

### BRADLEY'S GHOST

### Ray Derby

Copyright 2003 Ray Derby

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

# CHAPTER 1

The door swung sharply back and forth as the gusts of wind struck the sod house, and a piece of torn canvas, covering one window, fluttered in and out. The house appeared to have been abandoned years ago, but in this harsh land on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the scene was almost commonplace on the vast prairie. An old Chevy pickup was parked next to the house, and a small, parched garden plot was located a few yards behind the building.

Nothing else stirred as Red Fox drove slowly toward the dwelling with the box of groceries that Lone Hunter had asked him to pick up in Wanblee earlier in the morning. As he approached the house, he felt uneasy and the feeling continued to build as he stopped his pickup truck a few yards away. By now, he had expected Lone Hunter, his wife, or their children to come out, but nothing stirred except the door and canvas that moved in the wind.

Pushing the gearshift into park, Red Fox leaned back against the seat, observing the surroundings. A loud thud startled him as a black bird fell from the sky, landing on the hood of the pickup. It did not move, and although Red Fox was not superstitious, he was suddenly afraid. As he slowly looked around, he noticed a number of other birds and Lone Hunter's dog lying lifeless on the ground. He honked the horn, cautiously opened the door of the pickup, and then walked toward the house, calling out as he approached.

For late March, the wind still had a cold bite and he shivered, but he knew it was not from the cold. A larger, dark mound at the side of the house came into his view, and he recognized Lone Hunter's long, slender frame sprawled grotesquely on the ground. His position gave the impression that he had been trying to reach his pickup but never made it.

Red Fox cautiously approached the body and looked into Lone Hunter's face. Although he had seen death many times in his long life, nothing compared to what he was looking at now. Blood was still seeping from Lone Hunter's open eyes, his ears, nose, and mouth as if whatever happened had occurred just a few minutes ago, yet the body appeared to be stiff. One arm was pointing straight up in the air, and one leg, pulled tight against his stomach, was raised several inches off the ground.

Red Fox felt nausea wash over him. He turned and ran back to his pickup and started backing down the rutted driveway toward the road. The pickup suddenly swerved to a stop as his convulsions started, and his hand went rigid on the horn. The wind carried the mournful sound across the prairie for a long time, but there was no one to hear.

Upwind, approximately one mile from the house on a small knoll, a man laid with a stopwatch in one hand and a pair of binoculars to his eyes as he took in the scene below. When he saw the pickup swerve to the side of the road and stop, he looked down at the watch and then smiled. Only 12 minutes had elapsed since the vehicle had turned off the main road and moved toward the sod house. It was now 12:18 p.m., and the observer mentally calculated that in another twenty minutes or so, it would be safe to enter the area. He reached for his cell phone and made the call.

He again smiled with satisfaction as he continued to observe the area below. The overall results improved with each testing. When the agent had been dispersed, the wind was blowing around five miles per hour, but in the past hour, it had increased to fifteen. The weather forecasters had not predicted that to happen until later in the day. He knew there were no other homes within thirty miles downwind from the sod house, but he still did not like the idea of the wind carrying the agent farther than planned.

Half an hour later, he saw the large, unmarked semi-trailer pull to a stop in front of the pickup. Several people in white suits with plastic helmets pulled the driver from the vehicle, placed him in a large, black plastic bag, and carried the body to the back of the tractor-trailer. Quickly, the pickup was driven into the trailer as well. When this was accomplished, the semi moved to the house, repeated the process of removing Lone Hunter and his family, and then proceeded to retrieve the dog and birds.

As the cleanup operation continued, the observer checked the main road with his binoculars, and could see the two pickups positioned as lookouts. Each was approximately a half-mile from the house and stationed at opposite ends of the road. He knew there would be ample warning if anyone came along.

By 2 p.m., all the vehicles were gone and he took one final sweep of the area with his binoculars. All he saw was the desolate landscape and the door of the sod hut still swinging in the wind. He slowly stood up and walked down to the coulee bed where a Jeep was parked and drove off.

# CHAPTER 2

Nicholas Arinson stood outside as tribal police officers searched the house and surrounding area for clues as to what might have happened to Lone Hunter and his family. Nick, to his friends and enemies alike, was the owner and publisher of the largest newspaper in the state, The Prairie Times. Although Nick had a number of staff reporters, at seventy years of age he still had that knack of sensing a special story. From time to time, he was not above chasing a fire truck, or for that matter, beating it to a fire. He liked to champion the underdog and raise hell with the politicians, but he printed the news in an honest and forthright manner and was liked and respected by most people in the state of South Dakota.

The telephone call from the police chief on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation had come into Nick's office at nine o'clock that morning. A short time later, Nick was driving the ninety miles to Wanblee, a town located on the reservation, to meet with the police chief.

It was now close to 1 p.m. as he watched Chief Eagle Feather approach.

"Nick, it beats the hell out of me how someone can just vanish. What's worse, how can a whole family and a neighbor all vanish at the same time? It just doesn't make sense. Hell, even his dog is gone. Come with me. I want to show you something."

Nick followed Chief Eagle Feather to the sod house, and as they entered, Nick was surprised with what he saw. The house was not only clean—it was immaculate. There was no clutter anywhere. The bed was made as if by a new army recruit waiting for inspection, and the room looked as if you could eat off the floor.

Chief Eagle Feather commented that Lone Hunter's wife was noted for being exceptional in a lot of things, but housecleaning was not one of them. He gave a short laugh, and then said in a more somber tone, "I bet if this place was dusted for fingerprints, you wouldn't find any."

Nick shook his head, slowly walked out the door, crossed the yard to the edge of the coulee and looked out across the landscape. Deep in thought, he glanced down and saw a small deer mice nest common to this area. With the side of his boot, he gently removed the top layer of grass exposing the nest. He had not expected to find anything in it, but the nest was full of young offspring not more than an inch long, and all were dead. He picked up one of the young rodents, gently touched it and was again surprised at how stiff and hard it was. From the contorted body, he could tell it had died an unnatural death.

He was about to call to the chief when he saw a small dust cloud in the distance and watched as a dirt bike sped across the prairie toward him.

Chief Eagle Feather moved to Nick's side and waited as the rider approached. The biker was slight in build and appeared to be in his late sixties, but Nick had met Running Wolf on numerous occasions and knew he was only fifty one years old and one of the best trackers on the reservation.

Without speaking, Running Wolf picked up a stick and started drawing a map on the hard ground. When he completed his drawing, he looked at them. "I found no trace of Lone Hunter, his family, or Red Fox either. As you can see, I started in a circle and slowly worked my way outwards." Using the stick as a pointer, he moved it in an outward motion away from the center of the map.

"Lone Hunter never left this house unless it was by the driveway. Still, I did find something unusual." He stooped down and drew two lines that appeared to be a V with the open end pointing east. He sketched a house in the center of the symbol.

Running Wolf sat on his haunches for a moment before he spoke. "In that area, I found nothing alive, not — a bird, rodent, coyote — nothing. And, I covered almost twenty miles before I found anything moving. I have no way of explaining it, but whatever killed them was quick and deadly. I collected some of the animals and birds. They're in the plastic sacks on the bike. You might want to send them to the state health department for examination. They may be able to tell you something about how they died."

Nick turned to the chief. "Have you notified the federal marshal's office yet?"

"Sure, and you know what they said? Until a crime has been committed or evidence to indicate one apparently occurred, they have no intentions of getting involved. Marshal Rexroad is an asshole. His comment to me was, 'Look, I don't have time to search for lost Indians from the reservation. Hell, they probably just got tired of where they were living and decided to go off and visit relatives.' I never cared for Marshal Rexroad, but his deputy is another matter. He's the one who should be the marshal, not the other way around."

~~~~

As Nick drove back, he tried to rationalize what he had seen and heard. His intuition said there was a big story here. A nagging recollection had surfaced when Chief Eagle Feather called this morning, but he had not mentioned it to the chief. About nine or ten months ago, he had responded to a similar incident on the southeastern portion of the Cheyenne Reservation, near Hidden Timber. Another Indian family had disappeared under almost identical circumstances. One day they were there and the next day they were gone without a trace. However, no one had noticed any dead animals around the dwelling, but Nick remembered vividly how the inside of the dwelling looked. It was spotless, just like Lone Hunter's lodgings.

~~~~

When Nick arrived at his office, most of the staff had already left for the day — that is, all except his senior reporter. She stood by his desk with her arms crossed and that look that said, _it's about time you showed up_.

He walked past her, slowly sat down at his desk, and then looked up at her and smiled. She looks just like her mother when she was in her twenties, he thought, small and petite with short blonde hair and brown eyes. She may have the distinction of being the best reporter on his staff, but she was also his granddaughter and not above giving him a piece of her mind. And, it appeared that now was one of those times.

"Nick, you're too damn old to go gallivanting across the state by yourself just because someone calls you. You have five reporters who are supposed to be doing that for you. It's what you pay us to do. Besides, you knew the governor was holding a press conference today on the new proposed highway bill, and if anyone from the paper should have been there, it was you. But, what do you do? You take off and spend the day on the Sioux Indian Reservation and for what? What's so earth-shattering about a missing Indian family? From what I understand, there was no crime committed. There is no special story in that type of situation, only the tragic way those people have to live."

Nick was tired. His body no longer seemed to support his sharp-witted mind and all the things he still hoped to do. Stubbornly, he wrote his notes, jabbing his pencil as he placed periods on the paper, but he refused to allow Jackie to shoulder any more work around here. Not because she couldn't handle it, quite the opposite. He was just not ready to give it up yet.

Her voice softened. "Granddad, I worry about you when you take off like that. Besides, you could have gotten one of the staff to at least drive the car for you. You're not as young as you used to be; only you won't admit it."

Nick had heard that line from her more than once in the past year, and at first, it had made him angry. But in time, he came to realize that it was only her concern for him that caused her to voice it. Now, he just waited until she had her say.

She finally threw up her hands. "What am I going to do with you?"

He smiled. "Take me to dinner."

She shot back, "You buying?"

He nodded in agreement.

"You're on. I'll pick you up in forty-five minutes." She moved to the door, and then while reaching for the handle, she turned and looked at him. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on at the reservation?"

She has that reporter instinct — she can feel a story, he thought. "Maybe later, Jackie. Maybe later."

# CHAPTER 3

Governor Mills was not happy with what he was hearing, and he could sense by the tone and demeanor of the people around the table that they were not happy to be here either. A former mayor of Rapid City, he had surprised almost every politician in the state when he had upset the incumbent governor in a race that was not even close. The citizens of South Dakota were fed up with the politics that had all but paralyzed the state for the past few years, and the voters expressed their anger at the polls.

In his fifth month in office, Governor Richard Mills was holding a three-day seminar with senior departmental officials. He was demanding answers to his questions on how they were conducting business in their own individual departments and agencies, and more importantly, what they were doing to support the citizens of the state. Many officials did not fare well. Of course, they resented that their poor performances were being put in the spotlight for everyone to see, and that was exactly what the governor wanted to accomplish.

Adjutant General Waymore had just completed his report, and the governor thought at least the Army National Guard seems to be in good shape. It's too bad that many of the other departments and agencies are not as efficient. His thoughts were interrupted by the general's voice.

"Governor, I would like to introduce Gary Powers of my staff. He's the director of emergency services, and if a major disaster were to occur in the state, he and his staff are the people you would be working directly with."

The governor looked at the man sitting beside the general and was surprised at his youthful appearance. Most of the officials in the room were in their fifties or sixties, but this young man appeared to be in his early thirties.

"Mister Powers, I have been acquainted with General Waymore for a number of years, and I know that he never does anything without a specific reason. Do you want to tell me why he brought you here, or should I ask him?"

Powers did not hesitate. "That won't be necessary, Governor. I personally asked the general if he would allow me to accompany him to this conference, and I had two reasons for doing so. I am sure the former governor was not even aware that the state had an emergency preparedness program, let alone the name of the person responsible for it. Yet, as the general has stated, if this state has a major disaster, it will be my staff and myself who have the responsibility for attempting to either control the event or clean it up. On the other hand, as the chief executive officer of the state, you are responsible for all major policy decisions on how that will be accomplished."

That surprised the governor, but on assessing the information, he knew the young man was right. "You said there were two reasons for being here. What's the second one?"

"Sir, within the next two weeks, you will be contacted by the director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, otherwise referred to as FEMA, in Washington, D.C. He will be requesting your support in conducting a major federal exercise in this state."

Before he could continue, the governor said, "Mister Powers, how is it you are aware of this proposed request, and how accurate is your information?"

"Governor, it's my job to interact with FEMA on anything from training to submitting recommendations to you for requesting federal funds for disaster relief. Any request you might make for assistance would go through FEMA. And I have some very reliable contacts there."

"Well," the governor said, "if the feds want to conduct an exercise in our state, I see no reason for not accommodating them. If nothing else, it would give us all some insight on how well prepared we are to cope with disaster situations."

"I'm sorry, Governor, but I disagree with you. My recommendation is that you not accept the invitation." The audience was flabbergasted at Gary's audacity.

"You care to explain that recommendation, or is your department, and by that I mean you, not prepared to do the job you're paid to do?"

Gary did not flinch from the remark. "No, sir. That is not what I meant at all. With the small staff and limited funding we have received in the past two years, we have done fairly well. My staff can handle most types of disasters that might occur, such as floods, fires, and hazardous material incidents. What we're not prepared for is the type of exercise the federal government is proposing for South Dakota, and even less prepared for a real event of this kind."

"Which is?"

"They want to exercise a scenario that involves a terrorist group using chemical or biological agents against the citizens of this state. Sir, we do not have the staff, resources, or funding to support that type of incident or any simulation thereof. Politically, the inevitable, negative results would be damaging. The citizens of this state would not be very happy hosting a major exercise, which made the state appear unprepared. And, Governor, you would be the one taking most of the heat."

The governor heard alarm bells going off in his head and abruptly turned to his aide and then back to Gary. "Mister Powers, I would like to see you and the adjutant general in my office next week. Make an appointment with my aide. Bring whatever support staff you wish and provide me with an in-depth briefing on your program." He then directed his next remark to General Waymore. "John, is this what you had in mind?"

The general grinned. "Yes, sir. It was."

# CHAPTER 4

As North Central Flight 321 raced down the runway, Captain Ellis could feel the 727 leave the ground and climb smoothly into the sky. No matter how many times he had taken off, it still gave him a high. He heard the Omaha tower operator request he change frequency for the Air Route Traffic Control Center, or better known as the ARTCC, at Minneapolis. After identifying himself, he was given instructions to climb to flight level fourteen, which in air traffic control terminology meant fourteen-thousand feet, on a heading of three-three-zero degrees to Seattle, Washington. It was a nice clear day, and it was going to be a good flight.

~~~~

Charlie had been at the Minneapolis ARTCC as a Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) air traffic controller for seven years, and today was as demanding for him as any other day. After vectoring a DC-10 to a new heading, he reached for his Coke and raised it toward his lips only to stop and stare at the scope. He could feel stress mounting as he spoke into his microphone. "Ah, North Central Flight three-two-one, please ascend to flight level fourteen. Do you copy?"

After a few seconds, he tried again with no success. He leaned over and asked the traffic controller at the next console to pick up his area and then motioned for Rob, the shift supervisor.

As Rob approached, Charlie said, "We have a problem." And he pointed to the scope. "A few minutes ago, I vectored North Central Flight three-two-one from Omaha, Nebraska to Seattle at a heading of three-three-zero degrees, flight level fourteen. Look at the scope and tell me I'm wrong. It appears that he's on a heading of three-two-zero degrees and at a flight level of twelve. I have tried to contact him several times and received no reply, and if I'm not wrong, that aircraft is descending. I now read him at flight level nine."

Rob looked up when he heard his name called and saw his deputy point to the phone. "What?" was all he said as he picked up the phone. Then, Charlie heard him say, "Omaha tower, did you try to contact him?"

As Rob hung the phone up, he asked, "Where is he now?"

Charlie had been watching the scope intently and answered, "Flight level eight-five and still slowly dropping. At this rate, he will be down in about ten minutes."

"Shit!" Rob said. "Is there any place he can land?"

"Not if he stays on that course. I've run a profile, and if he continues his descent and does not turn, he should come down somewhere around the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota."

Rob reached for the phone again and punched the red button. Sharon, a duty officer at the FAA headquarters operations center, immediately answered the call. She then began setting up a teleconference with organizations and agencies involved in aircraft incidents.

~~~~

Running Wolf laid motionless on a slight rise watching the young coyote stalking an unsuspecting jackrabbit. Normally, Running Wolf had to work hard to get this close to a coyote, but this one was too engrossed in tracking the meal in front of him and not attentive enough to his surroundings. That neglect would cost him his life. In the tranquility, the crack of the rifle sent the rabbit scurrying down the coulee.

Running Wolf did not move. Instead, he looked out over the harsh land that he had lived on all his life, except for a four-year stint in the Marine Corps during his early youth. He took what the Marines had to offer, interwove it with his Indian heritage and returned to the reservation as a different man. It amused him to think he was an educated Indian with a four-year degree in psychology. Few knew it, and most would not believe it in any case, but he really didn't care; he was a loner. To the tribe, he was a cross between a medicine man and an enlightened man.

Pushing himself up, he heard a sound and looked to the sky. As he continued to stare, he saw an aircraft that appeared to be much too low. In fact, it looked like it was coming right at him, and as it passed overhead, it seemed like he could reach up and touch it. Instantly, the back draft from the aircraft picked him up and threw him into the gully.

When consciousness returned to Running Wolf, he felt as if every bone in his body was broken. After cautiously moving, he knew his body had taken a pounding but was still intact. He looked at his watch and saw that almost an hour had passed since the plane had flown by. He climbed out of the gully and could see smoke rising in the west. As he made his way to his motorcycle, he estimated it was ten miles to the crash site.

~~~~

Running Wolf stood on a low bluff, looking down at the aircraft below him. A primal fear engulfed him, and he silently forced it back. In one way, the aircraft had been fortunate because it appeared to have made a perfect belly landing. It had glided across the hard ground, passing through a small depression that sheared off both wings, leaving the fuselage completely intact. The fuel in the wing tanks and the engines had caught on fire, but they had been left several hundred yards behind and represented no further threat to the aircraft. However, that was not what caught and held Running Wolf's attention.

He was accustomed to death, and had no fear of it. But, what he saw now caused a reaction he had never experienced before. Below him, stretched out beside the aircraft as if still sitting in their seats, lay row after row of bodies with a pilot and co-pilot spaced a few feet in front of the rest.

He cautiously circled the aircraft and found no trace of anything or anybody that might have gone to the plane or left it—no tire marks or footprints of any type. Finally, he walked to the bodies, and his fear grew. He looked at one young woman, then an elderly man, and finally a baby. All of them had the same characteristics. Their clothes were not disheveled, they lay as if asleep, but they were all dead. Yet, there was a life-like glow coming from their eyes in a color that he had never seen before.

Running Wolf slowly backed away from the bodies. He climbed the bluff and walked to his motorcycle where he pulled a cell phone from his saddlebag.

# CHAPTER 5

The phone call to The Prairie Times, which Nick Arinson answered, had nearly thrown the newspaper publisher into a state of shock. In all the years he had known Running Wolf, he had never received a phone call from him; yet, the two of them had raised hell together more than once over the past three decades.

Now, as he and his granddaughter neared the accident scene in a rented helicopter, they could see the aircraft laying in the coulee. Nick pointed to the lone figure sitting on the bluff. He told the pilot to land a few hundred feet from the bluff and away from the crash site in order to not disturb anything.

Nick and Jackie walked to where Running Wolf was sitting, and, for a long moment, they all looked down at the aircraft. Then, Nick slowly sank down on the ground next to Running Wolf. Neither man said a word. Jackie was baffled because she had never seen her grandfather react this way. She knew there was a bond between these two men, but she also knew there was a major news story before her eyes, and yet neither man seemed concerned with the urgency of the event. With a sigh, she sat down next to her grandfather wondering what would come next.

Finally, Running Wolf raised his arm, pointed a finger at the aircraft and asked, "Do you believe in the supernatural or in spirits?"

Nick thought for several moments before he replied to his friend. All the while Jackie sat there wondering if both men had lost their minds.

"Running Wolf, there are many things on this earth that cannot be explained, but they happen. So, who am I to say?" Nick looked at his friend. "But, that is not why you asked the question."

In a reverent tone, Running Wolf said, "In the past half-hour, I have watched eighty-seven souls leave this earth. They left in a bluish flash of light, and if I had not seen it, I wouldn't believe it." Nick sat silently as Running Wolf continued. "Not only that but when it happened their bodies disappeared too, and I cannot explain what I saw with my own eyes. They were all laid out in rows on the ground, and I watched as one by one they turned to dust in a bluish flame, and there was nothing remaining."

Intolerant of such nonsense and thinking both these men had somehow lost their minds, Jackie stood up and started walking down to the aircraft. She knew her grandfather was eccentric, but this was ridiculous. Abruptly, she froze, staring at the ground in front of her. There were scorched outlines of bodies embedded in the ground—row after row. She turned and would have fled were it not for the sight of her grandfather walking toward her. Running Wolf was nowhere to be seen.

Nick silently walked past her and entered the aircraft while Jackie still stood transfixed. What seemed like hours were actually only a few minutes before he returned. Together, they walked back up the bluff to the helicopter, neither saying a word. Nick sensed the confusion reverberating in his granddaughter that kept her silent, and he knew it did not happen often.

# CHAPTER 6

David Holter had been with the National Transportation Safety Board, also referred to as the NTSB, for fifteen years and believed he had heard it all and seen more than most. When the phone rang and one of the lines blinked, he pushed the button to answer. At first, he did not recognize the voice or the name, and then from the far corners of his memory, it came to him. Nick Arinson was the publisher of a newspaper somewhere in South Dakota. He remembered his grandfather talking about the times he and Nick Arinson had shared together. Christ, he thought, it's hard to believe this guy is still alive. As he listened, little by little he began sitting straighter in his chair, and then he grabbed a pen and started writing.

"Mister Arinson, how sure are you of your facts?" He listened for a few more minutes with a puzzled expression on his face. He thought back to his grandfather's conversations about the past and his friend Nick. His grandfather had often described Nick as a highly reliable friend and an outstanding journalist.

David had already known that North Central Flight 321 was down somewhere on the Sioux Indian Reservation and that an investigation team had been deployed from Washington. After talking with Nick Arinson, he knew something unusual had happened to this aircraft, and he wanted to find out just what that was. His office was in Salt

Lake City, Utah, and if he could hitch a ride from the Air National Guard, of which he was a member, he could be at the site before the NTSB team arrived. Now, all he had to do was make it happen, and he picked up the phone. After a short discussion with the chairman of the NTSB, David had his assignment as the person-in-charge of the accident investigation team.

~~~~

It was a little past 6 p.m. and the sun was low in the west as David Holter, in an Ellsworth Air Force Base (AFB) helicopter, circled the crash site. He figured there was about two more hours of daylight before darkness descended. He saw a helicopter parked on the ridge and several vehicles as well, but there appeared to be no one near the accident scene. This seemed odd as he could see a number of people on the ridge around the site.

When the chopper landed, he grabbed his bag and thanked the pilot and crew chief. He walked a few feet from the chopper and watched it move up into the sky, only to realize he had not arranged for leaving this area. He thought maybe he could hitch a ride out of here with someone and turned to walk to the edge of the ridge.

As he approached the group, he noticed they were all Indians except for two, one of which was in a heated argument with an Indian. He recognized a federal marshal badge on the tall white man and a police badge on the huskily built Indian. He could now hear what they were saying, along with all the rest of the group who stood silently off to the side. Holter noticed the Indians stood several feet apart on the edge of the rim, all with their backs to the crash site and watching the two men arguing in front of them.

He heard the angry voice of the marshal as he shouted, "Chief Eagle Feather, for the last time, I'm telling you to remove your men from the ridge and let me through, or I will have you all arrested. What the hell do you think you're doing? There may be injured passengers down there who need medical attention. Now, get your people out of here!"

Chief Eagle Feather stood impassively with his arms folded. In a low voice, he said, "It would do you no good to go down there because there is no one alive or dead in that plane. In fact, there are no bodies at all." The marshal shook his head in disgust, and before he could speak, the chief continued. "Running Wolf has said we must wait, and no one is to enter the area. Those were his words, and they will be obeyed."

The marshal angrily stared at the chief for a moment. "Do you mind telling me why we must wait?"

The chief turned and pointed toward David. "We have been waiting for him."

The chief's words were powerfully direct, and David wondered how he knew he was coming. He had told no one he was deploying to the accident scene, and no one knew except the chairman of the NTSB who had given him the assignment. So, how did this man know?

Marshal Rexroad spun on his heels and stared at David. "You mind telling me who the hell you are? This is federal land and under the jurisdiction of the Federal Marshal Service. I saw you arrive in an Air Force helicopter, so if you are military, you have no jurisdiction here."

David recognized the arrogance in the man and deliberately walked past him, stopping in front of the chief. When the marshal started to shout at him, David, without turning, held up his hand, and the marshal stopped in mid-sentence.

David could not help but notice the amusement in the coal-black eyes of the chief as he spoke. "You are welcome here, and my people will do what we can to help."

Turning to the others, David raised his hand again so all could see the badge he held. "My name is David Holter. I am a member of the National Transportation Safety Board and the investigator-in-charge for the group that will be arriving shortly. Effective now, all the area surrounding the accident site is under my jurisdictional control, and no one, I repeat no one will enter that area without my personal permission. As for you, Marshal, your services are no longer required, and you can leave."

"You can't do that!" Marshal Rexroad exclaimed.

"Yes, I can, and I just have. You know the laws as well as I do. You have a choice, leave freely or I will have Chief Eagle Feather's deputies remove you by force." The two men stared at each other in a test of wills, and, finally, the marshal turned and stomped off to the helicopter.

David turned back to the chief. He was surprised to see that the Indians had moved and now were standing next to him—that is all but one. The lone one sat several hundred feet away on a small rise watching him intently.

The chief saw David looking in that direction. "That's Running Wolf, and you will need to talk with him. Now, what can we do to help?"

"We need to completely seal off the area by setting up a cordon around the crash site. No one goes in until my team members arrive, and the cordon needs to remain in place until we have completed our investigation. Can your people do that? Or, do you want me to bring in outside law enforcement personnel? We may be here for a while."

"This is our land, Mister Holter. Inhospitable as it may be, it is still ours, and our people will seal the area off for you." The chief turned and began giving instructions.

As David watched, the cordon was soon complete with an Indian standing or sitting a few hundred yards apart from each other. He noticed that not one man faced the crash site as they stood guard. When he turned to the chief to ask why, he was again surprised.

"Mister Holter, none of my people will look at the aircraft, and there is no simple explanation I can give you. To some extent, we are a superstitious people, even in this modern day. Once in a great while, something happens that really affects us—this aircraft accident is one of those times. You will find nothing down there—no one alive or dead. In fact, you will find nothing at all for they are all gone."

At first, David did not know what to say because deep inside he believed what he had just heard, but he needed to ask. "Chief, have you been inside the aircraft?"

The chief slowly shook his head, pointed to Running Wolf and said, "But, he has. Running Wolf has told our people that he sat upon this ridge and watched the souls and bodies of the people, who were in that plane, burst into blue flames one by one and rise to the sky. That, Mister Holter, is why you will see none of the people except Running Wolf look or go near the plane, and that includes me. You see, we are afraid that whatever is down there will take our souls as well." Then Chief Eagle Feather started laughing. "How is that for a superstitious person?"

Nevertheless, underneath the humor, David saw the haunting look in the chief's eyes. He walked over and gazed down at the aircraft lying before him. The whole scene had an eerie appearance with shadows slowly starting to creep over the landscape and the Indians, placed like sentinels from an age long past, facing outward. He felt a shiver rush through his body and thought, Just what the hell happened here?

David turned slowly and began to move toward the man sitting on the ridge above him. He heard the sound of a helicopter and turned back to see it land. Thinking this was part of his team arriving, he watched as two passengers exited the helicopter.

A voice close by startled him, and he turned to see the Indian called Running Wolf beside him. David had not heard him approach, and, as he looked at the man close up for the first time, he saw the intent stare the man was giving him. He was immediately sensitive to the severe scrutiny, but Running Wolf's eyes changed to cast a sarcastic, humorous look at him.

"I don't think you believe in ghosts, but I am afraid you're going to have your hands full investigating this crash," Running Wolf said, as he waved his hand in the direction of the gully. "You're going to need all the help you can get, and those two people you see approaching are probably the most important ones you will want to meet. Don't let the old man fool you. He's smarter than most men I have known. If you're as intelligent as I think you are, you will listen to them. With their assistance, you may solve this mystery. But without their help, I doubt if it will ever be explained."

David recognized the voice of Nick Arinson as he greeted the Indian, and turned to see the newspaperman with a petite young woman at his side. He thought, So this is the man my grandfather knew. He looks to be eighty or ninety years old, yet he exudes power and commands respect. David was silent as he studied the man.

The woman smiled as if she knew what he was thinking and held out her hand. "Hi, my name is Jackie, and that's my grandfather, Nick Arinson. I assume you are David Holter from the NTSB."

How does everyone know who I am before I even meet them? "Yes, I'm David Holter. I was just talking with..." and he stopped because the man was gone. He wondered if he looked foolish gesturing at thin air.

Nick Arinson gave a low chuckle and shook his head. "You have to watch out for Running Wolf. He can disappear faster than any man I know."

"Well, where did he go? I was told that he's the only witness to the crash, and I need to interview him. But after talking with Chief Eagle Feather, I'm not sure just how reliable his information will be."

Nick smiled. "You mean you don't believe in bodies disappearing in a flash of flames?"

"I've seen and heard some pretty strange things in my job, but nothing has come close to what I've heard here," David said. "I can't conceive that eighty-seven people disappeared one by one, and I certainly hope you don't believe that crap either. Hell, it's bad enough that those Indians believe it—look at them." He swung his arm in a wide arc. "They're standing like sentries with their backs to the aircraft, and not one of them will look at it. Why? Because they think they may disappear too, or lose their souls, or whatever. I thought we were living in the twenty-first century. It's crazy, but when we remove the bodies from the aircraft, the Indians will look pretty foolish."

Nick lowered himself slowly to the ground, crisscrossing his legs, and Jackie sat down beside him. Neither said a word. David stared for a moment and then thought, Well, what the hell and sat down on the hard ground facing them. He noticed the wind had picked up and small gusts were intensifying as the sun began to set. He estimated another twenty or thirty minutes before darkness would be upon them. He again wondered just what the hell he had gotten himself into as he glanced at the two people in front of him.

Both Nick and Jackie Arinson stared directly at him, and he felt as if he were on trial—for what crime he did not know.

"Do either of you want to tell me what's going on?" he finally asked. Jackie was silent as her grandfather spoke. "Mister Holter, have you been inside that aircraft yet?"

David shook his head. "I was about to after I talked with Running Wolf, but your arrival interrupted that."

"So, as of now, you have not been near that aircraft?"

Puzzled, David answered, "That's correct."

"And you believe the people who were on that aircraft are still inside the plane right now?"

"Where do you think they would be, unless someone, God forbid, has taken them out of the plane? You surely don't believe they disappeared into the sky like the Indians think, do you?"

A chill ran down David's spine as he looked first into Nick's and then Jackie's eyes. He could see the conviction in their looks and knew that was exactly what both of them believed.

"Look, Mister Arinson, from what I have heard, you are one of the most respected people in this state, and I cannot believe you would fall for a story of bodies disappearing. Come down to the aircraft with me before it gets too dark, and let's see for ourselves."

"Mister Holter, both Jackie and I have been down there earlier today, and I can assure you no one is in that aircraft."

David could not accept what he was hearing and attributed Nick's reply to misguided speculation. "There had better not be anything disturbed, and, for the sake of argument, let's say there are no bodies down there. If that is the case, I want to know who removed them for I sure don't believe they just walked out of that plane and disappeared. If they are gone, there's going to be hell to pay!" He stood up and started walking to the aircraft.

He walked alone for neither Nick nor Jackie had moved from their position on the ridge. As he neared the aircraft, shadows had already covered the plane, encompassing it in semi-darkness. Gusts of wind hammered at David while he crossed the last few feet, as if warning him to back off.

The passenger door was open, and he reached up and pulled himself into the plane. Slowly, he stood up in the eerie darkness and gazed upon the strangely tranquil interior. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. Not only were there no bodies in the cabin, the aircraft looked like it had been prepared to accept new passengers. The entire cabin was neat and clean with everything in perfect order. The aircraft did not look like it had just crashed with eighty-seven people onboard.

He stood for a moment, then pulled out a flashlight and moved forward down the aisle. He saw the seatbelts neatly folded in each seat like they were waiting for the next occupants. He reached up and opened one of the overhead bins. Luggage was stored in it as well as all the others he checked. He turned and walked back up the aisle, hesitating for a moment in front of the restroom door, but then opened the cockpit door instead. Looking at the two empty seats in front of him, he searched for some answers. There was no debris; everything was in its place as if the pilot and co-pilot were about to start their pre-flight procedures.

Nothing made sense. There was no blood, no signs of a catastrophe, and, most importantly, no bodies. He had never seen anything like it in all the years he had responded to aircraft accidents. He slowly backed out of the cockpit and turned to leave, only to pause in front of the toilet. He stared at the door, and then reached for the handle. The door swung open easily, and he didn't really know what he expected to see but was relieved when he found it empty. As he proceeded to shut the door, the flashlight reflected in the mirror above the lavatory sink, and he glimpsed something—someone, and the light fell from his hand. The explosive noise rattled his nerves even more. Retrieving the light, he directed the beam into the mirror and discovered an image staring at him from the upper part of the door. A picture of Christ with his arms outstretched to the heavens had been painted on the inside of the door.

It took David some time to compose himself before returning to the bluff where Nick and Jackie waited in complete darkness.

"I don't believe in the supernatural, but it is a fact that there's no one in that aircraft," David said. "If they did not walk away, then someone removed them, and either way, I intend to find out. So, why don't you tell me what you two know before I call the Federal Bureau of Investigations and advise them that I have eighty-seven people who have disappeared from an aircraft crash site?"

Nick pointed to the helicopter. "It's too cold and dark out here. Let's go to the helicopter, and we'll fill you in. But, I can tell you that you're not going to like what we have to say. In fact, you're not going to believe it."

~~~~

David listened as Nick talked, and the more he heard the more he felt that the old man was either crazy or involved in a major hoax—for what reason he didn't know.

At the end of Nick's ten-minute rendition of the events, Jackie added to the story in a soft-but-persuasive voice. "I could not believe what had happened either, but there is proof that it did."

"That's the most bizarre story I have ever heard, and no one in their right mind would believe it!" David said, looking at both of them as he made this statement.

Jackie started to angrily protest, but Nick cut her off. "Mister Holter, I have been in the news business for most of my life, and before a story is printed in my newspaper, I always check out the facts and try to determine the truth. It's my trademark—well known in this state. You asked us to provide you with any information we might have regarding that aircraft out there, and we've told you what we know. It's now up to you to determine what really happened. How you do that is your business, but what you have just heard is the truth as far as we know."

"All right, Mister Arinson, let's see if I have the facts straight. You were told by Running Wolf that he saw rows of bodies laid out by the aircraft when he arrived at the accident scene. When he walked around the aircraft, he could find no tracks. He noted that the eyes of the corpses glowed. Am I right so far?"

Nick nodded his head.

"Then, this Indian walked back up to that bluff and watched as the bodies, one by one, burst into blue flames and the ash or whatever drifted up into the sky. You, Miss Arinson, walked down and saw the scorched outlines of the bodies shortly after you arrived. And you, Mister Arinson, actually went into the aircraft and found no one. I hope you don't intend to print that story in your newspaper, sir, because, if you do, you'll probably be the laughing stock of the country."

Nick gave him a tolerant smile. "Mister Holter, that is exactly what I intend to do, and it will be on the front page of The Prairie Times when it hits the streets tomorrow morning. I will save a copy for you, and now we must go. Can we give you a ride?"

David was tempted, but knew he was not going to leave until the crash site was secured and his team in place. He declined the offer, opened the door and was leaving the chopper when Jackie touched his arm.

"Mister Holter, my grandfather and I are as baffled as you are, and we hope you find out what really happened here." She handed him a large, sealed envelope. "When you have time, you might want to review this material."

David watched the helicopter rise into the dark, star-studded sky and listened as the sound slowly faded away, leaving him suddenly aware of how quiet it was. When he turned toward the crash site, he saw small fires in a circle surrounding the aircraft. Nothing else moved except the wind as it swept across the land.

Heading toward Chief Eagle Feather's pickup, David stopped when his cell phone rang and he heard the voice of Richie Parkens.

"David, I understand you're to be the investigator-in-charge for this accident, and I just wanted to let you know we arrived in Rapid City a few minutes ago. Unless you have a problem, we intend to get hotel rooms in town and be at the site before dawn. I understand it's about sixty miles from here in a very desolate area of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation and that there were no survivors. So, unless you want me to send some of the team members out there tonight, we will hit the sack and be there early tomorrow. By the way, where are you located now?"

"Richie, you're not going to believe what I tell you so you had better be sitting down. You will need a pencil and paper. First, I am at the accident site, and second, you're not going to use those hotel rooms tonight. I want you and the rest of the team here as fast as possible. Tell me where you are, and I'll have someone pick you up."

"OK. We're still at the airport."

"In the interim, I want you to contact the base commander at Ellsworth Air Force Base and request the following support. I need as many portable lights and generators as he can spare, and I don't mean three or four—two dozen would be more like it. I need sleeping bags and tents, a water truck, messing equipment and food, and at least one-hundred military personnel to help guard the accident site. And, Richie, I want it now."

"What in the world is going on out there?" Richie asked.

For the moment, David ignored him. "One last thing, contact the nearest FBI office and tell them to send a team from Washington as soon as possible, and advise them to keep the federal marshal who has jurisdiction here off the reservation. He's more of a problem than an asset. Now, Richie, I'll answer your question. I'm standing out on the prairie looking at a party of Indians who are helping me guard the crash site. The only problem is there are no bodies to guard. They're all gone."

"You're shitting me," Richie responded. "What the hell do you mean? What did they do just up and fly away? It's been a long day, and it isn't finished. I'm not in the mood for fun and games."

David gave a harsh laugh. "You may have hit the nail on the head because that is just what the Indians said happened."

"What?"

"They said the bodies all disappeared into the sky."

"I sure hope you're not smoking something. We'll be there as soon as we can."

David placed the phone with its clip back on his belt and made his way to the pickup. He opened the passenger door and slid onto the seat. David noticed the vehicle was facing away from the crash site and again wondered what really happened here. He realized he was still holding the envelope Jackie Arinson had given him. He opened the sealed flap, pulled out a pack of 8-inch-by-10-inch glossy photos and read the attached note.

Dear Mr. Holter,

By now, I am sure you're wondering what really happened here, and thinking that the Indians and I have perpetrated some sort of hoax or are crazy, neither of which are true. Running Wolf is not your average Indian. He served four years in the Marine Corps and is well educated. The natives throughout the Sioux and Cheyenne nations hold him in high esteem.

The pictures he took this afternoon speak for themselves, and a few of them will be on the front page of The Prairie Times in the morning edition.

With Regards, Nick Arinson

David removed the note and looked at the first photo. He felt his body growing cold and sweat popped out on his forehead. "Holy shit!" he whispered through clenched teeth. He examined each picture thoroughly, then again and finally put them back in the envelope.

Chief Eagle Feather did not look his way, but David heard him say, "Running Wolf does not lie. If he says the people on that aircraft all died and their spirits floated up into the sky, that's exactly what happened."

David made no comment as he opened the door and slid out of the truck. He walked to the edge of the coulee and looked down at the doomed aircraft in the moon's light. His instincts were in turmoil, and he didn't know what to think. The pictures were still engraved in his mind, and he had a feeling they would not be easily erased.

The first photo had captured the bodies lying on the ground outside the aircraft, row upon row of them, and it looked like they were all on their backs asleep. The second one was a close-up of several bodies, and it captured a strange glow in their eyes. It made no difference that their eyelids were closed—the glow was still there. If it was possible, the rest of the pictures were even more chilling. Running Wolf had stood on the ledge above the aircraft and took pictures of individuals being engulfed in bluish flames with a wisp of smoke rising toward the sky. The series of photos depicted the burning corpses in various stages of disintegration until nothing remained. The last two pictures captured outlines of bodies on the ground. The last one must have been taken later because the outlines were beginning to fade.

Deep in thought, David stared at the aircraft and then out over the land, hearing nothing except the racing of his heart.

# CHAPTER 7

As David watched, a series of military helicopters began landing and unloading military personnel and equipment. As quickly as one chopper took off, it was replaced by another helicopter. He was concerned that the troops would soon inundate the area, destroying evidence before his team could start its investigation.

A young Air Force captain approached him. "Sir, are you Mister Holter?"

Well, at least he's not sure, and it's better than, "Doctor Livingston, I presume." David held out his hand in greeting.

The young captain shook his hand and continued, "I am Captain Stanley, the base disaster preparedness officer. I don't know who you really are, but you sure stirred up a hornet's nest at Ellsworth. The base commander said to tell you that whatever you need, just ask for it, and I am at your disposal until further notice. If you will give me some idea of what you want us to do, I'll start organizing these troops."

When David finished his instructions, he watched the captain leave. With luck, this site will be sealed so tight by morning that a jackrabbit won't be able to penetrate the area without my permission, he thought. At least, he hoped so.

~~~~

Governor Mills sat at the head of the conference table, watching Gary Powers complete his briefing on the state's emergency preparedness program. He was impressed with the young man's forthright approach and was now well-informed of his emergency program's effectiveness and the weaknesses. What he liked was that Powers had proposed viable solutions to correct the problem areas. As it happens with most government programs, the missing ingredient was additional funding. Powers was persuasive and had the insight to know how important it was to have the capabilities to effectively respond and control a crisis, should it occur.

"Mister Powers, you were correct the other day when you said the former governor probably was not aware of your program, and for your information, I was not sufficiently aware either. That's not the case now, and I will be the first to tell you I am impressed with what you have done with limited resources and personnel. That will change effective today."

He turned to one of his aides. "Mark, immediately transfer the three hundred thousand dollars into the emergency preparedness budget that Mister Powers indicated he needs. Mister Powers, that should fund the additional personnel and equipment to upgrade your programs. All I ask is that you spend it wisely. Now, let's talk about that exercise the federal government wants to conduct. How sure are you that it's going to happen and do you have a projected timeframe?"

Gary hesitated a moment and then said, "In regard to their request, I am almost positive you will be approached within the next two weeks. As far as the timeframe, I'm not sure, but I anticipate that the feds would like to do the exercise in the next ninety days."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," the governor said. "I have been giving this proposal some thought, and I realize your concerns are valid. Nevertheless, I am inclined to agree to the exercise. If I do approve it, your office will take the lead in making it happen, so you may want to start some preliminary planning. One thing I need to know is how many of our state, county and municipal resources will be involved." He paused and glanced down at The Prairie Times newspaper lying open in front of him.

"Now, Mister Powers, I have a few questions on another subject. What do you make of this aircraft crash, and why are you and your staff not involved? I thought that was part of your job."

"You're right, Governor. Normally, my office would be the state agency coordinating the relief effort but not in this case. It happened on an Indian reservation—that's federal land—and the feds have brought in military personnel to support the NTSB and the tribal police. They've cordoned off the crash site and a ten-mile zone around it. No one not directly involved is allowed near. I had a talk with the investigator-in-charge, a Mister David Holter, late last night and offered our services, which he politely declined. No one is getting near that aircraft, including the news media. They have established a very large perimeter of security. They even have military helicopters to keep private planes out of the area," Gary related.

Then he added, "There is one exception to the media ban. Nick and his granddaughter Jackie seem to have an agreement with Mister Holter. They appear to have free access to the site. As far as what happened out there, I am as puzzled as everyone else. All I know is what's in the paper, and that's the craziest story I have ever heard. I don't know what to make of it, but there has to be some reasonable explanation as to what really happened to the people on that plane. I'm having lunch today with Jackie Arinson. Maybe I'll learn something new," Gary smiled. "It's a bit humbling to have to go to a news reporter to gain information when I should be the one providing it."

"Keep me posted if you learn anything. The phones at the governor's office have been ringing off the hook. I don't know what to tell them, except that it's being investigated and that it is a federal responsibility," the governor said.

~~~~

The wind had picked up, and David could see small dust swirls as they raced across the prairie and again thought about how desolate and harsh this land was. His gaze settled on the team working around the aircraft. Suddenly, as if materializing out of nowhere, he spotted an intruder standing a few hundred yards from where the crew was working. David's first thought was: How did the man penetrate their security? He reached for his radio, watching the individual walk toward the aircraft, detour around it and move in the direction of the ridge where he was standing. David put the radio back in its holder for now he recognized the Indian.

Without acknowledging David, the Indian took up a position beside him, looked down at the aircraft and said, "That's the damnedest thing I ever experienced. Have you figured out what happened yet?"

David shook his head. "You must be Running Wolf. Do you mind telling me how you got through our security?"

Running Wolf chuckled. "If I want to disappear from view, I can, but not like those people who were down there in the aircraft."

"Could you give me a firsthand description of what you witnessed yesterday? So far, it looks like you are the only one who saw what went on out here. Later, I will also require a written deposition," David said.

Running Wolf handed him an envelope. "I wrote a report last night, but you might as well tear it up. No one will believe it." And he chuckled again.

David searched his face. "Do you believe it?"

"Hell, yes! I was here. I saw it. Only problem is I don't understand it, and before you ask, no, I do not believe in people disappearing into the sky—not one person, let alone eighty-seven souls. There has to be a reasonable explanation for what I witnessed, and I'm working on it. If there is any rational answer to this mystery, we had better find it and quick."

David was about to reply when Running Wolf said, "Mister Holter, are you aware that this has happened before, not far from here? Two incidents involving two separate families."

At first, David thought the man was joking, but on closer observation, realized he was serious. When Running Wolf finished telling him about the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the two families, he was even more bewildered and wondered what kind of nightmare he had been caught up in.

"Why do you think they're connected? From what you've told me, no one saw them vanish in a blazing flash and rise into the sky. They could have just left the area and not told anyone."

Running Wolf considered that for a moment and then pointed to the aircraft. "Mister Holter, what was the most unusual aspect about that aircraft except for the picture on the lavatory door? You don't need to tell me, I'll tell you. The inside of that aircraft was spotless, everything in place as if waiting for passengers to board. That's not exactly what you would expect in an aircraft that had just crashed. The homes of those two Indian families were found in the same condition; they were spotlessly clean. That's not normal for a family that decided to just up and leave. As of today, none of them have been found—like your passengers down there." He nodded his head in the direction of the accident scene.

David was thinking of how to respond when he heard his name called. He turned to see a young soldier moving his way.

"Mister Holter, you have a phone call from Washington at the command post."

David thanked the man and turned back to Running Wolf, but the Indian was gone. He scanned the area as he walked to a large tent that housed the command post. There was no sign of Running Wolf anywhere. David shook his head, wondering what was going to happen next.

# CHAPTER 8

Gary Powers, the director of the state emergency services, and Jackie waited in the dining room of the Broadfer Hotel for her grandfather to arrive. It was close to 2 p.m., and the room was almost empty since most of the lunch patrons had already left. They too had finished eating over an hour before. Gary did not mind because he enjoyed the companion sitting across from him. If he had his way, they would spend more time together, but Jackie always kept a slight barrier between them which conveyed the signal of, Hey, don't push it! They had been a twosome for several months now, and he knew she cared for him. But, she was not about to make any commitments—at least not yet.

Nick came into the room, removed his hat and headed for their table, looking like a rancher in jeans, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. Gary slid a chair out from the table, and Nick sat down looking at the two of them as the waitress set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

"Gary, I understand our governor has decided to upgrade your staff and programs." His statement took Gary by surprise, and Nick continued, "Which, I might add, is long overdue. I think the governor is smarter than I've given him credit for. Three hundred thousand dollars will go a long way. Congratulations."

Gary smiled and shook his head. He had told no one about this morning's meeting with the governor—not even Jackie. Yet, it had not taken Nick long to find out.

"Thanks, Nick. Should I ask how you found out so fast?"

Nick grinned and ignored the question.

"Nick, why did you want to see us?" Jackie asked. "I had a story to cover at one-thirty today, which I had to turn over to one of the other reporters. Whatever it is, it'd better be good."

Nick's eyes were twinkling as he smiled. When Jackie saw this, she knew something big was brewing. She could feel it, as her grandfather often said in her news reporter bones.

"Two reasons, honey. I had a telephone conversation with David Holter a little while ago. He asked for a favor, which I have agreed to. The news media is in a feeding-frenzy over that aircraft, and he's receiving pressure from high levels. They want him to open up the investigation and give them access to the site, which I might add he has refused to do. On the other hand, he realizes that sooner or later it's going to create major problems for him. Therefore, he wants a controlled solution to the problem. He has agreed to let me send a reporter out there to act as a liaison for all the other news organizations." Nick looked at his granddaughter. "Jackie, which reporter should we send?" He waited for the explosion, which was almost immediate.

Half-rising from her chair, Jackie said, "What the devil do you mean? Which reporter? If you don't send me on this assignment, there's going to be hell to pay, and I think you know who's going to be on the receiving end." She glared at him.

Gary watched the exchange, knowing better than to say anything. He had seen her get her dander up on a few occasions and knew she could be a formidable opponent.

Nick patiently waited until she ran out of steam and sat back down. Then, he said, "Well, I guess that means I'm going to lose my best reporter for a few days."

Jackie jumped up again, threw her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, "You old scoundrel."

Nick continued to grin as he turned to Gary. "You had better keep an eye on her because by this time tomorrow she's going to be a journalistic celebrity all over the country." Both men saw a perplexed expression cross her face.

"Yep," Nick continued, "as David Holter's single point-of-contact for all the news organizations, her name and face will be on national TV several times a day. Probably won't even recognize us by the end of the week."

"Oh, you men," she quipped as she pushed her chair back and moved to leave the room. "I don't know about you two, but I have work to do."

Jackie's thoughts are muddled as she begins to realize the ramifications of what exactly she'd jumped into. She was a newspaper reporter, not a TV personality, and suddenly unsure of where all this would lead.

Nick raised the cup to his lips, and Gary could see the pride in his eyes as his granddaughter left the room.

Turning to Gary, Nick asked, "What's this exercise that the feds want our state to host?"

# CHAPTER 9

Jackie could hear the wind striking the sides of the large command post tent and knew it would not be long before the thunderstorm arrived. She hoped there would be no hail because she was not sure the tent would hold up to such an onslaught. She looked at the dozen or so men and women clustered around the tables for the end-of-day operational briefing and saw signs of tiredness and frustration on their faces. Each of them, in turn, briefed the rest on their findings for the day. This had been going on for the better part of two hours, but she found it fascinating. It was now close to 8 p.m.

When she had arrived earlier in the afternoon, Holter had met her at the chopper and escorted her to a smaller tent. He told her that this would be her office and living quarters for the duration of her stay. Although he did not appear to be too pleased with her presence, he was cordial enough. She began to understand why as he explained that under normal conditions news personnel were never allowed close to the incident scene. That is until the preliminary investigation had been completed and a standard set of rules established between the NTSB and news organizations. As she listened to what he expected, she could feel resentment building inside herself.

"Mister Holter, I can't work under those conditions. I understand your need to have only the established facts presented to the news media, but what you're asking for is total censorship and all press statements approved by you beforehand. Under those circumstances, you can forget it! I'm a news reporter, and my independence is important to me. I'll do my job. You can look at what I intend to report, and if there is a problem, we can discuss it. Otherwise, I will just go back to Pierre."

Her defiance irritated David. "I have a feeling you're as tough as your grandfather. Unpack and get settled in. You can wander around the command post area and see how we operate, and we can discuss this problem later. I will introduce you to the rest of the team at the debriefing tonight."

Over the next few hours, Jackie learned just how good David Holter was at his job and of how cautious he was as well. He seemed to be held in high esteem by all of his team members. Rare in this day and age, she thought.

When she had last stood on the ridge above the doomed aircraft, the surrounding countryside was devoid of life. Now, a small tent-city had sprouted up on the plain and activity was continuous throughout the camp. The five larger tents had been designated for a multitude of purposes; a mess hall, a command post, a briefing room, a supply room, and even a shower tent suitably partitioned for males and females. Numerous smaller tents dotted the area, and a vehicle parking area and heliport had been created. She realized that Mr. Holter not only made sure the news media could not penetrate the secure zone but, equally important, he made sure no one left without his permission. Between the tribal police and military forces patrolling the area, it made her feel like a prisoner. However, no one else appeared to feel that way.

Flashes of lightning made weird patterns on the canvas tent of the command post. A loud crack of thunder startled her, as she watched the last member of David's team stand up to present his segment of the briefing. He had been introduced to her earlier, and she was keenly interested in what he might have to say. Mr. William Bradley, Bill for short, was the FBI agent sent from Washington to assist in this investigation.

Jackie wondered if he had been selected for the agency because of his average appearance; medium height and build, average-looking brown hair and eyes, and he was probably close to fifty years of age. He seemed like the type that could blend into any crowd and not stand out, or for that matter, not be remembered afterwards. She speculated that he was highly intelligent, though, and doubted that he missed very much of anything going on around him. His eyes were constantly on the move, and Jackie saw him glance in her direction. He hesitated for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and turned to David. She knew then that the team had accepted her. Now, it was up to her to keep their trust.

"I don't have anything major to report at this time," Bradley said. "I have twenty agents working this case, and so far none of them have come up with any clues as to what happened to the passengers. The inside of the aircraft was spotless, but we did vacuum it for evidence as well as dusting for fingerprints. Since the aircraft had been in service for some time, I don't hold out much hope for any positive results. The picture on the bathroom door was painted within the past twenty-four to forty-eight hours using standard acrylic paint, and whoever did it was a talented artist. Why it was done is anyone's guess at this point. We have taken soil samples of where the bodies were supposed to have been consumed by fire and sent them off to Washington for analysis. Again, I don't hold much hope that we will find anything from them because by the time we arrived here the wind had blown the area clean.

"And finally, we come to the pictures that Running Wolf shot. I had the negatives and the prints sent to our lab in Washington and received their initial assessment a couple of hours ago. They cannot find any evidence that either the negatives or the photos have been altered or tampered with. So, it appears that whatever Running Wolf witnessed and photographed actually happened. And, if we don't come up with some answers soon, the whole country is going to be in a panic." Then, he dropped the bombshell. "Until now, only a handful of officials were aware of what I am going to tell you. Within the past few months, there have been several incidents of people disappearing under similar circumstances. I don't mean just single individuals, I mean whole families, and all have occurred within two hundred miles of this location. These were not aircraft incidents, but they did occur on Indian reservations."

# CHAPTER 10

It was late in the afternoon when the man and woman walked to the circular dais and took their seats in front of a large TV screen and a camera. The dimly lit room felt sterile except for the noticeably heavy humidity hanging in the air, and no sound could be heard except for the breathing of the two individuals waiting in silence. As if on cue, each placed a heavy cloth hood over their head, adjusted the eye slits, and then resumed waiting.

Abruptly, the screen flashed with light. Seven individuals were dis-played on the large monitor, and all wore hoods like the two on the dais. The only difference was the man on the dais wore a silver hood and the rest were medium blue in color. The silver-hooded man waited for a few seconds longer and then slowly bowed his head. He spoke in a soft, controlled voice. "Welcome my brothers and sisters. We have much to talk about and little time, for it will not be long before we achieve our goal." He turned to the woman beside him. "Sister Joyce, please bring us up to date on the biological agent and the progress that has been made."

Although none of the others on the screen knew her true identity, Sister Joyce was really Dr. Joyce Winters, a professor at John Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland, and one of the world's leading biochemists. She looked at the hooded figures on the screen and smiled, despite the fact that they could not see the expression on her face.

"My brothers and sisters, we have made great strides in the past few months. At first, the reaction to the agent was ten to twelve minutes, but with some modifications, we have now reduced the lethal time to less than a minute. What we have been working so long to achieve is about to bear fruit. At this time, the agent still affects all living things it comes in contact with, and that is unacceptable. Our goal is to develop a bio-agent that will affect only the human species and nothing else. I believe we have almost achieved that goal."

A figure on the screen asked, "Sister Joyce, do you have an estimated time table for completing your work?"

"Yes, I do. If all goes as planned, we should have the final product within the next ninety days."

A female voice spoke. "Brother Adam, from the newspaper accounts, it would seem that our group was involved in the aircraft incident in South Dakota. Can you tell us why we have taken the chance of prematurely exposing ourselves before we are fully prepared to do God's work?"

Brother Adam detected a faint note of hostility in her question, but his tone was soft and convincing when he answered. "Sister Ann, in order to test the agent on large groups of people, some chances have to be taken. Otherwise, we will not know how effective it is; for the most part, the test went as planned. We did not anticipate anyone arriving that soon at the crash site, and...let alone take pictures of the bodies as they disappeared. That possibility was highly improbable in such a desolate area. In retrospect, we should have left someone behind to ensure there were no observers."

A male voice asked, "Brother Adam, will that create any problems that can't be handled?"

Brother Adam shook his head and then remembered that, with the hood, they probably could not see the gesture very well. "No, Brother Ike. What they cannot find they cannot understand—at least in the time they have left. This event has provided us with our first opportunity to give notice that the day of reckoning is close at hand." Then, the tone of his voice changed, and they could hear in it assurance and determination. "Within a few weeks, we will test the agent on a large segment of our population, and if it's successful, we will be ready to reclaim our heritage as God intended. Tell all the disciples that the time is coming, and the righteous ones will soon govern the earth once again." He watched their images slowly fade from the screen as the videoconference ended.

When the harsh lights came on overhead, Adam removed his hood and gazed around the circular room that was buried some five hundred feet below the surface of the ground. The structure had once been a minuteman missile silo and was located in North Dakota. When the federal government abandoned the project, Adam had purchased it and had it renovated to suit his purpose. Appearances were deceiving for in another part of the silo was a large biological laboratory that would be the envy of any in the country. It was staffed with some of the most brilliant scientists in the world.

Adam Miller was in his early sixties and one of the wealthiest individuals in America. Most people would not recognize him for he was a recluse by nature and had seldom been seen in public over the last twenty years. He managed his financial empire from a secluded ranch in Montana that was sealed off from all but his closest advisers and little was really known about him.

Adam raised his left hand, motioning to a man in a business suit standing behind him. "I fear Sister Ann is starting to lose faith—eliminate her. Also replace our brother who was responsible for controlling the incident in South Dakota. It will be a lesson to anyone else who fails to complete their assignment properly." He again waved his hand and the man nodded before leaving the room.

He looked at Joyce and saw just a hint of fear in her eyes, as he had anticipated. He controlled most of his associates and his employees through fear, intimidation, or as a final resort, the threat of liquidation, and Joyce Winters realized it. He studied her for a moment. "Sister Joyce, are you certain that the agent can be ready in ninety days?"

"It's ready now." She could see the surprise and pleasure that momentarily flitted in his eyes. "What we're currently working on is the antidote, and I will have it for you within the next ninety days." She held her breath as she watched for his reaction and was relieved when he smiled and patted her hand.

"Thank the Lord," he said. Then, he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Joyce to wonder what he would do if she did not come up with the antidote.

~~~~

Adam Miller made the phone call to Washington, D.C., from the soundproof secure room. After entering an access code to enable a secure line, he waited for the connection to be made. Following three rings, a male voice answered.

"Good evening, Adam. I hope you have good news for me."

A complete change had come over Adam Miller. If people were able to hear and see him now, they would not believe it—Adam was terrified.

"Yes, sir. I believe I have."

The man was silent until Adam had finished, thanked him and broke the connection. Adam could feel the sweat on his face. And with a tremor in his hand, he reached for his handkerchief.

# CHAPTER 11

It had been a long day and it wasn't over yet, as Jackie's stomach growled for the umpteenth time and she looked at her watch, only 8:30 p.m. She had been lucky to get her hands on two candy bars that sustained her through the evening. She thought back through the day's events and the phone call she had received from her grandfather. He had told her how pretty she looked on national TV. Jackie could have punched him for tricking her into doing this assignment, but she knew she had no one to blame but herself.

After arriving at the staging area outside the security cordon for the press conference earlier in the morning, she had immediately been swamped with questions. It was evident that some of the television reporters resented the fact that she—an unknown and not one of their own—was their sole source of information from the crash site. Anticipating this reaction, she had planned to counter it by chatting with the reporters before the broadcast went live. That had not been the case, for within seconds of her arrival, she was on national TV.

When the networks switched from their regularly scheduled pro-grams, the American public saw a young blonde woman—with the prairie and blue sky as a backdrop—being deluged with questions from a large flock of reporters. The nationwide audience was bewildered and left waiting because the woman did not respond to the cameras, except by crossing her arms. Her demeanor spoke volumes. The cacophony of shouting voices slowly faded around her until there was only silence from the reporters. Only then did she speak.

"Before we begin this news briefing, there are a few ground rules that need to be established. First, I will not answer questions from a mob. We are all professionals, so let's all act that way. I'll take your questions one at a time, and I promise I will speak with each of you either in a group or individually."

The reporters knew that they were facing a professional and so did the viewing public.

"Second, I intend to hold these news conferences at least twice a day and more often if the situation so dictates. The first will be in the morning at seven-thirty, and the second at one in the afternoon. Now, with that said, my name is Jackie Arinson, and I am a newspaper reporter for The Prairie Times located in Pierre, South Dakota. I have been asked to act as the liaison between the federal investigators on site and the news media. If someone will tell me where you would like these briefings to be held, we'll get started."

A few of the news personnel began laughing and one yelled, "Miss Arinson, you have been on the air since you got out of that helicopter, so I guess this place is as good as any to continue."

Oh God, Jackie thought, this can't be happening to me. She felt the heat of embarrassment rise on her cheeks, and all she remembered about the rest of the interview was the intensive questions concerning the people aboard Flight 321 and what had happened to the aircraft.

~~~~

At the end of the operational briefing later that evening, David turned to Jackie. "Miss Arinson, you did a wonderful job with the news media today. It's one of the few occasions that I have ever seen them put in their place. Again, you did a great job facing the firing squad, and I appreciate you keeping them off my back." The other team members stood and applauded her. Jackie felt embarrassed and could not immediately respond.

David did it for her by saying, "Tomorrow you can start bringing one news organization at a time to the site. You decide which ones and how, and give them fifteen minutes, no more. Let me know if you want anyone else to talk with them. But, I think you know that I would prefer you act in that capacity as much as possible and leave us to do our work." He then turned and addressed the group. "That's it for tonight, people. Write up your reports and have them to me by seven tomorrow morning."

He watched as they filed out of the tent but stopped Jackie before she reached the tent flap. "Would you mind having dinner with Agent Bradley and me this evening?"

Jackie smiled and replied, "If a steer walked by right now, I would have him on a barbecue spit in no time flat. I am starved. Are you buying?"

David laughed. "My treat."

During the meal, conversation took a backseat to eating, but soon they had finished and changed their attention to the matter at hand.

"Well, that beats C-Rations or Meals-Ready-To-Eat. Thank God for freeze-dried rations. Tastes as good as mother's cooking—well, almost as good." They laughed at David's comment as they lingered over coffee.

"Bill, if you don't find out what happened to those passengers soon, I think both you and I might be out of jobs. I've had calls from not only my boss but also the secretary of transportation, the FAA administrator, Department of Justice, and even the vice president. All are asking the same question, and I have no answers to give them. People do not disappear off the face of the earth, but I will be damned if I know what happened to them."

Agent Bradley shook his head. "Don't ask me. I'm no closer to the answer than when I started."

Jackie watched the two men for a moment and then offered hesitantly, "You may be looking in the wrong direction. Instead of trying to figure out what happened to them, maybe you should be looking into why they disappeared." Both men stared at her.

"Damn, I'll see you guys later," Agent Bradley said as he hurriedly left the tent.

# CHAPTER 12

Three days later, Jackie's assignment was over. The initial investigation had been completed, and every piece of the aircraft that could be located had been transported to a hanger at Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C. Bill Bradley had set up an FBI command post in Pierre. He was continuing the investigation into the disappearance of the passengers on North Central Flight 321 and the two families that had also vanished. He now had over fifty FBI agents assigned and still no significant findings had been uncovered.

As Jackie walked into Nick's office, he looked up and sternly said, "Well, it's about time you came back to work. I was getting tired of seeing your face on TV, day and night." Then, he rose from his chair, smiled, wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "Honey, you did a really professional job out there and I'm proud of you. Only problem I have is deciding if you're a newspaper reporter or a TV commentator."

Fire ignited in her eyes as she pushed away from him. With her hands on her hips, she shouted, "You old horse! If you weren't my grandfather, I would have you staked out and roasted. You know I'm a newspaper reporter—it runs in the family."

He chuckled and moved back to his desk, but his granddaughter was not finished.

"Nick, you hoodwinked me into going out there, and it's your fault I made a fool of myself in front of millions of people. Damn you! I feel like digging a hole and burying myself for a few years until this blows over."

Nick nonchalantly listened as she continued to chew his ear off and finally said, "Well, honey, someone besides me thought you did all right." He began searching through the stack of papers on the desk. He finally picked up three opened envelopes and held them out to her. "These are offers of employment from television networks. Seems like they want you on their news programs."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. It appears that the American public likes you, although, I don't understand why. You captivated the public's attention in a very positive way. It was refreshing for them to see an unknown woman standing all by herself on the vast plain, fielding questions from some of the most intimidating news reporters in the business."

"Oh, you." And she turned and left the room in a far better mood than when she entered.

Nick thought, She's going to be a superb journalist, and then he smiled. Hell, she already is, and he went back to work.

~~~~

The next morning's edition of The Prairie Times still featured front-page coverage of the mystery of Flight 321, but at the bottom of the cover page was an article about the death of Federal Marshal Rexroad. His body, with six bullets in it, was discovered in the parking lot behind his apartment. An investigation was underway.

# CHAPTER 13

Bill Bradley held onto Running Wolf for dear life as the dirt bike skimmed across the terrain at a speed much faster than he would have preferred. The FBI agent sensed that Running Wolf was an excellent biker and knew what he was doing, but Bradley wondered, Why couldn't we have taken the helicopter to wherever we're going?

Two weeks had passed since the aircraft had been removed, and although his team was working around the clock, no further leads had surfaced concerning this baffling mystery. Right now, he wished he had not answered that phone call this morning when Running Wolf had asked to meet with him at the crash site. The day was sunny and warm, but the wind whistling by had a sharp bite to it. Bradley's hands and cheeks felt like they were frozen, and he wondered how much further they had to go.

Approximately one mile from the crash site, they turned onto a secondary road, if that's what you could call it, and the bike slowed and finally stopped. When they stood on solid ground again, Running Wolf pointed down the road. "This is what I wanted to show you."

Bradley looked around and saw nothing for as far as the eye could see except the rutted road and harsh landscape. He had known this road existed from the maps and, in fact, had sent two of his agents to check out the area shortly after the plane crash, but they had found nothing.

Running Wolf bent down on one knee and pointed to the ground in front of him. "This road is not used much," he said, "and when it is, it's mostly dirt bikes like mine or an occasional hunter in a pickup. It's too rough for cars, so what would a tractor-trailer—not one but two— be doing on this road?"

Alarm bells rang in Bradley's head. He didn't see anything, but he knew Running Wolf did. He looked hard at the ground and suddenly he saw the faint indentations in the road. Shit! he thought. I should have hired this guy two weeks ago. He slowly sank to the ground next to Running Wolf.

"Explain," Bradley said.

Running Wolf watched Bradley as he scanned the ground and saw the flicker of understanding in the man's eyes as he began to discern what he was looking at.

"It bothered me," Running Wolf said. "I knew I had missed some-thing—I could feel it. So, after the aircraft had been removed I started covering the ground around the site for a mile or two in all directions. Actually, I began searching in a small circle, expanding slowly outwards. I did that not once, or twice, but three times until I discovered this, and even then I almost missed it. The wind and rain have all but obliterated the marks."

Almost missed it like hell! He's like a bloodhound on a trail, Bradley thought.

Running Wolf continued, "I have been on this road several times but only spotted the tracks this morning and then called you."

"Why do you think it was tractor-trailers on this road?"

Running Wolf grinned. "I think you already know. Look real close at those imprints. You can see there's a pattern. The first piece of the puzzle consists of four sets of tire marks and the width of the tires is too wide to be cars or pickups. In addition, the two back imprints are approximately five feet from the front two, which make up one set of quad wheels. If you care to measure the distance to the second set of four imprints, you will find the distance is approximately forty feet. Look on the other side and you'll find the identical same imprints adjacent to these two. Put the four pieces together and you have the puzzle solved. That's the length between the front and back sets of two dual wheels on an average tractor-trailer."

Running Wolf walked down the trail and pointed to another four sets of identically arranged imprints. Turning around, he looked at Bill. "I think the only answer is two tractor-trailers stopped right here and they must have been heavily loaded. That's why you can still see the imprints."

Bradley tried to figure out how this tied into the plane crash and the missing passengers. The trucks could have been in this area for any number of reasons, none of which involved the plane crash.

As if reading his mind, Running Wolf said, "Come with me. I want to show you something else." Bradley followed him to the side of the road where Running Wolf raised his arm and pointed east. "I had been searching in a circle, working outwards from the crash site, but when I found these tire marks, I started looking in a straight line. Look closely. You see how rugged this land is and how the surface is covered with small rocks, pebbles and other natural debris." Bradley saw it but did not understand the significance. Running Wolf raised his arm again and pointed. "Although the wind has been slowly covering it back over, you can still see where something has cleared a path, almost like a giant broom has swept this small area clear of all loose material."

As Bradley concentrated, it suddenly came into perspective. It looked like a cleared path, ten-to-fifteen-feet wide, leading straight to the crash site. He uttered an oath under his breath as he reached for his cell phone.

When Bradley had completed his call, he turned back to Running Wolf. "A team will be here within the hour. Now, do you have more surprises in store for me?"

Running Wolf shook his head. "No. I don't know what happened here, but I think you had better find some answers before something else happens."

# CHAPTER 14

The press conference was over and the governor walked back into his office accompanied by Gary Powers. There had been a lot of questions regarding the plane crash, and he still had no answers. However, that topic was starting to fade from the public eye as other national and local news events occurred. All in all, the governor thought the press conference had gone fairly well. Even Nick Arinson, for a change, had not tried to stir the pot, which the governor was thankful for, but he had a feeling he would probably pay for it later.

He sat down at his desk and motioned Gary to take a seat. "You know, Gary, I received the telephone call from the director of FEMA and then the follow-up letter describing the exercise, and I was a little surprised at the scope and magnitude of the scenario. Nevertheless, I still feel it could be beneficial to our state and our citizens. It will give them some insight into the threats our country may face in the future, and I want them to know that their elected officials are concerned. I know one thing, it sure created interest with our news media when I announced that we have agreed to cooperate with the federal government and conduct the exercise, especially when the press heard it involved a biological agent. Now, all we have to do is make sure it goes well, and that, Gary, is going to be your job. Have you completed the initial planning phase of the exercise?"

"Yes, sir," Gary replied. "I received FEMA's preliminary exercise scenario a few days ago, and they plan, at the outset, for a small group of simulated terrorists to release a biological agent from three points in the western portion of the state." Gary walked across the room and pointed to the large state map hanging on the wall. "It's realistic. The terrorists will pretend to be tourists camping out here in the Black Hills National Forest and, at a pre-selected time, release the agent from the top of a mountain. If they should be successful, then Sturgis to the north, Rapid City in the center, and Hot Springs to the south would be the first cities in the state to be contaminated.

"I would estimate some fifty-six thousand people would be affected, and that does not include the thousands of tourist who would be moving through this area. With the wind predominately blowing from the west, half of the lower part of the state would be affected within a few hours. As you know, our state is approximately four hundred miles long and two hundred miles wide. I would expect within a few hours, Ellsworth Air Force Base, most of the Pine Ridge and Rosebud Indian Reservations, and Pierre might be overwhelmed as well. What we don't know is the life span of the agent that they will be simulating. If it's short-lived, then it may not reach the state capital. If it's long-lived, well, then it could cover the whole bottom-half of the state within a day or two."

"Good God almighty! It can't be as bad as you are painting it! How in hell could we cope with that type of disaster?"

"I'm afraid if it was the real thing, that's probably what would hap-pen. Again, the key is what type of simulated biological agent they intend to employ, and so far, they have not told me. And you're right; our resources would not be able to cope with that type of incident. The feds would need to move in and assist us, and that's the reason for the exercise."

The governor sat staring at the map. "At least the small cities on the eastside of the state would probably not be affected, and we could draw some of our support from those areas."

Gary smiled. "I don't believe so, Governor. They thought of that as well. As the agent is released on our western border, terrorist located in Aberdeen, Huron, and Mitchell will take off from the local airports in those three cities. They will fly a few miles to the west and start releasing the agent downwind. In effect, that would mean, the cities of Aberdeen, Watertown, Huron, Brookings, Madison, Mitchell, Sioux Falls and Yankton could also be infected by the biological agent and possibly even Sioux City, Iowa. I would estimate another two-hundred-and-seventy-three-thousand people could become victims of this hypothetical attack. So, all in all, we're talking about a large number of people that under real conditions could die, if such an event should ever actually occur."

The governor continued to stare at the map for several moments, digesting the information Gary had just given him. "I don't under-stand why the federal government is giving us a no-win exercise. From what I was told, the government has been conducting these types of simulations for over two years. In the past, they chose just one city in each state to conduct the exercise in, not the whole damn state."

Gary witnessed the look on the governor's face as he realized he might have been too hasty in agreeing to this exercise. Yet, the governor knew he could not back out, now that he had announced to the news media that the exercise would be conducted on his turf.

"Well, you told me not to do this," the governor said. "In hindsight, I should have listened to you. Now, how do you propose to handle this situation and keep your governor from looking like a fool?"

"It's not as bad as you may think. You were right when you said the feds only picked a major city in the past to conduct their exercises. They wanted to test a state's capabilities and, more importantly, their resources in combating a greater problem. So far, they have conducted six exercises in the past two years. The final outcome in each instant was, to say the least, catastrophic. Not one city survived the attack, and that was with the total resources of the state to draw upon. As I understand it, in one city the simulation went for seven days, twenty-four hours a day. They finally gave up from pure exhaustion, and the agent continued unabated."

"If that's the case," the governor asked, "why is the federal government proposing to cover the entire state with a simulated agent? They already know we can't cope with it."

"In each of those exercises, the feds stayed out of it. They wanted to see how well a city or state could cope with this type of situation. I think they already knew, but you're aware of how the federal government likes to conduct studies. Now, they want to test a new concept. They know the states cannot handle this type of terrorist attack without the help of the feds and the military."

"So, South Dakota is going to be the testing ground to see how well federal resources can cope with this type of incident?"

"Yes, but I doubt if they will have any more success than the states and cities did. However, it will give them valuable information that could be useful if such an event ever happens. As I understand it, our state was selected for several reasons. First, we're located in the central part of the country. Second, although we have a fairly big state in size, our population is not very concentrated but spread out in numerous sections of the state. Third, a large segment of our state, the Indian reservations, falls under the jurisdiction of the federal government. So, they have an ideal location to conduct such an exercise and, Governor, we may not be as helpless as the feds believe we are."

Gary smiled. "In their scenario, they intend to give us a twenty-four-hour warning that a terrorist attack may take place. Those twenty-four hours will give us an edge on how we intend to cope with the threat, and maybe, just maybe, we can turn this around. At least, we can try. I have only one concern."

"What's that?" the governor asked.

"The federal government never moves fast on anything, normally. So, why are they so adamant on conducting this exercise in the next thirty days?"

A new puzzle piece, the governor thought, and he could feel the acid begin to flow into his stomach.

# CHAPTER 15

Only a few people were in the NTSB conference room, which could accommodate twenty people easily. Nick had declined the request for his attendance but sent his granddaughter instead, and Jackie was now sitting beside Running Wolf at the large conference table. He had been just as reluctant as Nick to come. However, Bill Bradley had convinced Running Wolf that it was important that he be here.

Under any other circumstance, Jackie would have been thrilled to be in Washington, D.C. She had always wanted to visit the nation's capital, but the right time had never presented itself until now, and she still did not think this was the right time. In ten days, the federal government was going to conduct the largest exercise the country had ever seen, involving a whole state—her state. Instead of being where she was needed, here she sat waiting for some bureaucrat to tell her what she already knew. They didn't have the slightest clue as to what happened to Flight 321.

David Holter sat across the table with two other men; one of whom Jackie had been told was a representative from the Federal Aviation Administration. The other man had not been introduced. He has high-level-bureaucrat written all over him, she thought.

The door opened and Jim Walters, chairman of the NTSB, walked in and took the seat at the head of the table. He looked at Jackie. "Miss Arinson, I appreciate you flying to Washington to attend this meeting, and I want to personally thank you for the great job you did of handling the news media during this tragic event."

Jackie was surprised and felt the blush creep across her cheeks. She was used to directing the attention, not having it directed at her, and with this she would never be comfortable. Embarrassed, she just nodded her head.

He then spoke to Running Wolf. "David and Bill have both told me that without your help and assistance, this investigation would not be where it is today. For that, you have my personal thanks and gratitude. I have a personal question and I hope it does not offend you. Is Running Wolf your real name?"

Running Wolf stared at him. By this time, Jackie did not think he was going to answer the question, but then she heard his deep voice.

"I don't believe anyone has asked me that question since I left the Marine Corps. Yes, it is my real name but only part of it. My full name is George Running Wolf Custer."

Jackie almost dropped the pen she had in her hand, but held on to it tightly as he continued. "My great-great-grandfather was at the battle of the Little Big Horn."

Walters acknowledged this information with a smile of admiration and abruptly switched to the subject at hand.

"I have read all the reports concerning the investigation of Flight three-two-one, and I must say in all the years I have been involved in this type of work, I have never seen or heard anything so bizarre. I wanted to meet with those of you who have had the greatest impact on this investigation for two reasons, both of which will have a bearing on what is going to transpire next. First, this meeting is going to determine whether or not the NTSB will continue this investigation or turn it over to another federal agency. And second, if that should occur, how can we support that agency in the future. Before we go any further, the rest of the group needs to be aware that both Miss Arinson and Running Wolf have signed loyalty oaths. They will under no circumstance disclose any information they hear from this point forward regarding the crash of Flight three-two-one. That is unless it's been approved by the appropriate authorities." He looked at the man sitting beside David.

Jackie could not tell if the man agreed or not, as he gave no indication.

"With that said, let's begin." Walters stated.

The lights dimmed and an electrically powered screen silently dropped from the ceiling. David Holter walked to the back of the room, as information one line at a time began to fill the screen.

"This is a time line and sequence of events regarding the crash of Flight three-two-one. Most of you are familiar with this information; at least up until the time the aircraft was moved to Washington, D.C., and that is where I will begin. Once that aircraft arrived at Reagan National Airport, we reassembled it in a hanger and started a more thorough examination using all the sophisticated equipment available to the NTSB."

A picture suddenly appeared on the screen, and they could all see the aircraft lying on the concrete floor of a hanger.

"As you can see, it was not too difficult to do. The fuselage was almost completely intact. The wings had been shirred off and were burned, but again for the most part, they too were intact. We have gone over that aircraft not once but several times, and our teams could find not one thing wrong."

"What about the voice recorder?" the man with no name asked.

David shook his head. "All perfectly normal up until the aircraft started to descend. Normal chatter could be heard and then nothing. The last words the pilot said were 'it's going to be a good flight.' There are some unidentified sounds a few minutes later, like someone moving around in the cockpit, but we have not determined what it was. The unusual sounds only lasted for a few seconds and then nothing more was recorded. The flight recorder data was the same. The pilot was controlling the plane, which is normal on take-off. He would not have gone to autopilot until he reached cruising altitude at fourteen thousand feet, and he never got there. It appears that when he reached twelve thousand feet, the aircraft started a gradual descent. Our findings would indicate that the pilot deliberately flew his aircraft into the ground. So, the questions are why and, more importantly, what happened to the pilot and his passengers?

"We know from the pictures that Running Wolf took that the people had been removed from the aircraft and then somehow burst into flames and burned. I cannot explain that, and so far no one else has come up with a logical answer either. We know it's true because samples taken from the ground where those bodies laid show trace elements that could only have been from a human body. It's my personal belief," David hesitated and then looked at Jim Walters, "and not the consensus of this board that either the pilot or someone else deliberately flew that aircraft into the ground and somehow killed all the passengers. My only problem is that I cannot prove it." He walked back to his seat and sat down.

The room was silent, and Jackie could feel the conflict in the air.

"For the record, David is correct," Jim Walters stated. "At this time, we do not have any evidence as to why Flight three-two-one crashed. Off the record and as of this morning, I tend to agree with David's assessment, and that is one of the reasons I requested this meeting. As unlikely as it may seem, someone may have deliberately brought that aircraft down. Bill, would you brief the group on what the FBI has found so far?"

Bill Bradley did not rise from his chair. Instead, he rested his elbows on top of the table and looked at the notes that he had prepared for this meeting. Slowly he pushed the papers aside, raised his head and addressed the group. "It is standard practice for the NTSB to request FBI support when they respond to an aircraft incident, especially if it appears that foul play might have been involved. Since all of you are aware of the preliminary investigation up to the time the aircraft was removed from the crash scene, I will also, like David, start my briefing from that point in time. You know that the only witness to that crash was Running Wolf. You also know he did not actually arrive on the scene until approximately one and a half hours later. You have all seen the pictures he took, and so has half the world by now. Our technical experts have analyzed the photos and the film and their findings concluded that they have not been altered in anyway. Therefore, the pictures you see are real." He pointed to the screen where a series of slides were displayed.

They all gazed upon the bodies, lying on the ground beside the aircraft and in different stages as the corpses slowly disappeared.

"If I have looked at those pictures once, I've looked at them a thousand times. My mind still refuses to believe what my eyes see. What you're looking at, in my opinion, is impossible, yet it happened. The next two individuals to arrive on the scene, approximately an hour after Running Wolf, were Nick Arinson, publisher of The Prairie Times, and his granddaughter and fellow journalist, Jackie Arinson, who is here with us today. Both she and her grandfather can testify that they saw the scorched outlines of the bodies lying on the ground, but no one else saw them. A short time later, the wind had eliminated all traces of those outlines before any officials arrived. As David stated and our own lab technicians concur, there were trace elements of human ash found in the soil we sent back to the NTSB and FBI laboratories. Both Running Wolf and Mister Arinson entered the aircraft separately and found no one, but both saw the picture painted on the inside of the bathroom door. Again, our lab technicians analyzed the painting, and the only things we can say for sure is that it was painted by someone who has a talent as an artist, and it was painted on that door just shortly before or after the plane crashed."

They all watched as the painting appeared on the screen. Bradley walked to the screen, then turned and looked at the group. "The paint on that door had not dried completely. Therefore, it had to have been painted just before the aircraft left Omaha, Nebraska," and he hesitated for a second, "or while it was in flight, or after it crashed. The mystery is who did it and for what reason. That and the photographs are the only real clues we have, and neither makes any sense. Due to the publicity generated by this incident, thanks to Mister Arinson publishing those pictures in his newspaper," and he looked at Jackie, "the whole world is aware we not only lost an aircraft, but, more importantly, we can't find the passengers who were on board. All the fringe groups, cults, UFO groups, etc., are having a field day with this. The gamut of wild stories runs from alien abductions to the beginning of 'the end of the world,' and I don't buy any of it.

"We are also conducting a massive manhunt in an attempt to locate the two Indian families, which, like the passengers on Flight three-two-one, seem too have literally disappeared from the face of the earth. What they have in common with the aircraft accident is the fact that their homes had been thoroughly cleaned. When I say that, I mean they were spotless and so was the aircraft. That is not just coincidence. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure that there was no evidence and whatever they're doing stays hidden."

He then told the group about his meeting with Running Wolf out on the prairie. "Our people have been over that area, and Running Wolf was right, as you can see in this photo. We made plaster casts of the tire tracks and had them analyzed in our lab. There definitely were two semi-trailers parked on that road and not too long ago or the weather and other elements would have erased all traces of them being there. What we're looking for is a logical explanation, and I believe we're close to finding the answer as to what actually happened."

By now the whole group was watching Bradley intently, but he and Running Wolf had odd smiles on their faces. Jackie thought, Those two are holding out—they know something!

Bradley continued, "After the aircraft was removed, the director of the FBI ordered our task force to continue the investigation. I moved the command post to Pierre and increased our people on the ground. We now have more than fifty agents in South Dakota assigned to this case. To date, we have been unsuccessful in solving the mystery, but we have learned two things.

"First, thanks to Mister Arinson, we have linked the disappearance of two Native American families to this case. One family was from the Pine Ridge Reservation and the other from the Cheyenne Reservation, both located in South Dakota.

"The second discovery was more complex. The obvious question is what are two semi-trailers, fifty-to-fifty-five-feet long, doing on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and less than a mile from the crash site? A normal car could hardly drive on this road, let alone tractor-trailers. My initial thoughts were more than skeptical. Those vehicles could have been there for any number of reasons, none relating to the crash except that they were in close proximity to the area where the plane went down, more than likely at or about the time of the incident. I was told that Running Wolf is probably the best hunter and tracker on the Sioux Reservation, and on that day he made a believer out of me. If you will look at this next picture, I think you will agree."

As the group watched, a picture flashed on the screen, displaying a large expanse of prairie with blue sky in the background. Jackie was familiar with the scenery. It looked like any typical photo someone would take of her native home state. It was stark and beautiful and yes, even desolate, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. She was baffled as to what the photograph was supposed to show. The rest of the group seemed equally bewildered, except for Running Wolf. He could plainly see what the rest did not.

Agent Bradley continued. "For the past two weeks, Running Wolf has been methodically going over the terrain around the crash site. He was looking for anything that might shed some light on what happened out there, and he found it. This picture was taken on the road where the tractor-trailers were parked. In fact, it was taken between the two trailers, facing north and approximately one mile from where the plane went down. He was standing on the road and looking in that direction when he took the photo. I did not see anything at first. When Running Wolf explained to me what he had identified, I realized what was in front of my eyes and slowly it came into focus." As Bradley explained, an overlay was placed over the picture and the group could see the path that appeared in glaring detail. "And that path goes directly to the crash site."

The man with no name jumped up, walked to the screen and studied it for a moment. "Why wasn't I or the president told about this?"

Everyone could hear the hostility in his voice, and Agent Bradley was taken back by his tone. The two men were standing within a few feet of each other, and Bradley knew his future with the Bureau could well be over, depending on how he addressed this situation.

"I was under the assumption the president was aware of this information within twenty-four hours after it was discovered. Since I was assigned to this case, all my reports are sent out daily at eight a.m., and they go directly to Deputy Director of the Bureau Scott Johnson. His orders were very explicit. He was to be the sole addressee to my reports. Of course, I have copies of every report I sent to him, which I will gladly provide to you with the director's approval."

"That will not be necessary," the man replied as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and walked to the back of the room. Everyone heard him say, "Mister Johnson, please." A few seconds later, they saw a startled look cross his face, and he put the phone away.

He turned back to Agent Bradley and said, "If I were you, I would safeguard those reports with your life. On the other hand, if you're not extremely careful, they may cost you your life. It appears that Deputy Director Johnson was killed about an hour ago. Someone planted a bomb in his car. His secretary said that he was not feeling well and had asked her to pull all the files on this investigation. He told her that he intended to work on them at home. Your reports were destroyed in the fire, along with all of the other correspondence on this investigation. Agent Bradley, is it normal for Bureau personnel to take official documents home from the office?"

Bradley shook his head. "No, sir. In fact, there are specific regulations against anyone, no matter who they are, from removing files from the office unless approved by Director Garrett Hull."

"I thought so." He hesitated for a moment and then said, "Just where are your reports now?"

"Sir, the originals are locked in my safe at the FBI command post in Pierre. I also have two sets of them in my briefcase located in the chair next to you."

The man smiled. "After this meeting is over, would you contact your director for permission to give me one of those sets?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Please continue."

Bradley felt as if he had just received a stay of execution, and it took a few minutes to refocus on the matter at hand. His glance encompassed all the people around the table and then stopped at NTSB Chairman Jim Walters.

"Mister Walters, I am officially requesting that the NTSB relinquish control of this investigation and become a subordinate player until the mysterious disappearance of the passengers is resolved. I hope you will concur with that request after hearing what I have to say." He turned back to address the group. "The information and recommendations that I am presenting to this group, at present, has not been officially approved by any element of our government. Deputy Director Johnson is or was aware of my intentions to recommend that the FBI take the lead in this investigation, and, furthermore, he was in agreement with my proposal."

Bradley looked at Walters again and continued. "I agree with David that Flight three-two-one was deliberately crashed, whether by Captain Ellis or someone else is immaterial. I also believe that whoever was in control of the aircraft intended to bring it down at a specific location, and that they had someone waiting for them. That's why those semi-trailers were parked where they were, just waiting for that plane to crash exactly where and when it did. In order for that to happen, someone had to make it happen. Whoever was in those trucks responded to the crash, removed all the passengers and crew, and then cleaned the inside of the aircraft. We are assuming that all the passengers were dead when they were placed on the ground next to the plane.

"So, how did we miss that? In hindsight, it's lucky we found what tied the two together, and by that I mean the trucks and the aircraft because they left no tracks to be found. Whoever they are, they definitely are not amateurs and have access to some pretty sophisticated military hardware. I believe they used hovercrafts that float on air, a few inches above the ground, to reach the plane from that road. The hover-vehicles were transported in the two trucks and are a smaller version of the ones developed by the Navy for use in sea landings. That is the reason no tracks were found. They knew that weather and wind would eventually erase any trace of their passage. And without Running Wolf's help, I believe they would have gotten away with it."

Agent Bradley paused for a moment and then said, "And I believe that shortly after that aircraft took off, someone went into that bath-room, released some type of agent into the air system and, while waiting for it to take effect, painted the mural on the inside of the door. Once the agent was successful, he or she went into the cockpit, removed the captain from his seat, which is what we heard on the voice recorder and flew the aircraft to the rendezvous point. This is only speculation, but I believe the passengers were removed from the plane to ensure no trace of what was used to kill them could be found.

"To sum it up, a group of people intentionally planned to murder everyone on Flight three-two-one, and then took great care to hide the fact. I don't know how they killed them or destroyed the bodies, but I do know it happened. What I am terrified of is the answer to the question—why?"

# CHAPTER 16

The president sat at his desk listening intently as his chief of staff, Randy Ashworth, completed his briefing. Garrett Hull was also in the Oval Office and the president turned to him. The two had been friends for over thirty years, and one of his first appointments was to make Garrett the director of the FBI.

"Garrett, I agree with Randy's assessment, but I have reservations. To put it bluntly, I have more than reservations on how you can effectively investigate this case with the shadow now hanging over your agency. It appears that your number two man may very well have been involved somehow in this case. He deliberately withheld vital information, not only from you but from me as well."

"Mister President, I believe you're right about Scott Johnson. You have every right to have lost confidence in the FBI, and you will have my resignation on your desk within the hour," Garrett said.

The president exploded. "Damn it, Garrett! I'm not talking about your loyalty, and you can forget about your resignation. It would not be accepted."

Garrett sank back into his chair and looked at the president. He saw the anxiety and concern on his friend's face. "Mister President, your chief of staff was at the meeting with Agent Bradley and the NTSB, and I believe we all agree that there may very well be a major conspiracy transpiring within the country. If the deputy director of the FBI was involved, how many other high-level officials may be involved as well?"

Now, the president looked startled for he had not considered that possibility. He waited for his friend to continue.

"The NTSB has agreed to let the FBI take the lead-agency status in this case, based on what Agent Bradley told the chairman. Therefore, right now it's in our jurisdiction. With your concurrence, Mister President, this is what I believe should be done. There is no doubt in my mind that the passengers on Flight three-two-one were murdered, and that there is a conspiracy at the highest levels of our government to cover it up. As a first step to counter that, I have directed Agent Bradley to submit his daily reports to not only me but to Randy as well and both at the same time. Second, Agent Bradley, in whom I have full confidence, will also have a check-and-balance system put in place. Three of his agents will sign off on the reports, and they will be physically present when he transmits them. That will at least prevent any opportunity for tampering with the reports in the field. If there are other individuals within the agency that were involved with Scott, this will effectively prevent them from compromising the information."

President Carson looked at his chief of staff, then back at Garrett and nodded his head. "All right, let's do it, but you need to find out what the hell is going on and why. We cannot have our citizens, whether it is one person, a family, or a large group, just disappear off the face of the earth. It's creating a national furor, and the people are demanding answers. If we cannot give them answers, they'll find someone who will, and we will each be out of a job." Both Hull and Ashworth knew they had been dismissed.

"You know he's right," Randy said to Garrett as they walked down the corridor. "We had better come up with some answers and soon, or it may be too late to stop whatever these people are planning. I for one don't want to believe that some fanatics have something that can make people disappear in a burst of flames."

~~~~

In Pierre, South Dakota, Gary and Jackie sat in Bradley's small office located just off the command post, waiting for him to finish his telephone conversation with his boss, Garrett Hull. They could tell that the mostly one-way conversation was not going well. Finally, Bradley put the phone down and shook his head.

"The man wants answers, and I don't have any to give him, and that does not make him happy. If he's not happy, then you know where that leaves me." He smiled, but one could tell the call had disturbed him.

Jackie laughed. "If you think your boss is unhappy, you should see mine. He's having a fit because you've put a lid on any information relating to this story. What's worse is that he knows I have access to it." This brought a few chuckles from the other two.

"Well, what brings you two to my humble office? I should consider myself lucky though, it could be your grandfather here raising hell again." This time Bradley smiled in genuine amusement.

"Agent Bradley, since I have worked with you, Gary asked if I would set up this meeting. You've met Gary Powers before, on several occasions, and I believe you're aware of a major exercise that the state and federal government is conducting here next week. Gary felt that it might be helpful if you were briefed on the scope of the scenario. Both he and the governor are concerned that this event does not interfere in anyway with your investigation. With that said, I'll leave you two to confer." And she waved as she moved to the door.

"Well, Gary, I'm not sure what I can do for you. From what I've heard about the exercise, I can't see how it would affect my investigation. However, I do appreciate you keeping me abreast of the activities."

Gary thanked Agent Bradley for taking the time to see him and began to give an overview of the exercise scenario. At first, Bradley wondered why Gary was wasting his time, but as the briefing progressed, he began listening intently and taking notes.

"Mister Powers, I can tell you right now that I don't like what I'm hearing."

Gary replied, "I didn't think you would and that's why I'm here. It's too late now to cancel the event. Several hundred people have already arrived in the state to support the exercise and more will be arriving over the next few days. I have a briefing scheduled for the governor at nine tomorrow morning. State officials and other key players from our emergency operations center, otherwise called the EOC, will attend. If your schedule can accommodate it, I would like you and possibly some of your staff to be there. We need to ensure that our activities will not interfere with your investigation and only you can tell if that's a possibility." Gary could see that Agent Bradley was troubled but he also knew the FBI had to get involved in the exercise if for no other reason than to know what was going on.

~~~~

Joyce Winters sat beside Adam watching the large video screen fill with the images of hooded figures. Adam appeared to be anxious to start the meeting. She could feel the tension he generated and she did not know if that was good or bad.

Adam greeted the group as he began the conference. "My brothers and sisters, this will be the last time that we meet in this fashion for the time is close at hand for us to finish our undertaking. Thanks to Sister Joyce and the rest of her team, we are now ready to initiate the second phase of our plan. As you know, the biological agent has been perfected, and, most importantly, the antidote is now in the hands of all our followers and God's work may begin."

Before he could continue, Brother Ike said, "Brother Adam, the council has met and we have a number of questions that we feel need to be addressed before we continue."

Joyce suddenly felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. Never before had the council met without Adam chairing the meeting, but if he was angry, he did not reveal it.

In a low, controlled voice, Adam asked, "What questions does the council wish to bring up?"

"We are concerned, not at the loss of two of our brothers and sisters, but why it was accomplished without the knowledge or consent of the full council. In addition, now that we have tested the agent several times, why are we taking the risk of being exposed by testing it again? Why not initiate the operational plan and let God's work be done?"

Adam had known that a time of doubt and the questioning of his authority inevitably would come, and he was prepared for it. He had to be careful for the council members on the screen were very powerful individuals in their own right. It had taken ten years of groundwork to acquire their confidence and their support. Now, all he had to do was ensure that their cooperation continued for a few more days. Then, it wouldn't make any difference what they thought, but until then, he needed to let them believe they were in control. Adam bowed his head as if in prayer for a few seconds and then looked at the group.

"Each of you knows the importance of our work and the effect it will have on the future of mankind. When God's work is completed, over ninety percent of the earth's population will no longer exist and our world will be reborn. No longer will mankind be the polluter and destroyer of this planet. No longer will our planet be ravished of its resources, benefiting a few at the expense of the rest. No, this planet will be returned to what it was when God made it, a Garden of Eden, and those remaining will be the shepherds to tend it. It's our destiny to complete God's work and nothing must stop us from accomplishing it. We are the chosen ones, and He will see that we do not fail." Adam paused for a moment and effectively accomplished an impression of profound sorrow and contemplation.

"Brother Rexroad's life was forfeited when he failed to protect us from possible disclosure, thereby, placing not only us but God's plan in jeopardy as well. His termination will also serve notice to the rest of our followers that God's penalty for failure is death. In such a small matter as this, I did not feel the council would be concerned or want to be involved in the decision that I made on your behalf and acted upon. If I was mistaken, then you have my apology."

He continued, "Sister Ann, may God bless her soul, was a different matter. She was terminated because she had lost faith in the plan and in God. Since she was a council member, it would have been difficult for you to judge her. Again, I took it upon myself to remove her without involving the council so that we could continue to strive to accomplish His work. If you prefer in the future, I will take no such drastic action without the council's knowledge and approval. If you wish to replace me on the council, I will gladly step down as your elected leader and serve in any way I can to help complete our mission."

Brother Ike said, "That won't be necessary. We of the council voted you as our leader and no one wants you replaced, but we hope that in the future you will allow us to help you in making the decisions that affect God's plans. One last question and we will drop this subject. Brother Scott was a valuable member of our group. What was the reason for his termination?"

Adam's smile was hidden under the hood. He knew he had won and, in a few days, his goal would be accomplished. "Brother Scott wasn't terminated by any of us. He is a martyr and will be remembered as a saint in the years ahead. As you know, he had been removing information from the FBI reports that could have given the federal authorities enough evidence to expose our plan. He believed he would soon be exposed, so, he did the only thing he could do to ensure our survival. He gathered all the FBI reports on the situation in South Dakota and placed them in his car, which had been prepared for such an eventuality. You know what happened. The car and all its contents were destroyed. What you don't know is that Brother Scott had booby-trapped his car himself. He sacrificed his life for God's cause." Adam thought to himself, And with a little help from my people.

He now guided the conversation to the business at hand. "My brothers and sisters, the last test will give us the data we need to ensure our ultimate goal is achieved. While the government is focused on what is in front of them, we will strike the final blow to the world, and in a few days, God's work will be done. We are now ready to proceed. All three thousand of our brothers and sisters have been provided with the antidote."

Adam opened his fist and displayed a small pill in his palm for emphasis. "One hour before the appointed time, all of us will take the pill. I have cautioned our followers to guard it with their lives for it is their salvation and to take it only at the appointed time. As you know, its protection will only last a few days. God's work must be completed by then. That is all for now." Adam broke the conference connection and the video screen faded to black.

Adam pulled his hood off and threw it to the floor in anger. Joyce Winters could see the evil smile and something else—a triumphant look in his eyes. When he looked at her, she knew a terrible mistake had been made and felt fear move through her body again. In spite of her having perfected the agent for Adam, she felt threatened.

"Joyce, bring all the facility staff to the conference room in twenty minutes. I wish to personally thank them for the work they have done." He rose from his chair and left the room.

As she stood up, she realized how terrified she really was for her legs were trembling, but something odd surfaced in her mind. He had not called her Sister Joyce, just Joyce.

~~~~

Twenty minutes later, when Adam came out of his office, he asked his bodyguard if everything was in place.

"Yes, sir. Everyone is in the conference room, the door has been locked, and the explosives are in place."

"Good, very good!" He walked to the elevator. Once outside, he looked at the night sky and then turned to the two men standing by the pickup. He could see the wires leading from the truck to the door of the silo. He walked a few hundred feet away, turned and, in a strong voice, gave the command, "Do it!"

Adam felt a brief tremor under his feet and then heard the rolling noise through the massive steel door, which was open. Dust boiled out of the elevator shaft and just as quickly, the reverberation ended. A deadly quiet descended on the prairie. Afterwards, two cars and a pickup drove off into the night, leaving only the billions of stars above as witness to what had been done.

Adam reflected on the scene he had just left. As a result of the blast, tons of concrete had been dislodged from the cylindrical walls and the silo had caved in upon itself. Adam knew that all the people inside had perished before the cave-in. At his orders, explosives had been placed around the conference room and were discharged milliseconds before the bulk explosion was detonated. He also knew it would take months to remove the rubble and reach the bottom of the silo, if anyone was inclined to do so.

He thought ahead to the next step. Mentally, he envisioned the time when all three thousand followers would be activated and God's work would begin.

~~~~

Deep under the tons of rubble, Joyce Winters slowly swept the flashlight beam around the room. When all the staff had reported to the conference room, she had silently slipped out the side door and made her way to a room she had found months ago. It was a bomb shelter inside a bomb shelter. She had told no one of its existence and only wanted to ensure it was unlocked and available, if she needed it. The explosions had occurred while she was in the room. The impact, knocking her against the wall and then to the floor, had left her unconscious. Alert now, she had examined the room and the only door was closed and wouldn't budge. There appeared to be no other way out and she realized she was sealed in her own tomb.

# CHAPTER 17

Gary Powers stood next to the governor, examining the crowded makeshift conference room they had rented. It was the largest available space in town, and he didn't think it would accommodate everyone who wanted to attend. His staff had tried to organize the seating arrangements by organization and provide some type of protocol for the senior officials. That, he finally realized, was not going to work. He had the tables placed in clusters, bringing together specific organizations. There was no head table, just a projection screen, and a podium with a sound system off to the side.

The governor muttered, "All we need now is to have the president show up. He might as well, everyone else is here."

Gary chuckled, "Don't bet against it, Governor. I heard rumors he might just do that."

The governor shook his head. "Let's hope not. I have enough problems as it is. Besides, where would you put him? It appears to be standing room only and they're still coming in." The governor looked out over the packed room. He turned back, raising an eyebrow to Gary. "I'm taking my seat. It's all yours."

Thanks a lot, Gary thought, I didn't volunteer for this—you did. However, he knew the governor was concerned and would provide all the support he could to ensure the exercise was successful. As Gary stood on the edge of the platform, he wondered where everyone was coming from. At one cluster of tables, he saw a large contingent of police officers. He recognized a number of state and local law enforcement officers. The feds were there too. He saw Bradley and several of his agents, military security police, and even the Indian tribal police officers were here. The next group of tables was occupied by federal departmental representatives, the director of FEMA and his staff, the Justice Department, the Department of Transportation, the Health and Human Services division, and the Veteran's Administration, just to name a few. Local and national news media were all over the place but they had their own group of tables as well. He saw Jackie and raised his hand in greeting. She smiled and waved back. The governor and his department heads were seated close to the podium and then there was the general public.

Gary walked to the podium. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Gary Powers, and I am the director of emergency preparedness for the state of South Dakota. As such, it will be my office that coordinates all the tasks relating to this exercise. At least, I think it will but the governor may have fired me by then." He listened to the laughter fill the room. The ice had been broken and the crowd began to relax. "This exercise is scheduled to begin five days from now, but before I continue, let me introduce the governor of South Dakota, Governor Richard Mills." Gary stepped back and the governor took his place at the podium.

"I wish to thank all of you for coming this morning. I feel it's important that you have, because all of you, one way or another, will be involved in this exercise."

Gary listened as the governor spoke, but he had an uneasy feeling about this. He hoped the governor had made the right decision even though he personally had doubts. Deep in thought, he was startled by the applause. Refocusing on the immediate agenda, he moved forward as the governor returned to his seat.

Gary then introduced the director of FEMA, Mr. Tim Manson, wherein a short, heavy-set man in his early fifties stood up, waved to the crowd, and sat back down. When Gary had first met Manson, he had not been impressed. He had too many horse-holders around him and appeared to like the attention too much. However, it wasn't long before Gary realized the man was a smart politician for underneath the political guise was a shrewd and intelligent individual.

Gary had been talking for an hour and, when he concluded his briefing, every person in the room was aware of the extent of the exercise. For several seconds the room was silent as the audience absorbed the information.

Nick Arinson soon voiced the first question. "From what I've heard, it appears that most of the state, county, and cities will be heavily involved in this exercise, not to mention the general public. Gary, would you mind telling us who is going to pay for this?"

Nick was looking for an opening, and Gary knew he had better not give it to him or he would be on the defensive for the rest of the day or maybe even the duration of the exercise. "I'm happy to say the federal government is paying the total cost of the exercise, thanks to Mister Manson and FEMA."

An hour later, the questions began to wind down. Gary was about to close the meeting when he saw Running Wolf stand up.

"Mister Powers, would you mind telling me who is going to win?" The room got very quiet as everyone waited for his answer.

"Well, I can guarantee it will not be the state of South Dakota." He heard sharp gasps from the audience but continued, "I'm not even sure the federal government will win this one."

# CHAPTER 18

It was close to ten o'clock the next morning when Gary arrived at the emergency operations center in the basement of the State Capitol Building. He felt as if he had already completed a full day's work, but he thought the meeting this morning with the governor and FEMA's director had gone well. Gary saw Special Agent Bradley in the far corner of the room talking with one of his staff. And Bradley saw him too and walked in his direction. Now, what? Gary thought, as he waited for the FBI agent to cross the room.

"Your staff told me you designed this operation center yourself. I'm impressed. I have been in a number of these centers in the past twenty years and there's not too many that compare with what you have here."

Gary shook his head. "I have a feeling that you didn't stop by just to tell me that. So, what can I do for you?"

"You're right, but I hoped it didn't show too much. I do need to talk with you. Is there a place we can go that will give us a little privacy?"

Gary led him down the hall to a small cubicle that held a desk and two chairs and not much more. He motioned to one chair and took the other.

Bradley reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two photo-graphs, which he slid across the desk. "Do you know either of these individuals?"

Gary examined the photos. One showed a man in a plaid shirt with a short beard and he appeared to be in his early thirties. The other was a woman with short, black hair and glasses who looked to be about the same age.

"I'm afraid not. Why? Did you expect me to?"

Bradley answered slowly as if choosing his words carefully. "At your briefing yesterday morning, you had exactly one-hundred-and-twelve people who were in attendance. You probably already know that from the sign-in sheets, which also listed the organizations and agencies represented. What you didn't know was that I had my staff take photos of each individual as they signed in, although none of them were aware of it."

"But why?"

Bradley held up his hand. "Let me finish first. When you were looking for help for the sign-in desk, I had three FBI agents volunteer, and with a little aid from Jackie, they were assigned the task. After your meeting, the sign-in roster was given to one of your staff but not until a copy was made. Yesterday afternoon, I had my staff crosscheck the signatures with the pictures and then verify who they were. Of the one-hundred-and-twelve people, one-hundred-and-ten checked out to be legitimate, two did not. These two individuals," and he tapped the photos, "are not who they said they were. When we tried to run a match on the information they provided on the sign-in sheet, we hit a brick wall. The man used a name, address, and occupation of an individual from North Dakota who had died several years ago. The woman did the same thing, only her alias had passed away last year."

"But why? Why would they lie about who they are?"

"That's what I want to know. They made one mistake. Both of the deceased individuals lived in either Morton County or the city of Bismarck, North Dakota, and right now, I have a large number of agents combing that area. If either one actually lives there, we'll find them."

Gary was at a loss. "But, why go to all that trouble? The meeting was open to the public."

Bradley stood up and put the pictures back in his pocket. "Exactly, but I want to know why two dead people decided to attend."

~~~~

Joyce Winters was cold and numb as she sat on the edge of the bunk staring at her enclosure like a caged animal trying to find a way out. Her attempts to open the blast door had been futile, but she still attacked the door every few minutes until her hands were bleeding from the pounding and wrenching, and with no energy left, she had finally passed out. Joyce had no idea how long she lay on the cold steel floor, but when consciousness returned, she realized that emergency lights located on the walls near the ceiling were on. They now bathed the small room in a soft glow. Something must have triggered them because she knew she had not turned them on. The flashlight she had been using had faded out so she knew she probably had been unconscious for some time.

The initial shock of being buried alive had passed, but she could feel the terror start to penetrate every inch of her body and mind again. Almost as if it were not a part of her, she heard a voice say, "Don't go to pieces on me now. Hold it back. Hold on." With a shudder, she took several deep breaths and felt the terror recede, but she knew it was not gone and it would not take much to bring it back full-force. Well, Joyce thought, at least I'm alive, and the other voice in her head said, "Yes, but for how long?" and her terror came streaking back.

She finally stood and slowly examined the room as if seeing it for the first time. Although, she had actually been there on three or four occasions, it had only been for a minute or so at a time, and she had never really explored the quarters. She could feel the dampness and smell the musty stench that saturated the area, and what was worse, much worse, was the utter silence. She felt her heart pounding and could hear the air pass through her lips. Suddenly she stopped moving...Air!

Joyce knew that she was alive, but it would not be for long. At some point, the air would give out and she would slowly suffocate. With that thought she began to resign herself to the fate that awaited her and for some reason this gave her renewed strength and the terror receded. The detached part of her mind whispered, "How much more time do I have?"

She squared her shoulders and began to move with a purpose. Like the tombs of Egypt, if this tomb was ever discovered it would have a record of what had transpired and why. She owed this to humanity and to her God for the dastardly crime she had committed. She would create a diary, and it would be her epitaph.

She walked around, surveying the room. The floor was painted a light gray and the walls and ceiling were a light blue. On the left side of the room stood a small table and four chairs, all bolted to the floor, and at the back was a counter top, small stove, microwave and a kitchen sink. There were three pictures attached to the wall, one fairly larger than the other two. She smiled at the pictures. Someone really had some foresight for each of them depicted landscapes, giving the impression of open spaces. On the left side were a small sofa and coffee table, three closed cabinets, two sets of bunk beds and finally a small toilet-and-shower area. This place had been designed to hold four people or eight if they went on two, twelve-hour shifts, but she doubted the idea of eight people surviving there because the room was too small for that many people.

Moving to the first cabinet, she opened the doors. Inside were a number of shelves. Some held paper clothing, slippers, bedding, food, cooking utensils, and even some bottled water. She moved to the second cabinet and opened the doors. This one also held freeze-dried rations of food and more water containers. At least, I won't die of thirst or starvation, she thought. On an upper shelf were books, writing material, and a medical kit. There were several large bookbinders on the top shelf and stenciled above them in red letters were the words, Shelter Operations Manuals.

She hesitated a moment, leaving the doors open and moved to the third cabinet. The lower half held a small bicycle and the top half contained tools, batteries, and another assortment of paper bags and powders. Whoever designed this place thought of everything, right down to exercising equipment, she thought and moved back to the second cabinet, reached for the first binder, and carried it to the table. The title read Four-man Survival Chamber and had a table of contents attached. She had been right; it was designed for four people. The only problem is I'm the only one here, and I will die alone. Again, she felt absolute despair wash over her.

Joyce screamed, "Well, what did you expect? You developed one of the deadliest biological agents known to mankind and were willing to let most of the human race die so your mentor could rule what was left." And then she burst into tears and cried in anguish.

Her sobbing echoed through the small room and was absorbed by the stillness, and finally the quiet was all-encompassing. Joyce was slipping into madness, but she was determined that it would not happen until she had made her statement. Someone eventually would find this place, and whatever happened, they would learn the truth. She would not even try to explain how she had become so impaired by such an unscrupulous human being. She knew she would have time to reflect on this later.

She refocused on the page in front of her and tried to find where she left off. How much air do I have and when will the lights go out? She had plenty of food and water, so they were the least of her problems. She looked down the index and found what she was looking for. Retrieving volumes A and H from the cabinet, she returned to the table and opened the one titled Air Requirements.

Finally, she closed the binder and started writing down numbers. When she was through, she had her answer. The shelter had its own separate air system, and it would regenerate air to accommodate four people for three days when the oxygen candles were lit. That meant she had nine or ten days to live. She also found she would have lights to last her as long as she lived because the bicycle was not only an exercise bike as it had another purpose as well. Once connected to the trickle charger, it would recharge the batteries in the emergency lighting system. Therefore, as long as she rode the bike for an hour each day, lights would not be a problem. She rose and put the binders back in the case and then re-examined the room.

Either someone goofed or it was done by design, she thought. There was no clock in the room and she didn't have her watch, so there was no way to figure out just what time it was. She was not only thirsty but hungry as well. She tried to think back to the last time she had eaten, but she had no reference to go by. She walked to the stove and microwave, but neither was operational. The stove had a butane bottle under the table, but she was afraid to try and light it. She knew freeze-dried rations could be prepared using either hot or cold water, but she did not think that she could stomach cold food.

She went back to the cabinet and, sure enough, she found what she was looking for, not one but several cartons of Sterno. She lit a can of Sterno and heated a small pan of water. When it reached the boiling point, she mixed the rations with the hot water and prepared her meal. Surprisingly, the food satisfied her, and she finished it off with a can of fruit juice. She felt almost normal and then suddenly remembered that she was in a tomb and would soon die. Reaction was immediate, and Joyce barely made it to the toilet before the meal came back up.

Great, she thought, as she slowly walked back to the table, maybe I will starve to death before the air runs out. Joyce knew she was walking a fine line between sanity and insanity and only she could hold back the inevitable until she finished the task she had set for herself. There were several blank notebooks in the cabinet, which she had placed on the table. She opened one and started to write. It seemed like hours and hours had gone by when she finally stopped writing, drank some water and walked to the bunk. She lay down, desperate to sleep.

~~~~

Joyce did not know what awakened her, as she lay perfectly still and alert. She saw that the lights were much dimmer and then she heard the sound, very faint, almost like a clock ticking. She rose from the bunk and tried to find the source of the sound, but it was gone. She moved to the sink, opened another water bottle, took a long drink and then splashed water on her face. As she reached for the towel, she heard it again and froze. It was close. To her left and mounted on the bulkhead, she saw the three glass-encased dials. The one closest to her was sporadically emitting the noise she had heard. The dial was labeled Oxygen Level and when she looked at the dial, she saw it was starting to move ever so slowly to the danger zone. Her oxygen was running out. The second dial was a carbon-dioxide monitor, and the other was a carbon-monoxide analyzer. As a scientist, Joyce knew what those dials were telling her. She was slowly suffocating. First would come shortness of breath, then headaches, and finally, unconsciousness and death. She almost welcomed the thought but refused to succumb to it. She had not finished her diary. What was worst was that she didn't care as long as her diary was completed before she died, and she laughed insanely.

She walked to the cabinet, pulled out two of the shelter operations binders, one labeled Air Requirements and the other listed as Lighting Procedures. She sat down and started reading in the dim light, with the occasional clicking from the oxygen monitoring system in the background reminding her that time was running out.

~~~~

Joyce quietly hummed a tune as she pedaled the small bike. She did not know how long she had been pedaling, but she could feel the aches in her legs and thighs and knew that soon she would have to stop. The instructions for assembling the bike had been simple to follow. She had taken the bike from the cabinet, found the small rod sticking out from the left side and placed it into the wall socket designed for this purpose. Floor clamps were in place to stabilize it. With a can of oil from the supply cabinet, Joyce had oiled the sprocket chain and it was ready to perform its function, which was to recharge the batteries in the shelter.

As she pedaled the bike, a small trickle charge restored the batteries to full power and now the emergency lights glowed brightly. What had been a quiet ticking sound suddenly turned into a loud clanging as the battery for the oxygen system alarm was recharged. Joyce had to stop long enough to reset it. She had already taken care of her air problem, which again had been a simple task. She took one of the oxygen candles from the locker and placed it in the small round container and lit it. Once the lid was shut, the smoke and fumes were vented somewhere outside and pure oxygen circulated inside the shelter. Next, she spread Fullers Earth into trays to absorb the carbon dioxide she emitted with her breathing. Joyce knew this was the system used on submarines, and it was effective.

When these tasks were completed, she realized she could live another day and up to nine more, if nothing else happened. That would be more than enough time to complete her diary. In the soft glow of the lights, she leaned forward on the bicycle, rhythmically pedaling as she softly hummed a tune in the quiet of her tomb.

# CHAPTER 19

Agent Andrew Moore parked his car in front of a large grain elevator on the outskirts of Bismarck, North Dakota, and glanced at his watch. It was almost noon and so far he had found no one who recognized the two individuals in the photos. When he walked through the door of the grain elevator, he saw a man in his mid-or-late thirties standing by the counter talking on the phone. As he waited for the phone conversation to end, another man walked in, picked up a form from the counter and began filling it out.

Hanging up the phone, the clerk turned to Moore and smiled. "What can I do for you? You don't look like a rancher to me, so you must be selling something."

"Afraid not." And he placed his identification card on the counter-top. "I'm with the FBI." He saw the startled look cross the clerk's face, and he was not surprised. It happened all the time. "I'm looking for information." He took the two pictures out of his vest pocket and placed them on the countertop. "Can you tell me if you have ever seen either of these people?"

The man looked at the photos and then slowly slid them back across the counter, shaking his head. "No, I don't believe I have." But, he was no longer smiling, and Agent Moore thought, This man is lying.

He heard the voice behind him say, "Hell, Ed! You must be going blind. That's the Emmarts." The man who had been filling out the form was now standing beside Agent Moore.

Turning to him, Moore asked, "Are you sure you recognize these two?"

The man picked up the pictures. "Sure, they own the old Larkhart place." Suddenly an odd sound escaped his lips and Moore saw shock ripple across his face as the man stared past him.

Agent Moore turned just in time to see the gun in the clerk's hand, and then felt the impact as the bullet struck him, sending him crashing back against the wall where he crumbled to the floor. He watched as the clerk turned the gun in the direction of the other man and fire two shots. By then, Agent Moore had his own gun out. When the man turned back toward him, Moore fired one shot, hitting the clerk between the eyes and killing him instantly.

Waves of pain almost incapacitated Agent Moore, and he felt sticky blood run slowly down the left side of his chest. He laid his gun down, reached for his cell phone and pushed the emergency responder button. He knew any FBI agent within fifty miles would respond to that call. The instrument also had a global positioning system that automatically flashed the coordinates onto cell phone screens, pin-pointing the exact location of the alarm. He felt the weakness wash over him but knew he had one call to make. He pressed a pre-programmed button and waited.

He finished the brief call and dropped the phone as two men with guns drawn burst into the room, one covering the other. He thought, Well, it didn't take them long, and he watched as the FBI agents moved to his assistance and blackness closed in.

~~~~

Agent Bradley knew one of his agents was in trouble as soon as the emergency responder was activated. Although coverage was limited, the signal was also transmitted via satellite to two other locations. One transmission went to the agent's supervisor and the other to the FBI operations center in Washington. He and the other agents in the small command post in Pierre waited for a phone call that they hoped would soon be coming, and a few seconds later, his phone rang.

Bradley listened for a minute and then said, "Hold on, Moore. Help is on the way," and in a forceful tone, "Damn it! Don't you die on me." He then reached for the secure phone and pushed the top button. The conversation was brief. Then, he turned to his staff. "Agent Moore has been shot, but he discovered the identity of the two we have been looking for. Where are the members of our SWAT team located right now, and how many of our agents are currently in North Dakota?"

~~~~

Gary walked by the entrance to his operations center and hesitated for just a second when he saw the lone FBI agent standing guard outside the door. As he moved past, he knew the man was watching his every step. When Agent Bradley had called and asked if he could use the operations center for no more than an hour for a special meeting, Gary didn't want to grant the request. It couldn't have come at a worst time with the exercise fast approaching.

Bradley must have felt his hesitation because he said, "Gary, it's very important or I would not ask. I know how busy you are, but we have a critical operation going down. I only want the operations center for an hour."

Gary sensed that whatever it was, the matter was urgent. "It's yours. When do you want it?"

Bradley answered, "In twenty minutes, and, Gary, the room needs to be cleared and no communications or listening devices turned on. I will have one of my agents stand guard outside the door."

Gary felt a chill go through him and he asked, "Can I help?"

"Sorry, Gary, not this time, but I do appreciate the use of your operations center."

~~~~

Agent Bradley looked at the clock—1:50 p.m.—and then focused on the thirty men and women sitting in the room. "All right, let's go over it one more time. At approximately noon today, one of our agents identified the two suspects we were looking for. Supposedly, they are husband and wife, Gail and Mike Emmart, and they reside on a ten thousand-acre farm thirty miles west of Bismarck, North Dakota. In the small farming community where everyone knows everyone else, there is curiously little known of them. They are loners, mind their own business and seem to expect their neighbors to do the same. The farm changed owners about seven years ago. I understand there is an old, two-story farmhouse with three small outlying bunkhouses, all of which sit approximately a half-mile off a state road. In addition, a large barn and several large butler-buildings have been constructed in the past three years. No one seems to know what the buildings are used for.

"The Bureau traced the ownership of that farm and has determined that the Emmarts are not the true owners of the property, but it appears that whoever does own it is buried pretty deep. The question is why would these two individuals take the identities of dead people to attend Gary Power's meeting when it was open to the public? More importantly, why would someone say they didn't know them and then attempt to protect their true identity with his life?"

Bradley looked to the back of the room. "Gillis, is your SWAT team ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," a short, stocky man answered.

"All right. I want you and your team to drive to the small town of Sweet Briar outside of Bismarck. Maps are being prepared now in our command post. Pick them up when you leave here. There's a small fire hall located in Sweet Briar, and arrangements have been made by the local law enforcement to have your men and vehicles use the building. You will report to the First Methodist Church in Bismarck where the basement meeting room has been set up as our forward command post. I want all of you at that church no later than six o'clock tonight. One last thing—it appears that the two suspects are not alone, and I don't want anyone to spook them before we're in place."

Bradley paused for a moment and then continued in a low voice, "We paid dearly for the information concerning their whereabouts. These people are playing for keeps, and so far, at least three persons have died." He saw several heads jerk upward, and he continued, "And one of them was ours. Agent Moore died before they could get him to a hospital." He concluded the meeting and headed for Gary's office.

"We're finished," Bradley informed Gary. "Again, thanks for the use of the room. And, you were right; we need to coordinate our activities more closely. I have just assigned two of my agents to your operations center on a twenty-four-hour basis. They will be your point-of-contact with the FBI and me. If for any reason you need to contact me, just tell them."

Gary knew this was not normal procedure, and he wondered what the rationale was for these drastic steps.

~~~~

Two men were standing at the door of the EOC, and one stepped forward as Gary approached. "Mister Powers, we are your FBI liaisons. Sir, where do you want us located? We need to bring in some special equipment."

"How soon do you want to be operational?" Gary asked.

"We're already operational, sir, and Agent Bradley instructed me to give you this cell phone in the event we need to locate you. We already have your home phone number, and that cell phone will give us the capability of reaching you immediately anywhere else."

Gary looked at the cell phone and then back at the two men. "I appreciate the offer but as you can see," and he pointed to the phone hooked to his belt, "I already have one. All you need is my phone number."

"Sorry, sir. That will not do. This phone has been specifically designed for use by the agency, and it has some unique features not found on other cell phones. Also, if you decline to accept it, I was instructed to assign one of our agents to accompany you at all times. He will be carrying one."

Gary took the phone and then showed them their working space. For some reason, he felt like a condemned man walking the last mile, and all he could do was wonder why.

# CHAPTER 20

As Agent Bradley sat in the sheriff's car a few miles from the suspects' farmhouse, he checked his watch one last time. "All right, let's do it." And the vehicle began to slowly move down the gravel road.

He looked at the setting sun and knew by the time they arrived at the house it would be in the twilight zone between light and dark. That would be an advantage if they ran into trouble, providing some cover for his SWAT team, or at least he hoped so. He felt the vibration from his phone and placed it to his ear. When he replaced it on his belt holder, he looked at the sheriff and said, "Stop the car. We need to talk. That was Gillis, my SWAT team leader. He just completed his survey of the area around the farmhouse and, to put it bluntly, he says that farmhouse is an armed fortress."

Sheriff Joe Simpson just sat for a moment in stunned silence. "If what you say is true, and I have no doubt it is, we may be committing suicide if we approach that house. Although we have a warrant, it might be better to wait here for one of the Emmarts to leave and serve it then."

Agent Bradley shook his head in a negative gesture. "It more than likely would be the safest thing to do, but we don't have the luxury of time. It has to be done now."

"Christ!" the sheriff said. "What the hell is so important about the Emmarts that you're willing to put the lives of your men, not to mention mine, to the test of finding out?"

Again, Bradley shook his head. "I wish I knew, but there's no need for both of us to go up there. Let me drop you off here and one of your officers can pick you up."

"Like hell you will! If you're still bent on carrying this out on my turf, then by God, you will do it with me or you won't do it at all." He put the car in gear and began moving up the road.

As they turned into the lane leading to the house, Bradley saw a cattle guard placed across the road and then a hundred feet or so past it, an iron gate. He also noticed a night-light and an intercom box that were located up on a pole by the gate. In the distance, they could see the outline of the farmhouse, which appeared to be deserted, but both men knew better.

"Don't cross the cattle guard," Bradley stated. "Let's walk from here to the gate. I have a feeling it may be booby-trapped or have a built-in alarm system. There must be a reason for it to be so far away from the gate."

The sheriff nodded. "I think you may be right." They opened the car doors and stepped out into the twilight.

When both men reached the gate, they spotted a surveillance camera on a pole on the other side of the lane. It was small enough that it could not be seen unless someone was looking for it. As they stood in front of the intercom box, Bradley was still receiving updates from the SWAT team through his earplug, and he knew he was committed. He nodded and the sheriff opened the door of the little box and pushed the button next to a speaker.

Almost immediately, the lights on each pole increased in intensity until the area was bathed in a harsh bright light and they watched the camera slowly pan in their direction.

A woman's voice abruptly sounded from the speaker. "You're trespassing on private property. What do you want?"

Bradley thought, That was short and sweet.

"Mrs. Emmart, this is Sheriff Simpson. I know it's late, but I would like to talk with you and your husband. Please open the gate."

There was silence for about ten seconds, and Bradley didn't think the woman would comply. Then, he heard her say, "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but my husband is in bed sick, and I really don't want to disturb him. If you could wait until morning, we would be glad to talk to you. By the way, who is the man with you? I don't recognize him."

Both men knew they would not get near the farmhouse without a fight. She was stalling for time, which they could not afford.

"Mrs. Emmart, this is Agent Bradley of the FBI and we have a federal warrant authorizing the search of your property. So, open the gate or we will go around it."

This time there was no answer, but within a few moments, the outside of the house was ablaze with large floodlights. Then, they heard a noise behind them. Bradley yelled, "Don't go near the side of the road. Drop to the ground and see if you can take out the lights on the pole to the left. I will take the one on the right."

As they both fired their guns, they heard the sounds of shattering glass and the lights went out. Bradley saw the camera move. He fired several shots, and its movement ceased. Then, they heard gunfire around the farmhouse, and the floodlights were being turned off or shot out, one by one.

"What the hell is that?" yelled Sheriff Simpson as he glanced behind them. Both men were flat on the ground, and they could see that the cattle guard had risen about three feet above ground level at a 45-degree angle.

"If I were a betting man, I would say that's a road barrier. Stay on the road and we'll crawl to it. Don't get up and expose yourself, and for God's sake, be careful!"

Sheriff Simpson laughed nervously. "You don't have to tell me that. I don't think I could get up if I wanted to."

Bradley knew better, he could hear it in the man's voice. This man obviously had been under fire before.

Just as they reached the back of the barrier, all hell broke loose in front of it. They heard what sounded like one hundred heavy machine guns all going off at once and watched in horror as the sheriff's car was chewed to bits, finally exploding in a ball of fire.

"God almighty! What have we gotten into?"

"I'm not sure," Bradley answered, "but it's not any better around the farmhouse. My agents are under heavy fire and starting to take casualties. The people holed up in the house have been preparing for just this type of situation. They're not only determined but also very well equipped. They know what they're doing, and I don't think they will give up easily. As soon as those lights came on around the house, someone released a bunch of Doberman Pinchers and the SWAT team had to delay their assault until they neutralized the dogs. It sounds as if it got pretty intense until that was accomplished. As I said, whoever they are, they're professionals. Our people are behind schedule in reaching their objective and the adversaries have been given more time. The element of surprise is gone."

Bradley cautiously looked around the side of the barrier, quickly pulled back and reached inside the bag hanging from his belt. He pulled out two grenades and said, "When I yell go, get up and run back toward the gate. Don't touch it—just hit the dirt. I'll be right behind you." Bradley looked around once more and then yelled, "Go!"

Suddenly they were both running and, as they dropped to the ground, they heard the first muffled explosion of a series of louder blasts. Both could feel the vibrations traveling through the ground, wherein it actually lifted them up and dropped them back down onto the hard gravel. When Bradley stood up, he could still hear the exchange of gunfire around the farmhouse. He knew there was nothing he could do at this point but to leave it in the hands of his SWAT chief.

As the two men cautiously walked around the barrier, the sheriff asked, "How did you know this thing was here?"

Bradley looked at it for a moment, thinking that it looked similar to some located at various entrances to the White House. "Just a hunch," he said. "What you see is a very cleverly hidden tank trap. When the cattle guard was raised, it would effectively stop any vehicle that attempted to drive through. It also has a feature I have not seen before. Someone got cute and installed a number of heavy-duty machine guns inside the inter-housing. That's what chewed up your vehicle, and it was done by remote control. When we shot out the lights and camera, someone up at that farmhouse must have thought there was a chance to eliminate us if we had headed back to the car. They waited a few minutes and then activated the machine guns."

"Well, those bastards owe the county one new vehicle," Sheriff Simpson said as he moved to the right side of the road.

"Stop!" Bradley yelled.

And Sheriff Simpson froze in his tracks. Bradley moved to him and pointed at the barrier and then the side of the lane.

"I put a grenade in one of the machine gun ports which effectively put the guns out of commission. I threw the other one on the right side of the lane. The large explosions you heard were Claymore mines detonating around that area. So, if I were you, I would not go any further on that side of the road. If they booby-trapped one side, you can bet they did the other side too, and those are still active."

Although it was now dark and they could not see very far, they heard the sound of a vehicle moving slowly down the road. Both men turned and reached for their revolvers. Bradley spoke into the microphone on his collar and then relaxed. "It's our people," he stated. He started walking back to the main road with the sheriff a few steps behind. He looked at his watch. Less than seven minutes had elapsed since they had turned into the lane.

They waited in the dark beside the main road and watched the small U-Haul truck, with no lights, move toward them. As it pulled to a stop, both men climbed into the passenger side. Bradley moved through a small opening between the front seats and into the back of the vehicle. Sheriff Simpson was hot on his heels.

The sheriff stared in amazement. By now he figured nothing would surprise him, especially after what he had just been through, but it was as if he had just been transported from the Stone Age to the future. The interior was not large, but every inch of space was being utilized. A countertop ran the length of three walls and the sides were filled to capacity with various types of electronic equipment. There was a steel track on the floor with three chairs connected to it, allowing them to be moved anywhere along the counter. The entire area was bathed in a soft, red glow.

Neither of the two men occupying the chairs paid any attention to them until Bradley said, "I want a complete situation report."

Bradley watched the computer screen intently, and the sheriff looking over his shoulder suddenly realized the significance of the colored dots displayed. The blue dots represented those agents still alive. The yellow told the number injured and the red depicted those that had been killed. It also showed their exact location.

"Agent Bradley, Gillis would like to talk to you," one of the opera-tors said and Bradley sat down in the empty chair and waited. Moments later, they heard Gillis through the speakers that were placed around the interior of the truck.

The voice was clear as if he was sitting beside them in the truck. "Bill, it's not going well." They could hear the anguish in Gillis' voice as he continued. "We lost Dick Chambers and Alice Newson. I have six injured. Two of them are in serious condition. We're moving them to the aid station. Our people checked the peripheral buildings and they're all death traps. Every building, including the large Quonset hut, is packed with explosives and it appears they're wired to a control board located elsewhere. I'm keeping our agents away from them except for the large butler building. It also appears that the occupants have all moved to the farmhouse, but that's not confirmed yet."

"Gillis, do you have any figures on how many are holed up in the farmhouse?"

"No, but I can tell you there's a hell of a lot more than the seven or eight we thought were here. So far we have eliminated six of them trying to make it to the farmhouse. We're in crossfire and still receiving fire from ten to fifteen positions inside the house, if not more. If we wait 'til morning to assault the house, they will massacre us. If we try it now, I'm afraid we'll take very heavy casualties and still may not complete our mission. I can tell you this, these people don't appear to be afraid to die, and they will take a lot of our agents with them. They must have night vision equipment 'cuz every time one of our people expose themselves, they either become a casualty or are forced to retreat."

Bradley could hear the distress in Gillis' voice and knew his officers were in grave danger. Yet they could not afford to lose this fight. That farmhouse had to be taken, and it had to be now. He knew they didn't have a choice and so did Agent Gillis.

When Sheriff Simpson heard Bradley tell Gillis to start the assault in thirty minutes, he thought Bradley was crazy. "You don't really mean you're going to attack that house, do you?"

"It's our job," Bradley answered as he stood, pulled out his pistol and checked it. He left the vehicle and started a slow jog up the road, leaving the sheriff in the back of the truck.

He heard the frustrated voice behind him. "Agent Bradley! I think you're nuts and before this is over, you'll probably get both of us killed."

Bradley smiled as Sheriff Simpson caught up with him and together they approached the lane leading to the farmhouse.

Twenty minutes later, they were crawling in the ditch a few hundred yards from the farmhouse, and for the first time since the assault began, it was incredibly quiet.

Bradley said, "Five minutes and we go. Try to keep low and head for the far corner of the porch. Once we're there..."

Without warning, both men were slammed to the ground by a concussion as the farmhouse exploded in a fiery inferno. In succession, the other buildings began exploding one at a time until only the large butler building remained intact.

As Bradley lifted his head and surveyed the carnage around him, he wondered why the butler building had not exploded, and suddenly he wondered no more for he was slammed back onto the ground as a tremendous explosion tore the building apart. A gigantic fireball rose into the night sky and seemed to linger for some time, but Bradley did not see this for blackness had already enveloped him.

# CHAPTER 21

President Carson listened as Garrett Hull completed his briefing, and then the president stood and walked to the window. With his back turned, he said, "I don't understand. What could have been so important about that farmhouse that it cost the lives of six FBI agents and twenty or so civilians?" He turned to face his friend. "Was the cost worth it?"

Garrett was still standing in front of the president's desk. "I'm not sure we will ever know, Mister President. I believe Agent Bradley had no other recourse. As I said, that complex was heavily fortified. They had planned to protect whatever they were doing with their lives—and did. Nevertheless, we came away with something. One of the agents managed to penetrate the butler building before they destroyed it and took these pictures." He laid a thin, 8¡-inch-by-11-inch folder on the desk.

The president opened it and saw an image of two large semi-trucks, one parked behind the other. The picture was not of good quality, and he glanced back at Garrett. "What's the significance of trucks in a building on a grain farm? Many farmers buy them to haul their produce, grain or other products."

"Look at the next picture, Mister President."

As the president turned to it, he suddenly exclaimed, "Damn!" This picture was of much better quality, and the president wondered how the agent had managed to get the shot. He placed the pictures back down on the desk and continued to look at them.

"Mister President, those two pictures cost Agent Thomas his life, but they prove without a doubt that the occupants of that farmhouse were directly involved with the crash of North Central Flight three-two-one and the disappearance of all eighty-seven passengers and crew. As you know, we have been looking for two semi-trailers that had parked not far from the crash site and, more importantly, some type of air-cushion vehicle that was used to go from those trucks to the crash site. The second picture confirms our suspicions. That's a picture of a modified air-cushion vehicle. So, these people were directly tied to the conspiracy, but we don't know if they were part of a larger group. Or, did we hit the jackpot and find all of them?

"My agents are now going over the property with a fine-toothed comb, but I don't believe we will discover too much. The buildings were completely destroyed and the occupants of the farm were very thorough in their planning. They not only used one hell of a lot of explosives, they had Thermit devices as well, and those buildings are still burning. Regrettably, all we're probably going to find is sludge heaps when we can finally enter those areas."

"Well, Garrett, let's hope we have uncovered all of the people involved. I want this case closed. What about Agent Bradley? Is he still alive? I want to personally thank him, and I want the names of all the agents who were injured or killed. I would like their families and loved ones to know exactly what they did and why."

"Thank you, Mister President. You will have the list within the hour and Agent Bradley is alive, but he did not come out of it unscathed. I hear that he has a concussion, three broken ribs, and a broken wrist. I was going to have him replaced, but he has refused. He said if I did he would fire the replacement as soon as he or she arrived."

The president smiled. "Why does that not surprise me? Keep him there."

As he walked his friend to the door, the president said, "Garrett, don't let up. I have a feeling that this is not over yet."

"Yes, sir, Mister President."

# CHAPTER 22

Gary Powers sat in his command post watching the activity around him. It was a few hours into the first day of the exercise and everything was going as planned. Since 8:20 that morning the command post had been filling with essential state officials responding as they were notified.

The first input or exercise message was phoned into the highway patrol field office in Rapid City at exactly 7:30 a.m. Approximately thirty minutes later, much longer than Gary had expected, the governor was notified that an unidentified group had demanded the sum of one hundred million dollars be sent to a foreign bank in the Bahamas. This transaction was to be made by 6 p.m. or a biological agent would be released somewhere within the state. By 8:10 a.m., the governor had activated the state command post and the first of the exercise participants were notified. The commander of the state highway patrol was the first to arrive, followed shortly by local law enforcement officials, followed by the federal marshals. There was no need to notify the FBI, they were already in place and had been since the day before. The clock now showed 11:30 a.m.

The news of the gunfight from the previous night was now common knowledge throughout the tri-state area, and Gary knew that the FBI had lost several of its agents. When he had asked the agents in the command post if he could help in anyway, they had politely declined his offer, and he knew better than to push it further. Their message had been clear—if we need you, we will call. Since then, he had left them alone and they participated in the exercise just like the rest of the players in the operations center. However, he had noticed that one man was always close to their phone and radio. That shooting incident of the previous evening had indirectly placed additional pressure on the exercise participants and particularly on Gary. If the director of FEMA was concerned, he did not show it. He and two of his staff sat in the back of the operation center and monitored the events of the exercise as they unfolded.

Gary had designed the command post so that all the senior officials were seated on a raised platform that was horseshoe in shape. Their individual staff was placed in front of each agency head so they could see the display boards that were placed on the walls, in the center and on both sides. Gary had a cluster of three desks next to the right side of the wall below the dais where he and his staff could observe everything in the room. In the back, the floor had been raised a little higher and there were a number of chairs for support personnel and special visitors.

The phone rang and Gary pushed the button on the red phone. After taking the call and replacing the receiver, he looked at his notes in anticipation of the governor's arrival. He was ready for him.

Gary had awakened the governor at five o'clock this morning and, thinking it was the start of the exercise, Governor Mills was not very happy about the timing. He was suddenly jolted wide-awake by the news Gary conveyed. After arriving at the command post at 4:30 a.m., Gary had heard about the FBI gun battle in North Dakota, the night before, and he decided the governor should be advised of the incident.

Governor Mills had immediately telephoned Governor Japson of North Dakota and learned that approximately twenty-five or more people had died in the altercation. Japson was at a loss as to why it had happened, and he told his friend that the feds had sealed the area off; even he had been unable to get any additional information.

As Governor Mills entered the command post, he had made up his mind to play this exercise as if it were for real. The governor took his seat in the center of the dais and Gary immediately moved to his side.

"Governor, as you can see on the status board, the state police field office in Rapid City received an anonymous telephone call at seven-thirty a.m. The caller threatened to unleash a biological agent somewhere in the state unless we pay one hundred million dollars by six p.m. today to a bank located in the Bahamas Islands. At eight a.m., shortly after you were notified of this threat, you initiated action to activate the state emergency command post and directed that all the key state and federal law enforcement personnel be notified to report here. This was accomplished by eight-ten a.m. As you can see on the activation board, all those involved in the exercise reported in by nine a.m.

"At ten-thirty a.m., a second message was received, this time by the local newspaper, The Prairie Times. The publisher, Mister Arinson, stated he received a call from an individual who had not identified himself, but simply repeated the same message that the state police had received earlier. At eleven a.m., the FBI confirmed that a bank of that name did exist in the Bahamas and recommended that we take the threat seriously. At eleven-fifteen, per your direction, I notified FEMA of the situation. That is where we stand in regard to this simulated exercise now in progress."

The governor sat still and said nothing. Gary was baffled and then curious as the governor stood and walked to the front of the room.

Scanning the occupants in the room, the governor knew that what he was about to do could cost him his reelection, if he decided to run for a second term. That did not matter, because deep inside, he felt that his state might very well not survive this exercise.

"First, all of you are aware that this is just an exercise that the federal government has asked us to participate in, in order to test our state's capability to cope with a catastrophic event. Second, I am sure all of you are aware of the strange incident on the Sioux Indian Reservation, involving the airplane crash and disappearance of all those on board. In addition, I know you are aware of the shooting incident that happened in North Dakota last night. What you may not know is that more than twenty-five people lost their lives in that shootout. Six of the dead were FBI agents," and he paused a moment and directed his glance at the two FBI representatives in front of him. "I'm sure some of them were close friends of yours. You and your agency have my condolences."

He now had everyone's attention and they heard the determination in his voice. "Captain Owens, why did it take thirty minutes, after your staff received the initial phone call, to notify me, and why did it take an hour for some of my key personnel to report to this command post, after they were notified?"

Captain Owens had served as head of the South Dakota State Police for fifteen years and believed he had total and complete control over his staff. Now, he knew better, and he felt the clamminess on his forehead. He had no response for the governor. The others felt embarrassed as they gave the governor their full attention.

For the longest moment, there was dead silence in the room and finally the governor continued. "As of right now, every state, county, and local official will treat this exercise as if it were the real thing, and those that don't will find themselves out of a job when this exercise is over."

Gary and everyone else knew the stage had been set and new ground rules applied. That message did not take long in finding its way throughout the state bureaucracy.

~~~~

Jackie sat across the desk from Nick arguing with him over the front-page layout for tonight's edition. Nick wanted the FBI shootout in North Dakota as the headline, and she wanted the exercise, especially since the governor's declaration that all state employees participating would treat the exercise as if it were the real thing or possibly lose their jobs. Both stories had major reader interest, not only locally but nationally as well, and she was losing the battle.

Nick agreed with the governor's statement. It was time some of the state officials found out that they were there to serve the citizens and not dedicating their efforts to their own personal agenda. On the other hand, he had a strong hunch that the incident at the farmhouse was connected to the disappearance of the Indian families and the passengers on Flight 321 since that was the on-going FBI investigation.

For the past year or so, he had let his granddaughter determine the front-page layout, and she was good at it. He listened as she argued her point of view but today he was going to have the final say.

The intercom buzzed. "Nick, Mister Garrett Hull, the director of the FBI, is holding on line one for you."

The phone call did not surprise Jackie. She was accustomed to high-level officials calling the newspaper, but she was surprised when she heard her grandfather say, "Garrett, you old rascal, what can I do for you?"

She thought, Is there anyone he doesn't know? I bet if the president called, they would be on first-name basis.

"Garrett, you know if I can be of help, I'll gladly give it, but I'm afraid on this one you will have to ask her yourself. She is a pretty strong-willed person and most of the time even I can't control her. In fact, most of the time I think she owns this newspaper, not me."

Jackie suddenly realized that these two men were talking about her. "Nick, what's going on?"

He just handed the phone to her. "Seems Garrett has a favor to ask you."

Nick was still looking at her when she hung up the phone with that smart-aleck smile that always infuriated her.

"Well, what did you want me to do, tell him to go to hell? If I didn't know better I would swear you two cooked this up just to get me out of here." She turned and started toward the door, and then turned back. "Nick, don't do anything foolish while I'm gone."

~~~~

Jackie arrived at the farmhouse outside of Bismarck, North Dakota, around 3 p.m. She recognized Agent Bradley with another man coming toward her and noticed the cast on his left wrist and the way he walked very carefully as if each step was painful. As they approached, there was no smile on Bradley's face, and she was unsure if he was pleased to see her.

Bradley turned to the man at his side. "Sheriff Simpson, meet Jackie Arinson. She's a reporter for The Prairie Times in Pierre, and as of now, she's the FBI's official public relations officer and the spokesperson for this incident. It's going to be her job to keep that pack of reporters off my back." And he pointed back down the lane to the line of cars and vans parked on the main road.

Jackie had just run the press gauntlet when she came through the checkpoint at the entrance to the lane. Wondering if she had made a mistake in agreeing to do this again, she addressed Agent Bradley. "So, you're the one who had the FBI director call Nick."

This time she saw a small smile cross his face. "It was the only way I knew to keep your bloodhound of a grandfather out of my hair. What better way than to make him go through you? Did you know that old fox had two of his reporters try to fly in here on a chopper at dawn this morning? The only thing that surprised me was that he himself wasn't on the helicopter when we forced it down."

Jackie laughed. "And where are they now?"

He pointed to the sheriff. "At this time, they're guests in the county jail and Nick is screaming his head off. Now that you're here, I'll have them released." He turned back to the sheriff. "Miss Arinson has complete freedom to go wherever she wishes and talk with anyone she wants, but I would appreciate it if you would assign your best deputy as her personal bodyguard."

When Jackie started to protest, Agent Bradley held up his free hand. "Jackie, we still don't know what we're going to find here. It's a large farm and there may be others out there still in hiding. Your bodyguard is not there to hinder you, he will be there to protect you."

Jackie felt his uneasiness and saw the troubled look creep across his face. Looking around the scene in front of her, she could see the devastation. Fires were still burning and black smoke rose straight up into the clear, blue sky. Litter and debris spread across the landscape in all directions as if a tornado had walked its way across the area. She shuddered when she thought of how it must have been last night and all the people who had died—and for what?

~~~~

It was close to 7 p.m., and Gary was pleased with the way the exercise was progressing. He knew day one of the simulation was designed to ease the participants into the roles they would play. It was the only easy part they would have because tomorrow the real work would start and input would evolve twenty-four hours a day, non-stop, until the exercise was over. Two 12-hour shifts had been established for the key players. Gary intended to release the other participants at 7 p.m. for the day, but they were to begin again at 6 a.m. tomorrow. He would keep a skeleton crew staffing the command post until then, with the exception of the law enforcement agencies.

The director of FEMA had assured him that no additional action would take place until tomorrow morning and that there was no need to keep most of the people here tonight. When Gary discussed the matter with the governor, he concurred with this action. However, the governor's speech this morning had definitely stimulated the participants, and there was no doubt that everyone was taking the exercise seriously. Gary couldn't help but wonder how much political influence the governor had lost in making his point.

However, Nick Arinson was backing the governor. The evening edition of the newspaper had surprised Gary. Although the lead story was the FBI shootout, it shared the same space with the governor's exercise opening statement and had the personal endorsement of Nicholas Arinson. It was not often the public heard Nick agree with anything that a politician said. That alone carried weight with many people of the state.

~~~~

Later that evening, Nick Arinson and Running Wolf were sitting in the back of the Trail Café drinking coffee. Their meal, or what was left of it, still sat on the table. Nick pulled out a cigar, clipped the end with a small knife, and lit it.

Running Wolf smiled. "You know that stuff will kill you."

Nick laughed. Reaching into his vest pocket, he withdrew another cigar and handed it to Running Wolf. He waited until it was lit and then said, "Don't let it kill you." Both men laughed as the smoke slowly swirled around them.

To the casual observer, they looked like two friends out for an evening. There were a few regular patrons around, but the majority was tourists or people from the East Coast who were here to support the exercise. Some of them knew who these two men were, but to the newcomers, it was a novelty to see an Indian dressed in buckskins and a white man dressed in a western outfit—right down to the ten-gallon hat, the big brass belt buckle, and cowboy boots. Both men, colorful characters in their own right, were apparently enjoying a quiet evening together.

The outsiders did not know that both these men held a powerful influence over a large percentage of each of their respective races. At this moment though, both were uptight and full of uncertainty.

Running Wolf took a sip of his coffee and slowly placed the cup back on the saucer. "All right, Nick, what do you want?"

Nick sighed. "I'm not really sure how to say this but I'm asking your people for something I have no right to ask. The white man wreaked havoc and nearly obliterated the Indians, taking their freedom away. Now, I'm asking your people to save mine and to help protect their freedom."

Nick saw a faint look of surprise cross Running Wolf's eyes as his lips parted in a sarcastic grin. Nick also recognized the irony in his own words, but he knew that this man sitting across from him might very well be the only chance for his people.

This foolishness made Running Wolf want to laugh. Then, he saw the look in Nick's eyes. He was serious in what he had said, and he was concerned. It was a look Running Wolf had never seen in all the years he had known Nick and suddenly the feeling manifested itself in him as well. The two men sat and talked for several minutes and then Running Wolf stood up and walked out of the café, leaving Nick still seated and slowly puffing on his cigar.

# CHAPTER 23

Jackie saw the mob of reporters waiting for her at the gate, and she thought again, How did I get roped into this? She left the car and walked to a small, raised podium that had been erected at the side of the road. She heard a number of reporters call her name, and she felt as if she was going back in time to the crash of North Central Flight 321, several weeks before. Standing behind the podium, she looked out at the reporters and waved. "Thank you all for coming. My name is Jackie Arinson." And the crowd burst into laughter.

One of the reporters yelled, "Hey, Jackie, who do you really work for? A newspaper, the NTSB, the FBI, or the CIA?" This brought another round of laughter.

This time Jackie was not going to fall into the same trap as she had on the Sioux Indian Reservation. "Before I answer any questions, I have a prepared statement. Copies will be available for you at the end of this briefing at which time I will take your questions."

Shortly after the news conference, Jackie's image was again broadcast over major networks to millions of viewers across the country. Most Americans recognized her from her previous role. The only difference was the backdrop. This time, instead of rugged, desolate prairie, the viewers saw spiraling smoke rising from the burning buildings and fields of gently waving wheat as far as the eye could see.

One of the network commentators turned to the cameras and addressed his viewers. "In summary, Miss Arinson reported that the gun battle, which occurred on an isolated farm in North Dakota last night, took the lives of at least twenty-six people. It appears that the FBI in its on-going investigation of the crash of North Central Flight three-two-one, in which eighty-seven people mysteriously disappeared, has identified Michael and Gail Emmart, husband and wife, as possible suspects in the case. It was on the Emmart ranch that the overnight action took place.

"One FBI agent was killed in a shootout at a grain elevator earlier in the day in a related incident in Bismarck. The manager of the grain elevator, Edward Rutledge, and another man were also killed in that shootout. Special Agent Andrew Moore was able to pass on the information identifying the Emmarts before he succumbed to his fatal wound. Within hours, the FBI and local law enforcement agencies had the Emmart's farmhouse surrounded and were attempting to serve a search warrant.

"What happened then is still clouded in mystery. We know that twenty-six people died in the gun battle at the farmhouse, six of them FBI agents. But why did a group of twenty persons who were in the farm buildings, of which only two have been tentatively identified, suddenly start shooting at local and federal agents and then blow themselves up rather than surrender? The big mystery is who were they, and more importantly, what were they trying to hide or protect on that farm? The FBI is currently conducting an on-scene investigation and hopefully information will be uncovered that will shed light on this terrible tragedy."

Bradley switched off the TV and looked at Jackie. "Well done, but you can bet tomorrow will be tougher. By then they will want some answers and right now I'm not willing to give them any. It's important, at least for the next day or so, that we do not tip our hand to anyone. I will say it again, thanks for a job well done. If I were you, I would consider a career change to television. You're becoming a household word and you're good at it."

Jackie was getting use to his ritual of teasing but knew he was discouraged. He had more than fifty agents swarming over the area of the farm, and they had found nothing except burned-out buildings. She too wondered what the occupants of the farmhouse had really been doing.

Bradley got to his feet and started to leave the tent. "Staff meeting in an hour. Supper tonight is C-Rations. You pick your own menu."

~~~~

When the first simulated casualties from the exercise began arriving at the small clinic in Deadwood, South Dakota, Dr. Howard and his small staff were surprised. It wasn't that they were unaware of the simulation, but Deadwood was a small town of less than 2,200 people and located in the far northwest corner of the state. Dr. Howard had assumed one of the larger cities would be targeted. Every hospital and medical clinic in the state had received notification that they might become involved in the exercise and that they were requested to participate to the best of their ability, if called on to do so. He had been practicing medicine in this small town for over thirty years. He knew almost every resident of the town and the county, most by their first names. So, when the Rinsons walked into the clinic at 8 a.m. with their two small children, ages eight and ten, he was surprised to see them.

He jokingly said, "Gene, don't tell me the whole family is sick."

He then saw the sheepish grin and awkwardness registered on Gene's face as he reached inside his shirt pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to the doctor. At the same time, a woman that he did not recognize walked into the clinic and moved to the side of the Rinson family. She placed a baseball cap on her head, and Dr. Howard could see the word Evaluator written across it. Surprised, he glanced back down at the card in his hand.

THIS IS AN EXERCISE MESSAGE. You have been selected to participate in Exercise Wild Fire. If you decline to participate, please call the number at the bottom of this card.

Below that in bold letters: Dr. Howard, the Rinson family have all come down with symptoms of gastrointestinal distress, nausea and vomiting. Please take whatever action you would normally take under those conditions.

Then the third paragraph read: The evaluator assigned to your clinic is a qualified medical physician from the Centers for Disease Control. He or she will only observe and evaluate your response. THIS IS AN EXERCISE MESSAGE.

Dr. Howard glanced at the evaluator and received a non-committal look in return. Then, he turned to the Rinson family. "Well, Gene, let's take a look at you folks and see what the problem is." He led them down the hall with the evaluator following close behind.

Half an hour later, more than twenty people were in the clinic and more were headed that way. All appeared to have the same symptoms. Two members of the Rinson family suddenly changed to critical status with blurred vision and difficulty swallowing, and Dr. Howard called the state medical office.

~~~~

In the command post, Gary looked at the large situation board. He saw the message from the state health department and glanced at the clock—8:40 a.m. and day two of Exercise Wild Fire. Now, he thought, the simulation will start in earnest.

A few minutes after six o'clock this morning, an exercise message had been received at the governor's home and he had arrived at the command post within minutes. The message stated that since the governor had not paid the ransom, the terrorists intended to select one city or town within the next twelve hours to use as an example. If after that, the governor still refused to transfer the money, they would unleash a toxin throughout the state.

That message had started a sequence of events that affected most of the state agencies and eventually the federal government. Governor Mills ordered that all state law enforcement agencies be notified immediately of the new threat and directed that they intensify their efforts to locate and apprehend the terrorists before they could carry out their intentions. He also requested that the FBI intensify their efforts to find out whom they were dealing with. The state health department sent an exercise message to every medical facility in the state, warning them of the threat and advising them to be on the lookout for anything unusual. In other words, he was putting the heat on, and it did not stop there. The governor was not playing a game and all the participants knew it.

In a surprise move, the governor ordered the Army National Guard to be placed on standby status. Finally, he had his public information office send a notice to all the news media, stating that he would hold a news conference on the exercise at noon today. The participants were again amazed when they realized he intended to hold a real live news conference. That had not been built into the exercise script either.

In the back of the room, the director of FEMA turned to one of his aides. "If he keeps this up, he may very well force us to change the script in order to obtain the results we anticipated. If the governor has his way, we're not going to make it."

From the information on the situation board, Gary knew which city had been struck, and he thought the feds were tricky. They had not picked a medium or large size city for their example. They had selected instead a small out-of-the-way town in the far northwestern corner of the state, in the Black Hills—Deadwood, South Dakota. When the target was identified, the governor had the National Guard respond and cordon off the small town. He did not simulate that action, he directed the National Guard commander to actually do it. At first, the commander and some of the staff thought the governor was joking, but they soon realized he was not.

"Governor, we can accomplish the task of cordoning off that town, but you should know our guard units are not really trained or equipped with the protective clothing required under this type of situation," General Waymore said.

Governor Mills looked at his adjutant general that was a long-time friend. He uttered two words. "Why not?"

"The National Guard at the federal level has not put much emphasis on chemical, biological, and radiological, otherwise known as CBR, training for the past ten years. Also, they have not funded for the Guard units to receive the new CBR protective clothing and equipment that the regular Army has. The small amount of CBR clothing and equipment that we have is at least ten years out of date. Sir, if this was not an exercise, and we actually had to respond to a real threat of this nature, I'm afraid all we would be doing is putting more people at risk."

The governor was angry, and everyone could see it as he quickly turned to Gary. "Contact FEMA and see what you can do to have them help us with the problem. In the meantime, General, I want you to go through your chain of command and request that three hundred complete sets of new protective clothing and the associated equipment be shipped to the state capital immediately." He paused for a minute. "I want that and two CBR instructors here today and that's not an exercise message!" There was stunned silence in the command post.

The governor turned back to Gary. "I believe we need to alert all the state emergency responders, fire departments, rescue squads, etc., and apprise them of the current situation and the potential hazard."

Gary took a step closer. "Sir, I prepared a simulated message for your signature. If you will sign it, we will send it out immediately."

Meanwhile, the FEMA director thought, At this rate, I'll have to go back to Congress for additional funds to pay for this exercise. But he liked what this governor was doing.

~~~~

At noon, the governor went on the air, and not just local stations but national networks carried his speech as well. He updated the citizens of South Dakota on the exercise and all the actions taken so far, both simulated and real. His last statement made headlines in every state in the union.

"The citizens of South Dakota and every other citizen of this country need to know that our government is totally unprepared to respond or effectively control this type of situation. If we are to survive as a free nation in the future, we had better find a counter for these types of threats."

Well, well! Manson thought. Mr. Governor, you just made my day!

~~~~

The hectic pace in the command post began winding down around 7 p.m., and Gary was exhausted. He knew it was time to change shifts and let his deputy take over, but he was reluctant to leave. The 12-hour shifts had changed at 6 p.m., and now a complete set of new players was in place. He was still there to ensure that the transition went well, and it had. Those leaving had thoroughly briefed their replacements and now it was Gary's turn. He thought of the day's events and was satisfied with how most of them were handled.

The Guard unit out of Rapid City had sealed off the small town of Deadwood, which had caused some problems. In their zeal, they had refused to let anyone enter or leave the area at first. Within four hours of Governor Mills' request for new CBR clothing, the Department of Defense had directed Ellsworth Air Force Base to provide the needed supplies, and they had sent a six-man CBR instruction team as well. The members of the National Guard unit at Pierre were now receiving specialized training on the use of the protective clothing and equipment. Gary knew that when this was over, the governor would make sure that every Guard unit in the state had the newest CBR equipment available.

The state health department and the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia had identified the agent released as Botulinum Toxin-type D. The agent had been confined to the local area, in and around Deadwood, and no further contamination had so far been detected. Local and state law enforcement was intensifying their manhunt for the individual or individuals that had released the agent. Roadblocks had been set up within a fifty-mile radius of Deadwood, and the search was on.

At 5 p.m., the governor had again refused to pay the money, and Gary knew that tomorrow, day three of the exercise, would make today look like a picnic.

# CHAPTER 24

Nick and Running Wolf watched the last of the vehicles leave the loading dock behind the newspaper building. For the past four hours, a small band of fifteen to twenty Indians had loaded vehicles with small boxes and then they left as silently as they had arrived.

"That's the last of it. Will your people be able to have everything in place by tomorrow night?" Nick asked.

"Yes," Running Wolf replied and he too walked silently into the darkness, leaving Nick to wonder how much time they had left.

~~~~

The heat inside was stifling as the sun blazed down on the small tent. Special Agent Bradley took a small cloth and rubbed his neck and behind his ears. If he did not get a fan soon, he would have to move into the large tent, which he was reluctant to do. What little privacy he had, he wanted to keep. As he tried again to study the reports on the makeshift desk, which was really two sawhorses and a piece of plywood, he heard someone approach the tent. Looking up, he recognized one of the recent arrivals that the Bureau had sent from headquarters, but Bradley did not really know him. He was a member of the new breed that the Bureau was leaning toward, young, intelligent, and an expert in computer technology. The wave of the future, Bradley thought, as he looked at the man standing respectfully in front of him.

The young FBI agent considered Bradley a legend, as did most of the newcomers to the agency. Bradley's track record was well known throughout the agency and his tactics were standard training requirements at the FBI academy in Quantico, Virginia. The mystique surrounding him had only been amplified with the latest gunfight, and the young man was thrilled with his assignment.

"OK, you didn't come in here because it's cold outside, so what's on your mind?" Bradley asked.

"Sir, something has been bothering me since I arrived yesterday and started looking at the blueprints of the county surveys for this farm. I couldn't put my finger on it, since most of the activity has been centered on the buildings located where we are now."

Bradley noted the faint hesitation in his voice and glanced at his nametag. "Agent Gere, I am at a stalemate in this investigation. If you have anything that might be of help, I want to hear it."

Agent Gere unrolled a map and placed it on the makeshift desk. "Sir, if you would look at the southwest part of the farm, you'll notice a small section that has been taken out of the property for tax purposes. That's what triggered my curiosity. Why would that small piece of land be taken off the tax rolls of this county?"

Next he laid an aerial-photograph of the farm on the desk. "As you can see, it appears that a large number of boulders and rocks are amassed in that area. To the casual observer, it would appear to be a dumping ground for all the rocks cleared from the land, but when I flew over that area this morning, it just didn't look right."

Bradley looked closer at the photo. It did appear to be rock piles, and then suddenly another thought came to mind. "Agent Gere, what are you driving at?"

Gere knew that Bradley had made the connection, and it would have surprised him if he had not.

"Sir, when I came back this morning, I got into my computer and asked the Department of Defense to provide any information on projects they may have had in this specific area over the past fifty years. I received an answer a few minutes ago." He pointed at the rock pile. "In nineteen sixty-two, under that rock pile was a Minuteman Command and Control Facility."

Bradley reached for his radio as he looked at Agent Gere. The man was waiting and Bradley did not disappoint him.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Get ready to leave!" And Gere ran from the tent. Bradley didn't realize that he had just added another building block to his reputation.

Bradley spoke into the radio, "Assemble the SWAT team immediately!"

~~~~

As the group circled the pile of rocks in three helicopters, Bradley kept in constant contact with the SWAT chief. Agent Gere, armed with an Uzi sub-machinegun across his lap, sat beside Bradley.

"OK folks, we're going down to take a closer look. Stand by to cover us," Bradley spoke into his radio.

Almost immediately, the SWAT chief came back, "Sir, why not let our chopper go in first and look around?"

Bradley smiled to himself and then answered, "Sorry, Jack. You had all the fun last time. Now, it's mine and Gere's turn." He motioned to the pilot and pointed to the ground.

Agent Gere with his heart pounding from the adrenaline rush had witnessed a first-hand reason of why this man sitting beside him was such a legend. Agent Bradley, a ferociously courageous man, cared for those who worked with him and led by example. That was why his agents respected him.

The pilot throttled the engine faster on the approach and swooped in near the rocks. Within seconds, seven men were out of the chopper, and it lifted back into the sky and was gone.

Bradley gasped for breath as he jumped to the ground and his lungs felt as if they were on fire. Although his chest was tightly bandaged, the three broken ribs were not happy with the treatment they were receiving, and they let him know. As the men fanned out, Bradley noticed rebar sticking out of large concrete slabs that lie in jumbled heaps across the ground—then, all hell broke loose.

The sound of a machine gun chattered and two of his agents fell to the ground. They were receiving fire from several directions. As Bradley started to rise, the first bullet caught him in the left arm and the second slammed into his chest, flinging him backwards. The next instant, Agent Gere was dragging him among the rocks and propping him up against a large concrete slab.

"Sir, I was warned that it was dangerous working with you, and now I believe it," Gere said.

Without the bulletproof vest, the shot probably would have killed Bradley instantly. Gere had checked him over quickly and then turned, firing back at the unseen enemy.

Bradley heard the SWAT chief calmly asking the status of his situation, and he responded into his microphone. "Chief, you had better get your team in here before we get massacred. We're taking heavy fire, two agents down that I know of, and we have retreated to the rocks."

"Damn! I told you to let us go in first. Where's the fire coming from?" Bradley recognized the indignity in the man's voice and knew it came from letting his boss go in first.

"From my vantage point, it appears as if we're surrounded and the fire is coming from various positions, three hundred to fifteen-hundred feet away."

Suddenly one of his agents cut into the transmission. "Recommend the choppers do not, I repeat do not attempt to land near this site. These guys appear to be using a series of tunnels, and they have very sophisticated weaponry."

The SWAT chief came back, "What do you mean by sophisticated weapons?"

The reply was chilling. "I just shot a man with what seemed to be a surface-to-air missile launcher in his hands."

Both choppers rapidly veered away from the scene, and Bradley knew they were now all alone. When he looked up, Agent Gere was grinning. "Do you mind telling me what's so funny about this situation?"

Gere responded, "I was just wondering how you're going to get us out of this mess?" He then turned and fired his Uzi at something he thought he saw move in front of him.

Bradley thought, God, I wish I was young and naive again, and then he spoke into the radio. "Chief, did you get your team off those choppers before they left?"

"Affirmative. We are starting to surround the area now."

"Can you tell me how long before your men will be in position?" "Estimate thirty minutes."

"Thanks Chief. Once in place, let me know and wait for my signal."

Bradley was a very thorough man and did not like to take chances unless it was absolutely necessary. He switched to another radio channel and asked, "What's the status on Plan Two?"

"We have been monitoring your transmissions and expect to arrive in your area within fifteen minutes. Once in place, we will stand by for further instructions," was the comeback. Gere watched the satisfaction cross Bradley's face and knew his boss had an ace up his sleeve.

~~~~

Two hours later, the sixteen adversaries protecting the rock pile were dead, along with two FBI agents. Unknown to even his closest advisors, Bradley had called in some one hundred SWAT team members from across the country to support his team. They were the best of their units, and all were volunteers. The governor had granted permission for this plan—just in case it was needed. It had been and now it was all over.

Bradley had known it would be extremely difficult and time-consuming to request federal military units, such as DELTA or the SEALs, so he had asked for volunteers from the various SWAT teams across the country to serve as a backup to the FBI, if further assistance was needed. The response had been overwhelming and by late last night, he had the best SWAT members in the country standing by in Bismarck ready to react if needed. When he had activated the FBI SWAT team, he had covertly activated the volunteers and the results were devastating to the opposition.

While continuing to defend their position and waiting for reinforcements to arrive, Bradley was in a hell all his own. The impact of the bullet hitting his vest had caused his broken ribs to act up. With each breath, a burning, knife-like pain radiated inside his chest, causing insufferable anguish. Thank God the wound to my arm is superficial, he thought. His vision began to blur as the searing, noonday sun beat unmercifully down upon him, and he knew he couldn't last much longer. He was aware that he had a watchdog keeping an eye on him. When Agent Gere had dragged him to the rock pile, he had taken a stand a few yards behind him and a little higher in the rocks. He had not left that position since the fight started. In a way, Bradley was amused. The young agent might be a computer nerd, but he was also courageous, and Bradley was glad the man was covering his back.

~~~~

Jackie and several agents were huddled around the radio in the communications tent at the farmhouse. They could hear Bradley's pain-filled voice as he issued orders. She wondered if he had been hurt again. Suddenly they heard him say, "SWAT teams are a go. Take cover and keep low."

Intense gunfire could be heard for what seemed like a long time, and then abruptly there was complete silence. Finally, she could stand it no longer and grabbed the microphone. "Bradley, are you OK?" One of the agents took it from her hand.

Bradley's voice came on the speaker. "It would help if unauthorized personnel stayed off this channel." She felt relieved but embarrassed at the same time. Then, he continued, "Yes, Jackie, I am OK"

~~~~

For more than an hour, the president had listened to the gun battle that was taking place in North Dakota. The White House Communication Agency, also referred to as WHCA, had installed a base radio in the Oval Office and programmed in the FBI's frequencies. Repeaters had done the rest.

When Garrett told him earlier that morning that they had located a suspicious area on the farm and were going to investigate, the president had ordered that a link be established from the FBI command post on the farm directly to the White House. He wanted to monitor the situation himself.

But he, like everyone else, had been stunned when gunfire had suddenly erupted. He heard Jackie's transmission and Bradley's response, and then he too picked up the microphone. "Agent Bradley, this is the president, and I hope I am authorized to use this net. I would like to know the status of your team."

Jackie's hand flew to her mouth, and she felt the flush of heat on her face as she fled from the tent. Bradley was too stunned at first to answer, and then thought, Hell, if anyone can fire me, this man can. He ignored the authorization request. The man could talk to anyone he liked.

"Mister President, this time around we were a lot luckier." The president detected pain in his voice and suspected it was not from his own wounds. "We lost two agents and have four other casualties, none of which I understand are life-threatening. We had sixteen suspects, and it appears none survived."

The president wondered what he meant by it appears but did not press the point. "And you, Agent Bradley, are you OK?"

He must have been listening to this whole fiasco, Bradley thought. "Yes, sir. I am fine. One bullet to my vest and a flesh wound to my left arm."

"Well, Bradley, I'm glad to hear that. We need you there so don't let Garrett replace you. We need to find out what is really happening out there and you're the man who can do it. Tell your team a grateful president thanks them."

"I'll do that, Mister President, but I want you to know that although all of us did our jobs, three men should be singled out. Agents Burrows and Alton gave their lives here today, and I am still not sure for what. Nevertheless, they were friends and both would have been able to retire next year. I'm not sure how to tell their families. The third man is one of our new breed of agents and, in my opinion, computer nerds." He paused for a second, heard the president chuckle and then continued. "Agent Gere was the man who discovered the missile silo and also the man who saved my life."

"Agent Bradley, I will handle the call to the families of Burrows and Alton and your comments on Agent Gere are noted. Now, find me the answer to what is going on out there." And the president signed off.

Bradley turned slowly and saw Agent Gere standing close by with a look of astonishment on his face. "Well, don't stand there like an idiot, help me up. Someone has to be the hero."

~~~~

When FBI Director Garrett Hull arrived at the Oval Office, the president had already made the calls to Mrs. Burrows and Mrs. Alton and was in a solemn mood. "Garrett, when is this going to end?"

"I don't know, Mister President, but we had better find out soon. The sixteen people guarding that abandoned site did not just die, some of them disappeared, just like those people on North Central Flight three-two-one."

# CHAPTER 25

Unaware of the battle that waged above her, Joyce Winters sat in her silent tomb and shivered from the cold that seeped through her body. The stale air made her head pound, but she continued to write. She knew the oxygen candle and Fullers Earth would have to be changed soon or she would surely die. She laughed out loud, a high-pitched cackle, as if sharing a joke with the other person in her head. She thought, what did it matter? She was going to die anyway. It's just a matter of time.

With no electrical power to support the escape pod, condensation continued to build, and it covered everything with a wet film. Small drops of water formed slowly, and then darted swiftly down the sides of the wall as if trying to escape the scene before them. At first, she had attempted to wipe down the walls and other surfaces but finally gave up.

Her appearance had always been an obsession with Joyce, and now her mind blocked recognition of the woman who stared back from the mirror. The other woman was grotesque, someone who seemed vaguely familiar. Her hair looked synthetic and the skin had a sickly, yellowish tint, but it was the sunken eyes that were terrifying, void of any emotion, and Joyce had to look away. She finally put a towel over the reflection; yet knowing the creature was still there.

In an effort to ward off the cold, Joyce had put on more and more clothing. She now wore three jumpsuits and a parka that she had found in one of the cabinets, yet, the chill seeped into her body nevertheless. She sat hunched over the table, occasionally talked to no one but herself and continued to write in the dim light. She didn't notice the water slowly seeping in and beginning to cover the floor.

~~~~

As national defense programs and priorities changed, the construction of this missile site had been halted. Eventually, the capsule and the area around it had been returned to the original owner of the land and, since it was never activated, the site had never been placed on the Air Force inventory. Over the years, records of its existence had slowly been buried in the massive number of files and bureaucracy from that time period.

"Agent Bradley, if you're really serious about excavating that silo, we can do it. It will take time and a lot of equipment, but it is doable," explained the engineer that Bradley had requested be sent to the site. "The first four hundred feet is really nothing more than a single shaft that appears to be filled with concrete. Look at the blue prints, and you can see the heart of this structure starts at the four-hundred-foot level. That's where the command and control center was built. The other chambers surrounding it were support structures, sleeping-quarters, a mess hall, a conference room, a medical area, and mechanical rooms. We assume part of that may have been destroyed when the shaft was blown, but there's a good chance most of the chambers are still intact."

"How soon can it be accomplished if you have all the equipment and manpower you need?" Bradley asked.

"Well, there are two ways you can go about it. First, you can clear the silo, but I'm afraid you're looking at several weeks or more before you would reach the four-hundred-foot level. The second option would be to drill a parallel shaft and punch into the silo. With luck, that might be accomplished within seven to ten days."

"We don't have that much time," Bradley remarked.

"Well," the other man said, "why not do it the easy way and just go down through the escape hatch, if it's not been destroyed?"

Bradley jerked his head up so fast, his broken ribs protested. "What escape hatch?"

"Right here," the man said and pointed to a spot on the blueprint. "When these silos were designed, at least the later ones, they built a small escape pod with a vertical shaft slanting off to the side."

"Christ!" Bradley shouted. "Where the hell is it?"

Ten minutes later, a dozen people stood in a circle in the middle of a wheat field, six hundred feet from the silo. "If I'm correct, it should be right about here," the man said as he pointed at his feet.

Bradley turned to one of his agents. "Bring some of our people over here and start digging or bring in a backhoe. In any case, get it uncovered quickly."

"Not so fast, Agent Bradley. The escape hatch should only be six feet below the surface but surrounding the outside of the hatch is a series of explosives. They were designed to do two things, both of which are controlled from inside the capsule. The first is to blow the six feet of dirt away from the hatch, if someone inside wanted to escape. In addition, the system was designed to act as a deterrent to prevent unauthorized entry from the outside."

Bradley spoke into his radio, "Find our Explosive Ordnance Disposal team. I want them here right away and have someone get some pickaxes and shovels."

# CHAPTER 26

Gary was surprised when he walked into the command post and saw Nick at the back of the room, deep in conversation with the director of FEMA. Seeing Nick conjured up thoughts of Jackie. He had watched her on TV last night, describing the events of the second gun battle that had been waged above the silo on the farm in North Dakota. Gary, along with everyone else at the command post, knew about the second incident at the farm almost immediately because of the FBI agents assigned to the EOC. However, few details had been revealed, and it wasn't until he saw the broadcast that he realized the scope and magnitude of the shootout.

~~~~

Jackie, standing in the middle of a wheat field with the wind sporadically blowing her hair across her face, told the American audience that the FBI had located an abandoned minuteman command and control missile silo on the property. The camera had scanned to a large pile of rocks and concrete rubble behind her.

"Shortly before noon, a team of seven FBI agents, headed by the Agent-In-Charge, Bill Bradley, had arrived by helicopter to inspect the site and immediately had come under fire. The gunfight had raged for almost two hours before a SWAT team of approximately one hundred law enforcement agents had encircled the area and eventually brought the situation under control. When it was over, the FBI had lost two agents and four more were injured, none of their wounds were life-threatening.

"Whoever this group was, they had dug elaborate trenches and tunnels around the silo, camouflaging them so they were undetectable. It is apparent that these individuals intended to protect the area of the silo with their lives, and they did. It appears that all sixteen of the defenders died there, and I say 'appears' because the FBI cannot be sure at this point," and she paused for a second, "there are few bodies. Their bodies, like the passengers on North Central Flight three-two-one, disappeared one at a time in a burst of bluish flame." If the nationwide audience had been shocked with the information surrounding the air crash, they were perhaps even more stunned at the words she had just spoken.

She continued, "The FBI now has a solid connection between these two events, which has led to this spot and the abandoned missile silo. In an interview, Agent Bradley stated that the silo shaft leading down to the main complex, which lies about five hundred feet below the surface, had recently been demolished by explosives. The FBI intends to have the rubble excavated from the shaft in hopes of finding evidence that will help solve the mystery surrounding the disappearance of so many individuals. We will keep you updated. This is Jackie Arinson reporting from the scene."

~~~~

Gary had mixed emotions. He felt proud of how Jackie was con-ducting herself, but he was also worried. He did not like the idea of her being that close to the battle and wished she was back home.

He watched as the twelve-hour shift change commenced in the emergency operations center. By now, the players knew the routine, and there was an orderly changeover as they briefed their replacements. Day three of the exercise would soon begin. When everyone was in place, Gary walked to the front of the room. He acknowledged the governor and began his status report, using the situation board, which provided a short synopsis of each event that had occurred during the past twelve hours, along with the simulated response.

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to day three of Exercise Wild Fire. I hope today is as quiet as the past twelve hours, but I would not count on it."

This brought a few chuckles from the group. Nevertheless, Gary felt the underlying tension that prevailed throughout the room. Well, I guess I would be nervous too if I had the governor watching my every move, Gary thought. He laughed to himself. I guess my performance is being evaluated as well, but he knew the tension was related to something no one could really put his or her finger on. It was an intangible uneasiness that just would not go away.

He had been daydreaming too long and everyone in the room was quietly staring at him as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even the governor had a look of concern.

Gary smiled. "Governor, in the past twelve hours since your simulated address to the citizens of this state, in which you told the terrorists that you would not give into their demands and then declared a state-of-emergency, it has been relatively quiet. As you can see on the board, there have been a number of inputs relating to the simulated attack on the town of Deadwood and the actions taken to assist the citizens of that area, as well as cordoning off the town.

"At six-fifteen p.m. yesterday, the lieutenant governor requested additional assistance from the Centers for Disease Control, or the CDC, in Atlanta, Georgia.

"Seven-thirty p.m., the CDC advised that forty-five medical personnel would arrive at Rapid City no later than eleven p.m. last night.

"Seven-forty-four p.m., Doctor Howard, of Deadwood, called the state health department and requested that additional antitoxin and antibiotics be sent as they were rapidly running out of what was on hand. The doctor also stated that forty-seven had died so far, and he expected the number of fatalities to increase throughout the night with the five-hundred-and-eighty people known to be infected. Additional medical staff was needed immediately.

"At eight p.m., the lieutenant governor sent a message to Doctor Howard stating that until the CDC arrived, no additional personnel or resources could be available and that he should not expect any assistance until morning.

"Nine-fifteen p.m., a local deputy sheriff, patrolling Highway Four-teen outside of the town of Spearfish, South Dakota, was killed when he attempted to stop a suspicious vehicle on the outskirts of town. The suspect, or suspects, had taken the Alternate Fourteen route and disappeared into the Black Hills.

"At nine-twenty p.m., the state police began setting up roadblocks on all highways in that area in an attempt to apprehend the suspects.

"At nine-fifty-four p.m., the director of FEMA contacted the lieu-tenant governor and advised him that the president had authorized federal troops to assist if that support was requested."

Gary paused to let the group absorb the information and he realized that some members of the emergency staff, for the first time in their lives, were confronted with events that they found overwhelming—it showed on their faces. He glanced at the governor and saw a small smile on his face as he nodded for Gary to continue.

"At eleven-fifteen p.m., approximately fifty CDC doctors and other medical specialists arrived at Rapid City by a chartered aircraft. A contingent of the Rapid City National Guard unit and state health officials met them.

"One-twelve a.m. this morning, the state health department was notified by Doctor Howard that the contingent from the CDC had arrived in Deadwood. He also requested the state provide mortuary personnel and refrigerated trucks to assist in handling the dead, which now numbered eighty-three.

"One-thirty a.m., the lieutenant governor requested the state health department contact local mortuary facilities throughout the state, as well as transport companies which employed large refrigerated trailers, for assistance. By two a.m., it was apparent none of those contacted were willing to offer their services. The lieutenant governor then directed that the National Guard commander request military mortuary and transport support. It was approved at two forty-seven a.m. this morning.

"At five-fifteen a.m., the state highway patrol sector office in Rapid City advised the lieutenant governor that the suspects involved in the killing of the deputy sheriff, near Spearfish, had been cornered on a secondary road in the Black Hills. Both suspects had been killed in the resulting shootout. The bodies were taken to Rapid City for identification. That brings us up to date."

And then Gary added, "Governor, do you or your staff have any questions or comments?"

Governor Mills stood. "Thank you, Gary," and turned to his staff. "I think we are damn lucky to have Gary Powers as our director of emergency preparedness. It has been through his efforts and foresight that we have a well-established emergency preparedness program and this emergency operations center or command post, as he prefers to call it.

"By now, I believe the majority of you know that if a real disaster of this magnitude had actually occurred, we would not have been able to cope with it. However, we are better prepared than most state governments, and I believe that is why FEMA picked our state for this exercise. The lessons that the federal government learns here hopefully will provide guidelines that all the states can use to protect its citizens in the future. To that end, I want each of you to continue playing this exercise as if the incidents were actually taking place. I have a feeling by the end of this day, we will be taxed to the limits of our resources, and we still have two more days to go."

~~~~

Agent Bradley watched as the workers slowly removed dirt and rocks from the ever-widening hole. He knew it was painstaking and dangerous work, but he was still irritated at the time it was taking. They had begun the task of clearing the entrance to the escape hatch under the direction of the EOD team chief that was a very cautious man. Now, some fourteen hours later and under the bright sun, the work was progressing a little faster. It was still too slow to suit Bradley, but he had no recourse than to stand aside and watch.

The shout was loud. "Clear the hole." Then the EOD chief appeared, cautiously working his way out of the depression.

"Bradley, we just found the first explosive charge, and even though we have the blueprints and explosive information, it's going to be ticklish. The explosive material has deteriorated over the past forty years to the point that it's going to be extremely sensitive to neutralize. For the first one, I want only two operators in the hole. I will not endanger any more of my team than I have to, in case something should go wrong."

Bradley knew the EOD chief had the final word, and he was not about to argue the point with him. "How long do you figure it will take to clear the area of all the explosives?"

"I'd estimate another twenty-four hours, at least. Due to the deterioration of the explosives, I will not let my operators work after dark. It's just too dangerous. Maybe about this time tomorrow we will have all the devices disarmed and you can open the escape hatch."

Bradley looked at his watch—9:50 a.m. He nodded and walked to the helicopter.

~~~~

Joyce sat on the bunk bed with her legs crossed, talked to herself and stared down at the water in the dim light. It now was over a foot deep and slowly continued to rise. When she realized what was happening, she had frantically tried to find the source to stop it, but she soon realized the hopelessness of the task and gave up.

She held the notebook tightly to her breasts, rocking slowly back and forth. She had completed it several hours ago, and now that it was finished, she had to protect it from the water somehow, or all her efforts to redeem herself would have been in vain. The light in the chamber was so dim that she would soon need to resort to the flashlight. She really did not care—she had no place to go and continued to rock back and forth in her tomb, clutching the notebook.

~~~~

Gary looked at the wall clock and thought the governor had been right. Soon after his little speech this morning, all hell had broken loose and, if anything, had increased in momentum as the day wore on. It was almost 6 p.m. and the second shift would soon arrive only to find that their turn in the challenging environment would be just as daunting. He glanced at the situation board and then at his notes. One note read—modify the situation board after this exercise.

Originally, he had designed the board to hold up to fifty events, which he thought would be more than ample. He looked at the paper situation log that he and the rest of the staff was using in order to keep up with all the inputs they had received today. So far, they had had to erase the board twice and now only the most current inputs were posted. They had to use their paper logs in order to keep track of past events and the action taken at the time.

They had received 128 inputs today, and there appeared to be no let up in sight. He calculated that there had been an average of one message input every five minutes for the past twelve hours. He knew that was not a normal standard. At times, they had received several messages within a minute and other times there would be a short lull, but never a pause more than fifteen minutes. Each time a message came in, someone on the governor's staff had to be consulted or act on the input. He glanced down at the log again, scanned through the events and highlighted the most critical ones.

6:31 a.m.—FBI identified the two suspects killed in a gunfight with state police earlier this morning in the Black Hills. They belonged to a terrorist organization located in the Caribbean.

6:41 a.m.—St. John's Hospital in Rapid City notified the state health department of a large influx of people who appeared to have the same symptoms as those in Deadwood. They suspected these individuals were infected with Botulism. The governor immediately ordered the National Guard to blockade the city and requested additional medical support from the CDC.

7:05 a.m.—the governor went on TV and radio to warn the citizenry and ordered the residents of Rapid City to remain in their homes until the threat could be contained. No one but medical personnel was to enter or leave the city.

7:10 a.m.—FEMA was notified of the development and the governor's concern that the threat may not be able to be contained.

7:13 a.m.—the CDC had not confirmed, but initial tests indicated that the contagion in Rapid City was caused by Botulinum Toxin.

7:25 a.m.—several units of the state police and local law enforcement personnel report that a large number of vehicles, in the eastern part of the state, were leaving the small towns and cities. It appeared that most were heading toward North Dakota and Iowa. In light of the state-of-emergency, law enforcement officials asked for clarification on what action if any to take in this situation.

7:30 a.m.—the state health department was notified by a local doctor in Winner, South Dakota, that within the past 30 minutes, he had received 32 patients, all of which had the same botulism symptoms. He needed medical assistance and ambulances for transporting the sick to the hospital in Mitchell.

7:33 a.m.—St. Luke's Hospital in Aberdeen began receiving patients with botulism symptoms.

7:35 a.m.—with the recent influx of inputs, Governor Mills realizes he no longer has an isolated threat on his hands. It appears the whole state may be in jeopardy. He requests a reassessment from his department heads and information on what resources if any they may have to cope with this much larger threat. The assessments were appalling. The state health department was already swamped and had little or no resources left. All they could effectively do was provide information on preventative actions.

The state highway patrol commander had all of his personnel either looking for the terrorists or setting up roadblocks. None of his officers had appropriate protective clothing, and some of his officers were displaying symptoms of the poisonous substance. Others were refusing to go into areas identified as being infected, and he stated that he would not order them to go.

The governor's first reaction was to dismiss the commander from his position but then realized the man was right, and he would have done the same if he were in his position. It would be suicide to send anyone into a contaminated area without the proper clothing needed for protection and survival.

The head of the State Agricultural Department threw him another curve that he had not anticipated. As soon as it was public knowledge that a terrorist attack involving a poisonous substance had occurred in the state, the USDA had placed an embargo on all wheat, corn, and livestock. He had expected that, but when he learned the state only had enough food to feed the citizens for approximately five days without imports coming in, that was a surprise and now another problem to solve. Adding fuel to the fire, all major airlines, as of that morning, had cancelled all flights into the state, and the trucking industry had advised all interstate trucking to go around the state. The railroads were doing the same. Tourism was drying up, putting a further drain on businesses that depended on it for their livelihood, not to mention the money that went into the state treasury.

Hell, the governor thought, what's next? He soon found out.

The adjutant general for the National Guard advised that all Guard units were fully manned, but without protective clothing and other required equipment, he had ordered that they stay in their individual armories until further notice. The three hundred Guard personnel who had received the protective equipment and clothing were being assigned to various National Guard units, and only they would be available to support the governor in the threatened areas.

The only bright spot was the Air Force. The commander of Ellsworth Air Force Base had advised that they had been placed on a higher-alert status. The base had been sealed, but all of his personnel were equipped with the necessary protective clothing and masks. If personnel were required, he was prepared to provide them but on a limited emergency basis only.

As the governor pondered the situation, he suddenly realized there had been no inputs or exercise messages involving the two large Indian reservations. He knew they were located on federal land, but the state did have some responsibility. Maybe the federal government decided not to have them participate in the exercise, he thought. The governor knew he had to make some critical decisions, and he had to do it now while they still had the capability to function as a united government entity. At 8 a.m., Governor Mills sent an exercise message through the director of FEMA to the president of the United States.

Dear President Carson,

I now know the awesome responsibility that rests on your shoulders as the leader of all the people of the United States. As you are aware, the State of South Dakota has become the target of a group of terrorists who over the past two days have been spreading an aerosol form of Botulism within our state. Although at the state capital so far we have been spared, I feel it will only be a matter of time before we too become infected. Therefore, I officially request as the governor of this state that the following actions are taken by the federal government.

First, federal action should be taken as soon as possible to quarantine this state. No one is to leave and only federal troops who are protected against this threat should be allowed to enter. I realize this will take time to accomplish and as an interim measure, I will have our state and local law enforcement, where they can, set up the roadblocks leading out of the state, but they will be woefully inadequate to the task. I also intend to contact the governors of the bordering states, including North Dakota, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Iowa, and request that their law enforcement organizations set up roadblocks on as many roads as possible until they can be relieved by federal authorities. If it is not accomplished, I fear this may lead to a national epidemic.

Second, we must at all costs apprehend the terrorists before they cause any further deaths to the citizens of this country. The full might of the federal law enforcement agencies needs to be brought to bear if we are to have a chance of being successful.

Third, FEMA, as the lead agency for coordinating support of the various government agencies in times of emergencies, needs to immediately start organizing relief efforts to assist the State of South Dakota and its citizens. My department heads will work closely with FEMA, but of paramount importance is the need for medical and mortuary services, agriculture support for our livestock, those dead and dying, and antitoxin and antibiotics to fight the illnesses resulting from the terrorist attack. Additionally, within the next five days, food shortages will start to occur, so time is of the essence.

Mr. President, we in the state government and our citizens will do what we can to protect ourselves, but if we do not find and apprehend the terrorists who are threatening us, our efforts may very well be in vain.

Respectfully Yours,

Richard Mills, Governor of the State of South Dakota

~~~~

Two hours later, Gary sat at his desk reflecting on everything that had transpired. The governor may have wanted to inject some realism into the exercise by physically activating the National Guard and sealing off Deadwood and then Rapid City, but FEMA had a few tricks in reserve. The governor, doctors, hospital staffs, and other specialists were surprised when large numbers of individuals walked into doctor's offices, clinics, and hospitals with exercise cards describing their symptoms. FEMA had obtained a multitude of volunteers, mostly teenagers from the local schools around each targeted area. That meant they had real patients to examine and process, and the CDC doctors assigned to each area continuously modified the symptom cards. Gary knew that most of these doctors and nurses were busy treating real patients but they were also very supportive of the exercise and very few had declined to participate.

At 10:14 a.m., the communication officer announced that the president of the United States was on the phone and wanted to talk with the governor. "Governor, this is not an exercise input. It really is the president and he wants to speak to you."

A dead quiet descended over the command post. Gary glanced at the director of FEMA and saw surprise registered on his face as well. Activity resumed, but everyone worked very quietly and then it stopped again when the group heard the governor say, "Mister President, I will put you on the speaker phone and you can tell them yourself."

Much to their surprise, the president stated that he had been following the events of the exercise and wanted to express his appreciation for their efforts. Generally, the president's call was merely a word of encouragement for the governor and the players to put their maximum effort into the exercise. Gary had had an uneasy feeling about the call, and that feeling was reinforced when a couple of hours later, he read a note that was handed to him. After this shift is over, see me in my office— Governor Mills.

In asking for assistance from neighboring states, the governor did not simulate calling the five governors, instead, he setup an actual telephone conference call. After providing the background for the request, Governor Mills asked that they simulate actions to set up roadblocks in their respective states. By now, every governor in the union was aware of the exercise in South Dakota, and many were taking an active interest in it.

Within an hour after the governor's conference call, reports started coming in from state highway patrols and local sheriff departments that were not part of the exercise scenario. Most of the governors of the neighboring states had elected not to take a passive role in the exercise. Actual roadblocks were being established on all the primary and secondary roads leading out of South Dakota. Although actual traffic was not impeded, the manpower and pretense was there. If this had been an actual emergency, assistance was available from these states, and everyone, including the director of FEMA, knew that the exercise had suddenly gone from a one-state to a six-state simulation. The only one not surprised was Governor Mills.

However, icing was put on the cake when a special edition of The Prairie Times arrived. Gary knew Nick had spent most of the day in the command post. That old rascal does not miss a trick, Gary thought, as he shook his head and glanced down at the newspaper lying on his desk. In big, bold, black headlines, the banner read: President Calls!

The citizens of South Dakota now would know that their state was the focal point of the country—like a slide under a microscope. Gary could not believe the support Nick was giving to the governor. It was out of character for him. At this rate, if the governor decides to run for a second term, he would have no problem winning, he thought.

~~~~

It was 6:15 p.m. as Gary approached the governor's office, having briefed his deputy and ending his duties for the day. There was no one in the reception area so he walked across the room and knocked on the door of the private office. The adjutant general, the Air National Guard commander, the State Highway Patrol chief, the director of FEMA, and one other man he did not know were already seated and looked up as he entered the room.

The governor, sitting at his desk, pointed to a vacant chair. "Gary, you know everyone here except possibly for Mister Garrett Hull. Mister Hull is the director of the FBI and is here on direct orders from the president. During our telephone conversation this morning, the president advised me that he was sending Mister Hull to personally brief those I felt needed to be involved on a matter of grave importance." The governor then turned to Hull. "Sorry we had to keep you waiting, but I did not want to precipitously leave the command post with several of my staff, especially when the president asked that your visit be kept as low keyed as possible. Now, Mister Hull, what can we do for you?"

Hull directed his answer to the governor. "Sir, the president is gravely concerned about the incidents that have occurred in North and South Dakota involving the disappearance of some one-hundred-and-fifty people so far." Then, he went on to brief the group on what had happened at the farm in North Dakota, and what was transpiring now.

When he finished, the governor asked, "Does he really think we may be in danger?"

"Yes, sir. He does, and so do I. Whatever this group is up to, it seems your state may very well be their target."

"I hope you're wrong, but what are you proposing for us to do? Do you want the exercise terminated so our resources are back in place and available if something should actually occur?"

"No, Governor. In fact, we feel that's the worst thing you could do, that would raise a flag to the perpetrators that we were onto them. With the exercise ongoing, you already have your law enforcement and National Guard personnel on alert. If something should happen, they are better prepared to act if needed. And under the umbrella of your exercise, I would like to start moving approximately five hundred more FBI agents into your state as soon as possible. My problem is not only secrecy but logistics as well. The secrecy part, I feel can be handled by simply saying that the FBI is simulating sending additional exercise personnel as requested by the governor this morning. The problem is I need to place them strategically throughout the state and they'll need a facility in which to operate. My target is to have them in place by six a.m. tomorrow."

"Gary, do you have a solution to Mister Hull's problem?"

"Yes, sir. I believe I do. As you know, we have emergency coordinators in every county in the state. Some are state employees, part-time and full-time, while others are volunteers, many are local fire chiefs. That means at least ninety-five percent have some type of facility or office space available to support their emergency functions, including communications to the state command post. I believe you could send your team of agents to any or all of those locations and our emergency coordinators would ensure they are provided the required facilities and communications."

The governor looked at Hull. "I think Gary offered you a practical solution to your problem. Do you agree?"

Hull appeared impressed. "That's great, could I have a list of the locations and the emergency coordinators?"

"That's the easy part," Gary said. "I could give it to you, but in order to maintain a cover for your agents, just send an exercise message to your FBI agents, who are participating in the simulation in the command post, requesting the information. Once you determine the number of personnel you intend to send to each location, I will let my people know your agents are en route. I will also ensure that secrecy is maintained."

As Gary left the governor's office, he saw Nick Arinson leaning against a wall in the hallway.

Nick grinned. "Want to tell me what's going on with the governor and Mister Hull?"

Gary was speechless. Just where does he get all his information?

Nick's smile grew wider. "Forget it, Gary. What I really want to know is, would you join me and Garrett Hull later this evening for dinner?" Nick enjoyed thrusting people off balance and this included Gary.

Gary gave Nick an affirmative and heard him chuckling as he turned and walked back down the corridor.

# CHAPTER 27

Agent Bradley stood a short distance away from the large hole that had been excavated around the escape hatch. Although it was early, he could already feel the heat from the sun that signaled another hot and dry day. Just as the EOD team chief had warned, work had stopped shortly after dark last night and now his workers were waiting for him to complete his inspection before starting to dismantle the remainder of the explosives. It was slow, meticulous and dangerous work, but Bradley was impressed with their progress. Barring any unforeseen events, he did not expect it to take much longer.

His opinion was confirmed as the team chief climbed out of the hole and shouted, "Bradley, with luck it should be yours in a couple of hours."

~~~~

As Governor Mills reported for day four of the exercise, he was not surprised to find that, at least in theory, most of the state had been infected. The cities of Sturgis and Hot Springs to the west, and Aberdeen, Huron, Mitchell, Watertown and Brookings to the east had been indicated on the wall map as contaminated.

The status board told the story. State and local law enforcement had apprehended seven suspects in different parts of the state. Two had been killed and three wounded in three separate shootouts. Some of the biological agent and dispersal equipment was found in their cars but so far none of the men captured had talked. The five survivors had been identified as members of a terrorist group from the Caribbean. Evidently, the group intended to make South Dakota an example of what would happen if future threats were made in other states and the money demanded was not forthcoming.

By 6 a.m. day four, the federal government had sent several thousand suitably equipped and protected troops into the state and more were on the way. The governor smiled. It appeared the president had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. Instead of simulating the movement of troops, the president actually sent them and they were still arriving. The majority was medical units, which were placed in or next to hospitals, and they began simulating treatment to the exercise patients. Others were military police units and they took over blocking the roads that exited the state. Again the governor smiled. It would appear that realism was being highlighted during the exercise. Yet, the governor had a strange feeling that other forces were at play and wondered what really was behind these actions.

Shortly after arriving this morning, Governor Mills asked Gary for an update on the movement of FBI agents and was surprised to learn that all five hundred of them had been in place since 4 a.m. He had noticed there were now six FBI agents in the command post along with some additional electronic equipment. Garrett Hull was wasting no time augmenting his team and that too was cause for real concern.

While the exercise required an enormous amount of the governor's time, he still had his regular work to do and had to be kept abreast of what was going on in the state on a daily basis. After receiving a personal telephone call, he went in search of Gary. He asked Gary if he was aware of anything unusual going on within the Indian reservations that might relate to the exercise. Gary had told him no, and the governor said, "Then do me a favor and find out why most of the Indians are no longer on the reservations."

"Sir, are you serious?"

"I am afraid so." He related the details of the telephone discussion from the federal marshal's office in Sioux Falls, asking if the Sioux and Cheyenne were participating in the statewide exercise.

"It seems that the majority of them have suddenly disappeared. And before you ask, no, I do not believe it has anything to do with the other disappearances. There are Indians on the reservations, but in all the towns within the reservations, the women, children, and the elderly are gone. When the remaining men were questioned, they said they have gone to a powwow. When questioned as to the location of the powwow, they refused to reply. I don't like it, Gary. See what you can find out."

Thirty minutes later, Gary's contacts were giving him the same information the governor had. Except for male adults, the Indians located in the towns on the reservations were gone and the men did not seem concerned. Finally, Gary walked over to where Nick was sitting in the operations center and told him the story.

Nick thought for a few moments and said, "You know how those people are with their religious ceremonies. I really don't think there's anything to worry about. By tomorrow, they will probably all be back home."

Gary was truly perplexed. That should have been an opening for a major news story but Nick demonstrated no curiosity. That alone conjured up alarm bells. He sensed that Nick knew what was going on but was not prepared to elaborate on the subject. Now, what do I tell the governor?

~~~~

Bradley watched as a worker using a blowtorch cut the last hasp off the iron hatch. An FBI agent stood waiting with a crow bar for Bradley's command to open it. Other agents, with guns drawn, surrounded the hatch as he nodded, and the lid was slowly lifted off and thrown back. The group waited tensely but nothing happened, and Bradley walked over and peered down the shaft. He could see the top half of the ladder, a dozen or so rungs on the side of the cement wall, and below that was utter darkness. The shaft released a dry, musty odor and nothing else emerged but dead silence from the dark well.

"OK, let's bring the equipment over here and get started," Bradley ordered.

He had known yesterday from the blueprints that he would need a portable generator, at least five hundred feet of electrical cord spliced with lights every twenty feet or so in order to provide adequate lighting, and a small portable torch to cut the bolts on the interior hatch. He had a sling with five hundred feet of rope, in case the ladder was not safe to use. His only concern was the shaft itself. Only one person at a time could climb down that shaft, which meant the first person to go down could not be covered if he ran into trouble. Once at the bottom, the shaft widened enough that two men could stand side by side. One could then protect the other when the interior hatch was opened.

They had no alternative so Bradley turned to the two men who would be making the descent. "All right, let's find out what's down there."

There had been a heated discussion in his tent last night about who was going down first. Bradley had planned to be that man, but Agent Gere disagreed. He had left the tent only to return shortly with the team physician, who was located on the site with them.

Gere had looked at Bradley and then the doctor. "You tell him. No one else can."

That was the end of it. He was furious with Agent Gere, but he knew the doctor was right. With three broken ribs, he was a liability and would have been lucky to make it thirty feet down that shaft before having to be pulled back up. It stung, but he had to admire Gere's audacity.

Now, as he watched him descend into the hole first, Bradley said, "Gere, be careful and watch your butt." Gere smiled as he disappeared from view.

Topside, they could hear him call off the number of feet through the microphone on his headset as he descended, and his breathing became more and more labored the further he went down.

As Gere approached the bottom, the faster his heart pounded, and he thought of Bradley's crack about watching his backside. How would I explain that to my mother? he thought and cautiously continued down the ladder.

After a tense silence, they heard Gere say, "Both down, safe and sound, butt intact. Starting to cut bolts from the interior hatch."

Bradley muttered, "Cheeky bastard." But his remark went unheard.

Tension continued to escalate as those topside listened to Gere's step-by-step account of what they were doing. This procedure was standard FBI practice. In case they ran into trouble, the next agents would have a starting point from which to begin.

"Bolts off. Attempting to kick the hatch in." They all heard the thud and a moment of silence. Then, "Air smells terrible. No lights inside, and it appears to be half-filled with water. Wait! I hear something. It almost sounds..." and then they heard the shrill cry. "Holy shit! What the hell is that?" Scraping noises could be heard and then silence.

Bradley grabbed the microphone. "Gere, what the hell is going on down there?"

All of them could hear the heavy breathing of the two men and then Gere's voice came through the speaker. "Ah, sorry boss, but I think I just saw a real live ghost."

In a very calm voice, Bradley said, "Whatever you're going to tell me, all I have to say is it had better be good."

Then Gere's voice came back. "Sir, I see either an apparition or...or a ghost floating half-submerged in the water and humming some kind of tune."

"Agent Gere, I don't care if it is an apparition or a ghost or if it's dead or alive, arrest it!" Another tale was in the making, and it would forever be called Bradley's Ghost.

As Agent Gere slid down into the pod, the water rose to his chest, and he moved to the side of the entrance so his partner could bring a flood light into the pod. He never took his eyes off the dim figure a few feet away. When the light suddenly illuminated the pod, bringing everything into sharp focus, he slowly lowered his gun and starred at the image of a woman before him. He felt shivers course through his body and knew it was not from the chest-high water he was standing in.

Although she appeared to be floating, he could now see the bunk bed she was sitting on, but it was her face that held his attention. Her hair was plastered against her skull and the eyes, staring into his, appeared to be devoid of life. She was rocking back and forth, softly humming like a mother crooning to a baby. When he finally could move, he waded to her side and spoke, but she gave no sign of acknowledging their presence. Gere suspected her lack of response was due to her physical condition and probably mental instability.

It had been fifteen minutes of pure torture since Agent Gere had requested the sling be lowered. Bradley, who was used to being right in the middle of things, didn't think he could wait, but his agony changed to relief as the agents and their newfound ghost made their way to the top. As the men cranked the handle of the winch, Agent Bradley and Jackie Arinson moved closer to the shaft. Only a few more seconds and answers to the plaguing mystery would be revealed. How and why was this woman in the escape pod? And the crucial question, who was she? Agent Gere's description of the situation seemed to indicate that any answers would probably not be forth coming immediately.

The sight before their eyes was ghastly as the sling came into full view. Bradley heard Jackie's soft gasp, not revulsion but more like a whimper from a wounded animal. The slight figure seemed to be frozen with her legs crossed in a sitting position, and her posture did not change as two of the men lifted her up out of the sling to place her on the ground. A low-pitched, humming sound came from her throat, but she looked at no one and gave no indication of being aware of her surroundings.

Agent Gere climbed out of the hatch, moved over to the woman and began a critical inspection of his discovery. Bradley noticed that she held something against her chest, and he slowly bent down and tried to remove it. Her arms were like bands of steel, and he could not pry the object loose.

"Let me try," Jackie said and bent down to sit on the ground. She spoke softly to the woman as she reached for the package.

A twitch of her facial muscles indicated a sign of recognition. "Cindy?" The word floated away like a sound of wistful memories.

Jackie had the package in her hands, and the woman now holding an imaginary package began to rock back and forth again to her perpetual tune.

Bradley took the package, unwrapping several layers of protective covering. At first, he thought it had been soaked with water but as the cloth and plastic were removed, he saw that only the outer layers were wet. He finally reached the dry inner wrapping paper and felt anticipation rise within him. He stared at the notebook in his hands as if it were a crown of jewels and slowly opened the cover. A recent date and the name Joyce Winters were printed on an inside page. An additional paragraph written as an introduction indicated that she had thought the notebook would not be discovered for some time.

As the rest of the group stood silently watching him, Bradley looked up, then at his watch and said, "What is today's date?" Jackie answered, and he reached for his cell phone, "We need to get to the farmhouse now!" He started running to the helicopter.

Joyce Winters mentally remained in her tomb, swaying back and forth and humming as the hot prairie sun beat down. She paid no attention as the helicopter took off, making her appear even more ghost-like as dust clouds swirled around her and her rescuers.

~~~~

Brother Adam looked at the six individuals displayed on the videoconference screen and then held up the pill. "Within the hour, our time will have arrived and we must be ready for what is to come. All of our brothers and sisters have been directed to take the antidote in the next few minutes, and one hour from now our crusade to resurrect our world will begin." He placed the pill into his mouth and watched the others do the same.

# CHAPTER 28

The unfamiliar ring of his cell phone startled Gary, as this was the first time he had received a call on the FBI instrument given to him. Agent Bradley's voice was on the other end.

"Gary, do exactly what I say and don't ask questions! Get the governor to cancel the exercise immediately and declare an actual state-of-emergency. We have information that within the next thirty minutes or so, real terrorists are going to release a biological agent in the state of South Dakota. Do it, Gary!"

Attempting to digest what he had just heard, Gary swiftly moved over to the governor's desk. When he finished repeating the information to the governor, he waited for his reaction. Governor Mills stared at him for several seconds, deciding what action to take. He then stood up and walked to the front of the room to address the group.

It was slow in dawning on the emergency staffers that the governor was not providing another exercise input. Cold fear erupted within them as the governor waited a few seconds to let the message sink in.

"You now know as much as I do," he said. "In reality, if we are going to be attacked by a group of terrorists, we are fortunate in one way. We already have our emergency response forces in place, and hopefully, that will give us an advantage in our attempt to counter this threat. We also have the resources of the federal government to support us."

At this time, the governor did not know that the threat was world-wide and not just the state of South Dakota. If the terrorist plot succeeded, there would be no spare federal help available.

Gary saw Director Manson and Nick Arinson quickly leave the room together and then he thought of Jackie and pulled out his cell phone.

~~~~

The president looked up from the fax he was reading and watched the FBI director and his chief-of-staff enter the room. Both men had a copy of the fax that consisted of pages from Joyce Winters' journal. He motioned both men to sit and stood up himself walking to the front of his desk. "Garrett, is there any way this may be a hoax?"

"I don't believe so, Mister President."

The president paced back and forth for a moment and then stopped. "All right, Randy, here is what I want you to do. Set up a procedure for contacting every pharmaceutical company throughout the world. Give them the formula that is supposed to be the antidote for this biological agent. What they do with it is up to their individual government but in this country, I want every company that is capable of mass-producing the antidote to do so and as quickly as possible. I then want every state to establish a system of distributing the antidote to its citizens. The federal government will support this effort through the Department of Transportation. All the resources available to us will be used—rail, air, trucking, you name it, and it will have priority over everything else. And, Randy, tell them this is not a request from the president, it's an order. All funding for this effort will come from the federal government." Randy quickly vacated his seat and hurried from the room.

"All right, Garrett, what can we do to stop this madness?"

"I'm afraid very little, Mister President. Although the woman knew the plans for attacking South Dakota, it appears she had limited knowledge on the rest of the plot. Nevertheless, she was in charge of developing the biological agent and the antidote. I had the Bureau run a check on her, and although I won't go into the details at this time, she is one of the most accomplished biochemists in the country. In fact, she holds a top management position with one of the leading pharmaceutical companies right here in Washington. I have a team of agents on their way there now."

"So, Garrett, if the citizens of this country suddenly start bursting into flames in the next thirty minutes, what can be done? My God! How do you fight something you can't even see?"

Garrett wished he had the answer that could prevent this catastrophe from happening.

"How someone could be so crazy to try and eliminate the human race is beyond my comprehension." Garrett knew the president was not talking to him, but just voicing his inner most thoughts.

"Sir, your Secret Service agents have ordered your helicopter to land on the west lawn in ten minutes. We know from the information we have that the biological agent cannot penetrate the filtration systems at the few remaining underground protective facilities. Your relocation facility is only a few miles outside of Washington and is being readied for your arrival now."

"Christ, Garrett! What kind of a man do you think I am? I'm staying right here, not running off with my tail between my legs when the whole country is in danger. What kind of president would do that?"

"A live one, Mister President, and one that can direct the resources of this nation in helping to solve this crisis. It sure in the hell won't help the nation, not to mention yourself, if you're dead. In addition, there are precedents for this type of situation and you need to activate the continuity of government plan now before you leave."

"What the hell is that?" the president asked.

"Sir, it's a plan that directs successors to the president to be dispersed from Washington and hopefully provide them a secure facility in which they can survive. Its prime function is to ensure the line of succession so this nation does not become leaderless. The vice president is being moved now and you must also."

President Carson slumped down in his chair and then in a quiet voice said, "Garrett, do you know how many underground facilities there are?"

"No, Mister President, but I do know there's only a few scattered throughout the country, and most of them are military command and control facilities. Congress lost theirs a few years ago when its location was made public. Your relocation facility is fairly small but will hold a hundred or so, and there are no protected facilities for the general public."

"All right, Garrett. I'll go, but you're coming with me."

"Ah, I can't do that, Mister President. I need to direct the FBI's response here in Washington."

"You can do it from my relocation facility. I also need a live FBI director, not a dead one. So let's go."

As they made their way to the west lawn, the president said, "If that woman wrote the truth, and she gave the biological agent to the ringleaders instead of the antidote, how are we going to find out whom they were?"

"I'm not sure, sir, but I have a feeling it's not going to be difficult. Their disappearances will be individual incidents and in high-level places, not in large groups." Garrett stopped walking and pointed to his earphone. "I was just told that Senator Anderson burst into flames while giving a speech on the House floor. Furthermore, based on the fact that no one else was affected, I assume the Senator was one of the key people involved in this plot."

The president did not make any comment, and soon they were on their way to the relocation facility.

~~~~

An FBI agent briefed Governor Mills and Gary on the information obtained from Agent Bradley. In the notebook, Joyce Winters had identified a number of locations and methods of dispersal that had been planned.

"Can we stop them before they start to disperse this damn stuff?" the governor asked.

"Our agents and your state and local law enforcement officials are converging on those locations now, but according to the schedule written in that notebook, there is not enough time left to stop them. What we can and hope to do is limit the amount of agent dispersed. It appears they intend to execute the releases from campsites, by means of commercial vehicles and in two places by light aircraft. If we can reach those locations fast enough, we may reduce the residual effects dramatically. Our big problem is the aircraft. Once they are in the air, and I assume they already are, it will be difficult to locate them much less bring them down."

The governor turned to his transportation officer. "Charlie, I want every airport in the state closed down immediately. No aircraft will take off or land at any airport or private landing strip unless I person-ally approve it."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the Air National Guard commander, General Grooms. "Richard, how fast can you get some of your aircraft into the air—fully armed?"

Before General Grooms could answer, a speakerphone was switched on and they heard the caller say, "Although I am a doctor, I have never seen anything like this. I'm looking out my third story window, and as if in slow motion, I see people in the street bursting into blue flames and then disappearing. People seeing this happening start to run, but it's futile. The results are the same and whatever is causing it is moving this way. People are now disappearing half a block from this building."

The tone in the man's voice suddenly changed. In a numb-like voice he said, "Whatever this hellish thing is, I feel my turn is next, and it had better be..." and then silence.

Gary switched the speaker off. "That was Doctor Howard in Deadwood," he said.

The governor turned back to General Grooms but before he could pick up where he left off, he received his answer.

"The first two birds are now aloft. What do you want them to do?" the general asked.

Governor Mills pointed to the state map. "I want any small aircraft over the Black Hills and near Huron, who do not immediately land when your aircraft approaches, to be shot down. No questions asked, no hesitation, just bring them down!"

Gary's voice came over the PA system. "I have just been informed by the FBI that a small milk truck was intercepted on Highway Fourteen, approximately twenty miles west of us at a state police roadblock. As the vehicle attempted to back away from the roadblock, a gunfight ensued when the passenger started firing. The police returned fire, killing both men. When the agents inspected the vehicle, they found the tank did not carry milk but fifty-five gallon barrels. Each had a hose connected to a small opening in the walls of the tanker. From the documentation in the truck, its destination was Pierre, only it wasn't milk they intended to deliver."

The governor asked, "Why didn't they just release the toxin thirty or forty miles west of us and let the wind carry it? The wind is from the west and sooner or later, it would have reached us, and they could have gotten clean away."

One of the FBI agents said, "They also found papers that instructed them to wait until they were actually within the city limits of Pierre before they released the agent. We can only assume that they were taking no chances in eliminating the state government. Once they accomplished that, no effective leadership would be available to counter them."

"Well by God, they'll find out it's not going to be a stroll in the park for them. Gary, I need to address the citizens of our state and let them know they're in danger. Notify the radio and TV stations that I need air time in ten minutes," the governor said.

~~~~

General Groom listened to the radio as Captain Tiel relayed information he was seeing on his radarscope. "I have an unidentified aircraft thirty miles north of Huron. Airspeed is ninety miles per hour, altitude hard to determine but he's damn close to the ground."

The communications officer answered, "Roger, Delta One. Proceed using the rules of engagement you have received."

Captain Tiel was aware of the threat and the importance of time. He inverted his F-16 Falcon Fighter aircraft and began his descent. When he could see the single engine Cessna in front of him, he keyed his microphone.

"Unidentified aircraft, turn west and land on Highway Two-one-two immediately. No second warning will be issued. Do it now or be shot down!"

The general heard his pilot continue, "Just flew by the aircraft. I received no response to my message but he must have heard it. He is now turning west toward Highway Two-one-two. Wait! Unidentified aircraft now on the deck heading east toward Watertown, and he has increased his speed."

"Roger, Delta One. You are ordered to destroy the target immediately!"

Captain Tiel did not hesitate as his training took over. As soon as he had the locked-on signal, he released the AIM-9, a sidewinder, short-range, heat-seeking missile and watched as it headed for the target. He thought the target had been destroyed when the missile exploded but soon realized it had missed. Now, the bogey was hugging the ground, still heading for Watertown as he swept by him. There was no way he could slow down to the speed of the smaller aircraft without stalling. Trying to strafe, it was almost an impossibility, plus he knew each minute that passed brought the smaller aircraft closer to its probable target, Watertown, South Dakota, population sixteen thousand.

"The bogey is flying too slow and low for my armament to be effective, and for all I know he may already be releasing the agent. I have only one option left. Will start my descent now." They knew what the pilot was going to do. He was attempting to ram the smaller plane.

Then they heard, "Bogey one mile." Then, "Not this time, you bastard." Silence and then suddenly Captain Tiel's voice came back on the air. "Target destroyed. My aircraft is heavily damaged, attempting to gain altitude in an effort to eject."

"Roger, Delta One. What is your present altitude?"

They heard his chuckle. "Less than I would like." And again silence.

Two young boys fishing in a pond heard the noise of the aircraft long before they saw it. Both had been looking up into the sky when the younger one pulled on his older brother's sleeve and pointed. They could see it now, and it looked as if it was only a few feet off the ground and coming straight at them. They froze in horror, seeing it suddenly dip to the ground and continue through the vast wheat field their father had planted.

It looked like a wounded beast, leaving a trail of smoke and dirt and a horrendous noise as it skidded past the pond and stopped suddenly. When the dust and smoke cleared, they could see the giant fighter aircraft. The canopy opened, and the pilot climbed out onto the wing and dropped to the ground. The paralysis disappeared from the young boys' legs, and they began running toward the aircraft and the man sitting on the ground.

As Captain Tiel observed the two young boys running through the wheat field, memories flooded over him of his own boyhood on a farm not far from here. He was suddenly mystified as the two young boys stopped several hundred feet away as if trying to determine whether or not to continue. Then, both boys suddenly were engulfed in blue flames and disappeared as if they were never there.

Captain Tiel realized what had just happened, and he experienced a rush of rage and guilt at the same time. He had failed. The pilot of the small aircraft had released the toxin before his aircraft was destroyed. The agent had killed the two young boys and must be all around him. So, why was he still alive? Still wearing his mask and breathing air from his auxiliary oxygen tank, he knew that was the reason. As he sat beside his plane, he wondered just how long he had left before he too burst into a blue flame.

# CHAPTER 29

As the activity swirled around Governor Mills, it occurred to him how professionally and calmly his staff was conducting themselves in the gravest crisis of their lives. For the most part, they acted as if they were still in an exercise mode, yet they all knew they could die at any moment. It seemed to make no difference, as they continued to efficiently perform their duties.

Since his broadcast two hours ago, one major change had transpired in the operations center. There still were TV cameras in the back of the room, but now a live feed was continuously supplying the public with real-time coverage of the information being received. Everything that was news to the governor and to the response team was broadcast live to every major radio and television network around the country. In order to expedite the notification system or better yet to eliminate it, the governor had decided that the citizens of the state would hear all the information on the threat as he received it. They would also be aware of the actions he and his emergency staff were taking to counter the terrorists. That's what you call either efficient coordination, cutting red tape or both or hanging one's self; he didn't know which at this time.

A state-of-emergency had been declared and every resource that could be brought to bear was being utilized. With the help of Joyce Winters' journal they now had approximate locations where the terrorists planned to disperse the biological agent, and the majority of the state's law enforcement personnel were on their way to those areas. With their concentrated effort, maybe they could apprehend the perpetrators before they could put their plans into effect.

The reports coming in from the field indicated some success, thus far. Two vehicles and two light aircraft belonging to the terrorists had been located and destroyed. The vehicles were stopped before they had an opportunity to release the agent. One vehicle had been near Hot Springs and the other close to the capital.

The pilots of the two aircraft had released some of the agent before they were overtaken. The one that Captain Tiel had intercepted still had most of its cargo and was destroyed after infecting only Watertown, a small community. However, the aircraft on the western border of the state had evidently released a considerable amount of agent. The populations of Spearfish, Deadwood, Lead, Sturgis, and surrounding areas, some twenty thousand people, were gone, as if they had never existed.

The people of South Dakota were dying like caged animals, and the governor knew it could only get worse. With the borders to the state sealed by the federal government, the citizens had no place to go. They were all vulnerable but they could not afford to have people on the move without a safe haven.

When Gary had approached him with the second part of the plan, he had been skeptical but then realized it was better than doing nothing at all, and he had agreed to at least try it. Now, as he sat staring at the large map of South Dakota, he wondered if he had made the right decision, and he suddenly knew he was about to find out when he heard Gary's voice over the PA system.

"We have been contacted."

The first phone call had come in, and a plotter was now posting the information on the status board. He drew a circle on the state map close to the small town of Orient, and then he illustrated a sideways V expanding outwards some twenty miles to the east. The towns of Redfield, Rockham, and Zell were all within the V, which was the downwind path of the agent.

Gary had been right. A hotline had been established, and citizens were calling in identifying incidents they had witnessed. The release points and times of dispersal of the agent gave officials and citizens two distinct advantages. First, the people downwind of the release point could be told if they were or might be in an affected area. Second, it gave them time to move either north or south away from the predicted path and the prevailing west wind.

With the wind blowing between three and five miles per hour, the people in Redfield, some three-thousand of them, will have about four hours to clear the area, the governor thought to himself. Now, the hard part. Which roads were the terrorists on and what direction were they traveling?

The plotter continued updating the boards as information poured in on the hotline and via response officials. All law enforcement agencies within 50 miles of Orient are moving to that location. Highway 45 is a suspected target area.

Then the plotter added a new input on the situation board. Mayor of Redfield evacuating all citizens south to the city of Huron. Please advise surrounding area.

The governor knew there was no need to do that. Everyone in the state, Hell he thought, in the nation could see what was happening, but they must follow through with the correct procedures to be on the safe side. As the minutes ticked by, the tension within him felt like a rubber band stretched to its limits, and he wondered what else he could do.

The PA system again came alive. "Be advised. A suspect vehicle is traveling south on Highway Forty-five. I repeat south on Highway Forty-five."

"Roger, chopper thirty-one. This is the Regional State Police Headquarters in Huron. Please advise your location."

"Present location is three miles south of Orient. Deployed from Aberdeen, following Highway Forty-five south. What little traffic I have seen on the highway appeared to be normal until I passed the town of Orient. That route is now empty, but I have observed a number of vehicles that appear to have run off the road and there are no passengers in sight. Wait! I see a blue pickup towing a large U-Haul trailer heading south not far in front of me. Will attempt to obtain a closer look. Descending now."

"Roger, chopper thirty-one. Be advised to stay on the upwind side of the highway and away from the suspected vehicle."

Then in a quiet voice, the pilot said, "Well, let's hope this is not the target because I'm on the downwind side of the target. So, it's too late now. The vehicle is traveling slowly. Estimate not over twenty miles per hour. I can see two suspects in the cab. The driver is waving at me but I have a feeling that...Oh God!" Then silence.

The governor swung his chair to the left and shouted at his police commander. "What the hell do we have around there to stop them?"

Listening to the radio transmission, State Trooper Walters looked at the three FBI agents with him in his patrol car. "Well, guys, I guess that's us. How do you want to handle it?"

The PA system in the operations center again came alive. "Governor Mills, this is State Trooper Walters and three FBI agents located on Route Twenty-six just west of Highway Forty-five. We see the suspects' vehicle heading south toward us, and, Governor, we will stop it."

Trooper Walters looked again at the three men. "Now that I have opened my big mouth, how are we going to stop that vehicle?"

Trooper Walters timed it just right. As the pickup started to pass the intersection, his patrol car shot out and hit the pickup broadside. Both vehicles and the U-Haul slid into the ditch. As Trooper Walters tried to extricate himself from his vehicle, one of the suspects crawled from the pickup and shot him with a semi-automatic rifle. The gunman was shot down by one of the FBI agents lying in the ditch on the other side of the road.

Then a new voice came over the speaker in the operations center. "This is FBI Agent Thomas. Trooper Walters and two FBI agents down and presumed dead." Then they heard the choking sound in his voice as he continued. "Do not believe I have much time left but suspects have been taken care of. Vehicle and trailer have been destroyed and are now on fire and...." and nothing else was heard.

God, how much more, the governor thought, as he sat in stunned silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of an FBI agent moving toward him.

"Sir, we intercepted a message from that pickup just before it was cut off." He handed the governor a slip of paper.

At first the message didn't make any sense. All it said was wait until dark. Then, he began to realize what it meant. "Do you feel the rest of them will wait?"

The agent nodded his head. "Yes, sir, I do, simply because it will give them the protection they now realize they do not have in the daylight."

Governor Mills agreed. After dark, it would be more difficult to track and stop the terrorists, and at this time he didn't know what it would take to stop them.

~~~~

Neither did the president of the United States who had been following the events as they developed. He felt claustrophobic as he sat in the small room some three hundred feet below the ground in a protected bunker. If he had looked around the room once, he had done it a hundred times in the past two hours as if searching for answers.

At one end of the room were a large desk with a conference table and six chairs that joined the front of it, a small davenport on one side and several small chairs on the other. A number of paintings of former presidents hung on the walls, but none of these men were helping right now. At the far end was a TV camera pointed right at him, and he knew if he wanted to speak to his fellow Americans, he could do so from here.

Uneasiness had been building in him for the past hour, and he was puzzled at the information he was receiving or the lack of it. He knew part of it was his guilt for leaving Washington, but so far no one was aware he had left the area, let alone that he was hiding in some hole in the ground. He knew it wouldn't be long before some newsperson would figure it out and break the story.

He looked at Garrett Hull who was sitting at the conference table. "I don't like it. If that woman was telling the truth in her notebook, millions of Americans all over this country should be dying from the effects of this biological agent by now. So, why aren't they?"

Garrett was apprehensive too. "Mister President, I don't have any answers. The information we have received confirms that the toxin has affected only a few hundred outside the state of South Dakota. From preliminary reports, and in particular those that occurred initially, the Bureau feels it has probably identified the major conspirators. You have their names and backgrounds, and I find it difficult believing that some of them were involved in this heinous plot."

The president glanced down at the sheet lying on his desk listing the seven names, a U.S. Senator, a cabinet member, the head of one of the largest corporations in the country, and so on.

Garrett continued, "I have a theory, Mister President, but the problem is I can't prove it. There appears to be a pattern with those who have disappeared. In the on-going investigation, we're finding that all these people had the toxin and the equipment to disperse it, but they died before that happened."

"What are you telling me, Garrett?" the president asked.

"Sir, according to her journal, Joyce Winters switched the antidote for the key members of this plot, giving them the biological agent instead. Although not in her journal, I believe either she or someone else did the same for the followers. It's the only logical explanation I can think of to explain the death of most of the conspirators, but if it's true then the question is why."

"You may be right, but that does not explain what's happening out there right now." He pointed to the TV where live broadcast provided them insight to the scene at the South Dakota Emergency Operations Center. "The battle for this country is not being fought in Washington or from this bunker. It's being fought out there on the prairie, and I believe our country's very existence depends on what eventually happens in South Dakota."

President Carson determinedly reached for the phone and spoke into it. "Get me the chopper. We're going back to the White House."

Within seconds, the president's senior Secret Service agent entered the room. "Mister President," he said, "I understand you wish to return to Washington."

"That's correct. Do you have a problem?" the president asked.

"Sir, I would strongly recommend that you reconsider. This facility is fully capable of protecting you but once you leave, especially under these circumstances, I cannot guarantee your safety."

The president thought for a moment and then said, "I understand your concern, and it's been duly noted. Now, get that helicopter or I will!"

"Yes, Mister President."

# CHAPTER 30

Ralph Braxton knew his wife was quietly crying as they drove through the small town of Red Shirt on the outskirts of the Badlands. The town appeared deserted. The sign at the edge of town had read Population 50, but as they drove by the houses and gas station, they saw no one.

Ralph wondered if the biological agent had already swept through this area, and he was concerned as he glanced through the rearview mirror at his two young sons asleep in the backseat. God, he thought, why did we have to take our vacation now and of all places here? Twice, since hearing the news, he had attempted to leave the state only to be turned back by armed soldiers at the borders. He knew he was taking a gamble that would save or cost his family their lives. Nevertheless, he hoped that as desolate and large as this reservation was, they might be able to slip by one of the roadblocks into Nebraska and hopefully safety. He glanced again at the map. Another hour would tell if his gamble would pay off.

As he glanced back to the road, he saw a pickup partially blocking his path a few hundred yards ahead and two individuals standing beside it. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he looked for another way around, but there was only the bleak landscape of the desert. He slowed as he approached the Indians, and one raised his hand for him to stop. At first, he thought of just driving on by, but then saw the second pickup blocking the road further ahead and knew he had no choice.

From the backseat, he heard his oldest son's voice. "Dad, are they real Indians?"

"Shhh," his wife managed to say.

Braxton, already apprehensive, watched as one of the men stooped down and looked under the vehicle and the other, in a polite voice, asked him to open his trunk. He realized they were checking to see if there was any type of spraying device on the vehicle and if he might be a terrorist. He heard the trunk lid shut, and then the Indian was standing by the window. Braxton rolled the window down, and the man handed him a large piece of paper.

"You can leave now but choose wisely," and he moved away from the vehicle.

~~~~

Jackie stood beside Nick's desk with a copy of the special edition of the newspaper hanging limply at her side and a look of bewilderment on her face. She and Bill Bradley had arrived in Pierre only a few minutes ago. As she walked into the newspaper office, one of the employees handed her the paper saying, "I think Nick just lost his mind."

Nick had seen her come into the office. Instead of the outburst he expected, she just held the paper up and asked in a tired voice, "Why did you do this?"

Without answering her, he reached for the handheld radio lying on his desk. "Unit two, do you copy?"

"Roger, unit one. Has she arrived?"

Nick looked at Jackie and then spoke into the microphone. "Yes, Running Wolf, a few minutes ago. Expect her at your location shortly." He placed the radio back on the desk, leaned back in his chair and for a moment just looked at his granddaughter. When he finally spoke, Jackie was even more confused than before.

"Honey, you're a newspaper woman." He looked at the newspaper lying on the desk. "And I can tell you that the beginning of the greatest story of the century is in that newspaper. I want you to cover it."

Jackie didn't have a comeback, for somewhere deep inside she felt they were on the brink of something big, and the flow of adrenaline began to revive her. She pointed to the newspaper. "Will it explain that?"

Nick nodded his head.

"All right, Nick. What do you want me to do?"

"I have a helicopter waiting at the airport for you, and it should take you thirty minutes flight time to arrive at the place where Running Wolf will meet you. The helicopter pilot will stay until you are ready to return. Just follow Running Wolf's instructions, and you will have your answers and the story of a lifetime."

"Do you mind telling me how you intend to get that helicopter off the ground? The governor has shut down all air travel within the state and nothing flies without his personal approval. Bradley and I had a hell of a time obtaining approval to fly here from North Dakota."

Nick chuckled. "Don't worry about that. By now the governor has seen the newspaper, and I expect he will be calling any minute. When he does, I'll take care of the approval for your flight. Now, go! We don't have much time."

Turning to leave, she heard him say, "And honey, be careful. I don't want my favorite reporter to disappear as well."

Jackie could hear the concern in his voice, and she returned to the desk, reached down and kissed his cheek. "Don't worry about me, Granddad. You be careful too."

She heard the intercom buzz and then his secretary's voice. "Nick, I have the governor on line one and you better answer it. He's madder than hell."

Nick smiled at his granddaughter and said, "Go!" as he reached for the phone.

~~~~

When Gary Powers handed the special edition of the newspaper to the governor, he stood by waiting for the explosion, and it wasn't long in coming.

"God almighty! Has he lost his mind?" Then the governor reached for the telephone.

Gary again looked at the newspaper. It was really a one-sheet flyer printed on both sides. In large, bold black print, the headline banner read: WE WILL SURVIVE. Then, an editorial written and signed by Nicholas Arinson.

Citizens of South Dakota, we are in a fight for our lives, and it may be you who determine whether or not we survive. The State and Federal Government, given the time, will eliminate the threat we now face, but time is our worst enemy and we have little left. A chance is available to all of us on the two major Indian reservations located in our state with the very Indians who once owned this land before we took it from them. I cannot tell you what to do but if you decide to accept safe haven at the Sioux and Cheyenne reservations, just follow the directions you are given when you enter their lands. I believe the Sioux and Cheyenne have the capability to protect you, if you can reach them in time.

On the backside of the sheet was a large map of South Dakota and every road that led into both reservations were highlighted.

Still standing at the governor's side, Gary waited for him to stop yelling into the phone. Suddenly he did, and Gary heard him say, "Nick, you had better be right or the deaths of hundreds of thousands of our citizens will be on your hands."

The governor hung up the phone and angrily yelled across the room to his transportation officer. "You have my approval to release helicopter forty-seven from the municipal airport. Destination is classified. One passenger on board, a Miss Jackie Arinson."

He then turned to Gary, holding his hands up to ward off any questions. "Don't ask me because I don't know. All I know is that Jackie should be back here within two hours and brief us on Nick's actions. Nevertheless, I can say he has either lost his mind or I have for listening to him, but the die has been cast, and all we can do is wait and see."

~~~~

The president of the United States was as mystified as everyone else. He was now back in Washington in the secret bunker under the White House. He turned to his press secretary. "Who in the hell is Nick Arinson, and what in Christ's name does he mean by that editorial?"

None of his staff, least of all his press secretary, could answer him.

"All right, Garrett, find out who he is, and why he thinks he has the answer to our problem. As crazy as it may sound, I hope he does. Now, what's the status of the antidote for the biological agent?"

The secretary for the Department of Health and Human Services answered, "Sir, several of the major biotech companies have tested the antidote and it works against the agent, but the bad news is that it will take at least forty-eight hours to manufacture enough to start the distribution process."

The president pointed to the TV. "I'm afraid Governor Mills and the citizens of South Dakota don't have forty-eight hours."

~~~~

The noise of the helicopter made it difficult to talk, so Jackie finally placed the headset on and keyed the microphone. "How much longer?"

The pilot glanced at her. "Not more than five minutes. Start looking for three pickups parked together. That's the landing point. By the way, did you see the traffic when we crossed the reservation border? Every road leading into the reservation is packed with vehicles. It seems that your grandfather's message is being taken to heart by one heck of a lot of people."

Jackie nodded her head. She too was amazed that so many people were reacting to Nick's editorial.

~~~~

Ralph Braxton had been following the signs along the road for the last twenty minutes. The further he drove, the more rugged and desolate the land became, and he again wondered if he had made a mistake. His wife held a copy of the newspaper in her lap and the note the Indian had given him. If you seek safety, follow the signs. It had been professionally printed on a 5-inch-by-7-inch card and stapled to the newspaper. Now, Ralph was doubtful about what to do. He knew his wife was scared and his boys were tired and restless as they continued on. He decided they would turn south at the first opportunity and again try for the Nebraska border. As the road suddenly dipped between two ragged bluffs, he saw several Indians standing beside the road.

Both of his sons yelled, "Look, Dad, more Indians."

His wife said, "Be quiet. Let your father handle this."

Ralph saw the sign, STOP AND LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE. A young Indian boy about the same age as his oldest son held the sign. Ralph still was undecided what to do as he pulled up beside the group of Indians.

An Indian woman moved to the car and motioned for him to open the door. As he stepped out, she backed up a few feet and said, "Leave your keys in the car. Bring your family and follow me. You are the first and you are lucky. You will survive." Then she turned and began walking toward the bluff.

Ralph Braxton and his family followed the woman. He suddenly heard the engine noise of his car and turned to see it being driven off down the road. Uncertain, he turned back around to find his family had disappeared from sight. Again, he felt fear course through his body. He frantically looked about him, but all he could see was the harsh land, and he thought the biological agent was already here, and all was lost. He stood waiting for his turn to come.

# CHAPTER 31

The helicopter blades slowly stopped spinning as Jackie stepped out onto the hard, baked ground. Running Wolf moved his motorcycle toward her and she took the helmet he offered. Straddling the seat, she wrapped her arms around him as he accelerated the bike past a few pickups and out onto the prairie.

Within minutes, they moved over more rugged land and Jackie knew they were entering the Badlands. As a teenager, she had visited this unique place many times along with hundreds of thousands of other people. However, she was aware of the dangers that lay within. More than one life had been lost in this part of the country by some who had underestimated the dangers in this hostile environment.

She felt the motorcycle slow and then stop on a ridge that presented a breathtaking view of the wild country below. Running Wolf left the motorcycle, moved to the edge of the ridge and sat down, motioning Jackie to sit beside him. As she lowered herself to the ground, he spoke.

"This land as far as a person can see or travel was once the land of the Indian tribes, and Mother Earth provided us with food and shelter long before the white man came and took it from us."

Jackie heard not resentment but sorrow in his voice, and she did not know what to say because Running Wolf spoke the truth. For the first time in her life, she thought she understood how the Indians really felt about the white man and the conquest of their lands.

"Jackie, your grandfather is a very unique human being who has somehow been able to travel the white man's road and the path of the Indians. Moreover, he understands both. Because of your grandfather, you will be one of the first of the white race to see the last vestige of the Indian culture—a secret we have guarded for more than a hundred and fifty years. In my memory and my father's, I know of no white man who was ever told of, let alone seen, our sacred grounds except for your grandfather. Now, out of our respect for him, the whole of America will know."

Jackie thought he had finished speaking, but as he rose from the ground and held out his hand, he said, "The Indian tribes will not blame Nicholas Arinson for trespassing on their holy grounds. They will blame me, and I only hope it is worth it. Come, Jackie, let me show you a secret that may very well save the lives of hundreds of thousands of your people and take the last vestige of hope from the native Indians."

Ten minutes later, Running Wolf stopped the motorcycle next to a group of women and a young Indian boy. Running Wolf motioned for Jackie to follow him as he left the bike and started walking up the slope of a hill toward a large boulder. When they reached the rock, he looked at her for a moment.

"This is the reason your grandfather wrote the editorial. If your people can reach this place or the other ones like it, they will be protected from the biological agent spreading across this land. At first, the tribal elders agreed that only our people would be given the right to survive. Some, even now, believe it is only fitting that the white race succumb to this plague and the land will belong again to its rightful owners. If it had not been for your grandfather speaking to the elders in counsel, I believe they would not have changed their decision." Running Wolf then walked around the boulder and disappeared.

She called out his name but received no answer. Cautiously, she walked around the boulder and saw an opening in the cliff side that a person could walk by and never notice unless they knew it was there. As she entered, she felt the cool breeze against her face and realized she was in a passageway that sloped downward. The earth floor was hard packed and worn down from generations of native passage. The tunnel was about ten feet wide in most places and seven or eight feet high, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she was held transfixed as she gazed at the walls and ceiling. Polished to a high gloss, the interior was covered with murals painted in the most intense colors that she had ever seen. The scenes of Indian life were indescribably striking in their design and detail. In the stillness with only the slight movement of air, she felt as if the figures were alive and watching her.

She was startled when she felt Running Wolf touch her arm and heard him say, "The first murals are of Indian warriors that have guarded the entrance of this holy place for hundreds of years. Now, we must hurry because you have little time left and much to see."

When they entered the first chamber, she was overwhelmed by its size. As far as she could see were giant murals on the walls, and the ceiling was covered with stalactites that glistened in the semi-darkness.

Running Wolf stood beside her and in a quiet voice said, "This is the strength and heart of our nation. It is our holy place that very few of our own people have seen but all are told about it when they reach the age of ten. During all of my lifetime and my father and his father's lives, members of our tribe have been the caretakers of this holy place, all day, every day. It is these Shamans and their acolytes that guard this sacred place and paint our history on the walls. Mother Earth has protected them well—until now." Jackie heard the reverence and regret underlining his words.

"Why? Why are you doing this for a race that holds you in bondage, even now after all these years?"

Running Wolf did not answer but pointed to a section of wall that appeared to be a painting with lines on it. "Jackie, you must examine that map and then leave."

She watched him for a moment as he walked away then looked at the painted map. It was huge, at least fifteen feet high and fifty to seventy-five feet long. Her eyes settled on a figure that she had not noticed before sitting in front of a small fire just below the map. She suddenly felt compelled to go to him when a young Indian boy appeared at her side. He took her hand and walked her toward the sitting man. As she came near, she realized the man was not looking at her but through her—to a distant scene that she could not see. The man was old in years. His hair, plaited in traditional braids, was white against his dark, leathery skin. His torso was covered with a well-worn leather vest shimmering with intricate designs of beautiful stones and a breechcloth, nothing on his feet. He sat with legs crossed—not moving, as in a trance.

She did not know what was expected of her, but the young boy motioned her to sit down, and she lowered herself to the ground facing the old man. Another young boy came and placed a small gourd in front of the man and one in front of her then walked behind the old man and stood silently.

The small fire in the circle of stones gave off flickers of light but almost no heat or smoke, and she wondered why. The old man picked up his gourd and drank from it. Jackie hesitantly raised hers, looked at the liquid and then took a sip. It was clear, cold water, and it was deliciously refreshing. She had not realized how thirsty she was. Placing the gourd back down on the ground, she was again struck by how old this man looked.

As if reading her mind, the Indian spoke in halting English. "In your language I am called Man-Who-Dreams, and I have lived more than one-hundred-and-thirty summers." He paused for a moment and then spoke in his native tongue. Although Jackie could speak the language, she could not follow his dialect.

When he stopped, the young Indian boy translated into perfect English. "The old one says he can feel the strength and goodness in your essence and welcomes you to this holy place where Mother Earth protects all living things."

Again the old Indian spoke and Jackie realized that the man was blind.

The boy said, "The Man-Who-Dreams wishes you to tell your grandfather he is a true warrior and friend, and we owe much to him. He also says that he hopes that his granddaughter has the courage to face what is coming. You have the bloodlines of your grandfather and he prays that will be enough."

Jackie felt fierce pride overwhelm her, and without thinking, she answered in the Sioux language. She noticed that the old man sat up a little straighter, and a toothless smile formed on his leathery face.

"Honored father, I will tell my grandfather of what you have said, and I thank you for letting me visit this holy place. That is the true courage."

The old man sat quietly for a moment, then again started speaking and once more the young boy translated. "Man-Who-Dreams believes you should have been a man instead of a woman. You would have been a great warrior. He has given you a name that we will call you. He has spoken and will speak no more. I will show you the map and describe what it means."

A short time later, the Indian boy led her up the tunnel to the cave entrance. It was now filled with people coming in—her people, escaping the plague. As she exited the cave, Running Wolf was waiting outside with his motorcycle and soon they were racing back across the prairie.

When Jackie dismounted the bike and headed for the helicopter, she heard Running Wolf say several words in the Sioux language. He then drove off, leaving her standing in awe. He had called her The-Woman-Warrior-Who-Has-Courage.

# CHAPTER 32

Jackie glanced nervously at the clock, which read 4:15 p.m. and then back to the group waiting for her to speak. They were scattered all around the governor's office. Bill Bradley leaned against the door with a wary look in his eyes, while Gary and the governor sat on the large couch and her grandfather was packing his pipe as he sat casually in one of the large easy chairs. These men did not make her nervous, but the man sitting behind the governor's desk did.

Taking a deep breath, she addressed him. "Mister President, I don't know if you are going to believe this. I'm not even sure I do, but it's the truth. And, sir, before I start, please answer a question for me. Just why are you here?"

The president was taken back for a second and then thought, Well she does not mince words. She takes after her grandfather from what I've heard, no two ways about it!

"Miss Arinson, the war against our nation is being fought in South Dakota, and it is going to be won or lost in this state. Win or lose, I intend to be here to defend my country."

There was a hard edge to his words, and Jackie struggled to say, "Mister President, I only meant you should not put yourself in danger, which you are by being here."

"I appreciate your concern, but I can think of no other place I should be but right here. Now, please brief us on this visit of yours." "Yes, sir."

Jackie briefed them on everything including the conversation with the old Shaman, and then described the map. "Even though the Indian boy was young, he knew that map and its history as if he had drawn it himself. In the past two or three hundred years, the Indians have methodically explored those underground caverns and their findings are brought back and drawn on the map. What they have discovered is colossal in itself. I believe the majority of the caverns are over a mile below the surface and they travel primarily north and south. The tunnels open into various size chambers or interior caverns. There were over one-hundred-and-eighty identified on the map and the majority of them could hold thousands of people.

"I am not sure what it is but there appears to be some kind of organic lighting system that gives off a soft glow, and there are artesian wells everywhere. There is also an overpressure system throughout the entire area, and I think I know why but it's only a guess. I believe there is superheated air, far below the surface, that is continuously being expelled. This air cools as it travels through the caverns on its way through any opening to the outside and the outward movement of air is constant. The significant factor is that it gives the entire cavern complex an overpressure system, therefore nothing can be sucked into the caves."

"That means the biological agent, or any other outside toxin, cannot penetrate those caverns," the governor said with a new understanding as he looked at Nick. "That's why you wrote the special edition to The Prairie Times. You knew those underground caverns were there. Are they connected to the Cheyenne Reservation too? Christ, Nick, do you mind telling us what you did to talk the Sioux and Cheyenne people into helping us?"

Nick looked at the governor, then the president and finally to his granddaughter. "No, I don't. It was a debt of honor, and it has been paid."

Jackie's hand flew to her mouth and, in a choked voice, cried out in the Sioux language, words that no one in the room but Nick could understand. Everyone else sat in stunned silence.

"You must excuse my granddaughter. She can on rare occasions become highly emotional, and I am afraid this is one of those times. I should also advise you she then gets angry, and it's time to find a place to hide."

Jackie stood looking at him with her hands on her hips, and they all saw the tears running down her cheeks. "Don't you give me that, Nick! I will say it in English. The last thing the Man-Who-Dreams said to me was, 'Tell my friend I will soon follow him.' He was talking about you. So, what the hell was he saying?"

Everyone in the room had heard the quiver and raw emotion in her voice, but she stubbornly continued to stare at her grandfather. When he refused to reply, she was startled by the president's voice.

"Mister Arinson, I believe she deserves to hear the truth. If you are unwilling to tell her, I will."

Jackie realized that her world was about to turn upside down, and she walked over to her grandfather and placed her hand on his shoulder. Still, Nick refused to say anything.

"Miss Arinson, your grandfather has inoperable cancer, and the doctors have given him less than six months," the president said. "But until that time comes, I need him, and as bad as that may sound, he knows it too."

Nick reached up and squeezed his granddaughter's hand then looked at the president. "How did you know?" he asked.

"You know better than to ask. The FBI leaves no stone unturned, especially if the president asks about someone, and I must say I was fascinated by what I learned." He smiled at Nick. "I will tell you one thing, if both of us survive this, there are some unexplained events you and I are going to discuss."

"One way or the other, Mister President, you will have your answers," Nick replied.

"Now that we have that cleared up, have you got any more surprises in store for us, Nick?" the governor asked in a voice filled with admiration.

Nick walked to the large wall map and with a marker started drawing lines on it as everyone watched. Finally, he turned and looked at them.

"The Sioux and Cheyenne have set up their own battle lines," and he pointed at the map. "When the refugees arrive within the boundaries of either reservation, they are taken to the closest entrance to the caverns. However, in order to confuse the terrorists and ensure they do not find any of the entrances, the Indians have established a system like the old shell game, now you see it, now you don't. At the cave entrances, the refugees leave their vehicles and an Indian takes their vehicle to a large parking area miles away from the cavern entrance."

He made a horseshoe drawing across the map. "They are also using large vehicles to transport the people onto the reservations—trucks, buses, anything that will hold a sizable group. In order to keep the shuttle system operating, they're using gas from the abandoned vehicles. That way no one really knows where the people disembarked, and more importantly, where they went."

"Christ!" the president said. "Are you telling me that hundreds of natives are exposing themselves to try and save anyone who enters their reservations?"

"More than that, Mister President," Nick said, and he walked back and drew a straight line from north to south down the state, just west of the Sioux reservation.

"Thirty miles to the west of this line, the Sioux and Cheyenne have placed a cordon of radio-equipped sentries. Their job is two-fold. To identify and destroy any terrorist that attempts to cross the line and to warn those working on the reservations if the agent is heading their way."

"My God!" the president said. "They have no protection. How can they assume such a responsibility?"

"Mister President, it is a debt of honor, and it will be paid. Let's just hope it's enough to prevent the slaughter of the citizens of this state, which includes the Sioux and Cheyenne nations as well," Nick said.

Gary spoke. "Mister President and Governor, we have two additional problems that need to be addressed. The weather forecasters predict that a front is moving into the area. By noon tomorrow, the westerly winds will increase dramatically to fifteen or twenty miles per hour. You all know what that means. The agent will travel much faster across the state.

"The other development is even more distressing. As we started this meeting, the state police informed me that a house in Rapid City had been raided by local law enforcement on a tip from neighbors. It turned out rather bloody before it was over. They shot it out with another group of terrorists and subsequently discovered some of the biological agent in the basement of the house." He hesitated for a second.

"They also found some kind of apparatus designed to be attached to large balloons. If the other terrorists have these devices, and they are released after dark, then there is no way we can stop them from spreading the agent from the air."

"We have a little more than five hours before sunset," the governor said, "and we had better come up with a counter before then or we have lost this battle."

The president knew that the governor was right. A deterrent had to be found. He reached for the phone and the group heard him say, "Put me in contact with General Roberts at the North American Aerospace Defense Command."

# CHAPTER 33

The governor had offered to give the president his desk in the EOC, but he had declined. Instead, the area that had been prepared for visitors was cleared out, and a desk was placed in the back of the room. This suited him just fine because now he could observe everything without interfering with the activity of the staff. A monitor on his desk allowed him to follow what was being posted on the situation board, and the White House Communications Agency had installed a telephone patch giving him communication service worldwide.

The TV audience that saw the president walk into the EOC with Governor Mills was surprised and then astounded when he faced the camera to speak.

"I wish to send a direct message to the terrorists who have invaded our nation, and it is simple. You will not win." He paused and then continued, "And I will tell you why. Within a few days every man, woman, and child in this country will have the antidote. We will be immune to this terrible plague that you are planning to release upon us.

"Finally, it would seem your leaders have double-crossed you. Your co-conspirators in all the other states were not given the antidote they expected but the biological agent instead, and they have all died before they could release the toxin. Only in the state of South Dakota did this exchange not happen. You are alone, and the final battle will be fought here. You can choose to stop this madness now, or you will die. The choice is yours, but either way, our nation will survive."

~~~~

President Carson listened as Agent Bradley briefed him on the silo excavation.

"Sir, we have been able to drain the water out of the escape capsule and our workers are now approaching those areas inside the silo that have not been destroyed. An explosion demolished the majority of the underground area, but there are certain parts of the lab and office spaces still intact. We found a small safe in Joyce Winters' office, which was damaged. They could not open it so it's being brought to the surface. So far, we have found nothing else of significance. Agent Gere said that the water is rising faster than the pumps can keep up, and they will soon have to abandon the effort until larger pumps arrive."

The president smiled. "Isn't Gere the one who saw the ghost?"

Bradley felt uncomfortable and answered in a guarded voice. "Under extreme stress we all sometimes think we see things that turn out to be something different, Mister President."

The president's smile widened. "Well, for your information, Agent Bradley, I do not believe in ghosts, but I still would not have wanted to be in Agent Gere's shoes when he saw his."

Bradley had a feeling that the president was enjoying this, and that he had heard his own response to Gere. "No, sir, I don't believe I would have either."

The president looked at him so long that Bradley wished he was somewhere else. His mood changed abruptly then and Bradley detected a hard edge in his voice. "We need to find out who is responsible for this madness and, Bradley, you're the one who is going to find them for me."

Bradley was caught off guard. "Mister President, I really..." that was as far as he got because the president cut him off.

"Your boss, Garrett Hull, has been a personal friend of mine for many years, and I have complete trust in him. However, like me, he has a vulnerability. We're both bureaucrats. You, on the other hand, have a talent most people do not. You are a born hunter with a bulldog instinct for tenacity. Your mind works different than most. The rest of us take things for granted, whereas, you tend to ask why things are as they are, and if you're not satisfied, you go looking for an answer. You're a born detective, investigator, sleuth, or whatever else you want to call it, and it is my belief that if anyone can find the ringleader who started all this death, it's you." The president paused and then continued.

"Garrett established a taskforce to find the people involved in this plot and you know he has been running it. It is my decision, and I might add your boss agrees, that you now be assigned to head the taskforce. You have my authority to employ any resources that you require to track down the terrorists."

An FBI agent had joined the two men. "Mister President, I have a dispatch for you from Mister Hull."

The president read the dispatch and laid it down on the desk. Again, he looked at Bradley. "Whoever these people are, they seem to have connections within the government or at least in the FBI. Agent Bradley, I reiterate my order to you. Find them and find them fast!" He handed Bradley the dispatch.

Soon after, at the FBI command post in Pierre, the five FBI agents saw Bradley heading toward their workstations with uncontrolled anger on his face. He dropped the dispatch onto the radio operator's desk and stated, "I want the names of every FBI agent who had any involvement in the moving of Joyce Winters to Washington, D.C., and I mean everyone even remotely involved. That includes each of you."

~~~~

Agent Gere's cell phone rang just as he was about to reenter the escape hatch for one last look. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost 5:30 p.m. He answered the call and walked toward the tent, which provided some protection from the blazing sun. He had not been very happy when Bradley put him in charge of the operation at the silo, leaving him out on the desolate prairie. But, he was a professional and did not grumble, that is, until Bradley left and then only to himself.

"Gere here." The point of the pencil he was using to take notes suddenly broke as he said, "You mean someone killed her?"

"No," Bradley answered. "I mean someone did their damnedest to kill her, and we're lucky they did not succeed. Whoever it was knew our plans to move her to Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland; right down to the streets we intended to use. So, not only was the deputy director a part of this plot, it appears there is at least one or more other FBI agents also involved. It's the only way they could have known what we were going to do."

It made Gere sick to his stomach to think that an agent might be involved in this heinous crime and of the blemish on the agency. Bradley then told him of the discussion he had with the president and his appointment as head of the taskforce.

Gere thought the choice was appropriate and heard Bradley say, "Agent Gere, I intend to stay here in Pierre until tomorrow morning and then fly to Washington. If, that is, I am still alive. I want you to take over my duties here when I leave. Therefore, you will need to assign your responsibilities at the silo to whomever you feel is capable. I have arranged for a helicopter to enter South Dakota. So, get yourself down here now. If I'm going to die tonight, you might as well be with me."

Bradley had hung up before he heard Agent Gere cheerfully reply, "Yes, sir!"

There were several senior agents available that Bradley could have appointed, but he had a gut feeling about the young agent and Bradley was known throughout the agency for doing the unorthodox. So, what the hell. Let him get his feet wet, and he chuckled for he knew that Gere had been up to his neck in water most of the day. As Bradley's light-hearted mood evaporated, he looked at the wall clock—5:40 p.m. Within three-and-a-half hours, darkness would descend on the state. He hoped the president and Nick Arinson knew what they were doing because thousands of lives depended on it.

# CHAPTER 34

It was now past 6:00 p.m., and most of the employees had left for the day, but at the same time, nine very powerful people in a clandestine meeting occupied one of the conference rooms. The group around the large, oblong table listened intently to the speaker.

When he finished, one of the two women present asked, "Then, it is your opinion that we should continue?"

The speaker nodded his head. "As you all know, the plan has not gone as we anticipated, but I believe we should give it another twenty-four hours. By that time, we will know if we have been successful or not."

Another man spoke. "I agree, but what are the chances of being found out if we continue to pursue our goal?"

"The only link to us is the woman who I have been told is totally insane. The attempt to eliminate Joyce has failed, and I doubt very much we will have another opportunity," the distinguished-looking man at the head of the table said.

"What effect if any will this have on our plan?" another asked.

"None that I know of," the speaker answered. "In her present condition, she poses no threat to us, and I doubt she ever will, but I agree it would have been better if she had been eliminated. Maybe in the future we will be more successful."

One of the women said, "I was quite surprised to learn the president actually went to South Dakota and intends to stay there. It shows character that I was not aware he possessed. Do you think we may have miscalculated his resolve in this affair?"

Again, the leader spoke. "It's an interesting point, and I believe one we should monitor closely. The president may be playing right into our hands by being there and, unless any of you disagree, the plan needs to run its course."

~~~~

The president also sat in a small conference room at The Prairie Times Publishing Building. At the last minute, Nick Arinson had decided for security reasons that they should meet in his office rather than the State Capitol Building.

I wonder who is really in charge here, the president thought, but he knew Nick was right. If they were going to pull this off, secrecy was the key. However, he could not keep from wondering if he was losing his faculties. Here he was the most powerful man in the country—No, in the world—and he was trying to put down a terrorist plot to destroy the nation with a handful of people. And only he and one other person were part of the federal government. Their survival, if not that of the nation, may very well depend on Nick Arinson, a man that the president was quite intrigued with. He, along with Running Wolf and the Indians, would play a crucial part in ensuring their continued existence.

Thirty minutes later, the governor was wrapping up the meeting. "OK, let me summarize what we have agreed to, so there is no confusion. You, Jackie, are now the official spokesperson for the federal and state on anything relating to this threat. At eight o'clock this evening, you will start broadcasting from the state's emergency operations center. That's thirty minutes from now. It will be your job to ensure the coded messages reach the right people. The president has the military resources standing by, and they will be activated at dusk. Agent Bradley, your people along with the state, county and municipal law enforcement agencies will be responsible for responding to selected sites when notified to do so."

Then he looked at Nick and Running Wolf. "Nick, it will be your responsibility to coordinate the efforts of the Sioux and Cheyenne in moving the refugees to safety."

The president suddenly had an uneasy feeling as he watched these two men. Neither was the type to take a secondary role in anything, and that thought was reinforced when he saw them exchange a knowing look. His suspicion grew stronger, and he was about to confront them when he heard Governor Mills address him.

"With your concurrence, Mister President, we need to leave now." The president hesitated for a second and then thought, It doesn't matter. We'll find out soon enough what those two are up to.

"All right, let's do it," he replied and the group filed from the room. What the president had missed was the third conspirator in the room. It was one of the reasons he had picked him for the job.

Bradley escorted the president back to Pierre's Capitol building, even though the president had several Secret Service agents guarding him. Then, he returned to the conference room at the newspaper office where Nick and Running Wolf were waiting.

~~~~

At 8:00 p.m., the major networks interrupted their regular scheduled programs to cover the emergency broadcast. Jackie Arinson appeared on TV screens throughout the nation with a state map of South Dakota as her backdrop.

"Good evening. This is Jackie Arinson reporting to you from the state emergency operations center in Pierre, South Dakota, where I believe the final battle for the survival of our state is expected to be fought over the next twelve hours. I intend to broadcast every fifteen to thirty minutes throughout the night until this terrorist incident is resolved, and if I do not, you, the audience, will know that we have lost." With determination in her eyes and conviction in her voice, she continued, "However, we do not intend to succumb, and I plan on being here when the sun comes up tomorrow—so do the citizens of this state.

"To the people of South Dakota, I will say this: you are not alone in this fight for survival. Governor Mills has every state resource committed to finding the terrorists before they can do any more harm. The federal government is also providing every resource they have available to find and apprehend the criminals who have targeted this state for extinction. The president of the United States is not sitting idly by in Washington, being apprised of the situation, but he is in fact here, in this emergency operations center. Furthermore, he plans on staying here until this fight is over." Then, the camera panned to the president at his small workstation.

Now what! The president thought. That was not part of the script. He was not sure what to do, but Jackie did it for him.

"Mister President, would you please say a few words to the citizens of my state?"

As President Carson stood and walked to the front of the room, he thought, I think she may be more devious than her grandfather.

Jackie started to move out of the way when the president stood beside her, but he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. The American people could see both the young woman and the president, and they saw something else. Both these individuals projected a determination and confidence that seemed to radiate into their homes. Then, looking into the camera, his voice low but compelling, the president addressed the nation:

"The governor of South Dakota has told the citizens of his state that they will be able to see and hear everything that goes on in this emergency operations center and how it may affect their lives. That is something rare in these days when most governments are more interested in protecting their turf and getting re-elected. Governor Mills is to be commended for the actions he has taken in this grave crisis.

"I believe the vast majority of the citizens of this country are well aware of how close we have come to the brink of disaster during the past twenty-four hours, but the crisis is not yet over. As the president of the United States, I have a sworn duty to protect all Americans against foreign and domestic threats, and I intend to do just that.

"Our country is made up of fifty states, and all those states make up our union, the United States of America, and when even one state is attacked, the whole union is threatened. To this end, we are one nation. South Dakota is ranked number forty-sixth out of fifty states in population. There are almost eight hundred thousand inhabitants in the state. Some thirty thousand have already died and more will do so before this night is over. As Miss Arinson has stated, I intend to be here when the sun rises tomorrow." He turned and walked back to his workspace, leaving Jackie alone in front of the camera.

She addressed the American public again. "I have been appointed as spokesperson for President Carson and Governor Mills on any subject matter relating to this crisis. What I have to say in the future is not coming from a reporter but has been authorized by President Carson or Governor Mills. I will also say this: if I do not agree with their policy statements, I will still report them but also provide you with my analysis."

The president smiled and said in a low voice, "She would make one hell of a politician."

A Secret Service agent standing close by asked, "Sir, what did you say?"

The president just shook his head.

Jackie continued, "We still don't know who is behind this plot, but we do know that South Dakota is the primary target—not the rest of the nation." Her voice hardened as she emphasized, "At least not yet. It is my personal belief that if this state should go down, then the whole nation is at risk. We are their testing ground and...the state must prevail.

"We suspect that this group has found it too costly to continue the assault on South Dakota during daylight hours and have changed their tactics to wait for the cover of darkness. I say to the terrorists, this time there will be no surprise. We will be waiting for you if you decide to continue this assault on the innocent men, women, and children who do not deserve to die because of some insane person's ambitions. By tomorrow this will all be over, and you will have lost.

"Within forty-eight hours, the entire population of this nation will have the antidote to this diabolical toxin you have released upon us. It will kill no more Americans. Starting at noon today, the majority of the population in the western half of the state have been evacuated to the Sioux and Cheyenne Indian reservations where they are being protected." She told the viewers of her trip to the sacred caves.

She brushed back her blond hair and continued. "Since noon today, the cities and towns on our eastern borders, Aberdeen, Watertown, Huron, Brookings, Mitchell, Sioux Falls, and Yankton have been systematically evacuating their citizens into the states of North Dakota, Iowa, and Nebraska. No private vehicles have been used in this procedure. The military and National Guard units of those states have accomplished this task, using military vehicles so the terrorists could not hide among private vehicles to spread the agent. We have estimated that over eighty-five percent of the state's population has been or is in the process of being moved to safe havens," she paused for a second and then continued, "except for the city of Pierre, the state capital. In order to ensure that the terrorists did not find out what we were doing, we purposefully did not evacuate our capital. It would appear this was successful as there have been no further attacks reported today."

Then she announced, "One hour ago, military cargo planes began landing here, some of which carried special military operational units, but more importantly, to evacuate the fourteen-thousand citizens of Pierre. By ten o'clock tonight, this state will essentially be empty of inhabitants, except for essential military personnel, our state government and law enforcement personnel, and the president and his staff. We intend to stay and fight, and we do not intend to lose!"

On signal, the cameras were turned away and Jackie walked over to Gary. "Do you think they will take the bait?"

"I hope so," Gary answered, as he put an arm around her.

# CHAPTER 35

The president drew strength from the staff, which was working around him, but, like everyone else in the EOC, he felt the tension. He saw Jackie take her cue and again face the TV camera and begin speaking.

"It is now ten p.m., and in another fifteen minutes or so, complete darkness will be upon this land, but before that occurs, I have a message from the governor to those of you who are still inside the state of South Dakota. Effective immediately, all traffic by any means will cease except that which is specifically authorized by the governor. Those of you who are attempting to reach the Indian reservations are to immediately pull your vehicles off to the side of the road and stay inside them. You are not being abandoned. A shuttle system organized by the Sioux and Cheyenne will continue to move you in their transports to safety. However, you must stay in your vehicles until they arrive. Any unauthorized vehicle found moving will be considered hostile and will be destroyed with no further warning."

Then Jackie provided the first coded message. "There is hope for us all." And she signed off.

~~~~

Lieutenant Eric Henson, sitting at the controls of his S-70A Army Black Hawk helicopter at Ellsworth Air Force Base, looked over at his copilot and pointed his finger up in the air. He had just received the first coded message. Seconds later, the chopper rose into the night sky. This was repeated in thirty-two different locations throughout the state and systematically an Air Umbrella was established.

As Lieutenant Henson began his search pattern, he keyed his microphone. "Sergeant Rowe, how's it going?"

Staff Sergeant Sandy Rowe was a highly trained computer and radar specialist and until a few hours ago was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas. Now dressed in a chemical, biological, radiological, or CBR, protective suit, she continued to bring her equipment on line as she relayed her answer. "Radar equipment up and running. Scope fully operational, infrared systems coming on line as we speak. Global positioning system is being integrated into systems now."

"Roger. Let me know when you are ready to assume control." Then he switched channels.

~~~~

The command post senior controller on the airborne warning and control system, or AWACS, aircraft, circling some fifty thousand feet above South Dakota, heard the ID squawk, listened as Lieutenant Henson reported his position and watched the ID appear in one of the scopes on his console. Others were now filling the scopes as well. He turned to the aircraft commander. "Sir, they are starting to report in now."

"Very well," Brigadier General Kidwell said. "Are our fighters in place?"

"Yes, sir. All nine are in their assigned positions at thirty-five thou-sand feet across the state."

"What about the Black Hawk and the Night Hawk helicopters?"

"There are thirty on station. Two have been grounded due to mechanical failure, but replacements should be available within the next ten minutes."

"Have the rotation and fueling procedures been integrated into the plan?"

"Yes, sir. They're fully operational and ready to go."

"Very well. Proceed as scheduled and, Colonel, keep our people on their toes. We cannot afford to make any mistakes—none!"

"Yes, sir."

~~~~

The president read the coded message and handed it to one of the plotters to post on the situation board. It consisted of only four words—Giant Hand is operational. Everyone in the room was aware of what it meant. The president had directed the military to establish an Air Umbrella that would cover the state. Its mission was to find and destroy the terrorists if they attempted to move under the cover of darkness.

When the governor saw it posted, he turned to Gary. "All I can say is that I hope it works, but I would feel a whole lot better if we had more people on the ground. What we do have are scattered pretty thin. An army could march by them and not be detected. Do you think they will take the bait?"

The governor was voicing the same concerns that Gary himself had. "Let's hope they do."

From the corner of his eye he saw the dispatcher at the state police desk motion to him, and as he approached, the dispatcher said, "Gary, you are not going to believe this. In the past few minutes, I have had a dozen calls from people all over the state. At first, I thought they were pranks, but they're all reporting the same thing, and now, I don't know what to believe."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Well, they're all saying that they hear drums beating, but when they go to investigate, it stops and no one is there. When they go back to their assigned stations, it starts up again."

God! Now what? Nick had better have an answer for this or the shit will hit the fan, Gary thought, as he headed back to his desk and straight for the phone.

~~~~

Sergeant Rowe spoke into the headset. "Permission to take control, sir."

"Permission granted. It's all yours," replied Lieutenant Henson. "Roger. Maintain altitude of one thousand feet. Turn to heading of three-five-zero degrees, maintain speed at fifty knots."

Lieutenant Henson turned the aircraft to the north and adjusted his speed as instructed.

Sergeant Rowe watched the scopes in front of her intently. Although it was dark outside, the infrared scopes changed the night into an early twilight, and she could see as if it was almost daylight. Nothing moved below but she could see the heat signatures of the houses as they flew by, and most of the farms were empty. She was startled when a deer appeared in her scope but quickly identified what it was. Now fifteen minutes into the first leg of their search pattern, she again keyed the microphone.

"Course change in thirty seconds to zero-nine-zero degrees for five minutes then turn to one-eight-zero degrees and hold 'til further notice."

Again the aircraft turned to the right and held that course for the time instructed and then turned due south. Over thirty helicopters were repeating this subtle dance as they covered their assigned ground space. Sergeant Rowe knew she was straining her eyes too hard looking at the scopes and tried to relax when suddenly she saw a long line of heat signatures come up on the left side of her screen. "Victor to zero-nine-zero degrees for two minutes and hold position."

The aircraft turned to the east and flew at fifty knots for two minutes and hovered in place as Lieutenant Henson waited for further instructions. Looking out over the black expanse in front of him, he could see nothing but he knew that Sergeant Rowe had, and he felt tension start to build.

"Holy shit! I don't believe this!" Then there was only silence. Lieutenant Henson keyed his microphone. "Ah, Sergeant, do you want to share that last transmission with the crew?"

A sharp retort came back. "You would not believe it even if I told you. Stay on course...one-eight-zero degrees, increase altitude to five-thousand feet, and patch me through to the Airborne Command Post."

"Ah, Sergeant Rowe, I think..." and he was cut off abruptly. "Don't think. Just do it now!"

Lieutenant Henson did not hesitate. The nose of the helicopter rose into the sky at a sharp angle, and at the same time, his copilot was establishing contact with the command post.

~~~~

The senior controller at the Airborne Command Post heard the incoming traffic and walked to the nearest radar screen.

"Juliet, Tango-One, this is Mike, Alfa-Seven. Request immediate support. Over."

"Roger, Mike, Alfa-Seven," the controller replied. "Juliet, Tango-One, ready to copy. Over."

"Request helicopters Mike, Alfa-Three, six, nine, and ten. Move to latitude four-five degrees west, longitude one-zero-two degrees and ascend to five thousand feet. Report observations immediately."

Ten minutes later, the reports began to come in. Three minutes after that, the senior controller laid a grid map of South Dakota on the brigadier general's desk and said, "I think we have a major problem, sir."

~~~~

The president and the governor stood by the fax machine as Gary pulled the single sheet out of the tray and handed it to the president. The three men looked at it, and then Gary took it to the large map and drew a line from the North Dakota border straight down to the Nebraska border. The line was placed approximately thirty miles to the west of the Indian reservations. When this was done, he stood back, looked at the map again and then turned to the governor.

"If Sergeant Rowe is right, there are approximately one thousand people on that line, and if that's true, we just lost the fight. There is no way we can stop that many people from releasing the agent across this state."

The president stared at the map for a moment. "I don't believe there are that many terrorists in the state. There has to be another explanation."

Nick Arinson walked into the room as if on cue. The president watched his approach with a skeptical eye. He had a hunch that this would be no surprise to Nick.

"Mister Arinson, would you care to join us and maybe explain this latest development?" the president asked as he pointed at the map.

Nick acknowledged the three men and smiled. "It will be my plea-sure, Mister President." And he stepped up to the map

Everyone in the room watched as Nick drew a second line down the state, approximately thirty miles west of Pierre and then a third line not far from the Iowa border. Then, he moved back to the center of the map and drew a concentric circle that encompassed about thirty miles around the state capital and a second concentric circle approximately fifty miles around Pierre.

Nick turned to his audience and pointed at the line drawn on the western side of the state. "There are over one thousand Indians spaced less than a city block from each other on that line and they extend from the North Dakota border to the Nebraska border. The same goes for the line west of the capital and the one near the eastern border. The state has effectively been divided into three parts."

He paused and looked at the governor. "Any terrorist that attempts to cross any of those lines will die. Anyone who looks or acts suspicious will be detained and turned over to the proper authorities. However, no one will cross those lines unless you authorize it, Governor. Those three barriers will also provide you with an early warning system if the agent is released. If there is any hint of the agent near those lines, the EOC will be notified. From where the breech occurs, your law enforcement personnel can pinpoint the location where the agent is being released."

"My God!" the president exclaimed. "You have laid down a human screen, not once but three times across this state."

Nick merely nodded and continued. "There are over two thousand natives in those two circles around the capital. Although they will kill any terrorists who try to breech those lines, their primary function is to provide early warning to the inhabitants and public officials in the capital. They may not be able to prevent it, but they can tell you when it's coming and from where."

"Is that why we have been receiving reports of drums being heard all over the state?" Gary asked.

Again Nick nodded his head. "At least you know who is manning those lines."

"Yes, but I also realize there are over five thousand Native American Indians out there tonight with no protection from the toxin," Gary said. "And Nick, a lot of them may die. Do you want to tell me why you have done this? How could you put so many people at risk?"

"Not my call, Gary. In fact, I had nothing to do with it. The decision to establish those barriers was made by the Sioux and Cheyenne tribal chiefs. It came from their spiritual leaders. If you want to argue with them, that's fine, but I don't want to be near you when you do. The only part I played in this was to provide some equipment and supplies that they needed—primarily two thousand handheld radios."

Nick pulled a radio out of his pocket and handed it to Gary. "You're going to need this if you intend to talk with them. And, Gary, if I were you I would find someone who speaks Sioux or Cheyenne, or both."

"Governor, you should advise those central control points you have established to be on the lookout for an Indian with one of these radios, probably within the next fifteen minutes. Integrate them into your command and control system. It may make the difference between us living or dying," Nick said.

As the president absorbed this information, he asked, "Mister Arinson, where is Running Wolf?"

Nick gave him an inquisitive look and then pointed to the door. "If he has not left, Mister President, I believe he is just outside."

President Carson opened the door to find two of his Secret Service agents standing stiffly in a dead-lock staring contest with the Indian who was casually leaning against the wall. He looked at the scene before him and thought My God! I have some of the best-trained security men in the world, and I don't believe both of these men together would be a match for the Indian.

"Well, Running Wolf, who won?" the president asked.

"I believe you did, Mister President."

President Carson was caught off guard by the response, but then smiled and said, "Sir, if you will please come with me."

As he walked back to his desk, he mused, When was the last time I addressed a man as sir, and who really is this man? He knew Running Wolf's background, but it did not fit with what he had observed on a first-hand basis.

"Running Wolf, I need your help. I need an interpreter for the Sioux and Cheyenne language, and unless you can give me a damn good reason why you cannot do this then you will be that person."

"How can I possibly turn down a request from my commander-in-chief?" he answered.

~~~~

Agent Bradley entered the EOC with Agent Gere right behind him. A few minutes later, Bradley stood in front of the president. He nodded at Running Wolf, and Bradley wondered if he was going to survive and keep his job in the next few minutes.

The president made him wait for what seemed forever and then said, "Agent Bradley, are you aware of what the Indians have been doing?"

"Well, Mister President, I, ah..."

"Don't give me that shit! Answer my question."

Well, hell, Bradley thought. It's now or never. "Sir, every fortieth man on those lines is an FBI agent, and they're all volunteers."

Bradley saw a smile cross the president's face and then heard him say, "That's what I thought, but do me a favor. In the future, try keeping me better informed. If there is one thing I do not like, it's surprises."

"Yes, sir, Mister President." Bradley wondered how the president knew that FBI agents were involved in the strategy that Running Wolf, Nick and he had devised. One thing for sure, neither of the other two men would have told him. Maybe our president is an investigator in his own right, Bradley thought.

# CHAPTER 36

Her headphone crackled, and she heard Lieutenant Henson's voice. "Sergeant Rowe, I have a priority message for you. It reads, 'Staff Sergeant Sandy Rowe, your assumptions were correct. Please accept my appreciation for a job well done.'"

Well, Sandy thought, at least someone at headquarters believed me. Lieutenant Henson continued, "And Sergeant Rowe, it's signed by the president of the United States."

"What?" Sandy yelled. "You've got to be kidding!"

"Afraid not, and I for one agree with him. My crew and I want to survive this night, and we believe you are our best chance."

"Yes, sir."

At least she knew her equipment was working properly and that she was not going bonkers. She had been right; there was a line of people down there. What was baffling was how they could be seen in her scope and then suddenly their heat images would disappear only to reappear after they had passed over them.

~~~~

Little Eagle sat quietly on the ground watching his assigned area, and in the stillness of the night, he heard the distant sound of the helicopter approaching. He placed the wet blanket over his body and, after the helicopter was gone, he took it off and resumed his vigil. His heat signature again showed up on Sergeant Rowe's infrared scope.

~~~~

At 11:24 p.m., the PA system in the EOC suddenly came to life. "We have a moving vehicle in sector A-one-four. Target is moving south at thirty miles per hour toward Highway Two-one-two, approximately forty-five miles west of the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation."

In the EOC, the plotter drew a circle around the town of Zeona located in the northwestern part of the state.

The governor turned to Gary. "He's east of our first line of defense. If he is spreading the toxin, half that reservation will soon be contaminated. Do we have any ground forces near that area?"

Gary had already checked. "No, sir. It will take at least fifteen minutes for the closest units to reach that point."

A few seconds later, a controller onboard the AWACS directed the F-16 fighter that was patrolling that sector to terminate the suspected vehicle. The pilot descended and in moments had the target on his radarscope and released an AGM-65 smart bomb missile. The target was obliterated, and he turned his aircraft skyward to continue his patrol.

In the EOC and throughout the nation, there was a sense of relief because it appeared that another portion of the threat had been eliminated.

Jackie finished her televised broadcast and looked at the clock— 11:30 p.m. It had taken less than six minutes from time of visual contact until the vehicle had been destroyed.

~~~~

Art Mullin had been adamant that his wife and son leave the farm with him and drive the twelve miles to his brother's place. He was angry with himself for not having the TV satellite dish fixed, and when the radio battery died, he was driven to desperate action. They would have no way of receiving any warning if they might be in the path of the biological agent. Now, they were less than three miles from his brother's house, and he began to breathe a little easier. He reached over and squeezed his wife's hand.

"Honey, it will only..." The vehicle exploded in a ball of fire, and then the sonic boom from the aircraft could be heard for miles.

~~~~

It was now 4:08 a.m., and President Carson sat with Governor Mills drinking coffee and watching the clock. Since the one incident at 11:30 last night, there had been no further activity, and both men were hopeful that the ordeal was over. A number of false alarms had kept everyone on edge but no terrorist attacks had occurred.

Running Wolf appeared at their side and voiced cautious words that destroyed their hopes. "When my nation was young, just before daylight was the best time to attack our enemies. It has begun."

Then all hell broke loose. During the next five minutes, the number of reports that came into the EOC stunned the president. The attacks appeared to be well organized as eighteen terrorist groups had struck over the entire state, all at the same time.

~~~~

One would have thought that Little Eagle was fast asleep as he lie on the rocky ground, but he had been watching two men cautiously moving in his direction for the past several minutes. When they finally stopped several hundred yards away, Little Eagle, still unseen by the intruders, slowly crawled forward. The two men released a large balloon, and it began to quickly rise into the sky, spewing its contents. Without hesitating, Little Eagle raised his rifle, shot the pair and took several shots at the balloon before he turned and raced back to his position. He swiftly sat down, picked up the small parchment drum and started beating on it until he burst into a ball of blue flame. Nevertheless, his warning had been heard for now drums were sounding up and down the line.

~~~~

Lieutenant Henson and his crew had just completed their refueling at Ellsworth AFB and were maneuvering back into their assigned patrol space when Sergeant Rowe cried out, "I have a bogey at two o'clock. Object is at five hundred feet and rising. Hold position."

She switched the channel. "Night Hawk-Two-zero, bogey identified at latitude four-five-point-four-eight degrees north, longitude one-zero-two-point- three-seven degrees west, estimated altitude five-five-zero feet and rising. Attack and destroy."

Within seconds, she heard the reply, "Roger, Night Hawk-Two-zero estimates time of arrival to target at two minutes thirty seconds."

She watched as the two blips on her screen continued to close, and the tracers as the gun ship began its attack. A missile suddenly appeared on her screen and she screamed into her microphone, "Night Hawk-Two-zero, incoming missile at your seven o'clock."

It was too late. She not only saw the explosion on her screen, she and the rest of the crew could see it in the night sky five miles from their hovering position.

"Oh, God!" Lieutenant Henson exclaimed.

"Evasive action! Take us up to four thousand feet." Sergeant Rowe was scared they might be next. She heard the warning tone on her instrument. "We've been painted." And saw the missile leave the ground.

She yelled into the microphone, "Incoming missile at your seven o'clock. Estimated impact time eighteen seconds."

She and the crew knew they had no chance of evading the incoming missile. They had the workhorse of the Army, not an attack helicopter, and all they could do was wait to die.

Lieutenant Henson was not about to make it easy for them. He placed his helicopter into a steep dive and headed for the ground when suddenly there was a large flash behind them. They felt the concussion of the explosion, and the helicopter jumped crazily about the sky. The missile had not hit them, but detonated several hundred yards from the helicopter. She quickly looked at her scope and saw a lone helicopter stationary in the sky, three miles to the east and approximately two thousand feet above them. It was a Night Hawk, and its arsenal had destroyed the incoming missile.

Sergeant Rowe started cussing a blue streak and only stopped when they heard, "Army-Seven, this is Night Hawk-Two-one. If further assistance is needed, please do not hesitate to call."

Lieutenant Henson answered, "Roger, Two-one, you have our thanks."

"Roger, Army-Seven, but be advised we are your escort and have been since you left Ellsworth. You might tell Sergeant Rowe she needs to bone up on her stealth procedures." Chuckles could be heard as he signed off.

Lieutenant Henson heard Sergeant Rowe cussing again and keyed his microphone. "Sergeant Rowe, you care to let us in on what just transpired or do you intend to keep us in the dark?"

"Sorry, sir, but he was right. I should have known that chopper was with us, but the bastard was cloaking his aircraft, and I missed it."

"Sergeant, he just saved all our lives, and you're hopping mad? I don't see the logic in that."

"Sorry, sir. I agree, but the pilot of that Night Hawk is Captain Eddie Rowe, my husband. If we all get out of this alive, he's never going to let me forget that I unknowingly let him get this close to our aircraft."

God, Lieutenant Henson thought, women! I am never going to get married. As he thought about it, he smiled and resumed his surveillance altitude. The Night Hawk silently followed behind.

~~~~

Fifteen minutes into the attack, the American public was glued to their radios and TVs as Jackie Arinson continued to brief them on the assault.

"To summarize, we have had twenty-two confirmed reports of terrorists across the state attempting to release the biological agent. Of that number, eight groups have been identified and destroyed before they could disperse the agent. Four were able to release some of the agent before they too were killed. The other ten are being actively engaged at this time. We will keep you informed as more information becomes available."

Jackie observed the frantic activity taking place throughout the EOC as the governor issued orders to counteract the threats appearing on the situation board. She thought, He may be a good governor, but he would make an outstanding general.

In the back of the room, a military aide handed the president a message. "Sir, you need to see this immediately."

Seconds later, the president asked the aide, "How soon before we can get a replacement?"

"Estimated time is thirty-five minutes, Mister President."

"Damn! By that time this thing could be over. I need those fighters now." He thought for a moment. "Are those helicopters capable of directing and controlling our air assets over South Dakota?"

"Yes, sir, Mister President. Three of them have that capability."

"Is Staff Sergeant Rowe's helicopter one of the three?"

~~~~

Frustrated and angry, Sergeant Rowe listened to the doomed aircraft squawking a Mayday as it went into a fiery descent. Just a few minutes before, the AWACS had declared an in-flight emergency. Most of its crew had bailed out, but the pilot and copilot were still at the controls when the plane disappeared from her scope.

She sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, then reached for the keyboard on her console and pulled up the codes for the F-16 fighters. Next, she changed channels and started broadcasting.

"Charlie, November—One through Nine. Chicks One through Nine, rally around Army-Seven."

One by one, the nine F-16 fighters began checking in with her.

Lieutenant Henson keyed his microphone. "Sergeant Rowe, do you know what you're doing? You have no authorization to assume control over those fighters."

"You may be right, sir, but right now those aircraft are flying blind up there, and, more importantly, they're needed now to support our people on the ground. Until someone tells me different, those chicks are mine. Request another helicopter take over our patrol area and increase our altitude to five thousand feet and hold."

Before Lieutenant Henson could answer, he heard her say, "Charlie, November-Four, you have a bogey at sector G-Six. Coordinates are latitude four-three-point-five-three degrees north, longitude one-zero-zero-zero-point- four-two degrees west." And then, she commanded, "Start attack!"

"Roger, Army-Seven. Starting attack run now." And then, "Thanks, Army-Seven. Your help is appreciated."

"Go get them tiger," Sergeant Rowe replied.

Suddenly it seemed as if all the air traffic was being sent to her console, and automatically she began to control the total air assets over the state.

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Henson came back on the headset. "Sergeant Rowe, I have another priority message for you."

Sandy thought, Well, here it comes, and said, "OK, let's have it." "Ah, you're not going to believe this. You're not by any chance related to the president, are you?"

"Cut the crap, Lieutenant. Relay the message."

"Yes, ma'am. Message is as follows. 'Effective upon receipt of this message and by order of the president of the United States, Staff Sergeant Sandy Rowe is hereby promoted to the rank of acting brigadier general in the United States Army. General Rowe is further directed to take command of all air assets involved in the military action taking place over the state of South Dakota. God speed. Signed, President Andrew Carson.'"

The co-pilot, sitting beside the Lieutenant, thought this was incredible. Speaking into his headset, he asked, "Can he do that?"

Lieutenant Henson replied, "Yes, he can but it has to be approved by Congress, and there is no doubt in my mind, it will be ratified by tomorrow."

Sandy couldn't speak. Lieutenant Henson said it for her.

"Welcome aboard, General. We're at your command." Sandy heard genuine delight in his voice when he continued, "Your orders, ma'am?"

# CHAPTER 37

The wall map depicted, in graphic detail, the fighting that had been going on for the past hour and a half. Sunrise was only minutes away, and the attacks appeared to be over.

President Carson pointed his finger at the outer circle west of Pierre. "Well, Governor, it seems that the majority of them took the bait."

"It would seem so, Mister President. The only thing we did not consider was the fact there are so many of them still out there."

"You may be right but you managed to convince half of them to attack the state capital. That bunched them up into a relatively small area where the military could contain them and allowed the majority of our law enforcement free access to concentrate their efforts on the isolated areas of the state."

The state meteorologist walked to the map and drew a small side-ways V west of the town of Platte, noting the time beside it. All three men looked to the left of the symbol and could see the red circle with a slash through it. The symbol indicated that the terrorists had been able to release at least some of the toxin. There were six such symbols on the map, and as time passed, the V was extended eastward with the wind.

"At least, we know where the contaminated areas are and can keep most everyone out of harm's way," the governor said. "Thank God the agent has a short life span. If we're lucky, most of the toxin should be contained within the borders of the state."

Gary spoke up. "We may have a problem there, Governor. We have been lucky during the past forty-eight hours with the low wind speed. I was just informed that the front is moving in, and the wind from the west will soon be increasing to fifteen or twenty miles per hour with gusts up to thirty. At that rate, some of the contamination may spread into Iowa before the day is over. In that case, they had better start evacuation procedures now."

"I don't believe that will be necessary, Gary," the president said. "I am told there is a large pharmaceutical company located in Iowa City, and they're one of the companies that are mass producing the antidote. Last night, I directed that the first batches were to be sent to the populated areas on the western border of Iowa. I understand the antidote is being distributed within those cities now."

"Thank God for that, Mister President. Let's just hope it is effective."

"You don't need to worry about that, Gary. I have been assured that it is effective." A grim expression crossed the president's face as he continued, "Also, a batch of ten thousand antidote capsules should arrive here within a few hours. Once your people receive them, the threat will be over."

They heard the PA system activate. "Confirmed terrorist activity in Sector G-Six. Repeat Sector G-Six."

The plotter circled the identified area on the map and the governor exclaimed, "Damn! Aren't they ever going to give up? What have we got in that area to respond?"

Running Wolf had moved up beside them and was holding the radio to his ear. All three men watched and waited as the message coming through was in the Sioux language. Running Wolf walked to the map, placed a small circle on it, and turned back to the governor.

"It appears that this is a group of five or six men, and they are inflating a large balloon. The Sioux, overlooking the spot, tell me they are entrenched in a heavily fortified dugout. Over the past five minutes, we have lost thirty-four warriors," and he looked at Bradley who now had joined the group, "and three FBI agents. They have machine guns, mortars and rifles, and they know how to use them. Our warriors cannot get close to them."

"How much time do we have before that balloon is aloft?" the governor asked.

"I am afraid none, Governor. It's going up as we speak."

"Then, we had better start evacuating our people out of here because that balloon is less than twenty miles directly west of Pierre. With the wind picking up, we have less than an hour to get our people out of its path. In any event, Mister President, you need to leave now. You have fulfilled your promise to the American people. It's daylight, and you are still here and alive, and I want to make sure it stays that way."

"Stop ordering me around, Governor! Right now, I'm not going anywhere. When you decide to leave is when I will go as well." The two men stood glaring at each other, and Gary was not sure which one would back down. The PA broke the impasse.

"South Dakota EOC, this is Army-Seven. Do you copy? Over." The president's military aide answered, "Roger, Seven, loud and clear. Over."

"Roger, EOC. Be advised I have a visual on a large balloon rising less than three miles from my position and assume it is a hostile target. Unless notified otherwise, I intend to call an air strike on it now. Over."

The president picked up the microphone. "Army-Seven, be advised it is a terrorist group and you do not have time to call in an air strike. That balloon must be shot down, immediately! Army-Seven, be advised that the terrorist group at that location are heavily armed. Does your helicopter have armament on board? Over."

"Sorry, sir. Army-Seven has no arms on board." The president's heart sank. Then, he heard a chuckle and, "But, EOC, my shadow does. We'll leave this channel open. We're starting the attack now. Out."

Everyone in the EOC heard Acting General Rowe as she directed the attack. "Night Hawk-Two-one, did you copy? Over."

"Roger, Seven. Over."

"Very well, commence your attack now. Take those people out and bring that balloon down! Over."

Those in the EOC sat and listened in silence as Rowe provided a running commentary on the actions taking place.

"Night Hawk-Two-one descending to one thousand feet. One mile from target and closing. Range to target one thousand yards. First missile away." Then they heard her cry out, "Incoming missile on your four o'clock! Second missile on its way. Over."

"Roger, Seven, I have them. Taking evasive action now. Out." And the Night Hawk headed for the ground in hopes of losing the missiles.

Lieutenant Henson shouted, "First one missed him." And then, "God damn!"

Then they heard the pilot of the Night Hawk, "Mayday, Mayday, going down. Coordinates are..." then silence.

They heard Sandy yell at her pilot, "Those missiles came from the west of the primary target. Take us down below that ridge before he can get a fix on us."

The squelch broke on Running Wolf's radio, and a few seconds later, he spoke. "Tell her the group which shot those missiles is no longer with us, and the downed crew is safe. They're lucky that they came down west of the balloon."

The president spoke into the microphone, "Army-Seven, be advised, missiles no longer a threat from that point. Downed crew has been rescued. What is status of balloon and bunker site? Over."

"EOC, bunker destroyed but the balloon is still rising. Estimated altitude one-three-five feet. Over."

"Very well, Army-Seven. Call in your birds and see if they can bring it down. Over."

"Negative, EOC. Not enough time. It has to come down now. I have an idea. Out." They heard her next order, "Lieutenant Henson. It's time we earned our pay. Take us over the target. Over."

"It's your aircraft, General. Heading for target now. Out."

Her voice came back over the PA. "EOC, I understand the president is located at your position. Is that an affirmative? Over."

The president replied, "Roger, Army-Seven. That is correct. Over."

He heard a softer tone in her voice. "Well, please do me a favor and thank him for me. It's not every day a sergeant is promoted to a general. Over."

The president knew what Sandy Rowe intended to do and replied, "General Rowe, you already have, and it should be me thanking you. Over."

"Oh God!" she exclaimed. "How do I get into these things? Sorry, Mister President. Nevertheless, sir, that balloon will come down. Out." "God speed," he answered.

She again left her microphone keyed, and the EOC staff could hear the conversation between her and the pilot.

"Listen up crew, check your CBR suits, make sure every opening is closed and sealed. Lieutenant Henson, you are now directly over the balloon. Start a slow descent and force it to the ground. The aircraft is now yours. Over."

"Roger, General, but I don't think we have enough power to force it back down, and even if we do, what are we going to do when we get it down?"

"First things first, Lieutenant Henson. I want you to hover approximately ten-to-fifteen feet above the balloon, and your loadmaster and I will start throwing every sharp thing we can find at it. Hopefully, we can cut open the top of the balloon and start releasing the gas. All you need to do is stay in the center of it, keep pushing it down, and for God's sake whatever you do, don't let it get away from you. Over."

"General, you throw your rocks. I'll keep us on target. Out." Not realizing the microphone was still on, he muttered, "God damn! She doesn't ask for much—just the impossible."

She came back, "Lieutenant Henson, this is the easy part. Wait until we get it back on the ground and the impossible starts."

He laughed, "Sorry, General. Lead the way."

As Sandy looked out the door down on the balloon, she thought, It's not as large as I thought. Well, here goes, and she dropped a sharp angle bar she had found in the tool chest. She watched it fall, slide off the side of the balloon and disappear. The chopper lurched to the left, throwing Sandy back inside the chopper, but it was quickly repositioned back over the balloon.

"Sorry, General. Wind is beginning to pick up, but we have forced it down to one-one-zero feet, although it's bouncing all over the sky."

OK, time to take the chance, Sandy thought, and she leaned out the door and fired the flare gun. The top of the balloon split. It began deflating and dropping to the ground.

As the EOC personnel listened, they heard her say, "OK, Lieutenant Henson, when that canister hits the ground, I want you to land on top of it. You and I know what to expect. The balloon is going to wrap around this chopper like a cocoon. I don't care who it is, but one of us has to use a flare gun to set this chopper on fire as a means to destroy the biological agent."

What she did not say was that it would probably ignite the fuel tanks in one giant explosion.

The governor looked at the president. "Sir, she is committing suicide. There is no way they can get away before that helicopter goes up like a stick of dynamite."

All the president said was, "I know."

~~~~

As Lieutenant Henson started his descent, Sandy was surprised when suddenly her headset came alive and she heard, "Army-Seven, this is Chick-One."

"Army-Seven, this is Chick-Three."

"Army-Seven, this is Chick-Five."

"Army-Seven, this is Chick-Seven."

"General, we have been monitoring your transmissions and are presently circling ten-thousand feet above your position. Your orders, General? Over."

Pride swelled within her, and she keyed the microphone. "Chicks-One, -Three, -Five, and Seven, you know what we are attempting to do. Once we're on the ground, if this chopper does not go up in flames, you are to make sure it does. And Chicks, even if it does, you are to utterly cremate this area to ensure the agent is destroyed. Out."

The listeners in the EOC were stunned by what they heard.

Running Wolf whispered to the president, "She is a warrior."

With a grim face, the president replied, "She is a soldier in the Armed Forces of the United States, and they are all warriors."

Running Wolf studied the president for a moment. "So is their Commander-in-Chief."

Then again, they heard Rowe's voice. "Chick-One, do you under-stand your orders? Over."

"Roger, General Rowe. It's been a pleasure to serve under you and your orders will be carried out to the letter. However, General, you should know we expect you to pay for the bill at the officer's club when this is over."

"Sorry, guys, I can't afford it, but you have my gratitude and personal thanks. Over."

"General, just make sure you are there, and I will pay. Over." Chick-One replied.

Then a new voice sounded on the channel. "General Rowe, this is President Carson. The drinks will be on me. Over."

"Thank you, Mister President," and then, "OK, Lieutenant Henson, take her down."

A few seconds later they heard an apprehensive voice. "She's going on her side." Then nothing but static.

The next transmission was the fighter pilot. "OK, people, don't miss." Then, "Target destroyed."

With a sad look in his eyes, the president glanced around the room and said, "Governor Mills, I think it's time I go back to Washington and leave you to rebuild your state."

# CHAPTER 38

The small group sat in Nick's office watching the president as he finished a televised speech to the nation.

"In closing, I will say that we, the American people, are very lucky and fortunate to be alive. The biological agent could have annihilated a vast majority of the citizens of the country. I intend to leave here within the hour and return to Washington where I will hold a news conference at six o'clock this evening. Until then, God bless America." And he faded from the screen.

Nick looked across the room where Agent Bradley sat. "Bill, it's not over yet, and I believe the president knows something he's not telling the American public. Do you know what it is?"

Bradley gave a negative shake of his head. "I feel the same, but whatever it is, the president has not confided in me. Of course, if he had, I would not have told you anyway, but in all honesty, I don't know."

Jackie had been watching her grandfather, and she did not like what she saw. For the first time in her life, she suddenly realized how old and frail he looked. It seemed as if he had aged overnight from the robust energetic person she had always known to an old man past his prime. His words interrupted her thoughts.

"Fair enough. Now, do you want to tell me why you want Jackie to go to Washington with you?"

She straightened in her chair. "What do you mean? I am not going anywhere!"

Nick smiled wickedly at Bradley. "I see you have not talked to her yet."

"No. I was going to after we were through here."

"Well, Mister Bradley, if you think I am going to Washington, you have another thought coming. I have no intention of leaving here no matter what the reason, and that's final," Jackie said.

Nick paid no attention to his granddaughter and continued to look at Agent Bradley. "You want to tell me why it's important that she return to Washington with you?"

"Mister Arinson, that request came not from me but from the president."

"I don't care who asked. I am not leaving here," Jackie responded, "so you all can forget it!"

Again Nick ignored her and countered with one word why.

"Two reasons," Bradley said. "The president wants her to continue to be the primary spokesperson until this is all over. The American public associates her with the efforts to counter the disaster. She's good and they trust her. Second, you all know I have been assigned to head the taskforce in uncovering who is behind this plot. I believe that Joyce Winters can answer that, and I further believe if anyone can get it from her, it will be Jackie. I think a bond developed between them when they met at the silo. If you remember, Jackie, she gave the notebook to you. Since then, no one has been able to get a response out of her."

Bradley continued. "I doubt if you are aware that when Joyce Winters arrived in Washington and was being transported to Bethesda Naval Hospital there was an assassination attempt on her life. We were lucky that she survived. Very few people knew she was in the city and still fewer FBI agents knew the route we were taking. So, we have a traitor in the agency. To ensure her protection, I had the responsibility for her health and welfare transferred to another federal agency. She is not located at the naval hospital but a safe house outside of Washington."

He turned to Jackie. "After what you have been through and knowing your grandfather's condition, I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to go, but as I said, you may very well be the key in finding who the mastermind is behind this madness. Your country needs you."

Before she could speak, Nick said, "Well, I can't answer for her, but I have one condition when she leaves." And he pointed to Running Wolf. "She doesn't step one foot outside this state without Running Wolf at her side, and he remains with her until she returns."

Agent Bradley looked at the Indian. "Are you in agreement, Running Wolf?"

"If it is Nick's request, it will be carried out with or without your approval, Agent Bradley."

Jackie stood up, put her hands on her hips and glared at the group as if to say something, but changed her mind and she fled the room.

An hour later, Agent Bradley, Jackie and Running Wolf climbed on board Air Force One with the president for the flight to Washington, D.C.

# CHAPTER 39

Paul Lewis walked out the French doors to the edge of the patio and looked out over the manicured lawn that sloped gently down to the lake. There was a boathouse on the right side and several small islands dotted the still water. He never seemed to tire of looking at the lake or living there. It was his design and dream and few changes had been made over the years.

When he had bought the two-thousand-acre farm thirty years ago, he had transformed it into one of the most prestigious properties in the area. White fences crawled across the landscape highlighting the grassy fields. The house, considered new by the local standards, was spacious and open, more of a lived-in home than many of his neighbors. It had that comfortable feeling that many of the others did not.

Paul was a complex man, now in his late sixties, a successful lawyer and lobbyist in Washington, and had been a shrewd investor over the years in the stock market. He knew his career was winding down, and he really did not care. His best memories were here where his three children were raised. He had been a widower for the past five years and now was accustomed to being alone. Not that he was by himself. He had twenty-four employees; most of them lived on the farm in fifteen cottages located around the property. What none of his neighbors, or friends, or even his children knew, was that Paul had a secret that he had kept for the past twenty-seven years.

Paul Lewis had spent three years working for the CIA in his earlier years, and in a way, he had never left it. Shortly after he had bought the farm, his former employer had paid him a visit, and he had agreed to the agency's request. He had thought it was a sound investment, and over the years, he had been proven right.

The agreement had been simple. The agency proposed to pay for the construction of one of the cottages and had employed their own construction crew to build it to their specifications. In addition, their own staff, normally a husband-and-wife team with no children, would live in the cottage at least one week out of each month and would assist on the farm as Paul requested. The lease was for thirty years, and at the end of that time, the building would belong to him.

His workforce had always found Cottage Number Four to be a bit of a mystery. One of the first orders given to any new employee was that unless specifically asked by the occupants or himself, no one was to enter the secluded cottage. Many years ago, he had fired a long-time employee because he had failed to follow that order. The message, even after all these years, was still implicit, and none of his staff went near the cottage. In fact, he had made a point of not visiting the cottage himself and had never done so.

Now as the sun was disappearing behind the mountain, he looked in the direction of the cottage, approximately a mile from the house and knew that it was being used for the first time for its intended purpose—a safe house. He had received a call early that morning, and shortly thereafter the area had been quietly sealed off. What did surprise him was the request that he host two couples to spend a few days in his home. He was under no delusions as to who they were and why they were here. The two couples in their mid-forties were there for his protection. They would act as his bodyguards. He had known since he walked out on the patio that one of the women had followed and was now standing a few feet behind him.

He heard her say, "Mister Lewis, we don't want to impose, but we feel you are too exposed out here."

Paul took a long look across the valley and then turned and walked back into the house.

Under the basement floor of Cottage Number Four was another level of rooms. Now located there was Joyce Winters, who sat in the center of a padded room, humming as she rocked back and forth. Three guards sat outside the door in front of surveillance monitors. Their instructions were clear. They were to protect her with their lives, and at least one was to watch her at all times.

~~~~

As Air Force One started its descent into Andrews Air Force Base, Jackie checked her seat belt and looked out the window, thinking back to the meeting the president had arranged shortly after take-off from Pierre, South Dakota. He had appeared to be pensive as he listened to Bill Bradley brief him on the actions he intended to initiate with the taskforce. He had not been surprised when Bradley told him that the safe found in Joyce Winters' room in the silo was empty when they opened it.

The president had thanked Jackie for accepting the invitation to return with them and told Agent Bradley that Jackie would accompany him to the White House where she would stay until after his TV broadcast at 6 p.m. The president noticed a slight movement by Running Wolf, but before the Sioux Indian could speak, the president continued, "And of course, Running Wolf will accompany Jackie. I am aware of Nick's request, and I assure you that I will honor it."

For the rest of the trip, Running Wolf and the president conversed at the conference table while Jackie and Agent Bradley returned to their seats. Jackie had also noticed that when the president had asked Running Wolf to stay with him, he had agreed but moved to a different chair so he would have a clear view to where Jackie was sitting. She did not know how she really felt about having Running Wolf as a bodyguard but, in an odd way, was glad that he was here. Just before Agent Bradley left the plane, he had a short conversation with the president and then told Jackie he would pick her and Running Wolf up at the White House at 7 p.m.

~~~~

Upon arriving in Washington, Bradley went immediately to Garrett Hull's office. While his anger continued to escalate, he listened to the FBI director as he talked.

"There were only fourteen agents who were aware of the route we intended to take when we moved Joyce Winters to Bethesda Naval Hospital," the FBI director said. "Thirteen of those agents have taken polygraph tests, and as the saying goes, were intensely debriefed. The other agent, a fifteen-year veteran and a communication specialist who worked on the travel route plans, did not report to work yesterday. He was found dead in his apartment. I believe it is safe to say we have found the leak and that at least two of our agents were traitors, not only to this agency but to the nation as well.

"You, Agent Bradley, by order of the president and with my approval have been given the task of finding the mastermind behind this scheme, and I am going to give you a piece of advice. The terrorists behind this mad scheme have infiltrated our agency, and I don't know how many other agencies have been subverted. Do not trust anyone and that includes me. It's the best advice I can give you." Bradley thanked the director and left the office without another word.

~~~~

After exiting the presidential HMX-1 helicopter on the back lawn, Jackie and Running Wolf walked into the White House with the president. Within seconds of entering the door, Secret Service agents surrounded the president with guns drawn, and all of them were pointed at Jackie and Running Wolf. Jackie froze and gave an involuntary shudder, but Running Wolf stood taut, like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

As the agents tried to move the president out of harm's way, he calmly said, "Everyone, hold it right where you are and lower those damn guns! I should have warned you that my two guests are armed, but they are no threat to me, so put those guns away."

Still no one moved, and Jackie was surprised that the president was aware she had a weapon in her purse. Running Wolf was not surprised at all.

"All right! Get McCann in here, and I mean right now," the president said.

Within seconds, his senior Secret Service officer was standing beside him. "McCann, before your men decide to shoot my guests, tell them to lower their weapons."

"I am afraid I cannot do that, Mister President. I don't know these two individuals, and, in any case, they are armed and my directives are clear. No one, unless specifically authorized, may carry a weapon anywhere near the president of the United States. Between those two, they have an arsenal. There is no way that I can be sure they are not holding you hostage, and, sir, it is my duty to protect you at all cost."

"Very well," the president said. "It appears we have a stalemate, and, Agent McCann, I respect your dedication, but this has to be resolved, so let's get it done. Jackie, Running Wolf, will you please take a seat over there?" and he pointed to two chairs. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I will have this cleared up in a moment."

As soon as Jackie and Running Wolf sat down, one of the Secret Service agents instructed that they both place their hands on the arms of the chairs and not to move. Jackie saw the distraught look on the president's face.

"Not to worry, Mister President. We will be right here when you get back," Jackie said, and that brought a smile to the president's face before he turned and left them.

For a few minutes, Jackie gazed at the Secret Service agents with their guns still drawn. They had not moved from their positions, but suddenly weapons went back in their holsters, and all but one agent left the room. Then, the president returned with Agent McCann by his side.

"Jackie, we have wasted enough time. I need your help on my speech. Please come with me."

When they entered the hallway, two Secret Service agents flanked the president and one moved in behind Running Wolf. In the small Secret Service Command Post, four agents watched as the party proceeded down the corridor

In a low whisper, one agent remarked, "I can't believe this! That Indian is a walking armory. He has a thirty-eight stub-nosed pistol in his right boot, a short blade knife in his left boot, another thirty-eight under his left armpit and a knife strapped to his back. He even has a small caliber pistol in his right pocket."

"Yeah," one of the other agents said. "And to look at him, he seems harmless. I'll tell you one thing, if I was in a fight, I would sure hope he was on my side."

"So would I," the other stated. "So would I."

~~~~

Bill Bradley looked at the fifteen people sitting around the table who were the key agents assigned to the FBI taskforce. Most of these officers either knew or were aware of Agent Bradley. They were all department heads within the Bureau. None had been active in the field in the past five years.

Since early this morning, Bradley had been going over each of their dossiers and that of their immediate staff. Now, he stood and asked the projection operator to put the slide on the screen. The slide was a list of individuals' names that worked for the department heads.

Bradley waited for a second and then said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the staff listed on the screen are your replacements, and I expect them to be in this room by five p.m. today. Although they will represent your departments, they will no longer be subordinate to you. They will report directly to me, and for the duration of this emergency, they will replace you as heads of your departments."

There was a stir around the table, and Bradley held up his hand. "Hear me out," and he told them of the director's concerns. Then, he looked at the attendees. "Everyone on that list I know personally and have worked with each one over the years. More importantly, they have my complete trust and if we are to apprehend the persons responsible for the crime, I want to be sure that all the operatives are on my side. Give them your complete support and trust. If you do not, you will no longer have a job."

Bradley was taking no chances, and instead of setting up his command post in the FBI building, he had leased the top floor of a nearby hotel. With the president's approval, WHCA had installed secure communications staffed by military personnel. At the direction of the president, a twelve-man DELTA Team in civilian clothing provided security at the hotel. Bradley had not been happy about the security arrangements. He would have preferred his own men, but the president was adamant, and the agent had finally agreed to the request.

He sat listening as the phone rang for the second time and then picked it up. "Gere?"

"Yes, sir," the answer came back. "I'm returning your call as directed even though some of the agents here advised against it. They said you are in one hell of a mood."

"Cut the clowning and give me an update on what has been going on in South Dakota since I left this morning." The rebuke would have sobered most agents, but Gere continued as if he had not heard it.

"Been expecting your call. And a summary of today's events is being faxed as we speak."

Bradley could not help but smile. Gere may be cocky, he thought, but he is a very smart agent.

"Sir, for what it's worth, I do not believe we will come up with any useful leads here. All the terrorists are dead, and it will take weeks to effectively investigate their backgrounds, but I have assigned teams to do just that. I think the answers lie in Washington." He heard the dry humor in Gere's voice. "I also understand you have caused a major flap at the Bureau. I don't think I would want to be in your shoes."

"You're right. You do not want to be in my shoes, but yours are going to be standing beside mine until this is over."

"Pardon me, I don't believe I understood your last comment." "Agent Gere, I have a plane on its way to Pierre to pick you up. Get on it."

"Yes, sir, but do you mind telling me why? I don't believe I have screwed up that bad since last night."

"Orders were approved an hour ago officially making you my deputy. Now, get yourself back here!"

~~~~

Jackie and the press secretary had completed the fourth draft of the president's speech, and Jackie glanced at the clock—5:15 p.m. There was not much time left, and she hoped this would be the finished product. She wondered how the American people were going to react.

# CHAPTER 40

The newscaster had finished his final news clip and was stalling for time before the president's broadcast in forty-five seconds. He raised his hand to his earpiece, and the public heard him exclaim, "You're kidding!" Then he hastily looked back at the camera. "I have just been informed that before the president addresses the nation, Miss Jackie Arinson, the reporter from The Prairie Times in Pierre, South Dakota, whom I believe is now familiar to most of our audience, will say a few words first."

As her image came on the air, the viewers saw her sitting on a sofa with a coffee table in front of her. Many recognized the room before she said, "I am speaking to you from the Oval Office of the White House at the request of President Carson.

"I believe you all know how close this nation came to disaster in the past few days, and the attacks on South Dakota could just as well have been your state or, God forbid, the country as a whole. Why these individuals picked my state is not yet known. Why so many people had to die and what the goal of the terrorists was are questions that have to be answered.

"I understand that the majority of Americans now have the antidote to the biological agent that was unleashed, and its threat of terror and death is no longer a cause for concern. Many of you have heard my broadcasts over the past forty-eight hours and are aware of the desperate fight that was waged to save the citizens of South Dakota. You also know that your president was there as well. South Dakota is located in the central part of our country and has one of the smallest populations; I believe the goal of the terrorists was to eliminate its eight-hundred thousand citizens. Thank God that they did not achieve their objective. Nevertheless, we paid a heavy price in defeating them, and the result was fifty thousand casualties. The terrorists who attacked us are dead, but the mastermind behind this assault is still out there.

"There were many heroes, and I am sure they will be identified in time, but tonight I intend to name a few. The Honorable Richard Mills, Governor of South Dakota, did not hesitate to act and act boldly, and without his leadership the outcome would have been very different.

"Your president controlled the military assets, and by that I mean he issued orders directly to the military personnel in the field—not merely to one of his subordinates. You can be proud of your president—I am. Both of these men are prominent figures, and it is easy to pick them out for the recognition that they deserve, but it's not that simple for many of the others.

"As many of you are aware, two of the conspirators in this attack were FBI agents, and it has caused much anguish within the Bureau knowing that one of their own could possibly be involved in this terrible act. I for one do not believe that the thousands of dedicated agents should carry any blame, and I can tell you the citizens of my state owe much to the agency and do not blame the Bureau for the action of a few. You may not know that twenty-seven FBI agents gave their lives in the defense of our state, and we will not forget their valor—neither should you."

FBI Director Garrett Hull sat in his office in the Hoover Building, watching Jackie as she said this, and he murmured, "Thank you, Jackie." So did countless other FBI officers.

Jackie reached down and picked up an 8-inch-by-10-inch photo from the table and held it up to the camera. It was of a young woman in military fatigues.

"The woman you see pictured here is Staff Sergeant Sandy Rowe of the U.S. Army, or at least she was when she reported for duty at Ellsworth Air Force Base yesterday. If you want the personification of heroism, you are looking at her. The president thought so as well. During the heat of this battle, he granted her a field promotion to brigadier general.

"Many of you watched and listened as General Rowe and her helicopter crew gave their lives to protect our state capital. General Rowe will be buried in Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors, and a special nine-aircraft fly-by will honor her during the ceremony. The date will be announced later, but the president plans to award the Congressional Medal of Honor, posthumously, to General Rowe and her helicopter crew."

Attempting to control her distress as tears rolled down her cheeks, she said, "I only wish she and her crew were there to receive it. She not only saved the lives of the president, the governor and his staff, she saved my life as well." Jackie paused for a second, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and then after composing herself, she continued.

"Finally, I need to tell you about the sixty-five thousand citizens of my home state who did more than anyone else to save their neighbors. I speak of the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians—Native Americans, most who reside on reservations in the state. You are probably all aware that they made public their sacred underground caverns in order that four-hundred thousand people could seek refuge therein. It cost the lives of over two thousand Indians and the revelation of a secret they have protected for over three hundred years.

"To be honest, I still don't understand why they did it. They could have inconspicuously taken refuge themselves and survived this genocide—and retained their secret. Instead, they fought along beside us and, in the process, lost a great number of their brave warriors. How do we say thank you to people we conquered over a hundred years ago? How do we, the American people, honor their bravery and sacrifice?"

Again, Jackie paused and with a slight tremor in her voice she said, "This should have completed my preliminary to the president's broadcast tonight, but I would like to share a personal anecdote with you." The American public saw tears start streaming down her cheeks again, and she made no attempt to brush them aside.

"Most of you have never heard the name Nicholas Arinson, and you would have no reason to know him, but I can assure you, there are few in South Dakota who does not know of him as the owner and publisher of The Prairie Times. He was widely respected by his friends and foes alike. As you can surmise by the name, he is my grandfather, and if you want to talk about heroes, he would be at the top of the list. It is my belief that this man had the greatest influence on the outcome of the battle in our state. I also believe history will demonstrate it."

Jackie was devastated, and her voice choked for a moment. Then, she said, "My grandfather passed away about an hour ago, and he will be dearly missed."

The camera switched to the commentator. "We have been told that the president will address the nation in a few moments. In the meantime, let us go to our affiliate in Rapid City, South Dakota, where a strange phenomenon is occurring."

"Good evening," the young reporter said. "It's now five-fifteen p.m. here in Rapid City, South Dakota. For the past ten hours, the people of this city have been returning from the sacred caves of the Indian reservations to their homes—an extraordinary story in its own right and one I participated in. However, another event is occurring in the western part of this state—one that no one can explain. Approximately an hour ago, the sounds of drums began throughout the area. You can hear their cadence across the prairie. I can tell you that there are thousands of Indians sitting out on the reservation, facing the setting sun and beating their drums. It's almost as if they are in a hypnotic state."

The scene abruptly changed as the networks switched back to the previous anchorman as he said, "And now, the president of the United States."

"Good evening, my Fellow Americans."

The viewers were surprised when the president left his desk and walked to the couch where Jackie was still sitting. He sat down beside her, took her hand in an act of compassion, and then turned to face the camera. "The strange happening in South Dakota was explained to me by a new acquaintance, someone in whom I have great faith. It's a tribute from the Sioux and Cheyenne nations to a white man—an honor never bestowed on any other."

He patted Jackie's hand and said, "Your grandfather would have been proud." Then he left her and walked back to his desk.

"My message tonight is for the individuals responsible for this hideous act of terrorism aimed at the population of this land. I do not intend to hide behind a cloak of secrecy nor do I intend to give up the pursuit of justice and retribution. You, who have committed such dastardly acts against my people, will be found and you will suffer the same fate you attempted against America. A special taskforce, headed by the FBI, has been assigned to track you and your terrorists down, and they will have the entire resources of this government to find you—and find you they will! This is my promise to the American people."

He paused for a moment. "It is difficult to conceive how diabolical your plot was. Your attack on the state of South Dakota was only a ruse for your ultimate goal, and you were willing to sacrifice almost eight-hundred thousand people to achieve the first part of your goal. You knew an antidote would be found. In fact, you made sure we would find it. You also knew that I would ensure that every American had access to the antidote, and they have. If your plan had worked, every American who took the antidote would have died. We found the blocking ingredient and removed it before manufacturing the antidote. I cannot understand how any human being in their right mind could plan to murder an entire population, nor the rationale behind wanting to do so. I assure you that we have seen through your plan and that it has failed. You see, we also found the second blocking ingredient, and the American people can rest assured that the antidote they received has been tested successfully in several verifications."

# CHAPTER 41

"Our plans have failed, and I think we should stop," the spokesman said to his audience of eight people.

"In retrospect, I think we were foolish to believe that we could carry this off," a female voice said.

Another spoke, "You may be right. Americans have always had the spirit to band together in a crisis. It's what founded this country, and evidently, we overlooked the possibility of that trait rejuvenating itself in today's generation."

"How vulnerable are we to the taskforce that the president established?" Another asked.

"As I have stated before, the only link to us is Joyce Winters, and from what I have been told, she is completely incoherent and therefore poses no threat to us."

"Do you know where she is currently located?"

"Yes," their leader said. "I know where they have taken her, but I am not convinced that we should take any action against her at this time." "Why?" one of the others asked.

"As I said, I do not feel that she's a threat to us. Second, if we did try to eliminate her, it could disclose our source in the Central Intelligence Agency."

"Neither of those concerns outweighs the risk of disclosing our involvement."

"You're correct, but there is another reason, more on a personal basis that has held me back from taking any action at this time."

"Would you care to share it with us?" another asked.

"Of course. Joyce Winters is in a safe house about forty miles from Washington at The Plains, Virginia. It's located on a farm owned by my friend, Paul Lewis."

One of the women stood up. "I think we're all aware of your close relationship with Paul Lewis. Nevertheless, we all are on a first-name basis with Paul, and that does not alter the fact that Joyce Winters could be a serious threat to us. She should be eliminated. I would like a vote taken."

It was eight to one in favor of exterminating Joyce Winters as soon as possible.

~~~~

Agent Bradley had convened a second taskforce meeting within three hours. After the president's speech and the revelations therein, Bradley had no choice. He had picked up Jackie and Running Wolf at 7 p.m., and both of them and Agent Gere were sitting with the other members of the taskforce.

"All right, people, let's get with it," Bradley said, "or we are going to be here all night. But, before we start, I would like to say something." He looked at Jackie. "Miss Arinson, I was sorry to hear of your grand-father's death, and I am glad that I had the opportunity to know him, if only briefly. I also would like to say you have my gratitude and that of every man and woman in the Bureau for the remarks you made on television tonight. It was important to them, and again, I thank you."

Then the tone of his voice hardened. "Now, would you mind telling me why the president did not share the information he had with us before he told the world?" Jackie knew he was smarting, but she had nothing to say. Bradley did not press the point and finally said, "OK, let's go to work."

The meeting broke up three hours later, and now only the four of them remained in the room. Bradley glanced at Jackie and saw how distraught and tired she looked, and then he glanced over at Agent Gere who was transcribing notes into his laptop computer. His young protégé showed no sign of being tired, and Bradley thought, It would be great to be young again.

He glanced back to Jackie. "Rooms have been set aside for you and Running Wolf on this floor, and I will not keep you much longer. You know the reason I wanted you here. Call it a gut feeling or whatever else you want, but I feel if anyone can break into the shell Joyce Winters has created around herself, it is you. I realize it's a long shot, but I will accept any miracles that will help us find the terrorist leaders. I would like you and Running Wolf," and he pointed at Gere, "and the ghost hunter over there to leave tomorrow morning for the safe house."

Agent Gere was looking on with a sheepish grin on his face, and Bradley said to Running Wolf. "Don't let him fool you. He's not only smart but courageous too, and I will feel better having two of you keeping an eye on Miss Arinson. Now, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day for all of us."

# CHAPTER 42

The president paced irritably back and forth while Agent Bradley waited for his reply. Bradley thought the chief of staff was going to have a heart attack when he had voiced his concern rather heatedly to the president about withholding vital information that had a major impact on this investigation. He then asked the president if he had any other surprises concerning the case.

"Agent Bradley, I understand that you're upset because I did not confide in you on this matter. Remember your boss gave you some very good advice—trust no one. I had good reasons for not wanting that news leaked. First, I did not want to tip our hand to the perpetrators that we had found those blocking agents before I was ready to advise the nation."

The president continued, "And if the American people knew we had found something in the antidote that would have killed them, how many do you suppose might have taken it? That's why I held off revealing it until the antidote was proven not only safe but also effective and the distribution complete. In answer to your question, I have no further surprises in store for you. Now, what are you doing to find the leaders?"

Well, Bradley thought, at least I still have a job, and he commenced to brief the president on the actions being taken by the taskforce.

"Where does Jackie fit into all this?" the president asked.

"It's a long shot, but I am hoping that she will be able to extract some useful information from Joyce Winters."

"Where is Joyce Winters?"

"I am sorry, sir, but it's best if you do not know her whereabouts." Again, Bradley thought, Randy Ashworth is going to have that heart attack!

The president smiled. "You're learning, Agent Bradley, you're learning."

Bradley continued, "From what I have been told by the medical personnel who have been monitoring her, the confinement in the silo affected her mind, and she may never recover. But, I saw something pass between her and Jackie when we rescued her from that watery grave. The medical personnel could not get Miss Winters to do anything for herself, but she did respond to Jackie and I am hoping she will again. When the attempt was made to assassinate her shortly after she arrived here in Washington, it became clear that she has vital information or they would not find it necessary to eliminate her. I intend to find out what it is."

"How well is she protected?"

Bradley shook his head. "I don't really know. I have taken every precaution I can to ensure that she is safely hidden away, but it appears that at least some of the leaders are entrenched at the highest levels of our government, and there are no guarantees."

"Jackie wants to return to South Dakota for her grandfather's funeral in three days, which means she only has today and tomorrow to work with Joyce Winters. What precautions have you taken to ensure she is not followed when she goes to meet with Winters?" the president questioned.

It was Bradley's turn to grin. "I think that would be extremely difficult, sir, unless they have wings. Miss Arinson left in a helicopter an hour ago for a joy ride around the countryside. A covert landing site has been selected and one of my men will take her by vehicle the rest of the way. Eventually, the helicopter will make its way back to Washington. Jackie will remain at the safe house until she leaves for South Dakota. I hope by then, she might find out what is so important about Miss Winters that they want to silence her. As I stated earlier, Mister President, it's a long shot, but you never know."

"I agree. Don't leave any stones unturned. We need to find the head of the terrorist organization ASAP."

"I will do my best, Mister President."

~~~~

Jackie was mesmerized by the beautiful landscape as the helicopter skimmed along the Blue Ridge Mountains. Agent Gere had told her the name of the mountain range that they had been flying parallel to for the past ten minutes. This atmosphere sent Jackie's thoughts toward home. What would be waiting for her there? If she did not have Gary to welcome her home, she...!

Suddenly she wondered if he would welcome her home. This was the first time that she could remember thinking of a future relationship, or for that matter, anything to do with her personal future. Had Nick been such a challenge to her that she had worn blinders to everyone else? No, she realized that he had been her idol, anchor in a storm and the only relationship she had allowed. But now she recognized that a strong foundation had been building with Gary. She would have to confront the fact that she loved him and also that maybe she had placed him on the back burner one too many times.

In too short a time, they approached their landing. She saw that they were over a large field, and nearby was a gravel road where an unmarked white van was waiting. She could see no buildings or other vehicles in sight.

The helicopter was on the ground for only a few minutes, and then flew off as they walked to the van. As soon as they were all seated, the driver spoke into a handheld radio, and the vehicle moved down the deserted road. They traveled down a paved secondary road, and ten minutes later the van turned into a private lane that wound up a small hill. They passed a beautiful home with a lake behind it, and then they were on a gravel road that entered a forest. There were delightful signs posted along the wayside, Watch out for pet deer, while another read, Be careful, the fox is smarter than you. Jackie was amused and thought whoever put them up had a sense of humor.

They entered a small valley, and she saw a cottage with a two-car garage. A split-rail fence ran around the two buildings and encompassed a small pond where a few deer suddenly bolted and headed for the tree line. The area appeared to be totally deserted, but as they approached, one of the garage doors opened. The van was driven straight in and the electric door closed again. The garage was larger than it appeared from the outside and bright lights flooded the interior.

The driver, who had not spoken to them the entire trip, said, "Please don't get out of the vehicle, yet." So they sat and waited for instructions.

Jackie wondered what was going to happen next—Line up against the wall and be frisked. She glanced at Running Wolf and then smiled at the thought. They heard a faint humming sound and felt the vehicle slowly being lowered. When the movement stopped, they were in a large underground garage and two men standing near a doorway were watching them. With the permission of the driver, they disembarked and one of the men stepped forward.

"I have been told that all of you are armed. Please pass through the door, one at a time, and place your weapons on the desk, then proceed to the next room. Your weapons will be returned to you when you leave. Miss Arinson, if you would, please go first." As she stepped forward, Running Wolf touched her arm, and Agent Gere moved in front of her.

"That is not acceptable," Gere said. "We all will keep our weapons and we won't be separated under any circumstances. You know why we're here, so no power play. Just let us get on with our job?"

The man he had addressed never moved. "I am sorry, Agent Gere, but I cannot do that. Either go along with our rules or you and your party will leave."

Agent Gere retorted, "Very well, we will leave, but Joyce Winters goes with us."

This time a chink showed in the man's armor. "That's impossible. She's in our custody and under our protection."

Agent Gere smiled. "You're right. She is under your protective custody because Special Agent Bradley assigned you this task. As of right now, that assistance is no longer required, and you can turn her over to me."

"Now, wait a minute," the man said.

Then a woman's voice could be heard coming through an intercom system. "Charlie, Agent Gere is correct. He has the full backing of Agent Bradley. He and the director have just contacted me. Agent Gere is now in charge of this facility and all the personnel assigned here."

The man looked upwards toward the far corner. "You can't be serious!"

The woman's voice hardened. "Well, I am, and I'm following orders—you had better as well."

Charlie looked back to Gere, sizing him up for a long moment and then submitted. "Very well. What are your orders?"

The tension receded, and Gere knew he would have to mend a fence. "For your information," and he looked around the room, "and anyone else who may be listening, I would have immediately dismissed you had you let us break your rules."

The man's eyes widened ever so slightly, and Gere continued, "You stood your ground and rightly so. You're a professional, and I'm glad we are on the same team."

Charlie merely nodded his head.

"Now, would you take us to Miss Winters?"

They moved down a long corridor with a closed door at the other end and beside it a desk. A sign above the desk read: Whatever you are carrying, leave it here.

Jackie turned to Charlie. "What's the true purpose of this area?"

Charlie was hesitant, but then said, "It has several functions. This is a security receiving area where anything that could be used as a weapon is removed. In addition, an X-ray and voiceprint is obtained. If we have any reason to be suspicious, the individual is given a dose of gas, which will incapacitate them. They would awake later to find themselves in one of the padded cells until we find out who they really are."

Charlie opened the door. "The main complex is twenty-five feet below this level and is fully self-contained. If anyone not authorized got this far, I believe it would be as far as they would ever get." Then he moved on down a set of steps, and they all followed.

A woman, in her late thirties or early forties, stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Hello. My name is Kathy, and I am the senior agent here. If you need any assistance, Agent Gere, please bring it to my attention. I know you are anxious to see Miss Winters, but I would like to give you an update on her medical condition before you do. If you will follow me, we'll go to the conference room."

The rooms were painted a soft white and gave the impression of a sterile environment. There were two females sitting at the conference table, and Kathy introduced them as medical doctors but gave no names. The briefing lasted less than ten minutes, and then they were shown to their accommodations. Each of them was given a small room with a single bed, desk, and small closet. Kathy recommended that they have a light lunch before their visit with Joyce Winters, and she pointed in the direction where they would find a cafeteria.

A short time later, Jackie, Running Wolf and Agent Gere were sit-ting around a table in a scaled down cafeteria.

"Jackie, from what they just said, I think you may have an impossible task."

Jackie nodded her head in reply to Gere. "You may be right, but I promised Bradley I would try. It's all I can do."

Running Wolf, who rarely spoke, said, "I can feel the spirits here. You may be surprised what you discover."

Thinking on his words, they made their way to Joyce Winters' cell. One of the three agents sitting at the surveillance monitors unlocked the door. Jackie walked in and the door made an unnerving loud clang as it closed behind her.

# CHAPTER 43

For a full five minutes, Jackie watched the woman sitting cross-legged on the floor. Joyce was clean now and her hair had been cut very short. She was dressed in a plain, gray shift that buttoned up the back and had no pockets. She rocked slowly back and forth, quietly humming the same tune Jackie remembered from their previous meeting. The woman reminded Jackie of a monk contemplating his God.

Joyce Winters never paid the least bit of attention to her, but Jackie knew she must be able to see her. Finally, Jackie moved in front of the woman and sat down cross-legged. Slowly, she placed her hands over Joyce's, and both women swayed in unison.

"Hello, Joyce. Do you remember me?" For a microsecond, she had reacted. Joyce had hesitated in her rocking, and a flicker of a smile passed across her face. To the untrained eye, the movement would have been missed. Then, as if nothing had happened, she continued her motion.

The observers outside the room watching the monitors had seen it—including Running Wolf. With a smile on his face he said, "The Spirit is in her."

The others heard him, but did not realize that he was referring to Jackie, not Joyce Winters. He recognized that a rapport had been reestablished between the two women.

One of the agents said, "I don't believe this! Stop tape one, print two copies and replay on screen two."

They all watched as the replay was repeated in slow motion. They could clearly see what had transpired when Jackie had asked her question. There was no doubt that Joyce Winters had answered Jackie's question in her own way.

"This is unbelievable!" one of the men stated. "We've been trying to get some response by every conceivable means with absolutely no success." He looked at Agent Gere. "You mind telling us your secret?"

Gere pointed to the screen. "The secret is in there." And they continued to watch as the two women swayed slowly in some ritual of their own.

~~~~

Jackie had talked softly to the woman, never breaking contact with her, but the results were always the same. If Joyce Winters heard her, she showed no sign of interest, and her eyes continued to stare off into some distant place. Jackie suddenly realized that every bone in her body ached, and her throat was parched. Slowly, she removed her hands and noticed that at some point their fingers had become entwined. As she withdrew, Joyce continued swaying and humming but a slight frown crossed her face and then was quickly gone.

When Jackie left the room, Agent Gere met her at the door and guided her to a small table where Running Wolf poured her a large glass of water. She quickly consumed it and asked for a second. There were a number of people in the room, and all of them were watching her intently. She put the half empty glass on the table and looked at Agent Gere, then at Running Wolf and finally back at the others.

"All right, let me guess. You all think I am the crazy one." When no one answered, she continued. "I'm trying to break through that protective barrier she has created. It may look strange, two women swaying together, but it's the only way I know to try to communicate with her. Let me rest for a few minutes, and I'll try again."

Agent Gere pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "Jackie, I don't know what transpired in there, but it was the damnedest thing I ever saw."

"That's not funny! I am doing the best I can under circumstances totally unfamiliar to me. In that short period of time, you should not expect miracles."

Gere leaned back in his chair and put his hands up as if warding her off. "Jackie, I was not criticizing you—far from it. You don't seem to realize what happened in there. You keep talking about the short period of time that elapsed. I am not sure what your concept is for a short period of time, but you have been in that room for exactly seven hours and thirty-eight minutes."

Jackie's eyes widened. "You're kidding! It seems as if I just went in there a little while ago."

"Yeah," Gere said, "and that's why your body feels as if every joint has seized."

Gere was right. Her whole body ached, and she was unbelievably stiff and sore. "I don't understand what happened to me in there?"

"Running Wolf has a theory," Gere answered. "He says that you went into a spiritual trance, and your subconscious bridged the gap between you and Joyce Winters. I agree with him."

"But she never said a word that I'm aware of," Jackie replied. "And I doubt she ever will."

"Maybe, but three distinct things happened. When you asked her if she remembered you, she stopped swaying for just a second. The doctors believe she heard and recognized you. Then, a fleeting smile crossed her face, and they interpreted that to mean she was happy to have you here. The third was subtler but the most important. Two hours and sixteen minutes after you went in, Joyce entwined your hands with hers. The process took over two hours to complete, but when it was done, Joyce was holding your hands—not the other way around. The doctors say that is a sign that she trusts you."

Jackie did not know what to say, but she did feel close to the woman sitting in the next room.

Gere said, "We may have another problem that needs to be dis-cussed before we go any further. The doctors tell me that, if you continue, there is a chance you could be drawn into the closed world Joyce has built and not be able to emerge from it. As farfetched as that sounds, this is a risk we were not aware of, and one you have to consider carefully."

"Running Wolf, what do you think?" Jackie asked.

"You have nothing to fear but fear itself, however, it is your decision on whether or not you continue."

"You're right. It is my decision. But, I need to move around and loosen up, get something to eat. Then, I will go back in there. We don't have much time."

An hour later, Jackie sat back down in front of Joyce and reached for her hands. In amazement, they saw Joyce take them, and they heard her say, "You're back." Then she started humming again.

~~~~

Running Wolf and Agent Gere had just about completed their guided tour around the cottage when they stopped at the pond.

"As you can see, no one can get within five hundred yards of the buildings without being seen," Kathy remarked. "We also have motion sensors buried strategically over the entire area. You have already seen the protective devices we have in the garage, the house and the underground facility. The security systems have been upgraded continually over the years, and everything is state-of-the-art. I believe it would be almost impossible for anyone to penetrate the outer perimeter defenses, let alone the inside ones."

Neither man said anything, but both looked suspiciously at the forest surrounding the area. Darkness was falling as they went back inside the cottage.

An hour before daybreak, the two men separated and began working their way through the forest. Running Wolf and Agent Gere had decided to go in opposite directions, and each would reach their destinations by sunrise.

# CHAPTER 44

Had he made a mistake? This question kept gnawing at him, which was uncharacteristic for Agent Bradley. He normally went with his gut instinct, and once a decision was made, he followed through to its conclusion.

Jackie had phoned him this morning, saying that she could make no further progress with Joyce in the surroundings they were being kept. In her opinion, Joyce probably thought she was still entombed in the silo, and she wanted to take her outside where she could see the sunshine and feel the wind on her face. Bradley had reluctantly agreed that a change in her environment might be essential. Both Agents Gere and Kathy were adamantly opposed to the plan. They could not guarantee the safety of either woman if they were out in the open.

Jackie had won the argument when she said, "I believe the only way you will get any answers is to take her outside. If I am willing to take the chance, so should you."

Bradley had agreed, but his anxiety was rising as the hours slowly passed since he had agreed to the change. He picked up his phone and called for the head of his security. Twenty minutes later, two DELTA teams were dispatched by helicopter to holding points less than ten minutes flight time from the safe house. Bradley decided that he would go to the safe house when he cleared up his work here. If everything worked out, he should be there by five o'clock.

~~~~

During lunch, Gere made one last attempt to talk Jackie out of her plan. He and Running Wolf were concerned for her safety, but she was not about to change her mind. She didn't know why, but she felt if there was any chance of Joyce talking to her, it would happen outside.

The two women stood just inside the front door of the cottage waiting for the golf cart that would transport them to the small pond. They were dressed alike in light tan slacks, white blouses, and straw hats. Jackie would have liked sunglasses but nixed the idea because she would not have been able to see Joyce's eyes. She was amazed that Joyce could stand and walk unaided, but by some inner strength, she could do both for only very short periods.

As the electric cart rolled up to the front porch, Jackie, flanked by Agent Gere and Running Wolf, left the house and boarded the vehicle. It was a three-seater, and Gere took the front one next to the driver. Jackie and Running Wolf took the seat in the main back, and two CIA agents supporting Joyce by her arms took the middle seat. The cart moved off toward the pond several hundred feet away.

A large, green blanket had been spread on the ground and blended almost perfectly with the surrounding grass. When Jackie saw it, she thought, Someone went to a lot of work to ensure we are not the center of a large bull's eye. One edge of the blanket was very close to the bank that dropped down a couple of feet to the water's surface.

Jackie had requested a picnic basket and a pitcher of lemonade. She knew the basket of food would not be touched and possibly not the drink either, but she wanted a picnic atmosphere.

As Jackie sat down on the blanket with her back to the pond, she said, "Joyce, would you like to come have a picnic with me?"

Still in the cart, Joyce sat rocking and humming and did not indicate she had heard. Jackie then nodded at the men and patted the blanket in front of her. The two men lifted Joyce from the cart. She suddenly stiffened, stood up on her own and walked the few feet to sit on the blanket.

"My God! I don't believe that," Agent Gere whispered to Kathy.

"I don't either," Kathy replied. "It appears that Ms Arinson knows something we don't."

As soon as Joyce sat down, holding her hands to her chest, she resumed swaying back and forth. But, Jackie saw for the first time that her eyes did not have that vacant look. Joyce Winters was acclimating herself to the fact that she was no longer in the silo, and Jackie reached for Joyce's hands.

Gere looked at his watch—a few minutes past four. Over three hours had passed since the two women had sat down on the blanket. During that time, Running Wolf had disappeared twice into the tree line. The first time was shortly after the women had sat down, and when he returned an hour later, he appeared to be restless. Agent Gere could stand it no longer and finally asked him what he had found up there.

"Nothing and that's what bothers me."

He could have said anything but that, Gere thought.

Standing a few feet from the two women, Gere scanned the tree line and watched for Running Wolf to return. It had been over an hour since he had left for the second time, and Gere was becoming concerned. He walked over to Kathy who was standing a few feet away talking into her radio.

"Any sign of him yet?"

"No," she replied. "The first time he left, we were able to keep track of him, but something's happened this time. My people said he was moving up the ridge and suddenly stopped. Then, he went behind a large tree that blocked their view, and they have not seen him since." She looked at her watch. "That was twenty-four minutes ago."

"Bring the golf cart! It's time we moved them back inside," Gere said as he sprinted toward the two women.

~~~~

Bradley was in the process of leaving for the safe house when his phone rang. "Damn," he said but picked it up.

"Bill, something has come up that you need to know about." Brad-ley recognized the voice of his friend and point of contact at the CIA. "A few minutes ago, we discovered that someone within the agency gained access to one of our computers without authorization. Whoever it was used the access code of an authorized user that was on leave. The break-in occurred yesterday afternoon, and they were after all the files on the safe house—codes, construction drawings, warning systems and personnel assigned. They retrieved it all, and that means the safe house has been compromised. You need to get her out of there. We're in the process of alerting our people now, but it will take thirty minutes or more to bring in additional personnel."

Bradley replied, "Tell your people I have two DELTA teams less than ten minutes from that location and they're on the way now!" Bradley then reached for his cell phone to warn Agent Gere and headed for the door in a run thinking What a fool I have been.

~~~~

Jackie had moved to sit beside Joyce so both of them could look out over the pond and see the two swans that glided about. Joyce seemed to watch them for a moment, then turned her head and looked at Jackie as if seeing her for the first time. Jackie smiled when she saw that her eyes were sharply focused, and Joyce started to speak.

As if watching a horror movie in slow motion, Jackie saw Joyce's head explode. Jackie heard the bullet whiz past her and felt a hard push that carried her forward into the pond. The impact from the bullet had flung Joyce's body forward and with their hands entwined, she had jerked Jackie with her.

Gere had almost reached the women when the shot was fired. Although he heard no gunshot he knew what had happened and dived on top of Jackie as a second bullet tore up the ground behind her. The momentum carried both of them into the pond. He shoved Jackie against the two-foot high embankment and held her there as two more bullets, one after the other, clipped the top of the bank.

Gere wedged Jackie against the bank, knowing that the sniper had no clear shot as long as they did not move. However, the second shot had come from the opposite direction—the tree line across the pond— and that sniper had a clear view, but another shot never came.

Nevertheless, the sniper had had both of them targeted in his scope, and his finger was slowly pressing on the trigger when suddenly he was distracted. Without moving, he looked to his left and saw an Indian lying beside him. The sniper knew in that split second that he was facing death. He felt the knife enter his side and pierce his heart.

Running Wolf took the rifle from the dead man and looked through the scope to the pond. He could clearly see Agent Gere trying to protect Jackie. As he scanned the area, he saw the other sniper on the opposite hillside methodically shooting at the agents in the field. There was no place for them to take cover, and they were being picked off like sitting ducks.

Once Running Wolf had lined up the sniper in the crosshairs, he took him out with one shot. During the process, he observed several men crossing the ridgeline and moving down toward the valley. He raised the rifle and two more died. The rest were nowhere to be seen now, and Running Wolf did not have time to look for them. If they had reinforcements coming over that ridge, he knew they could have others on this ridge as well. He had to move and fast for these gunmen were not amateurs—they were professional killers.

Gere was surprised but glad to hear Running Wolf's voice over his radio. "Gere, move her to the cottage now!"

He did not hesitate. Grabbing Jackie's arm, he pulled her up over the bank, and they started running. As they passed Kathy, Gere thought she was dead but she got up and started running behind them. Several other agents also stood and headed for the tree lines in search of the gunmen.

As Gere, Jackie and Kathy approached the house, the back door was flung open, and they dived inside. In one swift motion, Gere was on his feet, gun in hand. He saw a stranger in the doorway with a sub-machine gun, but he made no hostile move towards them.

Kathy was still lying on the floor, and Gere saw blood seeping through her blouse. He moved toward her, but she waved him off and got to her feet as Gere moved in front of Jackie. Kathy had her weapon down by her side when she looked hard at the man in front of her.

"Who are you?" Her gun was now pointed at him.

"Hey!" the man responded. "I'm one of the reinforcements the Agency sent to beef up your security detail. Put the gun away or at least quit pointing it at me."

Gere had slowly been moving Jackie further into the corner but never taking his eyes off the two people in front of him.

"Lower your weapon slowly and place it on the floor," Kathy said. "I don't doubt you are who you claim, but until I confirm that, do as I say."

The man did not hesitate and slowly bent down placing the sub-machine gun on the floor. He started to rise, and Kathy shot him just as Agent Gere shot the man who suddenly appeared in the side doorway. Both died instantly.

Gere covered the door as Kathy walked over and took a gun from the man's left hand. As he had laid the machine gun on the floor with his right hand, he had pulled the revolver from a shoulder holster, but the ploy had not worked.

Softly, Gere whispered, "And they call this a safe house?" He edged to the door but could not see or hear any movement. He picked up the sub-machine gun and handed his pistol to Jackie. He looked at Kathy. "How did you know?"

"I saw it in his eyes. And you?"

He pointed to the mirror on the wall. "I saw him moving slowly and instead of coming in, he took up a position just outside the door."

"I'm not sure what we're going to do now, but we can assume none of our agents in the house are still alive," Kathy said.

"Well, one thing we need to do is barricade that door." Then his cell phone vibrated. The caller was Bradley and Gere quickly briefed him on their situation.

"Help should arrive at your location within minutes. Do not leave that room," Bradley ordered.

# CHAPTER 45

The cast on his wrist was irritating the hell out of him, but that was not the reason Agent Bradley was smarting. It's not everyday that you get your ass chewed out, not once but twice within a few minutes, by the president of the United States, he thought. And it's not even 8 a.m. God! What's the rest of the day going to be like?

His taskforce kept coming up against a brick wall with every lead they pursued. The fiasco at the safe house had almost cost Jackie's life and they had lost their only witness. He was not sure which the president was more upset about, the loss of Joyce Winters or the danger he had put Jackie Arinson in.

Once the DELTA teams had arrived, the situation was soon in hand, but there were no survivors from the opposing force. Instead of surrendering or being captured, they, like those before them, had burst into flames and were gone. They had planned well and had the necessary intelligence. Their assault teams had been positioned on both ridges watching the cottage, and another group used Paul Lewis' home as a diversion. The team that arrived at the cottage, posing as reinforcements, gained entrance through use of the correct identification codes. Paul Lewis had survived, but five of his employees, along with three of the agents assigned to protect him, did not.

Jackie would be leaving in a few hours for her grandfather's funeral, and the president had arranged to see her before she left. Bradley was waiting for Gere to bring Jackie and Running Wolf to his office before taking them to the White House. He reached for his coffee just as the three of them walked through the door, and he waved them to the coffeepot. As he took a sip of his coffee, he noticed that Gere was subdued and Jackie looked tired. Running Wolf, well, he just looked like he always did.

Agent Gere pulled a chair up close to Bradley's desk. Jackie sat on the sofa and placed her coffee cup on the end table, and as usual, Running Wolf remained standing, leaning against the wall. Gere started to speak, and Bradley cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I didn't ask you to come here this morning to hear why you feel it is your fault that Joyce Winters died. First, it was my decision to move her to that location, and it was my decision to have Jackie go there. It was also my choice to let her go outside. So, I take the responsibility for what happened. None of you realized that you were compromised before you even arrived, nor did I." He told them of the telephone call from the CIA contact.

"That may be true, but if I had not insisted that we take her outside, she probably would still be alive," Jackie said.

"I don't believe so. In fact, taking her outside probably saved your lives. In all likelihood, if you had been in the cottage when the bogus reinforcement team arrived, you would all be dead now. Jackie, I understand that you were making progress with Miss Winters, and I believe if you had more time you might have succeeded."

"But she did," Running Wolf stated. "She has the answer you have been searching for."

Bradley froze in position and looked at Jackie who walked to the front of the desk.

"As a newsperson, I have covered more crime stories than I care to count, but I have never come close to dying in the line of duty. Yesterday I did, and when it was over, all I could think about was how lucky I was to still be alive—thanks to Agent Gere and Running Wolf. Last night, in a dream, I relived the nightmare all over again. It brought everything into focus. When I woke, the shock of yesterday's events was gone, and I was able to concentrate on what had actually transpired.

"I was sitting in front of Joyce and had just moved to sit beside her when I saw Agent Gere walking toward us. At the same time, I felt Joyce's hand take mine. When I turned, I saw that her eyes no longer had that vacant look, and leaning over she said four words before she was killed."

Jackie reached out and laid a slip of paper on Bradley's desk. "Those are the words she spoke."

Bradley looked at the slip of paper, and a frown wrinkled his fore-head. He looked back at Jackie. "It makes no sense."

"I know," Jackie replied. "But I wrote it down, exactly as she said them. For the rest of the night I tried to figure out what they meant and finally realized what she was telling me. I had asked her over and over who was really responsible, and here is what I think she meant." Jackie laid a second slip of paper on the desk.

At first it did not sink in. Bradley looked at the first slip, then the second and then he reached for the phone.

Thirty minutes later, the four of them were in the president's office and Bradley had briefed him on Jackie's revelation. Now, they waited to see his reaction.

In a subdued voice, he asked, "Bradley, how do you suggest we proceed on this?"

"Sir, I could have individual warrants issued, but before that happens, I would like to meet with them together, if you would be willing to arrange it."

They all sat in silence as the president placed the call. When he had finished his conversation, he said, "They will see you at eleven-forty-five this morning."

After the group left his office, the president looked at the two pieces of paper again. The first read, court nine supreme justices. The second read, Nine Supreme Court Justices.

~~~~

The chief justice slowly returned the telephone receiver to its cradle and with a sigh leaned back in his chair. He had always known there was the possibility that their plan could be exposed but deep down he had never believed it would happen. He could still hear the anger and hostility in the president's voice as he thought of their short conversation a few minutes ago and knew there was little time left. Yet he continued to lean back in his chair, deep in thought.

The key to the plan had been Joyce Winters. Their success was based on her completing her assignment, but she had betrayed them. What was worse, she had betrayed him. He had recruited her, he had been her mentor, and although he had placed her with Adam Miller, no one, not even the other justices knew that she was reporting directly to him. She had been his ears and eyes and now his executioner.

His convictions were as strong now as they were some twelve years ago when he had broached the idea in a private meeting with the other eight justices, knowing that his career would be over if any of the other members objected. He had been willing then to take that chance. Probably for the first time in the history of the Supreme Court, all of the justices were of the same mind. The drain on the environment was of prime concern. However, they also realized that they were losing the power to protect the Constitution and Bill of Rights from the onslaught of nonconformists, corporations, and even the federal government. The justices believed these people sought to either weaken the Constitution or destroy it.

If the plan of the Court had succeeded, the land and its resources would have been protected and under the guidance of the court, those individuals remaining would become the protectors of the laws of the land for future generations. He now knew that was not to be.

Finally he reached for the phone, placed a call and spoke for only a few seconds. Rising from his chair, he began to walk toward his sanctuary—the only thing he cherished.

# CHAPTER 46

The Supreme Court justices watched from the bench as Agents Bradley and Gere, along with Jackie Arinson and Running Wolf, approached the rail. Silence echoed from the walls as there were no other people in the chamber. There were no speeches or questions as the two parties looked at each other, and then the chief justice stood and an aide appeared. A package was passed to the aide who in turn carried it to Jackie and then left the room.

In a trembling voice, Jackie uttered one word why."

The chief justice sat back down in his chair. "Miss Arinson, you will find the answer to that question in the brief you now hold in your hands."

He then addressed Running Wolf. "You are a man of courage and wisdom. You have served your people well."

Finally, he spoke to Agent Bradley. "It seems we underestimated you. Truth prevailed, and that is as it should be."

Without another word, each of the nine justices raised a glass of water to their lips, taking a drink, and placed the glasses back down in front of them. They all burst into flames at the same time, leaving only their upholstered chairs smoldering.

The four spectators looked on in horror.

Justice had been served.

# CHAPTER 47

Jackie and Gary Powers stood side by side as the cover dropped, exposing the ten-foot-high sculpture. Like the thousands of people surrounding her, and the millions watching on TV, Jackie was overwhelmed by what was before her.

The black marble etched with Black Hills gold highlighted the images of nine figures. At the top were the faces of President Carson and Governor Mills. In the middle and slightly lower was Running Wolf. Arranged on the left side were the outlined heads of Nick, Jackie and Gary, in that order. On the right, in a balanced setting, were the images of Agent Bradley, David Holter and Brigadier General Sandy Rowe. The edges of the monument were surrounded with the smaller visages of some one hundred Americans who had distinguished themselves in the nation's fight for survival. Doctor Howard was there, so were FBI agents, military personnel, state, local law enforcement personnel and many Native Americans.

The monument sat on an outcrop of huge rocks on the vast South Dakota prairie, between the two major Indian reservations and miles from any urban center. Tears flowed down Jackie's cheeks as she read the simple inscription that glittered from the inlay of gold.

Here in this state

Americans fought to remain free

Here on this prairie

Many died and we are free

Gary put his arm around Jackie's waist, and she placed her hands over his.

"I wish Nick was here," Jackie said and then wistfully added, "but of course, he is."

She looked at the crowd around her. The president as well as the governor stood nearby. Agents Bradley and Gere were on the other side of her, and it felt like they were still trying to protect her.

She gently smiled at the thought that crossed her mind. Bradley's statement to Gere at the silo was famous throughout the law enforcement community and had become the FBI motto. Engraved in bronze, those famous words now hung at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. "I don't care if it's an apparition or a ghost or if it's dead or alive, arrest it!" She wondered what Bradley thought of that and her smile grew wider.

Her gaze then rested on the young woman surrounded by nine Air Force pilots. The sun's rays flickered on the Silver Star on each of her shoulders. So much for accurate reporting, she thought, but she was glad that the reports were wrong. Acting Brigadier General Rowe and her helicopter crew had survived. They had crash-landed their helicopter on the balloon and had immediately fled with the help of several Indians. They found protection in the rubble of a bunker previously destroyed by her husband, but not before she turned and fired the flare gun into the balloon.

The president had personally awarded General Rowe, Lieutenant Henson and the rest of the helicopter crew the Congressional Medal of Honor in a ceremony at the White House a few months later. Medals of Honor were also given, posthumously, to the pilot and co-pilot of the AWACS aircraft. Jackie had also heard a rumor that the nine F-16 pilots had a party two weeks later at Ellsworth AFB Officer's Club. General Rowe was in attendance, and it was said that the president of the United States personally had paid the tab.

The one person she had hoped to see was not here. Running Wolf had disappeared about six months ago, and she was unable to find any trace of him. It was difficult for her to realize that almost a year had passed since the crash of the airliner—a year that had changed her life forever. She was no longer Jackie Arinson. Seven months ago she had become Jackie Powers, and for the past two months, a new life had been growing inside her, a fact she had thus far kept from her husband. She had also inherited The Prairie Times.

When she had arrived back for her grandfather's funeral, his secretary had handed her a small envelope. The single sheet within only had a few lines on it.

Jackie, you would have been an exceptional TV commentator, but you are a born newspaperwoman. The Prairie Times is yours—Love, Nick.

He had been right. Several offers from the networks had been received, but she had printer's ink in her blood, and her grandfather knew it.

Her thoughts drifted back to the confrontation with the Supreme Court justices and the package the aide had given her. It had read like a legal brief that a lawyer would prepare prior to going before the Supreme Court, but the nine justices prepared this one, and it was addressed to the American public. In effect, they were defending their actions, but in her mind, they had failed miserably. Their case was simple. The laws of the land had been corrupted to the point that they were no longer effective, and in the opinion of the justices, the only way to correct the situation was to eliminate the cause—we the people.

They had envisioned that the antidote once issued to the populace would complete their task, and the country would return to its natural state with only a few million survivors to rebuild. To prevent any other country from interfering, they had planned to warn them that they would suffer the same fate. Jackie sighed and thought, Except for an act of fate, they almost succeeded.

She was startled out of her daydreaming when something brushed her hand, and she saw a small Indian boy standing quietly in front of her. He handed her a small wooden reed, and then the boy gave one to Gary and disappeared back into the crowd. She looked curiously at the reed and saw a small piece of paper rolled up inside the hollow end. It was a note that read, Meet at the aircraft crash site-4 p.m.—Running Wolf. Gary had received the same message.

At least, he's alive, she thought, but the cryptic message made her uneasy.

~~~~

Looking down into the gully where the aircraft once lay like a giant wounded bird, Jackie's thoughts drifted back to those days, and she felt sorrow as she remembered David Holter. He too had lost his life shortly after their meeting in Washington. It had been called a random, drive-by shooting, but Jackie knew better. David was pushing hard to find something that would shed light on the aircraft accident. Evidently he had gotten too close, and they had eliminated him.

She looked at the group around her. President Carson, Governor Mills and Agents Bradley and Gere stood a few feet away. They had also received messages and were waiting, like her and Gary, for Running Wolf to show up. They heard a vehicle making its way slowly over the rutted road toward them.

Chief Eagle Feather climbed out of a van and walked to Jackie. "Running Wolf has asked me to bring you and the others to the sacred caves. Please come."

None of the others except Jackie had been to the sacred caves. She heard their hushed whispers as they entered the cavern and saw the paintings lining the walls. The same enchanted feeling returned to her, as if the figures on either side would come alive at any moment. When they entered the large chamber, Jackie saw the large, painted map, but her attention was drawn to the man sitting next to a small fire.

It was not the old Shaman of the last visit, and although she could not make out the features, instinctively she knew whom it was. The same Indian boy who had led her to the Shaman before appeared at her side and took her hand. The rest of the group followed. As she reached Running Wolf, he stood.

"Thank you all for coming. Please sit," he requested.

Jackie slowly sat down on the blanket and waited for the rest to follow suit. She studied the man in front of her and realized that she no longer knew him. His voice, although soft, had a different quality, and when he spoke you could not only hear but feel the change as well. His eyes held a faraway look that seemed to know things untold.

She wondered what the president thought about sitting on a blanket on a dirt floor in this giant chamber and was startled when she saw the slight smile Running Wolf gave her, as if reading her thoughts. Each of them was handed a gourd with liquid in it, and Running Wolf raised it to his lips and drank. The rest of the group did the same, and like the last time, Jackie drank the cool refreshing water.

"What happened to the old Shaman?" Jackie asked.

She saw sadness cloud his eyes. "His spirit is with our ancestors." "Are you now the spiritual leader of the Sioux Nation?"

Running Wolf merely nodded.

Her voice caught as she asked the fearful question. "Running Wolf, will you ever leave this cave?"

"This is now my home, and here is where I will remain."

He changed the subject by turning to President Carson and Governor Mills. "On behalf of my nation, I wish to personally thank you for returning the sacred Black Hills to the Sioux Nation, and you should know that it will be made into a Sioux National Park that both our peoples may visit. I have a token of our appreciation for your efforts in defeating the terrorists who threatened to destroy all of us. You are both true chiefs."

Two Indian boys handed each leader a beautiful, feathered war bonnet. The headbands were studded with gold and semi-precious stones.

Before either man could speak, Running Wolf turned to Agents Bradley and Gere, and as he addressed them, each was given a large bow and a quiver of arrows. The wood was so polished that it gleamed in the dim light, and the attached feathers brought out the color of the bow. The quiver was made of deer hide, covered in intricate designs and laced with semi-precious stones.

"You are warriors and have been made blood brothers to the Sioux and Cheyenne Nations." Staring intently at Agent Gere, he continued. "You, my friend, will someday achieve greatness in your own right." Little did Gere know that some twenty years in the future, he would become the director of the FBI, but Running Wolf did.

Finally he turned to Jackie. "The Woman-Warrior-Who-Has-Courage, because of your bloodline with Nicholas Arinson and your actions during the crisis, you are revered by the entire Sioux Nation. Wear this gift proudly for it symbolizes your bond with us." He reached down and handed her a necklace. It was made of gold with diamonds, rubies, pearls, and other stones. There were eight strands, each were at least an inch wide. Her hands shook as she held this precious gift from Running Wolf, and like the others, she had no words.

"Now, I have one other thing I wish to show you."

They had been walking for about fifteen minutes, entering and leaving chamber after chamber, some large and others small. Finally, they came to a small opening guarded by two Indians, and upon entering the small chamber, its beauty mesmerized them. Sparkling stalactites, hanging from the ceiling some twenty-five feet above them, reflected in the still water of a small lake, giving the appearance of a room full of polished diamonds. As Jackie gazed at the natural wonder, her eyes abruptly focused on the opposite wall, and a feeble cry escaped her lips.

The shining reflection from the water provided a natural spotlight for the most beautiful mural she had ever seen. In the background were scenes of wildlife, mountains, and prairie, and in the center sat two men around a small fire. The resemblance was incredible and left little doubt concerning the people these figures represented. The old Shaman was handing a peace pipe to Nick Arinson. Jackie's heart was so full she suddenly felt faint and Gary put his arm around her in a protective gesture.

Running Wolf watched them. "Gary, your gift resides within the Woman-Warrior-Who-Has-Courage. Your son will grow strong and proud."

Jackie was confused. How did he know? She had told no one, not even Gary.

Running Wolf took her hands in his. "He has the bloodline of Nick which makes him part of the Sioux. Raise him as a warrior. Someday, he too will have a crisis to face."

As Running Wolf turned to leave, Jackie asked, "Why did you help us?"

Without hesitating, he answered, "Many years ago, the federal government planned to build a large dam on our lands, and we went to Nick for help. If the project had been completed, it would have flooded our sacred caves and they would have been lost forever. Your grandfather stopped that dam from being built. We never asked him how he accomplished it, and he kept the secret of our holy place. Our debt to him is repaid."

He released her hands and left the chamber as she stared up at the images of the Man-Who-Dreams and her grandfather who seemed to be smiling down at her.

###

# About the author:

www.rayderby.com - From my introduction to emergency management and the plots that have been and will be leveled against our freedoms, I have strived to help thwart these actions. In doing so, I came to realize that the most effective tactic is an informed public. I write in fiction but very close to reality and I so enjoy telling my tales.

Discover other titles by Ray Derby at Smashwords.com:

The Shadow Government

Clouds of Deception

Available in print at most online retailers

