’t be sure.”

“Okay,” Borger quickly resolved.  He looked up and began forming a plan.  “I’m on it, but I’m going to need a place to set up.”

“You still got your tail?”

Borger lowered the phone and brought up the last message from his monitoring program.  Someone was still tracking him.  “Yep.  Which means going back to Arecibo is out.”

“Agreed.  We can’t risk them finding IMIS.”

“I’m going to need another hideout.”

On the other end, Clay raised an eyebrow and stared at Steve Caesare.  “Actually, I think I have a place.  Where no one else would look for you.”

“Is it close?”

“Closer than you might think.”

65

It took Borger well over an hour to reach it.  Through heavy traffic and multiple construction zones, his taxi finally pulled into the small deserted parking lot just after two o’clock in the afternoon.  Overhead, a partially clouded sun cast moving shadows over the structure, giving the renovated cannery an abandoned appearance.  This despite the small maintenance crew keeping it just the way it was when Alison and her team left.

In front of the building, a small, middle-aged and moderately heavy Puerto Rican woman was waiting.  She was dressed in a deep-blue flowered dress, giving her bronze skin a deeper complexion.  She approached with a friendly smile when Borger climbed out of the car.

“Hello, Mister Borger.  My name is Bruna Lopez.  I am the administrative assistant for the center.”

“Hello, Bruna,” he replied, shaking her hand.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, a very nice pleasure.”  She broke off the conversation momentarily and walked to the back of the car where she spoke to the driver in Spanish.  She was still smiling as the poorly dressed man brought Borger’s bag from the trunk, asking for a hundred and fifty dollars.

Borger paid the driver while sending a curious glance in Bruna’s direction.  After receiving his change, he grabbed the handle of his small suitcase and followed her up a paved, overgrown walkway.

“What was it you said to him?”

She grinned over her shoulder and continued up and around the side of the building.  “They charge tourists too much.”

“Ah.”

They reached the side entrance. After a quick glance to each side, Bruna pulled open the metal door and quickly motioned Borger in.

Once inside, she let the door clang shut behind them and continued down a darkened hallway.  Borger followed her, and soon it opened up into a much larger and brighter area.  Sunlight streamed down from oversized windows above, as well as through the giant glass wall in front of them, with its open top.

Borger scanned the space, stopping on the glass wall holding back hundreds of thousands of gallons of seawater.  “Well, well,” he said with a smile.  “Ali’s infamous lab.”

“Yes,” Bruna grinned and stared at the tank alongside him.  “We are very proud of her.”

“I think we all are.”

“Miss Alison said no one was to know you are here.  So, I have told our gardeners not to come again until I tell them.  Just in case.”

“Thank you, Bruna.  Is there anyone else that might come around?  A guard, maybe?”

“No,” she shook her head intently.  “No one would steal from the center.  The whole town is proud of Miss Alison.  You are safe and secret.”

Borger smiled again.  “You mean safe and sound.”

She blushed.  “Yes, safe and sound.  You are safe and sound here.  I will be the only person to come.  And I will bring whatever you need.”

He nodded appreciatively.  “A desk and some electricity would be great.”

66

“You okay, Ali?”

Alison Shaw blinked before turning to Chris.  Her hands planted themselves firmly on the white metal railing in front of her.  She nodded and lied.  “Yes.  Fine.”

She simply couldn’t believe the news.  And she literally felt sick to her stomach over Dr. Kanna.  He was one of the gentlest men she’d met in a long time.  A truly giving person, and as dedicated to their team as any of them.  He had nursed both her and John back to health, each from death’s doorstep, right there aboard the Pathfinder.

He’d spent hours next to Alison until she regained consciousness and was the first face she saw when opening her eyes.

The thought of him and Tiewater dead, not to mention Neely and Li Na missing, made her want to throw up.  She closed her eyes and tried hard to control her emotions.

“What was that call about?”

“It was John,” she blinked.  “He said…that something had come up, and Steve isn’t going to make it.  And we need to let Captain Emerson know.”

“Okay.  That doesn’t sound too bad.”

It was definitely bad, she thought to herself.  Even without the horrible news about the others, not having Steve Caesare with the rescue effort was going to make it even harder on Corbin and Beene.  The trio were the only deep-water trained divers on their team.

Corbin and Beene had been diving every day.  Each time pushing the limits of safety.  Now there would be very little margin of error if things went wrong.  Because Alison knew firsthand what too much nitrogen could do to someone, especially at depth.

***

Perfect.  Just perfect.

Captain Emerson shook his head and stormed down the steel ramp, descending carefully down the narrow walkways which connected the Pathfinder’s mid-deck and the sail of the U.S.S. Scranton.  The sleek, black body of the submarine, now tethered to the side of the Pathfinder, extended almost as long as Emerson’s ship and provided an odd contrast between it and the Pathfinder’s stark white hull.  The DSRV, awkward and bulky, was attached firmly atop the Scranton’s stern.

With his hands on each steel rail, Emerson steadied himself against another strong gust before continuing.  The tropical storm was not passing as far away as they’d hoped, and the howling winds and surging swells were rocking both vessels enough to make him thankful for the handrails.  It also meant their rescue mission was now in serious jeopardy.  And things were only getting worse.

When Emerson reached the other side, he waited for a moment of calm before stepping down onto the submarine’s sail, or observational platform.  There, the sub’s commander was waiting, flanked by two officers.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” greeted Kauffman.  The younger officer stepped back and allowed Emerson a moment to straighten and adjust his uniform.

“Thanks, Skipper.  How was the trip?”

“Long.  And slow.”

“My apologies for the secrecy, but we’re on lockdown here.  Which means I’m not at liberty to explain a whole hell of a lot.”

“I expected as much,” Kauffman replied grimly.  “But with all candor, it’s going to make things pretty damn difficult for my men and I to help if we don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“Understood.  But unfortunately, we need to keep your men out of this.  At least to the extent we can.  What we have here is an underwater rescue of a single sailor, and that’s all I’m able to tell you.”

Kauffman’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced at his executive officer, who showed no reaction.  “Excuse me, Captain.  But how exactly do you expect us to rescue him with no information?  Magic?”

Emerson coldly stared back at the young officer.  He didn’t have time for the man’s ego.  “You won’t be the ones doing it.”

“Come again?”

“I said, you won’t be the ones doing it,” Emerson repeated dryly.  He leveled his gaze at Kauffman.  “What you’re going to do, is teach my men how to use your submersible.”  He paused, watching Kauffman’s eyes widen in response.  “And you have one hour to do it.”

67

The Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, called Mystic, was just over fifty feet long and weighed in with a displacement of over thirty-nine tons.  Painted in a familiar black for stealth, its long hull was made from double-walled reinforced steel, giving it enough internal strength to dive over 5,000 feet deep.  It was designed specifically for rescue operations on downed submarines, able to dock and embark up to twenty-four sailors in less than twelve minutes flat.

Lieutenant Ackerman, the Pathfinder’s interim chief engineer, sat crammed into the vessel’s small pilot seat, studying the instruments.  Beside him, one of Kauffman’s crew carefully ran through each screen and its corresponding controls.  Fortunately for Ackerman, most of the controls were similar to what the Navy used in their smaller ROVs, units he’d worked with for years.

Ahead, near the front of the vehicle, Smitty and Odonnell were being run through the DSRV’s controls for an underwater docking.  Traditional submarine rescues transferred men between subs through the water itself, wearing protective, pressurized suits.  But for cases in which a sub-to-sub transfer was not possible, a physical docking with the submarine was required.  It was a much slower process, calling for the creation of a stable, airtight seal around the exit point.

The advanced hydraulic sealing system on the Mystic was crucial, with its new design allowing up to a forty-five-degree angle between the DSRV and the surface they were attaching to.  This would allow their attempt at rescuing Lieutenant Tay to take place at a higher point on the alien ship’s hull, lessening the rate of nitrogen absorption in divers Corbin and Beene.  Which meant more time below the surface should something go wrong.

The second piece of the seal—a fat, ringed skirt—was already affixed to the DSRV’s outside nose cone.  But its inflation and pressure controls were inside the craft and would have to be activated manually.  And, in their case, extraordinarily fast.

Unfortunately, the third piece, the drill repaired by Emerson’s crew, was simply too large to fit within the Mystic’s rubberized skirt.  The drill would have to be operated by Corbin and Beene until it fully penetrated the alien hull.  They would then have to immediately remove the drill and use the massive inflow of water to marry the two hulls.  If all went according to plan, they could make the hole and seal it inside of fifteen minutes.

From his seat, Ackerman glanced up at the metal roof when he felt the whole submersible rock from side to side.  It wasn’t just the DSRV.  It was the entire Scranton rocking, due to the increasing surge from the nearby storm.  Conditions were becoming worse, leaving Ackerman notably worried about what they were heading into.  Primarily because if they couldn’t keep the Mystic’s nose firmly attached to the alien ship, if they couldn’t keep the seal secure, things could unravel quickly.

Minutes later, one of the Scranton’s crew dropped his head down from above, just below the ceiling, and called out to the men.  “We detach in fifteen minutes!”

***

“And just what do you think you are doing?”

Alison glanced up from the metal bench and into the harsh gray eyes of Captain Emerson.  “Uh…getting my gear on?”

“Wrong, Ms. Shaw.  I’m afraid you’re staying topside.”

Alison frowned and looked first at Chris, then to Corbin and Beene, who were also donning their scuba gear.  Behind them, several of the Pathfinder’s crew were using a winch to move the massive drill into place at the edge of the stern.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s an order,” Emerson replied.

Alison stood up.  “Captain, we’re going to need everyone’s help on this one.  I think–”

The captain cut her off.  “That’s an order, Ms. Shaw.  These conditions are clearly not what we were hoping for.  And we almost lost you the last time.  I’m not taking that chance again.”

Alison glared at him and took a step forward, lowering her voice.  “Captain, I hate to remind you, but I’m not in the Navy.  And I’m not officially part of your crew.”

The captain raised his brow with a faint look of amusement.  “Ms. Shaw, if you are implying that I don’t have authority over you or your actions while you are aboard my ship, you are gravely mistaken.”

Alison didn’t bat an eye.  Instead, her demeanor rose to match the captain’s.  “Oh, I’m sure you have the authority.  But I don’t think you have the ability to keep me.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you have more important things to worry about than what I’m doing.  Like rescuing Lieutenant Tay.  Besides, next to them,” she pointed to Corbin and Beene, “I’m the best diver on this ship.  And I’m not taking any chances either.”

Emerson’s amusement faded while he continued glowering at Alison.  Finally, tilting his head, he folded his arms and spoke even lower.  “I’m not in the habit of being defied on my own ship, Ms. Shaw.”

At that, Alison let out a grin that only he could see.  “I’m not defying you, Captain.  I’m merely letting you know where I’ll be.”

Unbelievable, Emerson slowly shook his head.  Was the woman heroic or just overconfident?  It didn’t matter.  She was right.  He needed as many skilled divers as he could get, and she was more than qualified.

“Need I remind you that you’re still–”

“I’m fine,” Alison interrupted.

Emerson stopped and shook his head.  There was something quite impressive about the young woman in front of him.  He finally gave in and sighed, raising his hands to his hips.  “Do not expect me to get in the habit of being dressed down on my ship.  But something tells me Commander Clay has endured far worse.”

She grinned.  “He knows better.”

“I imagine he does.”  Emerson glanced past her to the two SEALs, both of whom were continuing with their gear.  “I don’t want you within a hundred feet of those two, do I make myself clear?  This is a team effort, but I don’t want you or your dolphins in the way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I need you, I will tell you.  You are emergency backup, and that is all.  And believe me, if I even think you are in danger, you will reboard this ship.  Immediately.  And if you fail to do so, you will find yourself facing charges, civilian or not.  Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good.  Now go out there and get our friends ready.  Something tells me we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

68

Hello Alison.

“Hello, Sally.  You were waiting for me.”

Yes.  I wait.  We work now.

“We’re about to,” Alison replied.  She found herself mildly surprised at not hearing an error from the translation.  She swam closer.  “Where’s Dirk?”

I here Alison.

Before she could turn to look, Dirk rocketed past her in the turbulent water.  He made a wide arc before slowing and coasting in next to Sally.

You like us help Alison.

At that, Alison turned and peered beneath the dark bottom of the Pathfinder, spotting the massive submarine on the other side.  Fighting just to stay in place, she had enough visibility to see both ships moving up and down under the intensifying surges.

“Let’s hope not.”

***

Captain Kauffman looked up at the sky as the gray clouds opened to release a fresh wave of warm rain.  Dotting just his uniform at first, it quickly began wetting everything as the drops intensified.  “Cast the lines.”

“Aye,” his executive officer nodded.  He called out the order, and several crewmen behind them began working to unravel the massive lines from the submarine’s deck.

Both officers peered up to watch the crew of the Pathfinder simultaneously begin hauling in all lines with the help of two powerful electric winches.

As the huge lines snaked back toward the larger ship, Kauffman spoke again over his shoulder.  “Everyone below decks.  Prepare to submerge.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. All hands…below decks!”

Kauffman’s men scrambled back up the base of the submarine’s sail while the captain made a full scan, ensuring all men were accounted for and finally stopping on the Mystic.  Silent and still, the DSRV waited patiently to be released into the waves splashing wildly over the port side.

Kauffman’s executive officer stepped in behind him.  “They’re really going to do this all by themselves.”

“It appears so.”

The younger man shook his head.  “This is crazy.”

The captain nodded without taking his eyes off the Mystic.  “Crazy is not the adjective I’d use.”

***

Below the surface, Alison was startled at the powerful blasts from the Scranton’s ballast tanks as each one simultaneously released giant waves of bubbling air.  Reducing its buoyancy, she watched in captivation as the great dark hull on the other side of the Pathfinder began to sink.

She was also surprised to see the hundreds of dolphins swirling around her come to a rapid stop, all twisting around to watch the human’s giant metal.  Seemingly just as fascinated.

Foot by foot, the black vessel descended, finally slowing to a stop.  It held its position approximately forty feet below the surface.

Alison and the dolphins remained transfixed, watching, while the powerful surges pushed them back and forth in place.

“Chris?” she said.  “What’s happening?”

“I think they’re lowering to get the rescue sub detached.”

No sooner had he answered than two loud clangs could be heard reverberating in the water––the releasing of the heavy struts securing the Mystic in place.

Alison kicked her fins hard again and looked up to see two splashes from above.  Corbin and Beene, ordered not to enter the water until the last minute to delay any further nitrogen absorption until they had to, came into view.

Both men separated above her just before the rear of their drill broke the surface.  Once fully submerged, they quickly disconnected the support lines and turned it around.  Like the hydrophone, the drill was now tethered only by its fat, black power cable.  It immediately began descending alongside Corbin and Beene, with both men quickly grabbing hold and riding it down.

As they faded into darkness, Alison’s eyes caught sight of a glow not far beneath the Pathfinder.  After several seconds, the glow intensified until two bright lights turned toward her, piercing the water like powerful spotlights.

It was the Mystic.

With the elongated shadow of its hull behind it, the vehicle’s movement seemed slightly erratic before finally smoothing out and turning downward to follow the drill.

Inside, Ackerman cursed to himself and released the stick.  He flexed his right hand and wrapped it back around firmly.  Damn controls are sensitive.

He glanced up to find Smitty and Odonnell both watching him.

“I’m fine.  I’m fine.”  He gritted his teeth behind tight lips and wiggled around in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position.  What’d they make this for kids?

He checked the depth.  Fifty-five feet.  He could see the drill and both divers in the video feed, their outlines visible under the intense gaze of the Mystic’s headlamps.  All around them, thousands of tiny specks were illuminated brightly in the water, partially obstructing the view and causing Ackerman to peer more intently at his screen.

“Lot of debris down here.”

“A lot of material was churned up in the explosion.”

Ackerman nodded and eased the throttle back.  A sudden drop in momentum caused Smitty and Odonnell to continue forward, grabbing hold of something to keep themselves upright.  “Geez, that’s a strong surge.”

Outside, Corbin and Beene checked their depth and raised the front of the drill, allowing them to ease the bit forward.

“Don’t forget,” Smitty called into his headset, “that thing is magnetic.”

“We remember,” Beene replied.  Only minutes later, both men felt the sudden pull.  They grunted and kicked their fins backward, fighting to slow themselves.  Still visibly jarred when their enormous drill made contact, an impact sending a wide glowing ring rippling outward over the alien hull.

“Everybody okay?” Ackerman barked.

“Yep.”

“Yeah,” Corbin added, shaking his stainless-steel helmet in the video.  “Doesn’t get any easier the second time.”  He checked his dive watch again.  “I think we’re good to go.”

Ackerman nodded and lightly pulled his joystick back again.  “Roger that.  Mystic is getting into position.”

Aboard the Pathfinder, Captain Emerson and several of his officers crowded around a computer screen on the bridge.  All were watching the same video feed from the Mystic, focused in on Corbin and Beene.

“All right men.  Let’s do it.  In and out.”

“Deploying legs.”

From the left side, Beene pushed a button deploying four metal legs from the front of the drill, each with sizable silicone suction cups.  They extended outward, and once touching the surface, began sucking air back through each leg, causing the drill to become rigid.

“We are secure.”

From inside the Mystic, Ackerman took a deep breath.  “Let’s punch a hole!”

69

There was no question where they were coming through.  Tay could see it immediately.

A blinding white light exploded from a single point in the wall, high overhead.  Instantly rippling out in all directions.

Tay immediately shielded his light-deprived eyes and waited several seconds before peering up through parted fingers.  Oddly, there was no sound he could detect through the wall.  Just the blazing light.

He looked down and found the water.  Now with the light overhead, he could see some of the alien wall’s lower half shimmering in the blue depths, until curving inward and out of sight.

More than that, Tay continued to scan upwards and side to side, fascinated at the inside of the enormous wall.  He could see the shelves much better now.  There were thousands upon thousands of them, with most appearing similar in size although some did look smaller.  There were even sections where they seemed to be missing.

Then all at once, it hit him.  They weren’t structural, and they weren’t shelves.  The outer wall was a giant shield around a much smaller ship.  And it was a self-healing shield.  He already knew that.  But to be self-healing, especially after an impact, it needed extra material to repair itself.  It needed more of whatever it was that the shield was made up of.

That’s what the shelves were.  They were extra material.  Which meant when something hit the shield from the outside, the wall could expand to repair itself, using some of the extra metal available on the inside.

Tay was awestruck.  It was a brilliant design.

And now Tay got his first full view of the smaller craft within.  The actual ship.  Submerged in the water by almost a third, the ship itself was not cylindrical like its shield.  It actually looked…strangely ordinary.  Its shape not round at all.  Instead, it was almost boxy.  Not displaying any sharp edges but still clearly rectangular.  With the rear, or what Tay presumed was the rear, larger than the front.

There were also several more markings, though none that he could make out from where he was.  Lines maybe, similar to the door he’d already found.  But all in all, the craft looked downright boring.  Nothing like he was expecting.

His eyes almost having adjusted, Tay turned back to the wall above him.  He squinted at the center, where the light was most intense, at least two hundred feet above him and farther away than he expected.  Without waiting any longer, he leaped off his ledge and splashed into the water.

His legs and arms felt better, less painful.  It was strange really.  That while he was clearly beginning to notice early signs of mental exhaustion, his muscles felt surprisingly strong.

Propelled by a wave of adrenaline, Tay swam hard, raising his face out of the water with each stroke and keeping his eyes on the shelves just beneath his fellow crew’s insertion point.  He had no idea how long it would take them to pierce the shield again, but he was absolutely going to be there waiting when they did.

70

Dammit!

Ackerman struggled again with the controls.  The surge outside was getting worse, and he was having a hell of a time keeping the Mystic in place.  They had to be in position when the wall was breached!

He fought again to steady it and glanced forward to where Smitty and Odonnell were waiting in crouched positions.

Repeatedly, the rear of the DSRV swung out, causing Ackerman to power forward to straighten it again.

“Son of a bitch!” he growled, and glanced again at the other two while shaking his head.  “Feels like we’re on a rollercoaster!”

Both engineers nodded.  There was nothing else to say.  The conditions outside were deteriorating quickly.  Just as quickly as their chances of rescuing Tay.

“Beene!  Corbin!  How we looking?”

Less than thirty feet away and awash in the Mystic’s bright lights, Corbin slid himself forward along one of the drill’s legs.  He could feel the gyrations vibrating outward through the metal.  When he got close enough, he peered intently at the drilling spot.

“We’re making a dent.  Probably a good eight to ten inches!”

Ackerman nodded.  “Anyone want to take a guess at how thick the thing is?”

It was rhetorical.  Their best guess was two to three feet.  But no one knew for sure.  Ackerman cursed again and powered forward hard, now swinging the small sub around and pointing directly into the surge.  With one hand on the throttle and another on the stick, he jockeyed to keep themselves in a position from which they could advance when the time came.  If it came.

Far above them, Emerson and his officers watched their own screens helplessly.  The picture from the Mystic’s front video camera was erratic as Ackerman struggled to control the craft, causing the video to jump around wildly.

Optimism suddenly shifted when Ackerman swung the Mystic into its new position.  He was trying to reduce the surface area of the sub, which was smart.  But it also meant he would have to come in hard to seal the hole once exposed.  But too hard and that would be the end of it.  That rubber skirt was strong, but it was no match against the sudden force of a thirty-nine-ton submersible.

Less than a quarter mile away, the reaction from Captain Kauffman felt very similar as he stood aboard the Scranton.  But rather than a look of concern, he and his men shared one of inquisitiveness.

“What the hell is that thing?”

A few shook their heads, but no one answered.  They’d never seen a drill that powerful have so much difficulty against any material.

“Their man is trapped in that?”

Kauffman frowned.  “Evidently.”

His operations officer shook his head. “This is insane.  We should be the ones down there.  Those idiots can barely keep it under control.”

“I’m impressed you think you could do better, given these conditions.”

His man scoffed.  “Hell yes, I could.”

Kauffman grinned, his eyes still fixed on the screen.  “Sure about that?”

The man stared at the back of his captain’s head but said nothing.

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” his executive officer breathed.  “If they manage to punch through, trying to seal that hole is gonna be a bitch.”

Folding his arms in front of him, Kauffman nodded in agreement.  “Getting through is the easy part.”

71

“We’re almost through!”

Beene could see the subtle, brief wobble in the drill head just moments before it abruptly plunged forward several inches.  Instantaneously, an increase in the drill’s pitch confirmed the breach, leaving him and Corbin scrambling away from the wall.

“Go!” roared Ackerman as he nodded to his men at the front of the Mystic.  “Start flooding the skirt!”

The men wasted no time.  Smitty leaned forward and furiously hit a few keys on a small electronic panel attached to the inside hull, close to the sub’s concaved nose cone.

Ackerman jammed the throttle forward and called into his headset.  “Get the drill off!”

Ready at the back of the drill, Corbin yelled for Beene to get clear.  He watched his partner push further away from the drill’s housing and kick hard against the current, putting as much distance between himself and the machine as he could.

In one motion, Corbin held up a gloved hand and punched the button to reverse the drill’s motor.  Then he pushed off, diving backward below the incoming trajectory of the Mystic.

The sound was sudden and excruciating.   In fewer than twenty rotations, the entire electrical drive inside the motor’s housing was thrown into full reverse.  And like the first time, the massive change in torque ripped the motor fiercely from its interior mounts, taking thick chunks of the heavy frame and housing with it. Several sections of the drill’s body exploded outward into giant bits of bent and twisted metal.  And in one violent motion, the recoil jerked the drill back and away from the wall.

Inside the Mystic, squinting into the bright light on his monitor, Ackerman kept the throttle forward and aimed directly for the only thing he could make out in the glare.  The fuzzy outline of one small and perfectly cut hole.

Even at full speed, the small sub suddenly slowed—fighting another storm surge—before quickly recovering and charging forward again.  With gritted teeth, Ackerman waited until they were less than twenty-five feet away before pulling back hard on the throttle.

The Mystic’s large, single rear prop abruptly stopped before reversing itself, clawing violently at the water behind in an attempt to slow itself.  But the last-minute correction was not enough.

When they reached ten feet, he shook his head and yelled to his men.  “Hold on!  We’re gonna hit!”

Outside, the nose of the sub approached the wall with its round, black hydraulic skirt extending forward and its wide base outstretched.  Resembling a giant inversed lampshade, from under the thick rubberized sealing lip flowed brown wisps of hydraulic fluid.

The impact came with a deep, hollow thud, throwing all three men violently forward.  Each fruitlessly searched for something to grab, before tumbling to a stop and immediately scrambling back to their knees.

“Check the cone!” Ackerman yelled, crawling back into his seat.

Odonnell complied, leaving Smitty to scurry back to the console.

“I think we’re okay!”

“Good.  Smitty, get ready!”

Ackerman throttled forward again, pushing the Mystic’s nose, and the skirt, hard against the immense wall in front of them.  “Go!”

Smitty was already typing, reversing the two hydraulic pumps on either side.  And now extracting the fluid from the filled rubber skirt to quickly create a vacuum inside the outer ring.

He watched the small screen in front of him.  “Pressure is building!”

Ackerman looked down, searching his seat until he found his headset.  Ripped from his head during impact, it had been left dangling from the right edge of his seat.  “Beene, Corbin.  Can you see anything?!”

“One second.”

The SEAL divers waiting nearby swam back to the Mystic’s port side.  Pulling themselves forward along the side of the hull, soon they reached the vessel’s nose.

“About four inches to port!” replied Corbin.

Inside, the whirring of the hydraulic pumps abruptly stopped and was replaced by a loud mechanical groan.

“Sealing!”  yelled Smitty.  He glanced up when a thump was heard, followed by a powerful hissing sound as air was pumped into the skirt’s chamber.

It was then, and without warning, that the small sub swayed forcibly to one side.

“We’re still getting pushed around!” Ackerman barked.  He jammed the stick to the left, engaging the port-side thrusters.  But nothing changed.

They were now almost completely perpendicular to the currents, and even full power to the thrusters could no longer keep them in place.  The water was simply too strong.  The suction was now all they had.

Ackerman growled.  “This ain’t gonna hold very long!  When can we open the cone?”

“Eighteen seconds!”

72

After having drifted part way back into position, the Mystic swung again.  This time harder.

The nose was almost pressurized, but Ackerman was already planning for the worst.  The DSRV was just too heavy…and broad.  With its side fully exposed to the storm, the rubber skirt would never be able to hold the entire vessel in place.  And if they lost the seal, the building pressure would be nothing short of explosive.

He jumped from his seat and hurried forward again to join the other two at the nose.  Both men were now unlatching and pulling a heavy metal cone inward.

“Beene, Corbin,” Ackerman cried to the men outside.  “Get away from the sub!”

“What?”

Ackerman kept talking while he helped his men pull the cone open, then lift the heavy titanium ring from the deck.  “I said, get away from the sub!  This thing is not going hold long, and you don’t want to be near it when it fails.  Believe me.”

All three men froze at the sound of a piercing squeal on the other side of the nose.  The thick rubber was straining.

“What do we do?”

The chief stared solemnly at his men and glanced at the titanium ring.  He knew what it meant.

“If this thing holds and keeps the hole from closing again, but then our seal fails…Tay dies.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If that hole stays open, there’s nothing to keep the water out.  Seawater will pour in and flood the damn thing!”

“Crap.”

Odonnell nodded somberly.  “Drowning Tay.”

“Eventually.  Our only other option…is to close the cone and try to disconnect ourselves.  And hopefully, we can do it slowly enough that we don’t break the pressure seal.  And rip off the front of this entire sub in the explosion.”

“Jesus.”

The chief shook his head.  He knew then they never should have gone forward with this mission.  Never should have risked it.  The storm surges were now far too strong, faster and more powerful than any of them had expected.  The skirt…simply would not hold.

The sudden reality of their situation appeared like a ghost from the depths.

As soon as the skirt failed, they were all going to die.  Ackerman, Smitty, Odonnell, and eventually, even Tay.

73

Alison.  Them trouble.

With a drawn face, Alison Shaw nodded silently behind her mask.  Holding onto Sally’s dorsal fin, they surged back and forth in the underwater swells.  Something was clearly wrong.  She could see Corbin and Beene trying to get away from the sub.

“Chris, what’s happening?  What’s wrong?”

Chris’s response in her ears sounded frantic.  “I think we’re in trouble, Ali.  It’s something to do with the sub.  They can’t keep it in place.  They’re trying not to lose the seal!  Hold on!”

“Patch me into them!”

There was no answer.

“Chris!”

***

Inside the hull, Ackerman and his men steadied themselves against another forceful surge and watched nervously as the Mystic’s stern swung even farther out.  From the front, the rubber skirt wailed again in protest.

Ackerman’s voice grew solemn.  “Close it.”

“What?”

“I said close it.”

“Are you sure?!”

“Drowning Tay solves nothing.  Close the nose!”

Smitty and Odonnell looked at each other.

“You heard me.”

All three knew what it meant.  It was the only thing they could do.  They were leaving.  Leaving Tay with nothing…and closing the hatch in a desperate attempt to stay alive.  It was the only protection possible when the skirt failed, and the pressure blew.  And even then, it might not be enough to save them.

“Close it,” Ackerman repeated.

Before they could react, a voice came through over their headsets.

“Guys, it’s Chris!”

The chief frowned.  “Not now.”

“Alison wants to talk to you.  She wants me to patch her through.”

“We’re a little busy, Ramirez!”

“I know, I know.  But she says it’s urgent.”

“This isn’t a party line!” roared Ackerman.  “Things are going from bad to worse down here!  Unless you’d like to come down and hold this goddamn sub in place, I suggest you get off the line!”

There was a long silence before the men heard Chris’s microphone click off the line.

Inside the Pathfinder’s small comms room, he looked back at his screen.  “Did you hear that, Ali?”

“Yes.  I did.”

74

Chris Ramirez clicked back on the line.

Ackerman almost came unglued when he heard him over the mike.  “Jesus Christ, what now?!”

There was a momentary pause before Chris replied dryly.  “Alison says to hold on.”

Ackerman glared at his men.  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Now Chris’s voice was sarcastic.  “I think it means hold on.”

Angrily, Ackerman opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by another wide swing from the rear.  The skirt in front screamed like a wailing beast, trying desperately to remain connected.

“Close the hatch!” yelled Ackerman.  “We’ve got to–”

Suddenly there was a bump somewhere against the small sub’s hull.

“What was that?”

The bump came again.  Followed by another, and another.

Inside, all three men scanned the inside of the hull, listening.

The bumps continued.  And quickly became more rapid.

Outside, against the opposing side of the hull, dolphins slowly eased in and lowered their heads, placing them against the hard metal.  One by one, they created a line down the Mystic’s entire starboard side.  Then another full line repeated itself above.  And another above that.  Dozens of dolphins moved into place, all positioning themselves carefully along the entire side of the sub.

Behind them, Alison spoke through her vest, still holding onto Sally.  “Fast!  Fast!  More on top!”  And to her relief, IMIS did not let her down.  Her incredible computer system translated every word, quickly and accurately.

When there was no more space left, Alison called out as loud as she could through IMIS.  “Now PUSH!”

Ackerman and his men stumbled after the jolt and looked at each other in confusion.  They then turned to watch the rear of their sub.  Ever so slowly, it began to move.  Against the current, and back into place.

75

“What the hell is happening?”

Ackerman turned to Smitty and Odonnell, both of whom shrugged.  Behind them, the squealing of the rubber seal began to lessen.

From the bridge, Captain Emerson gripped both sides of the tabletop to steady himself and leaned into the microphone.  “Commander, what’s going on down there?”

Ackerman shook his head.  “Not sure, sir.  But we seem to be stabilizing.”

Chris Ramirez’s voice interrupted the conversation.  “It’s Alison.”

“What?”

“It’s Alison!” he repeated with frustration.  “And the dolphins.  They’re trying to hold you in place!”

Ackerman was stunned.

“And she has a message for you,” Chris added.

“What?”

“She says get Tay out now!”

76

It was all Ackerman needed to hear.

“Get the ring in place!”

All three rushed forward and lifted the heavy ring back up.  At almost two hundred pounds, it took all three men squeezing themselves forward through the hatch to get it into position.

There were only inches to spare between it and the edges of the drilled hole.  The rest of the wall was still ablaze in bright, white light.  Once in place, Smitty squinted through the black opening and noticed something unusual.  Around its edges, where a small gap appeared, he could see something moving.  Barely.

He got closer.

The edges of the strange wall, now encircling the ring, seemed to be…bubbling.  No, not bubbling, more like crawling…inward.

Borger was right.  The thing could actually heal itself.  And judging from what he was now witnessing, it was happening incredibly fast.

“Get the package!” yelled Ackerman.

The chief and Odonnell disappeared back inside the hull, leaving Smitty to hold the ring in place, propped up on the bottom edge of their opening.  He tried to hold it still with his trembling hands, fascinated at the wall, which continued to constrict around it, millimeter by millimeter.

He twisted his head and called out behind him.  “I think we’re about to find out just how strong this ring is.”

There were pounding steps to his rear, and Ackerman’s head popped back through the hatch.  He could see what Smitty was observing, just as the gaps around the edges finally disappeared.  Instantly, the ring seized, now frozen in place.

They both stared at it for several long seconds with apprehension.  Until Smitty reached forward and gingerly touched the inside of the titanium.  His eyes immediately shot back to the chief.

“What is it?”

“It’s vibrating,” he said.  He waited a few more seconds and closed one eye.  “And I think it’s getting stronger.”

***

“Captain.”

Emerson turned around to find his executive officer fixated on a different screen.  Displaying the Doppler image of the storm in real time, the rotating image was now larger and highlighted with red, orange, and yellow.

Officer Harris looked at the captain.  “Storm upgraded to a category one hurricane.”

Good God.  Was anything going to go their way?  Emerson turned back to the microphone.  “Ramirez, can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to patch Ms. Shaw into our main channel.”

“Happy to.  One second.”

Emerson and his officers knew the moment the mike in Alison’s mask was added.  They could hear her yelling to the dolphins over the noise from Ackerman and his men.

“Shaw!  Shaw, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain.  I can hear you, barely.”

Emerson raised his voice further.  “How long can your dolphins keep us in place?”

“I don’t know.  We’re kind of winging it.”

Emerson glanced back at the Doppler image.  “Listen.  Our storm is not passing as far away as we hoped, and it’s now a category one hurricane.  Which means if we don’t hurry–”

“Almost there!” yelled Ackerman.  Together, he and Odonnell shuffled awkwardly to the hatch where Smitty was waiting.

The package was a small, tightly covered object resembling, of all things, a miniature torpedo.  Wrapped in thick plastic and silver duct tape, it was a supply kit for Tay.  Everything they could think to give him, compressed down into a shape tight enough, and hopefully small enough, to make it through their opening.

Ackerman squeezed to the back to help Odonnell push as Smitty gently edged the front of the package through the ring.  “Okay!  We’re in!”

Together, Ackerman and Odonnell lunged and forced the torpedo through.  It caught only briefly on the metal ring before giving way.  Both men almost fell forward as the package cleared and disappeared into the blackness.

“Now get the harness!”

77

Tay watched the object appear, then fly through the air, tumbling and striking several of the metal shelves on its way down.  Hitting the water with a powerful splash, it landed less than fifty feet from where he was paddling.

He looked back up and was still watching when a balled material shot through the hole, attached to a thin metal cable.  After a few dozen feet, its line grew taught and descended more slowly, swinging and bouncing from shelf to shelf while the line was fed through from above.

It took almost two full minutes to reach the bottom, where Tay swam forward and clutched it with trembling hands.

***

Floating just outside the hull of the Mystic, Alison was caught off guard by the strength of yet another storm surge.  The captain was right.  Things were getting worse fast!

She studied the small sub’s hull as it began to move again with the current, in spite of hers and the dolphins’ efforts to force it back into place.

Inside, the engineers halted abruptly when they felt the Mystic lurch again and heard the rubber seal shriek, even louder.

Ackerman brought his microphone to his mouth.  “Alison, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“We’re moving again.”

“I know.  We’re trying, but the currents are getting too strong.  Hurry!”

***

Treading water in the shadows, Tay wrapped the second strap around his chest and pulled hard with both hands on the metal cable.

There was no response.

He looked up and visually traced the line back to the opening.  It was too long for them to feel his jerking.

Cursing under his breath, he reached up and grabbed hold of a higher ledge.  Managing to scramble up onto it, Tay held the line out as far as he could to ensure it was straight.

With a deep breath, he took three steps and launched himself off the edge of the shelf trying to clear the cable.  His leap took him out and over the glittering water just before his fall ended. At which point his entire body was yanked hard.  He then swung back into the giant wall with a violent thud.

But it was enough.  High overhead and through the opening, Smitty yelled over his shoulder.  “I think that’s him!  He’s on! Pull him up!”

***

Water strong Alison.

“I know!” she yelled, feeling the sub’s hull move again.  “Push!  PUSH!”

We push.

A desperate Alison let go of Sally and kicked forward as hard as she could, both legs fighting to move against what now felt like an underwater wall.  She pumped harder and harder, unrelenting until the surge receded and allowed her to shoot forward.

She reached the hull and quickly pressed in between two dolphins, kicking as hard as she could along with the other mammals, all of whom were pumping their tails fiercely.

“Harder!”

78

“Captain!”

Emerson spun to find his XO staring forward with a look of worry.  He followed the man’s gaze out through the heavy windows of the bridge and out past the cresting waves smashing into the bow of the ship.

In the distance, highlighted by dozens of muted sunrays punching their way through the clouds, were lines in the water.  Thick dark lines.  Waves.  Darker and farther away than they should be.  And much larger than normal.

Emerson immediately grabbed the mike.  “Alison, are you on?!”

“Yes.”

“Listen to me!  All of you!  We have some big swells coming in!   And I do mean big.  If you’re going to get Tay out, you’d better do it right now!”

“Sally!”  From her position against the hull, Alison twisted and tried to find Sally in the dark, seeing little more than the water swirling wildly all around her.  “Sally!  Where are you?!”

There was no response.  Her earbuds were filled with snippets of translations from the dozens of other dolphins surrounding her.  Fragmented and unintelligible.  With only occasional words she could recognize.  But nothing from Sally.

“Hang on!” she screamed, as loud as she could through her vest.

As soon as the first giant swell hit, Ackerman knew it was over.  The Mystic swung so powerfully and so quickly, there was no chance, no time, to keep it in place, even with the dolphins’ help.  Inside, with their hands still guiding the cable out through the opening, all three men heard the sudden and final wail of the rubber skirt.  Fighting for its last moments before one side of the seal broke open and was ripped forcefully from the smooth surface of the alien wall.  In one fell swoop, the hydraulic pressure was lost, followed by a massive, explosive escape of pressurized air.

79

Water burst through the nose of the Mystic like a broken hydrant.

“Close the hatch!” screamed Ackerman.

Both of his men let go of the line and threw themselves forward.  Together they grabbed the giant metal handle and pushed with everything they had in an attempt to close the door.  To no avail.  The thin cable still running through the opening was preventing the nose hatch door from being sealed shut.

Water sprayed in every direction while Smitty and Odonnell pushed desperately with their shoulders, trying to keep the water pressure from forcing the hatch back open any further.  But their efforts had little effect.  Water was now quickly spilling in and rising, filling the sub’s small, confined interior.  In mere seconds, the level had already risen by several inches, causing Ackerman to claw desperately through the water, searching for their tools.

“Cut the wire!” Smitty yelled.

“I know!  I know!”  Ackerman shook his head in frustration.  “Where’s the goddamn–”

Suddenly he stopped and plunged both hands beneath the surface, triumphantly pulling the cutters back out of the water.  He sloshed forward, stumbling, and fell onto his knees directly behind Odonnell.

He scrambled to get the claws around the small cable and pressed the handles together as hard as he could.

“Cut it!”

Beneath a shower of cold seawater, Ackerman gritted his teeth and pressed harder.  It was too thick.

Smitty and Odonnell lost traction when the hatch door opened wider, sliding them backward.

The water level continued rising relentlessly.

“CUT IT, OR WE DIE!!”

Now almost invisible through the raging torrent, Ackerman turned the large tool and placed one handle against his chest.  He gripped the other side with both hands and pulled as hard as he could, screaming.  “AAAGGHH!”

***

Tay looked up when the wave of water exploded through the opening above him.  With a look of panic, he scrambled along the wall, desperately trying to reach one of the shelves.  He managed to get a hand on one only seconds before he felt his safety line go limp.

His fall commenced just as the massive torrent of seawater from above reached him.

***

Outside, Beene and Corbin had been pushed back toward the hull by the surge.  They were caught in the suction created by the pressure of the funneling water, now shooting through the wall’s small opening.  They fought to escape, but the unrelenting force pulled them down as though being sucked toward a massive drain.

“Shiiiit!” Beene kicked and clawed at the water, helplessly.

He spotted Corbin less than a dozen feet away and tried to reach for the other man’s outstretched hand.  But he was fighting just as hard as Beene, trying to keep himself from being consumed by the current.  His hand remained too far away.

The gap between the two men slowly increased, then accelerated.  One fought, barely able to remain in place, while the other was pulled inward into the glaring white light.  Water was swirling clockwise toward and then through the tiny hole.

The lactic acid in his legs told Beene that fighting the underwater currents for the last hour had been a mistake.   His energy stores were now depleted, and the strength in both legs was preparing to give out.

He couldn’t fight it.  The burn was the warning sign.  That his legs simply didn’t have anything left.  And if he waited until his legs were completely spent, he would have no chance at all.

Beene made a life-or-death decision in less than a second.  With one final look at Corbin, he motioned and then stopped.  Letting his body relax, Beene gave in to the unrelenting suction.

His body accelerated and after several long seconds of being sucked backward, it slammed hard into the wall.  Rolling and tumbling, he fell toward the opening.  Using his arms, he forced himself over onto all fours, spotting the hole several feet away through the blinding glare.  He clambered to keep himself from sliding, but there was nothing to grasp.  Nothing to grip.  Just the smooth dull-gray wall allowing him to be dragged up to and over the opening.

“NOOO!” Beene growled in anguish, struggling to keep himself from being sucked in.  He tried to lock his arms before they buckled at his elbows under the incredible pressure.

But the power of the water was simply too much for his lingering strength.  His shoulders began to wobble under the strain, followed by shaking in his back.

He yelled again, resisting with everything he had.  Until there was virtually no point.

Beene closed his eyes and prepared to let go when something suddenly slammed against the wall next to him.  It was Corbin!  His legs quickly straddled each side of Beene with knees firmly planted against the surface.

Corbin grasped his friend’s vest on each side and pulled as hard as he possibly could, adding his own strength to the fight.

Together, both SEALs howled inside their masks with muscles shuddering violently under the crushing force of the water.

Yet, what neither man could see, nor feel through their gloved hands, was a slight trembling within the alien wall itself.  A vibration, increasing rapidly around the titanium ring directly in front of Beene’s chest.  And when it happened, it was too fast for either diver to comprehend.  All at once, the ring bent and finally collapsed under the pressure, breaking into several pieces and disappearing instantly into the darkness inside.

With no more resistance, the strange material within the wall began to heal…and close.

80

Unaware of his friends’ struggles hundreds of miles away, Will Borger struggled with an entirely different problem.

And he had no good news.  With help from Bruna, he’d found a desk and managed to plug into the center’s network.  But from there, tunneling back into his computer in D.C. took time.  Now, after almost forty-five minutes of searching, what he found was a whole lot of nothing.

He had already managed to get into the computer logs of the local cellular carriers, attempting to triangulate using the towers around the hospital on Trinidad Island.  But nothing was standing out.

He’d used the technique before, to trace General Wei’s movements outside of Beijing––but this time every number and every signal on which he could zero in traced back to local addresses.

Clay and Caesare were adamant that the woman posing as Dr. Tricia Rhoades had used a cell phone from the location.  But Borger couldn’t find any standouts.  Even going back several days.

He frowned and pressed his hands together in front of his mouth.  It was not the only thing he could try, but it should have been the most likely to give them something.  Anything to try to locate Neely and the girl Li Na before it was too late.  But whatever phone the woman was using, it was not using any of the local towers.  Unless it was somehow spoofing or copying a signal.  No.  Borger shook his head.  It would take much too long to find another phone signal, break its encryption, then try to piggyback.  It had to be something else.  But what?

Satellite maybe, or maybe some other type of signal.  Something that wouldn’t require a tower.  Maybe point to point.

Silently, Borger went through the possibilities.  Was there any hardware that could have captured a different frequency being used?  Maybe even something in the hospital?  No. Probably not.  And even if it did, it would take way too long to try to figure it out.

He had to find another way to locate them.  Something faster.  Transportation?  On or off the island?  Maybe.  But that would be a hell of a lot of data to sift through.  What else?  What other traces would they have left?  Clay said it was a professional hit.  Fast and precise.

Borger paused, repeating the thought in his head.  Fast and precise.  Fast and precise.  His eyes suddenly narrowed.  He was no soldier.  Certainly not like Clay or Caesare.  But he did know enough to understand tactics.  And as Neely would always say, there was no free lunch.  Not in anything.  Everything was a tradeoff.  Including being fast and precise.

What was the tradeoff for something that was fast and precise?  Will Borger slowly began to lean forward.  The tradeoff…was time and planning.

Anything executed that quickly, and that perfectly had to have been planned.  And carefully.  Which meant observation.  Whoever it was would have to have been observing for a long enough time, to recognize a window of opportunity.

And that meant, they would have to have been within eyesight.  Which would also make it easy to communicate without the use of a tower.  Better known as line of sight.

Borger whispered to himself.  “Okay, that’s something.”  He leaned forward and began typing again.  If he could just figure out where they were.  Track them to their location.  If he could just–

Borger suddenly stopped.  “Wait a minute.”  He remained still for several seconds before his eyes shifted away, then back to his laptop screen.

He reached out, picked up his own satellite phone, and studied it.  He then returned to the laptop and switched windows, typing over the connection to his D.C. computer.  Someone had been tracking him for days!  That someone, he assumed, was using him to find the others.  He knew it because he’d written a program to notify him when carrier records were accessed to find his number’s location.

Borger checked his watch.  Something had changed, literally within the last hour.

For the last few days, his number was being tracked constantly.   But now, according to his own program, it had stopped.

Why?

Borger’s large frame nearly jumped out of his seat when Bruna burst into the room, practically yelling in hushed tones.

“Mister Borger!” Bruna was almost hyperventilating.  “Mister Borger!”

“What is it?!”

“There is something outside!”  Her eyes were wide with worry.  “Come with me, hurry!”

The room she led him into was dark and appeared to be a ground floor office.  Against the wall, two shelves were filled with books, next to a small bare table and high-backed armchair––a silent, visual accompaniment to the room’s stale air.  The walls were lightly decorated and surrounded a large, old wooden desk situated several feet from a window.  The view looked out toward the main entrance of the center’s property.

Bruna rushed over the worn carpet, keeping herself close to the left wall.  When she reached the desk, she carefully inched past until she reached the window.  Outside and overhead, the setting sun lit up the ground’s heavy foliage in a bright orange glow.  Tiny sparkles glittered on the wet asphalt.

Bruna closed in against the window and leaned out just past the left edge pane.  “Out there.”

Borger leaned with her, towering over the woman’s head and peering out.  He didn’t have time for this.  “Where?”

“There.  Beneath the kapok trees.”

Borger frowned.  “I have no idea what a kapok tree is.”

The older woman rolled her eyes without looking up.  “The tall ones.  There.  Look to the bottom.”

Borger squinted but didn’t see anything.  He had just begun to open his mouth when a shadow moved at the base of the trunk and then became still again.  “What is that?”

Bruna breathed in nervously.  “I think someone is watching us.”

81

With each step, the old and faded tar crackled under the pressure of Caesare’s boot.  Heavy raindrops freckled the dirty surface of the roof, as the same storm pounding Captain Emerson and his crew finally reached Trinidad.

Caesare peered out, spotting the small hospital in the distance while wearing a look of smoldering fury.  He turned and glanced over his shoulder upon hearing John Clay step out from the stairwell and onto the roof of the old hotel.

Clay approached as his partner turned back around.  “Confirmed.  This was it.”

Caesare nodded grimly.  “Any decent scope would have given them a perfect line of sight.”  After a moment, he shook his head.  “Why the hell didn’t we see them?”

“They were professionals.  They wouldn’t have seen us either.”

Caesare shrugged, unmoved.

“They were here for three days,” Clay said.  “An American and five Africans.  One of the hotel staff is from Africa and thinks they were Kenyans.”

“Kenyan?”

“Apparently.  The American was in charge.  Said he looked like a beast.  Short and all muscle.  And bald.  Acted like a soldier.”

“Any ID?”

“They paid in cash.  And they paid a lot.”

“Including access to the roof, I’m sure.”

“Yep.”

Caesare remained standing there stoically for a few moments longer, his hands on his waist, before lowering his shaking head.  “We screwed up, John.  We screwed up big.”

“It was my fault.”

Caesare glowered.  “This one’s on both of us.”

“I should have caught this.”

“We all should have.  But we didn’t.  Whoever she was, that broad was smooth,” he replied.  “This whole thing has gone FUBAR.  And now they’ve got them.”

“They’re alive.”

Caesare merely frowned.  He wasn’t feeling so optimistic.

“They were the targets, which means they’re both valuable.  And whoever took them isn’t stupid.”

He turned to face Clay.  “Just being valuable doesn’t save you.  We both know that.  You and I have seen a lot of valuable people killed by maniacs who didn’t care.  Unlike the movies, in the real world, it’s just as much of a liability as an asset.  And one can become the other pretty damn fast.”

“We’re going to find them.”

“I know,” Caesare said.  “But I’ll tell you this.  When we do, they’d better be alive.”

Clay nodded.  He knew what Caesare meant.  And felt the same way.  They were both men of honor.  Dedicated to doing the right thing.  But deep down, beneath all of it, was something rooted even deeper.  It was a code, an ethos, more unrelenting and deadlier than almost any other.  A resolve that could be summed up in six simple, unwavering words––Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

Beneath all the honor and all the principle, there was still one unwavering trait burning forever inside both men.  They were Navy SEALs.  And they were trained to kill.

Caesare’s voice was now a growl.  “I swear to God, John.  Whoever took them better pray those girls are alive when we find them.  Because if they’re not, I’ll kill every last one of them!”

There was no argument from Clay.  Together the two men stood silently atop the hotel as the rain began to fall harder.  Both becoming drenched by a curtain of rain.  And resolve.

Their eyes suddenly met when Clay’s phone sounded.

A cold expression on his face, Clay reached down and retrieved it.  In one motion, he glanced at the screen and brought it to his ear.  “What is it?”

Borger’s voice crackled over a poor connection.  “Clay, we have a situation.”

“What situation?”

Clay listened while he continued staring at Caesare, standing like a statue in what was quickly turning into a shower.  “Describe the area.”

Clay remained motionless, thinking.  “Is it just you and Bruna?”

When Borger acknowledged affirmatively, Clay spoke in a low, calculating voice.  “Listen to me very carefully.”

***

Will Borger hung up and focused straight ahead, almost in a trance.  “He’s got to be kidding.”

“What did he say?”

Borger, deep in thought, appeared not to hear her.  It took several blinks before he turned and peered at Bruna through his round glasses.  “Or he’s insane.”

82

As the old four-cylinder engine roared to life, the sound reverberated painfully off the cinder block walls of the research center’s underground garage.  To Borger, who was lying flat in the dingy bed of the small Toyota truck, it was almost deafening.

Bruna mashed the pedal to the floor. Within seconds the echo chamber fell behind.  The truck powered up the steep incline as though it was the old vehicle’s last and final charge.

When they reached the upper driveway, Bruna briefly eased up and then made a hard right.  The truck followed the small paved road, around and out toward the main entrance.

In the bed behind her, Borger clenched his teeth and tried to remain as flat as possible.  Not an easy feat given his size.  Head pressed to one side, he felt the vibrations from the aging engine travel through his cheek and into his jaw.

At least now he knew.   Clay wasn’t joking…he actually was crazy!  This was his plan?

It was all he could think about as the vehicle bounced out through the wrought iron arches and swerved left onto the public street.

The small engine roared again, but with less protest this time.  They accelerated, continuing west for almost a mile until they were well out of sight from the research center.  Once there, Bruna slowed and swung a U-turn, pulling into the first driveway––a small parking lot that appeared abandoned.  Next door, an old building housed a tired-looking diner and beauty salon, neither of which seemed far away from closing shop.

Bruna abruptly stopped the truck, causing the larger Borger to slide forward in the bed and bang his head against the back of the cab.  She opened the door and looked down at him.

“What did you do?”

He squinted at her, incredulous while rubbing the top of his head.  “I made the mistake of getting in.”

Emitting a large groan, he pushed himself up onto his knees. “Where did you learn to drive?”

Bruna looked confused by the question.   “Puerto Rico.”

“It was rhetorical,” he quipped, lifting a leg over the side of the truck bed.  After sliding to the ground, he gave his head one last rub and lowered both hands to dust himself off.  He then looked himself over, clothed in filthy blue coveralls.  “I can’t believe this is all you had.”  He frowned and reached back into the truck bed for a shovel.  “Aren’t I going to look a little strange walking down the street and carrying a shovel?”

The expression only deepened on Bruna’s face.  “Why would you look strange?”

“Well, because I’m–”  He stopped.  “Forget it.”  Borger checked his watch and looked up at the sky.  The sun had set almost half an hour ago, and the ensuing darkness was almost upon them, bringing with it a cool, refreshing breeze.  Just a few more minutes.

“You know what to do?”

“Yes.”

“But you have to wait for me.”

Bruna nodded.  “Yes.  I will wait.”

Borger reached behind his neck and tucked his ponytail into his collar.  There wasn’t much he could do about the glasses.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself.  “What the hell are they thinking?”

He was no soldier.  He had no training.  Christ, he wasn’t even a real groundskeeper.  But here he was.  Dressed like one and toting a shovel.  A shovel!

Yet for all his complaining, he had to admit he agreed with Clay.  They didn’t have much time.  Or choice.  They needed information, now.  And someone was there staking him out, for whatever reason.  If that individual might somehow have any knowledge of Neely or Li Na, he and Bruna had to take the chance.

Unfortunately, Borger’s greatest concern had not been diminished in the least––even with Clay’s reassurance that if they hadn’t made a move by now, the person was likely inexperienced and unarmed.  His exact words were low probability but he never actually said how low that was.

Borger checked his watch again.  Crap.  It was almost dark enough.  Borger could feel his heart beating nervously in his chest.  Why?  Why did it have to be him?

***

As soon as darkness engulfed them, Borger reluctantly began walking back the way they came.  Gradually increasing his pace, he was already sweating and tried to distract himself by talking through the logic.  Neely and Li Na needed help.  Quickly.  Whatever the cost.  Whatever the cost, he repeated.  Neely would do it for him.  Of that, he was sure.

When he finally saw the taillights of Bruna’s truck pass him, he began walking faster, then broke into a lumbering trot.

83

Bruna returned, slowly pulling in off the street and back into the driveway of the research center.  Very nonchalantly this time, she rounded the curve and continued forward, pausing at the northwest corner of the building.  Less than fifty feet from the giant kapok trees.

The entire area was almost dark, except for a street light on the opposite side of the street, and of course, the yellowed headlights from the truck.  Inside and behind those headlights, Bruna brought her head down and fidgeted with her hands, pretending to be doing something behind the wheel.  But in reality, her dark eyes were staring directly forward.  Waiting.

She stalled for several minutes until she had what she was waiting for.  All at once, she released the brake and jammed the gas pedal down, causing the truck to suddenly lurch forward.  Quickly closing in on the tree grove, she immediately stomped hard on the brake with her other foot.  The small truck shuddered violently to a stop at which point Bruna turned on the vehicle’s brights, flooding the entire area in front of her.

Hidden in the shadows of the dense foliage, the crouching figure had been watching the truck with curiosity while it sat idling near the building.  When it unexpectedly roared forward, the figure was caught off guard––instinctively scrambling backward before the vehicle came to a screeching halt just as quickly.

When the woman suddenly began yelling from the truck, the figure clumsily retreated even further, frantically reaching back for something on the ground.

What he was not aware of was the loud roar of the engine masking something coming from behind him.  A pounding that would not be heard until it was virtually right on top of him.  The sound of two hundred and forty pounds of Will Borger lumbering through the foliage like a charging rhinoceros, breathing heavily as he emerged through the waist-high bushes carrying something large in his hands.

The figure in the shadows had no time to react before a yelling Borger reached him, swinging the shovel into the person’s legs and knocking him completely off his feet.

The stranger hit the ground with a thud and immediately tried to roll over, panicked and searching desperately in the dark.

But Borger moved quickly.  He stumbled forward and chased the crawling man through bushes, trying to see through the glaring headlights.  After several strides, one of his shoes caught an object on the ground—a protruding root or rock—which stopped his legs and sent him crashing down on top of the person, losing his grip on the shovel.

“NO!” Borger bellowed.  Scrambling quickly to grasp the person’s outstretched hands, Will pulled them away from a large object on the ground.  Some kind of bag.

“Bruna!  Help!”

The short Puerto Rican woman had already leaped from the cab and charged forward into the bushes.  She then saw Borger wrestling the figure on the ground.

She threw herself down, inadvertently finding the shovel with her right foot.  Lunging to grab it, she climbed back onto her feet, forcefully whipped the tool around, and lowered the tip of the spade directly over the stranger’s head.

“STOP!” she screamed.

His reaction was instant.  Spotting what appeared to be a giant blade threatening his skull, the man froze.  His eyes remained fixed on the shovel before gradually looking at Will Borger, on top of him and almost hyperventilating.

84

“Langford here.”

“Admiral, it’s Will Borger.  I’ve got Clay and Caesare on the line.”

“Borger?  Where the hell are you?”

“At the research center in Puerto Rico.  Kind of a long story.  Should we get Secretary Miller on?”

Langford checked his watch.  “He’s not available.  I’ll brief him later.”

“Okay.  You there, Clay?”

“Yes.”

“Admiral.  I, uh, have some good news and bad news.”

Langford sighed.  “Get to it, Borger.”

“Sorry.  I’m not trying to be funny.”  Still in his coveralls, Borger was standing in a dimly lit room where he turned around to Bruna, standing over their captive.  She still held her shovel firmly in both hands.  “We seem to have a new development.  And by the way, thanks a whole heck of a lot, Clay.”

“What development?”

“We’ve discovered who was tracking me, Admiral.  He tailed me here to the research center and was spying on us from outside.”

“Who?”

Borger glared at the young man crouched on the floor.  His almond-shaped eyes stared back up nervously.  “His name is Yong Yang,” Borger said.  “But we all know him better as M0ngol.”

Langford blinked, processing his surprise.  “The computer hacker?!”

“Yes, sir.  From China.  The one working for their Ministry of State Security.  Hunting Li Na.”

“I thought you said he disappeared.  From their whole system.”

“He did.  But it wasn’t the government who did it.  It was him.  Trying to wipe the records clean in an effort to escape.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, sir.  And there’s more.  He’s been following us all, electronically.”

Clay’s voice sounded cool and unsurprised.  “What does he know, Will?”

“Everything.  He’s as embedded in our systems as we were in his.  Maybe more.  And he claims to have something we want.”

“What’s that?”

“Information on who has Neely and Li Na.”

There was a long pause on the call before Langford replied.  “Is he for real?”

“I think so.”

“Then spill it.  Who did it?!”

“He’s not saying, sir.  Not yet.  He wants something in return.”

“Of course he does.”

“He claims his government is searching for him.  And when they find him, they’ll execute him.  Both of which are probably true.  Admiral, he wants to defect.”

“Defect?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He could have done that at almost any consulate in the world.”

“That’s true.”

“Then why the hell–”

Clay broke in, “He’s not stupid, Admiral.  He knows he has information that we need to keep quiet.  And a story that not a lot of people would likely believe.  Especially some lackey working the front desk at a consulate.   No matter which one he went to.”

Langford countered, “Well, he’d still have enough intel on China’s secret ministry to make him valuable to a lot of countries.”

“True.  But he wouldn’t be safe.  At least not for long.  And I’m guessing he knows that.”

Langford nodded, thinking.  “So the kid wants citizenship.”

“Evidently.  At least that’s what he says.”

“That would take some time for me to arrange.”

“Admiral,” Clay interjected.  “That’s going to take several hours at the very least.  And we don’t have that kind of time.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Threaten him.”

Still staring down at M0ngol, Borger frowned uncomfortably.  “Huh?”

“I said threaten him.”

“Uh, with what?”

“With his life!” Clay replied.

Borger turned away and lowered his voice.  “Uh, Clay, I…don’t know that I’m actually capable of–”

“I’m not telling you to hang him out a window, Will.  He’s obviously a sharp kid.  But he’s still a kid!”

It took Borger a moment to catch on.  “Oh, right.  I see.”

“Tell him,” Clay said, “that there is a Chinese consulate less than thirty minutes away, and if he doesn’t answer our questions right now, we’ll tell his country exactly where he is.  He’s smart enough to know he should be a lot more afraid of them than of us.”

***

Defense Secretary Miller was almost to his destination when he took the call from Langford.  Mere seconds into the briefing, he leaned forward and instructed his driver to pull over.

The black Town Car immediately eased to the side of the road and stopped within sight of the White House, brightly lit in the distance and dwarfed by the several large buildings surrounding it.

Miller’s driver, dressed in a dark uniform, sat patiently with eyes focused through his side mirror on each set of headlights as they passed.

“Say that again,” Miller said.  He sat in the back seat, as motionless as the driver, listening to Langford’s voice.  His eyes gazing through the car’s front windshield.  “Has Borger verified this?”  Then another pause.  “How partially are we talking?”

He listened further before his eyes abruptly narrowed.  “Son of a bitch.”

Merl Miller had heard and seen enough during his long career in politics.  Even before his role as Secretary of Defense.  He was sure nothing short of seeing Elvis Presley himself would surprise him now.

He was wrong.

It wasn’t exactly The King, but Miller’s jaw dropped nonetheless as Langford finished speaking.  He shouldn’t have been surprised, given the present state of the government and the infighting between departments, but he was.

He exhaled slowly, continuing to stare forward.  When Langford asked a question, Miller shook his head slowly.  “No, you don’t need to find him.  I know where he is.  I know exactly where he is.  I want a security detail at the Marquis Ballroom in thirty minutes.  Quietly.  Keep them at a safe distance and call me when they’re ready.  Make it clear he is not to leave until I say so.  Is that understood?”

He listened again.   “I understand that, Jim.  But at the moment, I can honestly say that I don’t give a damn about jurisdiction.”

85

Less than a mile from the White House, the Washington Marriott Marquis was one of the largest and most prominent hotels in the city, particularly given its connection to the famed Walter E. Washington Convention Center.  After a rather tumultuous beginning and construction effort in the early 2000s, the hotel was now considered the District of Columbia’s convention center headquarters hotel, providing over eleven hundred rooms for some of the nation’s wealthiest and most prestigious guests.

It was also the official host to one of Washington’s most esteemed gatherings.  The United Service Organization’s annual black-tie gala––a nonprofit event dedicated to the support and recognition of America’s armed services.  With over two hundred locations around the world, the USO was a cornerstone of moral support for the country’s military troops.  It included recognition of our men and women in uniform for exceptional bravery, loyalty, and heroism.

Tonight’s gala in Washington D.C. was one of the year’s largest.  Bringing together various dignitaries, military leadership, families, and the media to recognize and honor exemplary soldiers from each branch of the Armed Forces.

With an abundance of champagne flowing, the event was large enough to allow Merl Miller to enter through the main entryway with little fanfare.  Adorned with gold and marble halls beneath dozens of Baccarat Crystal chandeliers, Miller moved casually through the crowd. He felt slightly underdressed in his traditional blue suit and red tie, at least to anyone sober enough to notice.

Behind him, and on either side, trailed two men dressed in featureless black suits.  Both were silent and focused, and sporting high and tight military-style haircuts.

Miller continued deeper into the throng of people packing the main hall before he stopped and thoroughly scanned the crowd.  After a full minute, he finally found the man he was looking for at the far end of the room, tucked quietly into a corner and speaking on his phone.

Intently, Miller pushed through the crowd, accidentally bumping several people on his way.  The surprised guests included an indignant Speaker of the House and his wife, dressed in an expensive and very flattering blue gown.

The chatter faded modestly as Miller and his men reached the back of the hall.  He glanced up briefly at several familiar faces along the rail overhead before stopping in front of the younger man dressed in one of the hall’s several hundred black tuxedos.

“Call them back.”

CIA Director Andrew Hayes paused his phone conversation when he saw Miller emerge.

“Excuse me?”

“I said call them back.”

Hayes’ eyes switched from Miller to the men next to him, both wearing faces which could have been made of iron.  The opening in the crowd behind them instantly disappeared.

Without saying a word, Hayes glanced at the phone and ended the call before letting out a sarcastic sigh.  “What can I do for you, Mr. Secretary?”

“Anything,” Miller seethed.  “Anything that would let my men beat the life out of you.”

Amused, a thin smile spread across Hayes’ face.  He looked again at the accompanying bodyguards.  “Well now, this sounds serious.”

Miller did not reply.

“I hope you brought more than just these two,” Hayes smirked, panning the room and nodding to one of his own men.  “I have a security detail too.”

“Good for you.  But you’re not leaving until I say.”

Hayes stared back at the older man and lowered his voice, speaking through brooding lips.  “What’s wrong, Miller?  You upset about losing your men in Trinidad?  A soldier and a doctor, I hear?”

Miller’s expression hardened.  “There is no word for how I’m feeling right now.  Where are the two women?”

“Of course, we can’t forget about them.  But a little young for you, I think.”

“I said WHERE…ARE…THEY?!”

Hayes answered by raising his eyebrows at Miller.  Looking over his shoulder, he found his own men now standing further back amid a resumption of chatter.  He cleared his throat and leaned in.  “I think,” he said, “this is where I reply that I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do I look amused to you?” Miller retorted, unflinching.  “Two of my men have been killed.  Two Navy officers.  Murdered.  And I know it was you.”

“You know it was me,” Hayes said, repeating the accusation.  “Perhaps,” he suggested, raising a glass and sipping his champagne, “you just want it to be me.”

Hayes studied Miller until his expression turned dubious.  “It sounds to me like you’re mistaken.  We wouldn’t kill your men…because that would be illegal.”

“As far as I’m concerned, each and every thing you do is illegal.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Hayes laughed.  “Especially coming from you.”

“I want the women.  And I want them right now.”

The CIA director shrugged.  “There’s plenty of other women here,” he said, looking at the crowd, “let’s find you a couple to replace them.”

He looked mockingly at Miller and stepped closer.  “Even if I knew what you were talking about, which naturally I don’t, you have no authority over CIA matters, Miller.  None at all.  But I’ll tell you what...if you would like to submit a formal inquiry, I’ll see what we can find out.”

The defense secretary stared at the younger man for a long time.  “Let me tell you something, Hayes.  I’ve seen a lot like you in my time.  Little men with too much power who think they’re above the law.  That they can do whatever they want because no one is willing to stand up and stop them.  Well, guess what.  You’re not above anything.  You’re a boy.  And you’ve just stepped over the line.  You have called down the thunder of the entire Department of Defense.  One that I control.”

“You want a fight?” Miller continued.  “I’ll give you a fight.  I’ll give you a war that you will wish to God you’d stayed out of.  And so help me, if anything, and I mean anything, happens to those women, you will regret it in ways you cannot even imagine.”

Hayes barely batted an eye, instead staring back with amusement.  “Wow.  That sounds impressive.  And ominous.  But there’s something I think you’re forgetting.  That little covert team of yours.  And your secrets.  The ones you’ve been keeping from everyone.  Including the president.  If I were you, I’d spend a little more time worrying about what happens when those secrets get out.  And what the word treason really means.”  He shrugged.  “Or maybe you’re harboring some…grand illusion.  Some last great, magnanimous act in your final years.  In your final years of…significance.  Because if you are, you obviously haven’t thought it through.  The blame will not just stop with you and Admiral Langford.  It will spread.  Like a wildfire.  To everyone you’ve even been remotely involved with.  And if they’re lucky, I mean really lucky, they’ll just go to jail.”

Hayes took another sip from his crystal flute.  “Now I know, already having a foot in the grave, that risking your own life doesn’t mean a hell of a lot.  But are you willing to risk the lives of everyone else?  Not just your boys Clay and Caesare, but Alison and her team?  Even the great DeeAnn Draper?  Emerson and everyone on his ship will be court-martialed.  If they’re lucky.  Hayes leveled his gaze, perversely.  “You look surprised.  You didn’t think you’d kept it all secret from us, did you?  That no one knew what you were really hiding?”  Hayes shook his head.  “You have an awful lot of secrets, Merl.  And I suspect none of them will turn out quite the way you think.”

86

The sudden termination of Hayes’ call did not phase John Ambrose.  The CIA Deputy, and subordinate of the Director himself, stood with his arms folded, focused on a computer monitor on the table before him.  Seated directly in front of Ambrose was thirty-two-year-old Matt Millican, Chief of the CIA’s Cyber Security Unit and the sharpest cyber expert the agency had.  At six-foot-even with strong Anglo-Saxon features, he was also the man responsible for finally locating John Clay and Steve Caesare on Trinidad Island.

It wasn’t easy, but Millican had done it.  In record time, aided by the rest of his cyber unit.  Truth be told, Millican was nothing short of an anomaly in the field.  At times, doing things that surprised even his own department, which was particularly impressive given the team’s deep understanding of what he was actually doing.  The man, it seemed, had an intuition that sometimes defied logic itself.  An ability that somehow allowed him to think like his adversary.

Appreciation of his colleague’s gift was not entirely lost on the older Ambrose, even if he couldn’t understand what Millican was doing on the computer.  Instead, he watched quietly, peering over the shoulder of Millican, who was dressed in a cheap short-sleeve button-up shirt and brown tie.

Sitting in his chair, Millican nodded softly as if speaking to himself.  “Here they come.”

Ambrose squinted and stared at the screen.  “Where?”

“Here.”  The younger Millican leaned forward and pointed to a small area on the large network map filling his monitor.  On it, a complex hub and spoke configuration was displayed.  Near the middle, a small set of four-letter characters turned red and began blinking.

“What is that?”

“One of our firewalls, showing a connection that was just established from the outside.  The blinking characters represent a digital ID assigned to it.  It looks like they’re using the line from the research center in Puerto Rico.”

“They?”

“Will Borger.”

“Isn’t that a little foolish?”

Millican smiled without looking away.  “It would be if he knew we were monitoring that particular line.  And if he knew we were waiting for him.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

“Yep.  For him to be coming in straight like that means he doesn’t think anyone knows where he’s hiding.  If he did, he would be bouncing off different systems to disguise his connection.  But his weakness,” Millican explained smugly, “is that he doesn’t have much time.”

Together both men watched as the tiny flashing characters jumped to the next device on the giant computerized map.

“What’s that device?”

“They’ve tunneled into one of our security servers.  The second protective wall in our system.”

It took less than thirty seconds to travel to the next system, leaving Millican to grin.  “He’s good.”

Ambrose looked at him.  “How good?”

“Really good.  And fast.  He knows what he’s doing.  And what he’s looking for.”  At that, Millican leaned forward and began typing in another window.  “Now we just need to make sure he ends up where we want him to.”

“The fake server.”

“Well, it’s not a fake server per se.  It’s a real server that’s had its data modified.  And not all of it.  Most of the data is genuine.  Enough for this guy Borger to think it’s the real thing.”

“Is there anything sensitive on there?”

Millican looked up at Ambrose and nodded.  “Oh yeah.  A ton.”

“What?”

“There’s a huge amount of secret information on it.  We had to leave it on there.  If we didn’t, he’d know something was wrong.”

“Are you telling me he can just download a bunch of highly classified data?”

“He could.  But he won’t.  Downloading more than a megabyte through an unverified connection would automatically trigger a security event called a breach.  Which locks down the system and immediately disconnects him.”

Ambrose frowned.  “So, he knows better.”

“He sure does.  What this guy Borger is looking for are much smaller, specific pieces of information.  Probably starting with phone records.”

“I thought our phones were encrypted.”

“The phones are, but the numbers aren’t.  Only the actual communication and data that travels over them are scrambled.  The numbers themselves have to be readable to the outside, or no one could call each other.”

“Right,” Ambrose nodded at the clarification.  “Then what?”

“Once he has a list of numbers, he’ll compare that against the phone company’s logs to find out if any were used in Puerto Rico.  And from there, he’ll begin checking against a certain date and time.  Standard procedure.  But,” Millican made clear, “he’s going to have to disconnect from us first.”  He looked at his watch.  “Within the next thirty seconds or so.  Otherwise, our system will flag it as another possible breach.”  He paused, clearing his throat.

“So, once he disconnects, he’ll try to match and identify phone numbers.  Then when he comes back, he’ll try to break into the database holding profiles on our agents.”

“Exactly.”

“And that’s another isolated server.  Appearing real but with fake data on it.”

“Yep.”

Ambrose straightened behind Millican.  “Okay.  As long as they’re chasing the wrong target.”

“That’s the idea.”

It was a simple ploy, really.  But crafted very carefully.  Millican and the rest of his team had only hours to recreate the separate, yet isolated version of the agency’s internal network.  Servers, routers, switches, everything.  And with precisely the same configurations in order to ensure that Will Borger believed he was on the production network when he breached their system.

In fact, it was more than just a ruse.  It was a stroke of genius on Millican’s part.  Borger would attain falsified versions of the data, sending him and his team on a wild goose chase.  One long enough to prevent them from finding the two captured women before the pair reached a CIA secure location.  But even more than that, Millican and his team were recording every move Borger made, which would provide Director Andrew Hayes with concrete proof of Borger’s illegal activities.  And by extension, Admiral Langford’s and Secretary Miller’s.  All part of Hayes’ covert effort to gather as much evidence of illegal and treasonous acts as possible, and to bury them.

87

The distant roar of the C-20 Gulfstream III could be heard by both Clay and Caesare long before it emerged from the dark clouds overhead.  The rain had abated briefly before returning with a vengeance, gradually drenching both men.  They stood waiting a few hundred yards from the Camden Airstrip runway in a field of tall, and rather soaked, emerald green grass.

Both wore grave expressions as the military jet appeared and aligned with the runway in front of it.  On the ground, Caesare’s eyes studied the long strip of asphalt and noted the multitude of skid marks dotting its light gray surface.  Most of the markings were farther down the runway and narrower in width, evidence of something other than aircraft tires.  Notably, they hinted at Camden Airstrip’s not-so-secret life as the island’s premier dragstrip.

Together, Clay and Caesare watched as the Gulfstream sent by Langford descended.  It floated briefly, and dropped the last few feet, kissing the runway with two loud screeches.  They watched as the craft continued down the airstrip while Clay pulled his phone from his pocket––its ringing almost entirely drowned out by the rumbling of the arriving aircraft.

Clay waited a moment before holding the cell phone up between himself and Caesare.  He pressed the small green button and answered.

“Where we headed, Will?”

“We have a fix on them.  Aboard a Dassault Falcon 50.  Just entered U.S. airspace a few minutes ago.  Headed toward Texas.”

Clay’s subsequent stare at Caesare happened for two reasons.  First, the Dassault Falcon 50 jet had developed a reputation over the years for masquerading as a business aircraft when instead it was being used by agencies like the CIA for moving undisclosed cargo.  Or more specifically, people.  Called rendition flights, the use of the Falcon 50s had sparked a wave of controversy over the CIA’s practices in the early 2000s.  The second reason for Clay’s look was the mention of Texas, Caesare’s home state.  Which clearly was not going to sit well.

“What’s their ETA?”

“About ninety minutes until they reach Texas.  They’re certainly not going to break any speed records.”

“Trying to avoid attention,” Caesare said.

Clay looked at his watch.  An hour and a half to reach Texas.  And potentially another hour to cross it.

“Any idea where it’s headed?”

“No.  No flight plan.  Which means–”

“Special clearance.”

“Right.  And that means we probably have some big players involved,” Borger finished.

Clay was looking away, watching their plane come to a stop at the end of the runway where it began its wide turn.  “Do we know who they are yet?”

“I’ve identified the woman.  The one posing as Tricia Rhoades.  Her real name is Debra Borssen.  Norwegian descent, born in Fort Wayne, Indiana.  Top of her class in both high school and college.  And recruited into the CIA not long after graduating.  She’s been an operative ever since.  And let me tell you something, this woman has been around.  Nicaragua, Laos, Columbia, you name it.  Their database says she’s an expert in counterintelligence, hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and geez!” Borger exclaimed, “tactical interrogation.”

“Who else?”

“No one else I can find on the CIA roster.  But there are references to someone called The Anvil.  A contractor of some kind, but I don’t have anything on him yet.  Can’t seem to find a real name.”

Clay peered at Caesare.  “Sounds like a match for our friend at the hotel.”

“Who’s that?” Borger asked.

“Not sure.  But his friends referred to him as the beast.”

“They didn’t get a name either?”

“Nope.  I’m guessing he’s not the type of person who needs to use it.”

“Okay.  I’ll keep on it.”

Clay reached down and picked up his duffle bag from the sopping grass.  “We’re heading out.  Call us when you have more.  And for God’s sake, do not lose that Falcon.”

***

Neely Lawton turned away from the woman in front of her to check again on Li Na.  Ashen-faced and exhausted, the teenager sat unmoving in her seat, handcuffed and staring vacantly at the empty seat directly across from her.

Neely wanted to say something reassuring.  Anything to give the girl hope.  But it would have been an empty gesture.  Neely didn’t know much more than Li Na.  Neither had any idea who these people were or where they were headed.  She only knew why.  Why they took her and Li Na and left Doctor Kanna and Officer Tiewater behind.  God, she hoped they were okay.

And even though Neely was on board the plane, she knew the person they were really after was Li Na.  She was the one who had the microorganisms circulating in her bloodstream.  At best, Neely was merely an expert on the bacterium, along with what it could do and what it was doing to Li Na.  Because that’s what they wanted.  The bacterium.  It was the only reason she could think of.

The woman sitting across from her, Tricia Rhoades or whatever her real name was, peered at Neely with a strange expression which could only be described as ambivalence.  Her blue eyes remained relaxed and calm, indicating that she was thinking about something else.  Just as she had been since Neely awoke.

A few seats behind her sat the giant hulk of a man who had stormed their small hospital wing.  Rhoades had let him inside, and he was the last person Neely remembered seeing before losing consciousness.

Neely turned back to the teenager.

“Li Na?”

There was no answer.

“Li Na?” she called a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

As if suddenly distracted, Rhoades finally turned her head to watch but said nothing.

When Neely gave up, their eyes abruptly met.  After a tense silence, Neely spoke with disdain.

“You must be happy.”

Rhoades looked at her curiously for a moment, then smirked.

“I know you’re American.”

The other woman curled her lip.  “What makes you think that?”

“It’s obvious.”

Rhoades seemed amused.

“Little things.  Subtle references when we met.  Things a foreigner wouldn’t get.”

The woman simply stared back at her.

“So, who are you?  Smart enough, I’m sure, not to use your real name. And you’re not a doctor either.”

The woman suppressed a laugh as she shrugged.  “Close enough.”

“Maybe for me.  But not Doctor Kanna.  He knew you weren’t.  Almost from the beginning.”

“Then he should have listened to his instincts sooner.”

“But you fooled everyone else,” Neely said accusingly before motioning to Li Na.  “All to get her.”

The other woman leaned her head back.  “Save your breath.  I’m not about to start telling you everything out of guilt or boredom.”

“It’s not that hard to figure out.  You’re a con artist, working for someone else to get the same thing everybody else wants.  The bacterium.  Probably to sell to the highest bidder.”  When the woman didn’t respond, Neely continued.  “Or to keep it for yourself.”

Rhoades grinned.  “Oh, I’m a lot smarter than that.”

“I doubt it,” sneered Neely.  “You’re just doing the dirty work for someone else.”

“We all work for someone else.”

At that, Neely Lawton frowned sarcastically.  “Right.  It’s your duty.”

“We’re all playing a role.  Aren’t we now?”

“I guess we are.  So it just comes down to which side you’re on.”

“You think there are sides?” Rhoades smirked again.  “How naïve.”

“At least I know which side I’m on.”

“Let me guess.  You’re on the good side.  On the side of those who care.  The moral side.  Honor and truth and all that.  Right?”

Neely remained quiet.

“Because what you’re doing, what you and your friends are doing, is the right thing to do.”

“That’s right.”

“Of course it is.  Because you’re so brilliant, you’ve thought through everything.  You couldn’t possibly be wrong.”

Neely’s admonished expression began to show uncertainty.

“Because you understand everything that’s happening in our country.  And the rest of the world.  So naturally, those who don’t have the same priorities as you do, they are the enemy.”

“I think anyone who has to deceive–”

Rhoades cut her off with a short laugh.  “Deceive?  That’s what your opinions are based on?  A person is on the bad side if it involves deception?  Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

Neely didn’t respond.

“Tell me you and your team have not deceived anyone.  Can you?  No.  Jesus, you’ve deceived everyone.”

“We had to.  To keep people like you–”

“To keep people like me away.  Of course, you did.  And the rest of the bad people too.”

“That’s right.”

Rhoades shook her head and leaned back against the seat.  “You bleeding hearts have never been that bright.  Always so obsessed with doing what you think is the right thing that it never occurs to you there is no right or wrong.  No good and bad.  There are only objectives.  And everyone’s are different.  Every country, every ethnicity, every military.  Each has their own objectives.  And it all comes down to how far each will go to reach them.”

“Well, I guess we know how far you’re willing to go.”

Rhoades merely shook her head again and closed her eyes.  Her reply was short and dismissive.  “Oh, Commander Lawton.  You have no idea.”

88

Deep underground beneath the Dugway Proving Ground in Utah, Dr. Janice Talbot carefully returned her phone to its cradle.  She let her hand drop gently onto her desk where she drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the cool metal surface.

Both women had been captured and were now en route to Dugway.

It was the best news she could have hoped for.  Talbot was no soldier, but she knew just how easily things could go wrong.  She’d seen it before.  Her greatest fear was that their mission would fail, now in its final stages.  After they, or more specifically she, had come so far.

She had been worried that one, or both women, would be injured during the raid in Trinidad.  Or even worse.  But to her relief, both were confirmed alive.  Exactly what she was hoping for.  And exactly what she needed.

Talbot relaxed and reached for her computer mouse, returning the small arrow on the screen to the audio file she had paused before taking the call.  She dragged the thin progress bar backward along the timeline and began listening again.

“…the bacterium?”

“No.  I was the one who used Bacillus Coagulans, not the Chinese.  It’s used a lot in biological testing and was one of the few human samples I had access to aboard the Bowditch.  The Chinese used a different strain with a torque transducer, which is much faster.”

Janice Talbot was listening to an exchange between Neely Lawton and Debra Borssen, one of their operatives.  Secretly recorded and sent just a few days before the women were seized.  While Lawton still trusted Borssen as an ally.  And a doctor.

Even though Talbot herself didn’t care much for working with others, she had to admit that Borssen was one of the most impressive operatives she’d met.  And possibly the best in the agency when it came to assuming different identities.

The socially awkward Talbot knew of a number of people who had a gift when it came to getting others to trust them.  People who seemed as genuinely gifted with people as she was with science.  Something which fascinated and puzzled her at the same time.  It was a skill that she personally couldn’t understand.  And Debra Borssen had it.

Of course, many operatives had their own exceptional skills, such as lightning-fast reflexes or detailed memory recall.  Borssen had both of those and more.  Hers was instinctual, a certain way with people that could not be replicated.  Lord knows they’d tried.  The woman simply had an innate gift when she chose to use it.  A smoothness about her that could make others feel comfortable.  And trustful.  Even to their own detriment.

“So what strain was it?  That the Chinese used.”

Neely Lawton’s voice resumed in the recording.  “They used staphylococcus epidermidis, another intestinal bacterium that can spread just as quickly.  One of the easiest to manipulate through transduction.  The same I would have used if I were them.”

“And that’s what was injected into Li Na?”

“By her father.  While she was hospitalized and dying from degenerative heart disease, probably in the final stages.”

Borssen’s voice could be heard sighing.  “That poor girl.”

Talbot clicked her mouse again and stopped the audio.  She stared at the monitor, unblinking.  There was more, a lot more, but this was one of the most important pieces of Borssen’s recordings.  The name of the bacterium to look for once they had the girl.  The process in which it was extracted by the Chinese.  Even the cellular behavior to study.  And of course, their remedy to the harmful side effects, which would have killed her.  Medically crude but effective.

Talbot was excited.  She was sure they could do better.  After isolating the sequence, they could apply the new DNA faster and surely more accurately.  And find a better way to solve the malady of extreme exhaustion, rather than through induced coma.

The teenage girl was the primary target.  She had the strain.  But Talbot was growing increasingly interested in the Neely Lawton woman.  She appeared to have a lot of information that Talbot needed if she was going to make this work.

She couldn’t wait to dig into Lawton’s brain.

89

Talbot pushed open the heavy metal door and let it swing closed behind her.  At the top, the hydraulic arm eased the door to a gradual close until it shut with the sound of a loud click.

The white walls and polished floor tiles resembled a common hospital hallway, which it effectively was, only smaller.  Passing two windowed offices, Talbot rounded a corner into a larger room with two hospital beds, medical monitors, and a long curtain hanging from the ceiling between them.  The curtain was pulled back and tied to the wall, near a fluorescent light shining brightly over one of the beds.  The rest of the room was well lit from a set of fluorescent tubes recessed in the ceiling.

She focused her attention on the man sitting on the edge of the illuminated bed.  Dressed in a pair of athletic pants, his upper body was shirtless.  Exposing a lean, muscular chest and arms.  His right shoulder bore a tattoo comprised of two letters––two As, with their opposing outer edges curving into the shape of a circle, and the word Airborne stenciled above them.  A common insignia for the 82nd Airborne Army Paratroopers.

On his left arm was a bandage, wrapped around the bicep, being secured by one of Talbot’s medical staff.  Dots of blood could be seen seeping through the white fabric.

Talbot’s eyes shifted from the soldier to the woman standing next to him.  “What happened?”

The nurse glanced at the man, then to Talbot.  “A training accident.”

“Another accident,” she repeated, peering down at him.  The man grinned back nefariously.

“Just a scratch,” he said.

Talbot couldn’t hide the irritation in her eyes.  “You can’t afford many of those.”

“Eh, I’ll heal.”

“Not well enough.”

“Not yet,” he countered, still grinning.

Talbot bit her lip to stop from replying.  The man’s name was James Seever, and he was a perfect example of why she didn’t like working with others.  His hubris and bravado were downright annoying.  No, worse than that, grating.  A man who seemed to have no respect for what they were trying to achieve.  Or what it took.

Some might consider it karma, if she believed in such a thing.  But at the very least, it was nature’s cruel joke.  Of that, she was certain.  Dozens of test subjects had all failed in one way or another to successfully receive the DNA changes.  Some accepted them early on, when the segments they were editing were small.  But when she tried to apply the same adjustments throughout the rest of the body, problems arose quickly.

It took years from those early tests to understand what was happening, what they were doing wrong.  The science was not far enough along yet.  And some of the side effects the subjects experienced were more than a little…unfortunate.  Some were rather horrific.  Especially when editing or adding multiple DNA segments.  Uncontrollable spasms, loss of senses such as hearing or vision, and even organ failure had all occurred more than once.  Two notable subjects actually had their hearts explode inside their chest walls, which was a setback.   Making it fortunate that the first waves of test subjects were medical patients.  Government sanctioned and usually unconscious, unable to refuse.

All in all, it was a difficult time.  And a very long and frustrating process.  And through it all, the greatest irony—no, the greatest mockery—would come from James Seever.  A difficult, arrogant, contentious man who proved willing to do anything to be released from his current circumstance.  A deal even Talbot had doubts about as to whether it was worth it.  Especially now.

He wasn’t the only candidate left.  There were others.  But Seever was undeniably yielding the best outcome so far.  His body’s molecular biology had responded to the DNA changes better than any of the others.  Instead of tolerating only a few edits before problems arose, Seever absorbed several successfully with no notable symptoms at all.

In fact, even after eight complete, body-wide edits to date, his system had shown that not only were all eight present in his new DNA, but a full six of them were active!  It was astonishing.

Astonishing and puzzling.  Because neither Talbot nor anyone else on the team under General Bullman had an explanation.  No one could come up with a viable theory why Seever’s body was able to do what many others could not.

Making Seever their prototype.  At least for the time being, until they could figure it out.  The situation left most of Bullman’s team more than a little concerned, including Talbot.  But General Bullman did not share their unease.  Nor was he the slightest bit bothered by Seever’s brutish antics.  Before or after the tests.  What he needed was a success––a soldier he could showcase to the CIA and others as an example of what was now possible.  And how the United States was on the brink of changing clandestine operations and warfare forever.

From the bed, Seever continued staring at her.  “I hear our prize is on its way.”

Talbot’s eyes returned to his.  He was talking about the Chinese girl.  “Where did you hear that?”

“Everyone knows.”

Talbot merely shook her head.

“How long will it take?”

“How long will what take?”

“To isolate the bacterium.”

“We don’t know yet,” she answered.  “There’s still a lot we need to figure out.”

Seever flexed his arm and stood up from the bed with a sarcastic reply.  “Then I guess it’s a good thing they have the other woman too.”  He walked to the door, glancing back over his shoulder just before rounding the corner.  “Better hope they still need you.”

***

Seever didn’t care at all for Talbot.  The woman was uncomfortably odd.  And that was putting it mildly, it didn’t matter how smart she was.

He opened the door and stepped over the threshold into a longer hallway, which turned right and proceeded back toward the testing bay.  While he walked, Seever glanced down at his bandaged arm, the blood more visible now.  But contained.

As he moved, he could feel the innate strength within his muscles evolving.  Ever so slowly…it was amazing.  The sensation definitely pulsed through his arms and legs, even traveling down to his hands and fingers too.  It was a feeling as if his entire body was surging with testosterone.  Chronic aches he’d had in his knees from an old accident, he could no longer feel, and everything seemed to move smoother.  Easier.  His muscles felt more fluid and increasingly more powerful by the day.  Even better than when he was in his prime.

Of course, as expected, the editing brought a few side effects, but they were subtle.  Minor enough that no one had noticed yet except him.  And certainly nothing he was about to reveal, especially to that kook Talbot.

For now, he had more testing to do.  Or more accurately, given his revised orders, Seever planned to continue honing and pushing the limits of each one of the skills being made possible by his new genetics.

Because what he knew, yet Talbot did not, was that he wasn’t going to be there much longer.  She had no idea that he was now in direct communication with Bullman himself.  And the general had plans for his new prototype.

90

The Pathfinder’s sickbay, a 15x25 foot room on the ship’s mid-deck, lay forward of both the galley and the research lab.  Packed full with two chest-high filing cabinets, examination lights, and two in-use, wall-mounted folding operating tables, there was barely enough room for the four people being treated.  Let alone the ship’s nurse.

Chief Engineer Ackerman lay on one of the beds with his left arm tightly wrapped from shoulder to wrist.  Alison rested on the second bed with her eyes closed and left ear bandaged.

Sitting on two appropriated plastic chairs were Smitty and Beene, the first donning a metal splint for his wrist and middle two fingers.  The SEAL next to him showed no visible signs of injury and was growling at the nurse, trying to convince her that he was fine.

The entire room turned to the door as Captain Emerson stepped in and shook the heavy raindrops from his short gray hair.

“Anything?”

Ackerman shook his head and glanced at the handheld radio perched next to him on a small shelf.  “No, sir.”

The captain checked his watch.  It had been a half hour.  He placed his hands on his hips, thinking.  “You’re sure you had Tay on the line?”

Ackerman nodded and glanced at Smitty, who did the same.  “Pretty sure.  Unless he attached something else for us to pull up.  But the signal was clear.”

“Any idea how far up you had him?”

“Not sure.  I’d say forty, maybe fifty feet.”

Emerson frowned.  Forty or fifty feet didn’t sound like much, but it was high enough to be fatal.  Even in water if someone hit the surface wrong.  But what he was more concerned with was the possibility of added injury.  Tay had already made the fall once and sustained what he thought might be a fractured leg.  Now he was weaker, making him prone to more serious injuries.  Injuries that could be far worse.

“But you got the package through.”

“Yes, sir.  That we’re sure of.”

“Good.  So scenarios one and two are either that Tay did not survive the fall.  Or he did and succumbed to injuries.”

Alison grimaced at the thought and watched Ackerman nod.  “Yes, sir.”

Emerson exhaled.  “Well, there’s not a hell of a lot we can do about one and two.  So, let’s move on to three.”

Beene spoke up from his chair.  “He’s alive but unconscious.”

“Right.  But for how long?”

The nurse standing next to Beene answered the captain.  “A hit that is hard enough could keep him out for several minutes.  There’s also a relatively common phenomenon where a person who has been knocked unconscious passes into a form of ordinary sleep.  But if there was a traumatic head injury…”

“Then we’re back to scenario two.”

“Probably.”

Alison looked at the captain worriedly.  “But if he’s unconscious for that long, he could drown.”

“Very possibly,” Ackerman nodded.  “Although the harness should keep him afloat.”

“Assuming he landed face up,” Beene said.

“Right.”

“Okay,” Emerson said.  “Scenario three is that he’s alive, but unable to reach the package.”

“Or can’t find it.”

“The light should activate as soon as it touches water.”

“Unless it’s for another reason.”

Emerson sighed.  “Then we have at least four possibilities.  The first two are not good.  The third isn’t much better.  And the fourth is that he’s alive, on his back, and just hasn’t woken up yet.  Or hasn’t reached the package yet.”  He looked around the room, but no one spoke.  “Time to be optimistic.”

The captain looked back to the nurse.  “If he did get knocked out and slipped into this sleep state, how long could he stay in it?”

“Under normal circumstances, not more than a couple hours.”

“Okay, not too much longer then,” Emerson calculated.  He inhaled and folded his arms.  “It may be Hail Mary time.  For anyone who is a person of faith, now would be a great time for prayer. In fact, even if you’re not, it’d still be a damn good idea.”

91

Over a hundred feet below Captain Emerson and his crew, the turbulent blue waters of the Caribbean had finally begun to settle.  Both beneath the ship and along the long gray alien wall.

Waves of brilliantly colored fish moved rhythmically through the still-surging current.  Sometimes by the hundreds, they appeared unfazed and blissfully unaware of any recent commotion. The only remnants from a rescue attempt gone bad were tiny specks of organic matter churned up and swirling through the water.  The various schools picked carefully at the microscopic bits of nourishment shaken free from the dense, endless fields of underwater plant life.

Dozens of dolphins returned as well, gliding by and studying the strange surface, unblemished and just as silent as it had been before.

One of the dolphins, shorter and stubbier, stood out from the rest.  With darker skin and a much larger melon, it moved quietly along, carefully examining the alien craft.

The savant dolphin dove deeper yet remained close to the wall, eventually easing up and coasting to a halt.

It paid little attention to the others swimming and circling past him.  Instead, the smaller mammal began sweeping its oversized head back and forth very gently.

***

Several minutes later, aboard the Pathfinder in the tiny and empty communications room, Chris’s monitor registered a translation from IMIS.  Brief, four words displayed themselves across the top of the screen.  Where they remained unread.

Alison.  You friend live.

92

Elgin Tay’s eyelids fluttered briefly.  Rather than open, they continued struggling as his brain gradually began to clear. When his eyes did finally show themselves, it was under the canopy of an eerie yet familiar blackness.

He felt something lining his face and shoulders, traveling down around his legs, which took several seconds to recognize as water.  His muscles jerked awake, and he instinctively reached into liquid nothingness below him.

In a brief panic, he righted himself in the water, splashing loudly in the echoing darkness.  He felt something around his chest and probed with his fingers.  When he found the thin cable, everything came back to him.  He was still wearing the harness…still attached to the cable that had suddenly given way.  But it was the thick Neoprene fabric that had kept him afloat while he lay unconscious.  Thank God he’d been on his back.

He kicked his legs and almost shrieked.  His right leg was dangling further down in the water than his left, and it felt unresponsive.  Not only out of position but now, without a doubt, broken.

He leaned his head back in the water and inhaled deeply, desperate for the pain to subside.  He blinked and looked up.  Like before, everything above him was dark.  And silent.  The bright light from the wall was gone.  No drill, no–

Then something flashed.

It was a brief, weak light and it gave a faint glow to the wall in front of him only momentarily.  He waited, breathless, until it happened again.  Tay twisted around through a wave of pain, looking for the cause, and found it a few hundred feet behind him, floating in the water.

It was a small beacon––a light, bobbing in the water next to a larger elongated object.  They had dropped him an emergency rescue kit.

Tay swam toward it with his arms, cringing and trying desperately not to use the lower half of his body.  He clawed his way forward, closing the distance until he reached the kit.

It was larger than he had thought at first glance and wrapped tightly in clear plastic.  Strapped across its long shape, causing the package to roll over onto its side, was the flashing light.  Having been activated by the water, it alternated between bright flashes of white and red.

“Thank God!”  Tay flipped the package over, looking for a crease in the thick plastic.  When he found it, he pulled as hard as he could, ripping a strip of clear tape away.  He pulled the flap open, searching for more creases and ripping them free just as quickly.

When Tay finally managed to pull the contents out, he laughed in delirious relief.  A small, orange life raft materialized, wrapped around another smaller package in its center.

***

Despite the throbbing pain in his leg, Tay flung himself into the raft, exhausted but triumphant. He managed to prop his head up onto the edge of the raft as if it were a hard, inflated pillow.  With his chest heaving and the pain of climbing in now behind him, Tay lay motionless, sprawled happily from side to side.   The emergency light continued flashing from its new spot next to him inside the raft.

After several long minutes, Tay raised up the waterproof bag and studied it, deciphering the clasp without difficulty and dumping the contents out.  The first item he recognized was the headlamp.  After turning it on, he sorted through the remaining items.  Several plastic bottles, a first-aid kit, a small, hand-operated desalination pump, some thin rope, a digital camera, and dozens of energy bars.

But nothing made him happier than the sight of the hand-held radio.

93

Everyone in the Pathfinder’s sickbay jumped when they heard Tay’s voice crackle over the radio.  Ackerman leaped from his seat, barely catching the radio before nearly knocking it onto the floor.

“Tay!  Tay!  We hear you!  Can you hear us?!”

Below, in the darkness, Tay grinned from under the bright glow of the headlamp strapped to his head.  Thank God!  He had been afraid the signal wouldn’t make it through the walls.

“I can.  Who is this?”

“Elgin, it’s Ron Ackerman!”

Ackerman?  Tay blinked and furrowed his brow.  He knew the name well.  “Are you…on the Pathfinder?”

“Yes.  I am.”

“What the hell are you doing on the Pathfinder?”

The large engineer smiled and laughed.  “I was reassigned.  To come help save your sorry ass.”

Tay stared up into the shadows above and laughed himself.  “Well, what are you guys waiting for?”

94

In the sickbay, Ackerman looked around the room as everyone cheered and raised their arms in victory.  Beene jumped from his chair and clapped Smitty firmly on the back, leaving a fleeting grimace on the smaller man’s face.

The room was jubilant as Ackerman pressed the button and spoke again.

“We’ve been trying to contact you.”

“Sorry about that,” Tay replied.  “I think I was out for a while.”

“You okay down there?”

“More or less.”  Tay looked around at the dim surroundings.  His headlamp was just bright enough to make out the strange shelves covering the inside of the wall. And to illuminate several feet below into the water.  “I’m a little banged up, and my right leg may be fractured. But I’m alive, and I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you guys!”

“Good.  Because we were beginning to think we accidentally killed you.”

“Lucky me.  And by the way, thanks for the supplies.  I think the painkillers are already starting to kick in.”

Ackerman winked at Smitty.  “It was the least we could do.”

“So, what happened with the drill?”

“It’s a long story,” Ackerman replied.  “Let’s just say our timing wasn’t the best we’ve ever had.  Mother Nature sure as hell wasn’t making things easy for us.”

“You got a storm or something?”

“Yes.  Hurricane levels but it should be past us soon.”  Ackerman released the button and looked at the others.  “So, tell us what you’re seeing down there?”

95

Even light pressure on his leg was torturous, but the further he moved the more Tay convinced himself that the Norco was doing the heavy lifting.  Which meant his injury was likely worse than he thought.  An unfortunate fact which he tried to put out of his head while he shuffled forward, deeper into the belly of the ship.  The small radio dangling from his neck, had been turned off in an attempt to preserve battery.

What he discovered first, was how much smaller his surroundings appeared in the light.  It probably shouldn’t have surprised him, given how dark his first venture had been.  Not being able to see had a way of making things feel much farther away.

Now with the reality of narrower walkways and walls awash in a light dull gray, his first clear look inside was strangely…disappointing.

Until he reached the first room.  What felt empty before, it turned out, wasn’t.  Instead, the room was open and lined on the opposite side with several odd-looking objects, rising from the floor and almost egg-shaped.  Although not quite.  Together they ran the length of the two different walls—four along one, and three along the other—walls that connected to each other at perhaps a forty or fifty-degree angle.  But what enraptured Tay almost immediately were the markings.

Not markings per se as much as diagrams.  Etchings in the walls, covering them almost from floor to ceiling.

He shuffled closer and studied the indentations.  They were arranged very concisely, some appearing to repeat multiple times.

Tay remained motionless, tracing the etchings from section to section.  Most were lines, squares, and circles, with smaller areas resembling what might be some form of writing.  Yet the longer he inspected them, the more he thought they looked like something he’d seen before.

It wasn’t until he followed several patterns down to eye level that he reached out and gingerly felt the surface.  Tay suddenly jumped back when the small circle he touched lit up and promptly faded.

Glancing around nervously, Tay waited, but nothing happened.  He touched it again, watching the light appear and then fade a second time.  Still nothing.

He then tried another circle.  And found the same thing.  Then another and another before finally touching a square just above them.  All gave the same muted reaction.

Tay took a clumsy step backward and studied both walls, continuing to trace the symbols.  What Tay was looking at reminded him an awful lot of a computer control panel.

Etchings near some of the circles and squares clearly resembled some kind of word or label.  They were similar to how humans marked their own ships, regardless of country or language.

Tay turned to spot an exit from the room leading to another section, a larger one that extended away and downward.  And part of the area he had managed to navigate previously in the dark.

Tay hobbled closer to one of the strange egg-shaped stands and touched it.  Its entire color matched the walls and floor.  The longer, more even outside surface felt just as firm.  But inside the curvature, it was different.  Softer, with a gentle rise and fall in the middle.

A chair.

96

The more he studied, the more certain he became.

The wall must be some kind of control panel.  But what also struck Tay was how the rest of the room had been arranged.  The strange chairs and walls were positioned in a way that left only limited space between them.  At least for anyone, or anything, sitting in them.  But the rest of the room was left completely empty.

The remaining area of perhaps eight by ten feet appeared oddly unused, or even purposely left vacant.  He frowned curiously before moving on through one of the other doorways.  He immediately found two large smooth beams erected vertically on either side.  Higher up, there appeared to be something resembling shafts.  Long, round tubes snaked below them, both running the length of a much longer room.  Unlike the last, the walls in this room were not covered by diagrams or controls.  Alternatively, the space conveyed a more mechanical feel.  Especially given what appeared to be top halves of rounded objects, each one reminding him of an airplane nacelle but without any openings.  Twelve in total were aligned evenly down the length of the room.  Beyond that was the wide ramp he had seen from the previous room, angling downward.

Both sides of the room housed ample walkways, the left of which Tay was sure he had traversed in the dark.

It was then that he remembered his small camera and retrieved it from inside his waistband.  He snapped several photos, including a smaller section of wall he found along the right side, also covered in etchings.

He moved back to the first room and took dozens of additional pictures before continuing through to the other door.  Another large, open area presented something at the far end that Tay recognized immediately.  A window.  A massive window, covering the entire forward wall.  And extending up and over part of the ceiling.

Near the bottom, he saw a line of water along the outside, briefly sparkling from the beam on Tay’s headlamp.  In the middle of the room were five more egg-shaped chairs, these tilted further back and surrounding what appeared to be…nothing.

Again, the chairs were positioned in a curved shape around another strange and seemingly empty space.  Even larger than in the last room.

If Tay didn’t know better, he would have sworn things were missing.

***

Thirty minutes later, Tay stood quietly, examining part of a wall that appeared to run the length of the ship.  If there was any convention at all, and the giant window signified the front of the ship, then the large ramp he was staring at would surely have to be the back, or its stern.

From his position, he could not see how or if the ramp moved.  And assuming it did, he couldn’t tell whether there was anything located beneath it.  But the large open area, extending out and below to a lower level, clearly resembled some kind of cargo hold.  Dozens of thick round beams ran from floor to ceiling.  Some kind of dark fabric was strung between them in a crisscross fashion.

Yet if that’s where freight was kept, there was nothing left.  Nothing at all.  Only the support structures remained, beams that looked to be as much part of the ship as anything else.  There were no seams.  No grooves.  Nothing that resembled welds or bolts.  Nothing.  The metal was all smooth and unblemished, even in tight ninety-degree angles.

Tay stood transfixed, staring down at the crisscrossing structures, wondering what they may have held.  He took more pictures and continued scanning the walls.  Then he noticed something.

Another narrow section of wall with more diagrams.  Or controls.  Similar to the other rooms.

Tay was scouring the etchings when something occurred to him.  If there was cargo stored below, how did they load it?

He scanned the area again.  He could not find anything resembling an outside exit.  Instead, the walls remained seamless everywhere he looked.  But there had to be others.  There couldn’t be just one door.

His eyes searched the metal flooring, looking for patterns that might indicate an opening.  Another hallway perhaps, still closed and invisible.  But there was nothing.

There had to be more doors leading inside.  And certainly to other areas within the ship.  Somewhere.  But even if there were, if they were anything like the one he’d found, they wouldn’t be wide enough to get anything sizable through.  It didn’t make any sense.

He suddenly remembered his father.  Something he had often repeated to Tay when discussing philosophy.  One of his favorite examples was Occam’s Razor.  If there were two explanations, the simplest was usually best.

Leading him to yet another principle.  The path of least resistance.  It wasn’t just energy or objects that followed the path of least resistance.  It was nature itself.  Which extended to industry.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

In other words, unless a working concept or invention could be radically changed, newer versions or improvements to something would always tend to be smaller and more incremental.

Most progress was comprised of small and steady improvements over time.  Cars, computers, buildings, everything.  Which also meant each new version would almost always have fundamental things in common with those that preceded it.  Even ships.

Ships themselves would always have fundamental components.  Propulsion, navigation, hulls, fuel, cargo.

Cargo.  Tay thought to himself.  Virtually all ships had either cargo or supplies.  And those contents had to be loaded.  Somehow.

If small doors could not do it, a larger door would have to.  Which brought him back to Occam’s Razor.

Leaning heavily on his makeshift driftwood crutch, Tay scanned the cargo hold once again.  This time more carefully.

There was something very unique about the design of this ship.  A design that favored efficiency.  Simplicity.  The simpler the system, the fewer components there were to break.  It was another lesson from his father.  The man who would never buy a car with electric windows.  “It was one more thing to break.”

Tay ended his scan with his eyes fixed back on the narrow wall, covered in diagrams.  He shuffled forward, wincing with each step.

When he reached it, Tay re-examined the etchings.  Dozens of symbols, or probably words, next to half a dozen circles.  Were they buttons?

His eyes stopped on one of the largest of the round shapes.  Larger, in fact, than his entire hand.

He held his palm up, hesitantly, before finally pressing against the circle.  Like the others, it flashed and faded without a sound.

Tay pursed his lips thoughtfully.  Lowering his hand to the next one, he pressed again.  And jumped when something sounded overhead.

It was a deep mechanical sound that echoed and faded.  He touched the same circle a couple more times.  Nothing.  Once more.  Still nothing.

Tay brought his hand down to the next one.  This circle, when pressed, lit up and stayed on.  Followed by a subtle vibration throughout the entire room.

It was soft, but strong enough that Tay could feel the rumbling.  His surprise left him reeling backward, painfully trying to catch his footing, moments before something sounded at the rear of the ship. He watched in anticipation as the huge back wall beyond the ramp began to change.

Vertically down the middle, a black line appeared and instantly began to grow thicker.  Until a gap appeared.

Without a sound, the two sides began to move away from each other, illuminated first in a familiar green glow, followed by intense white light.

Tay covered his eyes and continued watching between parted fingers as the wall spread further and further apart, eventually stopping with an opening that appeared to be twenty to thirty feet wide.

It was through that opening that Tay could see the area beyond, and the familiar shelves in the distance evenly covering the interior of the shield wall.

What was infinitely more shocking was another, much larger line appearing in the wall of the giant shield itself, where it too began to thicken and eventually split.

Tay gasped, instinctively bracing himself, when a soft, glimmering blue light materialized amid the sudden separation.

It was the ocean.

97

“This is Tay.  Is anyone there?!”

Ackerman picked up the radio immediately.  “Go ahead, Tay.  It’s Ackerman.”

There was no reply.

“Tay?”

Still nothing.

“TAY?”

After a moment, his voice returned.  “I’m here.”

“What’s going on?  You all right?”

Tay didn’t answer.  When he did speak, there was a strange flatness in his reply.  “What are you guys doing?”

Ackerman frowned at the question, giving a look first to Smitty then Odonnell before coming back to the radio.  All three were standing on the lower deck of the Pathfinder, working in a light drizzle and trying to repair the drill.

“What are we doing?  We’re trying to fix the stupid drill again.  Unless you want to stay down there.”  The chief lowered the radio then lifted it up again as an afterthought.  “What are you doing?”

Tay’s voice was slow and deliberate, speaking into the radio just inches from his mouth.  In front of him, he was staring—dumbfounded—at a wide opening in the alien ship’s shield, exposing a huge dark blue wall of ocean.  An incredible amount of water mysteriously held itself back, just like the smaller door he had come through.

“I’m…inside the ship.”

“Inside?” came Ackerman’s voice.  “You okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“What are you seeing?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Tay said, raising his eyebrows.  “For starters, I don’t think you’re going to need to fix that drill.”

98

No one would have believed it.  Even Will Borger himself, currently sitting in a quiet room at the research center, glued to his laptop and wearing a small headset over his right ear.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

On the other end of the call, Steve Caesare glowered.  “We weren’t exactly expecting cheerful.”

Across from Caesare sat Clay, quiet but equally sullen.  The rays from a waning sun shone through the small airplane window, lighting only the bottom half of his face.

Their Gulfstream jet bounced briefly from a burst of turbulence, although neither reacted.

“Right,” Borger’s voice replied.  “Well, I can at least confirm they’ve landed.  In Utah.”

“Where in Utah?”

“Just outside of Salt Lake City.  At a base called Dugway.”

“Dugway?  What the hell is that?”

An expressionless Clay answered.  “Used to be an Army base but is now under the control of the CIA.  Highly classified.  Used for weapons development.”

“That’s right,” Borger said.  “Nasty stuff.  Including chemical weapons and nerve agents.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s been around since the 40s.”  Clay peered absently at the phone in front of him.  “A lot of bad things have come out of there.”

“Why the hell would they take them there?”

“My guess,” said Borger, “is because it’s secure.  Really secure.  I’m looking at the overhead pictures now, and it looks more like a prison than a base.”

“It’s the equivalent of the Army’s Area 51.”

“Great,” Caesare replied sarcastically.  “Just fantastic.  Couldn’t have been a normal base.  Or some transfer location.  No.  It had to be some Dugby fortress.”

“Dugway.”

“Whatever.”

“Geez,” Borger whistled.  “Fortified is right.  I’ve never seen so many towers.  And I’m betting they’re all manned.”

“And armed.”

“Not a huge base though.  A couple dozen smallish buildings.  Fair number of vehicles.  And one entrance, on the south side.”

“What’s around it?”

Borger paused.  “Nothing.  Nothing but desert.  How on Earth are we going to get in there?”

“I’m sure a giant wooden horse is gonna stand out.”

A wry grin formed on Clay’s face in response to Caesare’s joke.

“Judging from what I’m seeing, there isn’t a lot going on up top.  This looks like an underground facility.”

“You got a live feed?”

“I do.  From the Argus satellite.  I can see the plane with Neely and Li Na taxiing off the runway now.  I should be able to track them to whichever building they enter, but where they go from there…”  Borger’s voice trailed off while he zoomed in on the base entrance.  “One thing is for sure though.  This place is definitely not fond of visitors.  And I’m sure they’ve got monitors up the wazoo.”

Borger zoomed in closer on the fence line.  “I see a lot of cameras.  Probably infrared and motion detecting.  And it looks like…three rows of barbed-wire fence.  I can’t tell how tall from this angle though.”

“So rushing them is out.”

“What about the terrain?” Clay asked.

Borger shook his head.  “Flat.  Which gives the towers a clear line of sight.  Pretty much in every direction.  Probably why most of their buildings aren’t very tall.”

On the plane, Caesare looked at Clay, who had fallen silent again.

“Any brilliant ideas?”

99

Li Na barely moved when the door to their airplane was opened and a rush of hot air filled the cabin.  The desert dryness gave the breeze a distinctly unique smell, picked up immediately by Li Na’s nose.  A very different scent from any she was used to.  To her, it smelled empty and lifeless.

Her ears had even more trouble adjusting.  In flight, the deafening roar from the engines obscured almost everything.  But now with the powerful machines winding down, a rush of noises began to overwhelm the teenager in a barrage of tones and pitches.

She could hear just about everything inside the plane.  The scuffing of feet on the carpeted floor.  The scraping of bags, and the hissing of several air vents.  Even the sudden change in air pressure.

It was all returning––the strange cacophony of noises and sensations she had before the coma.  And what felt like subtle, almost indecipherable vibrations.  Things that had originally convinced her she was growing sick…or worse, deranged.

Now they were returning.  Not as bad as before.  Not as strong.  But they were there, requiring Li Na to focus her attention away from them just to think.

And the recent distraction was far worse.

The bad people had found her.  Just as she feared.  And just as her father had warned in his letter.  The same people she tried to flee in China.  There, she’d made it to the coast and escaped on a transport ship, by some miracle.  Only to be pulled from the jaws of death at the last minute by her American protector.

These spoke English and sounded American, yet their intentions were the same.  She could sense it.  But how could that be?  The Americans were the ones who saved her.

Li Na looked up with dark brown eyes to find her captor standing above her, the woman who pretended to be a doctor.  But she had been lying, and Li Na felt it the moment she met the woman.

If only she’d been strong enough to escape sooner.

The teenager was jarred from her thoughts when Tricia Rhoades, or rather Debra Borssen, grasped the girl’s arm and started to pull her out of her seat.

“Hey!”  Neely lunged from her own seat, pushing Borssen’s hand away.  “Leave her alone!”

Borssen pulled her hand back and stared at Neely coldly.  Anger showing in her voice, she stepped back.  “Fine.  You get her out.”

Neely remained defiant and looked down at Li Na.  “I guess this is where we get off.”  She held out a hand and found herself trying to hide the look of surprise when Li Na immediately took it.

Together, the two rose and stepped out into the narrow aisle.  There, they proceeded to move forward with Borssen in front and the massive Anvil several feet behind them.

They strode out and onto a set of metal steps, squinting as Neely took in the scene around her.  Desert extended itself as far as she could see with a hot, blazing afternoon sun just minutes from reaching the horizon.  Below Li Na and her, three military vehicles waited on the black tarmac.  She could see a dozen or so short, military-style buildings scattered over the area behind them, spread out over a square mile.

It was all Neely was able to see before she was bumped from behind by Anvil, forcing her forward.  She grabbed the two hot handrails as she stumbled downward.

The ride was short.  A minute or two passed at most, winding between non-descript buildings until reaching one that looked exactly like the others.  The two women were promptly escorted from their vehicle and through a set of double doors.  They then were immediately received by a well-staffed security checkpoint.

Three men and two women instructed them through.  Each hostage placed one palm, followed by the other, on a clear slate of glass.  Simultaneously, a bright beam of light moved up and down, scanning their prints.

Next came a facial recognition system followed by the only device Neely actually recognized––a vertical, fat, cylindrical body scanner, like the kind seen at most major airports.

Watching them from the other side, a short and overweight bronze-skinned woman waited, with two guards standing on either side.

When the two were finally cleared and brought closer, Janice Talbot feigned a friendly smile.  “Welcome.  We’ve been waiting for you.”

100

Exhaustion was taking its toll on Neely.  She could feel a slight numbing of her mind along with fleeting wisps of tunnel vision as she sat at an empty table.

She was having trouble remembering how long she had been alone in the room, waiting on the uncomfortably hard metal chair.  An hour.  Maybe two.

Her head bobbed, and she promptly jerked it back with a start.  She fought to keep her mind focused and tried to guess again at how much time had elapsed.

When she was done, Neely studied, perhaps for the millionth time, the four walls surrounding her.  They were bright white and devoid of any features, giving her nothing at all to focus on.  Nothing except herself, the table, and an extra chair.

She suddenly jerked again, wide awake, when the door finally opened.  At first, there was no one there, leaving her to wonder if she were hallucinating.  At least until a hand reached out to hold it open.  The same woman who’d met them at security edged into the doorway, whispering to someone unseen.

She eventually stepped into the room, and without looking back, closed the door behind her.  Standing and staring at Neely for a long moment, she continued forward and retrieved the second chair, all in one swift motion.

“Doctor Lawton.  It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Neely said nothing.

“My name is Janice Talbot.  I’m a doctor, just as you are.”  After a moment, she kept talking with a tilt of her head.  “Well, not just like you.  My field is genetics instead of microbiology.  But we clearly have some overlap.”

Neely watched the woman try to smile.  Similar to their first meeting, it looked more like someone trying to mimic human emotions.

“For example, with our friend Li Na.”

Neely blinked and shook her head.  “She’s not your friend.”

“Well, not yet.”

“Good luck.”

Talbot shrugged.  “The truth is she’s not all that important.  We already have what we need from her.”

Neely squinted.  “What do you mean?”

“Her blood,” Talbot answered.  “It was all we needed.  From her.”

“That’s all?”

Talbot nodded.

“Great.  So now we can go.”

“Go?” Talbot mused.  “Maybe her, but certainly not you.”

Neely frowned, eliciting a shrug from Talbot in response.

“I don’t expect you to understand.  You’ve no doubt been highly stressed lately.”

“What?”

“I’m talking about why you seem to be on the slow side.  You’re smarter than this.  I know that.  But after everything you’ve been through, it’s not uncommon to experience a noticeable dip in cognitive ability.”

Neely shifted on her chair to ease the ache in her lower back.  The movement pulled her handcuffs taut behind her.

“What a relief.”

Talbot looked at the cuffs.  “The state you’re in can also result in irrationality and sudden outbursts.”

“Sleep deprivation can do that.”

“It can indeed,” Talbot agreed.  She let her hands fall onto her knees, relaxed.  “Well then, let me tell you a little about our…situation.  Call it our curriculum.  As you may have figured out, even in your limited state, you’re not here by accident.  Or convenience.  Your presence here is actually quite purposeful.”

“Just when I was starting to feel unappreciated.”

“Hopefully, you’re not too tired to remember all of this in the morning.  The truth is we were fortunate to find you and Li Na together.  She is valuable, yes.  For her blood.  Or should I say for the bacterium within her blood?  But you.  You, Dr. Lawton, are essential.”

“Why is that?”

“Because while young Li Na may have provided us the tool, you have the knowledge to aid us in understanding it.”

Neely’s eyes abruptly hardened.  “You mean how to use it.”

Talbot shrugged.  “You didn’t think we were about to start from the beginning, did you?”

Neely didn’t answer.  Even through her weariness, she was putting the pieces together.  She knew she was eventually going to be pumped for information.  But something in her tired mind told her there was more in Talbot’s words.

“I won’t tell you anything.”

There was amusement on Talbot’s face before she angled her head again.  “Of course, you will.”

“No…I won’t.”

From her chair, Talbot lowered her gaze slightly.  “You must be very tired indeed,” she said.  “Because you telling us what we need to know…is not even the half of it.”

101

The Director of the CIA stopped typing and raised his head when his office door opened.  His secretary promptly stepped out of the way, allowing his subordinates John Ambrose and Matt Millican to enter.

Andrew Hayes motioned both men forward and gestured to both chairs in front of his desk.  As they sat, Deputy Ambrose grinned.  “I hear you had an enjoyable time at the Gala.  Chatting it up with Secretary Miller.”

Hayes shook his head dismissively.  “They know we have the two women.  And they want them back.  The coot even threatened me.”

“How did they find out?”

“How do we find out things?”

With that, Hayes turned to the analyst, still in his early thirties.   The man possessed a surprisingly youthful appearance, enough to pass for ten years younger.  It was the maturity in his voice that gave it away.

“Orders have just been issued to mobilize two Navy SEAL teams out of Coronado.”

Hayes lowered his pen and stared.  “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Millican nodded.  “Teams three and five.  The order was issued less than an hour ago.”

“And by whose order would that be?”

“Defense Secretary Miller.”

Hayes frowned and slowly eased himself back against the black leather chair.  “Where are they headed?”

“Utah.”

“Salt Lake City,” added Ambrose.

“Salt Lake City,” Hayes repeated sarcastically.  “What on Earth could they want there?  Taking a tour of the Tabernacle?”

“Doubtful,” said Ambrose.

The CIA Director looked at the younger Millican who then spoke.  “They’re headed for Dugway.”

“They know the women are there.”

“Evidently,” Hayes said, pressing his hands together.  “So Merl Miller and Jim Langford want to pick a fight.  I didn’t think they had it in them.”

“They seem to be full of surprises.”

“Yes.  They are.”

“This could get messy,” Ambrose said.  “Americans fighting Americans.”

Hayes frowned, dismissing the comment. “Please.  This isn’t the first time.”

“If anyone on the outside gets wind of this, it will be difficult to explain.”

“Maybe.  Then again, the order did come from Miller, did it not?  And probably with the help of Langford.  So if they do attack and some Navy boys get killed, it won’t be hard to hang that unfortunate fact around their necks.”  Hayes looked at the younger Millican.  “I want a copy of the order.  As evidence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does Bullman know about it?”

Ambrose shook his head.  “As of this moment, only the three of us.”

Hayes nodded and remained quiet, thinking.  “Can those SEALs get in?”

“To Dugway?  I don’t see how.  The place is a fortress.”

“And yet isn’t that the kind of place SEALs are trained to find a way into?”

“We’ve had our own people try to do it before and they never could.  And we’re just as good.”

“I certainly hope so.”  With that, Hayes leaned forward and reached for his phone.  “I’ll call Bullman.  He’s going to need to prepare.  In the meantime,” he said to Millican, “get ready to feed them every detail you have on the movement of those SEAL teams.”

“Absolutely.”

Both men stood back up as Hayes spoke into his phone.  “Get me General Bullman.”

The director watched as his two men left and closed the door behind them.  Waiting for the call, he couldn’t help but smirk at the move.  The geezers had thrown down the gauntlet.  They now were coming to get the two women.  No matter what the cost.  Which was a shame, because the cost was going to be steep.  And in the end, it didn’t even matter.  They already had what they needed.

It was a staggering mistake.  Miller and Langford were about to find out that even their precious SEALs were no match for what was quietly awaiting at Dugway.

102

“Jesus,” Rothman mumbled, turning to Talbot who now stood next to him.  “He’s unbelievable.”

Janice Talbot nodded, reluctantly.  She didn’t care for Rothman, but she had to agree.  To her, Rothman was little more than General Bullman’s pet, albeit one of the smarter ones.  One of the Army’s lead biologists, he was the man in charge of carrying out the military’s new genetic profiling.  And as much as she hated to admit it, he was right.  At least this time.  Their test subject, James Seever, was proving to be nothing short of a biological miracle.

Together the two stood before a one-way mirror, peering into another examination room.  On the bed lay Seever, heavily sedated and covered by a sheet up to his chest.  On a monitor next to the large mirror were Seever’s vital signs.  All still within normal ranges.

“The man takes every gene edit we throw at him!”

Again, Talbot nodded.  It was true.  At first, they were just thrilled to find a test subject who didn’t succumb to the same genetic side effects that affected the others.  That alone was an achievement.  And ironically took even longer than it did to fully map their targeted gene sequences.

When Seever became the first to survive a second modification, it was a giant leap forward.  Both for Talbot and Rothman.  But now, now that his body had successfully absorbed several of the gene edits, something began to shift in the back of Talbot’s mind.

Her excitement was beginning to shift toward worry.

How was it possible?  How was his system able to survive what had killed so many others?  Yes, everyone’s genetic composition was different.  But their first patients had died after one or two edits to their DNA. From everything they could observe and measure, James Seever was able to take multiple changes without missing a beat.  The question was why?

But even beyond that.  Even if they could understand why, the next question was even bigger.  When.

When would they reach the limit?  When would they go too far?  In other words, how many changes were too many?  Rothman insisted they had identified all the related gene proteins for each profile.  But Talbot was not foolish enough to believe that.  It was the same thinking that always proved to be man’s ultimate folly.  A shortsighted, arrogant belief that each time we solved a problem, we eliminated it completely.

Talbot knew better.  Human beings were terrible at learning from the past.  Terrible at recognizing the oversimplified assumptions that had allowed them to get into trouble.  Until long after the fact.

James Seever personified her ideal test subject in so many ways.  Yes, his body’s physical makeup was incredible.  So scientifically unique, in fact, that it was now reaching beyond the boundary of even her level of confidence.

Just exactly how far could his DNA be pushed?  And what would happen when they injected the bacterium from the Chinese girl?  Would it absorb another change and allow his body to heal at an accelerated rate just like her?  Or would it finally break their streak?

Then there were the trade-offs for all of Seever’s previous gene edits.  Each awakened new abilities within the man’s body, but came with a price.  His cells were losing their normal ability to regenerate.  And those new attributes given to him meant very little if he would not live long enough to use them.

Janice Talbot was still staring through the window when she caught the outline of her own faint reflection in the glass, appearing to hover ominously above James Seever’s body.

He was incredible all right.  But what Talbot didn’t know…was that she would soon get her answer as to why.

103

“That…is incredible.”

The same word muttered by a Navy SEAL thousands of miles away as he floated in place less than fifty feet below the U.S.N.S. Pathfinder.

The storm was waning, yet it was still strong enough to send him back and forth a few feet with each surge.  But Corbin barely noticed.  Instead, he was staring down through his mask at the coral below, utterly astounded.

Less than twenty feet beneath him was a large square hole in the coral, for lack of a better word.  The opening defied logic, giving him a bird’s eye view both down and directly into the alien ship.

Ackerman’s voice came through the speaker into Corbin’s stainless-steel helmet.  “What are you seeing?”

“It’s just as Tay described.”

Corbin looked to his partner Beene, floating a few feet away.  Both were holding onto the same rescue line, made of thick black rubber and weighted at the bottom.

Beene looked up and shook his own helmet from side to side.  “How is that even possible?”

“I have no idea.”

“Can you see Tay?” Ackerman asked.

Corbin peered down through the giant opening and nodded.  “Yes.  I can see his headlamp.  A couple hundred feet down, maybe less.  He’s in the raft.  Paddling toward the wall.”

“Excellent.  We ready to lower?”

“Yep.  Ease her down.”

Together, Corbin and Beene loosened their grip and watched as the line began to descend.  A large weight at the end kept it taut, in addition to the extra tank and regulator tied firmly around it.

Upon reaching the opening, the bundle briefly shimmered as it passed from the ocean into the open air of the ship’s interior.

Corbin continued shaking his head.  “Let me tell you something.  If there’s only one thing we learn from this alien ship, it’s gotta be how to do that!”

Beene nodded.  “Amen.”

Both divers kept watching, maintaining a visual fix as the line continued lowering.  The tank and vest now twisting freely in the air in a controlled descent toward Tay.

***

When Tay was finally lifted out of the water and lowered onto the Pathfinder’s stern deck, he was completely overwhelmed.  Not only was Captain Emerson standing at the edge, but what appeared to be every member of the ship’s crew stood there with him.  And they were all clapping.

Once down, he pulled the regulator out of his mouth and peeled off his mask.  Tay ignored the pain in his leg and leaned back onto the wet metal deck, full of gratitude and staring up into the clouded sky above.

A huge grin on his face, Emerson approached and squatted down next to him.  “Welcome back aboard, Lieutenant.”

104

Chris Ramirez joined the rest of the group in sickbay.  Lieutenant Tay was now resting on one of the two operating tables, which folded down.  He was crowded around by most of the engineering team, all constantly being pushed back by the nurses while a heavy brace was secured to Tay’s leg.

After a few long hours in quarantine, Elgin Tay was alive and in good spirits, helped by the giant half-eaten turkey leg in his right hand and a healthy dose of morphine coursing through his system.  His face, slightly glazed from the medication, managed to maintain a constant beam as he tried to answer a barrage of questions.

Chris grinned and stepped behind Alison who was watching from just outside the doorway.  “Pretty amazing.”

She shook her head happily.  “You can say that again.”

“How are you feeling?”

Alison instinctively reached up and fingered the bandage on her ear.  “Oh, I’m fine.  Just a scratch.”

“Good.”  Chris nodded.  “You…uh, still feeling anything from the decompression sickness?”

“Nope.”

“Excellent.”

When he became quiet again, Alison raised an eyebrow and turned around.  “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

“Really?  Just wondering.”

“Mmm hmm.”

She folded her arms.  “Oh no you don’t.  I’ve known you way too long to fall for that routine.  What is it?”

He glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the group, still carrying on.  “I…may have something interesting to show you.”

***

Alison stared at the small screen of their mobile IMIS server before turning back to Chris.  “What does that mean, you friend live?”

“I don’t know.  I presume they were talking about Lieutenant Tay.”

“But we already know he’s alive.  Is this a congratulations or something?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.  Look at the timestamp.”

Alison leaned in and then looked at her watch curiously.  “That was hours ago.”

“Uh huh.”

“You hadn’t seen this message until now?”

“No.  We were all busy trying to get Tay out.”

She furrowed her brow while calculating in her head.  “That means this message was sent before we heard from Lieutenant Tay?”

“Exactly.”

“And the message,” she said, “was them telling us he was alive.”

“It seems so.”

Alison cut away from the screen and looked back at Chris.  “And it was from Sally.  How did she know?”

“You got me,” he shrugged.  “Maybe it wasn’t her as much as them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in order for us to receive this message, she would have to have been close to the Pathfinder.  And to our underwater microphone.”

“Obviously.”

“Meaning she probably wouldn’t have been all that close to the alien ship, where Lieutenant Tay was.”

Alison blinked, thinking.  “So, one of the others told her?”

“Or possibly more than one.”

It was an interesting notion.  Not just in the timing of Sally’s message, but also in the larger context of underwater communication.  It was a question she and Chris had pondered for a long time.  Just how far did the realm of dolphin communication reach?  Or any order of the Cetaceans for that matter, including whales or porpoises.  Water was much denser than air, allowing sound to travel much faster.  Up to four times faster.  Sound also required much less energy in water, and therefore, could travel not only faster but farther as well, depending on the depth.

The question she and Chris had always wondered about was just how far a message could be sent, and more importantly, how far it might be relayed from dolphin to dolphin.  Given that dolphins and porpoises resided all over the world, could messages reach even those halfway around the Earth through an underwater relay?  And if so, did that mean it was technically possible for them to actually communicate globally?

It was a fascinating idea, but for the moment, a concept clearly beyond the scope of the message displayed on IMIS’s computer screen.  After all, it was a much shorter distance but still very likely that the message had been relayed to Sally.  Yet it didn’t answer the question of how the dolphins knew Tay was alive following the failed rescue attempt before they did.

And if Sally didn’t make the discovery, who did?

105

Despite her anticipation, it took Alison the usual twenty minutes to get her equipment on.  Having folded the small bandage on her ear, and tucking it neatly back to give her mask a good seal, she stood up and grabbed both of Chris’s hands to steady herself.  He then helped her walk slowly and awkwardly on her fins toward the edge of the ship.

It was strange seeing the whole platform empty.  It felt almost roomy, a rare treat on a Navy ship.  No equipment was currently in use since everyone was still upstairs talking to Tay.  The opportunity provided both of them easy access to the side of the stern deck, typically used for entering and exiting the water.

Alison approached a stanchion and grasped the top with both hands.  In the meantime, Chris stood behind her to check the valves and hoses on her rebreather unit.

“I think we’re good.”

She breathed in deeply and nodded inside her mask, holding up a gloved thumb.

“After you’re in, I’ll be upstairs and online in a minute.”

Alison nodded again.  She then took a big step forward and extended her right fin out over the water, and with only a slight pause, pushed herself off.

***

“Sally?”

There was no response.

“Sally, are you there?”

Still only silence.

“Dirk?  Dirk.  Can you hear me?”

I hear Alison.  You back.

She grinned and twisted around, looking for him.  “Yes, I’m back.”

Dirk emerged from the darkened water below her, causing a large school of fish to scatter, before approaching and circling Alison excitedly.

“Where is Sally, Dirk?”

The dolphin slowed and turned his head, listening.  She come.

“Good.  I have something I need to ask you both.”  Her eyes peered upwards.  “You there, Chris?”

“Yep.  I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good.  You might want to record this.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Moments later, Sally’s familiar shape appeared and circled in concert with Dirk, though noticeably slower.

Alison you back.

“Hello, Sally.  Yes, I am.”

You come talk.

“That’s right.”

You make metal now.

“Yes, Dirk.  We are going to make the metal for you now.  My elders, my heads, say yes.”

Good Alison.  We happy.

So was Alison.  Relieved actually.  The dolphins were now asking every time they talked, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to explain why it was taking so long to get a decision.  At least now she could say they were making it.  Even though there was technically not much making involved.  It was more a matter of procurement.  But she wouldn’t bother trying to explain that.

“Sally, did you send a message earlier?”

An error sounded in her headset.

“Did you make talk earlier?”

Yes Alison.

“A message about our friend.”

Yes Alison.

“What did you say?”

I say you friend live.

“What did you mean?”

Sally slowed and peered at Alison.

Me no no.

A short beep sounded, and IMIS corrected the words to me no know.  Although the corrected translation sounded the same in her ears, it was a phrase Alison had heard before.  Many times.  It meant Sally didn’t understand.

“You said our friend was alive.”

Yes Alison.

She kicked closer.  “How did you know that?”

There was no answer.

“How did you know our friend was alive?”

The dolphin continued staring at Alison long after the translation emanated from her vest.  Finally, Sally responded with a single reply of clicks and whistles.  Then silence.

Alison floated in place and waited.  Hearing nothing, she became puzzled.

“Chris, did you get that?”

“I heard something,” he replied.  “From Sally.  But no translation.”

“Any errors?”

“No.  No error.  But nothing translated on my screen.”

“I wonder what happened.”

“I don’t–oh, wait!”  Chris said, studying his monitor.  “It still says translating on my screen.”

“Still translating?”

“Yeah.  I guess it’s still working on it.”

“Why would it take so long?”

“I think Lee said new translations were going to take longer, now that we’re connected to IMIS over satellite.  “He said it could take–”

The translated word sounded without warning over Alison’s earbuds, drowning out Chris.  At the same time, the new word appeared on Chris’s screen.

Vize.

106

“Did it say Vize?”

“I think so.  That’s what I’m reading on my screen.”

“How is it spelled?”

“V-I-Z-E.”

“Did it mean busy?”

“I don’t know.  You think it’s an error?”

“Well, I don’t know of any word spelled like that, do you?”

“No.  What about vise?”

“What would that mean?”

“Beats me.”

Alison stared curiously at the dolphin.  “Can you say that again, Sally?”

Vize.

This time the translation came quickly.  IMIS seemed to believe it was correct.

“What is a vize?”

Alison was surprised to hear Dirk laugh.

He Vize.

“He who?”

He.  Vize.  He who.

Alison reached down and paused her vest’s microphone.  She shook her head and spoke to Chris.  “Am I Abbot or Costello here?”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned them.  Who are they?”

“Forget it.”

Chris was reading the order of translations on the screen.  “I think…” he said slowly, “it’s not a description, but maybe a name.”

“Vize is a name?”

“Kinda looks like it.”

Alison turned the mike back on.  “Sally, is Vize a dolphin?”

This time Sally laughed.  Yes Alison.  Vize dolphin.

“I see.  Vize is a dolphin.”

Yes.

“And Vize knew our friend was alive?”

Yes.

“How did Vize know he was alive?”

He no.  Was her reply, which IMIS quickly changed and repeated as He know.

“How did Vize know?”

He Vize.

She shook her head.  This was getting confusing.  She tried another tactic.  “Can I meet him?”

Just as confused as Alison, Dirk and Sally seemed happier to simply show her.  With Alison once again holding onto Dirk, they led her several hundred yards away from the ship.

Alison remained quiet as she was towed along, watching fields of tall swaying plants pass below them.  Dozens of other dolphins darted back and forth, zooming out of their way.  Some were curious enough to turn and follow.

The three passed through more schools of brightly colored fish before the fields of vegetation promptly disappeared, giving way to a long stretch of sandy bottom.  The sand was higher, resembling a plateau, surrounded on all sides by more bright green plants.

Just above the plateau were hundreds of dolphins.  All were swimming, darting back and forth.  A crowd of dark swimming bodies, silhouetted against a canvas of blue water.

“You still with me, Chris?”

“Yep.”

They entered the mass of dolphins and began to slow when Alison felt something.  The strange buzzing she had felt before had returned.

“I can feel it again, Chris!  The buzzing.  It’s back.”

Chris suddenly leaned forward.  “Do you see the same dolphin you saw before?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered, searching through the tangle of heads and tails as she spoke.  They were all moving too fast.

Finally, she spotted something.  A slower moving outline in the distance.  The oversized melon and shorter body shape gave the dolphin an unmistakable appearance that stood out from the rest.  “Yes,” she blurted out, drawing nearer.  “It’s him!”

It was the same dolphin.  She was sure of it.  It had the same darkened skin and stubby shape, plus the buzzing sensation felt the same.  Different from the feeling of normal echolocation, it was strangely unique and grew steadily stronger as the two approached each other.

At perhaps fifty feet, the smaller dolphin slowed and turned toward them, hitting Alison with the full brunt of it’s signaling.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to Chris.

“Are you okay?!”

Her voice sounded as though she were struggling.  “This is incredible.  It’s so strong.”

“Ali, I think you should get out of there!”

“No.  It’s not bad.  It’s just…powerful.  What in the world is it doing?”

“Does it still feel different?”

“Very.  Like a different frequency.”

Alison fell silent as she watched the unusual dolphin close the gap before slowing to study her.

Alison, Sally said.  Here Vize.

Alison let go of Dirk and pushed off.  She watched in fascination as the creature slowly began to circle, moving its head back and forth.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“What?!”

“Oh my gosh, Chris.  It’s changing.”  Alison twisted faster in an attempt to keep the camera on it.  “The frequency feels like it’s changing as it moves around me.”

“Are you still all right?”

“Yes.”  Alison spread her arms out, allowing Vize to scan her completely.  “It’s…weird.  The feeling is changing, almost like it’s moving in waves, from one frequency to another.  It’s like…a kaleidoscope.  But instead of seeing it, you can feel it.”

She continued spinning, trying to keep it on camera.  “Can you see this?”

“Some.  But I still think you should get out of there.  This is really wigging me out!”

Alison grinned inside her mask.  “It would be for me too, but there’s something…oddly comfortable about it.  A feeling of…I don’t know…maybe warmth or something.”

“It’s warm?”

“No.  Not like temperature warm, like a feeling warm.”

“Those are pretty much the same thing for men.”

She laughed.  “Stop it.”  She stopped speaking, noticing that the small dolphin had halted the back and forth movement of its head.  It then drifted closer, peering at her with large, soft dark eyes.

“Ohhh,” she said.  “He’s adorable.”

“Don’t touch it!” Chris exclaimed, a split second before he watched Alison’s arm extend out on camera and pet the dolphin’s head.  “Great.  Good job.  Thank you.”

She chuckled.  “It’s okay.  He’s friendly.”

“Yeah well, I guess there was only one way to find out.”

“Will you stop?  I’m fine!”

“Okay, okay.”

“It’s fading.  It feels softer now.”  She raised her voice to speak through her vest.  “Vize.”

Vize, Sally answered.

“What kind of name is Vize?”

There was a pause before Sally answered.

No name.   Vize.

“Vize,” she repeated.

No name Alison.  Vize.

“That’s what I’m saying.”  She shut off the mike again.  “Chris, are you hearing my translations?”

“I am.”

“Are you seeing it on your screen?”

“Yes.”

She stared at the dolphins, wondering.  “Then why aren’t they hearing it?”

“I don’t know.  But…I’m seeing something on the monitor again.  IMIS still says translating.”

“Still?”

“Yes.  Even after it just completed Sally’s response.”

“Is it confused?”

“I don’t know.  It looks like…it’s still working on something.  Or part of something.”

“But it normally beeps if it can’t translate.  Even just a single word.”

“Yeah well, it looks like IMIS may still think it’s working on something.”

“Huh.”

“Or maybe it’s stuck.  I really don’t know.”

She frowned.  “I guess we’re just going to have to ask Lee then.”

“I guess so.”

Alison finished patting the small dolphin’s head.  She pulled back and rolled herself forward, bringing her own head closer to it.  The melon was even larger than she had thought.  Not grotesque, just big.  Oversized.  And exciting.

Given the size and density of a dolphin’s brain, she had always been sure there was more the creatures could do with it, things she didn’t yet understand.  But now there was this!

107

Lee Kenwood was not far away.  Having landed in Trinidad, he was aboard a fishing boat now less than twenty miles from the Pathfinder.  Surging forward through gray rolling swells with two roaring diesel engines behind him, Lee gripped the rusted metal railing like grim death––behind a dirt-streaked glass window.

Above him at the helm, Tomas Lopez, the boat’s captain, laughed.  He wrestled the wheel back and forth, attempting to steer the old boat directly into each oncoming wave.  Repeatedly, water crashed up and over the bow in white sheets before falling down upon the foredeck,  draining away through wide holes on each side.

“Seńor, Kenwood!” he called in broken English.  “Is good day for sail, no?”

Lee did not look up.  Instead, he maintained his grimace through a set of clenched teeth.  Lopez was their friendly neighborhood smuggler, employed by Captain Emerson and his crew aboard the Pathfinder.  There for a variety of tasks, including sneaking supplies out to the ship at night.  And occasionally, of course, people.  Like Lee Kenwood.

And while he knew Clay and Caesare enjoyed the ripeness of Lopez’s humor, it was a sentiment Lee did not share.  Especially not for the last three hours.

“Storm getting better.  Waves only tall as me now!”

Lee sneered, to no one in particular.  Both of Lopez’s other crewmembers were outside with him.  He closed his eyes and tightened his grip, trying desperately to keep a handle on his stomach.  He’d been in heavy seas before but not like these, or for this long.

“How much further?!” he called up to Lopez.

The young Venezuelan thought to himself.  “Maybe one hour more.  If boat does not sink.”

“Good God,” moaned Lee.  He closed his eyes, struggling to block out the creaking of the boat and the constant thundering of water against the window in front of him.

At least he could still be thankful for one thing.  Well, two.  That the boat was still afloat, and that Chris Ramirez couldn’t see him like this.

***

Exactly fifty-one minutes later, Lee stepped precariously from the edge of the fishing boat onto the Pathfinder’s stern deck.  The larger ship was rolling but on anchor, providing a more stable footing and greatly alleviating Lee’s nausea.

“Lee!”

Kenwood turned to see Alison and Chris both descending a nearby ladder, before trotting carefully across the slick deck.

Alison reached him first with a hug.  “We are so glad to see you!”

Lee shared a relieved smile before stepping back and having a look at Chris.  “You look great, man!  How are you feeling?”

“Just like new,” Chris grinned.  “Well, actually, let’s say slightly used.  But pretty good overall.”

“Well, it’s great to have you back.”

“That’s just what Ali and I were saying about you.  We have a lot to catch you up on.”

“Yeah?”

Chris nodded.  “Starting with your IMIS system.”

“What do you mean?”

Alison and Chris looked at each other sheepishly.  “We may have broken it.”

“Broken it?”

“Broken might be a strong word,” Alison winked.  “But it’s important that you know Chris was the last to touch it.”

***

Lee Kenwood folded his arms and leaned back.  “This is weird.  How long has it been like this?”

“A couple hours maybe.  The strange thing is that it still translates correctly.  But it has this message, which sounded to us like it was still working on something.  Is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Lee said.  “I can’t tell exactly what the algorithms are working on at the moment.  Might just be a hung process though.  If so, we can easily stop and restart a couple modules to clear it.”

“See,” Alison bumped Chris.  “You didn’t break it.”

Lee grinned.  “Well, let’s not rule that out yet.”  He reached out a hand for the mouse and scrolled down IMIS’s vocabulary list.  “Looks like we have some new words translated.”

“How many?”

“Several.  Looks like…eight.  Nice.”

“So it’s still working.”

“It’s definitely working.  I wasn’t sure if it would have enough throughput over Mr. Borger’s satellite link.  But he seemed pretty confident.”  Lee stopped on a word and raised his eyebrows.  “What does Vize mean?”

“Funny you should ask.  That’s part of what we have to tell you.”

“Wait a minute!” Lee said, suddenly shooting forward in his chair.  “Lieutenant Tay!  What’s happening?!”

Alison and Chris glanced at each other in surprise.  They couldn’t believe they forgot to tell him.

“Ohhh, Lee.”  Alison grinned.  “You’ve come at a really exciting time.”

108

Even after hearing the news, Lee could barely believe his eyes when he walked into the lab and saw Elgin Tay sitting in one of the chairs.  His splinted leg lay outstretched in front of him and extended under one of the metal tables.

Surrounding him were some of the engineering team, the two SEALs Lee had met previously, Captain Emerson, and Executive Officer Harris.

The group stood behind Tay in a semicircle, all of them peering at a single monitor.

Emerson and Harris were the only two to notice when Lee entered with Alison and Chris.  The captain nodded briefly at Lee before turning back.

“Wow.  Look at that,” Smitty said.

Ackerman stared intently at the screen from under a furrowed brow.  “In…credible.”

In front, Tay nodded his agreement and zoomed in on the picture.  Displayed there was one of the gray walls he had seen, its strange etchings filling the entire frame.   “These seem to be controls,” he said.  “At least some of them.  And these right here,” he pointed to several symbols, “may be words.”

“Wow.”

“The rest of the surface is flush.  Smooth, with no edges or openings.  At least none that I could find.”  He moved to another image.  “And look at this.”

The small room fell silent.  In the picture, Tay was reaching out with one hand and pressing his fingertips against one of the gray walls.  His headlamp appeared to be turned away, allowing some of the green glow to be seen.

Within the glimmer were lines resembling circuitry.

“Whoa.”

Tay nodded.  “The whole inside is like that.  Circuits, not just embedded but part of the material itself.  Even the floors.”

“And the ceiling?”

Tay frowned, “I couldn’t reach it.”

“Now what are those?”

“Chairs, I think.”

Everyone in the room seemed to simultaneously ponder the same thing.  If those were chairs, then what did those aliens actually look like?

Another picture.

“I think this is the bridge.  Or something like it.  You can see my flash against the clear window in the background.  And more chairs here.”

“They look different.”

“They’re tilted more.”

“What do they feel like?”

“On the outside, like hard plastic or something similar,” Tay answered.  “Inside where you’d sit, it’s softer but not much.  I could feel a couple seams but couldn’t see them.  So I’m guessing they adjust somehow.”

“It’s a pretty open layout.”

“It is.  At least in these two rooms.  Which seems odd, because the next room,” Tay skipped a few images forward, “I think has something to do with the propulsion system.  Whatever that might be.”

“Those look like nacelles.”

“That’s what I thought too.  And they fill the whole room.  So not open like the others.  And then there’s something like a dock, where our giant door opened up.”  Tay moved to the next image.  “You can see a cargo area of sorts.  Empty, but just like this one, most of the space in the room has been spoken for.”

Ackerman stepped in closer and motioned at the picture.  “So this picture is facing…”

“Aft.”

“Aft,” he nodded.

“At least what I think is aft.”

“And what is below where you’re standing in this one?”

“That I don’t know,” Tay said.  “I couldn’t get down there.  But I’m sure there’s more to the ship since the ramp angles down from here.  I’m guessing there could be another two or three levels to this thing.”

“They sure didn’t leave much behind,” observed Emerson.

“Just what I was thinking, sir.  Which is weird.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, from the four areas of the ship which I explored, two of them make use of almost all available space.  But the other two don’t.  Why?”

Emerson shrugged.

“I think…the answer may have to do with those strange shelves I showed you, covering the inside of the ship’s shield.”

“You said you thought these were for repairing it.”

“Exactly.  Extra material available for the wall to heal itself if damaged.”

“Clever.”

“Extremely.  So that means Mr. Borger was right.  The ship can heal itself.  By now we’ve all seen it.  And that’s why I think some sections of the smaller ship appear empty.”

“Go on.”

“Like I said, Borger was right.  This thing heals itself.  But not just the shield.  I think the ship does too.  So if this really was a one-way trip for them, these aliens probably arrived, unloaded their ship, and then had to do something with it.”

“Like bury it,” said Ackerman.

“Right!” nodded Tay.  “Because they had no choice.”

Emerson frowned.  “Why didn’t they have a choice?”

“They had to bury it, sir.  Because they couldn’t just destroy it.  After all, how do you destroy a ship that is literally designed to fix itself?!”

The room grew quiet.  It was a staggering idea.

“You don’t,” mumbled Corbin.

“You can’t fix it,” corrected Tay.  “That’s the tradeoff.  And potentially one big drawback.  A ship designed to constantly repair itself, so it can travel across space, could also mean that it can’t be destroyed.  Even if the aliens wanted to.  And if the tradeoff was indeed that they couldn’t destroy their own ship, then the only obvious choice left was to bury it somewhere where no one would find it.  Because if someone did find it, a self-healing ship might still be in pretty good condition.  Maybe even in working order.”

“Fascinating,” said Ackerman.

Tay glanced over his shoulder.  “And I think it might get even better.”  He held both hands up in front of him for emphasis.  “So, imagine that you bury a ship that is designed to perpetually fix itself.  And one that might continue to do so for a long time.  One that you can’t allow anyone to find for obvious reasons.”

“That you can’t destroy,” Odonnell mumbled.

Tay finished the thought.  “Right.  Yet there would have to be a small chance it would be found, eventually.  Just as we have.  So, if you can’t ensure it will never be found…maybe what you also do is dismantle it!”

A few of the men looked at each other.

“So even if it were still in working order,” said Ackerman, “it still couldn’t be used.”

“Exactly!”

“And that’s why you think some of those rooms in the ship are empty,” Emerson reasoned.

“Yes, sir.  If they couldn’t destroy the ship, they could probably still take it apart.  Or perhaps remove just its critical parts.”  Tay paused.  “But at this point, it’s really only a guess.”

Behind Tay, Ackerman was still nodding.  And in a low voice, he repeated the idea.  “So, no one could use the ship.”

Emerson shot a curious glance at his executive officer.  “If your guess turns out to be true, Lieutenant, then the bigger question is, what exactly was removed from those empty rooms?”

***

“Anyone else have another theory?”

Ackerman and several others shook their heads.  “Not until we get a closer look at it.”

“Okay.  Then let’s assume for the moment that Lieutenant Tay is correct.   That, while still a theory, it’s possible this thing could still be operational.  Or at least parts of it.”

The men all nodded.

“So, if it is a possibility, we need to begin by asking what else may still be working on that ship down there?”

Beene grinned broadly.  “There’s one way to find out.”

“True,” answered Emerson.  “But we need to be careful here.  We’re dealing with something way beyond our own capabilities.  And that means there’re going to be some surprises. Maybe it’s safe, and maybe it’s not.  Lieutenant Tay has only seen part of it.  A small part.  So, it’s possible,” Emerson said to the men, “whoever it was that left this thing behind, did so in a way to ensure no one even tries to use it.”

“You’re talking about booby traps,” said Corbin.

The captain nodded.  “Maybe they dismantled their ship for the reasons we think, and maybe they didn’t.  But one thing seems abundantly clear.  It was not intended to be found…or used.”

109

“Get up!”

The command hit her in the form of a shout, startling Neely Lawton awake.  Her eyes shot open and became instantly blinded by glaring lights overhead.

“I said GET…UP!”  This time someone kicked the bed, causing it to shake.

Neely blinked several times and brought a hand over her face, trying to discern the identity of the silhouette standing over her.  Once she managed to focus, her heart sank.  It was Debra Borssen.

The woman was staring down at her.  Blonde hair fell over her firm shoulders while both hands planted themselves firmly on the woman’s hips.

“What is it?”

Borssen’s shadowed face conveyed a dour look.  “She’s having another episode.”

“Who, Li Na?”

“Yes, Li Na!  Now get up!”

Li Na’s room appeared just as bare, and just as bright, as Neely was forced through the doorway by Borssen.

She gasped.

On the bed was Li Na, convulsing.  Several people surrounded her, trying to hold down the girl by her arms and legs.

The teenager’s face was contorted in pain, and her body was bucking wildly.  Behind Neely, a woman rushed through the door and brushed past her, holding a syringe.  It was Janice Talbot, who raced to the bed and shouted instructions over Li Na’s yelling.

“Roll her over!”

Talbot forced herself in between two men and with her free hand, helped roll the girl.  Without hesitation she immediately plunged the needle through the thin sheet and directly into Li Na’s left buttock, quickly depressing the small plunger.

Li Na shrieked and jerked and bucked ever harder.

“HOLD HER STILL!” yelled Talbot.  Together, everyone leaned heavily in an attempt to keep the girl from moving.  The syringe remained still planted in the muscle, moving wildly with the girl’s throes, until Talbot was able to grasp and remove it smoothly.

“What are you doing?!” shouted Neely, exploding across the room and throwing one of the women out of the way.  She grabbed Li Na’s arm and shoulder.  “Li Na!  It’s me!  It’s Neely!  It’s okay, it’s okay!”

She glared across the bed at Talbot.  “What did you give her?”

There was no answer.

“I SAID, what did you give her?!”

“A sedative…relax,” Talbot said as she dropped her own gaze to the girl’s writhing body.  The convulsions were already beginning to slow.

Neely lowered her face close to Li Na’s, which was half pressed into her pillow.  “Li Na, can you hear me?”

The girl’s screams, still muted by the pillow, began to fade and morphed into heavy sobs.  She pulled her head back and gasped for air, revealing to Neely the deep red flush in her skin.

“Li Na!  Look at me.  Look at me!”

The teenager’s dark eyes opened and searched for Neely.

“Help me!” she sobbed.

Neely put both hands on the girl’s head.  “It’s okay, I will!  I swear I will help you!”  She softly stroked Li Na’s dark hair before suddenly catching sight of her arm.

Neely could not stop her eyes from widening while she pulled the rest of Li Na’s arm out from under the sheet.  The same strange lines appeared, just as they had before back in Trinidad.  Scaly and flaking, they looked like tiny crisscrosses going back and forth, some shallow and some deep.

Talbot’s eyes followed Neely’s.  “What is that?”

Neely ignored her and searched for Li Na’s other arm, pulling it free.  It looked the same.  She then reached down and yanked the entire sheet off the bed.  Li Na’s legs were also covered in scales.

The women next to Neely could not hold back their reactions.  “Oh my God!”

On the bed, Li Na’s sobs subsided as she watched the expression change on everyone’s face.  She twisted upright to look at her legs.  And instantly fainted.

***

Talbot stared at the girl’s motionless figure in stunned silence.  Without glancing up, she uttered just two words, loud and deliberate.

“EVERYONE…OUT!”

Those still surrounding the bed looked at her, then each other, before obediently filing out of the room.  Debra Borssen remained next to the door and closed it behind them.

Neely, examining Li Na’s skin, brought her gaze up when Talbot spoke.

“What the hell is that?”

“I have no idea.”

“You’re lying.”

“No.  I’m not.”

“She had a similar reaction before, in Trinidad,” accused Borssen.

“Yes.  She did.  After she came out of the coma.  But it wasn’t like this.”

Talbot’s eyes became hard.  “Then what was it like?”

Neely shook her head.  “We thought it was an acute reaction from the coma.  Being in that state for too long can result in unexpected reactions when a body is trying to recover.”

“She wasn’t in a coma this time.”

Neely shook her head.  “Maybe…it was a severe reaction to something else.  Maybe something she ate.”  She glanced at the thin blanket, strewn to the side, and reached for it.  When she pulled it free, she frowned at the patch of vomit on the mattress.  “That’s the same.”

“What did you do to her?!” Talbot asked angrily.

“Nothing.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing!”

“It’s the bacterium.  It’s changed her DNA.”

Talbot turned to Borssen.  “Get someone in here to take a sample.”

Borssen shot a look at Neely but complied, dutifully turning and opening the door.

After it closed, a snide Talbot looked back across the bed.  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re here then.”

“Why?”

“Because you know more about this than anyone.  And if we’re going to make these modifications work, we need to know everything you do.”

Neely glared back at the woman.  “I’m not going to help you.”

“You can say what you like.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“No.  You’re not kidding.  You’re mistaken.”

“I think you’re mistaken if you–”

“YOU are mistaken, Ms. Lawton,” Talbot rose her voice, cutting Neely off.  “You can act as tough as you like, but there’s no way I’m going to let either one of you walk out of here alive before I have what I want.  What I need.”

“Which is what?!”

“To fix the bacterium!” she growled, looking down again at Li Na.  “Because this is not usable.”

“Usable for what?”

“That’s not something you need to know.”

“I think I do.”

Talbot’s eyes were cold.  “What is it you think you have to bargain with here?  You have nothing.  Except your own life.  Give me what I want, and both of you will live.  Don’t, and this will be the last place either of you ever sees––an ending this girl doesn’t seem very far away from anyway.”

Neely didn’t answer.

“I know who you are, Dr. Lawton.  I know all about you and your credentials.  So, don’t play coy.  You either give me what I want and perhaps save your friend in the process…or don’t, and you will both be carried out of here.”

110

When Li Na awoke, the room was dark.  The overhead lights above her had been turned off, and she found herself lying face up beneath a set of clean linens.

Nervously, she reached out with one hand to find her opposing arm.  The skin felt soft and smooth again.  She switched hands and checked the other side.  The same.  Normal skin covered in fine soft hairs.

She closed her eyes, relieved, before instantly forcing them open again.  She could hear movement in the room.  A person.  Breathing.

Carefully, Li Na slid herself to the far side of the bed and rolled over, spotting a dark figure in the chair just a few feet away.

The shadow of the figure’s head turned at the sound of her movement.

“It’s okay, Li Na,” it whispered.  “It’s me, Neely.”

The girl squinted and saw the details of Neely Lawton’s face emerge from the darkness.  “Where are we?”

“Still the same place,” she whispered.  “You’ve been out for a while.”

Li Na scanned the room, recognizing those drab white walls even in the darkness.  It occurred to her that the bed and chair were also the same stark white.  “There is no color in here.”

“It’s on purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s called sensory deprivation,” Neely said.  “A tactic meant to give our minds as little as possible to focus on.  Over time it creates small feelings of anxiety and nervousness.  To assist them in breaking us down mentally.”

“What does anxiety mean?”

“Similar to being crazy.”

Li Na nodded to herself, then proceeded to sit up in bed.  “What happened to me?”

“To be honest, I’m not really sure.  Another episode, obviously, but I think what’s inside of you, what your father injected to keep you alive, is changing things.  Deep inside your cells.”

“What is it changing?”

“That’s what I’m not sure of,” Neely said softly.  “Not yet.”

The girl leaned her head of dark hair against the cold wall beside her.  She had long sensed the changes.  Not only could she hear Neely’s breathing, she could actually hear the sound of the air before that, as it passed in and out over her lips.

“How are you feeling?”  Neely asked.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“How long was I asleep?”

Neely’s shadowed head tilted slightly.  “A couple of hours.”

“We’re trapped.  Aren’t we?”

“It appears so.”

“They want what’s inside of me.”

“No.  They already have that.  Now they want to understand it.  To use it.  For something.”

After a long silence, Li Na spoke.  “That is why you are here?”

“Yes.”

“They want you to help them?”

“Yes.”

Li Na stared through the dark at Neely, who she could see was looking back in her general direction with a somewhat blank expression.  No, not that.  More like a gaze of uncertainty.  Li Na peered harder and realized Neely just could not see the detail in the dark that she could.

“What’s wrong?” Neely asked.

Li Na shrugged.  “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

This time her response was slower.  “Maybe.”  She remained silent, thinking for a moment.  “I’m feeling things.  Strange things.”

“Like what?”

The teenager lowered her head.  “The people here feel the same as the others.”

“What do you mean they feel the same?”

“I don’t know.  I…don’t know the words.  But it’s here.”

Neely could see the dark outline of Li Na’s arm move toward her chest.

“What is it that you’re feeling?”

Li Na remained silent, thinking.  “Um, maybe like…,” she fumbled, trying to come up with the word, “fear?”

“Fear?”

“Like fear.  But different.  And stronger.  Maybe like…sound.  When it’s moving.”  Li Na brought her fingers together and began rubbing them together lightly.  “How do you say?”

“You mean vibration?”

“Yes.  Like vibration.  But deeper.  And inside.  Where things like fear come from.”

“What do you think it is?”

Neely waited for a reply but heard nothing.  She waited longer, but it never came.

“Li Na?”

Again there was no response.  Neely leaned forward and felt for her on the bed, finding the girl’s bent knee.  “Li Na?”

“I’m here,” the girl whispered.  “I was thinking.”

“About?”

“My father,” her voice answered.  “He warned me.”

“About these people?”

“He saved my life and even left things to help me escape.  He said they would be coming.  And as long as I was alive, they would never stop trying to find me.  But he didn’t just mean in my own country.  He meant everywhere. But I didn’t understand.  Not until now.”

There was another pause.

“I failed,” Li Na said.  “I failed him.  He gave up everything for me.  His honor, and his life, to protect me.  And I failed him.”  Li Na’s voice began to tremble.  “He sacrificed for me.  Everything.  And it was not for anything.  He is dead now.  For nothing.  Because of me.”

Li Na began to cry.  “If I died in the hospital, he would be alive now.  If I died–”

“Hey, hey.”  Neely gripped Li Na’s knee tightly.  “Don’t say that.  What he did, he did so you could live.  So you could have a chance.”

“But there was no matter.  I am alive, yes, but I am here.”  The teenager was struggling to speak.  “I am here…and they have taken what he gave me.  What he was trying to protect.  I…have done nothing.”

Neely moved from her chair all the way onto the bed, finding Li Na’s shoulders and wrapping an arm around her.  “That’s not true.  You are alive, Li Na.  And that’s what he prayed for.  I’m sure of it.  You’re alive, and that means there’s hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“You, Li Na.  Hope in you.  Hope that you’ll live longer because of him.  And you are.”

“He would not want me alive if he knew I was here.”

“Maybe.  But if you’re alive, if either of us is alive, there’s still hope.”

Li Na went quiet again.

“Your father did not die for nothing, Li Na.  I know it.”

“How?”

“Because my father died saving me,” Neely replied softly.  “And as long as I’m alive, so is he.”

111

The answer to Neely Lawton’s hope was not in a form either woman would have imagined.  Nor was it in the green-hulled, twelve-ton Boeing CH-47F Chinook heavy-lift helicopter dropping from the dark Utah skies in a thundering descent.

Its sixty-foot rotor blades tore unmercifully through the cool desert air, and a blinding light was shining down onto the ground from below the cockpit.   The giant craft slowed, then rotated in a clockwise fashion before setting down onto a remote section of tarmac at Salt Lake City’s International Airport.

The landing gear bulged and flexed under the load of the aircraft as it bounced heavily upon the concrete surface.  The pitch from its three massive engines dropped.  A gradual slowing of the whirling blades followed almost immediately.

Both the forward light plus the accompanying landing lights on either side were all that could be seen from a distance until the giant side door was pulled open from the inside.  Moments later, man after man appeared in the wide opening, briefly as a silhouette, before quickly disappearing into the darkness as each dropped down onto the tarmac.

The entire craft was offloaded in less than ninety seconds.  The dark line of figures ran in a single-file line toward a nearby aircraft hangar.

When they reached the structure, one of the hangar’s giant metal doors opened, revealing a vast, well-lit area inside.  When the last man reached the door, it was immediately pushed closed again, plunging the exterior back into blackness.

Inside, both platoons stopped and scanned the expansiveness of the hangar.  Clean and empty, the utility hangar had recently been vacated.  And barely two hundred feet away, standing in the middle of the concrete floor, stood two individuals.

The team’s O.I.C., a lieutenant, inspected their surroundings with a wary expression before focusing on the two waiting men.  He glanced behind quickly at his team and began walking forward.  Their hosts did the same.

As the lieutenant drew near, he studied the two strangers carefully.  One was taller and appeared slightly slenderer than the other.  Both had dark hair and unshaven faces.

“You Clay and Caesare?”

The first man, dressed in loose-fitting civilian clothing, nodded.  “Welcome, Lieutenant.”

The second, wider in stature but dressed just as shabbily, grinned from under an unusually heavy six-o’clock shadow.   “Glad you could make it.”

The SEAL O.I.C. surveyed them curiously but simply smiled in return.  “You guys forgot your razors.”

“Among other things,” quipped Caesare.

Having reached each other, the lieutenant stuck out his hand.  “Darnell.  O.I.C.”

Clay shook.  “John Clay and Steve Caesare, Naval Investigations.”

“And fellow frogmen, I hear,” Darnell said.

“In a former life.”

Darnell grinned.  “Something tells me it wasn’t too long ago.”  He twisted his head side to side and scanned the hangar again.  “Is it just us here, Sir?”

“Afraid so.  What have you been told so far?”

“That would be absolutely nothing, Sir.”  Darnell turned and waved over his second-in-command, another lieutenant, younger and sporting a blonde brush cut with matching stubble.  He crossed the expansive floor with heavy, purposeful steps.  When he arrived, the lieutenant nodded and also extended his hand.

“Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Ferrell.”

Clay and Caesare both shook Ferrell’s hand warmly before looking at the rest of the platoon.  “So, what do we have here?”

“Four squads.  Snipers, breachers, several heavy weapons and explosives, and climbers.  And probably every one of them also wondering what exactly we’re here for.  Never been deployed with two full platoons before.   Want to let us in on the secret, Sir?”

Clay nodded.  “The target is Dugway.”

Darnell looked at his junior officer, who shrugged.  “What’s a dugway?”

“That’s what I said,” said Caesare.

“It’s a secret facility.  Ultra-secure and remote.  A little over an hour from here.”

“Okay.  What do they do?”

Clay glanced at Caesare.  “That’s where this gets tricky.  It’s not exactly…a private facility.”

Darnell frowned.  “What does that mean?”

“It’s government.”

Ferrell, the junior officer, lowered his brow.  “You mean U.S. government?”

“Yes.”

Darnell’s eyes widened.  “The target’s one of our own?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Exactly what manner are you referring to? Last time I checked, we were all under the same government.”  When neither man responded, Darnell raised an eyebrow. “So, whose is it?”

“The CIA.”

“The CIA?!”

“That’s right.”

“We’re attacking a secured CIA location?”

“A secret Army location,” corrected Caesare.

Darnell nodded sarcastically.  “You guys have to be kidding.  We could be firing on one of our own bases?”

Caesare squinted at Clay.  “Firing might not be the right word.”

“Well, I sure hope we’re not gonna surround it and throw rocks.”

“No,” Clay answered.

“So, then what do you want us to do?”

At that, Clay grinned.  “We want you to get comfortable.”

112

Alison heard her phone ring on her way to the Pathfinder’s communications room.  She came to a stop, fished it out of her jacket, and turned to face a gradually calming ocean.

“Hello?”

“Hello, beautiful.”

Her heart skipped a beat.  “Well, hello, handsome.”

Clay’s voice sounded surprised.  “Were you already up?”

“I was,” Alison answered.  “Just on my way to the comms room.”

“Preparing for another conversation with our friends, I’m guessing.”

“You could say that,” she answered coyly.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m watching Steve sleep.”

“Ha ha.  Very funny.”

On the other end, Clay rolled his head against the wall and peered down at Caesare, spread out on the hard floor with his mouth partially open.  Snoring soundly.

Clay shrugged.

“Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“Lieutenant Tay is out.”

Clay leaned forward excitedly.  “What?”

“They got him out.”

“That is news.  How is he?”

“Beaten up a little, with a broken leg, but he’s in good spirits.”

“Excellent.  How did they get him out?”

Alison leaned over the metal railing in front of her, keeping the phone pressed firmly against her ear.  Her hair could be seen blowing lightly in the cool ocean breeze.  “That part’s kind of a long story.  I may have to explain it later.”

“Okay.”

“So, I take it from your call that you’ve been missing me,” she teased.

He eased his body back again with a grin.  “Maybe a little.”

In truth, it was hard for Alison to be excited.  She knew without asking that the man she loved on the other end of the phone, and the man she constantly worried about, was on his way to find Neely and Li Na.  And as badly as she wanted the two women to be safe, it most likely meant John putting himself in danger.  Which was not easy for her to think about.

“Where are you?”

Clay paused for a split second.  Hearing Alison’s voice, he’d almost forgotten his whereabouts for a moment.

“I can’t say,” he replied.  Then added, “But I’m stateside.”

“At least you’re close to home.”

“True.  It’s always good to be home.”  His head still resting against the wall, Clay stared blissfully up into the darkened interior of the airplane hangar––tracing the thick metal beams overhead into the blackness at the other end.

More snoring could be heard in the distance from the rest of the men.  Somewhere in the darkness, beyond the limited ambient glow of Clay’s phone, they were all sleeping on the same concrete floor as Caesare.  But Clay couldn’t sleep.  Anxiety and apprehension were coursing through his veins like drugs.  Anxiety in the knowledge that no mission ever went according to plan and apprehension that, if things went badly, Alison would receive the worst call possible.

Clay hadn’t been worried about that call for a long time.  When he was younger, it would have been to his parents.  News that their son had died, heroically and honorably, for the country he loved.   But now his parents were gone.  Each dying apart, years after their divorce.  Leaving no immediate family to receive a call on Clay’s behalf.  Just an uncle or an aunt.  Or one of the cousins he hadn’t seen in years.

But now there was Alison.  The woman who had finally captured his heart.  The one woman for whom he wanted to be the best version of himself.  And the one whose heartache he could not even contemplate.

It was the kind of call no one ever forgot.  No matter how long or how happily they managed to live.  And the possibility of hurting her, for so long, was agonizing.

“John?  Are you still there?”

He nodded.  “Yes.  Just thinking how much I love the sound of your voice.”

Alison blushed.  “Are you making fun of me?”

“No.”

“About that voicemail thing?”

He chuckled.  Alison was referring to a confession she’d made a few weeks after they started dating.  She’d found a way to directly dial his cell phone’s voice mail system for the sole purpose of listening to his voice on the greeting.  It was not until she’d been caught hanging up too late, by accidentally leaving a message, that she finally came clean.  To Clay it was cute.

“No,” he said.  “Not making fun of you.”

“Because you know it wasn’t my fault.”

“No?”

“No.  I was just…you know, bored.  I actually do that with all my friends.”

This time Clay laughed.   “You should stop while you’re ahead.”

“Fine.”  Still grinning, Alison looked out over the morning ocean toward the remains of the nearby oil rig, still smoldering in the golden sunrise behind it.  Both a grim picture and reminder, the view prompted her to turn and look away.  “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“A little,” he lied.  “Watching Steve sleep is comforting enough.  He’s adorable.”

Alison cracked up at the visual.  “I’d ask you to take a picture but…”

“Yeah.  It sounds cuter than it looks.”

Her voice grew serious again.  “I take it you’ve found Neely and Li Na.”

“We have.”

“And you’re going to do something about it?”

“If we can.”

“Am I crazy in hoping you can somehow be safe about it?”

“I always try, Ali.”

She smiled.  “I like it when you say my name.”

“That I say it, or just in the sound of my voice?” he teased.

“Both.  It sounds deep…and strong.  Kind of comforting.”

He grinned and changed the subject.  “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“You’re always thinking.”

“When this is over, how about if I take you to Hawaii.  The right way.  To a nicer place than a hospital room.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe get a little bungalow on a quiet stretch of beach.  Kiss you on the sand as the waves wash over us.”

Alison giggled.

“What?”

“I would love that.  But I hate to be the one to break this to you––the whole kissing on the sand thing makes a better movie than an actual experience.  Especially with the waves.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“No.  A friend did in Costa Rica.  She said it was really romantic until the first wave hit.  After a mouthful of saltwater, it all went downhill.”

Clay chuckled.  “New plan.  How about a nice hotel and room service?”

“Now that sounds heavenly.”  Alison glanced back along the metal catwalk at the direction from which she had come.  “As gracious as Captain Emerson is, I’m ready for a change of scenery.  And a big bed.  With clean, pressed sheets.  And a giant shower.”

Clay laughed to himself.  “Having you holed up on the Pathfinder may have been a stroke of genius…it sounds like my Hawaii idea may sell itself.”

“Probably true.  But you of all people don’t have to sell me on anything.  I’m happy to be wherever you are.”

Clay fell silent and breathed in deeply.  “I love you, Alison Shaw.”

She gripped the rail softly and leaned back.   “I love you too, John,” she said.  “Probably more than I should admit.  Especially right now.”

“Don’t worry.  I have every intention of dying with you, in your arms, when we’re old and gray.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“And if it’s any consolation, Steve has always insisted he’ll die in his own bed, with a beautiful woman in his arms.  And lord knows we are hell and gone from that at the moment.”

Alison couldn’t help but smile at that.  It was something she could clearly imagine Caesare saying.  “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m taking a little comfort in Steve’s stubbornness.”

“Let’s keep that to ourselves.  I don’t need that to turn into another of Caesare’s dissertations.”

She laughed.  “You’re funny.”

“And let’s keep that under our hat too.  He thinks he’s the funny one.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Clay took a deep breath.  “All right, sweetheart.  I should let you go. Maybe I can get in a few winks before sleeping beauty wakes up.”

Alison frowned.  She didn’t want to hang up.  “Please be safe.  Please.  I don’t want to go to Hawaii with anyone else.  Room service or not.”

“I promise.”

Clay reached out and peeked at the small screen, using his thumb to end the call.  There was something about that girl.  Something that made him want to be better.  And even more, made him want to protect her.  At all costs.

Which meant making it out of Dugway in one piece.

He had to believe.  Not just in Caesare and the team, but in himself.  Because the same hope Neely was desperately holding onto had nothing to do with the helicopter outside on the tarmac or the large team of Navy SEALs it brought.  Instead, it had to do with one single idea.  And one extraordinary chance worth taking.

A gamble that Clay knew he had to be right about.

113

“My God.  Look at that!”

Janice Talbot stood in front of the brightly lit monitor in rapt fascination.  Before her on the display was a close-up view of a small sample of muscle tissue extracted from Li Na Wei’s right leg.  On a small glass plate in the live video feed, the tissue could be seen repairing its outer perimeter, where the tiny fibers had been cut.  The cells extended outward in branches of three or four, resembling tiny fingers that had found each other.  And began weaving themselves back together.

Behind Talbot stood Neely Lawton.  Arms at her side, she watched over her captor’s shoulder with disdain.  Neely didn’t know where she was, but judging from the outside, it was clearly some kind of military installation.  And everyone appeared to be American.

“That is remarkable!”  Talbot spun back around.  “And this happens in every organ?”

“I don’t know,” Neely responded flatly.  When Talbot raised an eyebrow, she added, “I haven’t studied every type of cell.”

“Which have you studied?”

Neely shrugged.  “Skin.  Heart.  Brain.”

“And did they all respond the same way?”

“Yes.”

Talbot shook her head.  “Incredible, absolutely incredible.  Most human cells take almost a day to divide.  But these are happening within minutes.  My God, look.  You can actually watch the mitosis take place!”  Her eyes returned to the screen.  “How many cycles have you witnessed?”

“Maybe a hundred.”

“And did you compare them?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“There was no change in the base pairs of the telomeres.”

Talbot nearly gasped.  “What?!”

“You heard me.”

“No reduction at all?”

“No.”

Talbot stared at Neely as if transfixed, almost wondering if she had heard the words correctly.  Telomeres were the veritable lynchpin of the entire process—of cellular division, and more importantly, the elasticity and longevity of cell replication.  Every time a cell divided or copied itself, anywhere from 30 to 200 base pairs from its telomeres were lost.  Perpetually shortening itself, it eventually ensured the cell’s own death.  When all the base pairs were lost, the ability of the telomeres to protect the genetic content of the chromosomes was also forfeited, resulting in the cessation of the cell’s replication.  But if what Lawton had just said was true, if the telomeres were no longer losing their base pairs with each replication, the implications were…almost beyond comprehension.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Talbot remained still, thinking.  Finally, she asked Neely, “How’s the girl’s heart now?”

She was referring to Li Na’s earlier heart condition, the one that almost killed her.  “It’s been repaired.”

“Completely?”

“Yes.”  Neely did not expand.  She was determined to provide only the information needed to keep her and Li Na alive.  She would not volunteer anything, particularly the fact that Li Na’s heart now appeared to be even stronger than it probably was before the illness.  Because the bacterium not only repaired cells, which would keep them in their current state, it actually improved them.  More than just halting the loss of pairs from the telomeres, the bacterium was adding some back.

“And the brain cells?” Talbot asked.

“I observed the same behavior.  In mice.  But like I said before, there was a drawback.”

“Synaptic overload?”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t turn them off.”

“Only by putting her in a coma.”

“Fascinating,” the older woman whispered.  The same mutation not only regenerated cells back to a healthy state, it also supercharged the cells in the brain.

“Have you done an STR analysis on the bacterium?”

“Yes.”

“What about the girl?”

“Only partially.”

“What did you find?”

“Several common DNA loci were missing or deactivated.  At least for someone with her ancestry and background.   But others were activated.”

Talbot nodded.  Reactivation of some base pairs in the DNA loci or locations were not uncommon.  She had seen it in her own work.  Especially in the test subjects that did not survive.

“Any changes near the skin?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

Talbot folded her arms and nodded.  She then stepped forward and pulled the chair away from the desk.  “Then that’s where we start.  Find out if any of the loci could be involved in what’s causing her episodes.  Because something tells me she won’t survive many more of those.”

Neely complied without saying a word.  She reached the chair and lowered herself into it.

Talbot held down the button on a desk phone located next to the monitor.  “Send in my staff.”

Letting go of the button, she stared intently at Neely.  “I do hope you’re ready to educate us.”

***

Li Na looked up nervously when her door opened again but immediately relaxed at the sight of Neely’s face.  Drawn and tired, her friend stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Neely approached and stopped near the end of the bed, studying the teenager now situated in a chair next to it.  “How are you, Li Na?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Any more pain?”

“Not since yesterday.  How are you?”

Neely smiled and nodded.  “Fine.”  She glanced over her shoulder at the camera before returning her attention to Li Na.  She sat down on the bed.

“Li Na, I’d like to ask you some questions,” she said softly.  “About yesterday.  About what happened.”

“Okay.”

She thought for a moment.  “How many times has this happened to you?”

“There have been many small things.  But only three very bad ones.”

“Where was the first?”

“In the forest.  When I was being chased.  But it wasn’t as bad as the next two.”

It was getting worse.  “What do you feel when it happens?”

Li Na thought for a moment.  “The first time didn’t hurt so much but yesterday was the most bad.”

“I see,” Neely replied.  “When it happened yesterday, where did it hurt exactly?”

“Everywhere.  All over my body.  Mostly on the outside.”

“Like your skin?”

“Yes.”

“Was it sharp or dull?”

“I don’t know what that word is.”

“Dull?  It means something blunt.”

“What does that mean?”

Neely frowned, trying to come up with another way to describe it.  “Maybe like a lower, heavier pain.”

“No,” Li Na said.  “It was not heavy.  It was the sharp one.”

“A sharp pain.  In your skin?”

“Yes.  And beneath.  And my lungs too.”

Neely raised her brow curiously.  “Your lungs?”

“Yes.  Deep in here.”  She touched her chest bone lightly between her breasts.  “When I was trying to breathe.”

“You had trouble breathing too?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel anything else?”

“Um,” Li Na shrugged, “there might be something wrong with my eyes.”

“Your eyes?”

The teenager nodded.  “Sometimes I see things.”

“What things are you seeing?”

“Lines.  Very…what is the word you use?  Not dark, but very light.”

“Faint?”

“Yes.  I see faint lines.”

“How often?”

“They just started.”

“What do they look like?”

“Thin.  Up and down.  And moving like this.”  She used her hand to make a wave motion.

“If I get you a piece of paper could you draw it?”

“I think so.”

***

The depiction did not match the picture in Neely’s head.  What Li Na had drawn were only a few lines, vertical and very far apart, with a slight curve back and forth.  Each line was as faint as the girl was probably able to make it using the pencil.

What was also striking was Li Na’s natural drawing ability.  She had included simple objects from her room in her picture––part of the bed and some of the door in the background.  And while not exactly a Rembrandt, it was clear the girl had some innate skill.  Making the unusual lines in her picture even more interesting.  And oddly familiar.  Something in what Li Na had captured on the page triggered Neely’s subconsciousness.  An image she’d seen before but couldn’t recall where.

“You see these everywhere you look?”

“Mostly.”

“Are they clear or blurry?”

“They are not clear.”

“Do they always look the same?”

“No,” Li Na turned to the white wall furthest from them.  “There’s only one over there.”  She twisted around to another wall.  “And none there.”

Neely followed the girl’s head, curiously.  Her first thought was that something was indeed wrong with Li Na’s eyes.  Or at least one of them.  Perhaps damage inflicted somewhere along the way when escaping from the hospital in China.  Or maybe while she was on the run.

But if it was something wrong with the eye itself, the aberration should appear the same no matter where she looked.

“Li Na,” she said, moving between the girl and the first wall.  “Look back this way and then focus on me.  Closely.  Do you still see it when you look at me?”

The teenager studied the far white wall followed by Neely for a long time.  But shook her head.  She blinked and looked around the room again.  “The lines are gone now.”

“They’re gone.  Completely?”

“Yes.  But they usually come back.”

“I see.”

Li Na continued watching her.  “You look tired.”

Neely sighed and forced herself to grin.  “I’ve been worse.”

“Are they making you help them?”

“For this, I want to help.  I want to find out how to stop what’s happening to you.”

Instead of replying, Li Na raised her feet up onto the chair, wrapped her arms around her legs, and stared at the floor.

“Can I get you anything?”

The teenager shook her head sadly.

Neely Lawton slid forward and placed a hand on the girl’s arm.  “I’m not leaving you, Li Na.  I mean it.  Neither of us is leaving here without the other.”

All she received was a nod.

114

Back in the room, Talbot’s research staff had arrived, comprised of four people––two men and two women.  All were younger than both Neely and Talbot, and three of them had been in Li Na’s room the day before, helping to hold the girl down during her outbreak.

Now they were positioned on either side of Neely, sitting at their own computers and running through the same chromosomal analysis.  Although each focused on different sections of Li Na’s DNA.

One man, tall and skinny, studied his screen through a pair of thin round glasses.

“I’ve got a group of proteins that don’t match any of the Chinese ethnic groups in our database.”

“None?” Talbot asked.

“Nope.  Han, Zhuang, Hui, Man, none of them.”  He used his mouse to highlight several markers located in the left-hand column on his screen.  “Could be a set of newly activated genes.”

“Good.  Mark each one and save them.”

Talbot watched Neely stare at the man before eventually meeting her eyes.  Seeing Talbot’s hardened face, Neely decidedly focused her attention back to the man and asked, “Do any of those contain locis for the skin?”

“Not sure yet,” he replied dryly.  “I need to compare the strings.”

Neely waited.  Comparing strings of genetic code was one of the fastest ways to establish relationships in loci inside a human genome.  The same process made headlines just a few years earlier when a group of researchers used a deductive comparison process, called double-barreled, with several DNA strings to prove that modern-day humans still held some Neanderthal traits within their genome.  The study, in fact, clearly showed that an astonishing four to six percent of human DNA today had originated from Neanderthals.  An idea deemed ridiculous by most scientific communities until the discovery.

Most of the Neanderthal traits were determined to be related to external features such as skin and hair, thereby creating a rush of international research into those same genome locations.  All that research had since been documented and shared within an international database, accessible to everyone.

At least if Li Na’s problems were skin related, Neely thought to herself, it was one of the most thoroughly documented areas to search.

One of the women seated on her other side spoke up several minutes later.  “Two more base pair.”  She looked at Talbot.  “In the lungs.”

Talbot glanced at Neely.  “Sounds encouraging.”

“Maybe.”

The older woman placed her hands behind her back.  “Trust me.  We just need to isolate the changes, then trace them back until we can establish a relatable behavior. It’s something we’ve done many times.  And we’ve become exceedingly good at it.”

Neely turned back to her own screen.  Yes, first and foremost she was a scientist.  And yes, chromosomal analysis could eventually identify the changes, and potentially their behaviors.  But for Neely, something didn’t feel right.  It wasn’t the analysis.  Comparing genes was a straightforward, proven tactic, even if it took time.  She recognized that nearly all of the changes in Li Na’s genome would ultimately be found, either sooner or later.

Neely knew it wasn’t the process that was bothering her.  There was something else.  Something more…internal.  A feeling that she’d had for several days, telling her she was missing something significant.  That they were all missing it.  A more intuitive connection the computers would not and could not provide, no matter how many strings they compared.

A message, speaking to her from her gut.  Although unclear, it was embedded deeply within her intuition like a stubborn thorn.

***

Neely’s first small victory was convincing Talbot to allow her to act as an intermediate with Li Na.  She pitched the idea as an effort to keep the teenager from receding too far emotionally, which was already occurring.  Psychologically speaking, if Li Na could not see Neely as someone who could help her, they might lose the girl altogether.  Leaving them with even less to bargain with.

A few hours later, Neely returned with a tray of food and knocked gently on the door.

The short hallway in which she stood was painted a slightly darker white, framed by gray doors and light gray speckled linoleum.  Several steps behind her, a guard watched silently with his rifle in front of his chest.

The knock was not necessary since the lock was on the outside of the door.  But it allowed Neely to afford the girl at least some semblance of privacy.  And control.

Light footsteps were heard inside before Li Na cracked open the door a few inches.  Upon seeing Neely, she immediately opened it wider.

“Still feeling okay?”

“Yes.”

Neely stepped inside and placed Li Na’s tray on a small white table.  She frowned at the breakfast tray she’d brought earlier, still untouched.

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She picked up the breakfast and lowered her voice.  “Li Na, you need to maintain your strength.”

The teenager stared down wistfully at the new tray.  “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“They haven’t come back.”

Neely glanced at the door.  “They’re allowing me to be your primary contact.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised to help them.”

Li Na gave Neely a soft smile, followed by a curious expression.  “Why…are you helping me?”

“Because you’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you.”

It was hard to argue with that.  “I guess I think we owe it to you.”

Li Na frowned.  “But why?”

“I think in a way you’re collateral damage in all of this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m not sure you’d be here if it weren’t for us.”

She shook her head of dark hair.  “I would be with them if it were not for John Clay.”

Even though her English was quite good, Li Na’s distinct pronunciation of Clay’s name made Neely smile.

“That may be true.”

“And you,” Li Na emphasized.  “You are good inside.  I can feel it.”

“I hope so.  It doesn’t always feel like it.”

“Everyone has some badness inside.  But for you it is small.”

Neely peered at her intently.  “You can feel that?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure.  It started when I woke up in the hospital.  Back home.”

“After your father came?”

“Yes.  I knew something was different when I woke up.  Something inside.  But it was very weak then.”  The girl remained quiet for a few moments, then looked up with soft, sad eyes.  “Will they stop what is happening to me?”

“You mean like yesterday?”

She nodded.

“Yes, we will.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because,” Neely replied, “I don’t give up.”  When the girl smiled in response, Neely faked a stern look.  “But you need to eat something.”

“I will.  It just feels like lately I get sick whenever I eat.”

“I know, but you–” Neely was heading toward the door when she stopped in her tracks.  “What?”

Li Na stepped forward and sat down apologetically.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll eat.”

“No, what did you say before that?”

Li Na shrugged.  “When I eat, I get sick.”

“Wait a minute.”  Neely stepped forward and stared at her, almost transfixed.  “Was yesterday the first meal you’d had since we were at the hospital in Trinidad?”

Li Na nodded.

“You didn’t eat anything on the plane?”

“No.  I’m sorry.”  She reached for a small bunch of grapes on the tray.  “It’s just–”

“STOP!” Neely exclaimed.  She caught herself and continued in a lower voice.  “Stop.  Just stop a minute.”  She thought carefully.  “Li Na, what did you eat yesterday?”

The girl shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Chicken, I think.”

“What else?”

“Lettuce and vegetables.  And grapes.”

Neely continued staring at her.  “Chicken, a salad, and grapes.  Nothing else?”

“No.”

Neely blinked before turning to examine the room.  “Where is your drawing?”

Li Na pointed.  “In the trash.”

Neely put down the breakfast tray and crossed the room.  She reached into the small white can and retrieved the crumpled piece of paper.  She flattened out the drawing and flipped it around.  “Li Na, are you seeing any of these lines again?”

The teenager spun around slowly and scanned the room, looking from wall to wall.  “No.”

“Good,” she said. “Don’t eat anything!”

***

Neely burst back into the room, startling Talbot and her researchers, who all looked up from their screens in unison.  Behind her, the guard looked to Talbot for instructions and was promptly waved back outside.

“I need access to the internet!” Neely demanded, moving quickly to her chair.

With a surprised smile, Talbot laughed.  “I don’t think so.”

Neely twisted in her chair with a hardened glare.  “I said I need access now!”

“Why?” Talbot questioned.  “What did you find?”

Neely looked at the tall man with glasses.  “Run your list of activated pairs through all ethnic groups in the database!”

“What?”

“I said run it!”

The man looked at Talbot.  “I already have.”

“And what did you find?”

Talbot nodded, giving him permission to answer.

“No matches.”

Neely’s eyes intensified.  “Now run it again…against the animals.”

115

It took several minutes before the job completed, but when it did, the man looked sideways at Neely with surprise.

“I’m getting a lot of hits on those base pairs.”

Talbot stepped in behind him.  “For which animals?”

“Almost all vertebrate classes.  Mammals, fish, birds, and amphibians.  Lots of hits.”

Talbot faced Neely.  “How did you know that?”

Neely stared at the woman for a long time, contemplating her options.  The last thing she wanted to do was help them.  But her first priority was to stay alive.  And her second was to help Li Na.  When she finally replied, it was in a reluctant and irritated tone.  “I’ll tell you…as soon as you give me that access to the internet!”

Talbot looked at the others, who were all watching.  She turned to one woman on the end and motioned her out of the way.  The woman backed up, allowing Neely to roll her chair in front of the keyboard.

Opening a browser, she quickly typed a phrase into the search field in the upper corner.  AVIAN MAGNETIC FIELD.

She scanned the results until she found one of the several articles she was looking for and opened it.

When she was sure she had the right one, Neely quickly scrolled down to the bottom of the article and found a picture.  An artist’s rendering.  And on it, lines similar to what Li Na had drawn.

“What is it?” asked Talbot.  When Neely didn’t respond, she repeated herself louder.  “What is it?!”

“Oh my God,” Neely finally said to herself before focusing her attention back to the man on the other side.  “What fish are on that list of hits?”

“Uh,” he peered back and read from the screen.  “Anchovy, Bass, Bluefish.”  He scrolled through the names.  “Almost all of them.  Eel, Flounder, Grouper–”

Talbot cut him off by stepping between him and Neely.  “WHAT is it?!”

Neely glared at the woman, her eyes fixed on Talbot’s, but asked the man another question.  “Is salmon on that list?”

He stuttered nervously.  “Yes.”

Almost defiantly, Neely thrust the drawing up at Talbot.  “THIS is it!”

The woman looked at the wrinkled paper.  “What.  What is this?  Her drawing?”

“Yes.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Neely turned in her chair and held the paper up next to the artist’s rendering on the screen.  “See any similarities?”

Talbot compared the two.  “Yes.  Which means what?”

“That’s what’s happening to Li Na.”

“I’m not following.”

Neely addressed Talbot sarcastically, “Are you telling me you weren’t listening to us in there?”

“Of course, we were listening.”

“She said she gets sick when she eats!”

“So?”

“She gets sick when she eats!”

“So…what.  She has an infection?”

“No.  Yesterday she ate chicken.  And got sick.  And now she’s seeing things.  This!”  Neely held up the drawing again.

“Lines.”

“Yes.  Lines!”  She pointed to the computer monitor.  “This article is about a recent discovery.  Which I guess you haven’t read.  Down here in your dungeon.”

Talbot’s eyes hardened.  “What discovery?”

“Birds,” Neely said.  “And our magnetic field.”

“You mean for navigation.”

“That’s right.  Most birds are born with a small string of iron in their beaks.  For years we thought that iron was how they detected the Earth’s magnetic field.  And navigated by it.  But it’s not.  What was just discovered was that birds have a special genetic mutation in their eyes.  A protein called Cry4.  A part of a photoreceptor that is sensitive to blue light.  Sensitive enough to allow the bird to actually see our magnetic field!”

Neely then pointed her finger directly at the rendered image on the screen.  “And this is what the scientists believe birds are seeing.”

Talbot grew quiet and looked at the screen.  She stepped in and studied it closer.  “The lines.”

“The lines.”

“Wait a minute,” Talbot said, straightening.  “You think she got this from the chicken?”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because the last time she got sick, before yesterday, was in Trinidad.  And it was right after she ate,” Neely said.  “We thought it was a reaction from the coma.  Trying to force her stomach back onto solid food.”  Neely folded her arms across her chest.  “Care to guess what she ate?”

Talbot turned and glanced at her man with the glasses.  “Fish?”

“Salmon!”

Talbot looked dubious.  “Is that so?”

“Yes.  And now she has absorbed some of its DNA.  Not just absorbed it but also activated it.”

The room fell silent.

“That’s why her skin was resembling scales.  And why she had trouble breathing.  Both from the salmon’s DNA.  And then yesterday.  The same reaction was triggered.  This time from the chicken.  Altering something in her eyes.”

“You think this Cry4 protein has been absorbed too?  Allowing her to see, what, the magnetic field?”

“That’s exactly what I think.  But we won’t know until we take a newer sample.   If we find that she now has that protein…”

Talbot stared at her.  “If she does have it, then we could be witnessing a live human absorption from another animal’s DNA.”

“Not just absorption,” Neely said.

Talbot contemplated Neely’s remark and gasped when it finally hit her.  “Mosaic!”

116

In her gut, Neely knew she was right.  It fit.  It all fit, perfectly.  That nagging feeling that she was missing something the entire time now combined with the sudden disappearance of that same feeling confirmed it.  As though two ends of a broken chain were finally reconnected.  In her case, the two ends were Neely’s exceptional knowledge in the field of microbiology and her gut instinct telling her the answer was right in front of her.

She stood, motionless, facing Talbot.  Confident of her revelation, Neely felt certain in her conviction of what was causing Li Na’s outbreaks.

But just as quickly as it had come, her certainty faded and was immediately replaced with fear.  As it soon dawned on Neely that she had been hoping to find a cause that was actually treatable.  With something like gene therapy or predictive medicine.  But this…this was so far outside what could be addressed with modern medicine, Neely could not even fathom how to approach it clinically.  There were many ways to absorb something into one’s body.  Was it only through ingestion?  What if trace elements made their way in through other means, setting into motion the same genetic chain reaction?

Her heart sank suddenly under the weight of reality.  If she was right, if Li Na was, in fact, absorbing live DNA from other animals, there was very little she could do.  At least not quickly.  It would take years to understand what was actually happening inside the genomes.  Let alone what could be done to stop it.

And that meant if Li Na’s outbreaks really were growing in severity, there might be nothing Neely could do in time to keep it from killing her.  The changes were already in her system.

The sudden realization had left her face ashen, putting Neely in a trance and at a complete loss of what to do.  It prevented her from noticing a very different look on Janice Talbot’s face.  Instead of an overwhelming sense of helplessness, the woman’s dark eyes came ablaze with excitement.  Not only had the Chinese girl given them the answer to rapid cell reparation, which they desperately needed, but the bacterium itself had also just revealed a leap in gene editing.

No, not gene editing.  This was different.  This was something far beyond that.  Something not requiring exhaustive chemical analysis, or test tubes, or experimental processes like CRISPR.  This was nature’s version of what she had been forcefully trying to achieve for decades––an organic, holistic solution that worked much faster.

Talbot turned, seeking her staff’s reaction.  If Lawton were correct, if this was, in fact, Mother Nature’s hidden approach to gene editing, it would completely blow the doors off anything they had achieved to date.  And on top of that, the discovery could ultimately prove to be the very key she needed to prevent the high death rate experienced by so many of her earlier test subjects.

Both women now stood transfixed, mulling over what the strange bacterium had done and what it could do.  But while Talbot was envisioning a string of infinite possibilities, Neely Lawton was scrambling to figure out how she could use the knowledge to keep her and Li Na alive.

117

It was several hours before Neely was allowed back in to see Li Na.  Long after a second sample of the girl’s DNA had been extracted and a new complete analysis of it begun.

She found the teenager sitting on the small chair again, knees pulled up to her chest.  And now, a large bandage on her left thigh.

The teenager’s hair was disheveled, with a deeply wrinkled gown wrapped loosely around her still body.

Neely stepped just inside the door and took her in affectionately.  “You okay?”  She could see the girl was sinking deeper into depression.

Li Na shrugged.  She merely watched with sullen eyes as Neely moved softly to the bed.

As Neely began to sit, Li Na spoke.  “Did something happen?”

Neely nodded.

“Good or bad?”

She frowned.  “It’s hard to say.”

“Was it about me?”

“Yes.”

“About what’s happening to me?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

Taking a deep breath, Neely rubbed her face, choosing her words carefully.  “I think…what you are experiencing is caused by changes within your body.  The bacteria is changing things that I don’t know how to stop.”

“Like the things I’m seeing and hearing.”

“Yes.”

“And it can’t be fixed?”

Neely sighed again and shook her head.  “I don’t know.  If it can, it will take time.  Maybe a long time.”

“How long?”

“Months.  Maybe years.”

To Neely’s surprise, the answer didn’t seem to faze Li Na, who simply looked down.

“Maybe if we could–”

Li Na cut her off.  “You don’t think I’m going to live that long.”

Neely stopped and stared back.  “I-I don’t know.  It depends on a lot of things.”

The girl placed her chin gently on top of her knees and looked up at her.  “I will do whatever you tell me.”

Neely grinned painfully.  What she didn’t want to tell Li Na was that she had now just become more valuable to Talbot and the people for whom she was working.

Before, they simply wanted the bacterium and seemed to have little use for Li Na beyond that.  Especially after the first outbreak.  But now, with Neely’s apparent epiphany to what was really happening, Li Na had instantly become a much more valuable asset.  Which also meant the longer Li Na was alive, the longer she would be a prisoner.  She would never be released.  Instead, she would probably be used by Talbot and her team as a specimen until her final breath.

“We might be here a while, Li Na.”

“How much longer?”

“Much longer.”

Again, the girl seemed strangely unfazed with little emotion in her eyes, as if already having accepted her fate.  Instead of surprise or shock, she merely blinked and lowered her eyes back to the floor.

When she finally spoke, she did so in a whisper.  “There is something else I need to tell you.”

Neely lowered her own voice.  “What?”

The girl glanced around the room nervously.  “Something…is happening.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Li Na whispered.

“I don’t understand.”

“Something is coming.”

Neely stared at her curiously.

“Something is coming,” Li Na repeated.  “I can feel it.”

118

At barely past 6:00 a.m., Matt Millican hastily placed his palm on the glass scanner and withdrew it the second he heard the doors in front of him unlock.  He pushed them open with a forceful thrust and briskly entered the CIA’s Cybersecurity Lab, where two younger men stood waiting.

“How long ago?” Millican demanded.

“Just a few minutes.”

“What are they after this time?”

The two younger security analysts glanced at each other.  “We’re not sure.  It’s not a single connection.”

Millican continued past them.  “What does that mean?!”

“This time it’s a larger breach.”

“How large?”

“Thousands.”

Millican’s eyes widened, and he came to an abrupt stop.  “Thousands?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”  Millican continued past the men, winding through an empty hallway before the space finally widened into a large room.  From one of the chairs, a young woman quickly rose to her feet to greet him.  Behind her stretched a sea of computer monitors and human heads.

“How many attacks?” he asked the woman.

“Several thousand now,” she answered.  “All coming from the same location.”

“Let me guess, Puerto Rico.”

“No,” She brushed a strand of hair from her face.  “They’re…actually all coming from the Pentagon.”

“What?!”

“The Pentagon,” she repeated.  “More specifically, from the Defense Department.”

Millican couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.  “Are you sure?”

“Positive.  And these don’t look like scripts.”

Automated scripts were the preferred method used by hackers.  Especially state-sponsored hackers.  These sets of preprogrammed instructions automated the process of breaching secured networks with astonishing speed.  The first task was to find vulnerabilities by probing every possible address on a computer network’s firewall, and then every possible port.  With each probe, the script would record what system was being used, the vendor, and what version of software was running.

From there the attack would move to the second set of scripted instructions, and then the third.  And so on, until the entire program had been executed and every scrap of information had been gleaned.

But what Millican’s team was seeing was different.  Instead of a single script replicated thousands of times, each of these incoming connections appeared to have a person behind them.

Scripted attacks were blindingly fast, and because they were all the same instruction set repeated over and over, they were also easier to identify as a pattern.  Almost as quickly as the attack could be mounted, a network’s intrusion detection system could identify repeating behavior and begin building a defense against it.  But having a live person behind each attack made it significantly harder.

Individuals were more dynamic in their methods when attacking, making behavioral recognition and intent much more difficult for the systems to identify.  The best Millican and his team could do immediately, was to identify where the incoming connections were originating from.

“Thousands of connections from the DoD,” Millican repeated.  “That’s impossible.  That would mean–”

“That their entire Cyber Team was involved,” the woman answered.  “All using different port numbers and trying to infiltrate different systems inside.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Millican shook his head.  “Jesus.”

***

Director Andrew Hayes had just stepped out from the back seat of his Town Car when Millican’s call came through.  He withdrew a pair of reading glasses from the breast pocket of his navy-blue suit and held them up to read the incoming name on his phone.

Hayes raised an index finger to the waiting Army officer, standing patiently to receive him, before giving the chief his complete attention.  “Make it fast, Millican.  I’m already late.”

“Sir, we’re under attack.”

“Where?”

“Our internal network.”

Hayes’ face tightened.  “Is it that Will Borger again?”

“No, sir.  This one is bigger.  Much bigger.  Thousands of connections.  All originating from the Department of Defense.”

“What?!”

“The DoD, sir.  Probably less than a few thousand feet from where you’re standing.”

Hayes twisted back around, staring up the steps and through the pillars of the Pentagon’s main entrance.  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, sir.”

“What are they after?”

“It’s hard to say.  They’re targeting everything.”

“Then shut them down!”

“We’re trying.  But it’s not that easy.  They’re already in and have–”

“I don’t care!” shouted Hayes.  “JUST SHUT THEM DOWN!  Go in there and start pulling out the damn plugs or something!”

Millican paused.  “Yes, sir.”

“Wait!”  Hayes almost ended the call before bringing the phone back to his ear.  “Dugway.  What’s happening at Dugway?!”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

On the other end, Millican nodded and bent down to check a live satellite feed.  “Yes.”  He zoomed in on the main entrance, then used a mouse to scan around the fenced perimeter and guard towers.  “Nothing at all.”

“What about the SEAL team?”

Millican tilted his head to one side, securing the phone, while using his other hand to type.  The video feed switched to the hangar at the airport.  He punched a few buttons and switched the image into thermal view.  Dozens of yellow and orange blobs could be seen inside.

“They’re still in the hangar.”

“All of them?”

“Looks like it.”  He moved outside and examined the giant helicopter.  It was motionless and appeared to still be dark blue in the picture.  “Nothing moving on their chopper either.”

Hayes ended the call, seething as he squinted over the top of the Town Car and across the large field of grass around him.

119

Defense Secretary Miller glanced up from his desk when he heard the sudden burst of shouting, followed only moments later by his office door being thrown open from the other side.  In the doorway, Andrew Hayes breathed heavily while struggling against a powerful hand wrapped firmly around the man’s left arm.

Hayes’ eyes were boiling and found Miller just before being yanked back out of the doorway.  “Goddamn it, Miller!”

Another one of the guards jumped in front of the CIA Director and peered through the door at his senior officer.  “I’m sorry, sir!” was all he said before reaching for the doorknob to pull it closed again.

“Wait.”  As he watched Hayes attempting to wrestle himself away from a second guard in the background, Miller calmly put down his pen and nodded.  “Let him in.”

The guard glanced back with a look of surprise.  “Are you sure?”

Behind him, Hayes yelled, “Get off of me!”

“Yes,” the secretary nodded and rose from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket.  “Let him in but stay right outside the door.”

“Yes, sir.”  He promptly stepped back, providing an opening for Hayes, who was now beet red and noticeably ruffled.

Enraged, he stepped into the room and grabbed the edge of the door, slamming it shut.

“Morning,” Miller replied dryly.

“Don’t morning me, you son of a bitch!  I know what you’re doing!”

Miller raised his eyebrows and looked down at his desk, where he calmly picked up his cup of coffee in one hand and the rest of a doughnut in the other.  “Well, then don’t tell my wife.  This is supposed to be a banana.”

Hayes ignored his humor and stormed across the carpeted floor.  “Shut it down!” he growled.  “Shut it down now!”

Merl Miller studied him and took a slow sip from his mug.  “I think this is where I say, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

The anger in Hayes’ eyes intensified.  Before he could retort, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Come in.”

This time the door opened to reveal Miller’s personal secretary.  “I’m sorry, sir.  Admiral Langford is here to see you.”

“Fine.  Send him in.”

His secretary nodded.  She briefly noted the infuriated Hayes in the middle of the room before moving aside for Langford.

The admiral stepped in, and Miller’s secretary promptly pulled the door closed behind her with a click.

Langford looked from Miller to Hayes, silently finding the broad difference in their demeanors more than a bit amusing.  He returned to Miller with a nod.  “Having your morning banana, I see.”

“You’re just in time.  Director Hayes appears upset about something.”

The CIA director growled in a more controlled tone.  “I said shut it down!”

“Shut what down?”

“The attack.”

“What attack?”

“You know damn well what attack.  Your computer attack!”

Miller looked at Langford.  “Did you order a computer attack?”

“I don’t even know how a computer attack works.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You think this is funny?”

Miller looked at Langford.  “You know who was funny?  That Red Skelton.  I used to listen to him as a kid.  I remember him making me laugh so hard I cried once.”

“Yeah.  He was good.”

Hayes remained glaring at Miller.  “So, this is a game to you two.  Some kind of joke.”

Miller shook his head and placed his mug back down.  “A joke?  No.  Just a couple of old men reminiscing.”

“I know what you’re doing.  I’m not stupid.”

“What are we doing?”

A hint of a smirk appeared on Hayes’ face.  “You want her back.  The Chinese girl.  And you think by distracting us, we won’t see what you’re really up to.”

Miller turned to Langford.  “Are you up to something, Jim?”

“No.”

“Jim says he’s not up to something.  And I am trying to finish my breakfast.”

“Shut it down,” Hayes repeated.  “And I mean now!”

Miller sighed and placed the last bite of doughnut next to his cup.  He then dusted his hands and reached for the phone.  “Give me Waterman in Ops.”

He paused, waiting, while his eyes remained on Hayes.  When the call was connected, he spoke into the receiver.  “This is Secretary Miller.  I have Director Hayes in my office wanting to know about a computer attack.  Do you know anything about that?”

After another short pause, Miller nodded and hung up.

“He says they’re not doing anything.”

Hayes was not amused.  “You’re making a grave mistake.”  When Miller didn’t answer, the CIA Director continued.  “You think this is some kind of game.  Some…charade.  But you are meddling in something you shouldn’t be.  And with the wrong group of people.  People who know more than you think.”

He took a step forward, still staring at Miller intently.  “Have you forgotten that I was in the room with you at Transocean headquarters?  We know about all of it, and then some.  I told you before, we’re keeping tabs on your special little team and what they’re trying to do.  It’s called treason.”

“Funny,” Langford said.  “Of all people to accuse us of treason.”

Hayes frowned.  “We have a lot more on you than that.”

“You’re beginning to sound like my first wife.”

“Go ahead.  Keep making your jokes,” Hayes replied through dark eyes.  “Soon it will be all you have left.  Because we know all of your secrets.  Including the platoon of Navy SEALs you’re hiding at Salt Lake.”

Miller glanced at Langford.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find out?  That you sent your team to try to get the girl, and your Commander Lawton?”  He looked back and forth between them.  “Sounding familiar yet?”

The men said nothing.

“Do you really think a helicopter full of commandos are going to get into that place?  And back out?  You two, of all people, should understand just how suicidal that would be.  And your grand plan is to distract us with a computer attack?”  Hayes shook his head.  “That’s the best your entire Department of Defense could come up with?”

Hayes’ dark eyes suddenly feigned surprise.  “Oh, that’s right!  Your hands are tied.  You’re not actually in a position to tell anybody about this, are you?  You had to keep things quiet.  Lest your even bigger secret gets out.”  He smiled.  “But a cyber attack?  That’s easy to order.  While still deceiving your own people.”

“The CIA does it all the time,” Miller replied dryly.  “You don’t just bend the rules like the rest of us.  You actually think they don’t apply to you.”

Hayes grinned.  “Because they don’t.”

“Everyone has rules,” Langford said. “Eventually.  It’s called a conscience.”

Hayes turned to face the admiral.  “Ah.  Let conscience be your guide,” he mocked.  “So noble.  So…righteous.”

“If you say so.”

Hayes stared at Admiral Langford.  “You don’t think I care about our country?”

“I don’t know what the hell you care about.”

“Well, I do,” he replied.

“And so do we.”

“No, you don’t.  The country you care about lives in fantasy land, like some utopian novel of how the United States might exist someday.  I care about our country now.  As it exists today!  The last good thing.  The last righteous thing left in a world that wants nothing more than to tear us apart.  To destroy us completely.  Without the slightest remorse.”  Hayes was livid.

“We’re the only country that actually stands for something.  And still has enough power to do what’s right.  To show what’s right.  Before it’s too late and people like you turn this nation into a shell of its former self.  Or worse, some carcass picked clean by a world of vultures.”

He went on, “It’s not just the Muslims against the Christians anymore.  Today we’re fighting an endless list of Islamic militants, jihadists groups, separatists of every possible ilk, international and domestic terrorists, and even some developed nations, so-called friends, all hell-bent on bringing this country to its knees.  By whatever means necessary.”

“In case you forgot, we’re fighting the same battle.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be trying to take them back.  You would understand how badly they’re needed.  To help protect our nation.  But no.  Instead, you see a world full of individuals, sensitive and innocent of their own actions.  People who need to have a say in everything.  Whether they understand it or not.”  Hayes waved an arm.  “But you know what?  All they really want to know is who the hell is on T.V. tonight.  Or which celebrity is crying over another horrible injustice.  No one cares.  All they care about is making sure everyone remains comfortable and happy, no matter what they lose in the process.”

“No,” Miller disagreed.  “What we see are victims.  Both here and out there.  People who want no part in any of these maniacal factions.  People who have as much right to live as anyone else.  And as much right to the truth.”

“And you want to save them.”

“Not save them,” Langford clarified.  “Just give them some hope.”

Hayes sneered.  “Hope?  Hope for what?  Look around you for Christ’s sake!  The world is devolving into bedlam right before your eyes!  The world is being overrun by the meek.  Hypnotized by propaganda and brainwashed into hating someone new every month!  They don’t give a shit about us.  All they care about is having someone to blame for their squalor.  Because they’re too weak to pick up a damn pitchfork and fight back!  To take back their countries from the lunatics.”

“I can think of some developed nations with that description,” Miller answered.  “Many of whom are allies.  And the people you’re talking about aren’t fighting back not because they lack courage.  They don’t bother fighting because they’ve lost hope.  Because nothing ever changes.  Just regime after regime promising a better life, only to have them find they’re just as oppressed as they ever were.”

Hayes shook his head.  “They are oppressed because they’re cowards!  They throw up their hands and wait for us to fight for them!”

“How much fight do you think you’d have if you couldn’t even keep your own kids fed?  How long do you think these people are willing to watch their own children suffer for an ideology that’s crammed down their throats and never changes?  Ever.”

Hayes glared at Miller for a long moment.  “You’re old and soft.”

“Jesus,” Langford murmured.  “Where’s your humanity?”

“Don’t talk to me about humanity!”  He looked the older man up and down, disgusted.  “Where’s your sense of loyalty?!  The fact is, the weak and the poor have suffered for thousands of years.  They always have and they always will.  Nothing will ever change that.  The world is indifferent.  The universe is indifferent.  One day when our sun goes out in a blaze of glory, there will still be millions of mouths crying out for someone to help them.  And there will still be degenerates trying to attack those who have what they don’t, in the name of some God, or in the name of fairness, or compassion.  No matter what the cost.  No matter who has to be killed to take it!  And you know what, it will never end.  Not by itself.  Not while there are others like me still alive.”

“Even if it means destroying the innocent with the guilty.”

“Have you ever seen an elephant taken down by a wild group of hyenas?  It’s astonishing to see something so powerful felled by attackers so small.  And it’s not because of the numbers.  It’s because the elephant forgets how powerful it really is.  It forgets that it can trample the hyenas to death like a steamroller.  So instead it runs, trying to escape.”

“So, we’ve played nice for too long.”

“You’re damn right we have.  We have the largest military on the planet.  The greatest technology.  And we simply sit here, waving our ax around, while allowing our enemies to search for more chinks in our armor.”

“And you want to use the ax,” Miller said.

“Yes.”

“Because you have no rules.”

“No rules that I’m not willing to ignore for the greater good.”

“Spoken like a true dictator.”

Hayes stared at Miller before finally smiling.  “Don’t get in my way.”

Miller glanced again at Langford.

“And if you think you’re going to get those women back,” Hayes said.  “Think again.  From this moment, if I see a single one of your SEALs leave that hangar, the gloves come off.”  Hayes spun and moved toward the door, pausing when he grabbed the knob.  “Because this little computer attack of yours is pathetic.  You’ve started a fight.  But what you’re about to get…is a war.”

Langford watched the door close before turning back to Miller, still standing behind his desk.

“Well, I guess we know where he stands.”

The Defense Secretary peered down at his desk before turning to face the sunlit window behind him.  Outside, a patchy blue morning sky stretched over an endless sea of deep green oak and maple trees––dotted with buildings and streets until the forest green and azure blue met on the horizon.

“You think he’s right?”

“About which part?”

Miller continued gazing out the window.  “Do you think we’re just getting old and soft?”

Langford considered the question.  “I don’t know.  Probably.  But I like to think age comes with at least some wisdom.”

“I hope so.  Because right now I can’t tell if this is wisdom or just idealism.”

“Probably both.”

The secretary glanced over his shoulder.  “Don’t we all want to see the world become a better place?”

“Presumably.  But everyone has a different idea of how to make that happen.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Miller mumbled.  He turned and faced Langford with a tired expression.  “I think we need to consider the possibility that Hayes already knows everything.  And if he does, he can’t be the only one.”

Langford frowned.  “I don’t think he does.  He knows about the alien ship and the ruse with the oil rig.  Obviously.  And the bacteria that was sourced from the plants in Guyana, whose source has been destroyed.  But I don’t think he knows what’s in the water near the ship or about the vaults we found.”

“So, maybe he doesn’t know as much as we think.”

“Or as much as he thinks.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“As for getting older…I don’t think this is a matter of sentimentality.”

“No?”

Langford shook his head.  “My father died almost twenty years ago after a long bout with pancreatic cancer.  Before that, he spent the last several years of his career with the United Nations.  In the end, it was a long fight.  A long, slow decline.  Which gave him a lot of time to reflect.” With hands in his pockets, the admiral stepped closer.  “A few days before he died, he told me no one really makes as much of a difference as they think.  That most change comes from circumstance.  By events just…unraveling through their own fruition, only later to be miscredited.  He said real change, change being truly individual or consequential, was actually very rare.  That very few people could say they intentionally changed the world.”

Miller nodded thoughtfully.

“I do believe Hayes is right about one thing.  We are fighting a constant battle.  Every day.  Putting out one fire after another.  Dealing with one crisis after another.  Where does it end?”

Miller shrugged.  “It doesn’t.”

“You’re right.  It never ends, because nothing really changes.  The people and the details change, but the fight over power never does.”

“And life will never be fair.”

“No, it won’t.  And you know what, maybe it shouldn’t be.  We all need something to fight for.”

“Fighting with hope is one thing.  Fighting without hope is just suicide in the name of ideology.”

“True.”  Langford nodded, thinking.  “Thirty million people die every year on this planet.  Thirty million.  And nine out of ten of those deaths are due to disease or starvation.  Which means we could potentially save one hell of a lot of lives.”

Miller nodded.  “What happens to the world when half of it is no longer forced to live hand-to-mouth?  And what happens to those in control?”

“I don’t know,” Langford shrugged.  “But Hayes is also right that in hundreds of years the human condition hasn’t changed all that much.  If you live in a wealthy country, it has.  But for those who don’t, I wonder how many of them could even tell what century they’re living in.”

He looked over to see Miller slowly shaking his head.

“What?”

“We are old,” he answered.  “But this is not sentimental.  And it’s not political.  It’s called being human.”

Miller’s response caused Langford to grin.

“Besides,” said the secretary.  “There is still one more big thing Hayes does not know.”

120

An early morning sun appeared over the top of the Rocky Mountains.  Far in the distance, the jagged outline could be seen forming the great cordilleran backbone, stretching more than three thousand miles down the middle of the continent.  Still topped with patches of snow, the ridgeline towered high above the plains, silhouetted majestically beneath the sun’s glowing rays.

Those rays soon burst through the upper panes of the giant airplane hangar, illuminating almost three dozen Navy SEALs.  Thirty-two men, wide awake and dressed in camouflage desert fatigues, impatiently formed a large circle around their two commanding officers.

“So…what the hell are we doing here?”

With a look of resignation, SEAL O.I.C. Darnell looked back at one of his men and shrugged.  “How about a little R&R?”

“What does that mean?”  Another member shook his head and raised his hands in irritation.  “What are we supposed to do, just stand around?”

“What it means, Whitman,” Darnell replied sharply, “is that you finally get the chance to be paid for your looks!”  He glanced at the young officer before looking back over the group with a wry grin.  “Anyone bring a deck of cards?”

***

“Are you in, Will?”

Will Borger nodded, typing furiously on his keyboard.  “Yeah.  We’re in.  But it’s going to take some time to get where I need to be.”

“Then hurry.”

John Clay watched as a dirt cloud billowed up from the desert floor a few miles away.   In front of the cloud, four dark objects could be seen, in single file and driving toward them.

Dressed in worn clothes with a burgeoning beard covering his lightly dirtied face, Clay calmly scanned the crowd of people around him.  His eyes found Caesare on the far side.  The large Italian was dressed just as badly as he, but with a heavier beard and slouching as much as possible to hide his muscular frame under his baggy clothing.

Clay took turns listening absently to several conversations nearby, all in Spanish, as he continued scanning the area.  His eyes stopped behind Caesare on a quiet, single engine fire station on the other side of the street.

Vernon, Utah seemed the very definition of a one-horse town from days gone by.  Now with a few modern buildings, like a small church, post office, and fire station, the town felt as if it finally had one leg out of the 1850s––save for the barren dirt parking lot in which they were all standing.

Clay’s eyes began moving again, through and then above the crowd of workers.  He completed a full circle and stopped once more on the four approaching objects, growing nearer ever so slowly.

“They’re getting closer, Will.”

Borger momentarily stopped hitting the keys and glanced at another screen.  “I see ‘em.”

He leaned in and studied the satellite video before continuing his typing.  “I’d say they’re still a couple miles away.”

Clay didn’t answer.  They looked closer than that.  “If we’re not in the system, this is going to be over in a hurry.”

Borger’s head remained down.  “I am aware.”

After several more seconds of rapid keystrokes, he slapped the enter key and waited to check the output on his screen.  “Okay, I’m into personnel.”

Borger turned and looked at M0ngol, his Chinese prisoner and fellow hacker, sitting in front of his own monitor.  A dour-looking Bruna was standing behind him.  Why she kept expecting the kid to run was beyond Borger.

He raised his eyebrow at M0ngol.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Borger nodded.  “How are our friends at the CIA?”

“Fighting the attack hard,” M0ngol replied.

“Good.”

Still standing in the crowd, Clay ignored several Mexican men grouped together and talking about him––pointing through wisps of smoke between drags from their cigarettes.

Clay made his way casually toward an old, rusted trash barrel at the edge of the abandoned lot, while speaking under his breath.  “We’ve got a mile left.  Maybe less.”

“Almost there,” Borger answered.

When he reached the barrel, Clay reached inside his torn coat and withdrew a crumpled paper bag bearing a familiar fast food logo.  Inside the bag, he could feel the small black cell phone he was communicating through, having purchased it the day before.  Then in one smooth motion, he turned away from the crowd behind him and withdrew the miniature earpiece from his right ear.

“Logging off,” Clay said, dropping the earpiece into the bag.  He immediately scrunched the bag into a ball and deposited it into the trash.

This was it.

When he cut back around, the objects in the distance were much closer.  Despite the clouds of dust billowing high above them, all four were now clearly visible.  Buses.  Painted white with dark lettering on the side, reading simply “United States Government.”

***

The inescapable fact was that there was no easy way into Dugway.  It was simply too well fortified.  The razor wire, infrared and motion-detecting systems, armed towers, and flat open terrain were only the tip of the iceberg.  An aerial drop by the SEAL team into Dugway had quickly become the only real option.  But once inside those fences, entrances requiring biometric signatures and interior cameras with facial recognition all made the prospect of getting back out hopeless.  Even if they could make it onto the grounds, the ensuing fight would be futile.  Given no quick way out, the SEAL team would inevitably be faced with only two options.  Fight their way out from a surrounded position or die trying.

But what Clay knew, as did Caesare, was that in a world of near-perfect technology, failures in security still occurred because of one simple and unswerving vulnerability.  One constant that could never be fully eliminated no matter how advanced or complex a security system was.   Because it was the same vulnerability that every system, every process, and every environment ultimately suffered from.  Human error.  Or sometimes better described as human oversight.

For those at a disadvantage, the antidote to a world of infinitely more capable technology was and would always be a human being.  A human being with a brain that learned and adapted quickly.  Then became complacent, growing overly reliant upon the very technology designed to assist them.

It was the only vulnerability Clay could find…and hopefully the one exploitation they needed.  Deception and sleight of hand had fooled the greatest minds and the greatest systems in history.  And would again, if done correctly.  Provided the deception was sophisticated enough.

Because what every large building, business complex, and military base had in common, no matter how large or how secret, was the need for someone to help keep it clean.  Whether a state capitol or an ultra-fortified complex in the middle of the desert, every large establishment on the planet required a janitorial crew.  A large group of people with enough security clearance to, if nothing else, get inside and clean the place.

In the end, Clay knew there was only one way into Dugway.  And that was through the front door itself.  He and Caesare would be hiding in plain sight.

121

All four buses rumbled to an abrupt stop before the crowd of workers, all in single file. A massive cloud of dust, which continued rolling forward in slow motion, came with them.  Washing over each giant vehicle, it soon reached the waiting group of people––Dugway’s dutiful and mostly migrant cleaning crew.

The front door of the first bus opened with a loud hiss as a short, rotund guard emerged and stepped down onto the hard-packed ground.  He was immediately followed by two others.  Gradually, several more guards stepped out of the bus and began fanning out.  All wore neatly pressed khaki uniforms with sidearms holstered on each hip.  A few, including the first guard, also sported dark sunglasses, while others held a flat object in their free hand.

Almost immediately and without any instruction, the crowd of workers began moving forward and narrowing into six lines.  Many of the women did so without even interrupting their conversations.  At the front of the lines, a guard raised the device in his hand and began motioning the first people forward.

Obediently, each worker stepped up, one by one, and presented their right hand, placing it on the device.  Methodically, each guard watched the flat screen before motioning the person past and looking at the next in line.

Waiting his turn near the back, Clay glanced forward and spotted Caesare.  He was in the far-left line and making his way forward along with the others.  His posture slumped slightly, his weathered boots shuffling lazily through the dirt.

Silently, Clay examined each guard.  Half of them were overweight, standing with legs apart, and nodding absently as each worker passed.  One guard made a comment causing others close to him to laugh.  A second joke was followed by more laughter.

Caesare was closer now.  Just a few places back in line.  His hair, messy and unwashed, hung down over his forehead.

It was the moment of truth.  Clay prayed Borger had gotten in and uploaded their pictures in time.

The guard in front of Caesare was not talking with the others.  Instead, he was young and firmly planted on both legs, watching each person carefully as they moved past.  When Caesare stepped forward to the front of the line, the man eyed him curiously before holding up his hand.

“Who the hell are you?”

Caesare kept his head low.  Respectful and obedient, he spoke in Spanish.  “Soy nuevo.”

“English.”

Caesare stuttered.  “I’m new.”

“Hand,” the guard replied and held out the device.  Caesare raised his right palm and placed it on the screen.

After several seconds a loud beep sounded, causing the other guards to look over.

The man in front of Caesare looked at him intently.  “No match.”

Caesare made a helpless gesture and reached again for the screen.  This time his hand was abruptly caught in midair.  The guard turned it over and frowned, disgustingly.  “Jesus.  Try washing your damn hands.”

“Sorry.”

“Step back,” the guard commanded.  “And look at me.”

Caesare complied and watched as the other man brought the screen up and pointed it at him.  He snapped a picture and lowered it again, waiting.

In front of his monitor, Will Borger watched nervously from his satellite feed as the tiny human figures filed past the guards.  He suddenly held his breath when he saw Caesare’s picture appear on his screen as part of the security check.  He and M0ngol looked at each other as the software checked the database for verification.  Several seconds felt like an eternity, leaving Borger to slowly inhale until a message finally flashed in green lettering.

VERIFIED.  ACCESS GRANTED.

He exhaled with a burst of relief.

Over a full minute later, Clay’s picture appeared.  Like Caesare, messy hair and a beard covered much of his face.  Yet even in the picture, Clay’s eyes were unmistakable.

Again, the message appeared.  VERIFIED.  ACCESS GRANTED.

Each photo promptly disappeared, along with the verification request.

Borger turned again to M0ngol, who was watching for his lead.  Taking another deep breath, he leaned forward and returned to his keyboard.  “That was the easy part.”

122

The lead bus bounced and swayed from side to side as it rumbled over the dirt road, headed for the entrance to Dugway.  Several seats back and next to the window, Steve Caesare maintained a solemn, cheerless expression.  Keeping his eyes down, he glanced periodically at the guard standing near the front.

Two more guards stood in the aisle, one in the middle and another at the rear.  Both men held on firmly to the thick chrome bar running overhead, with their free hands resting casually atop holstered guns.

There was no talking or even mumbling that Caesare could hear.  Just the continued roar from the bus’s rear engine, partially masked by the outside crackling of gravel beneath giant rubber tires.

The guard standing near the driver appeared older.  Perhaps in his fifties, he had enough of a gut to suggest he was out of shape but certainly not feeble.  The other two were younger and closer to their prime.

Caesare studied what he could of the vehicle’s layout without attracting attention.  The width of the aisle.  Distance between seats.  And the windows, all of which appeared to be sealed from the outside.

A heavyset man next to him wore a frayed hat and seemed unaware of anything, including his constant bumping against Caesare’s shoulder.  The man, probably in his early sixties with deep brown skin and a dark mustache, remained transfixed, staring lazily forward through the bus’s dirty windshield.  To Caesare, if anything unexpected happened, he would be an obstacle.

A loud squelch sounded over the radio, prompting the driver to examine the radio before pointing at the guard to his right.  A second later, the guard held up a finger to his ear and listened to someone on a hidden headset.

The guard squinted slightly and nodded, speaking a few words.  His eyes ran over the passengers, pausing briefly on Caesare, who remained motionless.

He knew how quickly concern could turn to paranoia.  The common worry that you were the one someone was whispering about.  That you were the one being watched.  It was the same nervousness that people felt when the passing police car suddenly turned around, even if they thought they hadn’t broken any laws.

But observing the guard, Caesare saw no change in demeanor.  No tension or shift in posture.  No unclipping of the strap on his holster.  No glance or signal to the other guards who would have undoubtedly received the same message.

Always remain calm.  Until the signs were obvious.

Fortunately, it appeared whatever the message was had to do with something else.

Caesare relaxed a bit and continued thinking how he would move if he had to.  Where to step and how quickly he could reach the first guard if necessary.  The last place to be was in the middle, partway between them.

The guard at the front glanced again at the rugged man to his right, sitting near the window.  New faces were not uncommon.   This one kept his eyes down yet was furtively glancing at the others around him.

He was clearly nervous.

The feeling of authority inside the bus was palpable.  Intentionally so.   Designed to keep the workers quiet and docile, if not fearful.  A constant reminder that nothing they saw or heard at Dugway was to be repeated.

The new worker at the window looked to be in his forties.  A sloppy appearance, combined with slow-blinking eyes and limited speech, left the guard to conclude that the man was a little slow.  Which suited him just fine.  The dumber they were, the better sheep they made.

***

Things were not much different inside Clay’s bus.  Quiet and subdued, virtually all sound was drowned out by the vehicle noise outside.

Sitting near the back, his situation was no better than Caesare’s, apart from having the aisle.  It provided him a better view down the center and out the front window at the thick dust cloud obscuring all but glimpses of the bus in front of them.

He guessed their speed to be about 35 or 40 miles per hour, which translated to between fifteen and twenty minutes before they reached the first gate to the base.  Precious little time remained for Borger to penetrate further into their systems, even under the diversionary cloak of the DoD’s cyber attack.  They had to not only find what area of the base the women were being held in but also get Clay and Caesare close enough to reach them.  All before anyone noticed the Dugway security systems had been compromised.

As much as Clay hated to admit it, what they were going to need was a miracle.  A near perfect operation where everything went exactly to plan.  Which, unfortunately, never happened.

123

“Crap!”

Borger looked again at the satellite feed, following the buses on their return trip to Dugway.  They’re moving too fast.

He shook his head in frustration.  “I can’t make heads or tails out of these systems!”  He closed one window and opened another, scanning through it.  “It’s as if their naming conventions are all random.  Including the databases.”

M0ngol looked over from his own screen, where a network topology map was beginning to take shape, forming a complex diagram.  One by one, each new system detected was added as a new icon––along with a network address and details appearing adjacent to it.  “They are random,” M0ngol said simply.

“Well, if they are,” Borger retorted, “then that would mean–”  His face instantly froze.  He turned back to M0ngol.  “That would mean…a central repository.”

“Yes.”

Borger’s eyes moved back to his own monitor.  “A central system that keeps track of everything.”  Borger pushed himself sideways, rolling his chair over the thin carpet, stopping in front of M0ngol’s screen.  He studied the network map as it continued to populate, pointing to several devices with his finger.  “It wouldn’t be on this network.  It would have to be on its own.  One that’s more robust, with the most redundancy.”

M0ngol nodded.  “We have seen that before.”  He began typing, changing the parameters of his program.

“So, you have broken into our systems before.”

M0ngol shrugged apprehensively.  “Sorry.”

“Well, I’m sure no one’s going to be surprised.”  Borger sighed as the diagram changed and new sections of a larger network began to appear, each indicated with a symbol representing fiber optic lines.  After several appeared, both men noticed one network attached via multiple fiber optic lines routed through different systems.

“What’s that?”

M0ngol zoomed in.  “This looks stronger.”

Borger grinned.  “Not just stronger.  Reinforced.”  He quickly leaned back, checking the satellite image, then his watch.  “Okay,” he said.  “I think we have our network.  Time to earn your keep, kid.”

124

Debra Borssen shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

The giant frame of the Anvil stood next to her, silently peering through the same thick glass window at the still figure of James Seever.  Sleeping calmly beneath a sheet and blanket, the test subject’s chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“He doesn’t look special to me.”

Anvil gave a barely perceptible shrug.

“That’s what all this is for…him?”

“No one else survives the changes.”

This time Borssen shrugged.  “Have you tried?”

He shook his head.  Then raised his eyebrow at her.

Borssen shook hers as well.  “No one else wants to.”  She continued staring through the glass.  “I knew one of the men who did.  One of the few to actually volunteer.”  She inhaled and then sighed.  “He was tough…really tough.  And died horribly.”

“A friend?”

Her gaze drifted from Seever in the other room to Anvil’s reflection directly in front of her.  His expression was like stone, with deep grooves running down his tanned face.  His brow appeared heavy, almost brooding, but not quite.  “He didn’t die right away,” she said.  “It took several days.  Enough for him to suffer.”

Anvil said nothing.

“And do you know what he told me?” she asked.  “Before he died?”

The huge man shook his head.

“He said he’d finally made peace with it.  Because he knew he had it coming.”

Anvil turned and met the woman’s eyes.

“That’s irony for you.  For us.  Giving up so much.  So godawful much, to do what no one else is willing to.  All for an endgame we’ll never live to see.  And knowing that if we’re successful, no one will even know.  Or care.  Then finally dying, still riddled with guilt.”  Her eyes grew cold.  “How’s that for a job description?”

After a long silence, both focused back on the still figure, and the Anvil replied, “Your ideology is something I don’t share.”

“I know.  You just like the enjoyment of it.”

He didn’t answer.  Instead, he returned the conversation to Seever.  “You don’t like him.”

“No.”

“You know him?”

She nodded.  “Not well, but enough.”  Enough, she mused, to hate the thought of him being the one who would make or break their entire operation.

125

From the first bus, Caesare spotted the entrance to the base just moments before Clay.

Still over a mile out, the outline of the first towering gray fence was unmistakable.  Like a metal fabric running along the southwest border of the Dugway installation.  And it appeared even darker in the distance at the section where the fence angled, doubling back ninety degrees to the northeast.

Several buildings shone brightly from within, towering above the fence and reflecting the early morning sun.  Above them, the rest of the desert basin stretched almost endlessly, eventually reaching a distant ridge comprised of red and orange mountains.  For a moment, Caesare thought he spotted a faint mirage shimmering up from the desert floor.

The temperature was already increasing under the morning sun which gave both Clay and Caesare a fleeting sense of optimism.  Hot weather made most people irritable.  And impatient.  Even those accustomed to the heat, or those working indoors, were still more often susceptible to irritation and distraction.

It wasn’t much, but Clay and Caesare would take any advantage they could find, no matter how slight.  Negligence from perfect routine, boredom, or weather were all exploitable forms of leverage under the right circumstances.  Even small advantages could make a difference, and possibly influence luck itself.  Something both men believed in adamantly.

But admittedly, neither Clay nor Caesare was feeling particularly lucky now.  Or even remotely confident.  Instead, all they could think about were the variables.  How many security personnel were protecting the installation?  What level of training did they have, and what experience?  Where on the base were Neely and Li Na?  Would they be able to reach them?  And just how deep into the systems had Will Borger and their new Chinese friend managed to burrow?

One of the core tenets of Navy SEALs was the importance of controlling as many variables as possible, in any given situation.  To leave as little to chance as humanly possible.  Because if one’s survival fell to chance, it did not always matter how strong or tough they were.  Or even what skills they had.

If there was one thing Clay and Caesare had seen firsthand, time and time again, it was how utterly ruthless luck could be in its indifference.

Now rocking somberly in their seats, Clay and Caesare both knew they were not in control of much at all.

***

Borger and M0ngol repeatedly snuck a peek at the satellite view as all four buses approached the entrance to Dugway.  Both seemed to be typing faster than ever, studying screen after screen of data.

They were almost out of time, having only minutes now to locate Neely and Li Na before it was too late.

“Jesus,” Borger growled.  His fingers in a blur, he typed again and waited for the response.  Finding another list of live video cameras in yet another building, he connected to a number of them and displayed their video feeds in a grid of sixteen frames covering his screen.

Each frame displayed different floors from various angles.  Mounted at ceiling level, all the cameras tilted downward at the same pitch.

Many feeds showed white empty hallways with only an occasional person passing beneath.  Others were in large rooms, appearing to be conference or research areas with small groups of people clustered together.

He closed the video windows and opened another set.  “Anything?!”

“No.”  M0ngol shook his head.  There was nothing in any of the communication logs he’d found.  No mention of either woman’s name, first or last.

Come on already!

Borger suddenly stopped.  “What about medical records?” he said.  “This is a research facility.  They have to have loads of documentation.”

M0ngol nodded without looking up.  “I will try to find.”

The older Borger turned back and examined another group of video feeds.  More of the same.  More floors.  More rooms.  Geez, the place was big.  And almost all underground.

Yet another set of video feeds.  Still nothing.  He could feel his blood pressure rising when he was suddenly taken aback with a terrible thought.  Would he even recognize the women?  In their haste, Borger failed to consider the possibility that the women might not appear as he was expecting.  Were they given new clothes?  Or cleaned up differently?  Would he even recognize their faces?

A sick feeling began to spread through his gut as Borger moved to the list of videos in another building.  He’d been moving so fast from frame to frame…what if he’d already seen the women but not recognized them?  He glanced at the satellite feed again.  One by one, the buses now slowly inched through the main gate.

***

Li Na leaned against the wall, peering nervously at Neely through a sidelong stare.

“Are you still feeling it?” Neely whispered.

Li Na nodded.

“And you’re sure?”

The teenager nodded again.  “Something is happening.”

Li Na’s eyes moved from Neely back to the ceiling where the small black camera lens hung, clearly visible.  Her nod was barely perceptible.

Neely kept her back to both the door and camera while she continued mouthing words.  “But you don’t know what?”

Li Na shook her head.

“Do you know when?”

“Soon.”

Neely frowned.

“How soon?”

“Very soon.”

Neely thought for a moment.  “Are we in danger?”

This time Li Na nodded.

Shoot.  Neely took a deep breath.  She believed the girl.  She didn’t know why, but she did.  If animals could sense impending danger, could Li Na be doing the same?  It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility given the changes her body was undergoing.

Even if she were wrong, it wouldn’t hurt for Neely to be ready.  For anything.  Whether it was now or later, she was going to have to find a way out for both of them.  Before Talbot and her team decided to dissect Li Na.

The thought turned Neely’s stomach.  She was not going to let them hurt this innocent girl.  No matter what.

With that, she softly began turning her head, seeking out anything in the small room…that could be used as a weapon.

Everything was white.  The chairs, the table, the bed and linens, even the tiny bathroom with little more than a toilet and sink.  Everything.  All in an attempt to induce subconscious stress.  Neely inhaled and stopped to think.  There was no free lunch.  Everything had pros and cons.  A yin for every yang.  A vulnerability for every strength.

So, what was the vulnerability in whitewashing the room?  Removing any uniqueness for the eyes to focus on.  Any color.  Any depth.  So it all looked the same.

So it all looked the same.  She repeated the phrase to herself.  Her eyes scanned again, this time trying to observe the room from a different perspective.  She saw the walls, then the bed Li Na was sitting on.  And finally, the stark white floor beneath her own feet.

So it all looked the same.

***

Borger gasped.

He couldn’t believe it.

He stared intently at a small window on his screen, studying two women in a room with a bed.  One was looking up at the camera, although the other had turned away.  The one on the bed looked like a teenage girl.  And she looked Asian.

But he couldn’t be sure.

“M0ngol!” he blurted, grasping a shoulder and nearly pulling the younger man from his chair.  “LOOK!”

M0ngol tumbled onto a knee before looking fervently at the screen.

“Is that her?”

The hacker stared for a long moment.  As one of the people who had been hunting her in China, he had seen hundreds of the girl’s pictures.  But now…he wasn’t sure.

He shook his head slowly.  “It’s too small.”

Borger quickly dropped the other images and allowed the single frame to expand.

There was no question.  It was her.

126

Once through the entrance, Caesare counted ninety-four seconds for his bus to traverse several dust-strewn streets and enter the mouth of a large receiving bay located directly beneath one of Dugway’s largest buildings.

The underground area resembled a massive parking garage, constructed entirely of gray concrete walls and pillars.  Long rows of fluorescent lighting stretched overhead provided an eerie accompaniment to the ambient light from outside.

With a piercing hiss from its brakes, the first bus slowed to a stop, followed by the others.  Pulling up less than a hundred feet from several plain white, open-doored vehicles, they reminded him of trams used in amusement parks.

A larger group of guards dressed in the same light-colored fatigues moved forward.  They grouped in front of each bus as the front doors opened and prepared to accept the workers as they stepped off.

After only a few steps, each laborer was greeted by another scanner for verification, followed immediately by a request to present their government-issued ID card.

Caesare watched the operation briefly through the windows of the bus before being driven forward in line and down the front steps.  He shuffled forward and obediently placed his palm against the scanner, casually glancing at the men surrounding him.  Some workers were older and some younger, but just like those on the bus, all appeared hardened and focused.

The screen under his hand beeped and flashed green simultaneously.  The man to Caesare’s right peered at him expectantly, trying to be helpful.  “ID?”

“Soy nuevo.”

The guard holding the device turned it around and tapped the screen.  “He’s new.”  He glared at Caesare.  “Primer dia?”

“Si.”

The guard nodded and scrolled his screen upward using the tip of his finger.  When he spoke, it was over his shoulder to another guard.  “Custodial.  Building eight.  Level six.”

“Big surprise,” the larger man quipped.  The guard then stepped forward, pawing impatiently at Caesare.  He was trying to push him into line behind several other workers.  “Over there.  On that one.”

Caesare nodded and ambled clumsily forward, eyes down but peering attentively out from under his thick eyebrows.

He eased around and spotted Clay stepping off the second bus.

Clay’s reception was just as orderly and emotionless.  Scanned and thrust forward, he plodded toward the same open-air vehicle Caesare had just climbed into.

Neither man looked at one another when Clay boarded.  Instead, they kept their eyes forward and their seats as far apart as possible.

Nor did either man display any emotion on their bearded faces, even in knowing they had just received their first indirect message from Will Borger.

More than just confirmation that he and M0ngol had finally gained complete access to Dugway’s security system, they had also managed to get Clay and Caesare assigned to the same area with only moments to spare.  Which hopefully meant they had found the women too.

***

Once the tram was full, it pulled forward with an abrupt jerk and carefully circled several concrete pillars. After ascending a ramp, the vehicle headed back out into the glaring sunlight.

Clay and Caesare both began scanning the area, matching the orientation of buildings to their memory of the base’s layout.  They counted vehicles and personnel, while Clay reached down and started the stopwatch on his cheap wristwatch.   One plan was to make it back and commandeer one of the buses once they had returned to ground level.  But it was not their first choice.  A larger vehicle might make it back to the gate, and then through it, given a large enough distraction.  But a lot of things would have to go right.

The tram rounded a corner, and the men spotted a small corner of the base that could be used as one of a few fortified positions if necessary.  The problem was, most positions assumed they would all be together and able to move quickly.  And that meant uninjured.  Potentially a long shot.

Beyond that, those locations were unfortunately only temporary cover at best.  Because once outside and exposed, all security personnel on base would likely converge upon them.  Leaving sixty seconds at the very most to decide on an exit strategy.  Then execute it.

The tram continued its winding path and passed several rows of parked vehicles, some government and some civilian.  Then they turned another corner and headed to what the men suspected was one of the installation’s primary research centers.  Four stories tall and as nondescript as the others, the building towered over several of the smaller structures around it.  One of those was attached to the larger building by a secure and covered second-story walkway.  It quietly stretched over them as they passed beneath it.

After passing below, their tram traveled the length of the larger building.   It then circled behind in a horseshoe and approached a tall metal door, rolled up and open.  For a moment, the darkness inside seemed still.  Waiting and inviting, the entryway was just wide enough to allow the tram to narrowly ease into the building’s receiving area.

The vehicle had barely come to a stop before all the workers surrounding Clay and Caesare stood up and began deboarding––under the watchful eye of several more guards.  Guards who were armed, and who this time immediately eyed the new faces of Clay and Caesare with suspicion.

They moved forward, and both Navy men instinctively noted the guns’ muzzles and behind them, fingers wrapped around each trigger.

One of the guards farther back yelled past the others.  “Which one of you is Olivares?”

Without expression, Clay raised his arm.

“This way.”

He was motioned along in a direction together with several other riders.  Caesare waited, ordered to stay back until the same man returned a couple minutes later.  “You’re Vasquez.”

“Si.”

“Follow them…get inside and grab a cart.  Move!”

“Lo siento.”  Caesare briefly acknowledged the irony of the situation—he wasn’t actually sorry at all.  Being grouped with Clay was one less obstacle they’d need to overcome.  His large frame hustled forward, catching up to the others.  Following them through another open doorway, he found a maintenance room on the other side.  Large and dank, it reeked of cleaning chemicals.  Dozens of square cleaning carts were tucked neatly into the far corner, with each now being pulled out by the other workers.

Less than a minute later, Clay reappeared pushing a large trash bin just as Caesare was stopped by the muzzle tip of a guard’s rifle.  “You,” the man barked at him.  “Grab a cart.  You and Olivares stay with me.”

Both men nodded obediently and pushed their equipment in tandem without acknowledging one another.

“You speak English?” he asked.

Clay motioned with his fingers.  “No much.”

“Figures.  Donde te puedo ver,” the guard said, pointing two fingers to his eyes.  “Where I can see you.  Entender?”

Clay and Caesare nodded again.  Together, with the prompting of their guard, they followed the rest of the crowd toward a large service elevator.

The older SEALs remained quietly behind the others, all of whom were waiting patiently for their turn at the elevator.  Three workers would be joined by one guard each time before the doors closed, descending to their designated floor.

It took over ten minutes and several turns before Clay and Caesare found themselves in front of the scraped and dented elevator doors––along with a small, older woman and her cleaning cart.

Both men remained in character in their slouched positions while still managing to stare directly at the camera mounted overhead as they entered.

Stepping inside, the guard turned and pressed himself into the front corner, motioning for the woman to press the button.  “Seis!”

She complied, and the heavy doors rumbled closed.

127

With an initial jolt, the large elevator began to descend, leaving nothing but silence and a muffled sound from the giant cable above them.

The size of the elevator was roomy by most standards, even for maintenance cars—providing enough space to carry several more passengers and their carts.  Adherence to the three-worker teams was obviously an effort to maintain tighter security.

With nothing around them but battered and marred metal walls, all eyes moved to the overhead display after the elevator began to move.  Then only seconds later, it shuddered and stopped between the second and third floors, followed by a sudden change in direction.  Upward.

“What the–”

The guard was cut off when the car abruptly halted again, this time resuming its descent back down toward floor six.

It was a signal from Borger.  And when it happened again, Clay and Caesare were ready.

***

When the elevator’s doors finally opened on the sixth floor, they revealed the small Mexican woman crouched next to Clay.  She was staring at them in shock, gripping her cart with white knuckles.

The guard was on the floor, unconscious.  His weapon now lay in the hands of Steve Caesare, who withdrew and checked the weapon’s magazine.  Smoothly reinserting it, he tipped the weapon and lowered it gently inside his cart’s thick fabric bag.

The older woman’s eyes were wide with fright.  She was watching as Caesare grabbed the guard by his uniform, dragging him from the elevator into the stairwell just a few feet away.

Clay followed with both cleaning carts before he turned and stepped back into the elevator, taking the woman’s hand and guiding her out.  He backed her gently into a corner of the hallway.  “Quédate aquį,” he said.  Stay here.

The woman stared in stunned silence as Clay reached out and held the stairway door open for Caesare.  His partner bent down, retrieving something from the guard’s belt.  Then he propped the man up, tying his arms through the railings.  Caesare stretched out an arm, accepted a clean towel from Clay’s hand, and tucked it carefully into the guard’s open mouth.

Caesare stood back up and glanced briefly at the frozen woman.  “Should be out of camera view.  At least for now,” he remarked to Clay.  “We’re now on borrowed time.”

128

Dr. Janice Talbot flinched when the door opened behind her and Dr. Rothman stepped in.  Bullman’s pet.

The younger man ignored Talbot, approaching the bed where James Seever was resting.

“How you feeling?”

Seever shrugged.  “Not bad.”

Rothman looked him over before leaning in and examining the man’s left arm.  He jabbed at the appendage with his finger a few times before lifting and studying it more closely.  Adjusting his glasses, Rothman examined the subtle lines in Seever’s skin.  He then withdrew a small instrument from his pocket and pressed sharply.  “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

Rothman nodded and lowered the arm, thoughtfully.

“This one is just the first of multiple applications.  But they’re all the same, so they shouldn’t appear any different to your system.  Genetically speaking.”

“How many applications?”

“Depends,” Rothman explained, “on how much change we see after each application.  The outer layer, the epidermis, shouldn’t change much.  But beneath it, your connective tissues in the dermis should slowly begin to thicken.  How many applications depends on how much thickening occurs and how quickly.”

“So how long until we can use that yellow girl’s super-DNA?”

Rothman registered no recognition of Seever’s derogatory reference.  “Not until we understand whether this edit has an impact on the regeneration rates of your skin cells.”

“You mean how much impact.  We both know it ain’t getting any better.”

“Correct.”

“So, then I say we cut the crap.  Let’s do it before it’s too late.”

“We need to study it first,” replied Talbot.  “The bacterium from the girl is complicated.  We need to be sure of the implications–”

“The implication,” Seever growled, “is that without it, I’m a dead man.  And you know it.”

“It’s not that easy,” Rothman said.  “The turnover times of your cells have slowed considerably.  So before we start, we need to be absolutely sure about what it’s going to do.  There’s no margin of error left.  Something you should appreciate more than anyone.”

“What I appreciate,” Seever responded, “is that once my cells stop replicating, all of this is over.  And not just for me.”

“Which is all the more reason to be careful,” Talbot replied.  “You have an extraordinary system, but you’re not immortal.”

“I don’t care, damn it!  I need to know how much time I have left.”

“We’ll have a better idea once we get the results back from this latest change.”

Seever rolled his eyes and muttered loudly under his breath.  “Idiots!”

Talbot glared at him but said nothing.  The man was an imbecile.  He had no idea how far they had pushed his system already.  No idea what could now be occurring in his body that they weren’t even aware of.  The depth and complexity…and the risk, already set in motion.  He didn’t understand.  And he didn’t care.  He just wanted what he wanted.

What the girl had within her was not just another genetic edit.  It was much more than that.  A living organism that was changing her on an entirely new level.  In ways that were completely unpredictable.  And unprovoked.  Who knew what it would alter and why?

And what inside the human genome would that organism think was broken…and attempt to fix.

129

“I got ‘em.”

Borger zoomed in and watched his men move cautiously down the empty hall.  Clay led in front, pushing a large trash can.  Caesare was in perfect step behind him, both hands on his cleaning cart.

In the hallway, Clay looked up at the camera and motioned his head forward.  They were approaching a second hallway, intersecting less than fifty feet in front of them.

“Where are you, Will?” he mumbled.

Several moments later, each of the keypads on the doors lit up and began to glow.  The effect was a soft illumination that extended forward and continued past the connecting hallway before them.

Clay exhaled quietly and lowered his head.  “Good man.  Okay, we’re going straight.”

***

Less than three hundred feet away, Janice Talbot pushed the door to her private office open and let it close with a clang behind her.  She closed her eyes and pressed two fingers over the bridge of her nose.  That idiot was going to ruin everything.

Years of work.  Dozens of lives sacrificed.  For what?  An arrogant ass with what was arguably the most adaptable human genome she’d ever seen.  And a system even more valuable to the science of genetics than the Henrietta Lacks cell line.  It was as though Seever had been separated from the rest of mankind and touched by the hand of God himself.  If she believed in that sort of thing.

Talbot kept her eyes closed and breathed in deeply.  Maybe things were beginning to get to her.  The seclusion down here and limited interaction was bound to take a toll.  Even for someone like her.

It wasn’t exhaustion.  It was resentment.  Talbot was slowly being left out, sidelined from what was happening between Seever and Rothman––and of course, General Bullman, at the head of it all.  She was the lead scientist, the woman who knew more than anyone on the project, and the person who had gotten them this far.  But now they were keeping her in the dark.  Both about what Rothman was now working on, and Bullman’s plans.

She swiveled in her chair and looked around the office.  Rows of books and papers littered a long table against the wall.  The reams of test results and printouts contained enough genetic data on them that any geneticist in the world could–

She shook her head angrily.  They were idiots.  Men who thought they could just push her out of her own work once she gave them enough.

Who was going to take over, Rothman?  Bullman’s lapdog and the same man who lacked the fundamental ability to understand just how complicated all of this really was?  And now…with the bacterium.  God, if they thought it was complicated before.  Whatever it was those Chinese had extracted from that jungle was about to change everything.  One tiny organism trapped inside the body of a teenage girl–

Talbot stopped again in mid-thought.  The girl held the key to everything.  And of course, the Lawton woman…irreplaceable.  She was the one who probably understood what was happening to Li Na more than anyone.

These were two individuals she could absolutely not let go of.  That the government could not afford to lose.  Ever.

Talbot looked up at the blank monitor in front of her.  She leaned forward and wiggled the mouse to wake her computer.  When the screen flickered to life, she reopened a window and scrolled down a short list of video feeds.  She selected the one from Li Na’s room and clicked to open it.

It took only seconds for her face to reflect a feeling of bewilderment, her eyes searching the video and inducing a sudden stab in her chest.  Something was wrong.  Talbot leaned in and searched the screen more carefully.

The two women were gone!

130

Clay and Caesare slowed without warning when two men exited a room ahead of them, crossing the hall.  The men momentarily glanced in their direction with puzzled expressions.

Clay kept his head down and reached for the first door handle he could.  To his relief, it was unlocked.

Two researchers turned from their desks when he stepped in.  Both watched him search the room for a trash can before finding it and muttering excusa under his breath.

He emptied it into the larger can and returned the small metal basket inside.  When he closed the door behind him, he found Caesare on the other side of the hall, standing in the doorway to what appeared to be an empty break room.

He disappeared inside, leaving Clay to catch the door behind him.  Pushing it wider, he found Caesare in front of a water cooler, wrapping his arms around the five-gallon jug and jerking it from the top of the stand.   Water splashed over the floor as he flipped it right side up.

“Get the others!”

Clay didn’t hesitate.  Instantly, he was inside grabbing two more unopened containers from the floor, exiting as soon as Caesare pushed the door open again.

Clay looked up and down the hall before dropping the bottles into his large garbage can with heavy thuds.

It took them less than thirty seconds to swipe all six bottles.

“What are they doing?” asked M0ngol.

Borger didn’t know, made clear from the baffled expression on his face.  He merely watched with curiosity as both men continued pushing their carts down the hall as if nothing had happened.

Borger’s eyes switched screens upon noticing movement in another feed.  Janice Talbot could be seen jumping from her chair and racing to her office door, where she threw it open and quickly disappeared.

In an adjacent feed of the same hallway, her wide figure reappeared.  Then she turned and darted away from the camera, running toward Li Na’s room.

Borger switched views just in time to see Talbot reach Li Na’s door and punch in her security code.  The woman immediately grabbed the door and flung it open, staring wide-eyed into the room.

In a panic, Talbot stepped back out, frantically searching up and down the hallway.  When she spotted the small plastic cover, she rushed over and threw it upwards, yanking down hard on the red emergency handle.

The alarm sounded immediately.

“Crap,” Borger sighed.

Beneath red flashing lights, Talbot sprinted back to Li Na’s room and punched her code in again, this time disappearing inside.

“Get that alarm turned off!”

“I am trying.”  M0ngol’s fingers were moving like lightning.  He entered a command and quickly read down the long list of text returned.  He tried another and another, searching for the correct parameter.

Borger’s eyes returned to the video in Li Na’s room where Talbot stood, clearly dumbfounded.  But her perplexed state lasted only seconds.

What she had not seen the first time wasn’t just the missing women, but also the absence of a bedspread.  One which was virtually the same shade of white as the walls and floor.  So close, in fact, that her peripheral vision did not register anything behind the door.  And certainly not the bedspread hanging seemingly in midair, covering both Neely and Li Na from head to foot.

Neely was not expecting the camouflage to last.  She only needed the door to open wide enough for Li Na to grab it from the other side.  And for Neely to lunge out from under the fabric with her full body weight behind her.  Which knocked Talbot completely off her feet and she fell face first onto the white linoleum.

The older woman hit the floor with an agonizing thud.  Where she turned clumsily to see Neely standing over her with Li Na behind her, holding the door open.

The look on Neely’s face could be summed up as one of deep satisfaction.

“The alarm is off!”

“Good!” Borger shouted.  “Now lock ‘em!”

M0ngol nodded and typed the command they had been waiting for.  When entered, the command raced through the computer system and out via the building’s connected security system––resulting in a series of loud clunks echoing from every door on the sixth floor, almost simultaneously.

131

“We have a problem.”

CIA Director Andrew Hayes rose from his desk chair, gripping the phone tightly in his right hand.  “Now what?”

“It’s the attack,” Matt Millican said.  “From the DoD.”

“And?”

“It’s more than just an attack,” he replied.  “There’s something else going on.”

“Like what?”

“Like a diversion.”

“A diversion?  From what?”

“From another breach.  Someone snaked into the system while we were fighting the first intrusion.  They came in from another network.”

“For what?  What are they after?”

Millican shook his head, gazing up at a giant overhead monitor.  Its screen was filled with a maze of computer connections extending in all directions.  One connection out of thousands was flashing in red, tunneling in from the outer edge of the display.  “It’s not what they’re after, sir.  It’s where.”

“Fine.  Where?”

“They’ve tunneled into Dugway.  And breached their internal systems.”

Hayes’ eyes widened.  “Dugway?!”

One of Millican’s technicians stood up and waved both hands at him.  When he looked up from his call, another pointed urgently at their screen.  Millican strode forward and squinted.

“That’s not all.  We have an alarm that just sounded in one of the research installations.  Sixth floor.”

“Son of a bitch!” growled Hayes.  “It’s them!  They’re inside!  Kill their connection!”

Millican immediately motioned to his tech, making a slicing motion across his neck.  The technician nodded, dropped back into his chair, and began typing.  After several seconds, he frowned and studied the output on the screen.

Again, he typed.  And waited.  The same error repeated itself.  He turned back to Millican, nervously.  “It’s not working.  I can’t terminate the thread.”

“Try upstream!”

The technician whirled back around.  Again, he got the same result.  “They’ve taken control of the network!”

Millican mouthed an expletive and brought the phone back to his mouth.  “We can’t kill the connection, sir.”

“What do you mean you can’t kill it?”

“They have control of Dugway’s network.  It’ll take time, but we can–”

“ARE YOU KIDDING?!  WE DON’T HAVE TIME!” screamed Hayes.  “Cut them off!  However you have to do it, just shut the damn thing down!”

132

They were in the worst possible location.

Defensively, a hallway provided absolutely zero protection.  No cover, no possibility of retreat, and nowhere to break to––except through a nearby doorway, if possible.  But now, without warning, those doors could all be heard locking themselves on both sides.  All the way down the hall.  Moments after, an alarm sounded overhead and then was silenced.

Both men looked at each other.

“I think whatever surprise we had is over.”

Caesare nodded.  “We got farther than I thought.”

Clay looked forward, past another intersection, to the overhead lights at the far end of the hall.  They were flashing on and off in some sort of pattern.  It was Morse Code.

F-A-S-T

The men took off running as fast as they could, with their carts still in front of them.

“Why are they–?”  This time it was Borger.  He sat, completely dumbfounded, watching them race forward through the hallway.  He raised his hands and shouted at his monitor.  “Leave the friggin’ carts!”

***

Both women had now escaped Li Na’s room but looking up and down the hall in both directions, they were surprised to find it empty.  Neely rushed to a door on the other side and tried the handle.  Locked.

She ran to another.  Also locked.  Then frantically, a third.  They were all locked!

Hurriedly, she motioned to Li Na.  “Come on!”  She darted down the hall before glancing back and realizing that Li Na hadn’t moved.  “LI NA, COME ON!”

As if sensing something else, the teenager shook her head.  She remained motionless for a moment and turned, breathing in deeply through her nose.

“Not that way,” she said, instead pointing behind her.  “This way.”

***

Rothman had just withdrawn a syringe from Seever’s arm when he heard the door’s deadbolt engage behind him.  Curiously, he twisted his head and found no one there.  He then raised an eyebrow and glanced at Seever.

“What was that?”  Seever eyed the door before reaching down and lifting the sheet off himself.  Sliding his muscular legs over the edge of the bed, he stood up.  The floor’s surface was cool under his bare feet.

Still holding the needle, Rothman watched his subject cross the room and wrap his hand around the door handle.  It turned, but the door didn’t budge.

He looked back around suspiciously.  “What’s going on?”

Rothman simply shrugged.

Seever lowered his gaze.  “What the hell are you doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

Seever’s words began to slow, in an accusatory tone.  “I’m not stupid.  You’re locking me in.”

“No.”

The soldier started to approach Rothman with a look of distrust in his eyes.  “You and that bitch are in on something.”

Rothman lowered the syringe to his side and took a small step backward.  “No.  No, we’re not.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rothman’s expression changed from confusion to unease.  “I’m not lying to you.  I don’t know what’s going on.”  He moved across the room to the giant one-way window and pounded with his fist.  “Hey!  Hey!”

There was no answer.

Seever continued following him.  “Tell me,” he flared.  “Or so help me…”

“Wait!  Listen to me!  I’m telling you, nothing is going on.  The door got locked by accident.”  Rothman raised his voice as the soldier crept closer.  “This is not what you think!  I’m telling you, it’s an accident!”  He backed away and moved toward the door, where he began waving at the camera.  “Hey!  Hey!  Unlock the door!  UNLOCK THE DOOR!”

***

Janice Talbot stumbled into the hallway and spotted both women near the end, just before they disappeared around a corner.

They were trying to escape!

She looked up, wondering why the alarm had gone silent, and staggered back to the red box on the wall.  She yanked the lever back up and then down again, hard.  Nothing happened.  She tried again.

The alarm did not reactivate.

Talbot immediately ran to the closest door, her lab, and punched in her code.  The door did not unlock.  She repeated the numbers.  Still nothing.

Frustrated, she raised her fists and began pounding.  “Somebody open up!” she screamed.  “They’re escaping!”

***

Rothman had now become somewhat frantic.  Both hands were raised helplessly.  “Listen to me.  Listen to me!”

Seever was well within reach but suddenly stopped when they heard the sound of someone yelling in the hallway.

A breathless Rothman latched on to the opportunity.  “Something’s wrong.  I told you.  There’s something going on out there!”

Seever closed in on the door to listen, but not before raising an arm and pushing Rothman out of his way.  Whoever was out there was coming closer, now pounding loudly on the nearby doors.  Then the yelling disappeared.

“Something’s wrong,” Rothman repeated.

“Shut up,” hissed Seever.  He leaned in and placed his ear against the surface.  He then suddenly jerked it back when the pounding returned, on the door in front of him.

“Are you in there?!” screamed Talbot’s voice.

“Yes!  What’s going on?!”

“I don’t know,” she replied, muffled through the door.  “Nothing’s working, and the women are escaping!”

“Unlock the door!” Seever yelled back.

He could hear her fingers hitting the lock on the other side.  “It won’t work!” she cried.  “They’re all frozen!”

Seever fumed, looking around the room.  His eyes fell onto Rothman.  “Try your code.”

The doctor rushed forward and complied.  There was no change.

Seever pushed him back again and examined the door’s handle, followed by the keypad, and finally the metal door itself along with its frame.  He motioned at Rothman to back away before angrily raising both arms in front of his chest, flexing them, and balling his hands tightly into fists.  He then looked down and slowly wrapped both hands firmly around the handle.

Talbot jumped back when she heard a sudden bang from the other side and saw the entire door frame shift.  A few seconds later, it happened again.  The noise sounded louder and this time, the frame split along the top edge.

Then again.  With a deafening pitch, a giant crack erupted, causing the metal frame to fracture into two sections.  The next jolt tore the door completely away as the frame twisted and bowed inward, tearing huge chunks of the wall away with it.

Through the gaping hole, she could see Seever’s face.

133

Clay and Caesare could hear footsteps behind them.…and distant yelling in front of them.

Borger’s overhead light was still flashing, but someone was approaching from the intersecting hallway behind them.

Both men slowed to a stop and hesitated, listening.  The steps were fast.  Whoever it was, they were running.  And closing quickly.

Not more than thirty feet ahead, past the flashing lights, was a right turn in the hall.  If they could make it there first, they’d have cover.  If not, they might be shot in the back trying.

Unfortunately, their decision was made for them.  From beyond the turn ahead, they could hear more footsteps approaching.  And more shouting.

Both men were stuck.

“Not a good place to be,” Caesare breathed, leaning forward and quickly withdrawing the rifle from the bulging bag in front of him.

Clay angled both carts together for cover and looked from behind while Caesare knelt onto one knee between them.

“You take whatever’s coming around that corner,” he said, lowering the gun.  “I’ll take these.”

Clay turned toward the end of the hall, before taking a deep breath.  It was an easy decision, for both of them.

Caesare was a better shot.

134

“More guards coming from the other floors,” Borger shouted.  “Lock the stairwells!”

M0ngol was already ahead of him.  The heavier locks were engaged in all sixth-floor stairwells even before Borger finished his sentence.

He was now jumping from video feed to video feed.  Angle to angle.  Searching for a way out.  The service elevator was moving, but unfortunately that meant more guards were likely coming down.

From what he could see, one stairwell still appeared empty.  But it was at the far end of the floor.  He went back to the hallways, trying to find an open path to get there.  The bigger problem was trying to communicate it.

From the floor plan, they could see overhead speakers in the ceiling every fifty feet or so.  But they all appeared to be wired together, which meant any sound or messages would be heard by everyone.

Borger stopped on another video showing three men advancing on Clay and Caesare’s position.  All appeared armed.  He switched back to the stairwell to make sure it was still empty…and the video suddenly froze.

Borger’s eyes widened as he switched to another camera.  It was also frozen.  Then another.  To his right, M0ngol abruptly stopped typing and peered at his screen.  He tried typing again and paused, slowly lifting his hands.  The system was unresponsive.  He tried clicking other windows on his screen but still got nothing.

He then looked at Borger uneasily.  “I think we lost connection.”

Borger’s face immediately became pale.  “Oh…God.”

***

It was the only thing Millican’s team could do to stop it.  They cut everything.  Not just to the computers and the network, but the power itself.  Everything.

Plunging the entire Dugway installation into virtual darkness.

135

Clay was in mid-stride, sprinting to reach the turn, when the lights went out.

He made it to within several feet of the turn when the gunfire erupted and immediately threw himself to the floor, sliding hard over the cold linoleum.  He managed to twist and get one hand out just before his boots slammed forcefully against the far wall.  Bullets zipped overhead, pelting the walls around him and sending Clay scrambling around the corner, out of the line of fire.

He heard Caesare returning fire and stood up in the darkness, probing forward along the wall, looking for an exit.  Without warning, he was instantly knocked backward by the impact of someone else colliding with him at full speed.

He hit the floor, his attacker stumbling and falling directly on top of him, just as surprised and screaming over the gunshot blasts.

He struggled to grab the person’s flailing limbs in an effort to push them off, when the halls began to brighten again.  A dim red hue now emanated from the building’s emergency lighting.

Above Clay and silhouetted by the red lights, the figure of a woman, almost in a panic, was attempting to extricate herself from him.  Behind her, a second silhouette could be seen clawing to try to help the woman off.

More shots erupted, with several hitting the walls just a few feet overhead, dusting them with fragments of drywall and paint.  Clay finally found one of the woman’s arms and twisted, forcing her body over the top of him and directly into the side wall.

It was then, through the gunfire and the yelling, that Clay heard something completely unexpected.  The sound of his own name.

John Clay was a name Li Na would never forget.  Neither his name nor his voice, even his smell.  Which is exactly what she had sensed when she and Neely escaped from the room at the other end of the long zig-zagging hallway.  It was not until they approached the corner, rushing with their hands along the walls that she realized how close Clay was.

Now, as Li Na clamored weakly to get Neely off and away from the shooting, she tried in desperation to tell her friend who it was on the floor.  Desperation was quickly overwhelmed by the emotional elation that John Clay had come for her.

“It is him!” she screamed again at Neely.  “It is John Clay!”

Beneath her, Clay froze for a moment before realizing who he was looking at.  First, the thin frame of Li Na standing over them, and then Neely to his side, hair strewn over her face as her flailing began to slow.

He could not see her eyes but could hear the trepidation in Neely’s voice.  “J-john?!”

His feelings were a mix of fear and relief.  “Get back!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet and pushing them into a retreat.  “Out of the way!”

Neither woman needed convincing.  The bursts of gunfire abruptly disappeared as they stumbled back, no more shots or debris exploding from the walls.  Nothing.  Only the ringing left in their ears.

“What the–”

“Shhh!” Clay silenced her.  “Stay down.  And stay quiet!”  He pushed Li Na to the floor, where his hands quickly searched both women.  “Are either of you hurt?”

“No.  No, we’re fine!  How in the world–” Neely’s voice suddenly gasped in a whisper.  “My God, are you with Steve?”

“Yes,” he offered brusquely.

“You found them!”

All three turned to see Caesare standing and peering down at them, his rifle’s muzzle raised toward the ceiling.  “How’d you do that?”

Neely immediately leaped to her feet and threw herself into Caesare’s free arm.  The embrace was tight and emotional for only an instant before Neely jumped back.  His body was soaked.  “You’re bleeding!”

“It’s not blood.  It’s water.”

She stared at his darkened face, confused.  “Water?”

“Slows down bullets.”  He looked at Clay.  “How in the hell did you find them?”

“I didn’t.”

Neely shook her head, still reeling.  “How did you guys get in here?”

“A wing and a prayer,” Caesare replied.  He watched Clay pull Li Na up from the floor before glancing back around the corner.  “But getting out…may be a problem.”

Clay moved forward but was stopped by Li Na’s hand, gripping him tightly.  He turned and found her staring nervously at him with glistening eyes, and trembling.

His lips spread into a handsome grin and he wrapped his arms around her.  “It’s okay,” he whispered.  “We’re here.  But we have to move fast.”

The girl took several seconds to let go, fumbling for the right words.  “You…came for me.”

“Of course, I did,” he replied.  He then looked at Neely.  “You okay?  We hit pretty hard.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.  We’re here, which is the good news.  The bad news is that we don’t exactly have an exit plan.  Except the elevator, which is now probably our worst choice.”

“And the power’s out, so Borger’s probably cut off,” Caesare added.

“Borger is here too?”

“In a manner of speaking.  Or at least he was.”

***

The Anvil stared down at the three men on the floor, his face expressionless under the red glow overhead.  He studied each lifeless figure, twisted and motionless.

Borssen quickly approached, stopping behind his massive frame as she spotted the bodies.  “What’s happening?”

“Rescue attempt.”

She stared in disbelief.  “That’s impossible.”

The Anvil shrugged and inched forward until he came close enough to peer around the corner ahead of him, exposing only a slice of his face and left ear.

The hallway was mostly empty, the only exception being what appeared to be two carts at the far end.  One upright and the other on its side.

“What do you see?”

Anvil shook his head.  “Janitors’ carts.”  He squinted and spotted movement beyond them, just enough of something to catch his eye.  A figure stepped cautiously out from the far corner and pressed themselves flat against the wall.

It was a large figure.  A man.  Dressed in something Anvil couldn’t recognize.  But the movement was careful.  And smooth.

The dark figure promptly stopped, spotting the exposed portion of Anvil’s face.  He could then be seen slowly lowering himself and raising his gun at the same time.

Anvil couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man was motioning with his right hand to someone behind him.

At the opposite end of the long hall, Caesare’s signal was crystal clear.  Back up!

Clay and the women retreated farther around the corner, followed almost immediately by Caesare.

“We have company.”

“How many?” Clay asked.

Caesare slid one eye past the edge.  “Not sure.  But someone’s peeking out at us from down there.”

Something in the man’s movement looked familiar to Anvil.  Something about his size and build, and the way he carried himself.  Muscular but smooth.  His jet-black hair.

He’d seen the man before.  Recently.

Anvil’s powerful, placid jaw broke into a wry grin that Borssen could not see.  “I should have guessed.”

“Guessed what?”

He didn’t answer.  Instead, the giant man carefully stepped out and took two steps into the middle of the hall.  With that, he raised his arms and held up the semi-automatic gun in his right hand.

“Seriously…” Caesare let his voice trail off before shaking his head.  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What?”

Caesare tilted his head back toward Clay.  “It’s him.  The one from Trinidad.  The one who took them.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.  “With his description?  Yeah.”

“Wonderful.”

“That’s not all.  I’m down to just a few rounds.  But this guy looks like he could take all three.  And then some.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s standing in the middle of the hall.  And…he just dropped his gun.  Deliberately.”

“What?”

“Yep.  Dropped it.”  Caesare twisted all the way around to face Clay.  “He’s calling us out.”

“He can’t possibly know who we are.”

Caesare turned and peered back down the hall.  “I have a feeling he does.”

“How many are with him?”

“I only see him.”

Neely looked at Caesare, then Clay.  “The one that took us is big.  Really big.”

Caesare nodded.  “Then that’s him.”

“And strong,” Neely added.

“Yeah.”  Caesare glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned.  “But is he Italian?”

“I’m not joking!”

“I know.”  Caesare handed his rifle to Clay.  “But he also happens to be standing between us and the way out.”

“Then shoot him!”

“We will if we have to.  But that means using what’s left of our ammo.  I was hoping the guard we took this from would have more magazines.”  He looked at Clay.  “If this guy wants some mano a mano, I’ll give it to him.”

Neely’s eyes widened.  “What?  Are you kidding?!”

He frowned and put his hands on Neely’s shoulders.  “Better now than before his friends show up.”

“So you’re going to go out and fight him?!”

He snuck a look over her shoulder at Clay.  “Not exactly.”

Anvil came to a halt when Caesare stepped out into the hallway.  It was definitely him.

Although a clever ruse with the beard and old clothing, Anvil wondered how they’d managed to get past some of the CIA’s best computer security.  He’d done his share of tactical infiltration, but nothing compared to what they had just accomplished, leaving Anvil with a brief sense of admiration.  SEALs were some of the best out there, but they couldn’t walk through walls.  So how’d they do it?

They had to have found a weakness.  Anvil wondered if he would have found it.

The man in front of him was Steve Caesare, ex-SEAL and one of the men he and his team had been bird-dogging from the rooftop of the motel in Trinidad.

They had spent several days, patiently waiting for an opportunity where Borssen could call them in.  For what Anvil considered a near-perfect extraction of the woman and the Chinese teenager.  Which also left him wondering just how Caesare and Clay managed to find them so quickly.

In his line of work, Anvil’s adversaries had run the gamut from highly competent to near worthless.  And these two were at the top of the first list.  Refreshingly so, Anvil thought.  Getting a piece of each would make for impressive trophies.

Moving forward down the hall, Anvil allowed himself to smirk with anticipation.  Clearly, they had managed to take a rifle from one of the guards.  But each maintenance guard carried only one magazine, and with the exchange he’d just heard, they were no doubt low on ammo now.  And they wouldn’t be stupid enough to use it all up on him unless they had no other choice.  And there was nothing he loved more than killing with his bare hands.

He studied the approaching Caesare and brought one fist down at a time, cracking his knuckles.

Neely was almost beside herself.  “My God!  What does he think he’s doing?”

Behind her, a surprisingly calm John Clay double-checked the rounds in his magazine and slapped it back in.  Remaining close to Li Na, he answered Neely with a question.  “Anyone else in the hall yet?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Good?” she retorted.  “If it’s so good, why does Steve have to duke it out with that…monster?”

Clay shrugged offhandedly, with his head still down, now checking his weapon’s chamber.  “It’s not a cockfight.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“We’re here to get you two out.”  Clay raised the weapon and winked at her.  “And Steve is about to clear a path for us.”

Caesare moved smoothly toward Anvil, finally getting close enough for a good look at the man.  “And I thought the guys at the motel were exaggerating.”

Anvil replied with a raise of his eyebrow.

Now within twenty feet, Caesare smiled through his beard.  “Ever play any football?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Caesare suddenly exploded into a run, charging the surly-faced Anvil.  His muscles coursing, he covered the distance in less than two seconds.

136

Neely couldn’t help but flinch when she saw the two men collide in the hall, like two charging bulls smashing into each other at full speed.  No, not bulls…like two locomotives.

Clay brushed past her.  “Get ready to run.”  He reached the edge of the wall, peering out.

Then something sounded behind them.

It was a gasp.  From Li Na.  Followed by his name.  Her voice shuddering in a Chinese accent.

He turned to find her facing away from him, looking back down the other section of hall from the way she and Neely had come.

“What is it?”

“Someone is coming,” she whispered.

He watched Li Na back up, her eyes boring straight ahead, and Clay noticed a faint reflection on the wall, perhaps thirty feet away.  A moment later, a figure stepped around the opposite corner and stopped.

“Who is that?”

“Oh, God.  It’s him.”

“Who’s him?”

Neely shook her head.  “We have to go.  Now!”

“Who is it?”

“His name is Seever.  Their pet project,” she said grabbing his arm.  “We have to go!”

***

It was like running into a brick wall.

Caesare’s own weight and momentum all came to an abrupt stop when he hit Anvil, barely moving the man’s massive frame backward.  But backward he did move, stumbling briefly to regain his balance before wrapping two massive arms around Caesare.  Throwing him to the floor, the behemoth slammed the SEAL into the hard linoleum.

There was barely enough time to stand before Anvil was on top of him again.  A pair of giant arms crashing down momentarily stunned Caesare, but then he launched himself back into Anvil like a piledriver.

Forty feet behind him, Clay stepped in front of Li Na.  Raising his carbine, he captured Seever in his sights, who was approaching them quickly.

“Stop,” Clay growled, “or I’ll put you down.  Right here.”

The man coming down the hall slowed at the sight of the rifle.  He focused past the barrel, onto Clay’s partially hidden face.  Then he moved to the gun’s barrel and trigger guard just below it, where Clay’s index finger was waiting.

“Now…back up!”

Seever didn’t move.  Instead, he remained still.  And said nothing.  Giving no indication of his intentions.

When he reacted, it was sudden, and in the same second, Clay fired.

But all they saw was a blur.  Even Clay was surprised to find Seever still standing, several feet from where he had been.  He immediately fired again, targeting the man’s chest, but missed.

“Jesus,” he murmured.  “What the hell is that?”

“Genetic engineering.”

Seever smiled under his intense gaze and raised a hand, smashing it into the wall next to him––sending an explosion of plaster chunks to the floor.

“Okay,” Clay declared, stepping back.  “You’re right.  Time to run.”

The shots were heard just as the Anvil slammed Caesare into the wall and let him fall, leaving the Italian writhing and rolling both eyes.

This was not a good plan.  The man was like a wrecking ball with arms.  Powerful, and fast.  And almost immovable, even for someone Caesare’s size.  It was not something he was used to.

He barely saw the Anvil’s hands double up before they smashed again into Caesare’s chest and jaw, ripping the inside of his mouth and releasing a stream of fresh blood.   Followed immediately by a powerful kick, Caesare felt the full force into his injured ribs.

He slid backward, struggling to distance himself.  My God, the bastard was strong.

Caesare pushed himself against the wall, allowing just enough time to get onto one knee.  Then he spotted Clay and both women rounding the corner toward him…and running like hell.

It was a fleeting image before the Anvil rushed forward and smashed into him again, knocking Caesare into the opposite wall with a painful thud.

The older SEAL rolled his eyes and tried to back up once more, but instead he stumbled and fell.  He made an attempt to stand, but it was too late.  The Anvil was already charging again.

Raising an arm to protect himself, a single thought emerged in Caesare’s dazed brain.  He rolled onto both knees and pulled one leg in, watching the giant mass bearing down on him.  The volume of muscle and power was hard to imagine in a single man.  But he was a man with the same design weaknesses as everyone else.  If he couldn’t compete with the man’s size, he had to go for structure.  Or in this case, joints.

With one leg cocked nearly to his chest, Caesare exploded with everything he had in a single explosive kick, thrusting his boot out and directly into the Anvil’s incoming right knee.

His momentum too hard to stop in time, the deep thunderous crack was sickening and suddenly inverted the knee as if it were bending in reverse.

The hulking man suddenly buckled, howling in pain as he twisted and collapsed directly on top of Caesare, flattening him against the floor.

The Anvil’s howl turned to fury, and he rose and smashed his arm fiercely into Caesare’s back, again and again.  Each time, he drove the blows deeper between the man’s shoulder blades.  When he saw his own misshapen leg, he raged even more uncontrollably, instantly reaching down and grabbing a handful of Caesare’s thick hair.

With erupting anger, he pulled Caesare’s head off the floor and cocked his right hand into an iron fist.

It was then that John Clay fired his last bullet.  Ripping through the Anvil’s arm and shoulder, the impact threw him forward.  Clay leaped in midstride and flew into the Anvil from behind.

137

It was Clay’s shot that severed the brachial artery and half of the Anvil’s median nerve, destroying all mobility below the man’s right shoulder.  Coupled with a smashed knee, the combination of injuries left the giant man struggling to turn and find Caesare.

In an instant, Clay was on him, circling behind and wrapping his forearm around the Anvil’s throat.  His other arm gripped up and over the back of the man’s massive neck like a vise.

Clay clenched his teeth and squeezed, trying to maintain his hold while the Anvil bucked wildly beneath him.  He clenched and pressed harder, with every ounce of strength he had, desperate to compress the Anvil’s carotid arteries.  But the sheer amount of muscle in the giant’s neck made it almost impossible to reach them, even the jugular.

Clay refused to let up.  He continued squeezing, ratcheting the Anvil deeper into his own chest, forcing the man’s head to one side, until he could feel a throbbing pulse through his forearm.  There, he held it unflinching, until the Anvil’s movements began to slow.

Seconds felt like minutes before ischemia set in, eventually slowing the Anvil to a crawl and dropping his hands to his sides.

When the man became still, Clay rolled his eyes in relief and pushed him forward onto the floor.  He crawled toward Caesare, and with a heavy shove, pushed his friend onto his side to check his eyes.

Blood seeped from his lips as Caesare stared back at Clay in a daze.  “That,” he said, “…was not a good plan.”

Clay nodded.  “I say the old plan is the new plan.”

“You mean just get the hell out of here.”

“Exactly–” Clay began to grin when his mouth and lips suddenly froze at the feel of a gun barrel being pressed firmly against the side of his temple.  His eyes looked at Caesare, who was not moving either, and stared fearfully up into the face of Debra Borssen.

Standing over them, she snarled and eased back carefully out of range, keeping her gun pointed directly at Clay’s head.  She glanced down at the Anvil’s slumped figure in disbelief.

“It’s over,” her voice seethed.  “For both of you.  This is as far as you go.”

Borssen aimed her gun and reached for the trigger, when she was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered in another gun.  She spun to see Neely Lawton facing her––arms outstretched and gripping the Anvil’s semi-automatic .45 tightly between both hands.

“Then you’re going with them,” Neely said coldly.

Borssen moved only her eyes, from the gun in Neely’s hand to her face, studying the woman inquisitively.  And after several seconds, the corners of the agent’s mouth began to turn up.

“I don’t think so,” she said.  “You won’t do it.  You, Neely Lawton, are not the killing type.”

When Neely didn’t respond, her smile widened.  “And it would mean killing me.  Here.  In cold blood.”

Again, there was only silence.

“I know you, Neely.  And people like you.  You’re a researcher.  A doctor.  Not a killer.  You don’t have the instinct.  It’s not in you to take another life.  Not like this.  Because you’re better than this.”  Borssen looked directly into her eyes.  “That’s right.  You save lives, you don’t take them.”

Neely remained quiet, keeping the gun on Borssen without the slightest fluctuation.  Even as Li Na, standing a few feet away, watched the figure of Seever slowly approaching behind them.

“He’s coming,” the girl whispered nervously.

“Don’t believe me?” Borssen said.  “Then go ahead.  Shoot.  Shoot and prove me wrong.  Show them that you’re not different.  That deep down, deep deep down, you’re really just…like…me.”

Neely’s eyes flared behind the gun.

From the floor, Caesare shook his head.  “Don’t do it, Neely.”

There was no reaction.

“Neely,” he repeated firmly.

Her eyes eventually glanced at him before immediately jumping back to Borssen.

Caesare pushed himself up with one hand.  “Remember what I told you.  It’s not worth it.”

Borssen remained still, carefully watching as Neely began to move, inching forward while keeping the gun leveled directly at her.

Caesare’s expression grew concerned.  “Neely?”

When Neely finally spoke, her words were cold and aimed at Borssen.  “I have just one question.  What happened to Kanna and Tiewater?”

Borssen’s eyes blinked at the question.

Behind Neely, Li Na’s voice whispered again.  “He’s getting closer.”

Neely took another step.  “I said…what happened to Kanna and Tiewater?!”

All smugness in Borssen’s expression was gone, replaced with a look of uncertainty.  But still, defiantly, gave no reply.

Neely raised her voice.  “Steven?”

She couldn’t see him staring back at her from the floor.

“STEVEN!” she shouted.

“Yes?”

“What happened to them?”

Caesare’s eyes moved hesitantly to Clay, then back to Borssen.  “Neely…listen to me.”

Her voice grew cold and angry.  “Tell me!  Tell me right now…are they alive?”

Caesare stared at her and let out a reluctant sigh.  “No.”

The moment he answered, two flashes exploded from the gun in Neely Lawton’s hands.

138

“NEELY!” screamed Li Na.

Borssen jerked from the impact of both bullets, her eyes wide.  Her body momentarily froze in place before it began to collapse.  Her hand rose in one last reflex but was caught in midair by John Clay, who stripped away the gun.  He then whirled in tandem with Neely to find Seever now rushing toward them, stopped only at the sight of both guns.

From less than fifteen feet away, Neely’s voice was like ice.  “You’re not bulletproof.  That I know.”

***

Seever was knocked unconscious with a powerful swing from Clay’s gun.  As was the slowly recovering Anvil, who tumbled face first again back onto the hard floor.

Caesare stood up and wiped a thick streak of blood from his mouth, before stepping over the Anvil and carefully approaching Neely.

“You okay?”

She looked at the others, then lowered her gaze to Borssen’s body.  “She’s wrong.  I am different.  But some nightmares…are worth it.”

139

They were out of time.

With Li Na’s help, it took less than two minutes to find the first stairwell.  The door was locked and had to be opened the hard way, with several rounds disintegrating the door frame.  Once through, she stopped and waited, listening.

Distant footsteps and yelling could be heard on each level, and in what they assumed was Borger’s doing, the locked doors forced the guards coming from above to search for alternate ways down.  Eventually several guards had reached the same conclusion as Clay and Caesare.  They began shooting door locks, trying to reach the floor from which the alarm had sounded.

At each level, Li Na paused and listened to ensure the path up was still safe.  At one point, Li Na motioned for the group to remain still while a guard ran down a hallway and past their stairwell.  Five floors later, they had almost reached the top with surprisingly little interference.  In the back of his mind, Clay sensed the irony that Dugway’s maze of hallways and stairs had actually turned luck in their favor.

Until someone entered the stairwell several floors below and could be heard carefully ascending.

Together, they all four reached the final exit, where Li Na stopped again.  She placed her hand on the door and quickly studied the concrete wall around it.

“This goes outside.”  She turned to Clay.  “There is something bad waiting.”

“How bad?”

“People,” she said.  “Waiting for us.”

“Do you know how many?”

“I’m not sure.”

Clay and Caesare looked at each other somberly.  It was the moment of truth.

140

When the phone rang, Admiral Langford briefly glanced across the table before answering.  Defense Secretary Miller sat across from him in his high-backed chair, staring silently.

On the second ring, Langford reached forward and released the button.

“Go ahead.”

“Admiral, I have Will Borger on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

A faint click was heard on the line before Langford spoke.  “Borger, you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the word?”

Both men could hear the trepidation in Borger’s sigh.  “Unsuccessful, sir.  They managed to locate the women, but the CIA locked us out before we could finish.”

“Casualties?” asked Miller.

“No, sir.”

“Where are they now?”

“They made it back to the surface.”

On his computer monitor, Borger stared at a high-resolution satellite view of the Dugway installation, zoomed in on the building Clay and Caesare had gone into.  The resolution was clear enough to now show Clay, Caesare, and both women standing outside, surrounded by dozens of armed soldiers.  They comprised most if not all, Borger assumed, of the base’s available security––all positioned in a half circle with their guns drawn.

From the overhead view, Borger could see Clay and the others with hands raised above their heads.

“They’re outside the building, surrounded.”

Miller spoke calmly.  “You’re sure they have both women?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Okay.”  Langford reached out and ended the call.

Miller exhaled and glared back at Langford, who was also leaning back in his chair, pensively.

“We knew it was a long shot.”

“We did.”

“And they almost made it.”

Langford nodded.

“I guess we have no choice now.”

“Time to come clean.”

“You sure got yourself a hell of a team there, Jim.”

Langford smiled.  “Yes.  We do.”

141

It was known as the Rolls Royce of its industry.  Called Gurkha, the company made some of the most exquisite cigars on the planet––hand-rolled with 18-year tobacco and enhanced with the premium and very rare Louis XIII Cognac.  The cigars were known as His Majesty’s Reserve and sold for over $15,000 a box.  Boxes of which only a hundred were produced each year and were personally allotted by the company’s own president, a man of extreme wealth, and deep connections.

Even better than the cigars themselves, was the unique aroma they produced, with a delectable hint of chocolate within the smoke as it hung exquisitely in the air.  Slowly drifting down, it was disturbed again by another slow exhale from the CIA Director’s lips.

Deputy Ambrose opened the door and stepped in, smiling at Hayes who was sitting in his office chair.  The man was wearing a deep look of satisfaction and relishing not only the delicious aroma but his moment of sweet and utter victory.

“Anything yet?” Ambrose asked.

Hayes shook his head, eyeing the lingering smoke swirl in front of him.  “No.  But it’s coming.”

“You’re sure?”

“Without a doubt.”

Without looking up, Hayes reached for a large photograph on his desk and flicked it forward.  The aerial view of one of Dugway’s buildings captured dozens of figures standing outside.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Yep.”

Ambrose studied the figures closer.  “Where did you get this?”

The director grinned smugly.

His phone suddenly buzzed and Hayes eyed it coolly, reaching out calmly and accepting the call.

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, I have a call from Defense Secretary Miller.”

Hayes glanced at Ambrose.  “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what is it about?”

“He didn’t say.”

Hayes feigned a frown.  “Then ask him.”

“Yes, sir.  One moment.”

The room fell silent for several seconds until his secretary’s voice returned.  “He only says that it’s an urgent matter.”

“An urgent matter,” Hayes repeated sarcastically, leaning his head back on the chair.  “Sounds important.”

When his secretary didn’t reply, the director grinned.  “Count to thirty, then put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ambrose, who had seated himself in front of the desk, sneered along with him.  “You may be enjoying this a little too much.”

“Impossible.”

Hayes inhaled deeply and blew out another stream of smoke, watching the trails twist and swirl around each other.  “What are you doing this weekend?”

Ambrose appeared surprised by the question.  “I’ll be here.  Going through what Millican’s team weeds out.  You?”

“I don’t know yet.  Something big.  Maybe something…celebratory.”

“I would hope so.”

They were interrupted again by Hayes’ secretary.  “Sir, I’m putting him through now.”

Hayes swiveled his chair toward the phone.  “Hello?”

“Hello, Andy.  It’s Merl Miller.”

Hayes grinned mockingly.  “First names.  To what do I owe the pleasure, Merl.”

He could almost hear Miller swallow his pride on the other end.

“We have a…situation.”

“Sounds serious.  What sort of situation.”

“Something tells me you already know.”

“Merl,” Hayes replied.  “The CIA has a lot of situations.  I’m afraid I’ll need a little more than that.”

Miller’s answer was short.  “Dugway.”

“Ah, Dugway,” he replied.  “Let’s see, the last time we spoke, it was about your helicopter full of Navy SEALs, sitting on a tarmac in Salt Lake City.”  Hayes' voice became serious.  “Or…maybe this has to do with two of your men…captured inside my base.  While trying to take what belongs to me.”

Miller frowned at the phone in front of him.  “They’re people, Hayes.  Not property.  It’s not the 1800s.”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, dryly.  “But they’re still mine.”

“Yours.”

“Yes,” Hayes said.  “My property.  This position, this post, has been entrusted to me.  By the loyal and trusting citizens of this country.  Trust that actually stands for something.  A concept you don’t seem to understand.    But to me, it’s responsibility, honor, a duty, that I’ve been given to uphold and protect.  In the face of all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

“We’re not your enemy, Hayes.  You know that.”

“Do I?  Then why else would you try to sneak your men in to take something I was trying to protect?  For the betterment of this country.”

“The same way you snuck into our hospital?  I think our definitions of betterment differ considerably.”

Hayes shrugged and took another puff.  “That may be the only thing we agree on.”

Staring across the table at Langford, Miller sighed.  “Hayes, we want our people.  We’re prepared to negotiate.”

“Negotiate?  Negotiate with what?  You broke into the CIA’s private systems, illegally, as a means of disguising a much deeper and more malicious offense.  Does any of that sound like leverage to you?”

There was a long pause from Miller, repulsed at the thought of having to bargain with the man.  The bastard had kidnapped the women after killing two of his own.  “What do you want, Hayes?”

The director displayed a dark grin.  “What do I want?  Well, now that’s an interesting question.  The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.  A reference I trust someone your age can still remember.”

There was no answer.

“What I want,” Hayes breathed, “is to see you and Langford in jail.”

Miller and Langford remained staring at each other, quietly.

“Is that all?”

“No,” Hayes replied, ignoring Miller’s sarcasm.  “You will also turn over every last piece of information on your secrets.  The plants, the ship, your IMIS computer system, everything!”

“And in turn?”

“In turn, your people get to live.  Steve Caesare, Neely Lawton, the Wei girl, everyone…goes free.  Everyone except John Clay.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Langford leaned forward.  “What do you want with Clay?”

“Ah, Admiral Langford.  I should have known you’d be on the call.  And what I want with him is none of your business.  But you have my word, he will be given back…eventually.”

Langford was about to tell Hayes where to go when Miller’s hand stopped him.

“We already have him,” Hayes declared.  “And I can assure you he will not set foot outside my base until I decide.”  He picked up the photograph on his desk and looked at it again.  “Assuming he doesn’t do anything stupid.  Of course, we’ll have to come up with new terms if he does and ends up dead.”

Miller stared at Langford for a long time.  “Give us a minute to talk.”

He reached out and put the call on hold.  Miller then pushed another button on the phone’s display.  “Borger, are you still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do we have?”

“More than enough.  I’m texting some of them to you now.”

142

When Miller’s voice returned, Hayes was examining the tip of what was left of his cigar and still savoring the smell.  Nothing could have been more satisfying than this moment.

“You there?”

“I am.”

Miller sighed.  “We’ll give you what you want, but we’re not handing over Clay.”

“Oh, but you already have.”

“If you want what we have, then he comes back with the others.”

An amused Hayes took a deep breath and thought it over.  Even without Miller and Langford coming clean about what they knew, he already had enough to bury them under a congressional investigation.  And with Clay in his possession, he was sure he would get a lot more.  Even if it took some forceful persuading.  Not to mention what else Millican and his cyber team would turn up.

Hayes eventually shook his head.  “No.  I think I’ll keep him.”

“It’s not an option,” Miller retorted, causing the CIA director to almost laugh in response.

“Is that right?”

“We know what you want, Hayes.  And we know why you want it.  This isn’t about Langford, or me.  If we face charges, then so be it.  But the responsibility is ours.  Not the others, and especially not Clay.  If you really want to know everything, they have to be safe.  From everyone, especially you.  Let them walk, including Clay, and we have a deal.”

“Then there’s no deal,” Hayes replied.  “You keep whatever secrets you think you still have.  They’ll all come out anyway.  Until then, enjoy the time you have left to spend with your families.  And your attorneys.”

“Hayes,” Miller said hesitantly.

The director reached for the phone.  “Goodbye, Merl.”

“Wait.”

“I’ll give Clay your regards.”

“WAIT!”

Hayes’ finger stopped an inch from the button.

“Maybe…there’s another option.”

The CIA director glanced smugly at his deputy, Ambrose.  “Such as?”

Miller sighed.  “Something else.”

Hayes leaned back in his chair, listening.

“This isn’t the way things used to be,” Miller’s voice trailed.  “It’s not what the CIA used to be.  Or its people.  People like Bill Casey and Bob Gates.  Both of whom I knew well.  Men who understood the importance of doing what was right.  Even over politics.”

A petulant Hayes smirked.  “The world has changed.”

Secretary Miller stared over the table at Langford.  “Maybe your priorities have.  But not everyone’s.  Not everyone is like you.  Just like the rest of the government, the CIA is still filled with good people.  Hardworking people, who joined out of a sense of duty.  To protect our country, and to do the right thing.  People of integrity and honesty.”  Miller paused, thinking.

“It’s the head of the snake that leads it astray.  Not the body.  In every department, every agency, it is the leaders who dictated the culture.”

“Get to the point.  Before I start tearing up.”

“This is on you, Hayes.  You alone.  I know what the CIA used to be.  When it was led by honorable men.  Men of principle.  And I remember the words etched into that marble wall in your lobby.  Do you?”

Hayes’ voice grew cold.  “Enough.  Either give me something else, or I hang up.”

Miller looked at Langford, who sat listening closely, expressionless and unmoving.  “Okay.  Here is something else,” he said.  “How about Benghazi?”

“What?”

“I said, how about Benghazi?”

There was a pause before Hayes replied.  “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No. I don’t.”

Miller shrugged. “Then how about Cobalt?”

Another pause.

“What is Cobalt?”

Miller smiled at his phone, sarcastically.  “I suppose that’s a surprise to you.  As is Operation Arab Spring, no doubt.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“Scare you?  No,” Miller said.  “Warn you?  Yes.”

In his office, the smug look on Hayes’ face had faded.  It was replaced by a look of concern as he peered intently at Ambrose, who was doing the same to him.

“Warn me of what, exactly?”

“That I’m not the only one who’s going to need a lawyer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say,” Miller explained, “that the attack on your systems was not merely a diversion.”

“It was a diversion.  Which is how you got into Dugway.”

“It also allowed us to get into Dugway.”

Hayes’ dark eyes suddenly hardened.  “Bullshit.”

“What your own team is about to discover, if they haven’t already, is that a rather large data dump was stolen directly from your internal servers.  One that includes every document and every email you have ever written.  Or signed.  Or were copied on.  Every communiqué in the CIA with your name on it.  Including hundreds of secreted projects whose details have still not been fully disclosed.  Like Benghazi, Cobalt, and many others.  Projects you either created or had a personal hand in executing.  Tens of thousands of documents, all copied from your servers, while your cyber teams attempted to trace each of our connections down.  You wouldn’t believe how much we got before you had no choice but to shut everything down in Dugway.”

The color in Hayes’ face slowly began to drain.  “I don’t believe you.”

“Whether you believe me or not is not my problem.  You’re going to find out soon enough that you’re not the only one with something valuable.”

Miller’s voice had barely finished his sentence before the phone in Ambrose’s pocket chimed, and he immediately fished it out.  Hayes muted the call while his deputy read a message on the small screen.  When he finished, Ambrose looked at Hayes nervously.

“It’s from Millican.”

143

It was not as much of a long shot as it might have seemed.  Yes, getting through security and into Dugway was nerve-wracking, but the key had been overwhelming the CIA’s system with a massive attack from the DoD’s own cyber teams.  Something that would take time to deal with and divert attention from what else was happening.  An attack whose primary target was not the systems themselves, but in the end, something far more reliable––human egotism.

But it was still a gamble.  A gamble in finding the women and making it back to the surface alive.   Then surrendering without being gunned down on the spot in cold blood.  Human behavior and arrogance were reliable…yet only to a point.

Standing in the hot sun, while surrounded by dozens of soldiers, it was Li Na who heard it first.  Not just the distant thumping of rotor blades from the Boeing CH-47F Chinook helicopter.  Even before that, there was something more.  For Li Na, a buzz, or a feeling, preceded the sound long before the others heard anything or saw the chopper once it appeared on the horizon.

A feeling that went beyond the mechanical, to something much more human.  Something emotional, deep in the hearts of dozens of SEALs geared up and fully armed, coming to retrieve their fellow frogmen.

144

Thousands of miles away and several hours later, DeeAnn Draper was also standing in the hot sun, surrounded by complete seclusion.

“It’s okay, Dulce.  Just go slow.”

The gorilla heard the translation emanate from DeeAnn Draper’s vest but continued studying the surface with large nervous eyes.

Me scare.

“You don’t have to be scared.  It’s just water.”

Dulce took another tentative step forward and suddenly panicked when her black foot slipped on a slick rock.  The petite gorilla immediately backed herself up.

“Easy.  It’s okay.”

DeeAnn’s vest was behind Dulce, resting on a fallen tree trunk.  It had been positioned carefully, allowing its camera to capture both of them at the edge of a large pond.  DeeAnn already stood in the water up to her waist.

Dulce, who was perched precariously on a large boulder only feet from DeeAnn’s outstretched hands, crept forward again cautiously.

Really, DeeAnn thought to herself.  This from the little gorilla who climbs almost everything she’s not supposed to––the tents, the roof of the truck, the steering wheel, even trees barely tall enough to hold her.

She couldn’t help but chuckle when Dulce lowered her head and studied the gentle ripples of water with fascination.

Me swim.

“Yes.  You wanted to swim.”  DeeAnn relaxed and folded her arms, happily waiting.  She glanced at a log at the water’s edge to notice Dexter, the smaller capuchin monkey, still observing and not the least bit interested in joining.

Behind Dexter, a lush green forest, thick with short trees and shrubs, surrounded the pond on three sides.  The fourth faced a steep hill, rising over fifty feet before flattening––eventually climbing again to reach another plateau in the distance.

To DeeAnn’s right was a small stream, trickling in through a gentle white turbulence, which fed the large watering hole she was standing in.   A beautiful oasis, providing a much-needed break from the long hot days, as long as they didn’t drink from it.

Waterborne pathogens were rampant in Africa, due primarily to unsafe water sources and unhygienic practices throughout much of the continent.  And Ethiopia was no exception.  One of the oldest in the world and named from the Greek words aitho and ops, the country’s name meant “burnt face,” as the ancient Greeks believed that the sun which fell on Ethiopia created its vast deserts and little water.  Their original ancestors were evidently unaware that Ethiopia was home to one of the longest rivers in the world.

It was also a country of deep historical significance, being one of the few mentioned consistently in the Bible, the Koran, Homer’s Odyssey, and dozens of other religious texts.  And, ironically, was also home to the famed missing link, Lucy, discovered in 1974––the hominin discovery that radically changed modern theories on human evolution.

Genetically speaking, it was as much Dulce’s birthplace as it was DeeAnn’s since humans and apes had lived together for millions of years before the inevitable divergence of the species.

Yet despite its questionable hygiene and extreme poverty, Ethiopia remained one of the most beautiful places DeeAnn had ever seen.  With deep colorful canyons on one side of the country and vast stretches of green earth on the other, it provided a very different feel from the heavily foliaged mountains of Rwanda.

DeeAnn burst out laughing when Dulce took another tentative step too far, lost her footing from the log’s slick surface, and tumbled like a ball into the water.  Her head was up instantly, grasping with desperate hands and flailing to keep her mouth above the water.

DeeAnn couldn’t suppress her laughter as she pushed forward through the water, reaching down to pluck out the small panic-ridden gorilla.  The experience would not have been nearly as funny if the water had been more than eighteen inches deep.

“Easy.  Easy,” she said reassuringly, lifting Dulce up and onto her shoulder.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  I’m right here.”

She felt Dulce’s hands clamber up her back and intertwine beneath her chin, making DeeAnn feel like she was wearing a large, scared bonnet.

“You’re all talk, you know that?”

Water cold.

“Well, when it’s this hot out...”  With sloshing shoes, DeeAnn trudged forward and exited the water, setting Dulce back down on dry ground.  She turned around and took in the scene, beautiful and remote.

She still did not like being here for multiple reasons, but she had to come.  Especially to Ethiopia.  The trip was a done deal after what they discovered in Rwanda––a second vault, hidden in the mountains, storing millions of samples of alien DNA.  Positioned near the other side of the planet from Guyana, Will Borger believed its placement to be an act of careful planning.

The discovery was staggering in its significance, particularly to DeeAnn.  Like the vault found in South America, this too had eventually eroded over time––enough to allow a tiny leak from one of the alien storage columns to make its way into the underground springs.  And impacting all sorts of things.  Including the very progress of human evolution itself, and even our historic deviation from the apes.

The whole idea was nothing short of earth-shattering.  So profoundly significant to any number of sciences that at times, DeeAnn found it hard to take in.  Primarily because it was not just humans who appeared to have been affected.  So had dolphins, from the same mysterious compound leaking from the alien ship itself, not far from the dolphin’s secret breeding grounds, according to Alison.

DeeAnn paused when a thought hit her.  Of course, it was no coincidence that their breeding ground was located near the ship.  Nor was the dolphin’s annual pilgrimage back to it.  The ship had most likely been leaking for thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands.  Just like the vaults.  Long enough to influence the dolphin’s evolution, which meant their breeding ground was there because of the influence of the ship.  Not in spite of it.

It was all so incredible, yet the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit perfectly—including the reason DeeAnn could not leave Africa.  At least not yet.

She glanced down when Dulce tapped her leg with long dark fingers, then pointed back at the water.

More swim.

“I think your definition of swim needs some adjustment.”

This time DeeAnn was fully expecting the erroneous beep from the vest before she heard it.  When the translation failed, she didn’t even flinch.  Instead, the researcher checked her watch and shook her head at Dulce.  “We have to go.”

Almost on cue, a group of nearby bushes rattled, and the short figure of Ronin stepped out into the clearing.  Wearing a loose tan shirt, he addressed them from beneath a pink, slightly-sunburned scalp.

“Our time has expired, DeeAnn Draper.”

145

The Jeep was thoroughly caked in dust, now colored a light shade of tan instead of the original faded-green underneath.  The old vehicle looked as though it had been driven to the edge of the Earth and back, but still refused to quit.  With cracked upholstery, a dusty dashboard, and a subtle but strange knocking somewhere inside the engine, DeeAnn was just happy for the working air-conditioner––continually pumping out cool air to stave off the brutal heat outside.  All in all, she was convinced the stubborn old vehicle had been made by the Energizer Bunny.

They sure didn’t make them like that anymore.

Bouncing over the empty two-lane dirt road, DeeAnn noticed an unusual silence from Ronin sitting next to her.  In the beginning, he had been fascinated by their trip, at both the huge expanses of green valleys and cloudless blue skies above that seemed to stretch forever.   These sights had moved him deeply, providing glimpses of what his own planet once looked like––a mosaic of life, now only available for him to experience on Earth.

But over the last few days, the landscape had gradually changed, with the lush mountains and hills of Rwanda eventually replaced by the barren and dry deserts of Kenya and Ethiopia.  Some green life remained but was now scattered in patches, tucked into small crevices over the distant brown horizon.

“Are you okay?” DeeAnn asked.

Ronin did not reply.

Angling around a large hole in the road, she turned and peered at him.  “Some people say the desert has a beauty all its own.”

He nodded.  “It is a beautiful planet.”

“It is.”

“There is so much green everywhere.  So much life, it is…astonishing.”

“Except here,” she acknowledged, adding a satisfied grin at his correct use of the word astonishing.  “We’re not too far from the Sahara Desert.  The largest low-altitude desert on the planet, stretching from one side of the continent to the other.”

“This,” he said sadly of the desolation surrounding them, “is more like my planet.  Today.”

DeeAnn shrugged.  “This all used to be green too.”

Ronin looked at her.

“It’s true.  A few thousand years ago, the entire Sahara was grassland.  Millions of square miles.  Green then brown, and then green again.  In something like a 15,000-year climate cycle.”

An interested Ronin continued gazing at her before returning to the view out his side window.

“Kind of changes the way you look at it, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps there is still hope for my own planet.”

“It’s strange.  So much life has come from this area of our world.  And now it looks like this.  But it’s all part of one giant cycle.  A planetary cycle that outlives us all.”  She glanced over.  “Makes me feel pretty insignificant sometimes.”

Ronin nodded kindly.  “It is to be savored, DeeAnn Draper.”

She smiled.  For some reason he always called her by her full name.  She spotted another small patch of green in the distance, a sign of a nearby river or stream.  “There’s something truly magical about the color green.”

“Our scientists say we have a genetic relationship with it, embedded from the planet as it once was.”

DeeAnn nodded.  “Some of our researchers suggest the same thing.  We have an innate predisposition to green and blue.  The colors of life.  Both on land and sea.”

Ronin watched an odd rock outcropping pass slowly to his right.  “Now our attraction is to brown.”

“What do you mean?”

“For my people, brown reminds us that even without our green hills, both our planet and we are still here.  And there is still hope.”

DeeAnn’s voice lowered.  “Wow.”

“You do not have to be sorry, DeeAnn Draper.  It is not your fault.  It is simply the state of our world.  It is like the saying of your people.  Life continues to change.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “I think you mean, life goes on.”

“Yes, that is it.  Life goes on.”

DeeAnn continued driving, occasionally checking the mirror to see Dulce and the top of Dexter’s head in the back seat.  All at once, an unexpected thought came to her and she began slowing the car.

Ronin looked down curiously, then up at the dash.  “Is there a problem with our vehicle?”

“I have an idea.”

DeeAnn pulled to a stop and looked out as their own dust cloud swirled past them.  She grabbed the handle of the door and looked at Ronin.  “Time for you to drive.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on.  You said you don’t drive on your planet.”

Ronin tilted his head.  “That is not correct.  I said, our vehicles do not require a driver.”

“Same thing.”  She pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The stifling air immediately enveloped DeeAnn like a blanket, prompting her to move around the back of the Jeep quickly.  Once there, she yanked the passenger door open.

“DeeAnn Draper, I do not–”

“Come on,” she said, laughing as she pulled at him.  “It’ll be fun.”

Ronin stepped out and circled hesitantly around the front, where he stopped and remained standing outside her door.  “Come on!  Just get in and close the door.  You’re letting the cool air out.”

Oh, lovely, she thought to herself.  What a perfect rendition of my mother.

Ronin climbed in and eased the door closed next to him.  He glanced apprehensively at DeeAnn before placing his hands on the wheel.

“Don’t worry,” she winked.  “You’re in luck.  It’s an automatic.”

“Automatic?”

“Never mind.  Just look at your feet.  The right pedal is to accelerate.  The left is to stop.”  She grinned sarcastically.  “And this big thing in front of you is to make it go left and right.”

Ronin shot her a disparaging glance.  “You are making fun of me.”

“A little.  Now just put it in gear, down to the D, using this shifter right here.”  DeeAnn reached behind herself, retrieving and buckling her seatbelt for the first time in days.

“You are securing your safety harness.”

“It’s something you do when you’re nervous.”

Clearly enjoying herself, DeeAnn watched Ronin with a wide grin, at the same time failing to notice what was happening in the back seat.

Behind them, both primates were watching the human exchange with curiosity––although Dexter displayed a much deeper level of interest.  Standing over Ronin’s shoulder, the capuchin observed carefully when the other male entered their moving box from the other side.  He continued watching attentively as the man moved into the seat and began touching things.  He looked down and up again.  When his hands were placed on the round object in front, their box began moving again.  This time more slowly.

The small capuchin remained still, in rapt fascination, sure that the man had just learned how to work the box.  Dexter leaned his head in between the seats and noted that the man’s legs did not appear to be moving.  Only his hands.

146

“We are near our destination, yes?”

DeeAnn nodded.  “We are.”  She noted a small round thatched hut through her side window as they passed.   A frail old woman was sitting outside, the ground in front of her littered with dozens of yellow vegetables.  Next to the hut, two faded tire marks led up a gentle hill through wild brush––zigzagging toward an aged and worn stone structure near the top.

She let her mind wander, trying to imagine when it was built and what it was for.  And by whom?  She wondered what their story was, what their lives were like.  And what sorts of things those families worried about.

“It is growing warmer.”

“It is,” she nodded, glancing back down at the tablet screen in her hands.  “We’re not far from the Danakil Depression.”

Ronin looked at her.

“It’s the junction of three different tectonic plates.  Caused by the Asian and African continents drifting away from each other.”

“I do not understand most of what you said.”

DeeAnn laughed.  “It doesn’t matter.  The reason it’s so hot here is because the Danakil Depression is also the lowest spot on the surface of our planet.  And where Lucy was found.”

“Who is Lucy?”

“One of the most important,” DeeAnn paused, thinking of the right word, “ancestors of our race.  At least that we’ve found so far.  A very early ancestor.”

“I see,” Ronin replied, his hands still tightly grasping the steering wheel.  DeeAnn glanced over to see the speedometer at less than thirty kilometers per hour.

“We are going to where this person was found?”

“Not exactly.  But close.  There is another site nearby.  With a much more recent discovery.  There’ve been a lot of discoveries in this area over the years, known as the Cradle of the Hominids.  It’s where many different ancestors and species have been found.  Some part of our own genetic line and other parts of different lines.  Different branches of human evolution.”  She peered out through the window.  “Where we are going is to a site where a new branch was discovered.  One that’s never been seen before.”

“And you will find your answers with this new branch?”

“I hope so.”

***

It was called Hudet.  The small town lay near the even smaller meandering Fudalhi River in the Western Gharri region of Southern Ethiopia.  A single white rectangular sign mounted on two steel poles, spanning the dirt road, acted as the sole ambassador welcoming them to the village.

Beyond the sign were dozens of dwellings scattered across the flat plain, gradually increasing in numbers until they reached the town itself.

Cars and houses lined the dirt road on both sides, accompanied by dozens and dozens of midsize, green trees in all directions.  Then came the businesses.  Single story and built from sheet metal or stone, the structures were bustling with locals, most dressed in surprisingly modern and colorful clothing.

Ahead, in the heart of the small town, children played under the shade of a wide acacia tree.  Old and tall, its flattened canopy stretched out and over part of the road as they drove beneath.

A few blocks farther, they pulled into a dirt lot next to a faded store and unexpectedly lurched forward when Ronin brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop.  The maneuver received a look of concern from DeeAnn.

“It seems I need more practice.”

“I’ll say.”  She reached down to pick her things up off the floor when something caught DeeAnn’s eye.

It was her IMIS vest, still positioned in front of the gear selector and facing backward so the camera could see and translate Dulce’s words.  But DeeAnn had turned down the volume while she and Ronin were talking, forgetting to turn it back up.

What caught her attention was that the light on the vest was still on.  And blinking.

She turned around to observe both primates making a multitude of sounds to one another.  Dulce’s softer grunting and Dexter’s higher-pitched squeaks were generating a rattling that DeeAnn had apparently been tuning out.

What surprised her was not merely the flashing of the light on her vest.  In the new version given to her by Lee Kenwood, the light was both a power and activity indicator, flashing when language was being translated.  But what was odd at the moment was the color of the flashing light.

The light normally displayed blue when the IMIS translations were happening.  Then occasionally the light changed to red when the system encountered an error.  However now, while DeeAnn examined the vest, the red light was constantly blinking. And it was doing so not just when Dulce was making sounds but during Dexter’s squeaks as well.

DeeAnn reached out to increase the volume on the vest.  The red blinking continued and was accompanied by a consistent barrage of sharp tones from the vest’s speaker.  The same tone she’d heard many times before when translations were unsuccessful.

Her jaw slowly began to open.  Something new was happening.

IMIS was recording errors not just when Dulce was speaking, but now Dexter as well.  But Dexter’s speech was so different it had never registered through the vest before!

DeeAnn let out a silent gasp.

Seemingly beyond just hearing the capuchin’s speech now, the vest was actually trying to translate Dexter’s words.

147

Directions to the site were easier than she expected.  With a single mention of the words Homo Naledi, the store owner smiled from ear to ear, revealing several missing teeth and explaining in deeply broken English where to find it.  It seemed the humble town of Hudet had received dozens of visitors over the last several months due to the find, giving the place an exciting but temporary buzz of notoriety.

Now several miles out of town, Ronin dutifully navigated what had become little more than a dirt trail, winding up the slope of a long ridge and looking down upon the shallow valley below.  There, the Fudalhi River could be seen, lined by trees and winding like a snake far into the distance.

In the passenger’s seat, DeeAnn absently watched the side of the road pass, caught in deep contemplation.

Something had happened with IMIS.  Or at least with the computer code integrated into its vest.  But how?  Lee said the data on the vest was only a subset of the data on the servers.  And processing power of the vest was much more limited, making the discovery of new words almost impossible.  So how could IMIS have suddenly begun hearing Dexter?  How could it now hear the capuchin’s squeaks without the processing power of the larger servers?  Unless…the system had already picked up on some of the sounds before.

It didn’t make any sense.  At least not to DeeAnn, who understood technology as well as…well, any average person really.  At least these days.

She shook herself out of it as they crested the top of the ridge and found another shorter path leading still higher, for several hundred more yards.

“It appears this is as far as the vehicle will reach.”

“Yes, it does.”

When they came to another lurching stop, she spun around and faced the two in the back seat.  Dulce widened her eyes and looked out the window excitedly.

Here?

DeeAnn chuckled.  “Yes.  We’re here.”

We go.  We see.

Together she and Ronin climbed out and opened the rear doors, allowing both primates to leap out eagerly onto the dry hard ground.

DeeAnn began strapping on her vest.  “At least they weren’t asking how much farther the whole time.”

Ronin glanced at her with curiosity.

“Never mind.  It’s a joke.”

She walked to the back of the Jeep and lifted the tailgate, packed full of their gear.  She then reached in and retrieved two bottles of water.  “Who’s thirsty?”

There was no reply on her vest, but Dulce reached eagerly for a bottle as soon as DeeAnn unscrewed the top.

A gorilla drinking from a bottle, or a cup for that matter, was a rather entertaining sight.  Most might expect most of the water to spill, running down the gorillia’s black-skinned chest.  But DeeAnn knew better.  Instead, she watched the small creature sip with a surprising level of dexterity.  However, Dulce’s small over puckered lips still made it funny, as did Dexter’s.

DeeAnn handed the other bottle to Ronin and retrieved a third, tucking it into her back pocket.  “Shall we?”

***

The climb was steep and heavily strewn with sharp rocks and boulders, leaving a landscape that reminded DeeAnn of something straight out of a planet Mars movie.

Her biggest concern was for Dulce and Dexter, but both animals appeared to amble along without any difficulty.

The sweltering arid breeze strengthened as they neared the top, kicking up a veil of dust that enveloped them in a swirling orange cloud, prompting DeeAnn to cover her mouth.  But the entrance to the archeological dig site was still visible.

A large rounded hump marked the very top of the hill, and below it, a jagged hole clearly identified the entrance––although covered by a makeshift frame, and surrounded by several wooden pylons wrapped in yellow tape.

As they approached, they saw dozens of wooden boxes stacked to the left side, containing what appeared to be various digging and excavation supplies.

When they reached the entrance, DeeAnn pulled open the rickety framed door with her free hand, glancing cautiously inside.  After a glance at Ronin followed by a quick shrug, she lowered her head and gingerly stepped inside.

***

Dank and earthy were the first two words that came to mind as DeeAnn surveyed the small dig site, only about ten by twelve feet.  The uneven ground had been mapped out carefully in squares, using wooden borders and crisscrossing strings.  Most of the excavation appeared to be taking place in the center sections.

She looked down when she felt Dulce’s arm wrap around the inside of her thigh.

“You okay?”

The small gorilla stared at the site with a look of nervousness.

Dark.

“It is dark,” DeeAnn nodded.  After Ronin stepped in and closed the door, the place became almost black, prompting her to reach into her pocket. Retrieving her phone, she quickly switched on its bright LED light, while behind her, Ronin used some sort of device on his arm as another light source.

It was a tight cavern, barely five feet at its highest, but then descending farther down into the hill.  Narrowing through several large boulders, it soon disappeared into blackness.

The ceiling and walls were all solid rock with the open space seemingly having been created by someone chipping away thousands of larger pieces overhead.

“There is no one here,” Ronin said.

DeeAnn checked her watch.  “It’s almost evening.  I’m guessing whoever was here has closed things up for the day.”

She stepped forward, carefully lowering her foot over the intersecting strings and into one of the undisturbed boxed sections.  When she got close enough to the broken ground, she leaned in and hovered over the site.

“Wow.”  She glanced at Ronin.  “Several skeletal remains here.  More than in the articles I read.”  She knelt down and studied the area.  “Looks like they’ve made some progress.”

DeeAnn looked at Dulce and Dexter, who together were examining small items laid out carefully to the side.

“Don’t touch those.”

Both animals looked up at her quizzically and eased back a step.

“You said these remains were special.”

“They are,” she answered.  “These are just like the species found in South Africa.  But older.”  DeeAnn gently blew some dirt off one of the larger bones still waiting to be extracted.  “What’s different about this species is that unlike every other hominin we’ve found, this group appeared to be burying its own dead.”

“Are you certain?”

DeeAnn nodded again.  “Come here.”  She held her phone up higher to illuminate a wider area.  “Look.  The skeletons are abnormally close to each other and aligned straight.  Which means they were laid here, purposefully.  And the researchers said they haven’t found any evidence of claw or tooth marks, ruling them out as victims of being hunted or eaten by animals.  Nor have they found any other types of remains.  So, it wasn’t just a pile of bodies either.”

“And this is telling you something?”

“In a manner of speaking.”  DeeAnn then rose and looked at Ronin from behind the bright light, displaying a faint crooked smile on her face.  “But it’s only part of why we’re here.”

She scanned the rocky walls, looking carefully for something.  “The pictures in the articles also showed several drawings in the cave.”  DeeAnn spotted one and stepped closer with her light.  “Like this one.”

Curious, Ronin stepped in and examined the shapes, all drawn in crimson red paint.

“What is it?”

DeeAnn stepped away without responding, still searching.

“Unfortunately, the articles I read all used the same pictures.  And they weren’t taken in very good light.  So I only had a few to study.  There was one picture that showed only a partial drawing…”

She paused on another set of shapes and scrutinized them carefully.  Then moved on.

“And if what I think was in that drawing was–”

She suddenly stopped.

DeeAnn brought the light in close and took in what she saw, letting out a slight gasp.

“That is from the picture?”

She nodded excitedly and quickly turned her camera around to snap a photo.  Then another.

“This is the one they put in the article!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?”

DeeAnn studied the picture on her phone and zoomed in, providing a clearer display than looking at the rock itself.  She flipped it around to show Ronin.  “You tell me.”

The short man stared for several long seconds.  “People?”

“Yes.  People.  These stick figures, here in the middle.  But I think there’s something more important here,” she said, pointing.  “The larger objects on both sides of the hominins.”

“They appear to be larger versions.”

“Not quite.  These don’t have any hands.  It looks more like an animal that would walk on four legs, not two.  And look at the heads.”

“They have big ears.”

“Exactly.  Very big.  Almost grotesquely so,” she suggested eagerly.  “That is, if they were humanoids.  But there are other animals in this area that have ears like that.”

Ronin looked at her for the answer.

“Elephants.”

148

It was the answer she had been searching for, although the question she had kept from the rest of her team until she was sure.  And even more than that, she believed it was another thread connected to their alien ship mysteriously buried beneath the waters of the Caribbean.

“Elephants?”

DeeAnn’s face was completely lit up.  “Elephants.”

“They are interesting beasts.”

“They’re a lot more than that.  They are direct descendants of proboscideans.  Which were here over fifty million years ago, making them survivors of the extinction event for the dinosaurs.”

“Extinction event?”

“An asteroid impact.  Sixty-six million years ago.  The event that wiped nearly every dinosaur off the face of our planet.  It’s referred to as The Cretaceous-Paleogene Extinction Event.  And it’s the time when all large dinosaurs seemed to have suddenly disappeared, while others, like the proboscideans, survived.”

She continued, “And that means that the lineage of elephants has existed in the world longer than almost any other animal today.  Making them extremely significant, not just evolutionarily.  But maybe now for an entirely new reason.”

Ronin compared her phone against the drawing on the rock.  “You believe these images are elephants.”

“I do.  Especially given what we know about their ancestry, which evolved into different types of elephants all over the planet.”  She motioned back to the dig site behind them.  “Meaning that when these hominins were alive, here in Africa, so were elephants.  And they were probably everywhere!”

***

Outside, at the bottom of the ridge, less than two miles from where DeeAnn and Ronin were standing, a large vehicle turned off the main road.  And began the same gradual climb toward the ridge.

Four large men sat inside, tipped off by the Hudet store owner that two Americans had driven through, looking for the Naledi site.  The woman and a small man appeared to be highly educated and traveling alone, along with two animals.

The battered Range Rover climbed the hill slowly, maintaining a quiet engine speed, while the men inside checked the area carefully and loaded their rifles.

***

DeeAnn was utterly fascinated.  It was exactly as she suspected.

“So, the elephants are important.”

“Yes,” she nodded again.  After a long break, she turned around to Ronin, briefly staring at Dulce and Dexter who were now sniffing at the dig site.  “It has to do with a theory called the Big Brain Trio.  And recent observations of brains from three distinctly different animal species.  Brains that look surprisingly similar to one another.  The trio of species are primates, dolphins, and elephants.  All of which have brain shapes, sizes, and neural capacities that are so similar, they are unlike any other creature on Earth.  So much so that it’s hard to imagine there not being a relationship between them.”  DeeAnn paused, thinking.

“And now it looks like we’re discovering indications of one.  The initial clue was the alien vault we first found in Guyana that appeared to have influenced Dexter’s age and intelligence.  Then we found the alien ship in the ocean, leaking the same liquid and altering the evolution of dolphins.  Which then left us wondering if there was a second vault in Africa that resulted in the same thing with human evolution.  Causing us to evolve faster, or at least similarly.  And as you know, we ended up finding it.  Confirming that the same alien compound had played a role in our own evolution just as it did with the others.  This explained the similarities of two of the three species in the Big Brain Trio.

“But it still left the elephants unexplained,” DeeAnn said, looking again at the drawing.  Ancient and faded, it sprawled over several of the ceiling’s orange-hued rocks.  “Elephants have been here for so long that we haven’t figured out exactly what continent they originated from.  But we think it was probably here, in Africa.  And if we’re right, the bigger question then becomes, was their development also somehow affected?”

“The tone in your voice indicates you believe this to be so.”

She smiled.  “Like humans and dolphins, elephants are deeply intelligent and social creatures.  And they have a very complex culture within their matriarchic society.  For example, they self-medicate using plants, are very protective of each other, and recently have been discovered to be able to paint.”

At that, Ronin’s brow rose.

“It sounds crazy, but it’s true.  There is so much to elephants and their culture that it’s just…astonishing.  And on top of all that, there’s something even more unexpected.  At least to me.”

Ronin’s face remained curious, waiting for the answer.

“Elephants bury their dead.”

She enjoyed witnessing his surprise.  “It’s true.  But even more than that, elephants actually practice a burial ceremony!  When another elephant dies, the surviving members of the group all gently, and repeatedly, touch the body of the deceased.  And if it was part of their group, they will stay with the remains for days or even weeks.  Weeping.  Burying it with dirt and leaves.

“And we think this is something elephants have been doing for a very long time.”  DeeAnn paused and took a breath.  “So if these recent hominin remains were interacting with elephants, and also beginning to bury their dead, did the elephants learn that from us or did we learn it from them?!”

A thoughtful Ronin tilted his head, considering her words.

“The other thing you don’t know,” she continued, “is that those dolphins I told you about showed us their birthing grounds.  Something they have never done before with humans.  So while birth is a remarkably sacred thing to them, death is very important to elephants.  Could it be that the burial ceremonies of elephants and the birthing rituals of dolphins are at opposite ends of the same developmental spectrum?”

“DeeAnn Draper,” Ronin mused.  “This is interesting.”

She laughed excitedly.  “Isn’t it though?  And look at this,” she directed, pointing to the ceiling and holding up the light.  “Look closer at the drawing.  In the middle, where you see what resembles humans.  It looks like there is something else there.  Another object that’s harder to see.”

“Yes…it does.”

DeeAnn looked at him slyly.  “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes.”

“I think,” she said, “that there may be more to this drawing.  More than just showing hominins and elephants together.  I think there’s also something in the middle of the picture.  Some kind of object.”

Ronin looked again, closer.

“And the elephants portrayed on either side are symbolic not just of their presence but perhaps the protection of something.  Maybe something sacred to them.”

DeeAnn’s words ended, and the small cave grew quiet.  Next to her, Ronin stepped back without speaking.  It was a very interesting concept.  And even to his untrained eye, he had to admit, there did appear to be an object in the center of the drawing.  It was faint, but clearly something was there.

“You are quite the academic, DeeAnn Draper.”

She grinned again.  “My father wanted me to be a ballet dancer.”

When he looked at her inquisitively, she shrugged.   “He gave up on that by the time I was six.”

Ronin mused.  “On my world, our roles are more…determined.”

“You can’t be what you want?”

“It is not that.  Over time our evolution has slowly become more accurate.”

“What does that mean?”

He thought for a moment.  “It is hard for me to explain.  Perhaps another academic would be able to.”

DeeAnn displayed a mixed expression of curiosity and perplexity.  “What were your parents?”

“That is also difficult.  My parents survived our planet’s first impact event, but my father died in the second event the year following.  On the other side.  I was born several months later.”

DeeAnn’s face softened, and she began to speak but stopped suddenly, closing her mouth.  She stared at Ronin and leaned her head to one side, searching for the right words.

They were interrupted by an earsplitting shriek from Dexter.  So loud, it echoed off the walls all around them.

149

Dressed in casual clothes, the four men silently exited the Range Rover and eased their doors closed.  They then examined the nearby Jeep, peering through its dusty windows before scanning the area again.  In single file, they quietly began the final ascent toward the Naledi dig site.

The sun was now fading, gradually darkening the sky along with the rest of the surrounding landscape.  As they trod past a chain of long shadows on the ground, created from nearby shrubs and boulders, the slight wisps of dust kicked up by their shoes glowed briefly in a golden hue from the final rays of sunlight.

There appeared to be no one else around.  And it was perfect timing.

The whole thing would take only minutes.

***

“Dexter!”

Covering her ears, DeeAnn screamed his name several times, trying to get his attention.

“Dexter!  What is it?!”

She noticed Dulce standing on the other side of the cave, appearing just as surprised at the capuchin.  The smaller monkey had run to the door in a panic and was now peering out through the cracks in the wood.

Ronin approached calmly behind him, looking down at the distraught animal, who began clawing at the door with his tiny fingers.

Unfazed by the monkey’s screeching, Ronin knelt onto one knee and tried to see.  When his eye squinted through to view the outside, his face became drawn.  Ronin immediately stood up.

“What is it?!”

“There are people outside.”

Her eyes widened.  “What kind of people?”

“Unfriendly.”

“Are you sure?”

“They are carrying weapons.”  He lowered his gaze and raised one of his sleeves, revealing the strange device wrapped around his forearm.  “Remain here and keep the animals inside.”

It was all he said before pushing the door open and stepping out into the light.  Once outside, Ronin let it slam closed again behind him.

DeeAnn ran to the door and grabbed Dexter.  The two peered out.  Ronin’s small frame walked toward three, no four, large imposing figures now cresting the hill.  All of them were armed.

She whirled around, calling to Dulce with her arms extended, and the small gorilla ran to her.

DeeAnn searched the darkened room.  There was nothing to use as a weapon, except possibly a couple of chiseling tools lying next to the samples.  But both were too small to provide any real defense.  She then considered the floor sloping down into the darkness and held out her phone.  It wasn’t strong enough to light anything beyond ten feet.

Frantic, she turned when she heard voices outside.  Male voices, speaking in Amharic.  Men that were clearly here to rob them.

Two of the voices grew aggressively louder, followed by a scuffle just before a strange, high-pitched explosion sounded and everything went quiet.

DeeAnn looked down at Dulce, then Dexter, waiting anxiously.  The smaller monkey was still whining loudly.  And to DeeAnn’s astonishment, a single unexpected word sounded from her vest.

Bad.

***

The long silence was terrifying, not knowing what was happening.  Eventually, it dared DeeAnn to ease the rickety door open and poke out one side of her head.

Not far away was Ronin, quietly kneeling and examining one of the figures.

She stepped out and carefully approached, stopping almost twenty feet away.

“What happened?”

He quickly stood up.  “Um, nothing.”

“Nothing?”  She pointed at the men on the ground.

“They meant us harm.”

“What did they say?”

“I don’t know,” Ronin shrugged.  “But we should go.”

DeeAnn edged closer.  Behind her, Dulce and Dexter remained in the cave, peeking out from the safety of the door.  “Are they dead?”

“No.”

“Are they unconscious?”

“Sure.”

DeeAnn examined the men sprawled in the dirt and noted their rifles on the ground.

“How long will they…?”

“Fifteen minutes perhaps.  Do we require anything else here?”

She stared at him, blinking.  When she stopped, her eyes seemed to glaze over for several moments.  Then they returned to Ronin.  “Wait.  What did you say before?”

He shook his head.

“Inside.  You said something.  Right before…”  She turned to look back at Dexter.  “You said something.”

“It does not matter.  We must go.”

“Wait,” DeeAnn retorted, holding up a hand.  “You…said something.  About your parents.”

“DeeAnn Draper, we do not have much time.”

“You said your father was killed in the second event.  On the other side.”

Ronin remained quiet, studying DeeAnn.

“On the other side,” she repeated, before taking a step closer.  “On the other side of what?”

There was no response.  The only sound was the whistling of the breeze.

“On the other side of what?” DeeAnn asked again, coming closer.  When he still didn’t reply, her voice grew stronger.  “Tell me, Ronin!  Tell me what you meant by that!”

Uncomfortable, he opened his mouth but merely closed it again.

“Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”  DeeAnn’s eyes grew hard.  “Go ahead.  Tell me.  Tell me that you didn’t just say the two impacts that struck your planet happened on different sides.”

She closed the distance between them with a look of intensity.

“Tell me!” she said, almost shouting.

Ronin continued staring at her before finally shaking his head.

“If I’m not wrong, then you’d better start explaining,” she growled.

“I cannot.”

“You cannot what?”

“DeeAnn Draper, I am not…”

“Not what?  You’re not allowed to say anything?”

Ronin grew silent again, struggling to refrain.

“You’re not allowed to answer my question, is that it?  You’re not allowed to tell me exactly where the impacts took place on your planet?  Why?  Why not?  Could it be that they were on opposite sides of your world?  On opposite sides, just like these alien vaults we found are on different sides of ours?!”

Her eyes were now locked onto his.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Ronin.  Please.  Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It is complicated.”

“Oh, I bet it is,” she said.  Her eyes finally moved to his body, where she looked him up and down.  “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Your brick.  Your silver, whatever the hell it is…transporter!  Where is it?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to take us back.  To Palin.  Right now.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Oh yes, you can. I know you can.”

“You don’t understand.  The energy required–”

“To hell with the energy!” she shouted, cutting him off.

“DeeAnn Draper, we do not have much energy left.  Using my device outside of an emergency requires authorization.”

DeeAnn thrust herself forward, now within feet of Ronin and fuming.  “Authorization?  I’ll give you authorization!  Right here, from the entire planet!  Now open that damn door!”

150

The data center was enormous, even by modern standards.  Supported by hundreds of white, steel pillars and eighteen-foot high walls, it was packed floor-to-ceiling with loud, humming computer equipment––only one of the dozens of enterprise data centers owned and operated by Hewlett Packard.

Raised flooring supported rack upon rack of computer and storage devices, all stretching as far as the eye could see.  The only other noise originated from giant, powerful air-conditioning ducts, which churned day and night to maintain a steady sixty-eight degrees.

Yet of all the centers in operation, each spanning tens of thousands of square feet, the center in which Borger’s friend Rick Roland was standing was one of the oldest on the East Coast.  Housing many of the company’s original mainframe systems, some originated back to the company’s acquisitions of DEC and Tandem.

But now, as with all things, the square footage required by the once great computing icons were systematically being replaced with less space-intensive racks filled with newer, faster, and vastly more powerful hardware.

To Rick Roland, it was bittersweet.  He was just a few years away from retirement now after having been around from the beginning.  Rick had lived through the very birth of today’s modern computer industry, from the creation of the first silicon wafers to the invention of networking that would eventually give rise to the idea of the World Wide Web, known today simply as the Internet.

Roland glanced up and down the long aisle before wiping his forehead with his sleeve.   He then stepped back to admire his work.  Standing next to an old closet-sized magnetic tape drive system, he had to admit there was something oddly satisfying at seeing the aluminum racks sporting the industry’s newest and most powerful computer system on the entire planet—called The Machine.  And not more than ten feet away from a DEC VAX 11/780-5, the very first computer system he had learned to program on.

It was a fitting end to a life of work dedicated to an industry that had changed the world in ways no one could have ever imagined.

Roland grinned with satisfaction, and with another quick wipe of the sleeve over his forehead, he rested one arm on the VAX mainframe while typing out a message on his phone.

***

It took only seconds for the message to be received several thousand miles away by Will Borger, who highlighted and read the entire text.

Hardware is ready.  Can pretend it’s lost for two months at most, so better hurry.  Happy hunting.  R.

Borger smiled, gazing a little longer at the small screen before relaxing and leaning back into his cramped seat.  It was enough to briefly allow his mind to escape the anxiety of his current whereabouts.  But only briefly.

Eventually the thumping returned, and he opened his eyes again to glance out the tiny window.  He hated the landings.

***

A few miles away, feeling like an excited young girl, Alison Shaw stood on the mid-deck of the U.S.N.S Pathfinder.  Gripping the railing tightly with both hands, she grinned from ear to ear at the distant shape of a Sea King helicopter approaching on the horizon of a cloudless azure sky.

As it drew closer, she continued down another deck to where it opened onto one end of the landing platform located at the bow of the ship.  There, several others were waiting, including Captain Emerson.

The aircraft descended gradually and approached from a couple hundred feet above the Caribbean’s rich blue swells, before slowing and creeping over the front edge of the ship.  Where after a final, careful descent and slight pause, the helicopter finally bounced lightly onto the platform.

From the sides, three crewmembers trotted out and began securing the helicopter to the ship with heavy chains, moments before the aircraft’s Rolls-Royce turboshaft engines changed in pitch and began powering down.

Behind Alison, Chris and Lee clambered down a nearby ladder just in time to see the Sea King’s copilot door open and Steve Caesare’s wide frame emerge.

With his dark hair gusting wildly under the rotating blades, Caesare moved aft and pulled open the rear door to reveal Will Borger in the first seat––caught tracing the sign of the cross in front of his chest.

When a set of metal steps were pushed into place, he twisted onto them and stepped down, followed by M0ngol, then Neely Lawton, Li Na Wei, and finally a tired and rather stoic-looking John Clay.  The SEAL smiled immediately when he saw Alison rushing forward and barely made it down the steps before she lunged into his arms.

He wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her forehead.  “Now that’s a welcome I could get used to.”

Without replying, she lifted her head and pressed her lips firmly against his.  Squeezing him hard, overwhelmed with emotion.

He pulled back and began to speak when Alison put a finger over his mouth and shook her head.  “No.  Not yet.”  Then kissed him again.

151

Next to Alison and Clay, still beneath the downdraft, Neely Lawton watched, admiring the connection between them.

“I love that,” she said.

Steve Caesare gave one of his award-winning smiles and held out his arms.  “I’m right here.”

His response prompted Neely to frown.  “You just spoiled that.”

“Didn’t I…rescue you or something?”

“I already kissed you for that.”

“One kiss?” he scoffed.  “That’s it?”

“Steve,” Clay said, “you’re ruining my welcome.”

Alison pulled away and intentionally gave Caesare a frown.  “Are you jealous, Steve?”

“Yes.  Yes, I am.”  Feigning insult, the Italian turned and found Borger standing nearby, waiting with his own arms outstretched.

“Oh, brother.”

They all laughed, including Caesare, who led the way across the landing pad, met by Captain Emerson and Executive Officer Harris as they approached.

“Welcome back,” said the captain, grinning at the group.  “What was that all about?”

“Don’t ask.”

Emerson peered at Neely.  “We’ve been worried about you, Commander.  I trust these men didn’t get you into too much trouble.”

Neely saluted with the men.  “I think it was the other way around, sir.”

“Well, I’m glad to see all of you in one piece.”  He looked at Li Na.  “And who do we have here?”

“Captain, this is Li Na Wei.  Daughter of General Wei.”

“Welcome aboard, young lady.  I’ve heard a lot about you.  I’m very glad to see you’re all right.   Is there anything we can get for you?”

“No, thank you.  I’m fine.”  The teenager hesitated before nervously repeating the salute.

“That’s okay,” he winked.  “Only military are required to do that.  You make yourself at home here.”  He then turned to Borger.  “Mr. Borger.  I think I can speak for most of the crew when I say we’re all happy to have you back as well.  So much, that as a welcoming gift, the engineering crew was able to procure several cases of your favorite Jolt cola.  Waiting for you in your cabin if I’m not mistaken.”

Borger opened his mouth with surprise.  “Oh, God bless you.”

The captain chuckled before finally focusing his attention on the young man standing next to Borger.  “And you must be Yong Yang.  Our new computer expert.  I guess we’re in your debt for helping to save our friends here.”

M0ngol stammered, “It was the least I could do.”

Emerson placed both hands behind his back.  “I’m happy to inform you that I have been granted the authority to welcome you aboard my ship as a United States Citizen.”

M0ngol’s eyes widened.  “Sir?”

“I’ll need you to join me on the bridge this morning.  For your swearing in, if you’re not too busy.”

The young man was stunned.  “Thank you.  Thank you, sir.  I…will be happy to.”

“Good,” Emerson nodded.  “Well then, I think that’s enough pleasantries for the moment.  I suspect you can all use a little downtime.  So, get some rest and let’s plan to meet in the 3rd deck conference room at 1300.  I’m sure there is a lot to catch each other up on.”

With that, Emerson and Harris nodded, then headed out.  Which revealed both Chris and Lee waiting impatiently behind them, along with Smitty and Commander Ackerman.

Alison took a deep breath, maintaining her hold onto Clay.  “Boy, do we have a lot to tell you guys!”

“You’re not the only ones,” Borger grinned.  He stepped forward and reached out to shake Chris’s hand.  “Great to see you back, Chris.”

“Here here,” chimed the others.

“Thanks.  I had to come back.  I was missing way too much excitement.”

Borger laughed.  “If that’s what we’re calling it these days, you can take my share.  Remember, I’m just a contractor.”  He turned to Lee.  “Speaking of which, I just got this text from my friend Rick before we landed.”

“Mr. Roland?”

“Yep.”  Borger held out his phone and showed him the message.

“Wow.  The hardware is ready.”

“It sure is.  Are we?”

Lee narrowed his eyes, devilishly.  “Hell yes, we are.”

***

Neely stepped inside to find her lab empty and quiet, just as she’d left it.  The research equipment lining both sides remained powered down, alongside the racks of empty test tubes and Petri dishes.   Only the chairs had been moved and all to one side of the room, an unusual result of the constant rolling of the ship.

She retrieved one of the chairs and lowered herself into it, feeling an eeriness in the room.  Outside, only faint, muted sounds from some nearby activity could be heard through the thick metal walls.

Neely gazed for a long time at the clear glass door of the empty medical refrigerator.  Finally, she leaned forward onto the chrome counter, burying her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, the door could be heard opening behind her.  Then it closed.

“You okay?”

She took a deep breath and turned to find Alison standing in the doorway, alone.

“Not really.”

Alison strode forward, grabbing and towing a chair behind her.   She then turned it around to sit next to her friend.

“I hear things got pretty rough.”

“Terrifying might be a better word.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Neely shook her head, pressing her lips together as tears began to form in her eyes.  She rolled them, trying to blink the tears away.

“I, uh…” she started, “didn’t…think I was getting out of there.”

Alison frowned and placed a gentle hand on Neely’s thigh.

“I was scared,” she continued.  “I mean…really scared.”  She stared forward, with eyes fixed, before raising her hands to reveal the trembling.  “I’m still getting these waves of, I don’t know, anxiety that I can’t control.  All of a sudden my whole body just starts shaking.”

When Alison didn’t reply, she breathed in again.  “Do you ever feel like…you’re just acting?  Strong on the outside, when you’re actually scared on the inside?”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t mean scared as in someone was going to see through your disguise.  I mean genuinely frightened, almost to death, that you simply weren’t going to make it out of wherever you were.”

“A few times,” Alison said softly.  “It’s a terrible feeling.”

“But you know what’s worse?  The people who had us.”

“What do you mean?”

“What was truly frightening about them, was that they weren’t actually crazy.”

“No?”

“No,” answered Neely.  “It’s difficult to say it, but they weren’t.”  She blinked and looked back to Alison.  “It’s easier when you think someone else is, I don’t know, a villain.  Because to you, they’re just evil or insane.  But these people were not insane.  They were smart.  Very smart.  And they were thoughtful…and calculating.  Intent, in what they’re trying to do.”

“What are they trying to do?”

“Create the perfect biological human weapon.  And they’re doing it in a way that makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.  It’s the equivalent of a child playing with fire in a sandbox filled with matches.  They’re so driven that nothing else seems to matter.”  Neely focused on one of the large microscopes.  “And their hubris…is incredible.  To think we live in a world where people will do literally anything to achieve a goal.  No matter what it takes and who it hurts.  And you know why?  Because they all believe they’re doing the right thing.  Just like the rest of us.”

Alison nodded thoughtfully.  “I guess it all depends on what you believe in.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning sometimes it’s hard for me to believe there even is a real right or wrong.”  Alison exhaled.  “I used to hate the military.  Thinking they were all just a bunch of warmongers.  But they’re not.  Most of them are strong, intelligent people with different opinions on what needs to be done.  Life isn’t all or nothing.  It’s definitely shades of gray.  And it’s taken me a long time to accept that.” Alison leaned back in her chair, generating a loud squeak.  “For me, everything is beginning to boil down to pretty much one thing, one basic ethos.  I think, is what I’m doing actually making things better?”

“I like that,” Neely replied with a smile.  “Unfortunately, some people are trying to make the world a better place in a much more frightening way.”

“I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.”

“At least I’m still here,” she reflected, somewhat optimistically.  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

“Theoretically.”

They both laughed.

There was a knock on the door and when it opened, Caesare stepped in, followed by Clay and Borger.

“We interrupting?”

Neely shook her head and pulled herself together.  “No.  Come in.”

The three men approached, watching as Neely and Alison exchanged a warm glance, then scooted their chairs apart.

“Where’s Li Na?”

“Sleeping,” Neely said.

Caesare nodded.  “How is she?”

She sighed and folded her arms.  “Not great.”

“Physically or psychologically?”

“Psychologically, she’s a mess.  She’s going to need some therapy.  I’ve watched her spiral more and more inward through these series of traumas.  And physically it’s even worse.”

“Meaning?”

“I didn’t want to say anything before, in front of Li Na, but there are some things we need to talk about.”  She paused for a moment, sorting through her thoughts.  “Actually, I’m not even sure where to start.  Something…is happening to her.  And it’s not good.”  She looked at Clay and Caesare.  “Those genetic changes I told you we needed to keep an eye out for, they’re happening.  And it’s worse than I feared.”

“Crap.”

“The bacterium inside her is changing.  Inside her genes.  Things that are frankly, kinda hard to believe.”

Clay frowned.  “Like what?”

“Originally I was afraid it would change parts of her unmapped DNA, what we call junk DNA.  And it is.”

“How bad is it?”

“Well, this is where things get strange.  I feared that it would break things, genetically.  Things we could not fix, even with new customized medications.  But I’m not sure if breaking is the right word.  What’s happening to Li Na appears to be, for lack of a better term, that some genes are being activated.  Either new gene functions, or old junk DNA that has remained dormant for generations, are now being reactivated.  My guess is that it’s the former.”

Caesare flashed a look at Clay.  “What exactly is being activated?”

“This is the difficult part,” Neely sighed.  “Li Na, it seems, is developing the ability to absorb new DNA.”

From her chair, Alison looked perplexed.  “What does that mean?”

“She’s a Mosaic,” Neely replied.

“A what?”

“A Mosaic.”

Caesare looked back and forth between them.  “She’s a picture?”

“No.  There are two meanings of the word.  The most common is that of a picture or collage, made up of many different pieces.  But mosaic also has a biological term.  Meaning an individual, or animal, made up of cells of two genetically different types.”

Caesare lowered his brow.  “Now that…doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not.  But it’s happening.  And I’ve seen it.  Her body seems to have developed the ability to absorb foreign DNA.”

“What would be considered foreign?”

Neely exhaled.  “As in foreign animal DNA.”

The other four in the room traded stunned expressions.

“She has absorbed fragments, which frankly, I don’t think we can fix.  If we can, it will take years…at least.”

“Well,” Borger said, “if it takes time, it takes time.”

“You don’t understand.  We don’t have years.  We probably don’t even have weeks.  Whatever changes her body is going through, it’s also causing severe biological reactions that are getting worse.  A lot worse.  So bad that I don’t know if she’s going to survive many more.”

“No,” Clay’s face became dour.  “No.”

“I’m sorry, John.  I wish things were different.”

“And we can’t fix it?” asked Caesare.

“I don’t know.  If we can, it won’t be from here.  The ship doesn’t have what we would need.”

“What would we need?” asked Clay.

“A hospital,” she replied.  “A real hospital, with a genetics lab.” Neely looked up at them.  “And maybe an operating room.”

Clay shook his head.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s impossible.  But even if it’s not, it will be difficult.  If we can figure out how to minimize or even stop the reactions she’s having, it could buy us more time.  But we’ll need an actual research facility.  If we are able to get her survival odds up from weeks to months, then maybe we can find a permanent fix.”

“Those don’t sound like good odds.”

She gestured at Caesare apologetically.  “I couldn’t even begin to quantify this.  I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.  “I hate knowing the odds anyway.”

“So what do we do?” Clay asked.

“Right now, we let her get some rest.  Get her back on a regular sleep cycle.  Then we work on suppressing her episodes.”

Alison nodded and stood up next to her.  “Okay.  One step at a time.  We can do this.”

Clay smiled at her and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist.  “One step at a time.”

She grabbed his shirt with both hands to pull him in for a kiss, in a moment of lightness.  But she caught Caesare rolling his eyes.

“Really?”

“Oh, be quiet.”

“Do you two need thirty minutes to be alone?”

“Believe me,” Alison replied.  “Thirty minutes would not be enough.”

Borger frowned.  “Okay, I’m starting to get uncomfortable.  Some of us don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“That’s not our fault, Will.”  Caesare grinned and motioned to his pastel-colored Hawaiian shirt.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“Nothing.  Women like a man who looks like he’s always searching for a hammock.”

“Which is only a few steps away from long walks on a beach.”

At that, Caesare guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder.  “You got me there.”  He then turned to find Neely trying not to smile.

Alison squeezed her arm.  “Are you okay?”

She breathed in.  “I’ll be fine.  Thank you though.  Besides, I hear you had your share of excitement too.”

With an eye roll, Alison grinned.  “You could say that.  The good news is that you and Li Na are safe.”  She glanced at her watch.  “And in another hour and a half, you’re going to learn something that will take your mind completely off the last few days.”

“Oh, really?  And what’s that?”

“I would tell you, but this is something you’re going to have to see to believe.”

152

“Un-be-lievable.”

Just over ninety minutes later, Will Borger let out a soft whistle while shaking his head in disbelief.  He was not alone.  Neely Lawton’s lab was now packed from wall to wall with additional crew, all staring in concert at three monitors positioned side by side on the long table against the wall.  All three monitors displayed the same video images––a live feed from the interior of the alien ship.

On the screen, the hand of Petty Officer Beene appeared, reaching forward and pressing against one of the darkened walls, causing it to illuminate in bright green.  And along with it, sketched lines could be seen snaking off in different directions.

“Look at that!  It looks like computer circuitry.”

“Yep.”

Next to Borger sat Elgin Tay, with his braced leg extending straight out in front of him.  Behind them stood the rest of the engineering team, Captain Emerson and Officer Harris, then Clay and Caesare, plus a few others.  Neely, standing near the back, turned and shot Alison a silent, astonished look.

Alison’s response was a silent, “Right?!”

Borger studied the screen in fascination.  “And the whole thing is like this?”

“Pretty much.”

After a few minutes of moving about, the camera angle changed and Beene could be seen descending a ramp.  Upon reaching the bottom, he turned and filmed himself moving through several more rooms, most of which appeared empty.

“So, what do we think this is?”

“It’s hard to say,” answered Ackerman from behind them.  “Most rooms don’t have much in them.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Actually, it might.”  Ackerman glanced down at Tay and motioned with his head, prompting Tay to explain.

“It does if we consider the properties of the ship.  More specifically, its ability to heal itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the ship is designed to repair itself over a long journey, and automatically, it would stand to reason that it would remain able to do so––as long as the ship had the material and energy necessary.”

Borger nodded while remaining transfixed on the screen, until he suddenly realized what Tay was implying.  “It couldn’t be destroyed.”

“That’s what we’re thinking.”

“Holy crap.  I never thought of that.”  He raised his arms, folding them across his chest.  “If that’s true, then it could mean–”

“It may still be functional,” finished Tay.

“Ohhh, boy.”

“It’s just a guess.  But it could explain why so much of the ship is empty.”

Borger nodded again.  “So, if they couldn’t destroy it, then maybe the only thing they could do was take it apart.  At least what they could.”

“Then ditch the ship.”

“Wow.  This is big,” Borger breathed.  “This is really big.  Because if that’s correct, then the next question is what happened to everything that was scrapped?”

“So far, we think there’s a navigation system, a propulsion system, and probably some kind of life-support system missing.  If not more.”

“Doesn’t mean they still exist though.  Maybe the smaller pieces could be destroyed.  Burned or incinerated or who knows.”

“It’s possible,” Ackerman acknowledged.  “But if those systems were also designed to repair themselves, like the rest of the ship, to protect them from damage, they might not have been easy to destroy either.”

Borger couldn’t believe it.  “Geez, what an extraordinary design.  Imagine what we could learn from this.  Just the concept.  Let alone how to create and infuse that liquid into something.  Something non-organic.”

“Ships that wouldn’t sink.”

“Or airplanes that wouldn’t crash.”

Of course, it was bigger than that.  And everyone in the room knew it.  Those were just some obvious examples.  The truth was, thousands of smaller uses could affect virtually everything.

“Okay, I say the first thing we do is patent this baby,” Caesare joked.

“The real problem,” Captain Emerson stressed to this select group, “is keeping it secret.”  He looked around, making sure neither Li Na nor particularly M0ngol were in the room.  He raised his voice, “In case any of you were wondering, you’re all going to have to be upgraded to higher clearance levels.  And that means new rules and protocols for you and anyone you communicate with.  I don’t have to explain what could happen if any of this got into the wrong hands.”

The captain surveyed the room and briefly looked at each person.

“Well, the government kept the Roswell crash secret for over sixty years,” Borger blurted.

Everyone looked at Borger.  “We’re part of the government, Will,” Clay retorted.

“I’m just saying.”

“All right,” Emerson barked.  “Let’s not start donning our tinfoil hats just yet.  We have more important things to do.  Like figure out what else might be missing from this thing, and more critically, whether or not we have an operational ship on our hands.”

153

High in the mountains of Rwanda, only faint remnants of daylight remained, soaking the horizon in a deep dark purple with dozens of stars already appearing overhead.

From a distance, the highest peak appeared as still and undisturbed as any other along the range.  Even up close, nothing unusual could be seen or heard.

All activity was hidden by a light-scattering energy field originating near the top of the mountain.  Where, beneath a wide rock opening resting amongst giant boulders, a bright ambient glow poured out through the stone doorway.

Inside, dozens of pieces of advanced machinery filled the first third of the cavern, stretching from wall to wall of the smoothed interior.  Beyond the machines and scientific equipment stood dozens and dozens of giant glass columns, each filled with green glowing liquid and housing thousands of tiny objects inside.

All except one.

Several men, all short and bald, surrounded the systems, carefully examining computerized results.  One man turned when he heard a grunt at the door.

There, at the bottom of the stone entrance, were two hazel eyes peering up.  Wide and curiously staring into the brightly-lit room, the eyes belonged to a young gorilla he had seen before.  A moment later, another set of eyes—smaller, gray, and unblinking—peered around the first.

Standing next to a large white and blue machine, Palin watched the primates carefully.  Their presence left him unsurprised when DeeAnn Draper stepped into view, followed by Ronin.

Palin’s older eyes studied her, assessing her demeanor, then finally lowered a device in his hand with a hint of apprehension.

“DeeAnn Draper, you have returned.”

“I have,” she spoke sharply, stepping inside.  “Surprised?”

Palin tilted his head slightly.  “I am.  Is everything all right with you?”

“That depends…”

Palin waited for the rest.

“On what you are about to tell me.”

His eyes darted briefly to Ronin, standing behind her.  “I do not understand.”

“I made him bring us, if that’s what you’re wondering.  Not the best use of energy, I hear.  But it was important.”

“I see,” nodded Palin thoughtfully.

DeeAnn scanned the room and spotted the tall empty column in front of her.  “What are you doing?”

The older man followed her gaze.  “We are studying what has been left here.”

“It looks like you’re doing more than that.  You’ve drained the whole thing.”

“I’m afraid we required a sizable sample for study.”

“You don’t say,” DeeAnn replied.  “Funny, here on Earth we can study something as small as a drop of liquid.  Smaller actually.  And we’re what, a few hundred years behind you?”

“You appear agitated, DeeAnn Draper.”

Moving toward the column, she stared at the multitude of small, glistening objects inside.  Now clumped together at the bottom, the thousands of tiny spheres filled up the lower third of the column.

DeeAnn stopped and looked at him.  “And what would you say happens to those when you drain their liquid?”

“They will also be studied.”

She closed in, pausing just a few feet from the glass.  “After they die?”

Palin said nothing.

“They will die, right?”

He glanced solemnly at Ronin again.  “They will likely expire.”

“Expire,” she repeated.  “That sounds so…clinical.  Like the milk in my refrigerator, when it expires.  Or would eggs be more appropriate?”

“You are upset about something.”

“Why would you assume I’m upset?  Because I’m asking what happens to these when you take away their nutrient?  The nutrient that’s keeping them alive?”

“The seeds will expire.”

“Seeds,” DeeAnn repeated again.  She leaned in closer, enough to see fog from her warm breath appear on the glass.  “Not all of these are seeds,” she stated.  “Some are seeds, and some are embryos.  Aren’t they?”

Placing his hands behind his back, Palin nodded.  “Yes.”

“So you’re not just killing thousands of seeds…but thousands of embryos too.  Some people on Earth have strong feelings about that.”

“What would you have me do?”

DeeAnn turned and met his stern gaze with one of her own.  “How about beginning with the truth.”

He hesitated.  “The truth is that we cannot replicate this substance.  It has elements we are not familiar with.  So, we cannot copy it.  But we can use it.”

“And how many of these things are you planning to drain?”

“DeeAnn Draper, I do not think you fully understand the magnitude of what we are trying to accomplish here––of what I have been tasked with.  We are in a fight to preserve our existence.  Not just for ourselves, but our entire planet.  A planet where millions of species have already perished.  Plants, animals, insects, birds––all of them are nearly extinct.  Forever.  And our planet itself is about to see the same fate, lacking the millions of creatures required to keep its ecosystem alive.”

Palin continued, “This is not a science experiment, DeeAnn Draper.  This is our mission, a desperate effort to preserve the thousands of remaining species that still live.  And to pray that they will be enough.”  He stepped towards her.  “So, to that end, I will do anything I can and use anything within my grasp to succeed.”

“By any means necessary.”

Palin nodded.  “Any means necessary.”

DeeAnn remained focused, her eyes still on the older man.  Undeterred.

“And would you use all of these canisters if you could save your planet?”

“Any and all means necessary,” he repeated calmly.

She surveyed the room again, eyes moving over the hundreds of columns, with the farthest rows fading off into darkness.  When her eyes returned to Palin, they bore the same unchanged intensity.  “Why do you think these are here?”

He shrugged.  “We do not know, but our initial tests show they can help us.”

“And what if you’re wrong?  What if this liquid you’re planning to use has side effects?”

Palin’s expression grew inquisitive.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question.  What if what you’re planning to use this for, ends differently than you expect?”

“We have little to lose, DeeAnn Draper.”

“Why do you think it’s here?” she asked again.

This time Palin looked at her with deepening curiosity.

“Tell me something,” she said.  “Where did the two meteor impacts occur on your planet?”

Palin locked eyes with Ronin, this time causing the soldier to lower his gaze.

“Ronin said something interesting,” she continued, “almost as if by accident.  He said that the two impacts on your world occurred on opposite sides of your planet.”

Palin did not respond.

“Is that true?”

“Ronin is a soldier, not a scientist.”

DeeAnn almost laughed, “I don’t think you need to be a scientist to know where something smashed into your planet.  Is it true or not?”

Palin turned back to her.  “It is complicated.”

“What is?”

“What happened to our world.”

“I didn’t ask what happened to your world.  I asked where the impacts occurred.  Because if they struck on different sides as Ronin said, it would seem rather coincidental to me.”

“Would it?”

“Yes,” she replied, coldly.  “It would.  Because the only two alien vaults we have found on Earth were both constructed on different continents, of our own planet.  In what we can only guess was an act of insurance.  To ensure perhaps that at least one of them survived.  After being hidden on Earth for who knows how long.  Which brings me back to why you think they were put here.”

Palin’s voice was growing terse.  “As I said, we do not know.”

“Then here’s a thought.  What if whoever it was that put them here, was also trying to save their planet?”

There was no answer from Palin, but several of the men behind him turned around at DeeAnn’s words.

“What if,” she continued, “whoever put those vaults here, was trying to preserve their own DNA, their own heritage, following a devasting occurrence on their own planet?”

“I do not believe that is true.”

“Maybe it is.  Maybe it isn’t.  But what if, just what if, they were trying to save themselves, as you are?  Spreading their DNA among various planets similar to their own.  And what if they located two of their vaults on your planet as well as ours?”

Palin was impassive.

“Impossible?” DeeAnn asked.

“I cannot comment on your theory, DeeAnn Draper.”

“You cannot, or will not?”

When he failed to respond again, she looked at the men behind him.  “Is it possible that you did find vaults on your planet?  And tried to exploit the liquid inside?  My friend Will Borger said he believes that green liquid is both a nutrient and an energy source.  And that its capabilities are almost beyond his comprehension.  So is it possible then, that you and your men discovered this same energy source on your own planet and mishandled it?  And somehow set off an unexpected chain reaction?”

154

A loud pounding on the cabin’s steel door woke Will Borger from a dead sleep.  With both eyes still closed, he rolled over on his cot in hopes that it was a dream.

Then it repeated itself.  This time louder and more urgent.

With a groan, Borger reached into the darkness and searched for his glasses.  Another round of thumps forced him up onto an elbow, cursing when he felt his hand knock the glasses onto the floor.

“Just a minute!” he growled, searching the cold surface beneath him.  “Just a damn minute.”

Glasses finally in hand, he found the lamp and flicked it on, then swung his legs to the side.  He stood up, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top, then shuffled to the narrow door.

He flung it open to find Lee Kenwood on the other side.

“Jesus,” he said, peering at his watch.  “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Sorry, Mr. Borger.  I tried to let you sleep longer.”

“Until three o’clock?!”

Lee nodded, missing the sarcasm.  “We’re getting hits,” he said excitedly.  “On The Machine!”

Borger’s glower twisted into a look of surprise.  “Already?”  It’s only been like…twelve hours.”

“Eleven.  And yes, it thinks it’s already found something.”

Borger blinked, trying to push the cobwebs from his brain.  “That’s too fast.  It’s probably errors with the software.”

“I thought so too.  But I checked.  They’re not errors.”

“Still sounds too soon to me.  Nothing works that fast.”

“You said yourself, The Machine is faster than anything else out there.  And deep learning algorithms work much faster than what we’re using on IMIS.  Remember, Google’s deep learning machine mastered the entire game of chess in only four hours.”

Borger scratched one side of his stubbled cheek.  “True.”  After pausing to think, he opened the door wider and turned around.  “Let me get some pants on.”

***

Eight minutes later, Borger plopped down in the crowded computer room behind Lee.

“Okay, what are we looking at?”

“Right here,” Lee said, pointing at his screen.

Borger leaned forward and studied the text.  “They’re in binary.  I’m old, kid––but I’m not that old.”

“Sorry.  Let me convert them.”  Lee entered two long computer commands, and dozens of rows of binary numbers promptly changed to a shorter string of alphanumeric characters.

MAUD 13 REIS FANTASMA 15 GELA 14

Borger squinted as he read the words and turned to Lee.  “Does any of that mean anything to you?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re sure the binary converted correctly?”

“Uh,” Lee returned to the other windows and manually calculated the first three binary numbers.  He then brought up a chart and found the corresponding characters.  “M, A, and U.  They look correct to me.”

Borger sighed.  “Okay.  Let’s do a little digging then.”

Lee brought up a browser window and typed in the first word.  Then frowned at the results.  “A little over forty-five million references to Maud.  The first is the definition of the word, gray striped plaid cloak.”  He glanced back at Borger and continued.  “Also a common surname.  A ship from Norway.  The street location of a bus station in San Francisco.  Not exactly what we had in mind.  How many do you want me to read?”

“It’s too broad.  So is 13.  Try them together.”

Lee added the number and searched again.  “Forty-one million results.  Starting with something called discography.  Having to do with vinyl albums and CDs.”

“Try the third word, Reis.”

“253 million hits.  The first is a commercial real estate site.”  He tried again, searching with 13 Reis, only to shake his head.  “Even worse.”

Borger stared at the screen, thinking.  He’d never seen these words before.  But assuming they were converted correctly, what did The Machine believe it had found?  Whatever the words meant, it wasn’t obvious.

“Maybe it’s software related.”

“Maybe, but I ran it through a lot of tests and each time the system found what it was supposed to.”

“Okay, then try searching for the whole line.”

Lee complied.  “The whole line of text gets it down to 8,300 results.  But, it looks like it’s all a bunch of gobbledygook.  Like random hits in different languages.  And I’m certain the software knows how to translate to English.”

Borger pressed his hands together thoughtfully.  “Maybe we’re looking at it wrong then.  If it’s not the entire text, then maybe it’s arranged in pieces.  Individual references?”  He shrugged at Lee.  “Or maybe groups of references?”

“Maybe.”

“How about we search for just the first three?”

“Okay.”

Lee typed MAUD 13 REIS.  “Okay, only half a million hits this time.  Starting with a map from 1513, then something called travel bud dog tag, a family tree for someone named Charles Reis, and someone named Piri Reis.  Oh, the fourth is the same reference to the first.  Then something in different languages, and–”

Borger leaned forward and read along with Lee.  “Why don’t you pull the map reference?  Let’s see what that’s about.”

Lee clicked the link and began reading.  “Looks like part of a book abstract.  Talking about a place called Queen Maud Land.”  He paused.  “An area in Antarctica.  Map was made by a Piri Reis.  Admiral, navigator, and a cartographer in Turkey––during the Ottoman Empire.”

Both men fell silent, continuing to read the article together.

“Looks like he did a lot of maps,” said Borger.  “Including one in 1513, which sounds a little controversial.”

“So, the numbers 1 and 3 must be part of the year.  I wonder if the other numbers The Machine listed are also years.”  Lee thought for a moment.  “If they are, maybe there’s something wrong with the way my software is listing years.  Omitting the first two digits.”

When there was no answer, he looked back at Borger who was fully engrossed in the text.

“Look at this,” he said.  “This is interesting.  This book is talking about this Piri Reis map and claiming it shows something that it’s not supposed to be able to show.”

“What do you mean?”

Borger didn’t answer but instead continued reading.  “Kid, this is really interesting.”

155

“Why on Earth can’t you let me sleep in for once?” groaned Steve Caesare as he stepped into the small computer room.  But stopped abruptly at seeing the others.

Lee Kenwood and Will Borger were both seated with Clay, Alison, Chris, and Neely all packed in behind them, leaning against the steel counter.

Neely grinned.  “We did let you sleep in.  We all finished breakfast.”

“And no one brought me anything?”

“Are you ever happy?”

“Not in the mornings,” teased Borger.

Caesare raised an eyebrow.  “Not true.  I just need a little more beauty sleep.”  He pointed at his face.  “I mean, come on.”

Clay laughed.  “Well, it’s 7:30.  I’m sure you can handle it.  Even at your age.”

“Fine.  What are we all here for?”

Borger turned to Lee and nodded.  “Go ahead, kid.  Tell ‘em.”

A surprised Lee cleared his throat.  “Uh, well, I think we may have found something interesting.”

“Does this have to do with IMIS?”

“No.  Not at all.  Well, maybe only a little with how we got the idea, but no.  This is from The Machine hardware we were telling you about.”

“From Will’s friend?”

Borger nodded.  “At Hewlett Packard.”

“So, remember when we told you we were working on some deep learning software to try to find older, historical references to things that might have been lost?”

The others in the room nodded.

“Well, we think we found some.  Or should I say, it thinks it found some.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.  This system is much faster than IMIS, including the algorithms we’re using.  And we’re not looking for something as complicated as linguistics or speech patterns for another species.  With The Machine, we’re just chewing through data looking for relevance.  Relationships between a lot of older, forgotten information.  And what it found are some things that were already documented years ago.  So these first hits can probably be considered what one might call low-hanging fruit.”

“Okay,” Clay nodded.  “What did it find?”

“A few references actually.  Two we think we may have figured out and another we’re still working on.”

Borger frowned and made a circular motion with his finger.  Get on with it.

“Right.  Okay.  So, the first connection has to do with a guy named Piri Reis.  Who lived during the Ottoman Empire.  The computer flagged his name and the year ’13, which we think is likely a reference to a map he created in 1513.  Called the Piri Reis map, although he made several back in the 1500s.  He was a cartographer.  But what’s interesting about this one particular map is what it shows.  Or should I say, one of the things it shows.”

Arms crossed against his thick chest, Caesare looked at him curiously.  “And what is one of the things it shows?”

“Antarctica,” answered Borger.

“Right.  Specifically, an area called Queen Maud Land.”

“It’s a territory claimed by Norway,” interjected Clay.

“You’re familiar with it?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, he is,” grinned Caesare.  “He knows everything.”

Lee laughed.  “Anyway, the thing about Reis’s map, is that it depicts this Queen Maud Land in quite a bit of detail.”

“So, it’s a map of part of the south pole.”

“Exactly,” he said, glancing at Borger.  “But it’s a map of Queen Maud Land about two hundred and sixty years before Antarctica was discovered!”

“Wait, what?”

The group all looked at Lee with surprise.

“That’s right.  A map of the continent, centuries before it was officially discovered.”

Clay and Caesare both peered at Borger who was nodding.

“How is that possible?”

Lee grinned.  “Good question.  And it gets better.  The area of Queen Maud Land was not only mapped long before it was found by Captain Cook, but the detail on Reis’s map shows actual terrain.  A lot of it.  Terrain that is currently buried beneath a mile of ice.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.  We’re not.  In fact, not only is it covered in ice now, but it was also covered in the same ice in 1773 when Cook first landed.  And get this, current scientific calculations estimate that this ice has been there for over 9,000 years!”

The others exchanged questioning glances.

“9,000 years?”

“Yep.”

Caesare shook his head.  “Wait a minute.  You’re saying this map, made by this Ottoman guy, shows areas of Antarctica not just before it was discovered but before it was covered with ice?”

“That’s right.”

Borger nodded.  “9,000-year-old ice.”

“Then how did this guy Reis map it?”

“He claimed he compiled it from other maps he had access to.  Maps that were even older.”

“Which brings us to the second reference The Machine found,” Borger said.

“Right.  The Reis map is the first item, and we don’t think the relationship to the second item necessarily involves Antarctica.  Instead we think it may be related through a maritime connection.”

“So what’s the second one?”

“The second reference that the system found takes place a couple hundred years later, with the Spanish.  In the year 1715.  Which we think is what the number 15, denoted by the computer, means.  In 1715 most of Europe had been at war for almost twenty-five years.  The War of Spanish Succession, which began in 1701 and lasted until 1713.  But it took another year or so for the word to spread and the fighting to stop.  By then Spain was nearly bankrupt.  And what they needed more than anything was money.  Or more specifically, treasure.”

Borger nodded next to Lee.  “Enter the Spanish Treasure Fleet of 1715.”

“The Treasure Fleet.  See, Spain already had its ships waiting throughout the Caribbean and areas of South America.  Filling their holds with valuables claimed from the New Americas.  But by the end of the war, they were fighting against half a dozen European nations, which made it almost impossible for their ships to get past a veritable sea of enemy vessels.”

“But they were in such dire straits that they eventually had no choice.  So, their treasure fleet set sail for home in 1715.”

“How many made it?” asked Clay.

“How about none?” answered Lee.  “But it wasn’t from battle.  It was because of a hurricane.  They started in Havana, traveling up the Florida Keys and then the Florida Straits.  The same route Spanish ships had used for 300 years.   Eleven ships accompanied by one French ship called the Griffon.  But none of the Spanish ships survived.  Unlike the Griffon, they hugged the Florida Coast trying to take advantage of the Gulf Stream’s current.  But the captain of the French ship stayed farther out, wary of sailing too close to land.  And he was right.”  He paused, enjoying the excitement on the faces of his colleagues.

“After five days, the weather changed, and the Spanish ships didn’t react soon enough.  They were caught in the hurricane and sank.  Leaving the Griffon as the only survivor.”

“However,” Borger added, “some people think there was another ship.  Another Spanish galleon not listed in the records.  Or more specifically, scrubbed from the records.  A ship that survived the hurricane because it was not sailing with the others.”

“Where was it sailing?”

“Farther south.  Much farther south and east.  Two sailors on the Griffon claimed to have witnessed a twelfth Spanish ship leaving Havana.  And they claimed it was headed on a different course.”

“Why?”

Lee shrugged and looked at Borger.  “They didn’t say.  But they did say the Spanish sailors all referred to it as El Fantasma Del Rey.”

Clay frowned.  “The King’s Ghost?”

“That’s right.”

“It was actually called the King’s Ghost?”

“No,” Borger corrected.  “That’s just what the sailors were calling it.  There is no account of its actual name or even existence.  At least nothing left in the records.”

“So it went one way while the rest went the other?”

“Apparently.  And the French sailors claimed it had something very special onboard.  The word they used was inestimable, which in English means priceless.”

“Okay, a twelfth ship,” Caesare said.  “Taking a secret route and transporting something priceless.”

“Correct.”

“Any ideas on what this ship was carrying?”

“Yes.  And you’re not going to believe it.  Some of the Spanish sailors evidently said it was made of a metal they’d never seen before.  And it glowed green!”

The room went silent.

“You’re kidding.”

Lee shook his head.  “Nope.”

“You think they found a piece of the alien ship?”

Borger shrugged.  “Or someone else found it…and the conquistadors took it from them.”

“Wow.”

Alongside the others, Neely sat listening.  “So, was there any further mention of the route the Spanish ship was taking?”

“No.”

Caesare turned to Clay who had suddenly grown quiet.  “Clay?”

He looked up.

“Care to chime in?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know that look on your face.  You have something brewing upstairs.”

Clay stared at him for a long moment, thinking, before addressing Lee.  “I was thinking about the route.  You said that at the end of the war, the Caribbean was littered with enemy ships.”

“Yes.  That is well documented.”

“Then if the rest of the routes were too risky, their only other option would likely be to go around them.  Which would put them pretty far south.”

He flashed a glance at Caesare in time to watch the Italian’s dark eyes narrow.  “That’s where we are.”

There was a moment of silence, with everyone breathlessly looking between each other before Lee Kenwood suddenly startled everyone by almost jumping out of his seat.  “That’s it!”

“What?”

His eyes widened with amazement and he turned to stare at Alison.  “It has to be!”

“What?!”

Lee whirled around to grab his keyboard, quickly stopping and turning back.  “The guy.  That guy!”

Next to Alison, John Clay quietly grinned.

“What are you talking about?”

Lee raised his hands excitedly.  “The guy!  The one we rescued!  The one you and John rescued!  Him and his son!  Remember?”

She turned to Clay, who nodded.  “In the underwater cavern.  The father and son who were about to drown.”

Then Alison’s eyes widened too.

“When you and John were below with the dolphins,” Lee said excitedly, “I was trying to help the man’s wife and daughter on their sailboat.  They were frantic.  And his wife explained that her husband and son had been looking for a Spanish wreckage!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Alison was incredulous.  “It was the same ship?”

“It’s a long shot,” Clay said.  “But all the European routes led north from the Caribbean islands.  So not many ships would likely be sailing out to sea this far south.”

“My God, what if that’s it,” Lee said, leaning back in his chair.  He then looked at Clay.  “What was his name?  We have to find him!”

“Demos.”

“Right,” Lee acknowledged with his head, before stopping.  “That’s probably a common name.  What was his first name?”

Clay stood up.  “It doesn’t matter.  We just need to find the boat they chartered.”

Caesare was rubbing his chin.  “Could it really be the same ship?”

Behind them, Neely peered at Alison.  “That was the rescue you were telling me about?”

“Yep.”

***

It took less than an hour to track down Dimitris Demos, once they found the charter company.  A small outfit based out of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, it was not surprisingly the closest in proximity to where they rescued Demos and his family after picking up a distress call from the man’s wife.

To their surprise, Dimitris Demos was not an official treasure hunter but instead a college professor at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens.  And an expert in early modern European history, according to his faculty profile.

Alison held up a piece of paper with his printout.  The headshot picture of Demos showed a thinning head of gray hair, with a matching neatly trimmed beard and mustache.  Both starkly contrasted against a pair of dark-framed glasses.

“He looks different.”

“You mean without the mask and scuba gear?”

“Yes.”  She continued staring at the image, remembering the harrowing experience of finding Demos and his son trapped underwater, almost out of air.  Of course, they weren’t the ones who actually found them.  It was Dirk, with John in tow.  She and Sally had followed closely behind.

It was also the rescue in which Alison witnessed the true power of Dirk’s echolocation capabilities as they navigated the narrow tunnels.  And the moment she realized there was more to the dolphins’ abilities than anyone knew.

“So,” Clay said, turning to Alison.  “Feel like a romantic trip to Greece?”

“I would love that.”

He pulled her in closer with a squeeze.  “I’ll find us a ride.”

156

Li Na opened her own cabin door to find Neely standing on the other side, outlined by the wider frame of Steve Caesare behind her.

“Good morning, Li Na.  How are you feeling?”

“Better,” the teenager said with a smile.  She stepped back and eased the door wider.

The visitors both stepped inside the tiny cabin while Li Na retreated back, sitting at the foot of her bed.  The sheets and blanket were neatly tucked and made.

Neely smiled at her softly.  “Any incidents?”

“You mean like getting sick?”

“Right.”

“No.”

“Good.  Would you like to get something to eat?  The ship has a wonderful galley.”

“Yes, please.  I am very hungry.”

Caesare grinned.  “A girl after my own heart.”

“You’re always hungry,” Neely teased.

“That’s not true,” he replied, tilting his head.  “Well, maybe.”  He then motioned to Li Na.  “Come on, sweetheart.  Let’s go get you some of the best food in a hundred miles.  And I mean that literally.”

Li Na happily followed them back outside, closing the door.  They proceeded down a hall and out into open air, where a warm, humid breeze washed over them––briefly whipping Li Na’s black hair over her face.

She breathed in deeply, smelling a sweetness in the air that felt wonderful.  Like freedom.

They continued down the catwalk before turning right and walking along the starboard side of the ship.  Neely exchanged a friendly greeting with two passing crewmen carrying equipment.  Descending a short ladder, they continued aft until Li Na slowed and came to a brief stop.   Putting her hands on the gray railing, she took a moment to gaze out over the deep blue water.

Neely and Caesare slowed, watching.

“Have you been to the ocean before?”

“When I was little,” Li Na nodded.  “But it didn’t look like this.”  She looked at the water for a long time, her eyes peering out incredulously.  Her gaze slowly followed the horizon to her right, meeting the stern of the ship.  There, her stare was replaced with surprise.

Behind Neely and Caesare, two other people were standing farther down the catwalk, looking out just as she was.  The taller of the two had a large belly and was dressed in a flowery shirt, a short gray ponytail hanging almost to his shoulders.   Next to him was a shorter figure.  And thinner.  With dark hair and a similar complexion as hers.

The same young Chinese man who had arrived with them on the helicopter.

Yong Yang, or M0ngol, noticed her almost at the same time, slender and attractive, and looking curiously at him from a distance.  But unlike the girl wondering who he was, M0ngol knew exactly who Li Na was.  He had seen her face dozens of times, from photographs.  As part of the Chinese government’s cybersecurity team tasked with hunting her down.

Borger noticed the look on M0ngol’s face.  “You okay?”

He stammered nervously.  “Does she know who I am?”

“I don’t know.  Does she?”

“I mean, have you told her?”

Borger shook his head.  “No.”

“Why?”

“She’s been through an awful lot.”

M0ngol turned to Borger.  “Are you going to tell her?”

“I think we’ll leave that up to you.  But she’s a pretty bright girl.  She may just figure it out for herself.”

***

Right behind Neely, Li Na entered the galley with a trace of nervousness.  The room was filled with tables and blue chairs, many in use by male and female crewmembers.  Some sat quietly while others talked amongst themselves in small groups.  To the left, on the far side of the room, rows of assorted foods were being served on individual plates, picked up by sailors moving past with plastic trays.  Farther still, behind a row of heat lamps and steaming pots and pans, several cooks moved diligently back and forth, pushing more plates forward.

It was a scene that drew an immediate smile to Li Na’s face, resembling a base cafeteria very much like the one her father would take her to when she was younger.  She remembered how amazed she was as a little girl at the idea of being able to simply take whatever she wanted.  And also, it was the only place her father would let her start by choosing dessert first.

It was their special place where she could eat whatever she wanted without her mother finding out.

Neely and Caesare waited, watching Li Na take it in and wondering what it was causing the look in her eyes.  But in the end, it didn’t matter.  Whatever it was, it was clearly a pleasant memory.

Choosing a vegetarian meal, she followed Neely out and back into the dining area.  Caesare was already seated with two other men, all of whom appeared to be waiting for her.  When they approached, the men rose and smiled welcomingly.

“Li Na, I’d like you to meet two of our team members, Chris Ramirez and Lee Kenwood.  They’re experts on our dolphin friends outside.”

She smiled politely.  “Hello.”

“Hi, Li Na.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

They returned to their seats along with the women and watched while Caesare picked up the first of two sandwiches.  “So, gents…catch me up.  What’s new with your IMIS system?”

“A lot actually.  IMIS keeps expanding its vocabulary, so we’ve downloaded the new additions.  And now we’re running back through all our previous translations that failed, to see if any of them come through correctly after the changes.”

Chris nodded.  “Which can give us more context on what was being said too.  Even running the code back over successful translations can present some surprises.”

“Smart thinking.”  Caesare changed the subject.  “I hear you’ve also made a new friend out there.”

“You could say that.  He looks to be a special dolphin, with what may be some enhanced abilities.  So the new words from IMIS should come in handy out here.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He’s called Vize.”

“Vize?”

“Uh huh.”

“What kind of name is that, Slavic?”

Lee laughed.  “We’re not sure.  We’re trying to figure it out.  Might be a bad translation by IMIS though, so we’ll see.”

The older Caesare looked across to the teenager, who had her head lowered, eating quietly.  “Li Na, do you like dolphins?”

She looked up with a gleam in her eye.  “Yes, I do.”

“Good.  When we’re done here, Chris and Lee have something fun to show you.”

***

Hello Chris.

“Hello, Dirk.  How are you?”

Me happy.  Where Alison?

“She is on a short journey.  But she will be back.”

When there was no error, Chris made an impressed expression at Lee.  The system was continually getting smarter.

Together, they stood on the Pathfinder’s stern, along with Caesare and Neely, while Li Na stood a few steps farther back from the edge.  Chris turned and called to her.

“Can you hear them, Li Na?”

The girl gestured affirmatively and stared at him with interest, her eyes moving down to the unique vest he was wearing.

“Dirk, where is Sally?”

She rest now.  Come soon.

Chris grinned.  “His mate Sally is pregnant.”

Li Na did not look up.  Her eyes remained fixed on the vest.  “Are you…talking to them?”

“Yes.”

She blinked with a look of surprise.  “H-how?”

“Through a computer,” Lee said.  “We have a speaker and microphone under the ship as well as in the vest.  Which sends the sounds back and forth to the computer for translating.”

Li Na was stunned.  “That is…amazing.”

They both smiled proudly.  “It is.  But it took years and a lot of work.”

“Would you like to try it?”

Her eyes crossed to Lee, as if not sure she’d heard the question right.  Li Na then eased forward cautiously and looked out past the stern.  Dirk’s head could be seen bobbing less than twenty feet away.  And was promptly joined by another, then another, and soon many more dolphin heads, all popping up around him.

Chris watched curiously as dozens more continued emerging from the water, both at a speed and in numbers greater than he’d seen before.  And oddly, while he couldn’t be sure about the dolphins farther out, it seemed that many of the closer mammals were peering through their dark eyes directly at Li Na.

Then something happened.

Li Na’s eyes widened, and she suddenly grasped and squeezed Neely’s arm next to her.

157

It took another two hours for Admiral Langford’s Gulfstream III jet to reach Trinidad’s Piarco International Airport, located twenty miles outside Port of Spain.  The capital was one of the island’s most modern and bustling cities, its airport ranked seventh largest in the Caribbean.

Inside the terminal, at the far end next to a small private gate, Clay and Alison sat waiting quietly in the airport’s brown vinyl seats.

Alison, with her hand intertwined within Clay’s, glanced around the room.  “You know, this may be the calmest things have felt in weeks.”

“Don’t say that.  You’ll jinx us.”

“Oh, please.  You don’t believe in those sorts of things.”

Clay smiled, staring through the giant window in front of them.  “True.  But I believe in luck.”

Alison pressed herself affectionately against his shoulder.  “Well, I believe in you.”

He angled his head toward her.  “It’s mutual.  Although I did begin to wonder a little when you gave Neely permission to examine me.”

She laughed again.  “All in the name of science.  Besides, you’re every female doctor’s dream patient.”

Together they watched a small family reach the end of the wing and look around, seemingly confused.  Checking their tickets and apparently realizing their mistake, they headed back the other way in a rush.

Alison watched as they went out of sight before glancing around for anyone within earshot.  Then finally looked back at Clay.

“So, listen,” she said softly, moving in closer.  “Since we’re alone, I thought maybe we could get a nice room in Greece.  Somewhere where we can, you know, make a little noise.”

With raised eyebrows, Clay looked back at her in astonishment.  “Alison Shaw.  Did you just say that?”

“What?!  I’ve missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he laughed.

“Besides, women also have needs.”

“I thought those needs were walks on the beach or talking on the phone all night.  Or watching a man do dishes?”

This time Alison burst out laughing.  She shook her head and slapped Clay playfully on the arm.  “Fine!  Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, no.  Not a chance.”

***

They reached as far as the Azores just past midnight.

A distant region of Portugal, it was composed of nine volcanic islands in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean forming an archipelago.  Spread over an area of 370 miles, the cluster of islands was still covered in bright green foliage.  However, they lacked the warmer temperatures of the tropics, ensconced throughout most of the year beneath a blanket of gray cloud cover.

The capital city of Ponta Delgada was barely visible from John Clay’s small oval window, appearing in the darkness as little more than a scattering of distant lights.

Inside the cabin, the overhead lights remained low.  One of the naval pilots emerged from the cockpit, motioning wordlessly to Clay, spotting Alison sleeping next to him.  Her dark, shoulder-length hair rested, thick and messy, against his left arm.

Clay remained unmoving, observing silently through the window as the ground crew trotted out beneath the wings to begin refueling.

A gentle snort sounded from Alison, causing him to look down at her affectionately.  To him, it was cute, particularly since she insisted that she didn’t snore.

***

A few hours later, Clay opened one eye to see early rays of sun streaking up from the distant horizon––bathing the aircraft’s wings in a warm golden glow, while thin wisps of clouds crawled smoothly below them.

Alison, still asleep in her reclined seat, snorted again.  Loudly.  Giving Clay a good guess as to what had woken him.

He gently twisted his wrist and glanced at his black G-shock military watch.  They were probably still a good four hours from Athens, which would put them on the ground somewhere around 2 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon.  And hopefully with enough of the day left to easily find their man.

***

“This was not the weather I was hoping for.”

Leaning forward and peering through one of the side windows of their taxicab, Alison watched disappointingly as streaks of heavy droplets ran down the outside of the glass.

“Not romantic?”

She looked wryly at Clay.  “Not unless you’re Gene Kelly.”

“Aren’t you a little young to know about Gene Kelly?”

Alison leaned back in her seat.  “Tell that to my mother.”

He smiled and checked the time again before an interruption from his phone.

“Clay here.”

“Hey, Clay.  It’s me.”

“Morning, Will.  What do you have for us?”

“We have a fix on Demos’ cell phone.  Looks like he’s still at the university.  On or around the History and Philosophy building which is due north from the center of campus.  His office is on the second floor.  Two fourteen.”

“Got it.   Let me know if you see him leave.”

“Will do.”

Clay hung up.  “He’s still there.”

“This should be fun,” Alison grinned.  “Let’s just hope we don’t give him a heart attack or something.”

***

A well-dressed Demos was gathering his things when Clay and Alison knocked, easing open his office door before stepping inside.  He looked up only briefly while sliding a laptop into his dark leather satchel.

Behind him was what seemed to Alison a perfect representation of what a history professor’s office would look like.  Tall bookcases on each wall, even behind his desk, filled from top to bottom with thick books from places and periods all over the world.  The only exceptions lay at the very top of the cases, holding dozens of small statues and pieces of art.

“Professor Demos?”

“Yes,” he replied in a thick accent.  His eyes raised up again, this time moving from Alison to Clay.  “Can I help you?”

Clay cracked a grin.  “I sure hope so.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked at Alison.  “I think we all look a little different without our masks.”

A flash of insolence passed over the man’s face, and he began to speak but abruptly stopped.  Studying both of them with renewed interest, he recognized Alison’s eyes first, then gasped.

“I didn’t recognize you!” he blurted out, suddenly springing from his chair.  He looked back and forth at them excitedly.  “Both of you!  You are here!”

Alison laughed in amusement.  “How are you?”

Demos never heard the question.  Instead he was staring at them, stunned.  “How-how did you find me?”

“It’s kind of a long story.  But the university made it easier in the end.  With your picture on the website.”

Demos moved around the desk and hugged Alison, followed by an even stronger embrace of Clay.  “I cannot believe you are here!  It is an honor to see you both again!”  He glanced thoughtfully around the room.  “I…would not be here without you.”

“We were happy to help,” Clay shared with a shrug.  “You and your family.”

Demos gazed at him with a look of sudden emotion.  “Yes.  My family.  We are grateful.  All of us.”

“Good,” Alison emphasized. “Because we’ve come to ask you about something.”

The man’s expression grew curious.  “Yes.  Yes, of course.  What is it?”

“We need to talk to you about your trip.”

“More specifically, why you were there,” Clay added.

Demos’ eyes quickly changed, becoming serious.  He glanced around and promptly pushed past them to the door, where he cracked it open further to peek outside, finally closing and locking it.

He turned to them inquisitively.  “How many others know you are here?”

Clay and Alison looked at each other.  “Just us and a few friends.”

“Good.”

“I take it no one else knows where you and your family were vacationing?”

“No,” Demos confirmed.  “No one.”

“Because of what you were looking for.”

He stared at Clay.  “Correct.”

“What can you tell us about the shipwreck?”

Demos paused, as if still momentarily surprised, before easing closer and lowering his tone.  “You saved me,” he said slowly.  “You saved my son.  And my family.  For that, I will tell you what I know.  Of that, I owe you.”  He took a deep breath and continued.  “I was searching for the Terra Firma Fleet.  For a Spanish galleon.”

“A single ship?”

The professor shook his head in affirmation.  “One of two ships.  Lost at sea while traveling a secret route back to Spain.”

“And did you find anything?  Before we came along?”

“No.  But it is there.  I am sure.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I have spent my whole life researching this.  And no matter what the logs say, it is there.”

“Logs?”

“The archives.  From the rest of the fleet.  They are protected now in museums, but I have copies.  What they claim is untrue.”

“You believe the logs were changed?” Clay asked.

“I know they were changed.  The Spanish changed many of their records, not just naval logs.  To deceive the spies.”

“Spies?”

“Many spies,” Demos replied staunchly, “attempted to embezzle treasures brought back to Spain.  Including those from the Americas.”

“What kind of treasures?” asked Alison.

“Gold, silver, and emeralds, mostly.  From the mines in Peru and Columbia.”

“How much are we talking about?”

Demos shrugged.  “Millions of euros worth today.  Maybe tens of millions.  It was said that the Spanish mines in Peru alone were producing more silver than all other mines combined.”

“Wow.”

“And the Spanish needed the treasure badly.  For the war, with the Dutch.”

Clay tilted his head.  “The Dutch?”

“Yes.  The Eighty Years’ War.”

Clay peered at Alison.

“The Eighty Years’ War.  And when was that again?”

“1568 to 1648,” Demos replied, studying Clay through his glasses.  “You have found one of the ships.  That is why you are here.  Yes?”

“Actually…I’m not so sure.”

Now Alison looked confused.

“When were those Terra Firma ships lost?”

“They perished in 1605.  The two ships were sent on a secret route, south of the Caribbean islands.  They were the last fleet to use such a route.”

“The last fleet?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“What is it?”

Clay caught Alison’s eye before answering.  “We’re looking for a younger ship.”

“A younger ship?”

Clay nodded.  “More recent.”

“Of Spanish origin?”

“That’s the theory.”

Demos shook his head.  “As I said, those were the last.  It was far too dangerous.  No others attempted that route.”

Clay studied Demos, who was waiting almost expectantly.  Something was not adding up.

“You’re sure they never tried the route again?”

“Yes.  I am positive.”

“Dr. Demos,” he said, deciding to abandon the indirect approach.  “What do you know about El Fantasma Del Rey?”

It was a simple, direct question.  One that neither Clay nor Alison were expecting to affect Demos quite the way it did.  His reaction was powerful and immediate––a gasp followed by the blood draining from the man’s face.

158

“El Fantasma,” Demos eased back, sizing them both up before shaking his head, “is a myth.”

“A myth?”

The older man searched for the right word in English.  “A hoax,” he explained.  “Born from deceit.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is a hoax,” Demos repeated in a sharp tone.  “Created from the embers of a failing empire.  And a king desperate to retain his crown.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost us.”

Demos stared at Alison before taking another step back and leaning against his desk, covered with papers and books.  “El Fantasma Del Rey, or the King’s Ghost, was a rumor that originated at the end of the Spanish Succession.  The war that pitted all of Europe against each other, triggered by the death of Charles II of Spain in the year 1700.  He was the last Habsburg ruler of the Spanish Empire and died childless with no heir, plunging Europe into war over control of his throne.  A throne willed to Philip of Anjou, who the British and Dutch insisted abdicate.  The whole thing lasted from 1700 to 1714.”

“What does that have to do with the King’s Ghost?”

“The King’s Ghost,” Demos said, “was a rumor.  That is all.  It was a desperate attempt to bluff the enemies of Spain, France, and Austria.  To threaten them by claiming the Spanish had found something in the Americas of extreme power and importance.  A discovery that would supposedly allow the three countries to emerge victoriously, vanquishing the British and Dutch coalition.”

Alison raised her eyebrows.  “Did the bluff work?”

“Some believe it did.  Peace talks had stalled, but a new effort emerged again, rather suddenly.  The war ended in 1714 with the Treaties of Rastatt and Baden, before the Spanish ships were reportedly able to return from South America.”

“But they didn’t return.”

Demos shook his head.  “No.  The entire treasure fleet perished in a terrible hurricane, resulting in the loss of all twelve ships.  It was the largest loss of both ships and spoils for the Spanish Crown in more than three hundred years of treasure fleet sailings.”

The professor turned to Clay, who had been watching him quietly.

“Then there was no thirteenth ship?” Clay questioned.

“There was no thirteenth Ghost ship.  It was a political masquerade.”

“And what you were searching for was the Terra Firma Fleet from a hundred years earlier.”

“That is correct.”

“Interesting,” Clay said, carefully scrutinizing the man.  “Tell me, Dr. Demos, have you ever heard of the Nautical Excavation and Maritime Organization?”

The professor shook his head.  “No.”

Clay appeared to be taken aback by his answer.  “Never?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“That’s surprising since they’re one of the largest private maritime recovery organizations in the world.  More commonly known as treasure hunters.”

“There are many such organizations, I’m afraid.  I am not familiar with all of them.”

“I’m sure,” Clay conceded.  “Still, surprising that you haven’t heard of them considering how close their acronyms are to your own name.  But more than that, the organization, run by a man named Houten, found one of your Terra Firma wreckages last year.”

There was a slight stutter in Demos’ reply.   “I…had not heard that.”

“Surprising again,” Clay said.

“I will have to look into that.  But many hunters find wrecks different than what they are looking for.”

Clay grinned at the man’s attempt to dissuade.  “They’re sure they have the right ship.  They apparently recovered the anchor, which had the name etched into it.”

“Well, I…will have to investigate.”

Clay nodded thoughtfully.  “Are you aware that you’ve been blinking a lot?”

“What?”

“You’ve been blinking a lot.  Which is a common sign of distress.  Are you distressed, professor?”

Demos did not reply immediately.  Instead he gazed silently at Clay.  “You did catch me at the end of my day.  So, yes, I am rather taxed.  And I was not expecting you.”

“I wonder.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, I wonder,” Clay repeated, “if you were genuinely not expecting us.”

The professor smirked.  “How on Earth would I know that you’d be coming to see me?”

“I don’t mean today,” Clay said.  “I have no doubt you were startled by our arrival today.  But I don’t believe you’re all that shocked that we showed up looking for you.”

“I assure you I did not–”

Clay interrupted him by stepping closer, his eyes still fixed on Demos.  “I think you’ve been expecting us.  Or at least someone.  Eventually.  To ask you what you were doing out there in the Caribbean.  Just you and your family.  All by yourselves.”

“I told you.  I was searching for–”

“For ships from the Terra Firma Fleet,” Clay finished.  “Which is also interesting considering that Houten and his team found one of your ships hundreds of miles farther north.  A discovery you claim to be completely unaware of.”

“What are you saying?” scoffed Demos.  “I fail to understand how my not hearing about a discovery has to do with anything.”

“Because, doctor,” Clay said flatly, “I find it very hard to believe you did not know about Houten’s find.  Almost as hard as your fierce denial of the possibility that Spain attempted to use their secret southern route again.  Even with the strong possibility that Spain had something in their possession, too valuable to fall into British or Dutch hands.”

Clay studied Demos, who was now standing with his arms folded.  “Do you know how many times you’ve crossed your arms while we’ve been talking?”

Demos did not reply.

“Eleven.”

Next to him, Alison stared intently at the professor.

“I think,” Clay said, “the longer I stand here, the more convinced I am becoming that you were not looking for the Terra Firma Fleet when we responded to your distress call.  I think you were searching for something else.  Something far more important, that very few people either know about or believe in.  Something valuable enough that it would have been worth the Spanish attempting to sneak out again through their secret route, directly back to Barcelona.”  Clay lowered his gaze.  “I think it’s time you start telling us the truth.”

159

Dressed in a pressed white uniform, Captain Emerson opened the metal door and stepped into the cool interior of the Pathfinder’s bridge.  Several feet away, Executive Officer Harris was waiting, holding the ship’s phone in his right hand.  When the captain approached, Harris reached out and handed him the receiver.

“Who is it?”

“It’s John Clay.”

Emerson frowned and took the phone.  “Go ahead, Clay.”

Harris waited quietly, with both hands behind his back, as the captain listened.  After two full minutes, Emerson’s gray eyes finally looked back at his XO.

“You don’t say.”

***

Not more than ten minutes later, Clay’s phone rang.  He answered from the back of another taxicab.

“Go ahead.”

“Hey, John.  It’s Steve.  What’s the word?  I hear the Pathfinder is preparing to weigh anchor.”

“That didn’t take long,” Alison joked.

“Who do you have with you, Steve?”

In Neely’s lab, Caesare looked up, waving Chris and Lee into the room.

“I have Neely, Will, and now Chris and Lee.  What’s going on?”

“We were right about our friend Demos.  He was looking for the Fantasma.  After trying to insist otherwise.”

“Did he find it?”

“I don’t think so.  But I’m guessing he was close.  I’ve already talked to Emerson, and he’s preparing to move the ship to investigate.  We’re heading to the coordinates where we found Demos, which isn’t far.”

“Excellent.  Did you get anything else from him?”

“He doesn’t know what was supposedly on the galleon if that’s what you mean.  But he believes the rumor was true.  That the Spanish had something of extraordinary importance.  Though no one seems to have any idea what it might have been.  But the general belief, of those who believe the story, is that the Spanish conquistadors found something in the Americas.  A discovery that took them some time to finally bring back.”

“Right on,” Caesare said.  “When will you two be back?”

“Actually, we were planning to head back tomorrow.  We thought we’d get a nice room to–”

Clay didn’t have time to finish before a shocked Alison dropped her jaw, slapping him forcefully and causing Clay to stifle a laugh.  “Fine.  We’re on our way back to the airport now.”

Caesare peered at the others in the room.  “You know, I hate to be a stick in the mud here, but how exactly are we going to search for something when we don’t even know what it is?  I mean, if we’re doing this on the sly, that isn’t going to give us a lot of time.  Canvassing a large area with a submersible at depth can take an awful long time.”

“Then I guess we have about twelve hours to figure it out.  Anything else?”

Kenwood spoke up.  “Yeah, Mr. Clay, it’s Lee.  Is, uh, Alison on the call?”

“One sec.”

In the cab, Clay held the phone out between them and put it on speaker.

“Lee?”

“Hey, Ali.  Listen, um, Chris and I just ran in from the communication room.  I think we found something interesting.”

“What is it?”

“Well, we’ve been going back and reapplying IMIS’s new words to old translations, and we got to thinking.  So just for grins, we ran a search on the word vize.  The name for our special dolphin.”

“And?”

“As far as we can tell, it looks like IMIS is referencing a word from a different language.  Which frankly I don’t really understand yet.  But we don’t think it’s a name.  We think it may be a description.”

“What do you mean?”

“The language IMIS linked this word to is old.  Really old.  As in ancient Sanskrit.  Where vize is a partial of the word viseSa.  Which means special.”

The phone was quiet.  Lee and Chris looked at the others as the room tipped slightly from a gentle swell rolling beneath the ship.

“So,” Alison finally replied, “it’s not his name.  But what he is?”

“That’s our guess.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, we think they are literally telling us he is special.”

Listening next to Lee, Chris suddenly froze.  “Wait a minute.  Alison!”

“What?”

“The dolphins!  We can use the dolphins to help us look for the shipwreck.”  He turned and looked at Caesare.  “We did it before––with Sally, Dirk, and the rover that you and Clay were looking for.”

“That’s true?” Caesare shrugged.  “Alison?”

“We can ask,” she said.  “But back then we knew what we were looking for.  And were able to give them a basic description.”

“Right.”

“I’m not sure how we explain to them to look for something unusual.”

Chris grimaced.  “What we really need is to be able to see what they’re seeing.”

“But unless it’s relatively shallow, we may not be able to see much anyway.  Even if we managed to rig up a camera and lights.”

“Especially with how fast they are,” Borger added.  “It’s hard enough trying to understand what you’re looking at through a rover’s camera.  And those are much slower than dolphins.”

“There’s got to be way,” Alison’s voice crackled.  “Their echolocation is so much more effective.”

“Wait a minute,” Chris said.  “Wait a minute!  The echolocation.   What if we could use their echolocation?”

“The problem is still describing it to them, Chris.  And having them describe what they see to us.”

“No, no.  That’s not what I mean.  I mean literally.  Literally using their echolocation.”

Borger wrinkled his nose at the others.  “What does that even mean?”

Chris stared back at the phone.  “Alison knows what I mean.”

Another long pause on the phone told him he was right.

“You’re talking about the CymaScope,” she pondered slowly.

“Exactly!”

Borger studied Chris.  “CymaScope?  As in cymatics?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s that?” Caesare asked.

Borger beat Chris to the answer.  “Cymatics is the science of making sound visible.”

Caesare glanced at Neely, who nodded.  “I’ve read about that.”

Everyone’s attention returned to the phone when Alison spoke.  “Okay, Chris.  Tell them.”

Chris Ramirez straightened and pressed his fingertips together.  “You remember Ali and I telling you guys about all those other teams working on the dolphin language?”

The group nodded.

“There are dozens now,” he continued.  “All working on different angles.  And one team in Mexico did something amazing a few years ago.”

“The organization is actually called Speak Dolphin.  No joke.”

“That’s right,” Chris said.  “And what they accomplished had never been done before, using cymatics.  They recorded the signals of a female dolphin’s echolocation bouncing against one of their own researchers.  A human.  And then they took those signals, and with some computer enhancement, turned it into a video picture.”

“They turned a dolphin’s echolocation into a picture?”

“They did,” Chris nodded.  “It was only in black and white but what it showed was astonishing.”

The others looked at him expectantly.  “Well?  What did it show?”

“It distinctly revealed an image of the man!” he blurted out.  “The actual figure of the man!”

“Really?”

“Yes!  Of course, it looked more like the Pillsbury Doughboy, but the human figure was remarkably clear.  And I’m sure the process has gotten better since then.”

“That’s incredible,” said Neely.  “If we could do the same thing and use one of our hydrophones to capture their echolocation’s signals…”

“We could see what they’re seeing!” exclaimed Chris.

Caesare shook his head incredulously.  “Will?”

Borger looked to Lee Kenwood, who nodded in consensus.  “It’s possible.  The hard part is figuring out what computer enhancement they did on the data.”

Clay’s voice spoke up over the phone.  “Unless we get a copy of the software.”

“Well, there’s that.”

“Okay, let’s find out where this place is at.”

“No need,” Alison said.  “Chris and I know exactly who they are.”

160

The return flight from Greece seemed to go faster than the trip out.  Even though Alison did not sleep this time.

She couldn’t.  The thought of actually witnessing what Dirk and Sally were seeing had her completely transfixed.  Why hadn’t they thought to try that before?  She and Chris had both discussed it after the Speak Dolphin team made the announcement years ago, but with everything else going on, the idea gradually receded to the back of their minds.

Regardless, she was now as excited as she had ever been, working her passion as a marine biologist.  Being this close to a new discovery reminded her of those first breakthroughs with Dirk and Sally in the aquarium.

Clay watched her from his seat.  “Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head.  “Can you imagine?  Actually pairing the ability to see their echolocation with the ability to speak to them in real time?  Can you imagine the kind of communication this could lead to?”

“Pretty incredible.”

“Yeah.  Kind of mind-blowing really.  This is almost like being inside their head.  I mean we’re talking about a level of communication never thought realistically possible before, ever.”

“You’re changing the world, Alison.  One step at a time.”

She gazed fixedly at him, almost dumbfounded, before something unrelated occurred to her.  “By the way, how did you know all that stuff about the Terra Firma ship being found by that maritime outfit?”

Clay relaxed and eased his head back against the seat.  “I did some reading on it.”

“When?”

He closed his eyes and grinned.  “When you were busy not snoring.”

***

On the Pathfinder, Steve Caesare was peering at Neely Lawton, curiously.  The rest of their team, having spoken to the lead engineer at Speak Dolphin, was now working elsewhere to download a copy of the software used.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Neely said.

Leaning against one of the metal tables, Caesare mused.  “Why didn’t you tell Alison about what happened outside with Li Na and the dolphins?”

“Because,” she said thoughtfully.  “I think she’s going to want to see this for herself.”

161

The distant lights of the Pathfinder were too faint for Alison and Clay to spot from their plane.   It was just below, in the dark ocean.  The ship’s pointed bow sliced powerfully through rolling swells as it surged northward in the darkness.

Overhead at 21,000 feet, the Gulfstream III edged past the smaller island of Tobago.  It began banking to the left for its planned descent back into Trinidad’s main airport.

Upon landing, Alison and Clay deplaned and took a taxi to the east side of the island, arriving at a nature resort in the quiet town of Salybia.  From there, it took them several minutes to find the small private beach, where, in the darkness, a large fishing trawler was anchored and waiting patiently a few hundred yards out.

The boat’s silhouette could be seen gently rocking back and forth beneath a full moon, with silvery-edged clouds passing between Earth and sky.

On the water, the outline of a small dingy left the trawler’s shadow and headed to shore.

Clay and Alison trudged up the sand, happening upon a couple lying on a towel not far away.  Clay smiled, noticing they’d been caught off guard in a nightly embrace.

He glanced over his shoulder.  “What were you saying about romance on the beach?”

“I said in the surf,” Alison humorously corrected him.

“Then let’s hope the tide doesn’t come in while they’re necking.”

“Necking?” Alison laughed.  “How old are you?”

“Don’t judge.  I think I look pretty good for seventy.”

She laughed again and continued following him.  When they reached the water, they stopped and waited for the shadowed dingy to approach, its small motor purring softly.  Inside the boat sat a single individual, who jumped out immediately upon beaching, smiling broadly.  The moonlight revealed the shadowed face of their friendly neighborhood smuggler, Tomas Lopez.

***

Traveling out to sea and nearly four hours later, they finally reached the giant and minimally lit Pathfinder.  Resting at anchor precisely at Clay’s coordinates, it lay under the same bright moon from earlier, still passing in and out of the clouds.

Idling its engines, the trawler approached and glided toward the ship’s barely illuminated stern.  Behind Clay, Alison peered into the darkness to see dozens of heads bobbing above the reflective water.

“Looks like they didn’t have any trouble convincing the dolphins to come along.”

“Would have put quite a crimp in our plans if they had.”

The first person to appear was Steve Caesare, recognizable by his wide frame.  He was soon followed by the taller and more rotund shape of Will Borger.

“Ahoy, sailor,” Caesare called and caught the line thrown by one of Lopez’s crew.  He pulled it in hand over hand and secured it to the Pathfinder’s deck.

“Welcome back.”

Alison eagerly stepped up with a hand from Borger for support.  “Thanks.  Felt a lot like a road trip with no stops.”

Caesare grinned.  “Believe me, there are far worse ways to travel.”

“But not better company.”

“I have to disagree with you there,” Caesare said, poking fun at Clay as he stepped aboard behind Alison.

“Thanks a lot, buddy.”

Caesare clapped his friend on the shoulder and laughed.  “Come on.  We’re almost ready.  Corbin and Beene are suiting up.”  He turned back toward Alison.  “And we have something rather interesting to tell you.”

***

They found Neely waiting for them in sickbay, next to Li Na, positioned calmly on the edge of the fold-down medical bed.  Around her right arm, a blood pressure cuff had just been removed by one of the ship’s nurses.

“Still normal.”

“Good.”  Neely noticed and smiled as her friends entered the room.  “Welcome back,” she said.  “I wasn’t the least bit jealous over that trip.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Alison said, squeezing Clay’s hand.

Neely briefly hesitated and eyed the nurse, waiting for the woman to leave the room.  When she did, Neely turned back to Alison.

“Okay, my curiosity is piqued.  What’s up?  Steve says you have something to tell me.”

“You could say that.”  Neely nodded, glancing at Li Na.  “Still feeling okay?”

The teenager nodded cheerfully.  “Yes.”

“I trust you both remember what I said about the changes we’re seeing in Li Na.  Genetically.”

“Of course.”

“And my worries over what could be rather unpredictable changes.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Neely began as she folded her arms, “unpredictable may be an understatement.”

“Meaning what?”

“Li Na here had an interesting experience yesterday.  After you left.  And…there’s really no other way to describe it.”  Neely raised her eyebrow at the teenager.  “Li Na?”

The girl took a deep breath.  “I, uh…heard them.”

“Heard who?”

“Them,” the girl said simply.  “The dolphins.”

Alison wrinkled her brow and looked at Clay.  “You heard the dolphins?”

“Yes.”

“Through our computer?”

Li Na shook her head.

“I’m not…following.”  Confused, Alison looked to Neely for help just before her eyes promptly narrowed.  “Wait, what do you mean you heard them?”

“She means without the computer,” Neely clarified.

“Huh?”

“Listen, I think something’s happening here.  On a much deeper level than we thought.  For all the problems Li Na has had to endure, there may be something even more important taking place.  Something rather unexpected.”

Neely continued, “And it may be related to the Big Brain Trio theory that DeeAnn explained to us.  And how similar our brains are.  How oddly similar.  This is what you and I talked about, Ali.  In fact, you’re the one who first asked the question.  If another level of communication did exist somewhere between instinct and cognition, could it also be shared between animals with such similar brains?”

“You said it was possible…theoretically,” Alison recalled.

“I think it’s more than theoretical now.”  Neely placed a hand gently on Li Na’s shoulder.  “We’ve tested it several times and there is clearly something unique occurring.”

An incredulous Alison peered at the younger Li Na, who nodded.  “I am hearing them.”

“What are you hearing?”

“Not words.  But something that feels more like…feelings.”

“Feelings?”

Li Na began to reply but then held herself back.

“It’s okay,” Neely prodded.  “You can tell her.”

After a moment, the teenager added, “It feels a little like music, without the words.  And not as strong.”  She spoke to Neely.  “What was the word you used?”

“Rhythm.”

“Yes.  Maybe like a low rhythm,” she said.  “Like when you play music too loud, and you can feel it in your chest.”

“Oh my God.”

Caesare leaned in next to Alison.  “That’s exactly what I said.”

“How?” she stammered.  “How is this even possible?”

“It seems her senses have been strengthening.  And becoming more sensitive, ever since she woke in the hospital in China.  At first she thought something was wrong.”

“I thought I was getting sick,” Li Na admitted.  “But I kept hearing things.  More and more.”

“I’m not sure specifically what’s changed,” Neely continued, “or what sections of DNA are different, but given the genetic problems Li Na is now having, I can’t say I’m surprised that even more things are evolving.  Surprised maybe at what she’s hearing but not as much that she hears it.”

Still stunned, Alison stepped closer to Li Na.  “So, what is it you’re hearing from them?  Or feeling?”

At that, the girl lit up.  “Well, they are very excited.”

***

Several minutes later, after Caesare left to walk Li Na back to her cabin, Neely continued the conversation with the others.

“As incredible as this is, it doesn’t mean it’s good news.”

“Are you kidding?”

“She’s still very unstable, Ali.  If she has any more episodes, especially like the last one, it could still kill her.”

“But I thought–”

“Keeping her from eating animal products is only a temporary measure.  There is no way to understand what’s really happening, and no way to understand what’s initiating it.  Not here.  Not on the ship.  We don’t have anywhere near the equipment needed to figure this out.”

“Then what do we need?”

“A full-scale genetics lab for starters.  Where we can study, and with any luck, track what areas are changing in an attempt to isolate the clusters.  Try to somehow get a handle on the full scope of what’s changed.  Because if we can’t…”

“I understand.”  Alison shook her head.  “It’s just…so incredible!”

“It is.  But it will be a lot less incredible if she dies.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“Then our first priority,” Clay reasoned, “is to find a lab we can use, and hide for a while.”

“Correct.”

He looked at Borger.  “Any ideas, Will?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

Alison remained quiet, focused on a faded spot on the cream linoleum, until all at once she pursed her lips. “You know,” she said.  “I think I have a place.”

162

“I honestly haven’t the slightest idea.”

Sitting in the tight communication room, Lee Kenwood motioned back to the screen in front of them.  “How IMIS would decide to reference ancient Sanskrit in a translation is beyond me.  Nowhere in the software is it instructed to do that.”

Chris and Alison appeared just as perplexed.

“But you said IMIS has already done some things unexpectedly, right?  On its own.”

“That’s true.  Expanding the frequency ranges when translating for Dulce was one.  The algorithms dealing with artificial intelligence have clearly taken some steps we never intended.  Or programmed for.”

“So is it really that surprising it would look at a different language?  Like Sanskrit?”

Lee stared at Alison sarcastically.  “Uh, yeah!”  She shot him a look, causing him to shrug.  “Okay, referencing another modern language wouldn’t surprise me that much.  But Sanskrit?”

“Maybe Vize just isn’t a word or a spelling used in other languages.”

Lee raised both hands on top of his head.  “I suppose I could…try to retrace.”

“Retrace?”

“I mean sift through the output and see if we can determine where the algorithms made that decision.  Or more specifically, where the calculation was made.  At least that would help explain how it got there.  In the meantime, though,” he said, “I do have some good news.”

Alison and Chris both waited expectantly.

He opened another window on his laptop.  “When I mentioned that I’ve been going back and reapplying IMIS’s new words to old translations, I hadn’t read back through the logs very far.  Until last night when I read a highlighted section that was modified from an earlier exchange.  One that took place a while ago.”

“What did it say?”

Lee made a cautionary gesture with his hands.  “Let me just state that what I’m about to tell you is actually very cool.  Because it’s more than just a word change.  It’s a contextual change, which strictly speaking is more exciting in my opinion than a–”

“Spit it out, man!”

“Okay, okay.  You know how the dolphins have been calling most of our manmade objects a metal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, IMIS appears to be learning enough of that context to understand what they actually mean when they say metal.  In this case, when they are referring to a boat.”

“Okay.”

“That’s the cool part.  But the surprising part is that it has to do with a translation that we missed.”

“Missed?”

“I mean missed.  As in completely.  Although to be honest, who actually missed it was…you!”

Alison stared at Lee.  “Me?”

“Yes.  You.  The one and only Alison Shaw.  Missed something.  Something potentially very big.”

She placed her hands on her hips.  “You know how tired I am, right, Lee?”

“I do,” he grinned.  “But this is worth it.  At least to me.”

“What did I miss?”

“A translation,” he said.  “A while back, when you and Mr. Clay rescued that guy Demos and his son.”

“The man we just got back from seeing?”

“Yep.  In fact, right after you two rescued them, there was a brief exchange between you and Dirk, and you misunderstood something he said which may be important.  Especially given where we are right now.”

“The spot where we rescued them.  What was it?”

“When Demos and his son were reunited with their family, Dirk was next to you in the water and could see they were happy.  And he said, them happy.  Followed by, them want metal.”

Alison frowned.  “And?”

“And it was followed by another reference to what Dirk called an old metal.  But you most likely thought he was talking about Demos’ boat when he said old metal.”

“I…remember that.”

“Good.  Because it just so happens that one of the contextual changes IMIS recently made was Dirk’s use of the word metal.  Instead of seeing this as a general term, IMIS has now changed the wording from old metal to old boat.”

“Old boat.”

“That’s right.  Or perhaps more specifically, old ship.”

Alison looked at Chris then back to Lee.  “Are you saying that you think old boat was a reference to the Spanish ship we’re looking for?”

Lee nodded with a satisfied expression.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  And I would be willing to bet a fair amount of Chris’s money on it.”

“Hey!”

Behind them, John Clay appeared in the narrow doorway, too late for Lee’s joke.  “Corbin and Beene are in the water with the hydrophone.  We’re ready.”

***

The lab was once again standing room only.  Everyone faced the room’s three large monitors, while Will Borger and Lieutenant Tay sat at the chrome table in front of them.  When Lee arrived, Borger glanced over his shoulder and motioned to the seat next to him.

“Are our friends ready?”

“Yes.”  Lee sat down with his laptop and sent a test translation through the underwater speaker.  “Dirk.  This is Lee.  Are you ready?”

Much ready Lee.  Where Alison?

Lee looked up at her while typing his reply.  “She is here with me.  Alison says hello.”

Hello you Alison.

“What about Sally?” she asked.

“Dirk, where is Sally?” Lee typed.

Sally no here.  Sally slow.

A moment later, IMIS changed the last word to tired.

“I see,” he typed.  “Our friends are ready with our small metal.  They must follow you.”

A translation error sounded from the laptop, but Dirk’s reply was unaffected.

Me find.  We go.

Lieutenant Tay leaned forward and spoke into his own microphone.  “Gentlemen, Dirk is ready and coming to you.”

Corbin’s voice responded with an affirmative.

Next Borger spoke, “Activating the hydrophone.”

Tay nodded.  “Remember guys, we need to stay behind Dirk as he uses his echolocation.  And keep the hydrophone as close to perpendicular to him as possible for the best signal.”

“Roger that.”

Moments later, Dirk arrived.  Corbin and Beene angled forward to follow, pushing their square, modified hydrophone ahead in front of them.

163

The first cymatic images of Dirk’s echolocation signals were barely discernable on the monitors.  Resembling a black-and-white kaleidoscope more than anything else, the computer-enhanced footage displayed nothing even remotely recognizable, prompting Borger to tilt his head.

“Huh.”

Everyone waited several long seconds before Caesare frowned and tried viewing the image sideways.  “That…does not look like much of anything to me.”

“Me either.”

Borger reexamined his computer’s connection to the hydrophone.  “Says it’s getting strong signals.”

“Corbin, Beene,” Tay called into his mike.  “How close are you to Dirk?”

“Five or six feet.”

“Can you back off a bit?  He might be blocking some of the sound waves.”

“Roger.”

A few seconds later, the video on the monitors improved marginally.

“That’s a little better.”

“Very little,” Borger mumbled with eyes on the screen, thinking deeply.  “Maybe we’re not close enough to anything.”

Emerson looked at the rest of the group.  “Anyone know where we’re headed?”

“Not precisely,” Tay answered.  “If this doesn’t work, we may need to fall back to a towfish and use our side scan sonar.  A lot less accurate but it’s reliable.”

Clay watched as Alison raised an eyebrow at Lee Kenwood, who did the same back to her.   She then nodded and motioned to his keyboard.

Lee typed a message.  “Dirk, can you take us to the old metal?”

Everyone within earshot turned and looked at Lee, leaving nothing but silence until Dirk’s reply echoed loudly throughout the room.

Me show Lee.

Clay shot a wide-eyed look at Alison.  “Old metal?”

She grinned sheepishly.  “Surprise?”

***

“I think we’re getting something.  The image seems to be tightening up a little.”

“Corbin,” Tay called.  “What’s your depth?”

The SEAL checked his glowing dive computer.  “Sixty-two feet.  But we can’t see a damn thing.  Visibility isn’t more than ten or twelve feet with our lights.”

“They’re too deep now for any of the moonlight to penetrate.”

“Roger that, Corbin.  The Pathfinder’s sonar is showing a coral layer just below you.  At about eighty feet.  Which seems to be matching the imaging we’re getting off the hydrophone.”

“You guys seeing anything interesting yet?”

“A few objects but we’re trying to tighten up the image more.”

“Roger.”

“Whoa!”

Something new appeared on the screen, blurry but distinct from the rest of the picture.  “Guys, slow down just a minute and angle the phone down ten degrees or so.”

“Copy.”

On the monitors, the object crystalized slightly.  Through a multitude of billowing shapes making up the waves from Dirk’s echolocation, the thing appeared long and straight.

Ackerman squinted.  “What is that?”

“No idea.”

After a moment, Tay leaned forward into his mike again.  “Can you guys move the hydrophone around a little?  We’ve got something, but the image isn’t clear enough.”

“Move it around?”

“Yes.”

Caesare glanced at Clay.  “A bit like going up on the roof to move the antennae around for the old man, eh?”

Clay grinned.  “I’m guessing half the people in this room have no idea what that’s like.”

At that, Caesare merely frowned and shook his head.

On the monitors, the CymaScope image sharpened for a moment before blurring again.

“Wait.  Go back.”

The sharpness improved briefly again but quickly faded.

“Still hard to see, but it looks like it could be a wooden beam.”

Borger leaned back in his chair with crossed arms.  “Possibly.  I hate to say it, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make out much with this kind of resolution.  At least not with any degree of confidence.”

“Agreed,” Tay nodded.  “Even if we manage to pass over whatever it is we’re looking for, I doubt we’d even know it.”

On the monitors, the shapes continued to billow slowly back and forth, as though overlaying multiple images over the same object.

“Maybe the hydrophone isn’t sensitive enough.”

Alison shrugged.  “Or maybe Dirk’s echolocation is being drowned out by the other dolphins.”

“That could be,” Borger said.  “What we really need is a way to separate them.  But that would take time.  And we’d need to get the Speak Dolphin team’s help.”

Standing next to him, Chief Ackerman turned to Emerson.  “Should we continue, Captain?  Or break out the towfish?”

Emerson pursed his lips.  “Do we think these images are going to get any better?”

Tay and Borger looked at each other.  “Unlikely, sir.”

Emerson nodded and glanced at his watch.  “Okay then, drop the fish.  Bring the men back up.”

“Aye.”  Tay turned and began to speak but stopped short when a translation sounded through Lee’s computer.

Alison.

Behind them, Alison looked surprised.  “Is that Dirk?”

Lee studied the screen.  “I don’t think so.”  He typed a reply.  “Sally, is that you?”

Yes Alison.  Me Sally.  I here.

Lee grinned and instinctively shifted to the side so Alison could move closer to the keyboard.

“Sally, you made it.”

Yes Alison.  Me make.

Alison laughed.

“Are you okay?”

Me happy.  Me here Vize.

In the lab, Alison checked in with Lee and Chris.  “That’s interesting.  I wonder why she brought him?”

She typed on the keyboard.

“Vize is here?”

Yes Alison.  Vize help.

“What does that mean?” Emerson asked.  “He needs help?”

Alison straightened, staring at the screen.  She smiled and shook her head.  “I think she means just the opposite.”

***

It took only minutes for Sally and Vize to catch up to the SEALs and Dirk.  And at that very moment, both Corbin and Beene immediately felt the powerful buzzing from Vize’s melon through their skin.

When the signals bounced back, the CymaScope images on the monitors changed dramatically.  And it was Caesare who spoke first, taking the words out of everyone’s mouth.

“Holy crap!”

164

The change was astonishing.

In mere seconds the video feed on the monitors became noticeably clearer and more precise, revealing the item atop the coral.  Proving, not just to Alison but the whole team, that the frequencies used by Vize were distinctly unique.

The long object was still slightly blurry but now easily recognizable.  And indeed, a wooden beam.  Long and straight, and very old.  Slowly deteriorating in its gravesite at the bottom of the Caribbean.

Borger looked back over his shoulder at Clay and Caesare.  “I think we’ve found our wreck.”

The speaker sounded when Corbin called up over his headset.  “Well?”

A spellbound Tay slowly depressed the button on his mike.  “Paydirt.”

***

Unsurprising to anyone in the lab, the ancient wreckage was spread over a wide swath of coral.   Clusters of objects were left behind when the ship had broken into pieces, likely on its initial descent over three hundred years earlier.  Objects and relics now lay half buried in coral or fine white sand.  Many larger pieces, such as wooden sections of the ship, were clearly recognizable with Vize’s help.  But many smaller objects were still too hazy for positive identification.

“Corbin, how much air do you and Beene have left?”

“Six or seven minutes.”

“Roger.  Stand by.”

Tay spun around in his chair.  “Captain, it’s going to take several dives to map things out.  Should we go ahead and bring them up?”

“Anyone have any other ideas?” Emerson asked, looking around the room.  His eyes stopped on Clay and Alison, standing together.  “Miss Shaw?”

“Yes?”

“Anything else we should ask your dolphins?”

Alison blinked and slowly turned to Lee.

“You’re sure Vize isn’t a name?”

Lee’s head bobbed up and down.  “It’s a description.”

She smiled slyly.  “Then let’s ask them.”

It took Lee a moment to understand what she meant before swiveling back around to enter another message.

“Dirk.  Where is the Vize metal?”

***

With less than two minutes of air remaining, the divers found what they were looking for.  Their task had been made easier with Dirk’s assistance.  And now they had visual confirmation from the hydrophone.  In addition, something else appeared that looked surprisingly familiar––a giant patch of enormous underwater plants.  Unusually tall, they reached upward and waved rhythmically in the gentle ocean current––only visible thanks to the cameras in Corbin and Beene’s helmets, plus the glow from their bright LED lights.

Hovering over the top of the plants, both men could clearly see the rectangular object around which the plants had rooted.  An elongated rectangle with seemingly straight edges and measuring approximately six by eight feet in size.

Also colored in an unmistakable greenish tint.

165

Once out of the water and lowered onto the Pathfinder’s deck, the object appeared to be a perfect rectangular block.  Ninety-eight and a half inches long by seventy-six inches wide and twenty-eight inches tall. At first glance, the block looked to be made from the same material as their alien ship, complete with faint shapes and diagrams covering every square inch of its top.

Under the night sky and surrounded by the entire team, Borger was the first to reach down and touch it.  Gingerly, then more firmly, until finally pressing harder against the surface with his palm.

A much fainter but still visible glow encircled his hand before fading the instant he removed it.

He gazed up at Steve Caesare, standing on the other side.  “We’ve definitely seen that before.”

***

It took two more days for the Pathfinder to return and complete the preparations.

Each in his own harness, John Clay and Steve Caesare were being lowered slowly down through the water, toward the alien ship.  Spotting Corbin and Beene standing freely below, Clay and Caesare shared a brief look of uncertainty through their masks.  Their feet finally pierced the bubble of air as they continued to descend through the strange ship’s outer shield.

Grasping the tether tightly in both hands, each man watched as the bubble crept up their bodies, swallowing them inch by inch.  Until, eventually reaching their necks and finally masks, it consumed them completely, leaving both men dangling in open air beneath a ceiling of sparkling seawater.

After a full minute, they nervously removed their regulators and breathed in.

“Wow.  Now that is incredible!” Caesare exclaimed.

Clay nodded in agreement in silence, staring up at the watery ceiling.

Still dangling in the air, the two looked back up when their tethers jerked to a stop.  They then sighted the strange block being lowered from above.

“Clay, it’s Borger.  You guys okay?”

He pressed his waterproof earbud firmly in place.  “Yeah, we’re…in.  Everything’s fine so far.”

“You see the package above you?”

“Yep.  Keep it coming.”

“Okay.  Let us know when it’s within reach.”

Overhead, the block continued lowering until it too pierced the air bubble just as they had.  Soon it was close enough for Clay and Caesare to each grab one of the four straps securing it.  Together, they descended alongside––down to the smaller ship where Corbin and Beene were waiting.

“Stop the package,” Beene called up.  And the block promptly halted, suspended a little over four feet from the surface.

Clay and Caesare’s tethers extended until they touched down.  The men quickly released their own cables.  Keeping their dive gear on, each man grabbed one strap and gingerly led the block toward a ramp leading upward.

“Okay, start feeding some slack.  Slowly.”

“Roger that.”

Together, with the package still hovering above the surface, the four-man team moved up the ramp one gradual step at a time.

But when they reached the top of the ramp, something changed.

Caesare looked at the others.  “You guys feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Feels lighter.”

Each studied the block, taking a half step away while still maintaining a hand on their strap.

The movement was almost imperceptible at first.  Barely a nudge.  But it was there.  A nudge, or more accurately a slight pull, toward the inside of the alien ship.

“Something’s happening,” Beene said, looking at Clay, who then called back up to Borger.

“We’re on the flat, Will.  More slack.”

“Roger.  More slack.”

Step by step, the men remained alongside the block, watching as the invisible tug upon it steadily intensified.

When they reached the first room, the steel tether from above impacted the edge of the new ceiling and stopped, preventing any further progress.

“Whatever that is, it’s getting stronger.”

The others instinctively let go of the straps and examined the object still poised in midair.  Its thick cable, taut and strained, ran up and out over the ceiling.

“More slack.”

“We’re working on it,” came Borger’s reply.  “We’re almost out of cable.  How much more do you need?”

“We don’t know.”

Clay watched Corbin peer under the heavy block, waving his hand back and forth below it.  Then he briefly pushed up on it from the bottom.

He shook his head at Clay.  “I don’t think we’re controlling this thing anymore.”

Clay glanced at the block and spoke into his microphone.

“I think we need them to release it.”

“What?”

“Have Tay and his men release it,” Clay repeated.

“You want them to release the cable?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’re not sure of anything at the moment,” Clay replied.  “But it’s too tight to unhook from here.  Just tell Tay to release it.”

When there was no reply, Clay looked at the others.  “Everybody stand back.”

When the long cable was released, it took less than a minute to plunge through the ocean water and reach the bubble of open-air inside the alien ship.  From there, it fell the last two hundred feet, slamming with a deafening clang against what they believed to be the smaller ship’s main cargo hold.

At the top of the ramp, all four men focused their attention back on the block.  Which had resumed its slow, controlled course.

“This is getting spooky,” Caesare said.  He raised a hand, pushing gently on the block.  He witnessed it edging a few inches away from him, then returning.

On the other side, Beene reached out and grasped the nylon strap closest to him.  The strap was now sagging below, still connected to the main tether cable and steadily dragging it behind.

“Anyone else think we should take this off?”

The other three nodded and reached over the top, unclasping each of four steel metal rings, allowing the straps to fall away and onto the floor.

They continued moving forward with the block, one step at a time.  Meanwhile, both Corbin and Beene now held their helmets under an arm for their cameras to record what was happening.

Onboard the Pathfinder, everyone remained huddled, watching both feeds from the helmets—equally enthralled at what was happening inside the ship.

They could see when, once Clay and the others were less than ten feet from the center of the room, the block’s movement began to change, lowering and rotating counterclockwise.

Its distance reached less than a foot from the floor.  Then six inches.  Then three.  And finally, zero.

With a loud, deep, echoing thump, the block came to a stop.  And landed perfectly still.

Then things began to change.  Around the edges.  The seams along each side began to shimmer and move.

“Clay, what’s happening?” Borger asked.

“We’re not sure.”

On screen, Corbin’s helmet cam shifted and suddenly drew nearer, as the SEAL held it closer to the block.  The seams around the lower edges appeared to be linking or perhaps fusing themselves back in place.  One by one, tiny faint lines reconnected themselves between both the block and the floor.

This went on for several minutes, until once again everything abruptly stopped.

Inside the ship, all four men remained on their feet, waiting.

“What now?”

Clay shrugged while Corbin drew even closer with his helmet, but there was nothing.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. Something is still working inside this ship.”

Barely moments after he’d spoken, a ball of light suddenly burst from the top of the block, startling all four men.  There, it froze in midair, then slowly began to spin.  Rotating while the ambient light in the room began to darken, until the LED lighting from Corbin and Beene’s helmets were the only light sources left.

On top of the block, lines and diagrams began to illuminate, forming what resembled controls and instruments.  At the same time, the image hovering above continued to rotate, darkening further and further until it became black––dotted with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light.

The entire laboratory aboard the Pathfinder was utterly silent.  Everyone watched the monitors in disbelief.

Until Corbin’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“You guys getting this?”

The room nodded in unison, prompting Tay to reply.  “Oh yeah.  We see it.”

There was no point in asking what it was.  Everyone knew.  The black field over the object, rotating slowly in place now, was clearly a view of the universe.  Or a part of it.  Filled with thousands of tiny sparkling stars.

It was unquestionably the alien ship’s navigation system.

166

We go Alison?

“Yes, Dirk.  Now we go.  Are you ready?”

Yes.  We ready.  Heads happy.

Alison stared at the computer screen and glanced down at the time display in the lower righthand corner.  The moment had finally come to give Dirk and Sally what they had been asking for.  Or more specifically, what their elders had been asking for.

Of course, it had taken time.  Not just to get it approved, but to procure the actual hardware they needed.  Flown from San Diego and delivered to them in Trinidad, the acquisition came straight from the headquarters of the Navy Marine Mammal Program.

Alison stood up and exited the room, passing through two doors and finally emerging outside.  She then traversed the catwalk in a series of reverberating steps.  She descended two more ladders, reaching the stern of the Pathfinder––to find Tomas Lopez and his fishing trawler waiting.

When she hopped aboard, the thump caused Chris and Lee to turn around, inside the boat’s small and crowded cockpit.  In front of them sat a screen, its computer counterpart situated directly below the marred wooden table.

They needed to use a smaller version of IMIS during their trip back to Trinidad since Alison’s vest worked only with a direct line of sight.  And that would be virtually impossible once underway.

She stepped up onto the port side of the boat’s main deck, moving forward past the cockpit toward the bow.  In the water, she could see the dolphins waiting eagerly––Dirk, their three heads, and several others.

Smitty cast off the trawler’s lines from the Pathfinder, tossing the thick, worn ropes onto the floor of the trawler and allowing the smaller vessel to float free.

Lopez looked out from behind the wheelhouse.  “Are we ready, Miss Alison?”

She smiled and nodded.  Then gave a thumbs-up through the Plexiglass window to Lee, who typed a short message on his keyboard.

“Here we go, Dirk.  Follow us.”

***

It took hours at low speed, which was necessary to allow the dolphins to keep up with the boat.  The pace gave Alison some downtime and the opportunity to gaze out over the glistening water, lost in thought.  She occasionally checked forward to make sure Dirk and the others were still with them.

Across from Alison and the wooden bench she was resting on, Chris smiled at her, his black hair blowing in the breeze.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

She grinned and turned her face into the warm air.  “I’m not even sure where to start.”

He motioned forward toward the dolphins.  “It’s nice to be doing this for them.”

“Yes.  It is.”

“The least we can do.”

“Yeah.  They’ve done a lot more for us than we have for them.”

“Too bad Sally couldn’t come.”

Alison acknowledged in disappointment.  “We’ll be back.”

“I know.  It’s just that she’s also done so much.  She deserves this.”

“Something tells me Dirk will share everything with her.  Maybe even more than she wants.”

At that, Chris laughed and glanced absently down to his feet.  “It really is amazing how similar we all are.  At least cognitively.  How so many themes in what we say and feel seem fundamentally the same.  Even across other species.”  After a long pause, he continued.  “And funny how all species like to play and grow.  And have a place of safety where they can raise and protect their young.  Sure, there’re a lot of variations out there, but a lot of the basics feel pretty similar.”

Alison peered at Chris with a trace of amusement.  “And is that what you want too?  To raise some little Ramirezes?”

He laughed.  “Eventually.  But I have a feeling you’re a little closer to that than I am.”

“What?”

“Oh please.  You two are so in love.  It’s pretty much impossible to miss.”

Alison frowned.  “Do I detect an air of jealousy?”

“Not at all.  I’m happy for you, Ali.  Genuinely.  You’ve been through a lot.  And you deserve to find someone like him.  And I’m guessing he deserves someone like you.”

Alison’s expression softened.  “Thank you.”

“And I’m not worried about you running off anymore either.  You couldn’t leave all this if you wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dirk, Sally,” he gestured out over the water.  “Sally’s baby.  And now Vize.  There is still so much to learn.  We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“That’s true.”

“Not to mention my amazing idea of viewing their echolocation through the hydrophone.”

Alison wrinkled her nose playfully.  “You didn’t exactly invent that.”

“No.  But I did think of it as a way to find the wreckage.”

“Okay, I admit.  That was pretty cool.”

“Then Vize comes along and does his thing.”

She laughed.  “Ya, no kidding!”

“Speaking of which, we should come up with a better name to give him.  Calling him special doesn’t really cut it.”

“You’re right.”  Alison paused and looked forward again, allowing the breeze to blow several strands of hair from her face.  After a long moment, she decided, “Let’s name him Edwin.”

“Edwin?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did that come from?”

She stared past him with a soft, almost affectionate expression.  “It’s kind of a long story.”

***

Clay and Caesare spotted the trawler when it rounded the point on the northeast corner of Trinidad Island.  With a bright sun overhead, they could just make out the repeated splashing on either side of the trawler’s bow.

It took several minutes for Lopez to close the distance, given the slow speed.  Both men were patiently standing on a concrete dock just west of the Trinidad and Tobago Yacht Club.  One of the few docks on this side of the island with the necessary width.

Behind them, parked in a line, were four flatbed trucks, each carrying an oval fiberglass tank.  And behind them, a small construction crane dangled a loose fabric harness from its clutches, twisting gently in the warm breeze.

As they approached the dock, Alison stepped out onto the deck, moving forward to the bow while eagerly beaming at Clay.

Behind her, Lopez pulled the handle of his throttle back into neutral and allowed the boat to coast to a stop.  The change prompted the dolphins to slow in unison before Dirk made a brief circle and popped his head above the water near the back of the boat.  Where Alison quickly returned to the cockpit and powered on her IMIS vest.

Alison.  We go.

“Soon, Dirk.”  She eyed the tanks atop the trucks behind Clay and Caesare.  “First we need to take you to a larger metal.”

The larger metal was a Lockheed C-130 transport plane, mammoth in size and waiting on a private tarmac when they reached the airport.  Colored navy blue, several call letters and a giant American flag were proudly painted on its tail.

“Wow,” Alison breathed.  “It’s bigger than I thought.”

Clay grinned beside her and spotted three men waiting outside the aircraft, near to the rear loading ramp.  Where their truck driver ultimately came to a stop and waited while they climbed out.  They were followed by Caesare, Chris, and Lee exiting the trucks directly behind them.

He and Alison approached the tallest of the men who waved while walking forward to greet them.

“Commander Clay?”

Clay nodded and shook hands.  “Mr. Landon.  This is Alison Shaw.”

“Ah, Dr. Shaw,” he said with a warm smile.  “Pleased to meet you.  Call me Trevor.”

Alison returned the smile, trying to hide her surprise at how young the man was.  “You’re Trevor Landon?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The director of the Marine Mammal Program?”

“Let me guess, you were expecting someone older.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing and a little embarrassed.  She then looked past him at his cohorts.  Neither appeared much older than he.  “Are you a commander too?”

Landon smiled.  “No ma’am.  I’m a civilian.”

There was another surprised reaction on Alison’s face as Caesare, Lee, and Chris approached from behind them.  “A civilian?  I wasn’t expecting that either.”

Landon swung back and motioned his own colleagues over.  “Most people don’t.  But believe it or not, the only Navy personnel in our program are in fact the dolphins.”

“Really?”

“That’s right,” Landon replied, eyeing Clay with a hint of humor.  “And there’s a rumor going around that you may not be one of our team’s biggest fans.”

“Well…I…uh,” Alison stammered.  She glared at Clay and watched him chuckle.

“That’s okay,’ Landon said.  “That’s not uncommon either.  Truth be told, there’s a lot of misunderstanding around the program these days.  But I can assure you,” he said with a wink, “we’re the good guys.”

Landon introduced his colleagues.  A woman and a man, one named Platt and the other Bayan.  When all introductions were made, Landon and his team escorted the five visitors up the ramp for a tour of the aircraft.

It was incredible.  An older model of the Hercules, it had four powerful turboprop engines.  Plus, it featured an interior customized specifically for the transportation of the Navy Marine Mammal’s dolphins and sea lions.

Located on each side of the wide cabin rested two long, slim tanks of saltwater, one forward and the second aft.  In the middle was a bevy of systems, including filters, pumps, valves and wiring.  All to circulate and maintain safe air and water levels within each tank.

Overhead, a complex railing system ran the length of the fuselage, extending down the ramp.  This allowed animals to be moved quickly and safely to and from each tank.  Over the tanks and along the walls, more piping and wires were neatly secured and bundled.  It disappeared into an ever-increasing web of overhead systems.

After explaining their equipment and procedures, the Marine Mammal team led the group of five back down the ramp.  Then the team went under the belly of the plane where Landon came to a stop and waited.

Alison could only shake her head in amazement.  “This…is incredible.”

“Thank you,” Landon replied.  “Transporting our animals to where they’re needed is a fairly common occurrence, so we’ve tried to get things down to a science.  The only modification we needed to make before flying out here…were these.”

Landon scanned upwards and pointed to four large panels removed from the bottom of the fuselage.  Each section revealed the thick acrylic bottom of each water tank inside.

He grinned.  “They are going to have one hell of a view.”

***

“Dirk, can you hear me?”

Me hear Alison.

Dirk gave a restricted wag of his tail in his tightly confined tank but seemed little worse for the wear.

“And can your heads hear you?”

After a pause, Dirk responded with a simple yes.

“Excellent.  This metal is going to get very loud.  And shaky.”  She waited for a translation error, but it never came.  With a shrug, she went on.  “Do not be afraid.  Okay?”

Okay Alison.  We happy.

She smiled and placed her hand on the clear top of his tank.  “We are too.”

When the plane lifted off, the shuddering of the aircraft passed quickly, allowing Landon and his team to stand up with the assistance of harnesses attached to each.  One by one they checked the dolphins, seeking any signs of problems.

After examining the mammals in all four tanks, Landon turned and gave a thumbs-up to Alison, who remained strapped in her seat next to Clay, near the exit.  Beside her, Lee and Chris were visibly less sanguine.

Landon explained they had a maximum flight time of five hours before most dolphins began displaying anxiety or signs of stress due to the constrained environment.  So, given the limited distance they could cover, it was decided to give the dolphin elders as much of a view of the human world as possible––by flying southwest over the capital city of Caracas, Venezuela.  Followed by Barquisimeto and Maracaibo, and then Barranquilla, Columbia.  The route would be more than enough for the dolphins to experience the modern expanse and density of human population.

Even with the loud engines making in-flight communication with Dirk difficult, as near as Alison could tell, the elders made no effort to communicate at all.  Instead, they remained almost perfectly still, studying the view through large, round, dark eyes.

To them, it was just as they thought.

167

A little more than a hundred miles away, Li Na suddenly bolted up in her bed.  Arisen by a strange feeling.

It had become increasingly difficult to tune out everything she was sensing, especially onboard the Pathfinder.  The entire ship seemed to be constantly shifting and creaking.

But what she felt now was very different.

She rose from the bed and searched for her clothes.  After throwing on a pair of shorts and a shirt provided by Neely, she found her shoes and left––winding through two passageways before stepping outside into the fresh air.

The feeling became even stronger outside.

Cautiously, Li Na moved over the catwalk and descended one level before making her way through to the starboard side.

There, from the railing, she could see something in the water.  Different from the other dolphins.  This one looked smaller, with a much larger shape comprising the front of its head.

She took a deep breath and gazed out at the animal.  It was much stronger now that there was nothing between them.  The sensation felt similar to what she experienced with the other dolphins, but this time it was much more intense.  And different.  As if more precise.

It wasn’t just feelings this time.  There was something else.  Dozens of pieces, fragmented within the strange vibrations, that felt much more like…words.

EPILOGUE

I

“What am I looking at?”

Steve Caesare studied the sheet of paper in his hand before glancing up at Will Borger and Lee Kenwood.

“A letter,” Borger replied.  “A copy of a letter in 1960.  In which a professor by the name of Hapgood asked a special team at the United States Air Force to explain the Piri Reis map of 1513.  And more specifically, the area of Antarctica that was somehow mapped before being buried beneath a mile of ice.”

Caesare took a minute to read the entire letter.

8 RECONNAISSANCE TECHNICAL SQUADRON (SAC)

UNITED STATES AIRFORCE

Westover Airforce Base

Massachusetts

SUBJECT: Admiral Piri Reis World Map

To: Professor Charles H. Hapgood

Keene, College

Keene, New Hampshire.

Dear Professor Hapgood,

Your request for evaluation of the certain unusual features of the Piri Reis World Map of 1513 by this organization has been reviewed.

The claim that the lower part of the map portrays the Princess Martha Coast of Queen Maud Land Antarctica, and the Palmer Peninsula, is reasonable.  We find this is the most logical and in all probability the correct interpretation of the map.

The geographical detail shown in the lower part of the map agrees very remarkably with the results of the seismic profile made across the top of the ice-cap by the Swedish-British Antarctic Expedition of 1949.

This indicates the coastline had been mapped before it was covered by the ice-cap.

The ice-cap in this region is now about a mile thick.

We have no idea how the data on this map can be reconciled with the supposed state of geographical knowledge in 1513.

HAROLD Z. OHLMEYER

Lt. Colonel, USAF

Commander

“Huh,” Caesare said.  “So, pretty much what you said before.”

“We think there’s more to it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that this Professor Hapgood may not have been merely inquiring as to the authenticity of the map.  It’s possible he was intentionally trying to get its legitimacy entered into public record.”

“What for?”

“Because,” Borger replied, “there was clearly something more to this map that no one else had been able to figure out.  At least back then, and we think Hapgood knew it.”

From the outside room, Caesare glanced back inside the lab, filled with several of the ship’s crew, including Tay and Ackerman.  Before them, on the monitor screens, Corbin and Beene could be seen far below the Pathfinder and inside the alien ship.  There, they were arranging multiple cameras around the mysterious craft’s navigation system.

Caesare returned his attention to Borger and Kenwood.  “Okay, spill it.”

“So,” Borger said, lowering his voice, “the fact that this part of Antarctica was mapped long before the ice cap was present is now a given.  And like we said before, that was probably upwards of several thousand years ago.  Long before any civilization was sophisticated enough to master cartography.  Thus, the question is who, or what had the technology to undertake such an accurate geographical survey of Africa, South America, and the Antarctic?”

Kenwood leaned in.  “We don’t think it was Admiral Piri Reis.”

“Right.  You see, Admiral Reis explains distinctly in his notes that he was not the original cartographer.  Instead, he states he was merely the compiler or copyist.  And that the map was comprised from several older source maps.  That were even older.”

Caesare remained fixed, mulling over Borger’s words.  “So what exactly do you think we have here?”

Both men shrugged.  “We think we may have a timeline…”  The older of the two motioned back through the hatch to the monitors.  “Of when that alien ship arrived.”

Lee nodded.  “And when the vaults were built.”

“That is interesting.”

“Yeah, and now we think we know how The Machine connected the Piri Reis map and our sunken Spanish galleon.”

“I thought you already knew that.”

“So did we.  But it looks like we were wrong.  Originally, we thought there was some nautical relationship between the two.  But now, we think it has more to do with the timeline involved.”

Caesare stepped back and folded his arms.  “I can’t wait to hear this.”

“Okay.  Assuming our alien ship was somehow connected to a survey which eventually led to the Piri Reis map, then that could put its arrival somewhere between six and seven thousand years ago.”

“When these alien vaults were likely built.”

“Right,” Borger said.  “And probably not long after that, they stripped and then ditched their ship.  One of the things removed being the craft’s navigation system.  Which someone eventually found, before ending up on a Spanish galleon thousands of years later.”

Caesare frowned.  “Sounds like a stretch.”

“Maybe,” agreed Borger.  “Until you start breaking down the timeline.  Consider this…not long after Antarctica was mysteriously mapped, the Maya became the prominent civilization throughout Central America.  Then thousands of years later, when they disappeared, along came the Aztecs.  No one knows where the Aztecs came from, but they shared a lot of customs and ceremonies with the Maya.  Then in the very early 1500s, Spanish conquistadors arrived and wiped out the Aztecs.  And a couple hundred years after that, our alien ship’s navigation system winds up on one of their ships, bound for Spain.”

“Are you telling me you think the Aztecs somehow found the navigation system?”

Borger glanced at Kenwood before shaking his head.  “No, we think maybe the Maya did.”

“The Maya?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it would explain an awful lot.  At least about the Maya.  And more specifically, their notorious Mayan Calendar.”

“The Mayan Calendar,” Lee quickly added, “was one of the most complex and accurate calendars ever devised from man’s earlier civilizations.  So accurate, in fact, that many modern researchers are at a loss for how they managed to do it.  In fact, their measurements for the length of a day were almost exactly the same as our modern-day atomic clocks.”

“That’s right,” said Borger.  “Unless they had found something that allowed them to understand things about the stars that no other culture on Earth had.”

Caesare stared at them for a long time.  “Wow.”

Kenwood continued, excitedly.  “So, what if the Maya somehow found the navigation system of the alien ship.  And with enough time were able to learn from it.  Then when they died out, it falls into the hands of the Aztecs, who keep it hidden until…the Spanish conquistadors.”

“Wow,” Caesare repeated.  “That is something.”

“And this, we think, could be the timeline that ties the Piri Reis map and Spain’s King’s Ghost ship together.  And all of it being related to the arrival of our alien ship.”

Caesare nodded, thinking it through, until gradually reaching the same question both Borger and Kenwood had already been contemplating.

“So,” he finally said aloud, “where are the other pieces?”

II

The unusual, early Memphis snowfall could not have felt more different to the small group.  They’d traveled from Captain Emerson’s Pathfinder, still resting thousands of miles away at anchor in the warm Caribbean.

Instead, the knee-high snow had been carefully shoveled to one side.   A wet and a slick, icy surface appeared before them on many roads, as the four cautiously made their way toward the entrance of a large crème-colored building.

Inside and past a set of double-wide sliding glass doors, a wave of heat instantly enveloped them, causing their jackets to suddenly feel almost stuffy.

When they reached the reception desk, Alison unzipped her coat and placed a hand on the dark counter.  She pleasantly addressed an attentive elderly woman.

“Hello, we’re here to see Heather Shaw in the Oncology Department.”

The older woman’s face broke into a wide smile.  “Ah, welcome, we’ve been expecting you.  Let me tell Dr. Shaw you’re here.”

Behind Alison stood Neely Lawton and Li Na Wei.  The younger peering curiously at Alison.

Alison grinned.  “She’s my older sister.”

“And quite the spitfire,” added Clay, causing her to laugh.  He remained standing behind the women, examining the hospital’s expansive lobby.  He was confident they would not be there long enough for the Chinese to get wind of Li Na’s location.  And the CIA already had what they wanted.

Opening in 1962 and founded by the late entertainer Danny Thomas, the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital was one of the most exceptional medical organizations on the planet.  Dedicated entirely to the research and care of sick children, St. Jude truly set the bar for other hospitals to follow.  With its mission to find cures and treat childhood cancers, in addition to many other catastrophic diseases, the hospital was at the very forefront of pediatric research. Proudly leading the way in many discoveries and early cures, over several decades.  So successful were they in their efforts, that survival rates of most childhood cancers at St. Jude had grown from only 20 percent when the facility opened to over 80 percent at present day.  And acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the most common form of those cancers, had reached a 94 percent survival rate, up from a mere 4 percent in 1962.

St. Jude had, in fact, advanced the field so much that the majority of the treatments to children were now done as outpatients, with only a small number of extreme cases remaining in-house.  These services were provided to families desperate to save their children but never required them to pay a single dollar in healthcare costs.  Both an incredible hospital and an incredible staff, they were funded entirely by private donations each year.

Alison Shaw had spent several summers here, working under her sister as a volunteer––bathed in the raw, extraordinary power of the human spirit.  And what it was truly capable of accomplishing.

Alison smiled at the others and looked around the entrance with an air of nostalgia for a minute or two.   Suddenly, she heard someone call out from behind her.

Her sister, Heather, appeared strikingly similar from a distance.  The same dark hair, petite frame, and even the same walk.  But as Heather approached, the subtle differences in her face became clearer.  A slightly older, mature, and worn woman, she nevertheless sported a set of familiar glistening eyes and an identical smile.

Without a word, Alison grinned widely and trotted over to meet her in the giant hallway, hugging her sister tightly.

“You’re early.”  Heather beamed, then looked at the others as they came nearer.

“Sorry.  Sis, this is Neely Lawton and Li Na Wei.  The two I told you about.”

“Hello,” Heather said, greeting both with a handshake.  She then turned to John.  “And I definitely remember this tall drink of water.”

“Hello, Heather.”

“Hi, John.  Have you decided to trade up to an older woman yet?”

“I’m afraid I can barely handle the younger version.”

The women laughed, and Heather addressed Neely.  “I hear you’ve come to borrow some time in our genetics lab.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  I’ve managed to pull a few strings for you.  Besides,” she said, putting an arm around her younger sister, “Ali tells me it might just lead to something important.”

Heather squeezed Alison.  “But before that, we have a short stop to make.”

***

On the third floor, they came to a halt when Heather slowed and circled in front of them.  Speaking in a hushed tone, she addressed Alison.

“He’s still too weak to travel.  Stage four and we’ve exhausted all of our options.”  She paused, suddenly grinning.  “But he’s sure excited to see you!”

Alison tried to smile through brooding lips but couldn’t.  The thought of what was coming was simply too painful.

With uncertain steps, she followed her sister into the room and promptly found herself trying to suppress the shock she felt when she saw him.

The 11-year-old boy was positioned upright in his bed, pillows behind him to keep him propped up.  His dark and bald head contrasted starkly against his eyes, wide with excitement and grinning from ear to ear.   He was so thin.

“Ali!”

Alison beamed forcefully and rushed to his side.  “Edwin!  How are you?”  She wrapped her hands around his skinny body and pulled him up gently off the pillows.  “I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too!  Where have you been?”

She eased him back and reached up to touch him gently on the cheek.  “Oh, I’ve been working.  A lot.  But I finally got a break and wanted to come see you.”

“Yay.  I’m glad you did.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” Edwin shrugged.  “Hey,” he suddenly added, reaching for a drawer next to his bed, “you want to see some pictures I drew?”

She smiled softly.  “I would love to.”

Behind Alison, Clay and the other two women watched with heavy hearts.  She had told them all about Edwin on the plane.  He was the last surviving member of a group of children she helped to care for whenever she volunteered at the hospital, a group that with every year had grown a little smaller.  They were some of St. Jude’s most acute cases, with only a few able to eventually go home.  The majority remained until their final days.  And yet their souls never gave up.  Children so pure, and so utterly thankful for every day they had, that it often left Alison in tears.  Overwhelmed with guilt at the flawless health of her own body when these children struggled so badly.

It was all Alison could do not to cry.  For any of them not to cry.  In response to a sad and devastating reminder that the world was not fair.

Behind Clay and Neely, the younger Li Na watched intently as Alison sat with the boy, touching and kissing his head repeatedly.  And each time, Edwin beamed back at her as if she were pure sunshine.

III

A little over an hour later, a nurse entered to let them know it was time for Edwin’s medicine and nap.  While they wrapped up their visit, the nurse poured a cup of water into his mug and set the plastic pitcher down on the tall tray next to his bed.

After taking several pills, the boy kept smiling at Alison for as long as he could, fighting it when his eyes began to droop.  Slowly at first, then heavier, before finally closing.

Alison stayed next to him for several minutes, gently stroking his hand until she was sure he was asleep.  Then she carefully rose from the bed and left with the others.

There were no words for her outside, just blinking tears and the pressing of her head into Clay’s chest.

“You okay?” Neely asked, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

She kept her head against Clay, twisting it side to side.

Moments later they were interrupted by someone calling her name.  This time it came not from her sister but from a woman walking quickly toward them, dressed in khaki-colored pants and a thick dark jacket.  Her graying hair looked slightly frazzled.

When Alison and Neely turned, they couldn’t believe their eyes.  Striding intently toward them was DeeAnn Draper.

“DeeAnn?!”

“Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”

“Steve told me where you were.”

Alison wiped her eyes and stepped forward to give DeeAnn a hug.  “W-why haven’t you called lately?”

“Well, for starters, my phone was broken.”  She pushed Alison back and examined her.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  Kind of.”

DeeAnn squeezed her hand and greeted Neely, before winking at Clay.  “Glad to see you’re alive.”

He laughed and motioned to Li Na.  “DeeAnn, this is Li Na Wei.”

“Pleased to meet you, Li Na,” she replied hastily, promptly spinning back to the others.  “Sorry I’ve been out of contact, but we had a lot going on.”

“Wait a minute,” Alison glanced around.  “Where’s Dulce and Dexter?”

“Outside with Ronin.  I was in a hurry to find you.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

DeeAnn scanned the hallway, leveling her gaze.  “We need to find a place to talk.”

IV

What DeeAnn had to tell them was nothing short of Earth-shattering.  The three, left deep in discussion for the better part of thirty minutes, inadvertently left Li Na to stand quietly by the door.

No one noticed when she eased it open and silently slipped out of the room.  From there, she walked smoothly back to Edwin’s room and studied him curiously as he lay asleep on his bed.

She then scanned the walls, stopping on the dozens of pictures and cards pinned up near the foot of his bed.  Crossing over to them, Li Na removed one of the small pushpins.

Back to the doorway, she checked the hall to make sure no one was watching and disappeared again inside.  Wasting no time, she immediately moved close to Edwin’s sleeping body.

It took only seconds.

She pressed the sharp pin firmly into the tip of her index finger and waited for a small drop of blood to appear.

With one final glance over her shoulder, she removed the lid to the plastic pitcher and let the single red droplet fall from her finger into the cool water.

V

From within the Rwandan mountaintop, Palin stood stoically, watching his men carefully drain the green liquid from another alien column.  As the level fell, thousands of the tiny spheres gradually sank with it, ultimately settling at the bottom of the glass container.  Each sphere held a tiny seed or embryo within.  Several containers now stood empty, against a backdrop of hundreds more.

Palin’s eyes stared forward with a hawkish gaze.  He had no choice.  He would do what he had to do, using any resource available to him.  Even if it meant draining every single column.

Even knowing that DeeAnn Draper would alert the others.

The woman’s outrage was understandable.  Although a little misplaced.  Her argument about what had happened on Palin’s world was not accurate.

That wasn’t what happened…at all.

MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

You might be interested to know that Matt Millican—the CIA cyber expert in this book—is, in fact, a real person named Matt Mueller.  Matt is also a cybersecurity expert but does not work for the government.  He’s a great guy and became a character in the book after winning a contest as part of my email subscriber list.  If you haven’t already signed up, please do so.  It takes less than a minute, and you can add yourself to my list at www.michaelgrumley.com.

Also, be sure to check out the new Fact vs. Fiction section at the bottom of my website where I address a number of topics from the Breakthrough books, explaining how much of the stories are real and how much is not.  But be prepared.  A lot more is real that you may think.

Finally, given that so many of us self-published authors live and die by word of mouth and online reviews, it would mean the world to me if you could take a few moments to leave a review for the book.  I know Mosaic was longer than usual but it was all important to ensure you are ready for what happens next.  All I can say is “hold onto your hat.”

Michael

Click here to leave a review for Mosaic

Table of Contents

BOOKS BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Prologue

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EPILOGUE

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MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR