Skunk Works Part II

Updated Sunday 15 May, 2011 12:18 PM

Skunk Works

Part II

by Jon Surfer

16.

Hendriks was having difficulty performing his normal duties as POTUS, as his concern with the Project continued to push itself into the forefront of his mind. The Presidency is not, despite the efforts of some of Hendriks predecessors to prove otherwise, a 9 to 5 job. It is not, for the most part, even an 8 to 8 job. The President could not remember being so busy, for so long, since he had left the Army and, he thought, I was a lot YOUNGER then. With all the ceremonial tasks, not to mention meeting filling nearly every moment that wasn’t a photo op, he had been unable to spend much time looking at the Intel he continued to receive, a problem he knew that had to be overcome. His task was not made easier by the knowledge that at least one of his bodyguards, and a leader of them at that, was at best, an ear for the Committee. Being quiet and covert was not part of Hendriks general make-up, quiet individuals rarely become politicians, and only the best of political operators be President.

The problems presented by Special Agent Joe Reed, had defied an easy solution. Firing him was out of the question, it would cause far too many questions in the very circles that Hendriks wanted to stay disinterested. The President’s former CO had suggested "an accident, nothing fatal, just something that puts him in the Body Shop for a month or two." While the concept was tempting in some ways Hendriks had nixed it as too dangerous. Reed could be killed, accidents that put you into a hospital bed can, if done just bit too far, put you into a grave. Reed’s death would certainly set all of the Project’s security on knife’s edge. There was also the matter of his implant and "enhanced reflexes", if he was capable enough he might not only escape the accident, but also turn the tables on his attacker. The President had no doubt that the Project would not feel itself constrained by little things like the Constitution or the Geneva Convention and he was unwilling, at least for now, to put people in that kind of danger. The time might come, and it would not be the first time he had ordered men into danger, but the current situation did not call for that level of exposure. Yes, Reed was quite the pain in the ass, and he managed it with virtually no effort.

He was proving that now. "No, Mr. President, there isn’t really a ground component to the Project. As the briefing papers explain, our goal is to stop the Enemy from even reaching Earth orbit. If they make it to the ground, we have failed. The cat will be well and truly out of the bag, with all the dangers that would present."

"I still question the concern about information leaking out. Any panic could be controlled."

"Mr. President, you are heading outside of my portfolio, but the studies I have seen say otherwise." Reed could have taught a class on the subject, but doing so would ruin his cover, not just with Hendriks, but with Thomas as well. "I can have Mr. Thomas contact you if you want more details."

"No. No need. Let’s get back to the military issues. If the Enemy appears, how does the Project coordinate with, say, the Air Force?"

"We don’t. If we are about to lose the battle, messages would be flashed to those of us with implants, in turn we would either warn political leaders, like yourself, or the local advisers who would warn the political leader they advise. After that, the decisions will fall to you and your peers. We will have failed, and almost certainly, been destroyed in the process."

"So, if you fail, we are lost?" Hendriks had learned to hide his emotions early in his career, it was coming handy.

"I’m afraid so. If our defenses can’t stop them from landing, it is doubtful that regular forces on the Planet will have much hope."

"Why. They seemed to be very killable at Roswell?"

Reed took a deep breath, was the man really this dense? "Sir, they will have orbit secured. It will enable them to bombard from orbit. They will have the ultimate in aerial supremacy. Ground forces will be worthless."

"I see" said Hendriks, while thinking, what a pile of shit.

"I hope you do Mr. President. All that stands between the Enemy and the annihilation of the human race is the Project. We are humanity’s last hope for survival. Without us, everyone’s dead. Simple as that."

Hendriks was momentarily stunned, perhaps even more than he had been at The Notification itself. Reed, had, until now, been a pain, but overall a reasonable man. Now, for the first time, Hendriks was able to see the indoctrination that was part of his training. Jesus, all he needed was the Lightening Bolt insignia on his collar, a True Believer. One, according to the briefing papers he had read, of thousands that the Project had enlisted. Damn. Hendriks decided to give it one last try.

"Won’t the Planetary Defense Command be able to help? We do have the cruisers and the A-26’s and the Russian Ferrets."

Reed’s face took on a strange, far off look. "We will all be dead. Every one in the Project will be dead. We will have died to defend Earth, died to the last man. We are the shield & sword of the Human Race. Without us, all will be lost. Without us, The Enemy will kill you all."

The Secret Service Agent was clearly quoting something from his training. Hendriks had a pretty good idea of what that training, and, undoubtedly, the Agent’s implant, had done to the man. Hendriks had, like nearly every combat veteran the United States had produced since the late 1980’s been exposed to True Believers. They were totally dedicated to their Cause, willing to do the most horrible things, sacrifice anyone or anything to the Cause, because the Cause was all that mattered. Man had conquered space. Unfortunately, he had filled it with madmen. God help the world.

"Thank you for the background Agent Reed. I will let you know if I need any additional information."

Reed recognized the dismissal. "Yes Sir. As always, I am available immediately."

"Yes, I know. Have pleasant afternoon."

"Yes sir. Thank you Mr. President. " Reed walked out hoping that Hendriks had gotten the message.

He need not have worried. The President of the United States had gotten the message. He now had a very clear understanding of the Project and what it represented to humanity.

17.

Hendriks had chosen his representative to the Ranger and SPECOPS community well. Colonel Michael (Danger Close) Budman, USA (retired), had connections that ran through the Special Forces communities of the United States, NATO, Australia, South Korea and places, including the PRC & Russia, that would have shocked even the President.

Budman had earned his nickname on a wet day in Iraq, when he had called in not one, or even two, but five separate air strikes on his own position in an action that had prevented the flank of an entire Marine Regiment from being struck by a battalion of Republican Guard Tanks that, until Budman’s recon team stumbled across them, had managed to get lost in the shuffle of destruction raining on the Iraqi desert that cold January morning. In the end, the Republican Guard Battalion had been destroyed, without even knowing how close the Marine force was to them, and Budman & his team had earned four Distinguished Service Crosses, which, in a fair world, would have been three DSC’s & one Medal of Honor. From that beginning Budman was marked as "one to watch" and had never looked back. His career had taken him through Special Forces, into Delta (THE elite U.S. Covert Military Unit), to command of increasingly large Ranger formations, to stints as "liaison" to America’s allies in the unending war on Terror. These allies sometimes included Russian Vympel and PRC Dadui troops, as the civilized world tried to deal with rather uncivilized behavior.

After retirement, Budman had never lost his contacts around the world, and, like others with his rather unusual background, supplemented his retirement income with "consulting" jobs for the U.S. Military and some major corporations. Right now, he was on a consulting contract that came from so far into the Army’s "Black" budget that no actual paperwork had ever been processed. Four people in the entire world, including Budman, knew whom the money was going to, and only one, President Hendriks, knew the real reason why. Even Budman didn’t know the big picture, surprisingly, this didn’t bother him at all, compartmentation was common in the cloak & dagger game of counter-terrorism.

Budman did know that he had gathered some very valuable Intel, valuable enough that it was time to meet with the President. He had been forced to wait for several weeks, until Hendriks had managed to set time aside to visit Camp David & invite his old Commander & friend to spend some relaxation time in the hills of Maryland. His information was worth the wait.

Hendriks had taken unusual steps to avoid being the subject of eavesdropping. After his discussion with Reed, Hendriks had lost all faith in the "jammer" provided to him by the Project. He was instead relying on a custom-build system that Budman had brought with him. The system was another product of the massive American "Black" budget that was mostly spent by the Project. This item, however had never been seen by anyone outside of the SF community, and only by a handful of them. It was supposed to prevent ANY kind of electronic eavesdropping. Period. Hendriks, at Budman’s suggestion was betting that the hacker who had invented it was right. It didn’t do to dwell on what the stakes of the bet could be, it had been made and what happened would happen.

"Okay Mike. What do you have?"

"Mr. President-" Hendriks actually winced at the title.

"Jesus Mike, not you too. We’re behind closed doors for Chrissake. You know my name, use it."

"Sir, it’s not proper-"

"Fine, call it, not an order, but a strong suggestion, that you stop this crap right now."

"Yes Si- Mitch." Budman unconsciously relaxed from the stiff brace he had been holding, even while seated.

"Better. What have you dug up?"

"We have, through a series of cut-outs and some terrific luck, identified at least six of the people who are meeting with your Mr. Thomas. None of them are Americans, in fact no two of them come from the same country. I have brought you fairly complete files on four of them, the files on the others are still on the skimpy side. We are working on improving the quality of those two files. The subjects we have identified are from Australia, Britain, Canada, China, France & Russia. The Chinese subject is the one we know the least about, even my sources are few and far between in the People’s Republic. The Western Europeans & Canadian subjects are, for lack of a better word, nobodies. The Russian may be someone of more influence, but we are still digging up Intel on him. All of the subjects are male, although we have seen several female subjects, we have not been able to identify them as yet."

"You said they are nobodies. What do you mean? Not political figures or not famous or what?"

"No. They are nobodies, worker bees. They have run of the mill jobs, live in middle class apartments, nothing special about them at all. A couple of my SAS friends from Oz did a bag job on the Australian’s flat and found some REALLY expensive wine, a TV that was worth about ten grand U.S., and some other knick-knacks that were out of place for the guy’s pay level. That may mean something, or it may mean that his rich aunt died, without some deeper research that will require more time & risk of discovery it’s impossible to say."

"It isn’t that vital, at least at this point. Are we sure that the subjects haven’t spotted any activities?" Asked Hendriks.

"If they have, they are the best bunch of actors or spies in human history. As near as our guys can tell, they just do standard worker bee stuff. No special driving routes, no attempts to disguise their trips to the airport. They fly under their own names, Thomas matches the picture labelled Padrig Thomas from his Junior High and High School yearbooks. If they are legends, they are the best I’ve ever encountered." Legends referred to persons who had assumed another’s identity, normally because the original person had died, usually as an infant. Their entire life was made up. Spies & undercover police, as well as terrorists, made use of the technique to infiltrate into specific locations or to act as "sleeper" agents left in place against a day that they would be needed.

"You’re the expert. What else have you learned?"

"Whatever is going on, the people running it have some juice. They have met four times since we started watching, twice here, once in Canada, once in England. All four locations were military or ex-military, and they had the run of the places. Everyone seems to fly 1^st Class, full fare, money seems to mean squat to them. There are a few who we are having a lot of trouble identifying. They fly in on private jets, and we are NOT talking about Lear’s. The Fuselage numbers on one of the planes, a 777 mind you, is bogus, but it runs as real. My guy who ran it found out that it had a security trap on it, fortunately he found the trap BEFORE he ran the number, and he was able to hack past the trap. It didn’t really help, there was no data in the file. The trap itself was what raised my alarm bells. It’s actually why I’m here. The rest of this stuff I could have sent through the regular channels."

"What was so special about the trap that you needed to meet me?"

Budman looked at the jammer on the coffee table before he answered. "The trap was designed to alert your security team. It came right to the White House, the IP address was assigned to the Secret Service. Whatever you have me looking into comes right back to you, to the Office of the President of the United States."

Hendriks could see the unasked question on Budman’s face. "I think you need to know the whole story Mike. I wasn’t sure until about two weeks ago that it was worth the risk I’ll be putting you into, but now I don’t see any choice.

"You may want to finish that beer Mike, you are about to go through the Looking Glass"

It took Hendriks an hour to give an overview of what he knew about the Project, by the time he was finished Budman looked like he had just finished a 10K.

"Holy Mother of God, Mitch. What are you going to do about this?"

"What needs to be done. We are going to expose this whole damned mess, consequences be damned."

"That may be unhealthy for you Mr. President"

Hendriks let the title go, Budman was still processing the entire package. "Hell Mike, I’ve been on bonus time for years. I should have gotten killed a half dozen times, maybe more, back in the day. I took the oath back then, and I took it again this last January. If these bastards aren’t an enemy, foreign or domestic’, I don’t know what qualifies. These guys have to be stopped before they do more damage to the Planet than any alien ever could dream of causing. So we’ll stop them, whatever it takes."

Hendriks picked up the phone and asked his National Security Adviser to join him in the cabin. When he arrived Hendriks asked him to take a seat, and the President put a pad of paper & a pen in front of him.

"Write this down Manny." Hendriks told his NSA. "This is secret Special Presidential Finding.

"Effective this date I find that the international group known as The Project presents a Clear & Present Danger to the United States of America."

It was a remarkably short statement, considering what it began. Just like that, in a remote Maryland cabin, the United States of America declared war on The Project.

18.

Maria Silva, like many of the growing middle class in Brazil, both loved and hated her relative wealth. It was wonderful to have the conveniences and luxuries that money allowed one to procure, but the same items could mark you are a possible target for robbery, or worse.

Maria had recently taken possession of a new media center, with the newest video and audio capabilities that were available. It had been a major splurge purchase, based on her recent promotion at work. All of her friends knew that she had been given a huge bonus, and it would have been far out of character for Maria to have NOT bought the latest toy that she could. All of her co-workers knew that Maria was a techie, the first to buy whatever new "must have" had come out from Sony or Apple or any of the other supplies of tolls that "made life easier" (provided one could understand the directions). The media center was everything that the salesman had proclaimed; Maria was fairly sure that watching events on it WAS better than being there. Even so, there was always the danger that someone had seen the truck deliver the new items and that they were waiting for the chance to help themselves to some easy to resell, like new, electronics. The thought of losing her new toy worried Maria, as it would have worried anyone in her position. There was one difference between Maria and everyone else in Bras"lia. She was the Brazilian Adviser.

Maria worked for a major international banking concern as an analyst. She could, at any time, provide you with more information on Brazil’s most recent economic policy decision than you could use in a lifetime, and describe in excruciating detail how the policy was impacting the Real in international markets. That part of her life was perfect, it was not a cover, it was her life. Her life, however, was much more than just her job.

The Project controlled the bank she worked for. It was only one of the hundreds of companies that The Project controlled. Some of the companies were used to produce the weapons and supplies used by Defense Command; others were used to conceal the transfer of Project personnel or funds. In something of a business miracle, virtually ALL of The Project’s companies made a profit. This was, in part, thanks to the fact that the companies controlled by Project investors and owned outright by Project insiders, were spread throughout the World’s economy, and could count on other Project companies for substantial parts of their business income. It was also due to the fact that Project companies, to the dismay of their competitors, unusually successful in the discovery of new technologies and applications for existing ones. The Project companies also seemed be able to anticipate changes in the policies of many of the World’s largest economies. Investors flocked to buy stock in Project controlled businesses; they seemed to be failure proof, regardless of the overall economy. In a very real sense they were. The companies were, in large part, supported by tax dollars through the "Black" budgets of Project Nations.

It made for a nice symmetry, the Project got tax money, used it, along with profits from the controlled companies, on space defense, paid dividends to their investors, who, in turn paid taxes on the dividends or the capital gains when they sold the stocks. In a very real way, The Project had become the driving force behind the Planet’s economy.

Maria was about to make use of a major benefit available to Project members. She was worried, The Project had men and women who specialized in making worries go away.

"Security"

"This is Maria Silva, Employee Number 056874. I have a problem."

The security operator entered Maria’s number into her system. The system indicated a certain course of action to the operator. "Ms. Silva, I am transferring your call to Mr. Jones, please hold."

Every Project Company had a Mr. Jones (in a few cases, Ms. Jones). Jones was the REAL security officer for The Project’s assets. In Brasilia, Employee # 056874 was the biggest asset The Project possessed. "How can I assist you Ms. Silva?"

"I am concerned about my security at my home & between my home and the office. I have-"

"Excuse me, Ma’am. Have you seen anyone, or has anyone approached you?"

"No, not yet."

"Is this a Project leak situation?"

"No."

"Good. That will simplify things. Would you like to have a security detail assigned?"

Maria hesitated for just a moment; security details could be a pain in the neck, but- "Yes please. Covert as possible please."

"Of course Ma’am. I assume you want standard ROE?"

Maria could barely remember most of the security briefing she had received. Like most people, security was not really something she liked to think about, but she didn’t want to seem dumb. "Yes. Standard ROE in all respects."

"Understood Ma’am. You will have a team assigned immediately. You WILL not see them but they will be there until you request a change. Are you still driving a Green Toyota, Plate 3GR582?"

"Yes."

"Are you still at your address as listed in the company files?"

"Yes."

"Very good. I will have a detail assigned to you within 15 minutes. After that time you can simply go about your normal life, there is no need to alter anything. It would, in fact, be better if you followed normal routines. You will be quite safe."

"What about my home while I am here?"

"I will arrange for a detail to secure your home as well."

"Good."

"Do you need anything else Ma’am?"

"No. That will be all. Thank you."

"My pleasure Ma’am."

As soon as he broke the connection with Silva, Jones pulled up the security file he had on her. He checked for any clues to why she was asking for protection. Like most of the Advisers, she had made very clear that she did not, according to the file "Need a bunch of babysitters following me around all the time!" Something had changed, and Jones needed to discover what it was, despite what she had said, it MIGHT be connected to The Project.

He ran through the file quickly, he need to get someone assigned in the next ten minutes, but he wanted it to be the right someone. Relationship status was unchanged, a boyfriend who was non-committal, at least according to Subject. No other family in Brasilia, one sister in United States. What had- there it was: Big Raise. Jones quickly checked on Maria’s credit cards. BIG purchase, delivered a week ago. She’s worried about robbery or a home invasion. Jones had people who could handle that. He changed screens & typed in a command.

***

Suarez (at least that was what his identity papers said) had drawn the short straw. He had to watch the subject’s home during the day, while she was at work. Because the manpower was tight, that left him alone, not that it worried him. Any local tough who tried him was in for one hell of a surprise. He hadn’t taught unarmed combat in the SAS for a decade without learning a trick or two. There was bit of shade, and he was making the best of it, but it was still nearing the Century mark, and the breeze was non-existent. He had been in hotter places, just not recently. He was dressed to fit into the area, jeans & sneakers; he could be a resident relaxing or one of the laborers from the local businesses on a break. He was in good position, one that he would change in about ten minutes, so he didn’t look too obvious. He concentrated on looking invisible while watching the house.

The Project Security Team was also watching Maria’s house. They had been there for three days and had only found one thing out of place. The man was there every day, he didn’t seem to be doing anything, but he was always there during the day. He wasn’t there at night, at least the security recordings and facial identity program hadn’t found him there at night. The Project Team decided that was enough to make him suspicious. They were under Standard ROE’s for protecting Project assets, suspicious was enough.

"I’ll take him. Drop me around the corner."

"Okay."

"I’ll wait up the street. Wait for the Emergency Services to arrive. Then pick me up."

The van driver did as he had been told. He dropped his passenger off, went to the intersection and turned left. His passenger walked to the corner, turned right and walked past Suarez. As he did so, Suarez felt himself bathed in a cold sweat. Thirty seconds after the stranger passed by, Suarez fell over, dead. His killer put the thumb sized sonic disrupter, a spin-off from one of Defense Command’s weapons programs, back into his front pocket and continued up the street. The ambulance arrived inside of five minutes (fairly quickly, Maria’s neighborhood was above average in wealth, and the services showed it), far too late for the former SAS commando.

His killer got back into the van & was driven home.

Suarez was Hendriks first casualty.

19.

"It seems that we may have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Our regular monitor at the SETI site was injured in an automobile accident. His back up is not on site either, he is teaching a course at The School. This leaves us with no one to keep on eye on those "ET, Phone Home" fools. I hate leaving them to their own devices, especially just after they sent that message."

Davidson considered the situation for a moment. "How soon will our operative be back on duty?"

"Perhaps a week, maybe ten days."

"It is not worth the effort of planting another person into the site, not for ten days. If The Enemy is that close we would have detected them long before now. Ensure that the Defense Command is at Condition Three for the Outer Defense perimeter. Those SETI people are harmless, misguided, but harmless. They are actually a handy diversion from the Project’s work, that is why we donate so much money to them each year."

Thomas wasn’t sure he agreed, but Davidson was his boss in all but actual job title. "Yes sir."

"Is there anything else you need? Is your pet President giving you any trouble?"

"No sir. Agent Reed reports that he asked the usual politician’s questions. He seems to be fairly bright, as politicians go, but he doesn’t seem to be concerned with Project, at least not beyond the usual curiosity one would expect."

"Excellent. If he were going to be a problem we would have seen it by now. The meddlers always show their hands early."

"Yes sir. That is the normal pattern."

Politicians who tried to meddle in the Project’s business were rare, especially after The Notification sank in, but they happened from time to time. The Project could be very upsetting to certain kinds of political leaders, especially those who had aspirations to change the established order by overthrowing the political system of other nations that were part of The Project. They were fools; luckily they had been before Davidson’s time, back in the early days of The Project. Today the problems were different. While the spread of democracy had changed the outlook of the political creatures that came and went with such regularity, it had not, sadly, eliminated the big egos. The egomaniacs saw The Project as an opportunity to become NUMBER ONE; they assumed that, when they stopped being Premier or Prime Minister or President they could STAY on the Committee, even take charge of it. Davidson hated the egos, it was like they expected the Committee to roll over & play dead simply because they had arrived. They had no respect for The Project, no concept of the threat The Enemy represented. All they cared about was the power they could achieve. They saw The Project’s as a way to reward supporters who would gather them even more supporters. Some of them even had asked the Committee to place their political allies into important, PERMANENT, positions. Permanent positions were reserved for those who understood the reality of The Enemy threat; those kinds of men had worked for The Project all their lives. Only someone who had lived with The Enemy’s threat for decades could understand how important The Project was to humanity. Still meddling politicians were not a serious threat to the Project.

They were so easily handled; being politicians they were easy targets. They all had weaknesses, some liked women, some liked men, every so often one liked his playmates a bit younger. They ALL liked money. It was simple to dangle whatever they wanted in front of them and let nature take its course. Traps, be they baited with money or Honey, had entangled every meddling "Leader" since Davidson had joined the Committee. Some of the fools had actually expected to get away without their weaknesses being exposed. They had all humbled themselves before the Committee once the trap, complete with video recordings worthy of Hollywood, was sprung. After that, the meddlers often became the best tools the Committee had at their disposal. There was nothing as helpful as a Man who wanted to have a place in history, especially if he knew that you could alter the contents of the history books.

Davidson was happy that Hendriks was just the latest in the long line of Elected Idiots that the Permanent Committee had to deal with, the meddlers consumed far too much effort, even if it was amusing to see the look on their arrogant faces change when the video ran. Davidson had, when he first became a Committee member, been surprised that none of the politicians had lashed out at The Project, futile as that would have been. Eventually he stopped wondering and had decided that, in the end, even the toughest of them were cowards The politicians who came and went were made docile by The Notification & the threat it contained. They were too concerned about their own skin to stand up to the Committee. It was just as well that they didn’t know that the Committee hadn’t approved a sanction in nearly a decade, who knew what the fools would do without the fear of The Notification.

"Well, it appears that you have your assignment well in hand Padrig. As always, I might add." Davidson glanced at the screen set into his desk. "I see you are up for retirement next year. Do you have your exit story completed?"

"Yes sir. I have everything in place. Thank you for the compliments."

"You deserve them. Have a good flight home."

"Thank you sir, Good bye."

Davidson watched Thomas leave. Padrig was one of his favorite Advisers. He hoped that the implant memory wipe didn’t ruin his mind when the time came. He deserved a happy retirement and freedom from the crushing weight that Standing on the Wall created.

Davidson hoped that he would be able to lose that weight one day himself. After The Enemy had been defeated.

20.

Hendricks was trying to keep the group with full knowledge small, just in case The Notification’s threat wasn’t just so much bullshit. The whole "immediate death for you and everyone you tell" seemed to be a bit much. On the other hand, Reed was clearly a fanatic, and where there was one, there were normally others. If everyone in The Project was like Reed, Hendriks wasn’t sure that he could expose the Committee without lots of bloodshed. He’d seen his share of blood, caused it, ordered it to be spilled, and seen some of his own draining into the ground, so he wasn’t squeamish about blood. He was, however, like every soldier & combat veteran very aware of the true price that blood represented. He would like to keep casualties to the minimum.

"We have no idea what happened. Even when we claimed the body, we couldn’t figure out what killed him." Budman stated.

"Are we SURE that he was killed? Couldn’t be from some natural cause, some tropical illness?" asked Manny Ortega, the National Security Adviser.

"Unless you can tell me of an illness that would break the cell walls of a human body in a very clean twenty-two inch swath clean across the abdomen and one forearm, and leave NO trace anywhere else, we have to assume that it was a weapon of some kind. Whatever it was, no one I contacted has ever heard of anything like it."

"It was them." Hendriks made it a flat statement. "Somehow they made him and killed him. No warning, no anything, they just took him out." Hendriks shook his head, if they had a weapon that could do that level of damage, what the hell else did they have?

"Reed told you that they had no plans to fight on the ground. Do you think he was lying?" This question came from the vice-president. Hendriks had brought her into the circle so, if Project assassins killed him, the fight would not die. A former naval aviator, she was, in her own way, just as much of a hard case as Hendriks.

"No, he was telling the truth. You could see the weird light in his eyes, he was revealing Holy Writ, and you don’t lie when you’re doing that. The weapon, however the Hell it works, is probably something they carry in space, in case of boarding or something." Hendriks thought for just a second. "It does mean one thing, regardless of what it is, no more solos. Everyone will have to be in pairs or better. Someone on overwatch at all times."

"Mr. President," began Budman. "That will limit us pretty badly, especially when we are following on aircraft. "

"I don’t care, we can’t just throw people away. There aren’t enough, there are never enough to throw them away like," Hendriks looks at the document, "Sergeant Major Jennings was thrown away."

"I understand that Sir. What if we ensure that everyone has a partner except in emergencies? We have to be flexible enough to react if we have the need."

Hendriks thought for a moment before replying. "Emergencies only and for as short a period as possible"

"Thank you Sir. I’ll send the order. When will we start to tap into active duty forces? You’re right, we only have so many dinosaurs we can count on."

"Soon. I will need you & Manny to brief SPECOPS command on enough to get him going. The finding allows me considerable flexibility, I’ll worry about how far I overstep it when this is over."

"Yes sir. I will make arrangements to visit McDill in the next few days." Manny made a cryptic note on his pad.

"Next item, where do we stand on setting up the courier network, assuming we will have a use for it." Hendriks was certain that all communication channels were compromised, The Project, if it was half as paranoid about leaks as it appeared, had to have plants in the National Security Agency and Defense Intelligence Agency, that meant that every code, every transmission, was readable by Project operatives.

"It is ready now Mr. President. Our contact in the UK had an appointment to see the Prime Minister," Budman checked his watch, "two hours ago. The Prime Minister should have read your letter by now. Depending on his reaction we should have information in about nine hours."

Hendriks had, very carefully, begun to contact other political leaders. His first contact had been with Canadian Prime Minister, without Canadian assistance, or at least benign neglect, anything that the U.S. attempted would be ten times as difficult. He had been pleased at the Canadian response, which was best summed up as "about time!" With Canada on board, the next piece would, hopefully, be Great Britain. Hendriks had no illusions about the fight he was starting, he would need all the help he could get.

"Good-" "The door to the office opened, revealing a member of his security detail. Hendriks was close to absolutely sure of the man’s loyalty, a former sniper with the 101^st, Budman had researched him. If the Project had gotten to him it had been in High School, since he had joined the Army two week after graduation & the Secret Service within six months of leaving the Screaming Eagles. It had been his acceptance into the Secret Service that had caused the man to leave the Airborne in the first place.

"Mr. President, please excuse me-"

"What is it? I asked not to be interrupted."

"Sir. I know that, Mr. President. You also have a standing Top Priority Order that you are to be informed immediately if Mr. Thomas enters the White House complex. He’s here Sir. The shift leader has him in the South Tunnel . He doesn’t have an appointment, but-"

"You did the right thing. Tell the shift leader to bring him through."

"Yes Sir." The agent exited the office, closing the door behind him.

Lisa was the first to react. "What the hell is this!"

Hendriks responded to everyone in the room. "I have no idea, but the timing is suspicious, given the message to the Prime Minister. Everyone knows what to do if something happens to me?" Nods all around the room answered the question. "Mike, if this is some kind of hit, you make goddamned sure that Michelle and the kids get away. Marine Barracks here in D.C. first, then like we planned. I want them to cease to exist. I’m counting on you for that."

"Yes sir. Whatever it takes, they WILL be safe."

"Good. Everybody out. Hopefully I will see you all later. Protect the Country. Now, get out."

The Agent came back to the office door a few minutes later. "Mr. President, Mr. Thomas AND Supervisory Special Agent Reed are here. Mr. Reed is escorting Mr. Thomas."

Well, isn’t THAT special. I wonder if all your cell walls breaking hurts. Hendriks thought, trying to be philosophical about the situation. Guess I’ll find out in a couple of minutes. Aloud he said "Please show them in."

"Yes Sir."

Hendriks sat at his desk and waited.

21.

Reed entered the office first, followed by Thomas. Hendriks noticed that they both looked shaken. Well, even for The Project killing the President of the United States wasn’t an every day occurrence. Hendriks idly wondered if the two men would share his fate, after all, they had been assigned to watch him.

"Mr. Thomas, to what do I owe this honor? I thought I would not see you until the end of my term."

"That is correct Mr. President. I did tell you that. I also told you that I might see you sooner if something happened. Something HAS happened". Hendriks noticed that Thomas, had a fine sheen of sweat covering his face.

Guess he buys it too. Good.

"And what might that be, Mr. Thomas? I suppose it’s very important for you to come unannounced." Hendriks decided to pull Thomas’ chain, it might be his last chance to do so to anyone, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

"It is, Mr. President." Thomas took a deep breath "We have received a message from The Enemy. There is an Emergency Committee session that will be starting in less than ten minutes. This is a major disaster, we will have to move quickly to cover this up before the whole World knows that The Enemy exists."

****

While the Committee prepared to meet and decide how to cover the existence of the message up, at SETI it was pandemonium. None of the researchers had expected a reply for at least 10 years, for one to arrive in less than six months had some of the scientists foaming at the mouth. Others were already preparing responses, even before the message itself had finished arriving. Other, more somber and deliberate researchers began the authentication efforts. Many in the scientific community looked on SETI as a bunch of crazies, a premature announcement would be a P.R. disaster of the 1^st order.

""Do we have anything for other sites?"

"Arecibo has confirmed it, Thule as well."

"Okay, start a track. Try to see if it is a point source, or if it’s spread across the sky." A point source would mean that the signal was coming from nearby, a wider spread would mean that it had come from farther away.

"Have we confirmed that it is in response to your latest message? Maybe it’s from an earlier attempt and it is coincidence that it arrived so close to the last message." Everyone working on authentication was thinking the same thing. Too Soon, way too soon!

"It reads like a response to the last message. It’s in the same languages, with a repeat of the mathematical sequence we sent." Came the report from one of the signals stations. "wait There’s an addition, it’s not part of our original package. Listen to this!" The signal interpreter switched his output to the speakers.

"GH"’rt!"’BN kr"’KH""Ht KG’!H"’Sh Ö"

The room went dead silent as the alien words came from the speakers. Humanity was not alone!

****

"When did the message arrive? Do we have any signs of response as yet?" TH’’kr’hT had been patient, but it was still very difficult to wait, so much was depending on the message.

"Commander, the message arrived almost one watch ago. If the Earthers responded at once we will receive the signal at the end of the next watch."

The new Full Leader was working hard as well, he had told TH’’kr’hT that it would take three full watches, probably many more before a signal could be expected in return. Even at light-speed, the trip to Earth would take time. Since it seemed, based on the big communication that his team had deciphered, that the Earthers had many different Mega-Commons, with no overall leader, a return message that carried any weight would not be received for many watches, perhaps even a quarter cycle. The commander had not seemed to have heard the Full Leader’s caution. It had puzzled the Young One until he had realized that TH’’kr’hT was nervous. Until that moment the newest Full Leader in the Fleet, had never considered the pressures of Command, especially of The People’s Landing Preparation Group. He had looked at TH’’kr’hT as a near God-like creature, born to his task. Realizing that his Commander had emotions, and how hard he worked to contain them, only increased his admiration for the Commander. To have the future of the Fleet AND The People depending on you, the thought alone was enough to flatten his crest.

"Very well Leader. Inform me of any change." TH’’kr’hT left the compartment, followed by the Leader of the GR’ph’fr"SR, who was already counselling a defensive alert.

As they left, the youngest Full Leader in the Fleet pondered if his new position, placing him on track for Command, was the blessing that he had so recently believed.

22.

The Committee meeting was far different than the first that Hendriks had "attended". That meeting had been calm to the point of boring, with the agenda set, and no discussion on issues to speak of. This was madness, or as close to madness as one could get when most of the participants were not in the same room. What Hendriks found most interesting was the reactions of his fellow political leaders, many looked excited, even happy about the message’s arrival. None of the permanent members, and several of the political leaders, looked either pleased or excited. These members looked, at best, somber. Hendriks made careful note of who was showing which reaction. It took the Committee President several attempts to bring the meeting to order, resorting, in the end, to cutting several members feeds until they got the message.

"Thank you everyone. I know that this is a special moment. This is our first ever communication from an alien source. I will allow Planetary Defense to detail the message and it’s contents. Admiral?"

"Thank you sir. At 1600 Zulu today, our lunar defense post detected a medium strength message, source unknown. The signal has repeated continuously since that time. It was beamed directly at Earth. The spread of the message when it reached the Planet meant that it was readable by anyone located on the Hemisphere facing the arrival path of the message. Signal strength is sufficient that anyone with a dish exceeded four meters is able to receive the message. Project resources control less that half of the dishes of this size worldwide. In addition, following its standing protocols, SETI researchers immediately began to stream the message across the Internet. Although Project Security has since degraded the Internet feed from SETI, the signal continues to be available to anyone with the proper equipment."

Davidson asked the question of the day, "What does the signal say?"

"Sir. The signal is being sent in five Earth languages, matching those from the SETI message sent 5 months ago. It also has a mathematical element that matches the SETI signal. There is also a series of sounds that my analysts and SETI believe is the message in The Enemy’s own tongue."

"I do not care about that! What does it SAY?"

The Admiral looked flustered for a moment. Recovering he said, "the message is available on each member’s audio feed, buttons five through ten, depending on the language desired. A printed transcript is available for viewing; members can click the message heading in their choice of languages-ë The Admiral stopped speaking when he realized that everyone had stopped listening to him.

Hendriks, along with Thomas, immediately changed their systems to allow the message to play (keeping to his cover, Reed remained outside the Situation Room). Hendriks also called up the transcript.

EARTH PEOPLE WE RESPOND TO YOUR COMMUNICATION. WE ARE THE (garble). WE SEEK FRIENDSHIP RELATIONS FOR YOU AND (garble). WE BE PIECE. WE WILL NO KILL EARTH PEOPLE. WE WANT TALK FOR FRIEND. WE LOOK FOR PLANET TWO. VENUS PLANET WE LOOK TWO. WE NO LOOK TWO EARTH. WE BE FRIEND TWO EARTH. WE NO HURT. NO HURT WE. WE BE FRIEND. FRIEND BE YOU. PIECE BE WE YOU. WE WAIT TWO YOU COMMUNICATE. WE BE HERE TO PIECE. PIECE TO EARTH PEOPLE BE. (message repeats)

Hendriks quickly scanned the audio messages in Russian and Chinese. He was struck by how much they sounded like someone reading from a phrase book. The French transcript read very close to the English, it was identical, allowing for language rule differences. Hendriks looked at Thomas to gauge his reaction. To his shock Padrig was enraged. Hendricks made sure that his microphone was off before he spoke to his "adviser".

"Mr. Thomas, is there a problem?"

Thomas was so mad that he was literally shaking with the rage that filled his voice. "These lying bastards. We KNOW they want to kill us all. We KNOW IT! They are trying to fool us! We know what they are, we’ve known since 1947! They killed so many of us, here, in Russia, and all the Planetary Defense members they have killed. They are trying to talk PEACE! Fucking Bastards! We need to kill them all. IT IS THE ONLY WAY!!!!"

"Perhaps this is a diff-" For the first time since he had taken office, Hendriks was interrupted.

"NO!" Thomas screamed. "THESE ARE THE ENEMY! THEY ARE THE THREAT WE HAVE WAITED FOR ALL THESE YEARS! THEY MUST BE READY TO STRIKE!

"Mr. Thomas! Calm down, NOW." Presidents are good at giving orders. Thomas complied, to a degree.

"Mr. President, you do not understand. They are THE ENEMY. They have to be, no other alien species could be close enough, THE ENEMY would destroy them before they arrived. The Enemy wants Earth, they want this solar system. They want to kill or enslave humanity, that is their mission. It always has been. Nothing will change that!"

Hendriks recognized a lost cause when he saw one. He went back to the screens. He was rewarded with views of several political leaders in some level of discussion with their advisers, most of who had, like Thomas, made direct contact with their nation’s leader and were, unlike normal practice, in the same room as the Government Leader. The advisers seemed to share the outlook of Thomas, while the permanent members of the Committee seemed, as a group, close to Apoplexy.

"If I could have everyone’s attention." The Committee President’s voice brought the attention back to the meeting. "We clearly have some decisions to make. Rather than a free for all, those who wish to speak should use the attention button on their systems.’ Please do so at this time."

Unbeknownst to the Australian, the system in use, like much of The Project, was rigged to favor the Permanent Members, with the more senior Permanent Members having even further preference. Thus, while 18 individuals hit their attention buttons, it was Davidson that was selected by the system to speak.

"Mr. President, honored members of the Committee, there is only one decision we have to make. How do we discredit this message? That is our purpose. We are meant to conceal the existence of The Enemy & prepare to defeat His attacks. That is what we must do, nothing else. I propose that we detail Defense to work with Security to plant the proper kinds of stories that will distract from the message. Once that is in place we can discuss how to react to this provocation. It is clearly an attempt by the enemy to cause confusion and start irreversible damage to our social & religious institutions. It may well be a prelude to a major attack. Again, I would propose that we leave preparation for a possible Enemy attack to Defense, with Security providing backup as needed."

"An interesting viewpoint Mr. Davidson. However, Let us see what other have to say."

This time the head of the Finance Group was shown to be first to request to speak. "Mr. Singh?"

"I move that we end debate and move to voting on Mr. Davidson’s proposals!"

The Australian PM was shocked at the motion, under the rules of the Committee, he was, nevertheless, trapped.

"Very well, is there a second?"

To the shock of the political members, it was Security that spoke next. "I second the Motion to end debate!"

The Australian PM found it was now his turn to become angry, mostly at the rules that he now suspected were designed to prevent honest debate, partly at himself for never realizing this fact before.

"We have a motion that has been moved and seconded. Please vote in the usual manner."

Hendriks watched as the vote came in, stunned by the result.

"The motion to end debate passes by a vote of seventeen to one." The Australian PM had just begun to understand how it must have felt to be President of the Presidium. He still could find no way to avoid the next moments.

"Debate is ended. Is there a motion?" Again Finance was indicted as first in line.

"Mr. Singh?"

"I move that Defense , with Security’s assistance, take whatever steps it deems necessary to suppress The Enemy message and prepare for any attack."

"There is a motion on the floor. Is there a second?"

This time the PM was far from surprised to see that a Permanent Member had first right to speak.

"Admiral Aden?"

"I second the motion"

Knowing it was a foregone conclusion the Committee President spoke. "There is a motion that has been moved and Seconded. Please vote in the usual manner.

"Motion is passed by a vote of seventeen to one."

Hendriks saw at least six national leaders, including Australia’s PM recoil in shock at the final tally. Hendriks was sure that Canada, at the very least, had voted no, as had he. He tried to call for a public poll of the votes but instead he heard

"Chair recognized Mr. Davidson."

"I move we adjourn"

To no one’s shock, the motion to adjourn passed 17-1.

The Australian PM, clearly in shock, announced "We are adjourned."

Instantly the screens went black cutting off contact with other members of the Committee.

In several countries, the realities of The Project became clear for the first time. In one, The President knew that his decision had been the proper one.

Hendriks also knew, based on facial reactions to the votes, that he had more allies than he had imagined.

23.

The work of discrediting the Alien message had begun ever before The Committee meeting started. The majority of the media conglomerates worldwide had Project members in place. Some were Project Security, often ex-pilots or Ship’s crew, who had come back to Earth, many however, were regular reporters who had been chosen, not due to their journalistic talents (even those many of them were highly skilled and respected), but because of their "in the Box", conspiracy free viewpoints. The Security officer’s sole job was to derail or delay any mentions of credible contact from extraterrestrials. While these watchers had only limited success in stopping the message from becoming public, they did succeed in getting things slowed down. The reporters had an even more vital role, sowing the first seeds of doubt. This was the start that Project Security needed. The rest was already preplanned, it began at SETI.

The SETI scientists were, overall, troubled by the speed of their original message’s reply. Six months was barely half a light year, that meant the message had not had time to clear the Solar System. It was only halfway through the Ort cloud, the part of the Solar System where comets lingered, waiting for some slight nudge to send them hurtling toward the Sun or out of the solar system completely, to wander in deep space for eternity. If an advanced alien civilization existed in the Solar System, why had nothing been heard from them before this amazingly well constructed message? Worse, the message’s source had been isolated, it was barely outside the Kuiper Belt, that meant that it was coming from only eleven Light HOURS from Earth. That was impossible. Scientists could SEE the Kuiper Belt objects, nothing that close to Earth could be sending a signal that strong. The majority ignored the minority of SETI scientists who proposed that the signal was from an Alien Ship, hovering just outside of view. Such talk would only hurt the long-term goal of SETI, establishing communication with another civilization. Security found it very easy to play these doubts off of the views of those scientists who held to the near-by alien ship. The more rabid a scientist was in proclaiming "ET has phoned" the more he was shown, with the reporter subsequently ridiculing his viewpoint, often with a tape of a more conservative SETI scientists as a counterpoint. Reporters, including many who had nothing to do with The Project, began to call the minority view position "the little green man" Theory, much to the delight of Project Security. Before the end of the first full day, questions began to arise, could the whole thing be some kind of a trick?

The next step in discrediting the signal was provided by Defense. The same message suddenly began to come from all over the sky, clearly originating from the Asteroid Belt, Mars’ moons, even the Earth’s Moon. The media jumped on these new signals with a frenzy. Were there aliens on the Moon? Scientists KNEW that there was no way that a signal from the Moon could be legitimate. Man had visited the Moon. It was a dead world. No life could exist there. Getting a series of signals from locations that everyone knew held no life, where Man had never been, but his robot probes had explored and found nothing, brought even more questions regarding the authenticity of the message. People who doubted the message quickly began to outnumber those who believed it was real.

More messages, composed exactly like those of the original contact message came to light. These referred to an obscure religious group, and their access to the aliens. While none of these came from as far as the Kuiper Belt, they did come from all points in the sky. Next, the messages referred to the Aliens being on the Moon, waiting for a sign to come to earth and end all war, ushering in a Golden Age. These messages were traced to an Earth bound transmitter, beaming signals off of a satellite. This revelation was seen by most people as the final proof that the entire mess was a hoax.

Project Security was not, however, done. Discredited as it was, the message still had a strong core of believers, many of them had blogs posted that debunked the debunking of the Message’s origins. Given time to think, people might begin to believe that the original message was real. This problem had a simple solution, give the people something else to think about.

The world was jolted as airliners from Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Great Britain, Japan, Russia, and the United States, all flying over open water, exploded in mid-air. Twenty aircraft, carrying over 5,000 passengers, were destroyed. A previously unknown terror group, The Earth Defense Committee, claimed responsibility for the attacks, justifying the slaughter as the only way to draw attention to their cause. They threatened additional attacks unless all offshore oil drilling cease worldwide. Further attacks, this time against Oil Company offices, came in the following days. Then, as suddenly as they arrived, the group vanished, almost like it had never really existed.

The message was forgotten, except by some UFO crazies, and a few suddenly unfunded SETI researchers, dismissed as yet another hi-tech fairy tale.

24.

"GOD damn them" Hendriks recognized the hand of Project Security in the airliner attacks nearly as soon as the first reports had come in. The A-26 and even more so, the Russian Ferret, were the perfect platforms to kill airliners. Invisible to radar, able to attack and streak away into space undetected, the space planes were phantoms. "What kind of people would do something like this?" It was a question that didn’t need to be answered. Despite this, Hendriks got one.

"The kind of people we have to stop." The Vice-President answered. "The question is, how do we do it? They are so compartmented that it may be difficult to bring the operation down. We only know the identity of fourteen people, none of the "Permanent Members" have been identified yet."

"We know where the Space planes are based. Hell, the American one is at Groom Lake. We can crush that one right now."

"Yes we can, Mitch, but what will that really gain us?"

"Satisfaction?" Hendriks was calming down, Lisa was making sense and he knew it. "I know, satisfaction isn’t enough. We can’t tip our hand yet. Still, when the time comes, the space plane base in Nevada and the one in Australia are both history. The Siberian one too, if I can get the Russians on board."

Budman spoke next, "I don’t know how we can roll up everything, especially the bases they have in space. Those are as out of reach as things get. Most of their assets are untouchable."

"You’re wrong Mike. Their assets ARE touchable. The space plane bases must also handle their cargo lift. They may have space, but we have their supply lines. If we can get a hold of their financial records we can also cut off their money supply. We know that this set-up costs a mint to maintain, if we can pick up a money trail that may be a way to hurt them."

"Can we be sure that the three bases are all that exist? These guys are paranoid AND crazy, that’s a bad combination."

"The bases need to be somewhere with lots of real estate. Ours is in Nevada, the Russian base is in Siberia and the British/French base in the middle of Australia. Where else could they have one squirreled away?"

The National Security Adviser answered the question. "Brazil."

"How do you come up with that Manny? I’m not saying you’re wrong, I just don’t understand where it came from."

"Well it has to be Brazil or China. If it was in Canada, we’d know, they’ve been with us on this from the beginning. If it was there, we’d have the address. That leaves Brazil & China. China doesn’t feel right, and their membership on the Committee, like India & Israel’s is based on being part of the Nuclear Club. Canada is there because Ike insisted he needed them as part of the American Defense effort. Australia is there because the aliens were buzzing the Brit’s base there and it was a big piece of ground for hiding things. Why is Brazil part of the crew? If they are a nuclear power they have managed to hide it from EVERYBODY. Nobody tested nukes there, they aren’t part of the original group, they just don’t fit. They didn’t get invited into the most exclusive group on the Planet because somebody thought it was their turn. They have to be a major provider of something. Maybe that something is a launch site. We know that satellite Intel has been screwed with by these bastards before, why not in Brazil?

"There has to be some serious flaws in that argument, I just don’t see them right off the bat. Lisa, you’re as close as we have to a space expert, what do you think?"

"It’s hard to say. Brazil’s as big as the continental U.S., so they have space to burn. Most of it isn’t overflown that often. Parts of the interior are virtually inaccessible. How would they supply the base. Be a bitch to do it by air."

"They could use the river. With the amount of money they have available it wouldn’t hard to put something together that would do the job. Without satellite Intel to worry about, would it be that hard to make a road invisible."

"How about the commercial satellites? Lots of those are as good as the Spy satellites were in the 80’s." Hendriks was far from convinced.

"I don’t know Mr. President. Hush money? Control of the companies? It could be anything. I could also be wrong, but I doubt it. Mike’s right, these guys are paranoid. Be like them to have an Ace up their sleeve."

"Okay, I convinced, at least for now. We have to assume that there are at least four bases, the three we know about, and a backup, just in case. We need to get someone looking at the photos from Brazil AND China, see if something’s been snipped out."

"That will be hard to cover Mr. President." Budman began. "We will need to bring in more people who have to know some of the story. You know the rule for secrets. For every person who knows-"

"The risk of exposes doubles. Yes Mike, I do have some vague memory of somebody beating that into my skull once upon a time."

"Just making sure you remembered it Sir."

"Contrary to the findings of current opinion polls, I do have a degree of intellect remaining. Lisa, find someone you can trust to keep this as quiet as possible. "

"Yes Mr. President. I’ll tell them I’m looking for drug importers or something like that."

"Good idea. That would finally get some kind of return on the damned War on Drugs. Make it quiet, but get it done. I don’t know how much longer we can keep a lid on things."

"Yes Sir."

25.

"Yes Admiral?"

"Sir, we may have a problem, perhaps more than one."

The Permanent Members were meeting with the National Advisers. This meeting was being held at a hunting lodge owned by the Project. Accessible only by air, over the years it had been the site of many meeting, most of them not Project related. The words spoken in the meeting room had greatly enriched the Project, as well as providing a more than comfortable living for most of those currently in the room The knowledge of what certain companies planned to do, if properly applied, was quite profitable. The Project was the beneficiary, the Permanent Members & Advisers thought of their part in it as incidental, if they thought of it at all. Most of the time they didn’t.

"What problem is that? The Enemy signal has been discredited, any follow-up signal will be ignored, and we remain ready for their attack. The whole matter is done with, as we have always planned."

"Sir. There has been an unexpected reaction from several of my crews." The Admiral paused, as if to gather himself. "When the news about the airliners broke, the reactions were quite strong."

"What do you mean strong? They were ordered to complete a mission, as they are always ordered. It was completed, brilliantly, I might add, and they returned to base. What was different?"

"Sir. None of the crew knew that the airliners were actually passenger craft. They all assumed that they were drones and the mission was something far different from what actually occurred."

"So what? They followed orders. It was necessary for Project Security. They have faced difficult missions before." Davidson was truly puzzled.

Thomas kept the surprise off of this face. How could Davidson NOT understand?

The admiral continued, "Sir. The difference is the seven thousand human casualties."

"They would prefer millions from the Panic? Perhaps the BILLIONS if The Enemy managed to expose The Project and the unsuspecting fools we defend forced us to lower our guard? Is that what they wanted? What has happened to our Defense Force? What have you ALLOWED to happen to it?" Davidson’s voice held the first hints of menace.

The Admiral remained calm, although with visible effort. "Sir. My crews sacrifice everything to defend Earth, to protect the PEOPLE of Earth. Killing thousands of them is not what they expect."

Finance stepped into the conversation. "So they are upset? Give them some leave or an extra grog ration or whatever it is you military types do to calm down."

The comment earned Finance a rather direct look, under the circumstances the Admiral could risk no more. "That will be difficult to do. Of my four Ferret pilots, one is dead by his own hand, two are sedated, and the fourth has disappeared. Security is looking for him as we speak. Both of my A-26 crews are in the Brig. When the news broke, one crew attempted to take a Skunk on an unauthorized flight."

"What about the other A-26 crew? You said that you had two crews in custody."

"Sir, The other crew attempted to murder the Project Adviser to the base. They did not get close, Base Security stopped-"

"THEY TRIED TO KILL THE PROJECT AGENT!" Davidson exploded. "SEND THEM TO A SPECIAL HOLDING FACILITY! PERMANENTLY!"

"Mr. Davidson, that will have serious repercussions. My remaining crews-"

"Your remaining crews will follow Project orders or else! Perhaps you would like to step down? Allow a younger, more motivated man to take over?"

The Admiral knew a death threat when he heard one. "No sir. I will handle my forces."

"Good. See that you do. I want to know when the deserter is captured."

"Yes sir."

"What other problem did you refer to? You said problems."

Thomas stood up. That was after the Admiral and I spoke sir."

"What problem did you speak to him about? Defense is not your area."

"That is true Sir. I mentioned to the Admiral that I was also facing some, difficulties."

"Suddenly what was supposed to be a pleasant review of our successful squelching of The Enemy’s message has become a crisis intervention. What problem do you have Padrig?"

"Sir, I am referring to possible political problems. My fellow advisers and I have detected Uneasiness with our respective heads of Government."

"Unease? About what? They could not have WANTED to let the message remain as it was. It would have revealed The Project!"

"Sir. I believe that several of them may have wished exactly that. It is my belief, and those of several of my colleagues, that the results of the vote are not believed to be accurate. Those who voted No seemed to be shocked that they were the only ones who voted against the motions. From a political perspective, it may have been better to allow them to talk for a while, perhaps even have the vote’s result be very close."

"Nonsense." Finance replied. "If we allow them to debate us, they will believe that THEY are in charge. The same goes for the vote; allowing it to be close would let them believe that the power is in their hands. That is unacceptable. As Advisers, it is your duty to ensure that they do not grow so bold!"

The Indian adviser spoke next. "With all respect, it is our duty to make the Politicians believe that they ARE in charge. That is how The Project is presented, from Notification, through the Briefing Documents, to Committee meetings. It is this belief, left over as it is from the origins of The Project, that allows us to continue our work. As Mr. Thomas has noted, our charges are becoming very restive. Please look at your viewers, I have a document that you need to see."

MR. PRESIDENT,

I BELIEVE THAT WE SHOULD MEET TO DISCUSS RECENT EVENTS. I BELIEVE THAT CERTAIN RECENT OCCURRENCES ARE NOT COINCIDENCES. AS WE HAVE A LONG STANDING FRIENDSHIP, BOTH AS INDIVIDUALS AND AS LEADERS OF FRIENDLY GOVERNMENTS, I AM CERTAIN THAT OUR MEETING WILL NOT AROUSE SUSPICION FROM CERTAIN ELEMENTS. I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE A VISIT THAT WOULD OCCUR WITHIN THE NEXT 45 DAYS.

IF YOU ARE AGREEABLE TO THIS MEETING PLEASE REPLY PROMPTLY. I BELIEVE IT IS TIME TO DO SOMETHING.

QUIS CUSOTDIET IPSOS CUSTODES?

JASWINDER

This message," explained the Indian Adviser. "was intercepted prior to transmission by an undercover Project Security officer assigned to my Prime Minister. It was intended for the President of Russia. I will be discussing it with the Prime Minister upon my return. Prior to that time, however, I wanted to discuss it with The Committee."

Davidson had gone white, whether with fear or rage wasn’t clear, not until he spoke. "There will be no need to discuss this with The Committee, or with the Prime Minister."

"Sir, I can not-"

"There is no need to discuss it. Is that clear?

"Sir? Yes Sir. Clear."

"Excellent. If the Advisers and aides would excuse us, I believe The Committee will continue in Executive Session. We will see you all at dinner. Please be at your leisure until then. The Lodge staff will assist you with any of the recreation activities you may wish to sample. That will be all ladies and gentlemen."

It took just a few moments for the room to clear. When it did, Davidson was the first to speak.

"Things are getting out of control. As we feared, The Enemy’s message has already begun to have its desired effect. Things need to be brought back on center.

"I believe that the Indian Prime Minister has presented us with an opportunity that is not to be ignored. Is there a motion?"

Security spoke first. "I move that the Indian Prime Minister be sanctioned for his attempt to violate Project protocols."

"I second the motion" came from Planning.

"Very well." Davidson looked around the room. "We will try a show of hands. In favor?"

Around the table hand went up, a couple, including Defense’s, a little more slowly than the others.

"Opposed." Not a hand moved. "Excellent. Motion carried. Security will make the necessary arrangements. Is there any other business?" A quick glance showed nothing but shaken heads.

"Very Good. The day is still young? Would anyone care to join me for a ride? The stables can have horses ready by the time we change.

"I will see anyone who isn’t riding at dinner. Enjoy the afternoon. Good day Gentlemen."

26.

"Still no reply?" TH’’kr’hT made the question a statement.

"Not as such Commander. We have received a number of lower powered signals, in more languages than I would have believed possible from a single world, most of them inviting us to come to Earth, but nothing that had the appearance of coming from a Planetary Government or even from one of the Mega-commons."

"Young Leader, you know as much about the Earthers as any of The People. Give me your thoughts on why they have not replied, after they sent out their invitation?"

They Young Leader was quiet for a moment, not because he did not have an answer, he just had to put it into words of The People.

"I do believe that there is a reason. It is difficult for me to explain, but I will try.

"The video programs that are streaming away from the Planet are much easier to read now. They are still very confusing, mostly because we still do not have full understanding of the languages, although we become more competent each day. The videos seem to be partly information and partly recreational. It is often difficult to tell the difference. Over the past watch series, the programming has shown a change. It seems to have much more information content that recreational."

"Do you know why? Is it because of our message?" Asked TH’’kr’hT

"At first we believed this to be the reason. There was much commotion about messages from aliens. I believe this was in reaction to our message. The low powered replies use the word "alien" in what seems to be a title for us."

"You say at first. What changed?"

"In less than one watch it seemed that the message was not as important. Within six watches it no longer was on the videos. We continued to receive the low-power messages, but in less quantity. Six watches later something happened that changed the videos. After that, the videos showed almost nothing else but this one event."

"What was the event?"

"It is hard to understand. It seems that many of the atmospheric transports used by the Earthers to cross the wide blue spaces were destroyed."

"How? A storm? Some kind of Power Surge on the Planetary grid?’ Power Surges had damaged many of The People’s ship once. The Documents recorded the event with great horror. Many ships of The Fleet had been lost. It had been many cycles ago, but the warning was still remembered.

"No Commander. Worse than a Power Surge, far worse. I believe it was an act of Rouge Earther GR’ph’fr"SR."

TH’’kr’hT felt the breath leave his body. Rouge GR’ph’fr"SR? No wonder the Earthers had not given a reply to the message! GG"lR’o save them. Sun Bombs AND Rouges. How could they have survived so long?

"You are certain?"

"No Commander, it is still difficult to understand, even with the crunchers, but I have watched and listened for the last watch and a half to the same portion of video many times. Several of my Technicians have done the same. In all we reviewed videos coming from three of the Earther Mega-commons. It is our consensus that it was Rouges."

"How many Earthers died?"

"Again, it is difficult. The numbers are not always the same. Our judgment is that the slain equal at least a full Common, perhaps as many as three."

"The Rouges slew a SHIP?" The Commander’s mind reeled at the thought. There had not been such a loss, for any reason, among the People since the GV"NC’HTR"kh". It was not possible!

"It may only be a Common Commander. The words they use are strange, not part of the Invitation vocabulary."

That was hardly a surprise, thought TH’’kr’hT, it was not a thing you would advertise.

"Thank you for your efforts Young Leader. Continue your work. I rely on you and your Group for much. Regardless of this mission’s outcome, your name will be recorded in The Documents with honor. Leave me."

"Yes Commander." In The Documents? With honor? His Common would Roar indeed. It had been long since his Common, even his Ship, had been mentioned in The Documents. The Young Leader returned to his Group with renewed determination. With Honor? It would be earned.

27.

Budman had long believed he was immune to surprise, he had been there and seen more or less everything in his years of service, and he had believed that what little he had missed prior to his retirement, he had discovered since. He was wrong.

Mike was in his company office, Budman Consulting, pretending to be what he no longer was, just another ex Green Beanie cashing in on his past, when his intercom buzzed.

"Yes Diane?" dialogue

"Sir, a Mr. Ivan Ivanivch is here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says he knows you from Bishkek. Should I send him in?

Budman thought for a second. John, Son of John and Kyrgyzstan. It might be a trap or it might be In any case Diane wasn’t up to stopping anyone who wanted to get past her, that wasn’t her job.

Budman pulled the Berretta out of his desk drawer and said "Please send him in."

The door opened and a face Mike had never expected to see again appeared. "Hello Michael." Said Valesey Ivanivch Markov.

Budman would have been less surprised of the Easter Bunny had come in the door, sack of chocolate eggs in tow. He had not seen Markov in a decade, not since a counter terror mission so black that it had not only never happened, it had never even been imagined. That non-existent mission had resulted in the recovery of two Russian nuclear weapons and an American scientist who had decided that Islamist Oil Money was more important than any consideration of American cities disappearing under mushroom clouds. The scientist went with Budman & the nukes had gone with Markov. Everything found in the raid had quickly disappeared from sight, never to be heard from again. Markov was Budman’s opposite number in the Russian Vympel, an elite offshoot of the Russian Special Forces. Budman couldn’t think of a single legitimate reason that he would be in Washington. He brought the 9 MM up into a two handed shooting stance.

"Good to see you Valesey. Why the fuck are you here?" The thought that someone like Valesey would be an ideal Project hitter sprang unsought into Budman’s mind.

"Michael, please. I am here as a friend. Brigadier Wilson sends his regards."

Wilson was Budman’s SAS contact. "He does, does he?"

"Yes. He also sends a word. Blackwatch."

The gun came down. Blackwatch was a safe word that Budman and Wilson had agreed to for all Project related communications. There was only one reason for Markov to have it.

"Okay Valesey, have a seat. You have my full attention."

"Thank you. I am glad to see that you remain cautious. In our line of work it is an important habit to maintain. I bring a message for your President. Our English friend indicated that you may be helpful in ensuring delivery with minimal interference."

"I may be able to assist you. He and I are friends from a long time ago."

"Not so long ago, Michael. Our mutual English friend told me of some Fascists that you and he were discussing recently. As luck would have it, I visited the Brigadier to discuss the same group. They have greatly upset my President, who has told me that they present a serious threat to the Rodinia. I have been visiting many old friends ever since. I understand you have made similar visits in the last several months. I have run into your name at some of my calls."

"I see. Did your President share the reason for his concern?"

"He did. It was a very private talk, no one could hear."

"I see. I will see what I can do about getting your President’s message to my old friend."

"Excellent. I am told that time is of the essence."

"I will contact you?"

"Ah, here is a phone number. It is for one of those disposable phones you Americans seem to love so much. It will only work once and only for the next week. After that, I will assume I have my answer."

"I understand. Thank you for stopping by. Always a pleasure to see an old associate."

"I feel the same Michael. Good day."

28.

Hendriks received the Russian Presidents letter several hours after it entered Budman’s possession. It had been decided that Mike’s frequent presence at the White House was bound to cause speculation, especially given his area of expertise. It had been decided that the best way to keep suspicion down was for Budman to mostly communicate through Manny Ortega. As National Security Adviser Manny met with the President at least once a day, since the "terrorist attacks" it was often twice a day, if not more frequently. Messages were passed by hand, through a varying set of cut outs, to make surveillance more difficult. Manny waited until the afternoon security briefing was ending before showing the letter to Hendriks. When he did, the President asked Manny, and the Secretary of Defense (who Hendriks had brought into the "Project circle" after the sham vote) to remain.

Once the other advisers had left Hendriks opened the letter.

MY DEAR PRESIDENT HENDRIKS,

I HOPE THAT YOU DO NOT FIND MY DIRECT APPROACH TO YOU TO BE TOO BOLD. I HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT YOU ARE A MAN OF ACTION, NOT JUST OF WORDS. I HOPE THAT THIS IS TRUE.

I AM SURE THAT YOU SAW THROUGH THE PITIFUL SHAM THAT WAS THE LAST COMMITTEE MEETING. FROM MY READING OF THE FACES DURING THE MEETING I BELIEVE THAT THERE WERE AT LEAST EIGHT, PERHAPS AS MANY AS ELEVEN "NO" VOTES CAST. IT WAS SURELY MORE THAN JUST THE ONE THAT APPEARED ON THE FINAL TALLY. I AM REACHING OUT TO THOSE LEADERS WHO APPEARED TO HAVE VOTED AGAINST THE LUNACY THAT THE COMMITTEE HAS LET LOOSE ON THE WORLD. I HAVE USED A REPRESENTATIVE TO DELIVER THIS MESSAGE WHO I TRUST ABSOLUTELY. HE HAS DELIVERED IT TO A PERSON WHO I HOPE YOU TRUST IN THE SAME MANNER. MY MAN HAS INDICATED THAT HE HAS SOME EVIDENCE THAT YOU HAVE BEGUN PLANS TO ACT AGAINST THE PROJECT. I HAVE DONE THE SAME. I PROPOSE WE UNITE OUR EFFORTS.

I HAVE ALREADY CONTACTED THE PREMIER OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA ON THIS MATTER AND HE IS IN AGREEMENT THAT CURRENT CONDITIONS CAN NOT BE ACCEPTED. HE HAS ALSO INDICATED THAT HE IS WILLING TO ACT IN CONCERT WITH MY COUNTRY, AND YOURS, AS LONG AS OUR ACTIONS DO NOT ADVERSELY IMPACT THE POSITION OF THE PRC IN GLOBAL AFFAIRS. I BELIEVE THAT THIS IS A REASONABLE CONDITION, OUR ARGUMENT IS WITH THE FASCISTS, NOT WITH EACH OTHER.

AT OUR FIRST MEETING I ASKED YOU TO CONSIDER WHAT WOULD HAPPEN WITHOUT THE PROJECT TO ACT AS A UNIFYING FORCE IN THE WORLD. I WAS, I THOUGHT, GIVING YOU WISE COUNSEL. RECENT EVENTS HAVE PROVED ME WRONG. WE HAVE HANDED THE CONTROL OF THE WORLD OVER TO FASCISTS WHO ARE WILLING TO KILL THOUSANDS WITHOUT A CONCERN. THIS MUST END.

IF YOU DO NOT HAVE AN ABSOLUTELY RELIABLE PERSON TO TRANSLATE YOUR RESPONSE INTO RUSSIAN YOU MAY SEND IT IN ENGLISH. MY WIFE IS FLUENT IN ENGLISH AND I HAVE THE SAME FAITH IN HER AS I HAVE IN THE MAN WHO BROUGHT THIS MESSAGE TO YOUR COUNTRY. IT IS SHE WHO HAS TYPED THIS MESSAGE FROM MY ORIGINAL WRITTEN NOTE.

I URGE SPEED. IT IS MY BELIEF THAT FAILING TO ACT SOON WILL MEAN OUR FAILURE. IT WILL SURELY MEAN THAT WE ARE UNABLE TO RESPOND TO THE ALIEN MESSAGE.

I AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE.

STEPHAN OLEGIVICH SAMOYLOV

Hendricks finished reading the message and looked up from it with a smile.

"Manny, Joe. I think we have the bastards now. I hoped we had them before, now I just about sure.

"I want both of you to read this. Give me your opinions, I want to reply to him TODAY."

Hendriks remembered the last time Russia and the United States had joined hands to fight a common foe. Perhaps they could do as well again, without the post war problems.

One thing was certain, they were ahead of The Project this time.

29.

Despite The Committee’s beliefs, political leaders are far from cowards. Every modern leader has, well before entering office, accepted that he or she will be a target for assassination. This is true no matter what the leader’s country may be. For some, however, it is much more than the remote acceptance that some madman my decide that all his problems can be solved with one bullet, or a well placed bomb. In some Modern states the threat of death, simply because of the post as President or Prime Minister, is more than remote, it is a constant reality. This is why the President of the United States is so well guarded; four Presidents have been murdered while in office, while several other lived to end their terms thanks to the poor skills of their would-be killers. Even that record of violence, where one in 10 who held the office died while serving, pales when compared to the dangers accepted by the leader of the World’s largest democracy.

India is a remarkable example of differing religions, cultural groups, climates, and perspectives. That it is governable at all, much less by a democratically elected Parliament, is a tribute to the commitment that all involved show to the process. Unfortunately, despite this clear desire by the majority to settle differences via the ballot box, sufficient fanatics exist that one in eight of India’s Prime Minister’s has died at the hands of an assassin. Other attempts, both publicly know and those stopped and kept out of the public eye, have occurred since Independence. Despite this, many spend a lifetime working to gain the Prime Minister’s title. Kamal Bainiwal was the latest to hold the office.

Bainiwal was slightly concerned when he did not hear back from his Russian counterpart, It was unlike Alexivich to hesitate or delay a response. If he did not hear from him within a few more days, he would send a follow-up message. Today, however, even with the suspicions about The Committee that he had developed, his mind was elsewhere. As is the case everywhere, part of the Prime Minister’s job was to be in public, this was one of those days. Despite the near begging of his Security Chief, Kamal was going to attend one of the huge open-air rallies that marked Indian political life. That did not mean that his Security detail had to like it.

"Please Sir. I again ask you to reconsider. I can not assure your safety, not with any degree of confidence. This Earth Defense Committee is an added threat, beyond those that already know exist."

"I am sure you will do your usual excellent job Gupreet. You and your men are the best India has to offer. I trust you with my safety, more than I trust myself." Kamal had meant to be comforting, his words had the opposite effect.

"Than trust us Prime Minister. Allow us to control the scene, use the ballistic shielding. We can still install the shield, there is time before the rally begins. We can still alter the public seating area and the arrival point. That will greatly in-"

"Gupreet, my decision stands. Like you I have a job to do. Mine requires that I act as a Leader of my Party. If I act like a prince, I will fail in my duties. The answer is no."

"Yes Prime Minister."

Cheer up. I have allowed you to triple the number of guards. The site will look like a police station. It will be fine."

"Yes Prime Minister."

"Splendid. I believe it is time to depart?" It was a very unhappy security Chief who led the way to the cars.

****

The headache was back. He had taken aspirin and everything else he could think of, but the headache remained. He hadn’t know that a headache could hurt so much but still allow him to function. Despite the pain he felt peaceful, almost happy. Part of his mind was telling him that he shouldn’t be so content, but the peaceful feeling continued to fill him. He had no explanation for the bruise that he had noticed over his eye, but it didn’t really matter, not really, and the headache was going away now that he was almost It wasn’t home, he lived 150 kilometres from Calicut, but it was better than home. It was a safe peaceful place.

He wasn’t usually so comfortable in crowds, his village was off the main road, but today the presence of so many others made him happy. As more and more people filled the area, the better he felt. When the first person on the stage, so far away, began to speak he knew that he needed to do to keep the headache away. He reached into his pocket and touched the button. As he did, he felt contentment, he be-

CRACK! Where milliseconds earlier a somewhat confused young man had stood, an expanding cloud of superheated gases and fragments appeared. As the explosions expanded, others in the packed crowd were consumed by the blast, literally blow apart. Pieces of their bodies became lethal projectiles as the thirty kilos of sheet plastic explosive did its work. It was just the beginning of a horror show.

****

"Again, for those of you just joining us, CNN has confirmed that Kamal Bainiwal, Prime Minister of India is among the victims of a series of suicide bombers that struck a Bharatiya Janata Party Rally today in Calicut. Early reports indicate that at least six, perhaps more, bombers took part in the massive attack. Early casualty figures from Indian broadcasting sources indicate that at least 500 persons are dead and many more are injured. We are now."

Kamal Bainiwal had violated Project rules. His successor would, hopefully, profit from his example.

Davidson changed the station to ESPN. It was time for Sports Center.

30.

"No. That’s the last Goddamned straw. These assholes thing that they can just kill thousands of people any time they want? Not anymore. I want to get their attention."

Hendricks was livid. He was trying to get control of himself, without too much success. His Project circle could do nothing but wait for him to take a deep breath.

Hendriks rage was only partly due to the assassination of the Indian Prime Minister, killed along with over a thousand others, by a series of suicide bombers and in the ensuing panicked stampede as people sought safety. That had been bad enough. Hendriks had been fairly certain that the attack was The Project’s handiwork. Then Thomas had made his visit.

The Adviser had come to the White House unannounced, as always. That alone was enough to anger Hendriks, he realized that the Adviser thought he was the Boss, and that he could do whatever he wanted, even barge in on the POTUS. No one seemed to remember who had appointed Thomas, he’d been around for decades, and three of Hendriks predecessors from that era had died. Any of them could have appointed the man, assuming he had been appointed by a President. That could also be a bunch of BS, like so much that surrounded The Project, it could be an elaborate lie.

Hendriks played Thomas’ visit back in his mind. "How can I help you Mr. Thomas?"

Thomas had shrugged at him, SHRUGGED!

"I wanted to come by and see how you are Mr. President. It is standard practice for The Project Adviser to visit when a Committee Member dies, especially unexpected, as happened with Prime Minister Bainiwal."

"That’s very nice of you Mr. Thomas. I am fine. If there is nothing-"

Thomas had then interrupted the President. "That is good to hear Mr. President. I rather liked Kamal, until recently he had been a very useful addition to The Committee. I know his Adviser will miss him greatly, even though he had begun to ignore sound advice from The Project’s representative to India’s government. I am sure that someone as wise as yourself would never ignore sound advice, would you Mr. President?"

The threat was so open that Hendriks almost directly attacked Thomas. "No. No I wouldn’t Mr. Thomas. Good advice is so hard to come by these days."

"That is very true Mr. President. Very true indeed. It is far too dangerous a world to ignore sound advice.

"Well, I just wanted to be certain your were undisturbed by the unfortunate event in India. As your Adviser I am always concerned about your Health."

"Thank you."

"You are quite welcome Mr. President. Good Day."

That had been three hours ago. Hendriks had remained outraged since, choking down his anger only long enough to have his Chief of Staff contact those in the room now.

"No good double-dealing bastards! They KILLED the leader of democratically elected government. Who the hell do they think they are!"

There was a knock on the door.

"WHAT!" Everyone who heard the shout winced. Presidential shouts are never a good thing.

The door opened partway, revealing a Secret Service Agent, this time a female. Budman’s people had vetted her, in no small part due to her eight sisters and one brother. While he hadn’t asked Hendriks would have bet the brother was either the oldest or youngest in the family.

"Sir, there is a messenger from the British Embassy here. He has a message that he says is to be hand delivered to you. He is quite insistent. He says he has a personal message to you from the Prime Minister."

"Very well. Bring him in after he passes Security."

"Yes Mr. President."

"I wonder that that’s all about?" asked the VP.

"We’ll know in a few minutes."

"Yes Sir."

"Okay. Back to the subject at hand. Mike/"

"Yes sir."

Effective immediately you are recalled to duty. You are hereby put in charge of the SPECOPS portion of our responses to these bastards."

"Mr. President, Gen-"

"Is a good man. He knows the score. I do not want you to cut him out, he is critical to mission success. I want you to be the mission leader.

"Sir. Yes Sir"

"Bill," Hendriks looked at his SecDef, "have that in place before Mike gets to Bragg."

"No problem Mr. President."

"Good. First mission objective, we hit them back, somewhere they think they are safe."

"Where is that Mr. President?" Asked Manny.

"Brazil. They killed one of ours down there. Time to return the favor."

"What do you have in mind Mitch?" asked Lisa. "The Adviser?"

"No, That’s a pinprick. I want a punch in the face.

"Mike we have that Delta team inserted and watching her right?"

"Yes sir. As ordered we inserted the team as soon as you gave the Finding."

"Have they identified the bad guys?"

"Yes sir. They have the Security Team made. I believe that the reason we suffered the loss was that the Security Team arrived after our original watchers & they got lucky."

"No more luck. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"I want the Adviser, ALL of her security team, including the ones that are off duty, and wherever they are assigned from neutralized. The on-site commander has discretion to alter the target list as needed to protect his Team. I want ZERO losses on this. I want the Project to be wondering just who did this to them. Got it?"

"Yes Sir."

"Next-" The knock came again on the door.

"The British visitor is here."

"Show him in"

"Yes sir."

"Do you want us to leave Mr. President?"

"No. I have a feeling that this is about The Project. If not, we’ll just take the letter and send him away."

"Yes Sir."

The Secret Service Agent opened the door, admitting a young man in his late 20’s. He seemed very young, and in far too good of condition, to be a diplomat. Hendriks observations were confirmed as the man came to attention before speaking.

"Mr. President, I am directed to deliver that letter to your hand by order of the Prime Minister. I am further ordered, pending you permission, to wait for your reply." The young man held out the letter.

Hendriks took the letter, and made a guess "At ease Lieutenant."

"Thank you Sir. How did you know Sir?"

"SAS"

"No Sir. Special Boat Service Mr. President."

Special Boat Service is the SPECOPS arm of the Royal Marines. They fill much the same role as American Navy SEALS including counter-terror operations.

"Good unit Lieutenant. Relax while I read this"

"Yes sir. Thank you Mr. President. Permission to speak Sir"

"Go ahead."

"Thank you sir." The Captain turned to Budman. "General. My Regimental Commander sends his compliments and requests that you include him on your next visit."

"I’ll do that Lieutenant. Tell Joseph I said Hello."

"Yes Sir. I’ll do that."

Hendriks opened the letter, noticing the old-style wax seal had not been broken. The letter was hand written and fairly brief.

DEAR PRESIDENT HENDRIKS, 11:00 AM LONDON TIME

I ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE HAD YOUR VISIT FROM YOUR ADVISOR. MINE HAS LEFT MY OFFICE LESS THAN THIRTY MINUTES AGO. I AM CERTAIN THAT YOU ARE AS APPALLED AS I AM THAT KAMAL BAINIWAL WAS MURDERED, ALONG WITH SO MANY INDIAN CITIZENS, BY PROJECT ASSASSINS.

I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT YOU EVER HAD THE PLEASURE TO MEET DIRECTLY WITH KAMAL. LET ME ASSURE YOU THAT HE WAS A GOOD, DECENT MAN WHO ALWAYS PUT THE BEST INTERESTS OF HIS PEOPLE FIRST.

BASED ON OUR EARLIER COMMUNICATIONS I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE OBSERVATION TEAMS ON THE VARIOUS ADVISORS. THAT IS THE REASON FOR THIS SOMEWHAT UNUSUAL MESSAGE.

I REQUEST THAT YOU END SURVEILLANCE OF THE INDIAN ADVISOR IMMEDIATELY. I WILL NOT ALLOW KAMAL’S DEATH TO GO UNPUNISHED. I HAVE DIRECTED THAT APPROPRIATE MEASURES BE TAKEN IN INDIA TO SEND THE PROPER MESSAGE TO OUR FRIENDS. I WANT TO AVOID ANY CHANCE OF WHAT YOU AMERICANS SO CHARMING CALL BLUE ON BLUE ACTIVITIES. I WILL WAIT EIGHTEEN HOURS FROM THE TIME NOTED ABOVE BEFORE SENDING THE GO SIGNAL. I ASSUME THAT THIS WILL PROVIDE SUFFICIENT TIME FOR YOUR MEN TO DISENGAGE.

SINCERELY.

ROBERT SMYTHE

Hendriks checked his watch. "Lieutenant, do you know how this message was sent?"

"Sir. I was given to believe that it was sent by Euro-Fighter from London to Halifax and by a Canadian military transport from there to Andrews."

"Impressive. Is there a similar courier service set up for the return message?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. Just a moment."

Hendriks grabbed a pen and a sheet of the special "Presidential" stationary from his desk drawer.

PRIME MINISTER SMYTHE,

MY MEN WILL BE REMOVED AS REQUESTED. I AM ALSO PREPARING A RESPONSE. IT WILL OCCUR IN SOUTH AMERICA. I REQUEST THAT YOU ENSURE THAT ANY OBSERVERS YOU HAVE THERE ALSO DISENGAGE. MY TEAM WILL NOT ACT BEFORE THE DEADLINE YOU HAVE DESCRIBED.

YOUR ALLY,

MITCHELL HENDRIKS

Hendriks sealed the envelope and handed it to the SBS officer.

"Straight to the Prime Minister’s hand Lieutenant."

"Yes Mr. President"

"On your way then."

"Yes sir,"

The young Englishman left the office.

"Mike."

"Yes Sir."

Hendriks checked the multiple face clock that sat on his desk.

"No action by our team before 0300 ZULU tomorrow."

"Yes Sir."

31.

The American commando team in Brazil had been in country long enough to have a feel for the normal rhythms of not just the neighborhood, but also the City of Brasilia. For several members of the team it was not their first visit to Brazil. Terrorism knew no borders and neither did those who hunted in the shadows for murderers who thought civilization itself was an enemy. The team itself was larger than necessary for the mission at hand, this was a direct result of Hendriks’ insistence that sufficient security be in place to guarantee overwatch for any operation. These orders had actually made the mission more difficult, but given the unlimited funding available it had not been impossible to comply. Sixteen members of the team had flown in on commercial airliners over several days. None of these men were carrying American passports and only two had arrived on an American flag airline. The remaining four members of the team had arrived in somewhat less comfort.

The last four team members had been flown in from an American Carrier on a MH-53J. Taking advantage of gaps in Brazil’s air search radar the helicopter landed the four men, including the Troop’s second officer, roughly two hundred miles from the Brazilian Capital where they were met by teammates driving commercially rented SUV’s. The vehicles chosen were plentiful on the streets of the capital and unlikely to draw attention. These vehicles were loaded with the weapons (Heckler-Koch MP-5 9mm silenced sub machineguns, Berretta 9mm pistols, two Swiss made sniper rifles chambered in .338 magnum, and a variety of other weapons, none of which were standard American issue, except the pistols, which were sold world wide, and were in common use by various criminal gangs throughout the country.), communication gear, tactical uniforms, and other sundries that would have raised the eyebrows of Brazilian Customs officials. It would have been easier to have simply shipped the weapons to the American Embassy in diplomatic "pouches" that were not subject to inspection, but the team was "illegal", no one in the American Embassy knew, or was ever to know, that the Delta Troop was in-country. This meant that the weapons had to be inserted covertly, and, just as importantly, the team was utterly on its own.

If the mission went bad, each man had a variety of escape options, tailored to the individuals skills, but the massive resources that the average American soldier took for granted, from Med-Evac to supporting air or ground fire, to reinforcement, were not available to the troop. Not a man in the Troop would have had it any other way.

The operators of Delta’s Squadrons are not just Elite. They are beyond elite, beyond anything the American military had even conceived of before a terrible day in 1979. From the ashes of the failed attempt to free American Hostages in Iran, had risen a Phoenix that had fundamentally altered that American way of war.

Americans who hear the words Special Forces, or Special Operations, generally think of the Green Berets, the legendary guerrilla fighter and leaders from Viet Nam. While they are correct, the term Special Forces covers a much wider, infinitely more varied, group of elite units. These range from Army Rangers, who claim a direct ancestry from Roger’s Rangers, a Special Operations until that predates the founding of America as a nation, to the U.S. Navy SEALS, an evolution of the Underwater Demolition Teams of WW II Fame, to Air Force Special Operations and Marine Force Recon, and other, more shadowy units scattered throughout America’s military. Each of these units is, in their areas of expertise, at WORST, equal to any comparable formation on Earth. That these units’ acknowledge (often grudgingly, as the men in the units are as competitive as Olympians), that Delta operators are even more elite then they are, is perhaps the best way to illustrate Delta’s level of expertise. The Troop that had deployed to Brazil had no equal on Earth, short of the movies. People line up to see 007 James Bond movies, the twenty Delta operators in Brasilia, each had skills that would put a 00 agent to shame. (Save at the gambling tables, few of these men played games of chance, compared to their regular assignments, high stake poker or baccarat was boring. In gambling all you could lose was money.) Simply put, this Troop specialized in pest removal, who or whatever the pest might be.

The troop has spent countless hours surveilling Maria Silva AND her protectors. They had identified ten men and two women, at least four of them were on duty at all times, with as many as six on duty when Silva was in motion. Silva’s watchdogs were good, as good as the Delta troop commander had ever seen, but, unlike the unfortunate retired SAS trooper, this time they were out numbered and out gunned. The troop had been briefed on the magical weapon that had been used to kill Jensen, none of them had any intention of falling prey to it, and the troop commander had made it a secondary objective to capture one or more of the deadly toys for analysis. The SAS and Delta trained extensively together, to the point that a fraternal relationship existed between the two units. Collecting Jensen’s debt would be a nice side benefit of tonight’s operation.

A six letter group transmitted and received by each operator’s comm. gear had put the troop’s actions into motion. The troop had preplanned a series of possible scenarios before deployment, each of them had a separate code group. This reduced the chance of communications being compromised to virtually zero. The troop had been surprised at the group that had been transmitted, somebody must have REALLY pissed off the NCA (National Command Authority), but they had been given almost 11 hours to prepare. There was only one tricky part of the mission, and the troop commander would hold it for last.

"One to net, Mission is a go. Eight minute to execution. Primary Plan still in place. Teams acknowledge." The commander ordered.

"Bravo Ready."

"Charlie Ready"

"Dog Ready."

"Fox Ready."

"All Teams Ready. Six Minutes"

The mission commander had carefully chosen his moment. The enemy forces (which, once the attack command had been given, the subjects had become) had fallen into an operative pattern, It was supposed to be random, the change of watchers occurring at different times, but wasn’t. The times varied each evening, but each night of the week had the same time. Tonight it was 0345 ZULU. The time fit in nicely with his orders, ten of the twelve watchers would be in the same area at once, making their neutralization much simpler. The troop commander had control of Team Alfa, it consisted of eleven operators. They would eliminate the main group of watchers and Silva. The other Teams had different targets.

"This is One. Teams Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, execute on my mark. Five, four three two, one. MARK!"

The commander was on overwatch. A Russian made PKM general purpose machine gun was tucked into his shoulder. He was the free safety, anyone who broke through the line was his problem. He need not have worried. From his perch he watched as all four Project Security vehicles were struck by RPG rounds. Designed to penetrate up to four inches of tank armor the rounds easily defeated the æ inch ceramic armor that Project engineers had designed into the surveillance vehicles as protection from small arms. Six Security Officers died inside the vehicles, with two others being killed by the explosions. The RPG rounds hid the crack of the sniper rifles that slaughtered the two Security Officers on foot patrol. Even as the Project Security Team was killed, all power and telephone service in the neighborhood was cut by the simple expedient of destroying the power poles with small, radio detonated, explosive charges. In the dark, lit only by the flickering flames of the Security vehicles, it was not surprising that no one saw two men, wearing black tactical dress, sprint up to Maria Silva’s door. The men defeated the lock by the simple technique of blowing it to bits with silenced 9mm fire. Once inside, they found the stunned Silva standing in the middle of her family room. The Delta operators were not cruel men, just soldiers on a mission, they cut the Brazilian Adviser down before she could utter a sound. A second three round burst to the head ensured that Silva was dead, then the men left the house and escaped into the blackness. As had been planned, one of the RPG teams approached each sniper victim. Both the man and woman were clearly dead, the Operators could see the huge exit wounds left by the Magnum rounds. The personal belongings of each victim were quickly gathered, including strange cylinders the size of a man’s thumb, tossed into ballistic nylon bags, and the teams made their escape.

"Team Alfa. Withdrawal Plan Baker. Repeat Plan Baker. Acknowledge."

"Two." "three." "Eleven."

Alfa cleared the target site in under three minutes.

As Alfa acknowledged the order to withdraw Teams Bravo and Charlie struck.

Bravo’s target lived in an apartment located in a decent, if older, part of the Capital. The two Delta Operators simply took the fire stairs to his floor, picked the door’s lock, shot him twice in the head with a silenced pistol before he woke, exited the room, closing the door as they went and left as they had come, unseen. The dead man was not even noticed until the next morning when his cleaning lady entered the room.

"Bravo to One. Mission complete."

"Acknowledged. Withdraw as planned."

Of all the Teams, Charlie had drawn the most difficult target. The woman did not live alone. She was, in fact, part of a happily functional family. The troop’s observations of her had indicated that she did daytime surveillance at Silva’s home so she could be home for her family. Had she lived alone, the Team would have simply thrown thermite or White Phosphorus grenades into the windows and shot her if she escaped the blaze. The presence of three children complicated the planning for the target. Nothing in the mission orders forbade the killing of the entire family, doing so would have lessened the risks of the mission, but the men involved were professionals, not some bunch of drugged up gang-bangers, they didn’t kill children unless it was unavoidable.

Instead they did it the hard way. The three man team made what police call a home invasion. Fortunately the three children were already in bed when they entered the home. They found the target and her husband in the family room watching TV. They quickly subdued the couple, gagging and blindfolding them. They then removed the wife from the home into the street. One of the Operators assured her that her family would not be harmed, and then the team completed its mission, leaving her body where, they hoped, it would be found by someone other than her children.

"One. This is Charlie. Sometimes this job sucks. Mission complete."

"Acknowledged Charlie. Withdraw as planned. Tomorrow’s another day."

"Roger."

Phase one of the mission was complete, Brazilian Adviser Maria Silvia and her security element had been wiped out. Start to finish it had taken less than six minutes. The complicated part of the mission was about to begin.

Team Bravo, unlike teams Alfa and Charlie, was not headed home; using previously positioned vehicles to get to their various hotels in the Brasilia area. Instead it was headed, at a sedate 40 KPH to a rendezvous with Team Fox. They had one more task to perform this night. Assuming Team Dog succeeded.

"One to Dog. Status Report."

"One. Dog in place. Preliminaries complete."

"Acknowledged. Proceed with Primary."

"Wilco."

The two operators of Team Dog had, in their opinion, and by the troop’s overall consensus, drawn, far and away, the best mission of the evening. The earlier activates of Alfa and Charlie, especially Alfa, had thrown the Brasilia police into a frenzy. A near war had broken out in a quiet, upper class area, and a home invasion murder had also occurred in a different pricey enclave. Like police everywhere, Brasilia’s are sensitive to political pressure. Poor people killing each other doesn’t generate much political interest, at least until the newspapers make an issue of it, middle class folks getting killed generates slightly more, but a war zone in a upper middle class to upper class neighborhood makes politicians, hence police, very unhappy indeed. A noteworthy fraction of Brasilia’s police department, as well as some army forces, were at the site of Silva’s death. A number of other officers were searching the area surrounding Charlie’s target. Even with these subtractions, the remaining police available would make Fox’s mission too chancy, especially with the strict orders the troop had to avoid casualties.

Dog was going to give the police something else to look at. Like every major city, Brasilia has need for huge amounts of gasoline and other fuels, distillates, chemicals, and the other necessities of daily commerce. Cities do their utmost to keep the storage areas for these needed, but dangerous and unpleasant items away from the population and business centers, but they cannot be placed too far away as they ARE needed each day.

Team Dog was going to take advantage of this fact.

The Team was in an area with auto shops, paint warehouses, propane storage tanks, and other functional locations. They had spent the better part of an hour planting charges in the area, looking to create maximum damage and confusion. To help ensure this they had also targeted the local telephone junction boxes and electrical power relays. Their work, the results of days of earlier surveying was completed. They had one final task to perform. It was the most hazardous, but would also ensure a maximal response.

"Dog to One. Ready to execute primary."

"Acknowledged. At you discretion."

"CLICK. CLICK." The Dog team gave two bursts of static as a reply.

Dog had spent almost half an hour looking for what they needed before finding it. Ironically they found it, of all places, at a McDonald’s. The Brasilia police cruiser was parked nose out, like American police cars normally do, for a rapid departure if necessary. The two officers were inside the restaurant, enjoying, or at least tolerating, their meal. While they picked at their fries, one of the Delta Operators approached their parked car on a motorcycle that had been stolen less than five minutes before. After checking the police vehicle to ensure it was unoccupied, the Operator unslung the AK-47 from his back and proceeded to put thirty rounds into the cruiser’s engine compartment. He dropped the weapon and sped away, leaving a merrily burning patrol car in his wake. Six blocks later he rejoined his partner in their freshly procured truck. The two then simply drove away.

When they had counted eight police cars speed past their truck, all moving with great speed toward the local Mickey Dee’s, the truck’s passenger withdrew a small transmitter from his pocket, extended the antenna, and turned the device on. Rewarded with a green light for his efforts, he hit the "Transmit" button. Before he was able to take his finger off the button, the radio signal, moving at light-speed, worked it’s magic. Eight square blocks of Brasilia’s service district exploded in a light show worthy of Independence Day.

"Dog to One. Mission complete. Leaving target zone as planned." Dog picked up their regular rental car from the shopping mall parking structure, having left the borrowed truck two blocks away, exactly where they had found it.

"Dog to One. Mission Complete."

"Acknowledged."

"One to Fox."

"Fox."

"Proceed with mission."

"Understood. Proceed with mission. Out"

The stage was set for the Fox show.

The international bank that had been Maria Silva’s place of work and that housed the Project Security office for Brasilia was, like most large office building, guarded. Some of the inside guards were actually Project plants, but, for the most part, the guards were the Brazilian equivalent of rent-a-cops. These men were about to discover that they were woefully underpaid.

"Fox to One. Approaching objective."

"Proceed as planned OPFOR is otherwise involved." The Opposing Force that the mission commander was referring to was, of course, Brasilia’s police department. With the city having suddenly become a South American version of Mogadishu, Brasilia’s police Department had reached the breaking point. Calls were going out to off-duty officers, but it would be hours before sufficient personnel were available to handle another emergency.

This was exactly what Fox needed.

Fox’s two Operators had been joined by Bravo’s pair. They all pulled into sight of The Project’s building without difficulty. This was unlikely to last. The rental truck had been procured by one of the four Operators who had entered the country courtesy of the U.S. Navy & Air Force. His image would appear on none of the photos that Brazilian Immigration took of Americans and others entering the country. His identity papers identified him as a visitor from The Argentine, as did his accent. The rental of the small cargo truck had been a simple matter, such rentals happen world-wide every day. This was just one more.

The items IN the truck were something else. They were very unusual indeed. It was not every day that someone found a Carl Gustav anti-tank weapon, a half dozen anti-tank rounds, a PKM, ten fifty gallon drums of diesel fuel and five thousand pounds of man made fertilizer in a U-Haul.

Used by military units throughout the world, the Carl Gustav is, in some ways, the last of it’s kind. A recoilless rifle, it uses unguided rocket propelled rounds to destroy a variety of targets. Two hits from the weapon had nearly sunk an Argentine destroyer during the Falklands War. Fox had brought it as insurance.

The team casually moved the truck towards the bank’s building. When the truck climbed over the curb several building guards, cursed with excess bravery, attempted to react to the truck’s approach. They were suppressed by fire from the PKM. When the truck was nicely snuggled against building’s main entrance, the driver exited the vehicle, opened the hood and destroyed the ignition cap, and ran to his partner’s waiting car. As he did so, a mobile private patrol car, summoned by the surviving building guards approached, in hopes of reinforcing the beleaguered men inside. How much difference the two men would have made is impossible to say. A HEAT round from the Gustav turned the car into a pyre.

Their work nearly complete, the Bravo/Fox team simply dropped the remaining weapons on the ground and sped away. After rounding a corner, and putting a set of very solid buildings between themselves and the banking building, Team Fox used a twin of Dog’s transmitter to detonate their truck bomb. When the police and fire units arrived they found a pile of burning rubble where Maria Silva’s workplace had once stood. So powerful had been the explosion that the buildings on each side of the target structure suffered irreparable damage.

Before the troop’s Operators awoke the nest morning, newspapers in Brazil, Portugal, and France received phone calls and e-mails claiming responsibility for the Brazilian attacks. In all cases the callers and writers proclaimed the actions to be those of the Earth Defense Committee. In the messages they proclaimed the Project bank to be responsible for assisting in the destruction of the Planet.

Hendriks message had been delivered.

32.

The approaches of the American President and British Prime Minister to the same problem were as different as the nations the represented. In a very real way, the differences illustrated the national "personality" of the two countries. The Americans had struck in force, destroyed part of Brazil’s capital city, causing nearly a Billion Dollars in damage, simply to make a point. Britain’s response, as one might expect, would be somewhat subtle.

The Special Air Service, or SAS, is, by general acclaim, the template for modern Special Operations units. From humble beginnings in the African desert in 1941, the SAS quickly grew into a legend. Unlike many legends, the reality is even more impressive than the fables. SAS forces have taken part in every British conflict since their inception, as well as many events that never had the opportunity to grow into conflicts because of SAS intervention. A fully qualified member of 22 SAS is perhaps the most capable all around soldier on Earth (with the operators of Delta being the only true competition). Unlike their American (or Russian) counterparts who become increasing specialized, SAS operators are Jacks (actually Masters) of all Trades. This reflect the unit’s philosophy, as well as the greater budgetary limitations imposed on His Majesty’s forces, when compared to those of the United States.

Selection qualification for the SAS is brutally difficult, made all the more so by the fact that the recruit can simply be failed at any point in the process and returned to his previous unit. Unlike American training, where you will be made uncomfortable and be subjected to stress, but you can be confident that no permanent harm will occur (barring some unforeseen incident), SAS selection is so difficult and realistic that men DIE, not through the neglect of the instructors, but from the sheer difficulty of the tasks involved. Even experienced SAS operators have died when running through selection a second time. (The operator does this simply as a personal challenge; no one is expected to run the selection gauntlet twice.) As would be expected, men who are selected from this gruelling process are incredibly tough, highly motivated, and extremely smart. This is an excellent description of the SAS Team assigned to the Indian Adviser.

The two men Hereford had sent to India fit in as if they had been born there, instead of in the English countryside. They both were the children of Indian immigrants to the UK, not that you could tell, they spoke the local dialect as though they had been born in New Delhi, and their English betrayed no trace of their home island. No one observing them would have believed that everything that they did, from the foods they chose to the clothing styles they wore, were learned behaviors. They looked like they belonged, like they had been there for their entire lives and they would remain in the neighborhood until they died. This was NOT their plan. Now that they had received their orders, via a coded phone call, they intended to be home in the UK by the end of the week, enjoying mashed peas and a pint in the Regimental Club.

"So, do we know what this prat did?"

"No mate, but its not rocket science to guess is it?"

"With the orders, I figure he must be a right bastard."

"Doesn’t really matter does it? Mission’s straight-forward enough."

"So, full Tango treatment then?"

"Right-oh. Bastard must have had something to do with that balls-up on the coast."

"Fine by me. Let’s finish the saddo off & go home. Heat’s about to kill me."

The Indian Adviser was a man of very regular routine. He went to his business office at the same time, by the same route. He always left immediately after morning prayers, a ritual that, as a devout, conservative, Muslim, he never ignored. A set routine is a very common habit. It can be quite comforting, even important, to some people that things follow a normal pattern. If you are, as the Indian Adviser had become, a target, patterns will kill you.

His vulnerability was made worse by his distracted thoughts. He would soon have to make another Notification, this time without the outgoing Prime Minister there to provide assistance in calming the situation. He wished now that he had not alerted The Committee to Bainiwal’s actions. He had not expected that they would actually KILL the man; they hadn’t done that for years. He had believed that The Committee had moved past that stage. The Enemy’s message had rattled Davidson more than he had thought. It was an important lesson, he would be more cautious from now on; more selective with the information he shared.

The Adviser hadn’t managed to walk a block when the commandos grabbed him, pulling him into an alley. Looking into the barrel of a pistol and believing himself to be the victim of a robbery he quickly offered up his wallet. It was a futile gesture.

"Not why we’re here pal." All pretence of local origin had disappeared from the man’s speech. "You’ve been a bad boy."

"You know," added the second man, "it was bastards like you that made me life hell growing up. Kids thought all of us were like you Muslim lot, ready to bomb the Tube at the first opportunity."

"I do not know what you are talking about!"

"All the same to me pal."

As he finished speaking, the second man drew an American K-Bar combat knife and drove into the Adviser’s side. Having slid the blade neatly between the Adviser’s ribs the commando could feel the man’s heart ripping itself to shreds on his blade.

"By the way pal, this blade was last used to clean a pig. Good luck finding your seventy-two virgins now, your terrorist bastard."

The look on the dying Adviser’s face showed that he had heard and understood what the SAS man had said. He died not knowing that it had been a lie.

"Christ, why do you do that? It gives me the creeps."

"I want them to find no help in their last moments, damned shite-bags. Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, you saw the pictures from that rally. This bastard was in on that!"

"Just finish up. We need to get away before some pie-eater sees us."

"Right."

The commando removed the knife and used it to pin a note onto the Adviser’s chest.

It read: FOR KAMAL

The SAS team was halfway home before the Adviser’s body was found.

33.

Chaos reigned in the special Committee meeting. This was actually an improvement; before Davidson had arrived the various Permanent Members had been close to blows.

"It IS your Fault!" Shouted Planning. "As head of Security it is your RESPONSIBILITY to protect the Advisers!"

"WE were protecting the Brazilian Adviser! I had twelve agents assigned whose sole job was to protect her. We-ë

"Failed." The one word from Davidson quieted the room. "Please take you seats. We are professionals. How will we defend Earth if we lose our heads at something this small?"

Finance was the only one willing to reply. "This is hardly a small thing. We have been directly attacked. The loss of our buildings alone will cost hundreds of million of Euros. Whoever did this-"

"Yes. Whoever did this is the question. I believe that identifying the most likely candidate or candidates for this outrage should be our primary concern. I would ask that Security first detail our losses before we discuss the possible responsible parties. If you be so kind?"

"Yes sir. Starting with Brazil, total personnel losses, not counting non Project personnel, are thirty-seven. This includes The Adviser, ten Security personnel killed at the Adviser’s home, seventeen Security personnel at the Project Headquarters’ building, including the second in command for South American Project Security, seven Project administrative staff personnel, all of whom were on duty when the HQ building was bombed, and two off-duty Security agents who were part of the Adviser’s protective detail. Non Project personnel losses at the HQ site total sixteen, seven guards and nine members of the janitorial staff.

"Materiel losses are severe. The Headquarters building was totally destroyed, both flanking building, which are Project owned have been rated as irreparable during the initial site surveys. Four surveillance vehicles were also lost."

"That is an enormous amount of damage." Remarked Davidson.

"It is sir. All of it is, however, less of a concern to be than the equipment missing from two of the Security agents."

"How can a piece of personal equipment compare to the loss of facilities worth hundreds of millions?" demanded Finance.

"The two Agents were missing their personal weapons, including two sonic disrupters."

Admiral Aden was appalled. "You had men armed with special Project weapons on routine patrol? Do you realize what you have DONE?"

"Protection of a Project Adviser is a top priority mission. They were armed with several different Project developed weapons. The sonic disrupters were the only ones not inside the vehicles."

Aden looked physically ill. "What are the chances that the disrupters were taken by the assault team?"

"Why does this matter?" asked Planning. "What if a couple of hand weapons were taken? We need to determine who did this so we can respond!"

"Sonic disrupters are years ahead of anything that the rest of Earth’s armies possess. The power source alone is priceless." Explained Defense. "If a modern state can reverse engineer them, the balance of power will be destroyed. Even with the threat of The Enemy, the temptation to use the weapons will be nearly irresistible for any state wishing to impose their will. The basic power cell can be scaled to nearly any size desired."

"Admiral, are you implying that the power cells could be used in place of gasoline and diesel fuel?" Asked Davidson.

"Absolutely. We use them to power the rail guns on the Moon."

Several Committee members began to look distressed. Aden thought it was because of the Security breech; in actuality it was out of concern for ownership positions in a number of energy related companies.

"How do we get them back?" asked Planning, his potential losses were staggering.

"We can’t. The only way would be to find out who did this and have them handed back."

"Back on subject." Ordered Davidson. "Are we done with Brazil?"

"Yes sir. Our losses in India are limited to the Adviser himself."

"Why was the Indian Adviser unprotected?" Finance asked. The potential loss of million of his own Euros had quieted the man, but his anger was still present, if reduced.

"He had refused any form of protection. Only the Australian Adviser currently has a protective detail."

"Why?"

"I believe it has something to do with a recent rash of break-ins near his home." Replied the Security head.

"No. Why aren’t the other advisers protected at all times?"

"None of them wanted to be protected. Frankly, even though we had protective details available at a moment’s notice, I do not believe that any of them felt threatened in any way. Who would want to harm them?"

"Ah. That leads us back to the original question. Thank you Security." Said Davidson.

"Yes sir."

"Admiral, what is your professional opinion of the Brazil attack?"

"It was very well planned and executed. The attackers struck at five different locations, across a large city, and suffered, to our knowledge, no losses. These were professionals, that is beyond question."

"What about their tactics?"

"I will defer to Security on that subject Mr. Davidson. Ground assaults are not something that we train for in the Fleet."

"Very well. Security?"

"Sir. The tactics were those of a Special Forces or a commando unit, a very well trained one."

"Is there any chance that it was a Brazilian attack?"

"It is possible. That would explain how they managed to hit so many places at once. A local group would have almost infinite time to plan The local forces could then cover their actions by blaming it on terrorists, as was done. It would be an excellent cover for the attack. The question is why they would commit such an attack."

"Why indeed? Who else has the capabilities to mount such an attack?"

"To start with, every country that is part of The Committee, except perhaps India and Canada. They have the skilled troops, but supporting them so far from home would be difficult for them. The same can be said for the Israelis and Australians, but both countries, especially Israel, have demonstrated considerable ingenuity in the past when the need arose. Of the other five member states, they all have the resources, but logistically I would assume that it was the United States with or without British assistance or Russia. The French could do it, but it would be a stretch and the Chinese would be hard pressed to put a team in place without some eyebrows being raised."

"Couldn’t they just fly in on some tour, perform the attack, and leave?"

"No sir." Security paused, trying to find a way to get the amateurs in the room to understand the attack’s scope. "Whoever did this was in Brasilia for a while. They knew the HOME ADDRESSES of the off duty protective detail. They had to have scouted out the diversionary attack in the industrial district. You don’t blow that much stuff up without scouting around first. That means a team with the ability to move around."

"So only the Americans, Russian or British could have done this?" Asked Finance?

"No sir. They are the most likely."

"Could a non-Project country do it?"

"Of course. They would have the same problems as most of the others I mentioned. The three countries best positioned would be the Japanese, Germans, and South Koreans. The Koreans have several large construction projects that they are overseeing in Brazil, so it would be possible to infiltrate using that as a cover. There is a large Japanese population in Peru and German expatriates are common throughout South America. Again, the question is why? Who would be so foolish as to attack The Project?"

"Again, an excellent question. Who do you think it was?"

"SIR?"

"You are the head of Security. Who did this? If you can not prevent these kinds of abominations, you should, at least, know who committed the acts."

Security felt the trap snap shut behind him. He had one chance, only one. He had to convince the Committee that he was worth more alive then dead.

"I believe it was the Russians sir."

"Interesting. I would have thought the United States. Convince me." Ordered Davidson.

"Sir, I initially believed that it was the Americans as well. They are the closest to Brazil, they have the best chance to go in, make the plans, wait for the opportunity, and then strike. But they don’t add up."

"In what way? Your own statements seem to indicate otherwise."

"Why do it? The Brazilian Adviser is a complete unknown to them. Even if they somehow identified her, why kill her? It makes no sense. This was not just an assassination; it has all the marking of revenge. They killed every Project person they could find, destroyed every Project asset available. This was very personal."

"What did the Project ever do to the Russian President that would cause this amount of anger?"

"Two things strike me as possible Mr. Davidson."

"And what might they be?

"The first is the deserter from the Siberian Ferret base. We have never found him. Like most of out space plane pilots he started out as a Russian military pilot. He may have gotten to a Russian base or contacted an old friend. He could have told the Russians that we are the ones who destroyed the airliners. Three of those planes were Russian."

"An interesting hypothesis. You said two reasons. What is the other?"

"We killed his friend sir. Kamal Bainiwal and President Samoylov have been friends for year’s sir. Not just political allies, I believe that they were true friends. That would explain the reason for the Indian Adviser’s murder as well. Perhaps it was a combination of things, but the Russians are the only ones that make sense." Security could see that he hadn’t convinced them yet.

"Look at what they did in Brazil. They took a woman out of her house, with her husband left on the couch and her kids asleep in their beds and KILLED her! The Americans would NEVER do that. We all know that they are much too weak to do such a thing. Would the Americans use a truck bomb? They could have used a Stealth Bomber and not risked a thing. Instead they used a truck bomb. Who has ever heard of the Americans using a TRUCK Bomb? It is totally out of character for them.

"What would the Americans care if we killed Bainiwal? The American President has never even met him. If Kamal had walked into his office Hendriks would have had his Agents arrest him. Why would the Americans do all of this out of the blue? They would have had no time to set this up; we were attacked within a day of Bainiwal being killed. The Russian President might have been planning this for months, maybe longer. It certainly wasn’t something that was decided on in a few hours. Perhaps the Russians and Indians were working together. No one else makes sense."

Aden asked a question "Where did the weapons come from that were used in the attack?"

Security was ready to make a snide comment, the weapons were sterile; they had come from everywhere. That was how it was done. Any profession would know that. It then occurred to Security that the men in the room were not professionals. The Admiral had given him an opportunity; he jumped at it.

"About half were Russian in origin. The rest were common weapons that are used by almost everyone. The Security Vehicles were destroyed by Russian made RPG’s." That Russian style RPG’s were a plague on the land, showing up anywhere illegal weapons were found was conveniently forgotten. "The machine gun used in the Headquarters attack was a Russian PKM, and the Brasilia police car was attacked with a Russian AK-47." Security failed to mention that the only weapon found more frequently in illegal arms bazaars than RPG’s was the AK-47.

Davidson nodded his head. "You have convinced me. Actually the killing of the mother in front of her house convinced me. The Americans do not have the stomach to do something like that, no matter how effective it is. The Russians do. They are much tougher than the Americans could ever hope to be. You are also correct that the Russian President was friends with the late Indian Prime Minister; we all saw the letter that Bainiwal tried to send to the Russian. Bainiwal was nothing to the Americans, they would not have lifted a finger to avenge him."

"I propose we act to end this little insurrection by the politicians. Are there any objections?"

No one made a sound. The Committee was now Davidson acting alone. The rest of the Permanent Members were stunned by the events of the last 36 hours and the potential loss of huge portions of their fortunes. Without their fortunes, they would not be able to dedicate themselves fully to fight against The Enemy. If they did not fight against The Enemy, all was lost. Davidson had to fix this. He was the only one who could.

"Good. Security, Defense, please meet me back here in two hours. We will discuss our next steps."

"Yes sir."

Aden noticed that the Head of Security looked like a man who had just been reprieved. He knew the feeling. He also knew that Security had spun a fairy tale to avoid the noose. It was Russians because they used Russian Weapons? What bullshit. Aden was beginning to have serious doubts about The Project. He disliked the fact that HIS men were being used to kill HUMANS. His people were there to defend against humans being killed, not to facilitate their deaths. Security had lied. He knew it. He would find some way to let Security know that he knew and he could assure that the blade fell on Security’s outstretched neck. He now had leverage against the most important segment of The Project after Defense. Aden WAS Defense.

Without Defense AND Security, The Committee was helpless.

Aden decided that he had a great deal to think about.

34.

There had been a day when the deep space missions had been all duty, sleep, and if one was very lucky, an occasional piece of news from home. This had changed,

Even though it had never been officially mentioned in any transmission from Headquarters word of the Airliner Massacre had quickly made it’s way from ship to ship. The stunning revelation that Project space planes were actually the cause of HUMAN deaths had flashed out to the Asteroids before anyone in Headquarters thought to censor outgoing messages coming from Project bases. The result was some very charged wardroom conversations. Natilia was currently refereeing one.

"Commander, I don’t see what other choice The Committee had. The Enemy had sent in that trick message, if it wasn’t discredited and forgotten, all would have been lost."

"Do you really believe that Jacks?

"Yes Ma’am."

"Interesting. Sattee, what was your position in this?"

"Commander?"

"I could hear the two of you from the bridge. What was your perspective?"

"Ma’am, IÖ I believe that it is against everything that we stand for to kill humans; even to allow humans to die is pushing it. I’ve heard the stories about the American shuttle we let crash. If they are true, it was wrong. We DEFEND Earth; we aren’t supposed to hurt the people there. It’s just wrong."

"Ma’am, That’s what I was arguing about. You can’t-"

"I can’t?" Petrovna asked.

"No, not YOU Ma’am. I mean that it isn’t for us to decide. We follow orders, we don’t make policy."

"Do you disagree with that Sattee?"

"No Ma’am. I follow orders. Policy is made on Earth, not here. But what about the Promises?"

Petrovna had to stop and thing about that one for a moment. Every member of the Combined Planetary Defense Command made the Promises when they entered the Command and every time they were promoted. They were the Holy of Holies in Defense.

I AM NO LONGER A CITIZEN OF ANY COUNTRY. MY SOLE ALLEGIANCE IS TO THE PLANET EARTH.

I PROMISE TO:

DEFEND EARTH TO MY LAST BREATH.

PROTECT MANKIND.

PUT THE NEEDS OF HUMANITY BEFORE MY PERSONAL DESIRES.

REMAIN VIGILANT FOR THE ENEMY’S APPROACH AT ALL TIMES.

I WILL DIE BEFORE I BREAK THESE PROMISES MADE TO THE HUMAN RACE.

"The Promises are always our conscience and Moral Guide. There can be no Defense without them. We all must decide, in our hearts, what the Promises mean. Right here, right now, we need to be clear that we all work together. Out here, we stand watch on the Wall. Can I assume that you two can put this disagreement aside and work on our common goal? Defending the Earth?"

"Ma’am? Yes Ma’am!"

"Until my last breath Ma’am!"

"Good. From now on, talk sports." Natilia left the small wardroom.

Once she was out of sight she let the emotions out.

Thing are getting tense. That’s the third argument I’ve had to personally break up this week. I haven’t had to break up three arguments in the last five years. Close to half the crew is convinced that The Committee screwed this up. Hell, I’m pretty sure they screwed this up, if for no other reason than they split the Command exactly when we need to be the most united.

The Enemy is here. Inside the system. Here.

Unless the message wasn’t from The Enemy? What if The Committee was as wrong about the message as they had been about using Ferrets to shoot down airliners? Was that why the message had to be hidden, no matter what the cost? No, it had to be from The Enemy. Didn’t it?

Killing PEOPLE? What the hell were they thinking?

35.

In the wake of the series of attacks by the Earth Defense Committee most of the world’s security forces had increased their alert levels. This included the Protective Details for the various Presidents, Prime Ministers, Supreme Leaders, etc. These groups were paranoid by design, the many terrorist attacks AND the assassination of Bainiwal had thrown this paranoia into overdrive. The Committee’s political members were no exception to this; in fact, given the nations involved the reactions were much higher than that of smaller, less at risk, states. This both helped and hurt the actual defenses of these leaders. More agents made it more difficult for an outside attacker to reach the protected, but it also made Security’s task of inserting Sleeper Agents into the Protective Details much easier. Both of these advantages were about to be tested.

Hendriks, as President of the United States, has the largest best trained & equipped, protective detail on Earth. The Secret Service is also the Gold Standard when protection of an executive was being discussed. Despite this unquestioned excellence would-be assassins had managed to come distressingly close to Hendriks predecessors several times in the last three decades. None had succeeded, but this was more a matter of luck than any particular skill displayed by Secret Service personnel. As recently as President’s James’ last year in office an assassin had been stopped, not by any law enforcement officer, but by an accountant attending a Presidential appearance. The man had suddenly seen a gun appear over his shoulder and had literally bitten it out of the assassin’s hand. As a reward the accountant had been James’ personal guest at his final State of the Union Address, and he had received a number of awards, the strangest, yet most useful, being free dental care for him and his family for life from the American Dental Association.

Budman, since augmented by Delta Force specialists, had frantically been researching the Secret Service Agents assigned to Hendriks in hopes of finding Project plants. They had so far identified three men who they could not vet; all of these men had been rotated to other duties, just on the chance that all was not as it appeared. Nevertheless, many of the remaining agents had not been vetted, simply because the process was so lengthy, especially since the investigations had to be totally convert. The good news was that the augmentation of the Protective Detail had allowed the addition of a number of former U.S. military members, already working for the Secret Service, to the Detail. These men, based on standing doctrine, were, for the most part, assigned to less sensitive positions in the outer ring of Hendriks detail or to the details assigned to protect members of Hendriks immediate family. Still, Hendriks felt better knowing that more of what he had come to consider "his people" were on hand. Agent Reed, along with any of his secret allies, presented a serious, if known, threat to Hendriks. His threat, while indeed serious, was not the one that was about to be activated.

***

Davidson, had, after several hours of contemplation, come up with what he believed was a perfect plan. He would take advantage of the cowardice of the politicians to bring them to heel. It would not do to kill them all, even the most cowardly of successor would not be willing to accept The Committee’s dominance to that level, and The Committee still relied on the political members for funding. It was far better to make some examples, and leave the remaining cowed politicians in place.

Davidson thought that it was very strange that the politicians had suddenly become such a problem. They had not reacted so strongly in the past, no matter what had happened. His predecessor had begun the subtle transfer of the real power to the Permanent members a dozen years ago, and no one had even initially noticed. Of all the political members only the American James and the Israeli Lotan had ever show the slightest interest in the overall process. The frantic political process in Israel had made Lotan’s political removal a simple, if pricey, solution. James had, thanks to the stupidity of the American voters, been more of problem, with his incessant questions about where the money was going, but, in the end, the voting process had blunted his efforts, leaving him impotent, as Davidson had planned. Yes, it was a mystery why the politicians would imagine that they had a say, it might have been that way a long time ago, in the Dark Ages, but they should have known that it would have to change, the Permanent Members were the only ones who could be trusted. Davidson thought that should have been clear to even the least intelligent of them, but somehow it wasn’t.

In the end it wouldn’t matter. The Committee would soon have them back in hand.

***

There are certain assignments that are greatly sought after by Secret Service agents. Some are eager for undercover work, dealing with criminals who attempt to undermine the U.S. Currency and Security markets. Other thrive on the high pressure environment of the Presidential Protective Detail. Some, however, generally the more senior, find protection of persons less likely to be assaulted by a platoon of radical whatever’s, suits them just fine. Fortunately, for these men and women, such opportunities exist.

Currently the most sought after of these assignments was the detail protecting former President James. After leaving office James had, like virtually every president since Teddy Roosevelt, gone to work on his memoirs. Unlike in Teddy’s day, however, there was an $8, 000,000 contract involved. Unlike several of his predecessors, James was writing the book himself, with only the aid of a single editor. To give himself the privacy he deemed necessary, James had moved to his family’s ranch on the Oregon Coast. Located midway between Tillamook and Seaside, the ranch was fairly isolated. The ranch included some of the most beautiful scenery to be found in the United States and the James family treated the Detail more like family than intruders. All in all, it was a perfect, low stress assignment. Who ever heard of someone attacking the EX-President of the United States?

President Samoylov of Russian had also seen alteration of his protection. Unlike in the United States, the change had been far more profound. Samoylov had allowed Markov to completely replace his security force with hand-picked members of Vympel. The change was somewhat akin to replacing a Labrador Retriever with a pride of lions. Both were four legged mammals, but was about as far as the resemblance went. The change was so profound that even the more restrained Russian press had found it worth reporting. The change had been justified by the recent spate of terrorist attacks world-wide. Markov himself had more or less moved into the Presidential Apartments, he had proclaimed the living quarters the safest place in Russia.

In his defense, when he said it, he believed it to be the truth.

The Brazilian President had shown even less subtlety than Samoylov. After the terrorist attacks that had rocked his capital, he had declared a State of Emergency and called in the Army. He had surrounded the presidential Palace with the most elite tank and infantry units under his command. He was certain that he had taken every possible step to protect the Palace.

He would have been far better served to send the same units into what was supposed to be an undeveloped part of the Amazon Basin.

Similar changes in protective details, mostly less dramatic had been made throughout the world. Their time to be tested was at hand.

****

Davidson’s plan was well designed, despite Aden’s near outright refusal to make use of any space planes in the effort. He had finally convinced Davidson that the space place groups would be totally shattered if another airliner attack was attempted. Aden had kept prattling on about the silly Promises that he and his forces made, as if they actually were important. In the end it had not really mattered, although Davidson had noted the Promises as something that would require looking into in the future. Something requiring unwavering loyalty to the Committee needed to be inserted, perhaps even as the most important of The Promises. If the military fools actually thought the things drove their actions, it was time to remind them who it was they really served. The Committee decided how to protect Earth and the Human Race, Defense’s job was to follow orders.

Yes, a change in that part of Defense’s training was definitely needed. It would be seen to once the politicians had been put into their place.

36.

13:04 Pacific Daylight Savings Time

There are various theories that exist regarding the best time to make a sneak attack. Some say just before dawn, others, right after dark. A very popular one is that you attack in the early morning hours, on the belief that humans are not designed to be awake at that time and reflexes are slowed (Although, if this theory is correct, no one has explained why the attacker would have an advantage since his reactions would also be slowed.) The Project was in a position to test many of these theories.

None of the theories advocate attacking at One in the Afternoon. Despite this, three men from Project Security were advancing slowly and quietly through the forest surrounding the James Ranch. The men had spent most of the previous day examining satellite overheads of the Ranch complex. Some of it had been very encouraging; other parts had offered serious difficulties. The Ranch was more of a vacation home with a few cows for window dressing. The cleared area around the main house was wide enough to make the final approach difficult. The various trails, covered from casual observation by trees appeared to offer decent entry routes. The Secret Service detail appeared to be alert, but limited in size, this was a serious advantage to the attackers, one that they intended to use to maximum advantage.

What the Project team didn’t realize was that the overheads were three days old. What had been true when they left Nevada was no longer entirely accurate.

The Project team was equipped with throat mikes that were sensitive enough that one could sub-vocalize speech and still be heard. The system allowed them to communicate without making a sound. Set to work at a frequency well outside of that normally used for communication the system was not likely to be detected by any scanner, this advantage was somewhat offset by the short range of the system and its sensitivity to blockage by dense objects, such as the thousand year old Douglas Firs that encircled the James Ranch. Overall, despite its shortcoming the comm. system gave Project Security a serious advantage.

All three of the raiders wore energy sensing monocles over one eye. An offshoot of the A-26 project, the devices had originally been meant to assist engineers in detecting leakages from the Skunk’s stealth design, be it infrared, microwave, or any other radiation source know to science. This design had been modified for use BY A-26 crews while on patrol and further modified for use by Project Security. In this application the monocle would find laser, microwave, infrared, and electrical signatures. Since these were the primary ways that intruder detection systems found their quarry the devices should enable the raiders to successfully infiltrate through the Ranch defenses. Once the Security team reached the inner defenses, they would use a different surprise.

"Come on Mary! You need to keep up!" This was said with the utter certainty that only exists in children younger than 10. The speaker was James’ youngest child, Madison. The first child actually born while her father was President since JFK’s tragically short-lived son Patrick, she had been, in some observer’s opinions, the reason that James had won reelection. That she actually was what she seemed to be, an absolutely charming, completely fearless and curious child was somewhat miraculous given where she had spent the first seven years of her life

"I’m trying Madison. I have to duck under these trees that you just ride right under." Mary replied. A twenty year Secret Service veteran, Mary had been the head of Madison’s protective detail literally from the moment she had been born. A contrasting mix of loving aunt and Pit Bull Terrier, following the James clan to Oregon had been the easiest decision of Mary’s career. She intended, if at all possible, to end her career when Madison turned 18 and no longer qualified for Secret Service protection.

The little girl and her protector were taking advantage of one of the "super cool" things that came with living on a ranch, horseback riding. The two of them were on one of the many trails that crisscrossed the James’ property. Even though they were inside the secure perimeter Mary was alert, scanning at all times for possible threats. When President James had been in the White House, Mary would have had at least three others with her on a ride, and many additional agents literally within shouting distance. Now, however, she and Madison were alone. Mary was not especially worried; no threat was likely, even though Headquarters had sent twelve additional agents to augment the James protective detail, the Detail Agent in Charge had briefed it as a standard precaution due to the recent Terrorist activity. Since President James had been dubbed the "Green President" by both environmentalists AND his political opponents, the Earth Defense Committee would be very unlike-

Thankfully neither Mary nor Madison even realized that they were being murdered. Two of the raiders had focused coherent energy weapons on the pair and effectively vaporized the child, the Agent and both horses. It was as clean of a death as existed, alive in one millisecond and ash in the next. No screams, shouts, or warning messages, just the quiet whine of the weapon’s accumulators recharging.

"I thought the plan was to eliminate James and his wife. Nothing in the orders mentioned killing the kids." The Security man who had not fired said.

"Target of opportunity. You know the reason we are here."

"As long as we don’t screw up the main mission." Replied the first man. "We still have a way to go. If they miss these two it will complicate things."

"Not to worry. Our Intel is that they always ride for at least two hours. They were headed away from the house and we’re only about fifteen minutes ride way."

"Fair enough."

Davidson had been bothered enough by the reaction from the space plane crews that he had given very specific instructions regarding the selection of the assassination teams. He need not have worried.

Project Security was made up of true believers. They were convinced down to their toenails that The Project was always right. If some people had to die to protect the secrecy surrounding Project activities so be it; that was the price necessary to save the Planet. The men and women who made up Security were well indoctrinated in the need for absolute Project secrecy. They KNEW that a leak would lead to The Panic. The Panic would result in millions of deaths. That meant killing to preserve Project Security was not just necessary, it was a service to the entire Planet. If that meant that a little girl out for a horsy ride had to die, in order to protect millions of other little girls that was acceptable. It was, it could be argued, sensible to kill one and protect millions.

"Stop!" Sub-vocalized the raider’s point man. "Energy field ahead."

The other two Security men came up to stand beside their partner. Clearly visible in their monocles, the trail was a maze of beams of different energies, just waiting to expose the unwary. The men noticed that the energies extended into the trees with a gap existing about ten yards off the trail. Closer examination of the gap showed a burnt out repeater, with energy hitting it on one side, but nothing on the other.

"There. It’s a gap in the coverage."

"Why not just use a marble? We’re almost to the house anyway."

"No. This will let us get even closer before they realize we’re here. Less notice the better."

"Okay, lead on."

Project Security Agents trained and were equipped with the best technology ever developed by Humans. They were masters of hi-tech weapons, experts with regular firearms, and well trained in hand to hand combat techniques. What they were not was soldiers.

The gap in the electronic security fence would have screamed ambush to any graduate of advanced infantry training worldwide. Funnelling your opponents into a prepared kill zone was Ambush 101. The Project Agents had never been trained to look for low-tech solutions like the ones they now faced. Oblivious to the danger the three raiders walked right into the tripwires. Fortunately for them, the tripwires were not connected to claymores. Unfortunately for them, they were connected, via a buried landline, to the Secret Service command center.

"Shit! Alarm. Sensor field Thirty-five. Tripwires."

"How many?"

"Wait one. All of them, all six sets."

"Probably a deer or a raccoon. Sent the mobile team. Just to be on the safe side get someone up top."

"Right. Team One, sensor alarm. Field Thirty-Five. Please verify."

"On the way. Ten Bucks say it’s a raccoon this time."

"You’re on."

It was a standing wager. The mobile team selected raccoon or deer and the command center either accepted the bet, meaning that they thought it was a deer, or some other forest creature, or didn’t, meaning that they agreed with the mobile team. Since agreement meant free beer to the mobile team the bet was almost always accepted. Since all the assignments rotated, everyone got a chance to play the game from both sides. It helped to kill the boredom and it also helped to keep the teams alert so the SAC turned a blind eye to the activity.

"Control to Eyes One."

"Eyes One."

"Possible intruders. Please move to the nest."

"On the way."

When James had been President the Secret Service had altered different parts of the property, including the main house, to better protect the President. One of these additions had been a sniper’s nest on the roof. From there a talented man could eliminate a threat out to 2,000 yards. Secret Service snipers were enormously talented, recruited from both the American Military and the cream of police SWAT officers. It was said that a Secret Service Sniper who couldn’t put three aimed shots into a target 1,000 yards away in less than 20 seconds and cover the resulting bullet pattern with a playing card was reassigned. This was, of course, just a legend. In actual practice it was 15 seconds and the pattern had to be covered by a business card.

It took Team one about three minutes to get from the portion of the compound that they had been patrolling, in a golf cart like electric car, to the path that led to the tripped sensor field. The two agents were barely out of the cleared area when they saw the raiders.

"Mobile One to Base. Fire-"

The warning was never completed. As had happened with Madison & Mary, the two Agents were ash before they realized that they were dead.

"Shit! They got off a contact report. Marbles NOW!" ordered the Project team leader

The point man reached to his belt and drew a device that looked like a paintball gun. Sprinting to the end of the trail he fired twice.

"Base to Team One. Base to Team One! Attention-" Before the alarm could be spread all unshielded electronics died. Two waves of Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) swept over the ranch house and the surrounding grounds. Each "Marble" was actually an EMP generator, yet another derivative of weapons used by the Splinter Fighters & Space Planes. Instantly the radios used by the Protective Detail went dead, denying the larger group of protectors the chance to organize and defeat the attackers.

Knowing they had the advantage, the raiders ran into the space between the edge of the woods and the ranch house. The leader gestured toward the main door.

CRACK! Crack!

Almost instantly two shots ran out. One of The Project raiders was thrown back to the edge of the woods by the impact of a .50 caliber bullet. Fired from a weapon designed to kill at ranges of a mile or more the impact at 60 yards was incredible. The bullet transferred nearly 12,000 ft-pounds of energy to the Project agent in milliseconds. It was surprising that the round had not thrown the raider even farther.

Even as the first Project agent flew out of their sight a .308 round from the spotter’s M-25 sniper rifle struck the second raider. A specialized version of the M-14 combat rifle, it had less than a quarter of the power of the .50 Cal. Before either shooter could shift targets the third member of the Project team hit the sniper position with a blast from his energy weapon. The Kevlar and ceramic armor built in the nest was no more effective against the blast then tissue paper. Both men in the perch simply disappeared as the perch, and surrounding roof, caught fire.

Glancing behind him, the last standing raider noted that the man struck by the .50 bullet was not moving; despite the shipsuit he was wearing. Fortunately, his other partner was already back onto his knees, saved by the suit. Shipsuits had been developed in the early years of space construction. After losing several workers on the moon and in orbit to random fast moving bits of space junk and meteorites Project scientists had come up with the Shipsuit. Designed to go over a pressure suit it was impervious to most random bits of junk. It also made conventional body armor look like a cotton T-shirt, provided it was worn correctly. Like Chain mail, shipsuits need some kind of padded backing to work properly. In space this was provided by the pressure suit itself, on earth the pressure suit needed to be replaced with something else to ensure full effectiveness The raiders were wearing suits, but they had neglected to put a sufficiently thick padding underneath. Still the suit had prevented serious injury to one of the men.

"You okay?"

"Yea just knocked the breath out of me. Let’s get this done with."

The remaining pair of intruders headed toward the house. As they did four more Secret Service Agents appeared, Uzi’s in hand. All died instantly, as the energy beams set fire to the doorway they had just exited.

"Damn it. Head for the front entrance."

"Right."

As they turned the corner, both raiders began to take fire from the woods. Unable to identify the source of the fire the pair used their hand weapons to start fires in the forest, hoping to distract the shooter.

"Something is wrong. We already killed more bodyguards than are supposed to be here."

"I know. Keep moving."

Sitting in the southern edge of the woods, Special Agent Richard Ellis, until recently Gunnery Sergeant Ellis, USMC saw that his earlier fire had failed to distract the two attackers enough to get them to turn away from the ranch house. The two seemed to be wearing some sort of body armor, he’d watched as the one had gotten up after being hit by the M-25. That meant that he had no hope of downing either of them with a body shot. That left him with one shot. It was the shot he had always told his marines not to attempt, because the human head tends to move far too much to make a good target. Still he had no real choice. The two assassins were almost to the door, and the fire they had started was getting closer by the second. He dropped into the prone shooting position, switched his M-16 to single shot, took a deep breath, let it half out.

Crack!

The blood from his partner’s fatal wound sprayed onto the sole surviving raider. It’s time to end this. He kicked in the front door, watching, as it swung open to the left, He entered the room, looked right.

And never saw the former President of the United States standing to the left of the doorway. He also never heard the firing of the first round that killed him, as James put four .357 magnum rounds into the back of his skull.

As the fire began to consume his ancestral home he looked out the door for more attackers, Seeing none he led is wife and twelve year old daughter out of the burning house. Looking for a safe place, he headed away from the burning woods, moving toward the barn. Halfway there, Agent Ellis startled him.

"Easy Mr. President. I’m one of the good guys. Special Agent Ellis."

"Are you the one who got the guy on the porch?"

"Yes sir."

"In that case I think you better call me Sam."

"Sir?"

"Never mind. Is anyone else left?"

"I don’t know sir. There’s no movement that I can see."

"How long until we get more help?"

"Once the regular check call is missed they should be here in fifteen or twenty minutes."

"That could be a very long time."

"Yes sir. Best we get under some cover until the cavalry arrives."

The three Project Security agents had killed nine Secret Service Agents and the child that had been known across America as "Baby Maddie".

It was just the beginning of a very long day.

On to Part III

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