

### THE ANGELS

### OF

### DESTINY

Copyright©Haydn Jones 2015

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold 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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

My sincere thanks to:

Jill Conrad, fellow author and dear friend, for her support and help in completing this work.

Sue Meekings, for her enviable enthusiasm.

Dr Sarah Fawcett, my eldest daughter, for her contributions on all things medical.

And to everyone who encouraged me to write book's two and three.

Part 1 — When The Gods Answer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Part 2 — The Road to Armageddon

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Part 3 — The Nine Men

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Appendix

A Note on Symbolism

Dedications

To my late wife, Lesley.

"Man at last knows that he is alone in the unfeeling immensity of the universe, out of which he has emerged only by chance."

Jacques Monod

"Where is Everyone?"

Enrico Fermi

### PART ONE

### WHEN THE GODS ANSWER

1

He wasn't alone in the darkness—they were all around him, pushing and jostling him, and so close he could smell their vitriolic breath.

Pallid, judgmental fingers poked his naked body like razor sharp talons, piercing his flesh.

Then came the chanting... a distant whisper at first but slowly building into a fearful crescendo...guilty!...guil-ty!...GUIL-TY...GUIL-TY, the faceless voices bellowed their verdict.

Robert McPherson opened his eyes; his face and torso wet with perspiration.

"Guilty," he repeated, like a broken man confessing. He reached across to Amanda's side of the bed and swept his hand across the cold cotton sheet, aching to run his fingers through her hair and feel the warmth of her slender body and kiss her lips. It hurt, it hurt like hell.

In Houston, Texas, it was seventy-four degrees, and already the morning air felt heavy and sultry. It would be hotter later, but nothing like the sweltering, humid heat of summer.

Downtown, the towering glass monoliths dominated the skyline, reflecting the fiery morning sun like huge mirrors, into the easterly suburbs and beyond, to the flat featureless horizon.

On floor-forty of the Ellington Building, in a large sun lit conference room, a meeting was about to start.

Seated in anticipation, around a long rectangular table, were five of the world's most eminent scientists. Standing facing them with his back to the tinted-glass window was a tall, fair-haired man.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, in a very upbeat manner, not waiting for a response. "It just shows what a bit of presidential pressure can do. I'm glad to announce that Dr Robert McPherson has finally been released from his current duties and will be arriving here shortly."

The announcement caused a buzz of excitement around the table.

At ten-thirty, Rob McPherson's chauffeur driven limousine arrived at the entrance to the Ellington Building, precisely forty-eight minutes after his flight had touched down at Houston International Airport, to the north of the city.

Quickly, the young chauffeur opened the near side rear door. "I'll take care of your baggage, sir, you just report to the main desk," he said, obligingly.

McPherson thanked him, exited the limousine and strode the short distance to the entrance, briskly walking up the steps and carefully avoiding four young uniformed men striding purposefully out of the building, deep in excited conversation.

Inside the entrance, a second set of automatic doors quietly opened, revealing an impressive, cool reception area. He walked to the desk in front of him. "My name is Rob McPherson—Colin Williams is expecting me." His impassive expression gave no indication of the hurt and despondency he felt within himself.

"Just one moment, sir," she said, casting her eyes down to the discreetly hidden screen illuminating her young face.

"That's confirmed—welcome to Houston, Doctor," she replied, still smiling widely.

"Can I please have your hand scan?"

McPherson placed his right hand on the glass plate in front of him and waited for the computer clearance. Handing him his printed lapel badge, she said, "Please wear this at all times and take a seat to your right, while I page security for you."

"Thank you," McPherson said, forcing a smile. On the flight to Houston his mind had slowed to a glacier pace, his cognitive thoughts had become fragmented and random. Sitting still was becoming difficult; difficult because the pent-up anger burning inside him felt like it was about to explode out of the top of his head, like an erupting volcano. The unfamiliar feelings of failure and jealousy combined forces to create an almost uncontrollable urge to hit out, at whatever was in his way. Someone, some bastard, had taken his Amanda, his friend, and his lover.

Her words: "It's over... I love another man," still ringing in his ears.

McPherson's hands were clenched as he fought to control his racing emotions. His mind was spinning and confused. Why did he not sense there was a problem? How could she love someone else? How could she? Why had he not sensed her innermost feelings? Ten years, ten wasted years and for what? To be discarded like an empty Coke can, crushed in the hand and tossed into the garbage. He needed her, for God's sake. She was a part of him, she was his life. Where did it all go wrong?

"Dr McPherson?... Dr McPherson?"

"Yeah—sorry—that's me," he replied, startled by the sudden interruption. He looked up and was confronted by a giant of a man.

"Follow me please, sir."

He quickly composed himself and tried to forget his problems, at least for a short while. He needed to be rational; he needed time to think things through. Standing up, he inhaled deeply and fought to clear his tormented mind as he mechanically followed the perspiring security officer into the awaiting lift.

It was necessary for the officer to confirm that Rob McPherson was who he said he was, but ironically, for the first time in his life, McPherson wasn't sure himself.

Minutes later, on the fourth floor, the perspiring officer unlocked a door marked "Security" and invited McPherson to enter the small room. As he entered the smell of stale body odor hit him, and he felt repulsed. After being invited to sit down on a swivel chair facing a cream computer desk, he looked across at the man responsible for the odor. His large body filled the expanse of his uniform almost to bursting point, and his balloon like face was covered in moist, oily flesh that hung in layers below his chin, diminished only by the mass of his huge lower torso. As he sat down the chair below him groaned, as it took the weight of his enormous bulk.

"May I have your ID card, sir?" he said, struggling for breath.

McPherson reached into his pocket and handed the guard his plastic chip impregnated card.

"Thank you, sir," he said, as he swiped the card into the reader next to the computer on his right.

Reluctantly, he watched the guard struggling to breath whilst he very slowly typed information into the computer on the desk in front of him. McPherson's breathing was deliberately short and shallow and his right hand covered his nose and mouth, in a vain attempt to filter the unwelcome smell.

After what seemed like an eternity, the guard looked up and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with a damp handkerchief. "I just need your voice and retina sample now, sir," he said. "I can then enter it into the computer and you can be on your way."

"Good, I have an appointment at eleven o'clock on floor twenty," McPherson said, impatiently, eager to clear his nostrils of the pungent stench that had impregnated every part of the room.

"Yes, I know, sir, you'll be there with time to spare," replied the guard, calmly.

At two minutes to eleven the doors of the elevator opened at the twentieth-floor and McPherson stepped out into a welcoming reception area. On the oatmeal colored walls hung copies of classics by Turner, Van Gogh and Monet. In the corners of the room large leafy plants thrived on the light from the ceiling lights.

Seconds after the lift doors had silently closed behind him a voice from a hidden speaker, said:

"Please use the VRU and enter the door to your left."

He walked to the wall mounted VRU next to the door, leaned towards it and spoke his name:

"Dr Robert McPherson."

The door opened and there to greet him was a very attractive black American woman.

"Good to meet you, Dr McPherson," she said, with a slight west-coast accent and a smile that showed off her perfect teeth.

"My name is Linda, I'm Colin's personal assistant."

"Good to meet you, Linda," replied McPherson.

"Please follow me, sir—Mr Williams is waiting for you in his office." As she walked in front of him he noticed her elegant long legs and the graceful way she moved. It reminded him of Amanda and he felt a sickening depression overwhelm him.

Shortly, they arrived at a plain wooden door that carried no name or title. A single knock by Linda Washington was followed by Hunter's deep voice, saying, "Please come in."

Linda gestured to McPherson.

"Thanks," he said. Entering the office, he watched Colin Williams stand up from behind his desk and enthusiastically move forward to greet him and shake his hand.

"Great to meet you, Rob. My name's Colin, but please call me Hunter, everyone else does."

McPherson smiled and shook his hand warmly.

Hunter pointed to a chair in front of his desk that was covered in luxurious black leather to match the large desk set at an angle facing away from the window. "Please sit down and make yourself comfortable."

As Hunter returned to his seat McPherson estimated he was in his early fifties, although he looked very fit for his age, with a full head of fair hair and a sporting tan. Six-feet-two possibly, McPherson thought.

"I trust you had a pleasant journey this morning, Rob?"

"Very pleasant, thank you," replied McPherson, lying, but showing no outward signs of stress or emotion.

"I guess you're wondering what's going on?" Hunter said, quietly.

"Yeah, in fact I am. Conrad has briefed me about the project, but not in any real detail."

"Well, that's because Conrad doesn't know the real details," Hunter retorted, with a smug confidence.

"I know there's a requirement for data analysis and that my experience will be of benefit: but that's all I know." McPherson watched and waited while Hunter composed himself.

"This is a top-secret project, Rob, and it has already cost our government a huge amount of money. The President has been convinced by some very well prepared arguments, that, on balance, it's likely to be very beneficial to America. But, he is aware that there is no guarantee of success."

"I guess you already know my expertise?" Hunter did and he smiled and nodded in recognition.

"So what kind of data are we looking at here?"

"All will be revealed, very soon—I can assure you."

"Conrad indicated that the project would be initially for one year, is that still the case?"

"Possibly; it's too early to tell yet, but whatever happens, Conrad knows your current project will be reopened for you, on your return to Washington."

McPherson thought about Hunter's words for a moment. Last night he was concerned about Amanda and the fact that he might have to work in Houston for a period without her. Now, in a matter of a few hours, it didn't seem relevant anymore, and going back to Washington, without her there, had little appeal to him.

"So when do I get to know what's going on?" he asked smiling, trying to find some enthusiasm from within himself.

"The first meeting of Project M13 starts at midday, in room B12. I'll get Linda to show you the bathroom. I'm sure you'd like to freshen up before the show gets on the road."

2

Amanda looked around the spacious apartment and so many happy memories came flooding back. Tears blurred her vision and with her finger she wiped a tear from her cheek as she walked into the bedroom. Head lowered, she reached to her wardrobe and closed the double-mirrored doors, leaving behind most of her belongings.

It was time to leave.

She sighed as she walked to the front door. Then, she stopped and looked around again; her hand covered her mouth and she began to sob as she reached out to a photograph of Rob and herself on one of the wall shelves. They were soul mates, wrapped in each other's arms, on a skiing holiday in Canada.

"Goodbye Rob," she cried, gently touching the image of his smiling face.

Amanda dropped her door key on the floor before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

'Oh God, what have I done?' she exclaimed.

She hurried down the stairs and out into the quiet, sun drenched street. Tears soaked her cheeks as she slumped into the rear seat of the awaiting cab. She glanced out, half hoping to see his face, half hoping he would be there to stop her leaving; but he wasn't.

"Take me to the airport," she said, in a strained voice. Amanda's destination was New York—the place where her new lover eagerly awaited her.

Back in Houston, Hunter walked briskly into conference room B12 and sat down at the head of the large table. To Hunter's left, was a sullen looking, Samuel Black,M13 Project Leader, and next to him the archetypal granite features of Yuri Klyushin—Head of Astronomical Research, followed by Jerzy Rozanski, Head of the newly formed Astrobiology team and Walter Rottenberg, Senior Astronomer. Sitting on Hunter's right was Rob McPherson followed by Vicki Stark—Chief Government Adviser for Satellite Communication Networks, followed by Raymond E. Strong Jnr. Head of Extra Terrestrial Research.

Hunter spent some time introducing Rob McPherson to each of the assembled members in turn. Of all the members only Raymond Strong Jnr. was familiar to McPherson.

After the formalities were over, Hunter stood up and said:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, looking around the table today, I feel a certain—self-satisfaction. It has taken a considerable amount of time, money and effort to bring together such an eminent team, and I'm sure that after this afternoon, you will all agree, it was essential to do so. Before I talk to you in detail, I want to ask Walter Rottenberg to spend a little time setting the scene, so to speak." Hunter then sat down; as he did, he offered his hand to Rottenburg, in a gesture to take over.

Walter Rottenburg stood up, cleared his throat and moved to the audio-visual unit on a raised floor section, slightly to the right of Hunter. He was a senior astronomer, in his early sixties. He had white bushy hair and large black-framed glasses, which looked too big for his face. He reminded McPherson of the mad professor. His latter years had been dedicated to understanding Black Holes, but he was also renowned, worldwide, for his knowledge of Pulsars.

At the press of a switch the room-lights dimmed and the first presentation slide lit up the big screen. In a very confident and clear voice he began.

"On November 16, 1974, a radio signal was transmitted into space from the Arecibo Radio Telescope, in Puerto Rico. The dish was three hundred and five metres in diameter and so powerful it could communicate with an identical twin of itself anywhere in our Galaxy." A photo of the Telescope filled the screen.

Rottenburg paused; he had everyone's undivided attention. "The radio signal was pointed at a star cluster of some 300,000 stars called, M13, in the constellation of Hercules. What was special about this signal is that it consisted of 1679 digital pulses. Any intelligent life form would soon realize that the pulses could be arranged to form a picture of life on Earth. Information about our chemical make-up, our position in the Solar System... and Man's image, of course. On the basis that the signals travel at the speed of light, we do not expect to get a reply—if at all, until the year AD 50,000." Without waiting for questions, or a thank-you from Hunter, Walter Rottenburg returned to his seat.

Hunter, once again rose to his feet, and took up the same position on the raised floor as Rottenburg had. "So why bother you're thinking, aren't you?... None of us will be around in AD 50,000. I'll tell you why."...Hunter paused. "Central Intelligence has discovered that China has decided to spend money, and I mean big money on a secret project called Sky Watch. They are not waiting until AD 50,000 for an answer. Their argument is that if there is intelligent life out there, they may, just may, be trying to communicate with us, now."

McPherson watched and listened intently as Hunter's tone became more serious.

"NASA is barred by Congress from spending public money looking for aliens and so far SETI has failed miserably; but this project will be under the guise of Astrobiology, as you know that's looking for evidence of life beyond our planet. In the end it's just words ladies and gentlemen, but one thing is clear and unequivocal—America cannot allow China to get there first. Consider the following argument... We now have available to us the biggest, fastest, Super Computer Network in the world, we also have the new generation of high sensitivity x-ray, radio and optical transceivers, recently positioned in space and capable of detecting signals one hundred thousand times weaker than anything the Chinese can detect. Together with this, we have Dr McPherson's specialist knowledge of filtering out unwanted fusion noise from the incoming signals. Don't ask me what that means, ask Dr McPherson," Hunter said, smiling. He continued:

"All of this means that it will be possible to scan M13, that is 300,000 plus, stars, in a period of approximately three weeks. That means, systematic searching of the entire universe, as we know it today, is probable within our life times."

"Perhaps not mine," joked Walter Rottenburg.

"Do not forget—China cannot do this, yet. Presently, they only have land based technology. Our advantage has cost the US a considerable amount of money, the majority of it from the defense budget, and we now need to capitalize on the technology to see the returns on our investment. Making contact could mean knowledge beyond our wildest dreams—knowledge—that would be owned and controlled by the US, ladies and gentlemen. We would be the world super-power without rival. Think about that." He paused, glancing around the table at the individual members.

"Please, Raymond." Hunter said, pointing to the presentation area. Raymond Strong Jnr. stood up and inhaled before stepping on to the raised floor area. He stood still for a moment and faced the group with his both hands linked and resting on his large belly; acquired by years of excessive food and drink at expensive restaurants. His black curly hair hung over his forehead in little ringlets and his fat, flushed face was almost expressionless.

McPherson remembered him when he was a lot younger and very handsome, but now, he thought, he'd let himself go. He wondered what his wife looked like now. Probably still petit and elegant, like he remembered her, in Cleveland, Ohio.

Raymond Strong then began to speak:

"This may come as a surprise to some of you but we know for certain that we are not alone in the Universe." He quickly looked around the table at the team, sitting in silent disbelief and then continued:

"The official line of course, is that we deny all knowledge of this, but the reality is that we've already been visited. The Fermi-Hart Paradox, is no longer a paradox. But what we have failed to do is communicate with these beings. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have two dead alien bodies in Washington DC, under the Pentagon."

Silence filled the room.

McPherson glanced at the others around the table. It wasn't news to him; he had seen them and touched their cold, hairless flesh; a flesh that refused to decompose. Two majestic creatures lying naked, side by side in a glass tomb that offered no privacy and no peace for the dead.

Strong continued:

"We don't know who they are, or where they've come from What we do know is that they are, humanlike, in appearance. Statistically, it means there are probably millions of other advanced civilizations out there, and the United States of America must be the first to communicate with them."

He paused as the assembled members wrestled with his words. "We now estimate, given what we know, that there's possibly millions of potential signals that we can listen to, with the expensive hardware, floating above our heads. Our future could be shaped by the superior knowledge that they have; knowledge that could otherwise take us thousands of years to possess, if at all. We could use such information to develop new techniques in medicine, genetics, agriculture, industry, and defense: the list could be infinite. It would make us, the Super Power of all Super Powers: Arabs, Russians, Asians, even the Chinese, would be clambering, just to lick our ass."

"Where were they found?" Vicki Stark asked.

Raymond Strong paused and glanced at Hunter—"I'm sorry, that's highly classified information," he said.

3

It was the second day, and Samuel Black entered conference room B14 for the second Project M13 meeting, due to start at eight o'clock. He had worked for the US Government for the last eighteen years, having joined them straight from Harvard University with a double Major in Systems Behavior and Logistics. His ability as an organizer and man manager became obvious very early in his career and promotion followed very quickly. Within six-years he had reached Level Three management status, and enjoyed the life style it brought with it. His wife, Kim, was two years younger than he was, attractive, intelligent and a professional golfer.

Money was not an issue to the Black's. With no children and both partners dedicated to their own professions, they lived, almost separate lives, but their sybaritic existence suited them, and from the outside, it appeared to work.

Within minutes, Rob McPherson, arrived with Vicki Stark and Yuri Klyushin, closely followed by the rest of the team.

"Good morning everyone," said Samuel, smiling.

"Good morning," replied several voices.

"Please be seated."

After everyone was settled, Samuel Black began.

"As you know from my email, I want to discuss, in an open forum, the tasks that you have each been given to make this project a success. Linda will be here soon," he said, glancing at his watch..."She will be responsible for all meeting notes. They will be emailed to you at the end of every meeting: Please acknowledge them as true or false within twenty-four-hours. This morning, I have arranged for a working breakfast, it will be here in thirty minutes; I trust the choice is acceptable to you."

There was a knock on the door at seven-fifty-nine and Linda Washington entered the room. Samuel Black introduced her to the team and invited her to take a seat at the table, at the only available chair.

He then continued. "Before we get down to the business of the day, has anyone got a problem with their accommodation?" He looked around the room, for comment.

Clearly, everyone was happy with the project complex. It was of the very highest standard, with a large gymnasium, therapy pool, solarium, and a very impressive, UV filtered, plastic-domed pool.

Each apartment had a bedroom, large lounge, kitchen and office. Government guards were responsible for twenty-four-hour security within the walled complex. Black wasn't expecting any problems when he enquired.

Samuel Black raised his right hand to his mouth and quietly coughed to clear a small amount of cocaine from his throat.

"I want to start with you, Yuri," he said. "Your task is to produce the raw information for analysis by Rob. Would you like to comment on how this will be done."

"Certainly," he replied. "Within the last three years, in conjunction with the International Space Station and the Super Shuttle 'America 3,' we've positioned ten transceivers in various strategic positions approximately one-thousand miles above the Earth's surface. They are fixed units not orbiting satellites...They communicate directly with four Earth Stations in turn, giving data twenty-four-hours a day. That means, Houston is able to constantly analyze the raw data."

"Any questions so far?" Samuel enquired.

There was silence.

"Please continue, Yuri."

"We estimate it will take about three-weeks to scan M13 in its entirety."

McPherson nodded his approval at the methodology. "At least we won't have to contend with the problems caused by the Earth's atmosphere," said McPherson.

"Precisely," replied Yuri, but the Chinese will.

"So what are our chances of making contact, Yuri?" asked Vicki Stark.

"Very good question!"

"And one paramount to this whole operation," interjected Black.

Yuri appeared to be enjoying every moment, pausing for thought before he continued. "Carl Sagan, using the famous Drake equation in 1966, estimated that there could be as many as one million advanced civilizations in existence communicating within our Galaxy. This was based on the fact that he thought there were over a billion stars in our Galaxy alone. We now know, thanks to Hubble, that Sagan grossly underestimated the number of stars. Hubble's deep space images of what we thought was just darkness have shown many more galaxies, that at the time, Sagan knew nothing about. We now know that there are some eighty-billion other galaxies in the observable universe and seventy-sextillion stars, that's seven times ten to the power of twenty-two, in the visible universe alone! We are also finding more and more planets circling stars that could be the home of our two dead aliens. What is more important though, is that we find a communications 'window' with a civilization that is similar to ours in its development, and able to communicate in a way that we can understand."

He paused to take a drink of water. "Civilizations far more advanced than ours may well use techniques that we don't understand, so we couldn't listen to those signals even if we wanted to. More primitive civilizations, of course, will not be transmitting anyway, so this window as we call it is crucial, if we are to be successful and make contact, but when you consider the massive numbers of stars, our chances must be high. This was the argument that persuaded the government to invest in M13 in the first place. Ironically, if we do make contact, the civilization that sent the signals might well be extinct, due to the long time delay in sending the signals across the Universe. We start sending the co-ordinates to point the transceivers at M13 as soon as the data network links are in place. We will be listening for signals on a very specific frequency known as the 21cm hydrogen line. In essence, Vicki, it's a numbers game," concluded Klyushin.

"That's your job, Vicki," said Samuel Black, and she nodded in agreement.

"The amount of data we expect to receive is massive," continued Yuri.

"That's no problem," responded Vicki Stark. "We have enough disk space, believe me."

The trick is analyzing the huge amount of data efficiently and turning it into useful information," replied McPherson.

"Okay...okay...let's keep some order to the proceedings," interrupted Black, authoritatively. "Have you finished for the time being, Yuri?"

"I think so."

"Thanks for your input, Yuri. It sounds like we're in good shape."

"We are, Samuel."

Continuing, Black asked. "Okay, Vicki, on the basis that we can get the information, please explain how we get it to Houston?"

McPherson thought how tired Black looked; his face was pallid, and yet, he appeared to be in good spirits.

Vicki Stark then gained his attention. She was the only female on the team.

She's very attractive, and clearly very confident, thought McPherson, as she began to address Black's question:

"Well, as mentioned earlier, we have four base stations; one in Australia, one in Kuwait, one in Europe and one in West Virginia. They are globally positioned to take account of the Earth's rotation so that at any one time at least two of them will be communicating with the Transceivers in space. Each station on Earth communicates with Houston via satellite. We have already tested the local satellite links from the stations to here in Houston and everything's fine. This afternoon I finish checking the communications from the base stations to the transceivers. We believe, however, that a small meteor might have damaged one transceiver, but that has to be confirmed."

"What will that do to our schedule, if it's true?" Yuri Klyushin asked Samuel Black.

"In fact, our schedule, is based on using data from only eight of the transceivers."

"Good," replied Klyushin, sporting a large smile.

Linda Washington recorded every word being spoken, for automatic conversion to text.

McPherson noticed that she spent a lot of time making eye contact. She's very attractive, he thought, and he estimated her age to be about twenty-five, maybe a little older, considering the position she held. Linda Washington was actually twenty-four, the youngest PA in the building...and by far the best.

"We now need to look at the way the data will be analyzed and that is your department, Rob."

Back to full concentration, McPherson answered, "It certainly is. The gathering of data is easy with modern technology; the trick is in recognizing the useful information you get from that data; if at all. I suspect, that over ninety-five-percent of the data we will gather will be meaningless rubbish, or cosmic background noise, as we call it. But what I've developed is an algorithm that can filter this noise, and look for patterns. Patterns are important, because they indicate structure, and any intelligent life form will be transmitting signals that have structure. We can do this in almost realtime, so for instance, if there is someone sending out signals, and we pick them up then within days we will be able to identify them. With this algorithm and the availability of very sensitive twenty-four hour data, we are in a much stronger position than the Chinese. I must add a caveat here though, and that is, if we do identify a structured message, there is no guarantee that we will be able to understand it. The life-form that sent it may be far more advanced than we are. It'll be outside of the so called 'Window of communication.'"

Black smiled. "Thanks for that, Rob."

Three weeks had quickly passed and the team were working well together. Long working hours and many technical problems, though, had taken its toll on all of them. Their social lives had vanished; replaced, with long, stressful hours resolving the difficult technical problems that just seemed endless, and Samuel Black's constant reminder of the President's personal interest in the project, was really beginning to irritate them.

It was seven-thirty when Vicki Stark arrived for work one particular morning. She was not her normal, confident, smiling self but looked tired and pale from the relentless workload she'd endured. Things weren't going to plan and she had to accept personal responsibility for the delay, a delay that affected the whole team.

After going through the usual security, something she found more irritating each time, she finally reached her office, situated next to McPherson's. It was a small room with little in the way of decoration, other than a scenic calendar on the plain cream papered wall. There was a standard issue computer desk, two chairs, some empty shelving and a filing cabinet to the left of the door; on top of which was proudly displayed a large framed family group photograph.

She was the first team member in that morning, knowing that there was no time to waste in resolving the software problem that was holding up the entire project. Slowly, she lowered herself into her swivel chair and stared at the scribbled notes all over the calendar with an unusually blank expression.

McPherson looked in through the open door of her office as he passed by. "Have you been here all night?" he asked, and watched as she jumped in surprise.

"Oh shit! You gave me a fright"

McPherson had never heard her swear before, and strangely, it made her seem more approachable to him, more human. As if she had lowered her guard at last. "I'm sorry... It must be your nerves."

"Don't joke about my nerves," Vicki said, pleadingly.

"Hey...come on, things can't be that bad?" he said, entering her office and smelling her perfume.

"Can't they? — I know I'm holding up the entire project Rob, but it isn't easy, and I feel exhausted with all the hours I'm putting in. My bloody career's on the line here."

"What if I get you a nice cup of coffee? Will that help?"

"Yeah... That would be wonderful, thanks a lot."

McPherson returned within a few minutes with the coffee he'd brewed freshly in his office next door. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Of course not, sit down."

He sat on the only other chair and passed Vicki her coffee. Up to now he'd not paid much attention to Vicki but there, in her office, he realised that she was very attractive indeed. Her eyes, were a beautiful blue green, highlighted by long thick eyelashes that looked false, but weren't. Her fair complexion was near perfect, her lips were proud and sensual and her hair, naturally Auburn, hung shoulder length with a gentle curl. He noticed her immaculately painted nails as she cradled the coffee cup, and it reminded him of Amanda.

Vicki was physically fit and normally worked out at least three nights a week. Her 36-24-36 figure reflected the work she'd put in, and at five-feet-nine-inches tall, there was no doubt, she was appealing, even when she was exhausted.

McPherson sipped the freshly ground Colombian brew and felt his body kick-start.

Vicki held her cup; seemingly forgetting it was there.

"What exactly is the problem?" he enquired.

"The problem, is the encryption code we use to transmit the data to Earth. It's the military code used on all category-one spy satellites."

"DGATE?"

"That's right. It's having to be upgraded, months before we had anticipated, because we believe China has cracked the code and could, in theory, hack into the data we're transmitting back to Earth."

"But, that's not your fault, is it?" interjected McPherson, sympathetically.

"You try telling Samuel that. He's already giving me a hard time. He seems to get more irritable with each day."

"I guess he's feeling the pressure, just like us."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So what's the next step?" McPherson enquired.

"I've been promised a new version this afternoon. It uses the latest encryption techniques—I just hope and pray it works."

"How long will it take to install?"

"Should be in within a few hours, Rob. The problem is actually testing the system. That could take another four or five days before we know if it's any good or not... Fuck! I'm beginning to regret this job already," Vicky said, holding her head.

McPherson was beginning to think she was human after all.

"I think you need a break," he said, sympathetically.

"No time for that, Rob, I'm afraid," Vicki replied swiftly.

"Have you used the gym at the complex yet?"

"No, and I'm sure as hell missing my regular workouts."

"Okay.... Tonight we meet at seven in the gym, after that I'm going to mix you a cocktail you just can't refuse."

"But, I ca..."

"No buts, you need to relax." Vicki looked at him for a moment and gradually a submissive smile appeared on her face.

"Sure, seven o'clock it is then."

The phone in McPherson's office was ringing as he walked in. "McPherson," he said, after hitting the visual key.

Samuel Black's face appeared on the screen, looking stressed. "Morning, Buddy."

"Morning, Samuel."

"I need to see you in my office at eleven o'clock," he said, abruptly.

"Okay—What's it about?" asked McPherson.

"Delays—Fucking delays." The screen went abruptly blank.

McPherson signed on to his terminal and checked his schedule. Sure enough the meeting was booked for eleven o'clock. It was an all-team meeting and he wondered if Vicki was going to be thrown to the lions or not.

The smell of coffee was irresistible and he poured another cup before sitting down to read the rest of his emails.

4

Vicki drove her 3 Series BMW up the ramp leading from the underground parking lot into the evening sunshine and headed up San Jacinto Street, before turning left, to pick up the Gulf Freeway 45 that heads south and ends on the Gulf coast at Galveston. The drive home to the secure compound, near the Ellington Air Force Base and the Space Centre would take about twenty minutes. The setting sun was to her right and low in the sky and she reached into the glove compartment for her Ray-Ban's.

The digital readout indicated an interior temperature of sixty-five degrees. Outside it was seventy-nine-degrees and the air was heavy, and unusually humid so early in the year. Vicki's fingers nervously tapped the wheel as she drove.

With a sister and elder brother, she was the second eldest of the family. Her Mother and Father had recently celebrated thirty-five-years of marriage at a family gathering in the Bay, where Richard, Vicki's brother, lived with his wife Susan and two children.

As a child she lived with her parents in various European cities but the summers spent in the little stone cottage in Southern England would always be amongst her most cherished memories. Her favourite place to play was the garden; she could still smell the scent of the roses and cut grass as 'Pops' drove them round on the big petrol mower, with Richard sitting on Pops's lap, driving under instruction. It was a place where she played for hours with Emma, her younger sister.

Their Mom would cut them little sandwiches for their tea parties and bake little mouth-sized cakes that they ate far too quickly. She was always Doctor, being the eldest, and her sister was nurse...

Suddenly, the sat-nav reminded her that the required exit off the freeway was only four hundred yards away.

"I know, smart arse," she responded, as if her coarse comment would be understood. How quickly she was back facing up to reality.

"This must be the worst day of my life," she said, speaking to the dashboard, half expecting some sympathetic response. Vicki realised Rob was right, she needed a good workout, she needed to release some of the built up tension. It was definitely time to visit the gym.

McPherson looked at his watch, downed the remains of his isotonic drink and made his way to the gym. It was now ten minutes to seven. Picking up his sports bag he closed the door behind him and walked down the corridor. A few minutes later he opened the gym door and was surprised to see Vicki already working out. Her skin was glistening with perspiration and her vest clung provocatively to her breasts.

"Been here long?" he enquired.

"About ten minutes," responded Vicki, with a grunt, as she started another set of twenty sit-ups. "I'd forgotten just how much I love the feeling."

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"You know what I mean," she said, blushing.

McPherson felt good after the forty-five-minute workout and the power shower gave him a pulsating massage, which heightened his feeling of well being. He dried himself with a large white bath towel, shaved, brushed his hair and cleaned his teeth. He thought about Vicki and how nice she was, now that he was getting to know her better.

As he entering the cool lounge he felt refreshed and he poured a double white rum and ice into a long glass and downed a good two-thirds. Remembering Vicki would call soon he walked into the bedroom and donned a pair of white pants and a blue polo top. The music system had just selected Chicago's 'If you leave me now,' when the doorbell rang. Quickly, McPherson hit a key selecting another CD.

Opening the door, he was greeted by Vicki, wearing a wide smile, red blouse and a short white skirt that enhanced her long tanned legs. Her hair was still slightly damp after her shower but she had taken time to put on light make up that made her look even more attractive. The smell of her expensive perfume was stimulating. McPherson wanted to say how beautiful she looked, but instead just gazed at her.

"Well?—Can I come in?"

"Yeah—Yeah, of course," he replied, with slight embarrassment in his voice. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll fix you that cocktail I promised you."

"Thanks, I need it." Vicki said, sliding onto the long soft leather sofa. She watched with interest as the cocktail of white rum, Malibu, lemon juice, Coke and crushed ice was created. Her eyes drifting towards McPherson's firm butt. "That was enjoyable this evening, wasn't it?" she said.

"I feel great. How about you?" He enquired, joining her on the sofa.

"I'm certainly more relaxed now, and tonight a message was left on my email from the department to say that the new encryption system appears to be shaping up nicely, although it's still early days yet."

"That's great news," he said excitedly, lifting his glass. "Let's drink to it."

Vicki took a long slug of the cocktail and pushed her head back into the soft leather. "Mmmm that's wonderful, what's it called?"

"Heaven!"

Vicki laughed for the first time in days and the cocktail was helping to relax her overworked body. "If I have another day like today, I think I'll top myself."

"I felt sorry for you in the meeting."

"Let's just hope things improve from now on."

For a few moments they remained silent. Then, with hesitation in her voice, she asked him the question he'd been half expecting.

"I know it's your private business and perhaps I shouldn't ask but...Are you okay?"

McPherson knew exactly what she meant. "I guess you're referring to my break up with Amanda?"

"I'm sorry, Please don't think that I'm prying."

"No, no, it's okay," he said. "It's common knowledge anyway. It's just that I haven't talked about it to anyone and maybe I should; get it off my chest once and for all."

"You can talk to me if you want to, Rob."

Deep in thought he just stared into the glass he was clutching with both hands. "I want to talk about it to you," he finally responded. In his heart though he was deeply sad and he missed Amanda more than he ever realised was possible. But for the first time in four weeks he was ready to talk to someone else about his grief.

Still looking into his drink McPherson started to talk in a slow, controlled manner. "You see Vicki, when it comes down to it, a relationship has to be worked at on a continuous basis. You know what I mean?" he said, looking at her.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that, but yes I'm sure you're right."

"What happened was primarily my fault. I can see it now, but now it's too late. Amanda loved me once, as I loved her. If I'm honest with myself I guess I still love her. The night before I arrived here in Houston she'd told me she was leaving me for another man. She was crying, as if she was doing something that she really didn't want to do. I know that sounds stupid. You see, Amanda took all the shit I dished out over the years...The late nights at work...the tiredness...the thoughtlessness." He looked at Vicki and she smiled back sympathetically.

"God, the times I've forgotten our anniversary or her birthday." Tears filled McPherson's eyes but he tried desperately to fight his emotions... "It's called complacency and it kills relationships."

"...In the end I guess she found what she was looking for in someone else," Vicki tentatively suggested.

"Yeah, attention, I suppose—Someone to love her, but, more importantly, to be with her. Someone who she felt wanted her more than anything else."

"Do you have any children, Rob?"

"No, Amanda couldn't have any. We knew that before we got involved though. I guess that's why we never got married. She was always very honest with me, that was her way—until."...McPherson stopped talking and took a long drink.

"Are you sure there is no way to patch this up?" asked Vicki, offering her hand to McPherson as a gesture of support.

"No not now, there's no way," he replied, ignoring her hand. "Amanda told me that she had fallen in love with this guy from New York. How she met him, I don't know, and I don't want to know either." McPherson's voice became emotional for the first time. "She said that she was unable to go on with our relationship because I was living my own life, and that excluded her. She needed a closer relationship and reassurance that she was loved. Maybe she felt I had rejected her in some way because she couldn't have children, I don't know. We should have talked more; she should have told me these things before, not now, when it's too late. I told her that I loved her and that things would change from now on but she only stared at me with tears running down her cheeks. I begged her to stay but she just said no, Rob, I'm leaving you.... It's over... I love another man"

Pausing, he took a deep breath to regain some composure. "It all seems such along time ago now, and I've come to terms with it." He wondered if Vicki would see through his lies. "Let me fix you another drink," he said, in a manner that suggested the subject was closed.

Vicki moved next to McPherson and put her head on his shoulder.

The feel of her warm body and the smell of her perfume ignited his senses and he became conscious of his beating heart. Almost subconsciously his hand began stroking her hair, as if she was Amanda. What was happening? What was he doing? He was feeling desire for another woman, an excitement he had not felt for so long.

Vicki responded to his caress and looked sensuously into his eyes. For a few moments they just gazed at each other, then they kissed, gently at first, as if fearful of each other, but then passionately and uncontrollably.

Vicki's hand ran through his hair and then, opening his top she began to gently stroke his chest. Through her blouse her breasts looked firm and full and McPherson imagined her erect nipples. She groaned gently as he opened her blouse and caressed her firm plump breast with his fingertips. His senses exploded like fireworks, as he felt her hand move to between his legs. She slowly stroked his stiff penis and he couldn't stop her, he didn't want to stop her. His breathing was short and heavy as she continued to fondle him.

"I want you, Vicki."

She undid the buttons on her blouse and dropped it to the floor, then she held his head with both hands and pulled him invitingly into her breasts. The feel of her hard nipple in his mouth excited him even more. Instinctively his tongue teased her and he watched her becoming more aroused, making her wet. His gentle biting and licking seemed to drive her wild and he could smell her sexual excitement.

"Is this wrong, Rob? Should we feel like this?" In a distant corner of her mind a voice was saying no, stop this, don't let it happen; but passion overtook any doubts that might have remained in her and the voice faded into silence. "Take me Rob...Take me."

With both hands he slid her skirt up to her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Eagerly she straddled him, and held his stiff penis, gently guiding it into her. She slowly lowered herself until he was deep inside her. She felt so wet, so wonderfully wet. He looked at her as her eyes rolled upwards and her head twisted from side to side. Vicki grabbed his shoulders; she was in control, she was riding him and he watched as her breasts heaved in front of his eyes.

He pulled her into him until he filled her and she cried out. He sucked her nipples and her hands closed tightly on the soft leather sofa behind them, then McPherson felt her whole body tremble.

Panting heavily she cried out:

"Oh Rob I'm going to come...Hold me...I'm coming." She screeched, as an orgasm burst through her body, taking away her strength. For a moment she stayed upright and quite still before collapsing into his willing arms. They kissed again passionately and McPherson rolled her onto her back.

Opening her legs for him he entered her and his hard thrusts felt so good.

It's been too long, she thought. Vicki was watching his hard glistening shaft as his thrusts and breathing quickened. He sensed her pulling him closer and spasms of pleasure ran through his body in pure ecstasy as they orgasmed together.

"This is good shit, man." said the first security officer, watching their every move on a computer screen in the security office at the entrance to the complex.

"Yeah! My chick's definitely in for a good fucking tonight, if she wants it or not," said the second officer, rubbing his groin and laughing loudly.

"We have to send this stuff to Samuel Black," replied the first officer, remembering his instructions.

"That Black's a dirty mother fucker." said the second officer, smiling broadly.

Later that evening, Samuel Black was at home alone, slumped in a chair and barely conscious, unaware that the video had finished. On the floor next to him was an empty bottle of Bourbon.

5

Vicki Stark had decided early in her career that she was not the marrying kind. Putting most of her energy into her job meant that her love life had always come second. It was out of character for her to do something like that, so impromptu. Sure, she'd made love to men before, but never without taking the time to really get to know them. Her relationship with Rob, before that night, had been a purely professional one, and after, she felt cheap and ashamed of her actions.

Rob's continued attentions encouraged her though, and she decided to work at the relationship. Her feelings for him were growing stronger by the day and she felt excited; her stomach tightened with each nerve tingling thought that now occupied more of her mind than M13. Her appetite had gone and he'd sparked feelings of sensuality within her that had lain dormant for too long. She was visibly more relaxed in her day to day work and the problems with the encryption system had been resolved.

Vicki was enjoying life again, especially the evenings spent together with McPherson, exploring the abundance of Houston restaurants to enjoy Mexican, French, Italian and Indonesian cuisine, always accompanied by plenty of good wine. It was an exciting time in their relationship and most nights they made love before falling asleep in each other's arms.

McPherson had assured Vicki that they both needed that first night. It was necessary to release the pent up stress they'd both felt. Stress, that weeks of adrenaline and pressure had produced. Now, though, there was more meaning to their relationship. The ensuing nights had allowed them to explore each other's bodies and cultivate their sexual techniques. There was more meaning to their lovemaking—more passion and more tenderness.

At six o'clock McPherson awoke from a restful nights sleep. He smiled when he felt the slight pressure of Vicki's arm resting across his chest. She was still asleep and breathing gently. Even in the morning, with no make up, he thought how beautiful she looked. They had been inseparable ever since that night, over a week ago.

Still half awake his thoughts drifted back to his home in Washington, in his mind he moved from room to room like a potential buyer viewing the property, perhaps, subconsciously, looking for Amanda. They had spoken by phone a couple of times in the past month but Amanda's tone was always cold and conversation was strained. McPherson knew he still loved her and her abrupt attitude hurt him.

Emotionally, McPherson was now unstable; he was quickly falling in love with Vicki, yet still yearning for Amanda. Sex with Vicki was wonderful but was it just too convenient? Would he want her if they were apart, like he wanted Amanda?

Samuel Black was first into the office that morning, looking remarkably fresh, considering he had spent the night in a hotel room with a prostitute and taken alcohol and performance enhancing drugs, that by now should have given him a downer. His wife Kim always obliged him but being on the golf circuit she was often away from home for long periods and Samuel Black just wasn't able to wait. He knew he was wrong to do what he did; but it never stopped him. His excuse for satisfying his over active sex drive was based on the unfounded assumption that she was probably being screwed on a regular basis by some young stud on the tour.

Vicki Stark looked decidedly pleased with herself after signing the acceptance certificate for DGATE. The latest version of the encryption code had performed faultlessly for more than a week. The entire network loading tests had been passed and the speed of operation was impressive. She immediately walked down the corridor to Samuel's office. The door was open and she noticed Samuel was busy checking the latest project schedules as she walked in without knocking. His face by now had become drawn and pale. Dark bags were visible under his eyes.

"Good morning, Samuel, I have some good news," said Vicki, not waiting for a reply to her greeting. "I've just signed off DGATE," Vicki said, proudly.

"Oh, thank God for that! I'm going to call a project meeting immediately. We need to define the next course of action," said Samuel, in a relieved voice.

"I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased.... I'm bloody ecstatic. You don't realize the pressure I've been under from Hunter."

"Maybe not, but I've got a good idea," she replied, with a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Yeah... Yeah... of course, I'm sorry. I know it hasn't been easy for you either."

Surely not recognition from Samuel Black? Vicki thought.

Within twenty minutes everyone had gathered in the project room on the eighteenth floor. Yuri Klyushin, Walter Rottenburg and Jerzy Rozanski were stood in the corner of the room, discussing things astronomical. Rob McPherson was talking to Raymond Strong about last night's meal and Vicki Stark and Linda Washington were talking women's talk, occasionally reinforcing some point by touching the other. Their conversations were always deeper and more personal than any of the men in the team, because they were able to express their feelings without embarrassment.

Nobody noticed Samuel Black walk into the room and he was thankful.

"Let's make a start, please," he said, causing the chatter to stop abruptly and heads to turn in his direction.

McPherson looked at him and noticed the black rings under his eyes, worsened by his pallid complexion.

"Please take your seats and switch on your laptops, we have a lot to do this morning." Samuel Black managed a small smile, feeling a little better, now that he was in control again. "The good news ladies and gentlemen is that DGATE is now fully operational. That means we can, at last, start to analyze data from M13. I would like to record my personal thanks to Vicki for all the hard work she's put in these last few weeks. We didn't need the delay but it's behind us now, so let's get on with the task ahead."

The double-edged compliment made Vicki blush slightly and McPherson guessed it was more in annoyance than embarrassment. She'd worked bloody hard to resolve the problem and a simple thank you was all that was necessary, but no, he had to stick the knife in. McPherson was beginning to dislike Samuel more with every working day.

In reality all the team members had worked hard and no time had been wasted in setting up their particular tasks. Yuri Klyushin's team had commissioned the ten transceivers and the data link to Earth was working fine. Positional co-ordinates had been sent to the transceivers during a one-week test and feedback from the on-board computers had shown nine of them were responding. The tenth was operational but not as sensitive as the others, due to a minor problem with its positional retro-rockets, not meteor damage as first thought. Rob McPherson's software had been installed and tested against simulated data and the results were good, with a higher than expected signal-to-noise ratio.

"Would you like to explain the latest situation to the team, please, Vicki?"Asked Samuel Black.

Vicki stood up before beginning to talk. She was holding a pen in her hands, something she often did when speaking.

McPherson glanced at her and felt a warm contentment knowing he was in love with a very special woman indeed.

Vicki concluded. "Only this morning I signed the acceptance certificate for DGATE. It has been under rigorous test for just over one week and zero failures were recorded. Also all communications links from the transceivers through to Houston have been tested. In short, we're looking good."

"Excellent news," interjected Samuel Black. "Thank you, Vicki, please be seated. I suggest we start listening ASAP. So, this afternoon we all meet in the control room because I want to start analyzing data by fifteen-hundred hours. At sixteen-hundred hours I have to report our progress to Hunter, who, likewise at seventeen-thirty hours, has to report to the President. Yes, ladies and gentlemen — The President!" Samuel Black quickly glanced at each member of the team, in another attempt to reinforce the importance of his statement...

"Let's think of today as... Day One. Good hunting everyone."

At precisely four o'clock, Linda Washington showed Samuel Black into Hunter's office and closed the door behind him before walking back to her desk. She looked uncomfortable after the short walk with him. His innuendoes, the way he looked at her and touched her was so repulsive and so unnecessary. If Rob had paid her attention, that would have be different. She often had fantasies about making love to Rob, something she never mentioned to anyone except to her closest girl friend.

It was now five o'clock and Samuel Black had left Hunter's office some ten minutes before. Hunter was always slightly nervous before a conversation with the President, even though he had done it many times before. The good news, relayed to him, had helped to calm him somewhat and he wished he had been there when the first data had arrived to hear the cheers from his team, the team he had chosen, and the team he was proud of.

The videophone buzzed and asked for a code number. Hunter must have known it was the President. Composing himself, he entered the code and spoke his name. The screen came to life and Hunter could see the President's impassive face on the videophone.

"Good afternoon, Colin, how are things in sultry downtown Houston?" he asked, in a detached manner.

"Good afternoon, Mister President...Things are finally going well."

"Excellent! Tell me more, Colin."

"Well, sir, we started collecting data from M13 today."

"That's good news. It's difficult to say how far behind the Skywatch Project we are now, but we are behind at the moment; so intelligence informs me. Don't know whether to believe that or not though," commented the President in a dull tone. Hunter laughed, making the President smile.

"We have to get there first, Colin, it's important to this great country." The President's tone this time was more serious.

Hunter responded:

"I realize that, sir. Thankfully our methods are far superior to those of the Chinese. We estimate that we can analyze data one-thousand times faster than them and more importantly, twenty-four hours a day. It shouldn't take long before we're in front, Mr President."

"That's what I want to hear. Keep me informed of any progress will you? I want to be the first President of America to talk to a Martian." Both laughed loudly before saying their farewells and signing off.

Hunter sat back in his chair, raised his head and exhaled. He knew that behind the lighthearted comments and the friendly facade of the President, there was a more serious message.

6

The feelings of relief amongst the team was immense, now that they were finally listening to the Universe — To the star cluster M13.

Data was coming in at such a rate it was not possible to do anything other than store the majority of it for retrospective analysis afterwards. McPherson had already started his scrutiny of stored data and was categorizing the first batch of signals into different 'Bins' (a name given to an area of storage space in the memory banks). Signals that showed no possible form of pattern were stored in Bin 0 for two days and then discarded. Others, depending on the kind of repetition or of unusual signal strength, were put in Bins 1 to 10. Bin 10 would be the location for signals deemed to be possibly from another intelligent life form. Bins 8 and 9 would be labelled 'Of Special Interest,' and like Bin 10, of privileged access only.

No signals had yet made it as far as Bin 4.

McPherson's knowledge of fusion reactions, like that of our Sun and the billions of other stars in the Universe gave him the ability to sort the information and discard what was known as 'Fusion noise' from that of genuine communications. That in itself was not too difficult a task and something the Chinese team would already be doing, but the software he had created allowed the information to be automatically analyzed at such speed, it was unique.

Samuel Black was sitting on the veranda of his villa, overlooking the Woodlands Golf Complex, just north of Houston and a short ride from the International Airport. Once, it was his favourite time of the day. The quiet stillness was such a contrast to the hot, noisy, overcrowded city. Racoon sounds in the woods replaced the continuous drone of city life and offered serenity and escape from reality, the reality that was eating through him, intent on devouring what was left of his broken existence. The strong outer shell that hid the inner man was cracking. Black looked numb from the cocaine and red wine, something he was making a habit of.

Inside the house there was an abundance of photographs of his wife, mostly in golfing attire and holding some prized trophy won on the circuit but there was none of him. Kim was successful, very successful but at the age of 38, her career 'at the top' was over.

Although she had never won a major title, she had earned a huge amount of money on the tour. Unfortunately, for him, that meant that he saw precious little of her. Even at the dinners they went to, he was never part of the scene, never able to be one of them. She was always leaving him alone, much too busy 'sucking up' to some well-known sponsor or sports personality. Even though he was successful in his own right, she never acknowledged it.

He was no longer part of her life, and yet he was the instrument of her success. When Kim did spend time at home with him, there was always someone invited to dinner, always someone sharing her attentions. It was as if she couldn't stand to be alone with him anymore.

Samuel stood up, his face expressionless, his eyes filled with tears. He seemed in need of another drink. As he walked towards the double glass doors, they opened with a gentle hiss and he felt the coolness of the room as he entered. The doors shut behind him and the quiet loneliness closed in again.

There seemed no end to the nightmare that started many years ago in the Bay, when he was a student. In those days he had girls whenever he wanted them, lots of girls and sometimes two at a time, but her face continued to haunt him. The pitiful lifeless expression and acrid smell of the vomit that oozed from her sweet young mouth. The image that would stay with him and haunt him, like the ransom demands, for as long as he lived.

Pouring himself a double bourbon, he stared at the crystal cut glass for some time, before adding two ice cubes. With a twirl of his hand he cooled the contents. Slowly lifting the glass to his mouth he raised his head and downed its contents in one. Before the night was over the bottle would be empty.

Switching on his PC, Samuel Black selected the security files and watched as Vicki Stark entered the shower, dropping her dressing gown on the bathroom floor behind her. He looked lustfully at the screen images as she washed her perfect body; the body he wanted so much. Slowly he unzipped his flies. For a few minutes at least he would not be thinking about the next ransom demand.

The sound of the alarm buzzing at four-thirty on Saturday morning woke Hunter from a deep sleep. Today he had to catch a flight to Washington for a meeting with the President. Hunter was, by nature, a very methodical man and prided himself on preparation but today was different, he was not able to study a dossier, glance at an agenda or even read minutes of a previous meeting. It was a case of the President calling him at home at eleven-thirty last night, to tell him to be at the White House for an eight o'clock briefing that morning. He at least had a record of all the project meetings on his laptop and he would be able to update himself during the flight. The subject, he was told, would be made clear at the meeting.

After a cold shower and a wet shave Hunter got dressed. He chose a white shirt, blue patterned silk tie, black leather shoes and a black pin striped suit of Italian cut that looked and was expensive. Making his way downstairs he made for the coffee on the hot plate and downed two cups while he waited for the chauffeur to arrive to take him to the airport. The effect of the coffee soon stimulated him and he appeared alert and refreshed. It was unusual for the President to call a meeting at such short notice unless it was a real emergency. Hunter was aware of that and he walked around looking pensive

As he looked out of the window the chauffeur driven automobile pulled up outside the main entrance. The driver was Sam, someone who had worked for him for over ten years. Closing the front door behind him Hunter walked down the steps to the awaiting vehicle. The rear door was already open and Sam was standing, waiting for Hunter to enter.

"Sorry to get you up on a Saturday." Hunter said, apologetically.

"No problem for me, sir—Sleeping's not something I do well." Sam's voice was husky from the three packs of cigarettes smoked during the all-night poker game. Closing the door behind Hunter, Sam slipped into the driver's position, put the stick into drive and accelerated off down the long tarmac drive.

"Airport, sir?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be back this evening, Mister Williams, sir?"

"I sure plan to be, Sam. I've promised my wife a meal at the club. Give my secretary a call later in the day."

"Sure will, Mister Williams, sir."

The traffic that morning was light and the trip to the airport was surprisingly quick. Dropping Hunter at the domestic departures building, Sam headed back to his apartment to get the sleep he always denied needing.

Hunter walked through the main doors to be greeted by a young male airport official, smartly dressed in a white short sleeve shirt and charcoal grey slacks.

"Good morning, Mister Williams."

Hunter raised one hand and smiled in recognition of the greeting.

"Your jet is waiting sir... Please follow me."

Hunter was taken through the area designated for VIP's. At the bottom of the lounge stairs an airport limo was waiting to take him the short drive to the twenty-seater US Government jet, waiting on the runway holding zone. Once on the jet Hunter settled down to read the project notes on his laptop, only stopping to take a light breakfast of fresh fruit, yoghurt and black coffee.

The flight to the capital had been uneventful and soon Hunter was sitting nervously in the back seat of another government limousine that was waiting for him at the Washington airport. It was seven-twenty when he looked at his watch again and by then he was approaching the left bank of the Potomac River. Hunter looked out of the rear window across the river to the Pentagon and his office and where the two alien bodies lay deep below ground. Swiftly, the long black limo entered Constitution Avenue and was then only minutes away from the White House. He was as well prepared as he could be, under the circumstances, but, his nerves appeared on edge and perspiration wet the back of his shirt.

After passing through White House security, Hunter was taken to the Diplomatic Reception Room overlooking the South Grounds, a place normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, not Pentagon staff. Decorated in gold and white it was furnished as a drawing room of the Federal Period (1790-1820) and housed some fine examples of New York and New England cabinetmakers. In the middle of the ceiling, hung a fine cut glass Regency chandelier.

Waiting to greet Hunter at the entrance to the room was a young lady not that unlike Linda in looks and mannerisms.

"Welcome back to Washington, Mister Williams. My name is Jo, I'm a Presidential Assistant."

"Thank you. It's great to meet you, Jo." Hunter replied, with a hint of nervousness in his voice. Jo was not someone Hunter had remembered from previous visits but then, the White House had many so called 'assistants.'

"Please be seated, Mr Williams," she said, pointing to a polished table and chairs positioned near the windows. "The President will join you in a short while, make yourself comfortable, while I arrange some coffee," Jo said, reassuringly, as if sensing his tension.

"Thank you," said Hunter, sitting down to admire the panoramic, North American views depicted on the wallpaper all around the room.

He had been to the White House before but never this room; it was obviously designed to impress. Removing his laptop from the shoulder bag he placed it in front of him on the table and switched on the power. Hunter's hands were moist and his shirt was sticking to his back. Removing a handkerchief from his suit pocket he dried his palms and then dabbed his brow and neck.

The approaching voices alerted him to the imminent arrival of the President and he quickly put his handkerchief back in his jacket pocket. He could hear the President telling someone to get it sorted before lunch as it would be an embarrassment if the meeting was cancelled again.

"Of course, Mr President," came the immediate response.

Hunter was on his feet as the President and two other stern-faced, officials entered the room. Only the President was smiling as he held out his hand to greet Hunter. He was a big man, with thick dark hair and brown eyes. His face sported a slight tan and his smile showed off his white teeth. At forty-nine, he looked in remarkably good shape and appeared to Hunter to be quite relaxed.

"Thanks for coming at such short notice, Colin."

"No problem, sir," he replied, returning the smile.

"You're looking mighty fit, for an old timer, Colin."

"Thank you, sir, I hope to keep going for at least another three weeks."

The President laughed loudly and his aids felt forced to smile.

"Sit down please, gentlemen," said the President, pointing to the beautifully carved Sheraton style chairs around the table. After everyone was seated the President looked at Hunter and said, "It appears we have a problem, Colin. Yesterday, I entertained a delegation from the Christian Churches of America. Something that happens fairly regularly, you understand. This time, though, they pulled no punches, and their message to me was quite plain enough. They wanted reassurances that America was not wasting time and immoral amounts of money trying to disprove the Word of God. They knew about China and Sky Watch and put two and two together. They also quoted a figure of nine hundred million dollars that supposedly indicated the cost of Sky Watch. I didn't correct them. I assumed their assumption was that we would spend a similar amount. Obviously I didn't tell them our costs, especially when they thought nine-hundred-million was obscene."

The comment made Hunter smile and he began to relax.

The President continued. "They said, if we were doing the same thing, it was immoral and a destabilizing influence on the Christian Religions; the very keystones of our society, as they put it. If the American Government didn't believe in God the Creator, then what hope was there for world stability? Then if that wasn't bad enough their spokesman went off on some long drawn out sermon about what they could do with that amount of money, you know—good bloody causes, homes for the homeless, money for the poor, new churches, blah blah bloody blah."

"I presume you didn't admit to the project, sir?" enquired Hunter.

"Did I hell! I was economical with the truth, if you know what I mean. I played the whole thing down, indicating that it was normal practice and an integral part of American defense procedures to monitor the Universe for asteroids, meteors and all that crap. I think they swallowed it. I made no mention of M13 Colin, and I do not intend to allow the Church or our press to get their hands on it, especially not now that I've publicly denied it to the Christian Church. Hopefully, one day in the future when I've got revelations to announce to the World that will be of significant benefit to mankind; they will forgive me my little white lie. The Church has great power these days and they could make life very difficult for us, if they choose to." The President's voice was becoming forceful.

"Are you saying the project is abandoned, Mr President?"

"Hell no, Colin! The stakes are too high to stop now, and nobody holds the government to ransom, not even the Church." The comment brought a smile to the faces of the two presidential aides.

"We've invested billions of dollars in this project, knowing that there is intelligent life out there, and we, the US that is, will benefit from it. You've seen the freaks in the freezer, Colin."

"I understand your concerns, Mr President."

"I believe things are finally going well back in Houston, Colin?"

"Yes, sir, they are. We are analyzing data twenty-four hours a day,"

"What about Samuel Black?"

"Well, he appears to be controlling things very well."

"He's a risk to the whole operation," retorted the President, as Hunter sat in stunned silence.

"You should have acted by now, Colin, you know the rules." Hunter looked confused.

"Colin, I'm referring to his drug problem for Christ's sake," interjected the President before he could answer. Hunter froze; for once he was not prepared. Hunter suddenly felt vulnerable and hesitated before answering; realizing he had missed something vitally important he tried desperately to think clearly. "Mr President...I'm not aware of Samuel's drug problem. I have monitored his performance closely and to date I haven't been able to detect anything other than the highest professional standards from the man." It was Hunter after all who chose Samuel Black, along with the rest of the team.

Hunter continued. "There were problems at the beginning, admittedly, but the guy handled them well. He put pressure on Vicki Stark, sure, but that was his job. If I had suspected for one moment that he had a drug problem, he would have been removed from the team. It must be a recent thing sir, although, I must admit he is looking tired lately, but I've put that down to sheer hard work."

"Colin, are you blind? The security replays show the man has been snorting, drinking and masturbating to excess almost every night."

"What replays sir? I haven't seen any."

"Why not, that's what you're paid for isn't it?" interjected one of the aides. His face was angry and his eyes looked distant and cold.

Hunter looked at the President. "Sir, Black has marital status and doesn't live in the complex. It was decided months ago at the Pentagon meetings not to fit cameras in his home. Just the normal monitoring of his phone and email—that's all. My dictate clearly stated that I would have access, only if necessary, to the camera tapes of the living complex. Now you're telling me cameras were fitted in Black's house anyway, and I wasn't told." Hunter was retaliating and looked across at the man, next to the President, with obvious disdain.

Quickly the President responded. "It appears to me that it was a good thing they were, based on the facts don't you think?" Hunter didn't answer the question; the point had been won. The President looked across the table at the second aide.

"Is this documented, Joe?"

"I'm sure it must be, sir. Please let me look it up in the minutes of the Pentagon meetings."

"Make it quick," replied the President, in a very impatient tone. Hunter again visibly relaxed. Someone had briefed the President wrongly. That someone was sat next to him and in deep shit.The President had been embarrassed by misinformation. The official switched on his laptop and accessed the details of Project M13. A few moments later, he looked up.

"Sir, that's correct, a decision was taken not to fit cameras."

"It appears we owe you an apology, Colin," said the President.

Hunter looked humbled by the comment.

"The situation, however, remains the same. Samuel must go."

"He's a risk to the security of the whole project," said the man opposite Hunter.

"We cannot afford to have him on the team any longer and he knows too much now," said the other officer, sternly.

"Please resolve the situation immediately."

Hunter felt his stomach tighten, he was aware of what that meant. He looked at the President who nodded his approval.

"Of course," replied Hunter. "I understand."

"He's clearly got a problem and I want you to find out what it is. I just hope it's a domestic and nothing more serious. From now on Colin, I want McPherson in charge," said the President. "He has experience of leadership and he's a team player with respect from all the other members."

"Especially Vicki Stark," interrupted Joe.

"At least he isn't screwing up this goddam country," retorted the President, banging his fist on the table in anger.

By four o'clock Hunter had landed back at Houston International Airport. On arrival at the terminal he phoned Sam from his cellphone. He was there, waiting to pick him up. At precisely four-fifteen Hunter sat back in the rear seat of the Limo and took a deep breath.

"Looks like you had one hell of a day," Sam said, looking into the driver's mirror, trying to make eye contact with Hunter.

"Just get me home, Sam."

"Yes, sir, Mr Williams, sir!"

7

The weather in London was unusually cool for April, and the apartment windows were closed. The traffic in the West End was heavy and the noise filtered into the room like a dull drone.

Kim was on edge and found it difficult to rehearse the speech that had occupied her mind for the last three days. Taking a big slug of her gin and tonic she picked up the phone and dialed.

Samuel Black was pouring another bourbon when the phone rang. He slumped on the sofa before hitting the answer key on the videophone. Kim's face appeared on the screen, jolting his senses like a thunderbolt.

Her face showed no expression. "Samuel, I'm in London."

"London?..What the fuck are you doing in London?" he said, angrily.

"Please listen, this is not easy for me. I wish there were a better way than this but, Samuel." She paused and lowered her head. "I've decided to leave you. I know that you've taken over half a million dollars of my earnings out of the account in the last six months, without one word of explanation, and I guess you must be in some real trouble. It frightens me to think what you're involved with but I don't want to know, I just want out. Yesterday I quit the tour and I intend to make a new life in England... Samuel, this is goodbye." Kim's voice was broken; her hand covered her tearful eyes, before the call was abruptly ended from the other end.

"It had to be done, Kim," said a voice from the bedroom.

"I know, I know."

"Come back to bed, baby. I've worked out a way of making you feel better." Kim forced a smiled as she walked back into the bedroom.

"He was just using me, Tom."

"I know," replied the man, waiting patiently in her bed.

It was the weekend and on the East Side of Houston and the Paradise Club was alive with the usual Saturday night party people. Four of the stages were occupied with girls, tantalizing the audience with their provocative stage dances. Regulars to the club were walking up to the raised stages and lustfully slipping bundles of dollars into their favourite dancer's G strings.

Samuel Black took a seat in the centre of the club at an unoccupied table. A young waitress, wearing a low cut dress, approached his table, deliberately bending to show her bulging breasts, she asked him what he would like to drink.

"Give me a large bourbon on the rocks."

"Certainly, Mr Black—It's good to see you again."

"Is Mandy here tonight?" Black enquired.

"She is, but at the moment she's busy, if you know what I mean?"

"Tell her I want to buy her a drink will you?"

"And a table dance, maybe?" suggested the waitress, smiling

"Just tell her, will you." Samuel's voice was agitated.

"Sure thing," the waitress said, respectfully.

"Bring me a pack of cigarettes too."

"Straight away, sir."

One of the table dancers had noticed Samuel sitting alone, and made her way to his table.

"Hi gorgeous, got time for a table dance with me?"

"Fuck off!" was the angry reply from Black.

The girl knew when to work a client and this was not the time. Walking away she was already scanning the other tables for her next client willing to pay for the privilege of having her huge silicon breasts pushed into his face as she danced around his chair.

Samuel watched as a guy on the opposite table fondled his young nubile dancer. His hand had quickly moved up her inner thigh and he was trying to finger her. She lifted her dress so that her lower body was in full view, as she wiggled her ass in mock enjoyment.

Samuel's drink arrived, along with a pack of cigarettes already opened together with a complimentary Paradise Club lighter. He picked up the glass and downed the drink in one. "Same again!" The hostess picked up his glass and walked back to the bar. "Mother fucker." she said quietly, to herself.

He took a cigarette and lit it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. He'd never smoked in his life and the nicotine spun his already erratic senses, for a moment he felt he would vomit and perspiration gathered on his face. He had been told by Hunter not to report for work on Monday.

Taking his cellphone from his inside pocket he dialed a San Francisco number. There was a pause, then.

"Tom Hudson, speaking."

"It's Black, here."

"Samuel...It's been a long time, how are you, Buddy?"

"Don't Buddy me—just shut the fuck up and listen, you slime-ball."

Some minutes later Black looked up to see a young girl walking towards his table.

"Well, well—If it isn't Samuel."

"What time are you finishing here?" he enquired, switching off the cellphone and throwing it onto an empty chair.

"Nothing like being direct Samuel. What have you got in mind?"

"Motel for the night... What's your price?"

"For you baby, two-thousand bucks."

"Now!"

"All right baby, but then it's four-thousand. I've got a living to make you know."

"Sure, let's go," he said as he grabbed her hand and walked to the exit.

Samuel turned the Jeep into the hotel parking lot on the corner of Westheimer and Richmond. The hotel had been booked and paid for during the drive from the club. Two bottles of bourbon, ice and a large plate of nachos were also ordered. Samuel picked up the room key from the reception desk while Mandy slowly walked to the elevators, holding the doors open for Samuel she watched him slowly walk towards her. He entered the elevator and pushed the button for level eight.

Mandy could sense there was something bothering Samuel by his abrupt manner. Nothing a good fuck won't cure, she thought to herself, as the elevator ascended.

Room 812 was one of the larger rooms the hotel offered. It was tastefully decorated with two cream leather sofas; glass topped coffee tables, drinks cabinet, two king-size beds and an en-suite bathroom. On one of the tables the bourbon and ice was waiting, on the other the nachos, covered with a silver lid.

"I'm going to take a shower honey," said Mandy, unzipping the back of her dress as she entered the bathroom. Samuel made straight for the bourbon. He stared blankly at the wall as he poured himself a very large drink. He was losing his mind. Not one word of Mandy's continuous chatter on the drive to the hotel had broken through his thoughts. The sound of the shower and Mandy's voice calling for a drink also went unnoticed.

She was young, twenty-three-years-old and saving most of the money she earned from the game to pay for a college education she desperately wanted. With a four-year-old child she needed respectability and a secure job. Only an education could give her that. The father of her child had left town before the birth. Her religious parents had disowned her, at a time when family morals were an American preoccupation. Her short fair hair, blue eyes and 37-24-36 frame guaranteed her work seven days a week, but Mandy never worked Sundays, that was a day for taking her son to the park.

"You seem a little tense tonight?" she said, returning to the room completely naked. "I think you're in need of some expert head."

"I want it all."

"Around the world?"

"Yeah."

She moved over to him and removed his belt and shoes before unzipping his pants and pulling them down. His eyes closed as she took his swollen penis in her mouth and expertly sucked it, eventually taking its full length as saliva dripped from her mouth. At the club she had built up a reputation as a 'head queen' and consistently earned three-thousand dollars a night. Within six months she would have enough money to pay for her college education, outright.

"I want to fuck your ass," he said, breathing deeply.

"On the bed," she replied in a sultry voice.

"One hole down, two to go." Mandy joked, trying to calm the tense atmosphere, but her comment went unnoticed.

Getting onto the bed on her hands and knees she looked around at Samuel. "Having trouble raising it?"

His penis had become flaccid. "Shut your mouth, bitch," he retorted, with anger in his voice.

"Okay, take it easy. I'll have it as hard as rock in no time." Mandy turned onto her back, exposing a small tattoo of a cat on her shaven mound. "Eat my pussy now, it tastes so sweet."

He stared at her for some time before lowering himself to kiss her breasts. She closed her eyes and began moaning gently, as if she was enjoying it. He began biting her left nipple, tenderly at first but gradually the bites became more forceful. Her face contorted with pain. Before she could call out, his hand had closed over her mouth. He was biting with a rage escaping from within. His mouth began to taste her warm blood and his teeth ripped the nipple from her breast. Blood poured over her young white skin, covering her chest. Samuel spat the nipple into her face. Shaking her head violently to one side she freed her mouth, desperately needing to breathe. Her eyes were filled with fear, and the pain was excruciating."YOU CRAZY BASTARD...YOU CRAZY BASTARD," she shouted, hysterically.

Grabbing her neck he immediately tightened his grip, abruptly stopping her cries. Her face was racked with panic and her eyes became bulbous. He felt immense strength in his hands and his mind was swirling, out of control. This was not Samuel; this was a ruthless maniac.

"Die you stinking bitch. I want you to die." His face was red with anger as he slowly squeezed the life out of her young body. Her lips had turned blue and her eyes had partially closed. He began shaking her head violently backwards and forwards and her blood covered his face in long splashes. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, he stopped and looked at her purple contorted face and staring red eyes. Her tongue hung loosely from her mouth and her head dropped forward lifelessly. As if caring, he gently lowered her limp body onto the bed.

Samuel's trembling hand lifted the receiver, "Room service?"

"Yes sir, how can I help you?"

"I want a maid to change the bed sheets."

"Straight away, sir."

"No, not now, in two hours, please. In two hours time."

"Of course, sir."

Samuel replaced the receiver and walked to the bathroom. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably. After turning on the bath taps, he removed his bloodstained shirt, throwing it to the floor. His eyes were staring and unfocussed and in his hand was a penknife.

Still shaking uncontrollably, he lowered himself into the filling bath. His hand moved to his neck, feeling for the vein that visibly pulsed. With one sideways slash the sharp blade cut deep into his neck, severing his jugular. Long spurts of blood hit the wall tiles and ran down into the bath turning the water bright red. Another slash severed the ligaments and veins in his left wrist. With his right hand he turned the taps off and dropped the knife into the bath. Slowly, with staring de-focussed eyes he lowered himself into the blood. His paling face showed no pain or emotion, he knew his torment would soon be over.

Hunter felt sick as he picked up the phone. He dialed a number and waited for the voice at the other end.

"Yeah," came the response.

"Black has to go."

"When?"

"Tonight, from his place."

"Yeah—Okay."

Replacing the receiver, he walked to the bathroom. He leaned into the toilet and spewed the contents of his stomach into the white enamel bowl.

Hunter was awakened by the phone at four-twenty. The man's voice was tense and erratic.

"Well?" enquired Hunter.

"Black's body has been found in a Houston hotel room. He committed suicide a few hours ago."

"Okay."

"No, it's not okay, the suicide was genuine."

"Oh fuck! Did he talk?"

"We've checked his outgoing calls, including his cellphone and network mail. It's all clear. There's no reason to suspect he blabbed. The reason for his suicide appears to be his wife, phoning to say she was leaving him, to live in England."

"When was this?" Hunter's voice was agitated.

"The call was logged at 19:04 last night. After your call, we went straight to his place but Black was already out. We waited there for him to return, unaware he was picking up some hooker at the Paradise Club."

"What happened?"

"He took her to a hotel room off Westheimer and Richmond, strangled her and then cut his throat in the bath."

"Who found them?"

"Room service. One of our boys has checked the police report; there was no suicide note and no suspicious circumstances. The room was clean, apart from the blood I mean."

"Save it, you asshole. What about the Coroner's report?"

"It'll read suicide for Black, murder one for the whore."

"Can't we keep the girl out of this?"

"No way. The press were there in minutes and both bodies were removed in full view of the cameras."

"Fuck! This is the last thing we want. A suicide, maybe but, not a murder as well. Okay, I'll prepare the press statement for the morning," said Hunter, replacing the receiver.

In a strange way, Hunter felt some relief. He wasn't responsible for Samuel's death and there was no reason for Samuel to blab, but the unexpected events of last night disturbed him.

The following hours before dawn seemed to last forever. Hunter had downed numerous cups of strong black coffee trying to keep his mind focused on the events of the day ahead. He had decided to make a conference connect call with the team members at precisely six-thirty. This would mean that he could break the news to all of the team at the same time and remind them of the necessity to say nothing. The press statement about Samuel Black would be low key and a complete fabrication of the truth.

It was now eight-thirty and Hunter looked very tired, but still managed to greet each member of the team as they entered the conference room. The normal conversations and chit-chat that preceded a meeting were missing and the room was in silence. When everyone was seated he stood up.

For a moment Hunter said nothing, his head was down and his hands supported his upper body weight on the table. Slowly raising his head he began. "This is a sad day ladies and gentlemen... We have lost a very fine man in what seems like unbelievable circumstances. I do not intend to go through the events of last night again, our conference talk this morning should have explained all of that, as best we can, with the information currently available to us. I know that Samuel will be sadly missed by all of us. It....It seems such a waste of lives. I for one didn't suspect that he had a problem, especially one that would eventually drive him to suicide. Did any of you suspect anything?"

Looking at each other for reassurance, the team all answered no to the question.

Hunter continued:

"Obviously, under the circumstances, there will be a post-mortem but as soon as we have a date for the burial I will let you all know. I presume each of you will want to pay your last respects? The M13 project, however, must go on and I'm sure that would have been Samuel's wish too." Everyone nodded in agreement. "I have decided that Rob will take over as Project Manager." The first smiles of the day convinced Hunter that the choice was correct. McPherson had been approached by Hunter before the meeting and was expecting the announcement. The team's approval and the congratulations that followed delighted him. Vicki managed to catch his glance and winked her approval. She knew he was the right choice. He had the experience and respect of everyone, especially her.

By eleven o'clock a list of the twenty-six girls, working at the Paradise Club the night before, had been given to government investigating offices. Most of the girls were sleeping when they were knocked up to answer questions, something guaranteed to upset any women of the night. Most of them had little to tell about what they saw, not because they were holding back information, after all it was one of them that had been killed, but simply because they hadn't seen anything out of the norm.

The majority of the statements mentioned that Samuel looked agitated and nervous and six girls had noticed that Mandy had left with Samuel. Four girls had still to be interviewed and were not contactable that day. One was the girl who had brought Samuel his cigarettes.

During the afternoon, Hunter had studied the available statements in great detail. "Call Inspecting Officer Wayne to my office," demanded Hunter abruptly into the phone.

"Of course, sir," replied Linda, speaking into the videophone from her office near by. Within minutes Wayne was sitting in front of Hunter listening to his instructions intently.

"I want you to find the girls that haven't been interviewed yet."

"We've tried to sir."

"That's not good enough, someone knows where they are. I want twenty-six statements in front of me by tomorrow morning at the latest. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," replied Wayne. He was a senior officer who had worked for Hunter on many occasions. Although Hunter was often abrupt and forceful, Wayne respected him for it. He trusted the man and knew that the pressure he was under was enough to kill off most men half his age.

"I'll do my best sir."

"Good. I want to know everything Samuel said and did that night at the club. Find out who served him drinks. Who pushed their tits into his face. Everything... It's important. Interview them all again if you have to."

"Yes, sir," responded Wayne, in military fashion.

Back at the Ellington Building McPherson had entered the main control room some minutes after midday and was busy running data through the system that had been gathered on the third day of listening. During one of the runs the software flagged a pattern repetition alarm.

McPherson called to Yuri who was sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room. "Yuri, I have something that might be interesting." Yuri immediately walked over to McPherson"s terminal.

"What are they saying?" asked Yuri, jokingly.

McPherson smiled at his comment. "I have a pattern match to level 5, on day three data."

"Is that significant?" enquired Yuri.

"It may be, but I need to run it through a second filter before I can answer that. The problem is that the signals are extremely weak." Within seconds the terminal had flashed a message saying: "Pattern indeterminate at level two."

"There's your answer, Yuri," said McPherson, smiling.

"Well, at least the software's working."

"I always knew it would," responded McPherson, in a confident manner. "If we can get to level three filter and still have a pattern then we can categorize the sample into its respective bin."

"Let's hope it's Bin 10, Rob."

"Yeah, now that would be something to get excited about...When the Gods answer."

Wayne had driven to the Paradise Club and parked up in a place reserved for Gold Card members. He watched through the driver's window as the day staff left the building and the evening staff arrived. The indicators on his automobile flashed as he pressed the key fob as he walked to the club entrance.

As he entered the main door he was approached by a tall heavily set man in a dinner suite.

"Get me the manager," said Wayne, abruptly.

"You're out of luck, buddy, he's not here, so clear off." Removing his identity card he flashed it under his nose. "Just get him—asshole."

Within minutes he was ushered into an office accessed from a lift near the main entrance. The door to the office opened as Wayne approached and he was greeted by the manager who smiled and held out his hand as Wayne walked in.

"Good evening, I'm Richie, manager here at the Paradise Club. Please come in and sit down, officer," he said, pointing to a seat in front of his highly polished leather clad desk in the corner of the room.

Wayne obliged. Looking around the room he noticed the framed photos of naked girls hanging on the walls.

"My bread and butter. Hope you don't find it too distracting?"

Wayne responded with just a smile.

"May I please see your ID, Officer?" Wayne again flashed his ID card for him to inspect.

"Thanks, Officer Wayne, only you get some real nut-cases in this business and it's uh... always good to know who you're talking to." The deep scar that crossed his right eye and continued on down his cheek was testimony to that. "What a bloody tragedy, that murder last night. She was one of my best girls you know. I only wish I'd got to him before he cut his own throat. My girls are upset. Could have been any one of them. The bastard!"

"I need to talk to some of them," said Wayne, with no sign of emotion in his voice.

"What, now?"

"Yeah, now."

"But, they're working."

"I want to talk to Linda McCall, Cathy Stranks, Jane Montanna and Kate Hudson...Now."

"Okay, okay. I'll do what I can."

Vicki was sitting in her office thinking about the events of the last few weeks. How Samuel had pushed her to the limit at times. How, at other times he had been so sweet to her. She had not noticed any obvious signs that would have indicated that the man had had a problem. He had often looked tired and stressful, often shouted at her, but that was normal for someone running a project of such importance, especially when things were not going to plan. There was no doubt though, she would miss him. Samuel had never expressed his feelings towards her and Vicki would never know just how much he had lusted after her and masturbated watching her making love to McPherson. She would never know that Samuel had decided to kill himself before the call from his wife in London.

Hunter's videophone buzzed and Linda's face appeared on the screen. "Yes, what is it Linda?"

"Officer Wayne is in the building sir. He needs to see you urgently."

"Send him up immediately and arrange for some coffee, please Linda."

"Yes, sir."

Soon, both Wayne and the coffee had arrived at Hunter's office.

"Well, do you have anything for me?" Hunter asked, inquiringly.

"I believe I do sir. Last night Samuel was served by a girl called Cathy Stranks. She said that he ordered cigarettes and made a call on his cellphone."

"Have you checked out the call?"

"The call was made to a number in San Francisco," answered Wayne.

"Who was it to?"

"To a Tom Hudson — Editor of the San Francisco Herald."

"Fuck! That probably means he's told him everything."

"Get your ass down there as fast as you can and don't let him out of your sight. Find out exactly what he knows, and if you have to wipe him out, don't hesitate. We can't afford any leaks; do you understand?"

"Of course sir," replied Wayne, totally pissed with the idea. His promise of a session from his girl friend would just have to wait another few days.

"Take some medicine with you, just in case you need it," said Hunter, in a cold uncaring tone.

"Yes, sir." Wayne had never used 'medicine' in the past, always relying on the more conventional methods of killing. This stuff was a new designer drug, straight out of the establishment's laboratories. The drug left no detectable trace in the blood and its effect was to induce a brain haemorrhage. The victim suffered severe permanent brain damage and became a 'vegetable.' Death was never instant, but guaranteed within a matter of hours.

Officer Wayne had wasted no time in traveling to San Francisco. As an expert investigator and ex-soldier, he was comfortable with this kind of mission. Having picked up a hire car at the airport he made the short drive to the city. Approaching on the 101, he'd decided to stay at the Hyatt Regency near the Ferry Building at Pier 1. The weather was looking good and a round of golf at the Prestidio Course near the Golden Gate Bridge was a definite if he was to relax after killing Hudson.

Because of its elevated position, Tom Hudson's apartment on Laguna had panoramic views of the Bay. To the right was the Bay Bridge and to the left was the famous Golden Gate Bridge, directly ahead in the bay was Alcatraz. Below on the shoreline was the San Francisco Yacht Club where Hudson's thirty-foot cabin cruiser was moored. Today the view across the bay to Alameda and San Leandro was clear and the blue sea looked calm and still, not always the case in this temperamental coastal city climate, so very different to sultry Houston.

"Nice place," said Wayne, to himself, out loud, admiring the view out of Tom Hudson"s lounge window. Looking back into the room he noticed the splendid antiques and original oil paintings that adorned the living room and study. The place stank of opulence. Wayne had stopped for a brief moment to look at a photo of Hudson and his two children that was positioned on the splendid Italian marble fireplace. Next to it he noticed a photo of Hudson and Samuel Black, both holding up a prize fish next to what was, presumably, Hudson"s cruiser. A good-looking man with a strong chin and heavy dark moustache, Hudson was a keen fisherman.

Wayne had easily broken into the apartment leaving no sign of damage. As he passed by the main bedroom he noticed his own reflection in a mirror on the wall, six feet one and of slim build with very short cropped hair he prided himself on his tough, army soldier, image. He opened his mouth and checked his teeth and tongue in the mirror before sitting down on the plush carpet next to a data plug on the wall.

Fifteen minutes later he was back in his hotel room. It was a top rated hotel and the rooms were luxurious but still sparse in comparison to the opulence of Hudson"s place. Switching on his laptop he sat down to check out the contents of Hudson"s hard drive but a detailed search routine for words and comments revealed no reference to 'M13' or the people involved in the project. Wayne wondered if Hudson had actually received anything at all from Black.

A check of Hudson's schedule revealed that he had booked a table for two at a sea front restaurant called Chez Michel's in Fisherman's Wharf for this very evening, at eight forty-five. Seconds later he was viewing the restaurant section of the computer menu. It showed Chez Michel's as having three tables vacant. Wayne booked a table for eight-thirty, set a wake up call on the computer alarm for six-thirty, lay on the bed, and fell asleep.

Chez Michel's was busy when he arrived and the atmosphere was relaxed and noisy from the buzz of conversation and laughter. Waiters were busy scurrying around serving cocktails to the clients, mostly from the journalistic fraternity. Discussions about tomorrow's headlines, politics, scandals and news breaks were commonplace. It was the place to be seen if you were involved in journalism.

Wayne was enjoying his first course of garlic pate when Tom Hudson and a female companion entered the restaurant. Both were smiling and looked relaxed as a waiter showed them to their table, some distance from Wayne. Hudson was carrying a large brown envelope, which he placed on the table next to him. The small microphone placed under their table by Wayne, earlier, was working well and his earpiece was picking up every noise.

"I'm glad you could make it, Susan, especially at such short notice."

"Well, I tell you, it almost cost me a divorce, Tom. If you can drive me home by eleven o'clock, I think my marriage just might survive. I hope it's as red hot as you indicated over the phone."

"Oh, it's red hot baby, believe me." Hudson gently pushed the chair in behind her as she took her place at the table facing Wayne.

"Did you enjoy your trip to London, Tom?"

"Yes, I did thank you."

"Business or pleasure this time?"

"Pure pleasure this time, Susan—pure pleasure," replied Hudson with a wide smile. "And, something I intend to do more often in the future."

"Anyone I know, Tom?" Susan enquired with an inquisitive look.

"A golfing colleague, no one special my dear," retorted Hudson, playing the whole thing down. "Anyway, enough of that, let's talk business."

"What is it, Tom?"

"Hi guys," interjected a young waiter. "May I get you some cocktails before your meal?"

"Yeah. What will you take, Susan?" Enquired Hudson.

"I'll have a Baby Boomer please."

"I'll have a mineral water," Hudson said, smiling.

"One Baby Boomer, one mineral water coming right up," replied the waiter.

After the waiter had moved off, Hudson threw a brown envelope across the table to Susan.

"Read this," he said, in an excited tone.

Susan removed the document from the envelope and started to read. Hudson watched her as she speed-read the individual pages in a matter of seconds. She was wearing a black evening dress and a gold necklace. Her hair, as black as her dress, was cut short in a bob style and she looked much younger than her age. Her glossy red lipstick contrasted with her pale complexion, consciously cultured by avoiding direct sunlight for many years, partly because of her vanity to remain youthful looking but mainly prompted by her fathers death from skin cancer, some fifteen years before.

She looked up. "This has to be real, Tom, there's too much detail to doubt it."

"That's what I thought."

"So where did it come from?"

"I was given it by someone on the inside," said Hudson quietly.

"Why?"

"Guilty conscience." Hudson couldn't tell her the real truth of how he had blackmailed Samuel Black for the last ten years and how he had destroyed his life. Hudson felt no guilt when he told Black's wife on his recent trip to London, that he loved her and wanted to be with her always. Kim was blissfully unaware that Samuel had been destroyed by this evil man and that his wealth was partly due to her circuit winnings. She thought of him as her caring and attentive lover.

Susan continued to read as the waiter returned with the two drinks and placed them in the middle of the table.

"You guys ready to order?"

"Not yet buddy—I'll call you when we want to eat."

"Sure thing, sir."

"Holy Shit, Tom! What the hell are you gonna do with this stuff?" commented Susan without looking up.

"That's why I asked you here tonight...I don't know yet." Hudson picked up his mineral water and took a large slug.

"Tom... this contains details of presidential correspondence."

"Oh I know baby! There is also a denial, by the President, to a High Church delegation that project M13 exists."

"But what does it all mean?"

"The document states that this is the first real attempt to listen to the Universe and, apparently, the chances of making contact or hearing conversation are extremely high. Imagine if the world is told that out there, somewhere in the vastness of space, are other people similar to us but much more advanced. And there is proof, lying in a fucking fridge in Washington! They know the answers to the Universe and they know that God doesn't exist. The world isn't ready for that my dear. But what's more important right now is this document. Take a look at the cost details on page thirty-four." Susan turned to the page to scrutinize the figures Samuel had methodically listed out.

"My God!"

"The President has denied the existence of this project to the High Church. With this information we can bring the government to its knees. Can you imagine the headlines? 'President lies about secret space project to Church Leaders'. If he's prepared to lie to them, how can he be trusted to run the country?"

"So what do we do about it?"

"I want to go to print, I want to expose the lies and the cost to the taxpayer of this multi-billion-dollar telephone to the stars. I'd like to see them circumvent this little baby."

"Shit! This is dangerous stuff, Tom."

"Maybe, but this little lot is my fortune. It's the break I've been waiting for all my life... That's a copy, the originals are in my bank. If anything happens to me I have left instructions at the bank giving you sole access to the deposit box."

The thought of getting involved frightened Susan. Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her hand trembled as she reached for her drink.

Every word was being recorded by the small digital recorder in Wayne's jacket pocket...Hudson had just signed his own death sentence. Wayne would need to keep an eye on the woman, but for the moment he didn't consider her to be a threat.

"Are you ready to eat now?"

"I'm not sure I can; my stomach is doing somersaults."

"I'm sorry, but as Assistant Editor, I value your opinion, Susan."

"I think we ought to think this thing through before we do anything," she replied with real concern on her face.

"I agree, so let's eat," replied Hudson, with real enthusiasm in his voice and waving to the waiter.

8

The morning sun felt warm on the mourner's backs and it cast long distorted shadows that reached towards the open grave. The sound of gentle sobbing from Samuel Black's family broke through the silence of the still morning. Vicki Stark's eyes were tearful as the oak coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. McPherson was holding her hand and she felt him gently squeeze it in a way that offered her some comfort. A few feet in front of them Kim Black stood at the graveside alone, perfectly still, her head was lowered and her face showed no emotion.

The autopsy results had revealed that Samuel had bled to death from the severe lacerations to his neck and wrist. No mention was made of his damaged tormented mind. It would be another week before Kim finally understood why Samuel had done such a terrible thing.

Soon, the body of his young victim would be laid to rest in the same cemetery and her child would grow up not remembering the love of his mother, the inextricable love which bonds two people of the same flesh together. The victims young son would never remember his visits to the park with his mum, the hugs she gave him that meant I love you so, or the tears in his mother's eyes as she drove him to school on his first day.

Standing in silence behind McPherson and Vicki were Yuri Klyushin, Jerzy Rozanski, Walter Rottenburg, Hunter and Raymond Strong Jnr. In the distance a powerful zoom lens focussed on each of the team in turn and a motorized SLR shutter clicked as their solemn images were digitally recorded.

The exterior of the old red-brick warehouse overlooking Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco had remained much the same for over forty years, but inside, smoke from large, white altar candles drifted slowly upwards to fill the high-rafted ceiling of the long room. Beams of light from a circular window that faced the bay cut through the rising smoke to reach the white stone altar that stood on a raised stone platform on the far wall. The smell of incense filled the air and a feeling of peach and calmness resided. The flickering table candles illuminated the twelve faces of the men known as the 'Children of Jesus.'

Responsible for the deaths of fourteen sinners in the last eight years, they were still operating freely, completely unsuspected of their terrible deeds. Now though, Christ had decreed that they were the 'New Disciples,' and had commanded them to cleanse the world of all evil and corruption, in preparation for the Second Coming.

At the head of a long, slatted table sat the leader of the group, a very tall man with a rounded face, white receding hair and full white beard. He wore a white robe and around his neck hung a silver chain and crucifix that carried a silver cast of Christ nailed to the cross. The other members, also dressed in white robes, were seated around the table.

Slowly, the tall, white figure of their leader arose from his seat. With outstretched hands he began the blessing of his followers, saying;

"Children of Jesus, the Lord loves you and cares for you and bestows upon you the strength of the Holy Spirit, so that the word of the Lord may be passed on by you. He is the Light, He is the Way. Trust in the Lord, for one day He will be your salvation... Amen."

"Amen," replied the others, making the sign of the cross on their chests.

"Today," he paused before continuing, "today, is the first day of a new beginning for the Children of Jesus." The slow, deep voice of their leader was already beginning to intoxicate them. "The Lord has sent us a message, through our good friend Tom Hudson. The Lord wants us to stop an evil, an evil within this great country of ours called Project M13. The misguided sinners are there for all to see."

He gestured to the set of photographs in the middle of the table.

"These people are evil and it is God's will that we, the Children of Jesus eliminate them for they truly are sinners. God has given us the details of their misguided task; the fools are listening to the Universe because they think there are others out there that want to talk to us; others that want to tell us the truth about God and how he is a manifestation from the mind of man. Let them not forget; In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth. We were created in his own image. The Book of Genesis tells us these things...They say it is a time to listen; and they are right, it is a time to listen, but not to a dark, void firmament. It is the time to listen to God's word." His raised voice echoed in the cavernous expanse of the room.

"Amen," came the response from his followers, excited by his emotional sermon. Silently and without emotion, Richard Stark, stared down at the table and the photograph of his sister.

Vicki was enjoying the warm sun on her face but knew she could only allow herself thirty minutes, even with the high factor sunscreen, lovingly applied by McPherson. The fresh sea air of Galveston, facing the Gulf of Mexico, reminded her of Monterey in California and the family visits to the beach. How her brother would tease her and run through the sand castles so carefully made by her and her sister, Emma. Richard always took her dolls and threatened to throw them to the sharks that waited just below the water at the shoreline, eager to eat dolls offered to them by horrid boys.

"For God's sake, Richard, leave her alone. You won't stop until she cries will you." Vicki remembered her father's voice shouting in despair as Richard ran off up the beach, only to plan another attack.

"Just ignore him, Vicki, dear," was her mother's calm response.

"One day I'm going to kill him, Mummy. He's such a horrid child, I hate him."

"Don't say things like that, Vicki, it's not nice. One day when you're a lot older you'll realize that Richard has grown up and as your elder brother he will be there when you need him, to care for you and protect you, just like your father does now."

"Not if I kill him first."

"Stop that kind of talk young girl."

McPherson looked at Vicki as she lay next to him on the beach. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful.

"Are you asleep, Darling?"

"Umm, no, I was day dreaming."

"Anything nice?"

"Monterey."

"Why Monterey?"

"Oh... the beach, the sea air, the gulls. It took me back to my visits to the beach when I was a child."

"Fond memories?"

"Oh yeah... I was lucky. I had a good childhood. Even now we are still a close family. You must meet them all soon. I want to show you off to them, Rob." Vicki smiled at McPherson and gently stroked his face. McPherson moved towards her and kissed her gently. Her lips felt soft and warm.

"I love you,Vicki."

"I love you too, Rob."

Tom Hudson drove his new 5 Series BMW convertible out of the underground garage and headed for Market, one of many streets in the city that ran down to the sea and to the Embarcadero, the road that followed the shoreline around to Fisherman's Wharf. Waiting anxiously there for him was the leader of the Children of Jesus.

The evening was pleasantly warm and the Embarcadero was still busy with tourists.

Driving past Pier 39, Hudson noticed Richard Stark's forty-seater passenger boat moored up, having completed the last of its ten trips to Alcatraz for the day.

Alcatraz in Spanish means, Pelican, and it was originally built as a prison in the Civil War and remained so until 1963 when it was eventually closed. The island fortress housed some of America's most notorious criminals. During Alcatraz's history there were many recorded attempts at escape but no firm evidence that any succeeded. But, now it was a popular tourist attraction with hundreds of families taking the forty-minute boat trip around the island and back again; the trip that was Richard Stark's living.

Ten years on and he still owed money to the bank for the original loan to buy the boat because most of his earnings had gone to his church where he was a Disciple.

Hudson was excited about the money he was about to receive from the religious freaks at Fisherman's Wharf. They were prepared to pay big money for the details about M13 that Samuel Black had given him in a desperate attempt to stop the blackmail. It was to have been the final payoff but Hudson's greed was insatiable, and the threats continued, until Black could take no more.

How fortunate, thought Hudson, that Black had a desire for young girls; the younger the better, as he often boasted in the company of his closest friends all those years ago. Being able to screw Black's beautiful, celebrity wife was an added bonus that brought a smile to Hudson's face as he drove along the seafront.

He still had vivid memories of the events the night the girl died. Samuel had laced her drinks with drugs so that he could fuck her. The desire for young girls was a driving force within Samuel Black and Hudson was the man to supply his needs. But, it went so horribly wrong that fatal night in Hudson's room when her body reacted to the cocktail of aphrodisiacs. He remembered her staring eyes, as she lay naked and motionless on the floor. Her perfect teenage body, limp and lifeless and Black staring down at her in sheer panic.

Her body was never found and Hudson was now the only person who knew where her remains were. Her death had made him rich over the years and there was more to come.

Cold and calculating, he often frequented parties and got to know the dead girl's parents. He was aware of the torment in their souls for their missing daughter; not knowing if she was alive or dead, but he didn't care. Guilt and sympathy were not emotions Hudson understood.

He was now approaching the church and parked up some fifty-yards away. Looking into the rear view mirror he ran his fingers through his dark hair and checked his bleached teeth. Walking the short distance to the large wooden doors he took in the fresh sea air and felt invigorated. Tonight he would be fifty-thousand dollars richer and all in dollar bills, a very good reason to party.

Outside the church Adam Domaradzki waited to greet Hudson.

"Good morning, Adam," Hudson said, smiling broadly.

"Great to see you, Tom," Domaradzki responded, shaking hands with his visitor. "Please come in."

Inside, Hudson was shown into a small office that consisted of a wooden desk and swivel chair and a single filing cabinet. The walls were plain white and a crucifix hung on the wall behind the desk.

Domaradzki stood in front of the desk and turned to face Hudson. "I believe you have something of great interest to our church?"

"Oh yes, of great interest, Adam, I can assure you of that."

Hudson pulled a brown envelope from under his coat and dropped it onto the desk. Domaradzki walked around to the desk and sat down. Slowly he opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. For a few minutes he sat in silence, eagerly reading the information Hudson had carefully prepared. Finally he looked up with a broad smile. "It's better than you described over the phone. I have the money in hundred dollar bills as promised."

Within an hour Hudson had returned to his apartment. The notes strewn over the coffee table like loose playing cards. Hudson was sitting in his favourite chair and sipping a glass of expensive Cognac. A satisfied smile on his tanned face quickly changed to one of shock and fear as he saw the stranger in the room pointing a gun at his head.

"Who the fuck are y—?" Hudson never finished asking the question.

The first bullet from Wayne's gun entered Hudson's right eye and exited the back of his head, taking most of his brains with it. Hudson slumped in the seat. Officer Wayne fired another round into his chest then quickly unscrewed the silencer from the gun, gathered his belongings and quietly left the building.

McPherson felt refreshed after the weekend break. Galveston was a good idea and the fresh sea air had brought back a healthy complexion to his face. He felt invigorated and his senses were sharp again. Looking across the control room he could see Raymond Strong Junior at the far end in deep discussion with Hunter. He thought about the time ten years before, when he and Raymond had worked together on a strange incident in Cleveland, Ohio. They were both young then, but still they had seen things that most people would find hard to believe. He remembered the farm and the long dusty dirt track that led up to the big ram shackled family home desperately in need of renovation after years of neglect.

Police were already all over the house when he parked his Jeep next to Raymond's truck. In the yard a child's toy lay in the dust and chickens pecked at the soil for the remains of last-night's feed. It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky. McPherson remembered looking up at the old wooden building through the windscreen and taking a deep breath. Hesitantly he'd opened the door and slipped out of the cool driver's seat to feel the warm evening air impregnated with the smell of chicken shit. A young police officer quickly approached him and McPherson flipped open his FBI identity card and walked unopposed toward the entrance porch. The flashing police car lights colored the walls of the house as the front door opened and a voice said, "Hi Rob, good to see you again."

"Good to see you, Raymond," responded McPherson, as they shook hands. "So what have you got for me?"

"It's a strange one all right, a family of six and their two dogs have vanished off the face of the Earth. Nothing strange about that, I hear you say, but in the upstairs bedroom one of the kids had left a tape recorder playing. The whole thing happened last night about 11:30 p.m. We know this from the fact that the tape picked up the sound of the TV playing down stairs."

"So what happened?"

"We're not sure, but something or someone entered the house and caused the adults to panic. Gunshots were fired at whatever it was, but there was no sign of blood anywhere in the house or the surrounding area. Clearly, the whole family was forced to leave against their will. I think you should come in and listen to the tape, Rob. It's got some strange sounds on it that just freaks me out. We need you to analyze it but I must warn you Rob, the whole thing is quite distressing."

McPherson analyzed the audiotape for two months. Fourier frequency analysis and spectral pattern recognition using the latest digital techniques allowed McPherson to study the noises but all drew a blank on what happened that night. The children's voices could be heard shouting in the chaos. One child could be heard shouting "Who are they, Mummy? They look strange." The family was never seen again.

It was now over a week since Kim had buried her husband. She was sitting on the very veranda that Samuel loved so much. The strain of recent events showed on her taut face and dark rings surrounded her eyes. Her normally relaxed body felt stiff and sore. The house had been put up for sale and tomorrow she would return to England to start a new life whilst her agent would deal with the legalities of the sale. Her frustration was heightened because Tom was not returning her calls and she wanted desperately to see him before she left. Kim lowered her head and looked at the book of poems and prose in her hands as she flicked the pages aimlessly, one caught her attention, she read:

The Meeting

It was the daily meeting, between unrelenting pain, and the dawn,

Escorted always by the ever punctual cold and uncaring night.

Bodies stirred, stiff, but still connected to their souls,

So much in need of peace.

The clouds selfishly absorb the warm sun

And cleverly mimic the dirty grey streets below.

No better alarm clock, than a city awakening

To the demands of another working day.

Yet for the cold, lifeless bodies, the sound of the morning call never comes.

The colourful reflections on the multitude of polished leather shoes quickly change; as they scurry to their destinations.

Children skipping and playing

With energy to spare,

Catch it; hold it, feel it.

Women; sweet smelling, elegant and clean,

Sparking memories of a life, long gone.

Memories, fading quickly,

Traded for the needle's escape.

Transported by the rising steam from the street drain,

Pushed high into the sky.

Grim expressions hold back the stench of stomachs

Destroyed by cheap dreams.

The heavy burden waits patiently, holding the balance still,

Knowing that life, the pitiful opponent, is weakening with every meeting.

Kim felt a sudden feeling of sadness overcome her and thought of Samuel and the despair he must have felt at the end. She looked back into the lounge at the white envelope on the table addressed quite simply to My wife. She had found it in the place where they always left messages to each other, a white china teapot in the kitchen. When the police had questioned her about the deaths, she didn't mention the note. Scared to open it, she had put it to the back of her mind. He was alive when he wrote it and his mind was probably disturbed. Did she really want to know his manic thoughts, would it reveal the reasons for the pointless deaths; did she care enough to want to know? Did he blame her; was she the reason for his suicide?

Her eyes again wandered to the envelope. If she were to open it she would first need a large gin. Standing up, she dropped the book of poems and slowly walked indoors to pour herself a large glass of inner courage.

The envelope was written in black ink and Kim remembered the time in New York when she had bought the fountain pen as a birthday present for him. He had cherished the pen for over fifteen years. Sitting down, she drank a large gulp, and felt the warm liquor warm her throat and stomach. Pushing her index finger into the envelope she tore it open and pulled out the contents. Unfolding the white paper she began to read:

To my Kim

I want this to be a last farewell and my opportunity to explain the circumstances to you that have lead me to take my own life. I do not blame you for what you have done and through all of this, in my heart; I have remained in love with you.

Many years ago, in San Francisco, I was a wild irresponsible kid. I got involved with people I shouldn't have and in the end I caused the death of an innocent young girl. It was an accident involving drugs; I never meant her any harm. The torment of that alone was hard to bear, but soon after I was blackmailed by a man, who at the time of the accident, was, I thought, a good friend. He helped me to dispose of the body. I couldn't face up to my actions. I wanted to be a success, I was young and enthusiastic; prison for the rest of my life was just unthinkable.

A lot of the money paid to the evil bastard has come from your earnings and for that I'm deeply sorry, but I also have paid heavily over the years. In an attempt to stop the demands I gave him details of the secret project I am involved with here in Houston. Greed would not allow him to leave me alone and it was not the end. The pain in my heart now is too much to bear. I feel hatred, anger and total despair.

I want her soul to rest in peace and the remains of her young body to be buried in a proper grave, so that her parents can visit her, and be with her again.

Make Tom Hudson, editor of the San Francisco Herald; take the police to the southern most shore of Lake Merced. Cross the cycle lane from John Muir drive and twenty-five yards into the lake they will find the remains of Jo.

This is the end. I cannot go on. My only wish is that Hudson rots in Hell.

Goodbye, Kim, and may your God protect you from the evil that perpetrates our world.

Samuel

Tears from his wife's face fell onto the letter that trembled in her hands, dissolving the words into black smudges. Anger welled up inside her and her face contorted with uncontrolled rage as she screamed out. Her tanned, muscular legs drained of all energy and she collapsed on the floor.

9

Antwerp is a bustling city, some thirty-miles from Brussels. It's famous for its beers and diamond trade but much of its success stems from its busy inland port that stretches along the River Scheldt, approximately fifty-miles from the North Sea.

It was this port and the easy access to the rest of mainland Europe that attracted Michel Ramon to the area. Originally from Perpignan in Southern France, he now moved around Europe making money, and plenty of it. Today the business was military weapons. A black market rocket launcher to be more precise, with four armor-piercing long range rockets, that had been smuggled out of Bosnia at a cost of one man's life and four-thousand dollars. The sell price was twenty thousand-dollars.

The shipment was heading for America and Michel Ramon had escorted the truck across Europe for some three days, finally arriving in Belgium via the E313 and the Baudouin Motorway that linked to the autobahns of Germany. Having watched the container full of engine parts for Mercedes and BMW, being safely lowered into the hold of the ship by a huge Nord Natie container crane, he drove the short distance to the hotel to get some rest. Later he would visit his favourite restaurant in St.Pietersvliet 1, near the Ortelius Kaai that faced onto the Schelde. Then, to finish off a very lucrative days work, a visit to the nearby less respectable Koolkaai Street in the Schipperskwartier.

Spring had arrived in Antwerp some six weeks previously and the city was already bustling with excited, tourists.

The old churches, museums, art galleries, café bars, restaurants and cobbled streets give the place a charm that attracted people from all around the world.

After a short sleep and a shower Michel Ramon felt refreshed and hungry. Dressed in a white cotton shirt and denims, he walked the few hundred metres from his hotel on Kammenstraat to the Cathedral.

The 'Our Lady' Cathedral was standing majestically, as always, for all to admire her breathtaking Gothic architecture. The evening was pleasantly warm and the trees all donned the fresh young leaves of spring The sound of a choir could be heard as he approached the square. Outside the entrance to the cathedral he stood on the cobblestones and looked up at the amazing stonework, colored pink by the setting sun, the intricate stone carvings resembling delicate lace as they reached the floodlit zenith.

Nearby, people gathered to watch a street artist juggle rings whilst balancing on an extended monocycle. Their laughter echoed around the old stone square as he pretended to stumble and fall.

Walking past the cathedral street cafes, Michel could smell the rich aromas of coffee and croque monsieur. He was looking forward to eating and his pace quickened as a light rain began to fall.

As he walked the short distance to the Koolkaai the ship carrying his cargo was leaving the port, headed for the East Coast of America.

One hour later he walked slowly back into Koolkaai Street. The rare steak and bottle of 95 Chateau Smith Havt Lafitte had satisfied one of his desires.

The window girls were there as usual displaying their partly dressed bodies to the staring passers by. Many of the visitors to the street were tourists, keen to see the famous window girls. An embarrassed woman pulled her husband away from a window where the female had made eye contact with him and gestured to him to come inside. He walked away smiling. His ego had been given a booster injection. Lots of single men with sad faces paced the streets looking for the right moment to enter a door and relieve their sexual frustration on a willing whore.

Ramon had no such inhibitions, his second desire was as strong, if not stronger than his first. He walked up to a flaking blue painted door and knocked. A small eyepiece allowed the girl to see his distorted face through the lens and the door was immediately opened.

"Hello, Michel," said a girl, dressed only in bra and pants.

"Hello," replied Ramon.

"The usual?"

"Why not? Abondance de bien ne nuit pas," he said, smiling.

Back in Houston, McPherson was busily analyzing the last of the data scans from M13. No signals had even reached a third pass of pattern recognition, and he felt somewhat disappointed by the results. The meeting he had called for this afternoon was to discuss the next step, now that M13 was near completion. Linda Washington had already informed the team members of the three o'clock start time.

In her office next to McPherson's, Vicki was sitting at her desk, feeling unwell. She had been sick for the last four mornings but had not mentioned it to Rob. She picked up her bag and walked to the bathroom. Inside she chose the far right cubicle of six. Locking the door behind her she took a pregnancy test kit out of her bag.

Before returning to her own office, Vicki walked into McPherson's office, where he was intently studying the computer screen.

"Busy my darling?" she said in an upbeat manner.

"Oh, it's you."

"So who else calls you darling?" she said smiling.

"You seem in a good mood today."

"I suppose I am."

"Why what's happened?"

"Tell you later, See you at the meeting."

McPherson watched her as she left the office smiling at him until she vanished out of view. It pleased him that Vicki appeared so happy. But, not understanding the ways of the female mind he tried not to guess the reasons. Soon he was back to work, attentively analyzing data.

Vicki already knew the result, the strip just confirmed her feelings; she was having Rob's baby. She would tell him the news tonight over supper and then take him home to meet her family in the Bay as soon as possible. Her dad would want her to have a boy, a grandson, but in her heart, she really didn't mind. A little girl to dress in fancy clothes and share her favourite childhood dolls seemed enormously appealing. What would her big brother think now? The little girl he teased and tormented for years was going to have a baby of her own. What would Rob think? He was going to be a father. The career minded woman had turned into an excited mother to be.

Wayne had arrived at Hunter's office at eight o'clock, precisely on time.

"Tell me the latest, Officer Wayne." Hunter said, with indifference in his voice and pointing to the seat in front of his desk.

Wayne sat down. "Sir, as you already know the information about M13 was given to Hudson at the San Francisco Herald. It was necessary to exterminate him before he blabbed. We don't know yet precisely why Black gave him the classified information but he did it. There seems to be some irregularities in his bank account and blackmail may be a reason, but as I say, we don't know yet."

"Blackmail. Why him?"

"Maybe not him, maybe his wife?"

"Maybe? Anyway, please continue."

"All details of the project have now been returned. The Sub Editor handed over the original copy that Hudson had deposited at the bank. She was crapping herself and glad to get rid of the stuff. I don't think the Herald will be a problem to us." Wayne said smiling.

"Good—Did Hudson take his medicine?"

"No, I blew his brains out instead. Made it look like robbery in his apartment. Nice place, overlooking the Bay. He was getting money from somewhere: that's obvious."

"What about his account?"

"Clean. All the normal stuff. He was dealing with cash, and loads of it."

"Keep on it, make sure the whole thing is sealed up like a whales asshole."

"Sure thing, sir—Leave it to me."

Tom Hudson's body lay in the city mortuary, covered with a white sheet, the remains of his head was packed with cotton wool. The cause of his death was obvious, even to a layman, but the autopsy procedure had still been done as a matter of course. According to the press reports the motive appeared to be robbery.

His chest had been opened and ribs removed so that his internal organs could be taken out en block for inspection. Slices of his liver, heart, lungs and kidneys had been examined under the microscope for any form of damage or poisoning, none was found. His stomach contents showed that he had eaten a seafood salad some two or three hours before his death. Again, there was no trace of poison. The remains of his scull had been stuffed with cotton wool and a white plastic hat, like a shower cap, replaced what was his head. After examination his ribs and organs had been placed into thick plastic bags and put back into his abdomen in no particular order. Large coarse stitches held together the long cut from his chest to his lower torso. His right eye was missing where the first bullet had entered his head. The second bullet had left a small hole in the centre of his chest. Very little brain tissue remained and most of the back of his head was missing.

On the computer screen in the corner of the autopsy room a file named PhotoGallery No.134-568/act/T Hudson contained some thirty detailed images of his corpse taken during the autopsy.

Under the images details of his body weight before and after the autopsy showed a match. No body parts were missing and the procedure had been signed off.

The remains of Jo Krienen's body had been recovered from Lake Merced by the SFPD. Found in a thick plastic bag, by police divers, the bag was cut to allow straps through that were then fixed to four concrete building blocks, one on each corner. Examination of the remains was limited and difficult, given what was left of the corpse. Only her skeleton, two gold rings and an ankle chain remained. Her beautiful young flesh had been torn from the bones by hungry small fish and a vast army of crustaceans. Her body could only be identified from her dental records.

Her father, Dr Hans Krienen stood next to his weeping wife in the cemetery, his left arm around her shoulders as a gesture of support. His head was lowered and in his trembling hand he held a small bunch of forget-me-nots. Slowly he bent forward and placed the flowers on the grave of his daughter, then, standing up straight, like a soldier on parade, he pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe the tears from his bloodshot eyes.

Jo's remains were now there for him to visit and in a strange way he felt at peace, after so many heartbreaking years. The simple white marble head stone bore the inscription in gold engraving,

"Rest now, our darling daughter."

Only faded memories remained for Hans Krienen, even though Jo occupied his thoughts daily for more than twenty years. He often tried to remember her smiling face but he was never able to hear her voice in his mind and that annoyed him. His wife, Ziggi Krienen, was a broken woman; her spirit had been destroyed after the death of their only child. Her future was once bright but her career as a lecturer in Ancient History at the University of California, San Francisco, stopped on the day Jo died. She never worked again, choosing to stay at home all day, busying herself with things of little importance.

Together arm in arm they walked back to the parking area. Every day for the rest of their ruined lives they would visit their daughter's grave to talk to her and tell her how much they loved her and missed her.

Richard Stark had driven the three miles to his church to attend a meeting. He was feeling tired and had not slept well for days, worrying about his sister and her involvement in such evil undertakings. He had not mentioned it to Domaradzki, the elder father and he knew he was committing a sin by his actions. If it was the will of God that she must die, there was nothing he could do to alter it, but it would break his heart to lose her.

Entering the long room, Richard walked to the altar where Domaradzki was kneeling, deep in prayer. As he neared he bowed and made the sign of the cross before walking over to greet the other members that had recently arrived. The topic of conversation was of course the murder of Tom Hudson.

After finishing his prayers Domaradzki looked up and inhaled deeply before purposefully walking to the long table to address the members who by now were all seated. "It's with great sadness that I pray for Tom Hudson's soul to be with God today. He was a man prepared to help our cause and bring down the evil-doers of this world. But, now he's in a better place, sitting at the right hand of God; free from the evil that we, the Children of Jesus, are destined to eliminate from this earth. We will find other supporters of our cause, of that, I'm certain, but for now we must continue with our plan of action to stop M13." Domaradzki continued. "You know, the rocket launcher will be taken to Houston on the agreed date. From a nearby hotel room we will hit the Ellington Building with three thermal rockets, wiping the evil-doers off the face of this earth. With this weapon, my brothers, we cast them into the fiery pit of eternal damnation." Domaradzki's voice was full of power and emotion and veins appeared on his forehead as his expression turned manic.

Richard Stark stared straight ahead as the Elder's words conjured in his mind terrible visions of destruction and carnage.

"The launcher has arrived safely from Europe and will be checked out by Summa, the day after tomorrow." Summa nodded in agreement at the other members. His face donned a contented smile.

"For now though, it's safe in a lockup in Beaumont, eighty-miles east of Houston."

A candleholder with two long blue candles was placed in the centre of the dining room table and the cutlery, wineglasses and napkins were laid out ready for the evening meal that Vicki was busily preparing. McPherson had taken a shower and the smell of roasted duck as he walked into the kitchen made his mouth water in anticipation of the feast to come.

"We could have gone out you know. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble. I enjoy cooking."

"Well, it certainly smells good."

"Go and get dressed you," said Vicki, smacking his bare bottom. "It'll be ready soon."

"Okay, I can't wait."

Vicki was a little nervous but tried to appear calm in front of Rob. She had rehearsed her words over and over in her mind, always trying to guess his reaction to them.

McPherson poured two glasses of white wine as they began their starters of garlic prawns, but Vicki was determined not to touch a drop until after their child had been born.

Throughout the meal they talked generalities and about the decision to start listening to M81, in Ursa Major, a constellation similar to our own, now that M13 had failed to produce results.

"You're not drinking your wine my darling, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, it's just that I." Vicki hesitated.

"What?"

Vicki took a deep breath. "...Rob, I'm having your baby." He looked at her in silence for a few moments, as if unable to comprehend her words, then his eyes began to fill with tears.

"Are you pleased?"

McPherson wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up. Looking into her eyes, he said, "This is the proudest day of my life." They held each other tightly and then Vicki burst into tears, unable to control her happiness.

"I can't believe it, I'm going to be a Dad!"

"I was really scared to tell you Rob."

Rob looked at Vicki, in disbelief. "Scared... are you serious?"

"I know, I just wasn't sure how you'd react to the news. After all it is life changing stuff, isn't it."

"I'm ready to be a father, I can't wait."

Vicki kissed Rob and held him tight. "I love you so much you big lump."

"I love you too and soon you'll be a big lump as well."

"Oh, don't say that. Do you mind if it's a boy or a girl?"

Rob answered without hesitation. "So long as it looks like you I don't care what we have."

"If we have a boy I want it to look like you, you handsome fool."

It was time for McPherson to meet Vicki's family, so that they could announce the news, and that weekend they both flew to San Francisco. The following Monday would be a holiday in Texas, so it was an ideal time to visit. Vicki had arranged for her brother to pick them up from the airport because her father was not feeling too well.

The cool arrivals area was busy, the waiting crowds were shouting and waving to relatives and friends as they entered the building through the large sliding doors that led from baggage reclaim. Some impatient young lover ran forward and fell into her boyfriend's arms, hugging and kissing him with an unashamed passion. McPherson looked at Vicki and smiled in amusement.

Waiting at the back of the crowd was Richard Stark, his square face was tanned and leathery from years spent on the sea, but his features were similar to Vicki's and his hair color was identical. He was trying to smile and be normal—but he found it difficult.

Vicki noticed him as he gestured with his hand. She put her bag down and ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Tentatively, he hugged her but his embarrassment showed; and McPherson sensed it.

"It's good to see you, Sis," he said, trying to sound upbeat.

"Richard, I'd like you to meet Rob McPherson."

"Hi, Rob—Welcome to the Bay."

"Thanks, it's really good to meet you Richard. Vicki has told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already." Richard forced a laugh as they shook hands.

"How's Pops? Vicki asked."

"He's okay, Doctor's keeping an eye on him though, it's the angina again."

"Are they staying with you?"

"Yeah, I thought it was for the best: for the time being anyway. He needs to rest, but knowing you're coming over he's been like a little kid on Christmas Eve. He's just so excited, Sis."

Vicki smiled broadly and held Rob's hand as they made their way to the parking lot and Richard's awaiting Jeep.

On the journey to Richard's home Vicki acted as a tour guide for Rob, pointing out the sights while Richard stayed fairly quiet.

"That's the Pacific Bell Stadium, Sis," said Richard, a little more relaxed now.

"Are they in yet?"

"Oh yeah, I went to a game last week."

"It's the Giant's new home." Vicki explained to Rob.

"I thought so." McPherson had spotted a massive baseball glove towering over the new stadium.

"I'm taking you around the coast road, as it's your first time here," Richard said, looking in his mirror at McPherson. They made eye contact and McPherson acknowledged him with a nod and a wide smile.

"Coming up in front is the Bay Bridge, darling."

"Where does that go?"

"East—Oakland way."

They were now driving along the Esplanade and McPherson could see the shore to his right and to his left the impressive buildings of the Downtown Financial Sector.

"It's very different from Houston, Vicki, There's more variety to the architecture here."

"Yeah, the city is a great mix of modern and classical," responded Richard to McPherson's comment. "We also have hills," He allowed himself a rare smile.

"That's the Transamerica Pyramid to your left," Vicki said, pointing to the 853 feet, forty-eight story tapered building that resembled an enormous spearhead. Prominent amongst the more conventional structures, its dominance threatened only by the mighty Bank of America Building near by. "It's the tallest building in the city."

"The views from the top are spectacular," added Richard.

"I can imagine."

A little further on Richard pointed to a tall white tower, two hundred and ten feet high, and shaped at the top like the nozzle of a fire hose. It stood on top of a hill, as if it were a guard on duty.

"That's the Coit Tower on the top of Telegraph Hill. Paid for by an amazing woman called Lillie Hitchcock Coit. It's a monument to her firemen buddies. I'll tell you about her sometime if you're interested. She's part of the history of this place."

"She used to shave her head and smoke cigars," said Vicki smiling, remembering what her teacher had told her in fourth grade.

"Interesting lady! The views of the Bay must be good from up there too."

Richard responded, "Not just the Bay but also the city and the Golden Gate Bridge of course. If you look to your right now you'll see Alcatraz, the source of my income. That's Pier 39 on the right where I keep my boat. Everyday I take tourists out to the island and back again for just ten bucks. I tell them about the islands history and bring them back again. Sometimes it drives me insane. But, it's a job and at least I work for myself."

McPherson tried to imagine doing the same thing every day. He thought about how soul destroying it must be. He knew it would drive him insane.

"These big cruisers are the Blue and Gold fleet and the Red and White Fleet. I'm a lot cheaper than them of course, so I get all the scum balls."

Irritated by his comment, Vicki said, "Richard, don't sound so bitter. You make a good living out of them and you should be grateful." Her comments were ignored.

Richard's house was situated on Santiago Street between the beach and Sunset Boulevard. As they drove up the drive Vicki waved excitedly to the family members waiting at the front door. Firstly, McPherson was introduced to Pops, followed by Mary, Susan and finally the two boys. Vicki's father seemed the most excited, to the slight concern of Mary and the rest of the family. Everyone made McPherson feel very welcome but he noticed Richard's attitude was a little cold towards him.

That evening, the family had gathered for a buffet and drinks.

"What's the job like in Houston, Rob?" enquired Richard, curiously.

"Oh it's okay I suppose," he said, before sipping a glass of cold beer. "I'm working on atmospheric pollution and carbon dioxide emissions."

Vicki picked up part of the conversation and smiled, whilst still listening to her mother's story about their recent visit to Mexico City.

"Sounds interesting," said Richard.

"Yeah, sometimes it is. I work for the government though; consequently I don't have the freedom you have."

"Freedom's not everything, Rob."

McPherson smiled out of politeness.

Richard frowned, "At least you have your sanity."

"Surely it's not that bad?" responded McPherson.

"Sometimes, but what's worse is that I don't have anything else to turn to. I'm not skilled. When the brains were dished out I'm afraid Vicki got them all." McPherson could see his point but didn't respond.

Vicki had decided the news would keep until tomorrow, and Rob was under strict instructions not to mention her pregnancy before it was officially announced after dinner the following evening, but sometimes it's difficult to keep quiet about something so monumental and McPherson struggled not to say anything. At home he was constantly telling Vicki that he was going to be the best father in the world and his son was going to be someone to be real proud of, and she knew he was right.

During the evening Richard invited McPherson to join him the next day on a boat trip to see Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge.

"No tourists this trip, just family," he said sternly. "What about you, Sis, are you coming on the boat trip?"

"No—thank you!" Vicki replied sharply, "I'm happy to sit and talk to the rest of the family. Presently the motion of a boat has no appeal to me."

McPherson awoke the following morning just after seven. His eyes were reluctant to open as he reached over to Vicki. Feeling only the bed sheets with his hand he remembered her comment the night before about going for a brisk, early morning walk, along the seafront. He wondered what time she awoke and whether she'd had trouble sleeping, thinking about the exciting news she was going to break to the family tonight. Looking out of the bedroom window he could see blue sky and quickly decided to run four or five miles before breakfast to clear his head of last night's wine.

"Hi Rob, did you sleep well?" Susan asked, as he walked into the kitchen in his running vest and shorts.

"Very well thanks, but then I always do," he responded smiling. "I think I'll get some fresh sea air and run a few miles."

"I don't blame you, it's a great morning for running, there's no mist on the bay today."

"What time did Vicki go out?"

"About forty-minutes ago. What do want for breakfast when you get back?"

"I really don't mind."

"Steak eggs and mash with spinach?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Where are you going for a run?"

"Along Ocean Beach; make the most of it I say."

"Okay, breakfast at nine then."

"Yeah. That sounds great to me."

"Don't forget, Richard's taking you out on the boat later with the boys."

"Can't wait, I'm really looking forward to seeing Alcatraz. I just hope I'm not sick."

"Sick, no, not today, it's really calm out there."

"That's good, I don't have good sea legs."

Susan laughed, "Neither does Richard."

McPherson could feel the warm morning sun on his face and the salty ocean air in his nostrils felt wonderful as he jogged along the sandy beach towards the north-east corner of the city, known as Lands End. His mind was on tonight's big event. Sometimes, he found it hard to believe he was going to be a father. Vicki would make him the proudest man on Earth. To him, she was a very special woman and he felt so lucky that she loved him as much as he loved her. Amanda was out of his system now. She was in the past and his deep wounds had been healed by the tender love Vicki had for him.

Sweat ran down his temples, as the first mile was reached. He was feeling good and quickened his pace, now that his muscles had warmed up.

"Susan this salad is so good."

"Thank you, Vicki."

Vicki closed her eyes as she ate. "Mmmmm, I just adore crab meat."

"I know, so do I."

Vicki looked across the room at Rob, busy talking to the boys. Football no doubt, she thought. His face was glowing from the day out on the boat. She could tell the sea air was good for him, he looked so relaxed and at ease. Houston and Project M13 were far from his thoughts tonight.

After everyone had eaten a hearty meal Richard opened the double doors onto the terrace. Led by McPherson and the two excited children, everyone moved onto the terrace that looked eastward, towards the sea. The cool breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean caressed their faces. It was another beautiful sunset and the sky around the horizon was a deep orange, as the setting sun sank slowly, to be extinguished in the glistening sea.

Vicki looked at Rob and indicated that she was about to make the announcement. His heart beat quickened in anticipation. Standing up he moved to her side. She smiled at him and held his hand. As if expecting something, everyone became quiet.

Knowing the time was right Vicki spoke. "First, I want to thank you all for making Rob feel so welcome this weekend. It's been really wonderful for the both of us." She paused and smiled at Rob. "I know that you all consider me as a career girl and up to now that's been true. It's funny though how circumstances can change your outlook on life. I feel, I've found someone in Rob, that I can spend the rest of my life with and that's important because, you see, I'm having his child."

Her mother's reaction was one of sheer joy and she ran forward to hug her daughter.

Her Father walked up to McPherson and shook his hand.

"You take bloody good care of her, young man, she's very precious to me."

"I sure will, sir," he replied, in a proud voice.

McPherson cleared his throat and called everyone to attention again. Vicki looked a little surprised.

"I would also like to thank you all for the hospitality you've shown me; especially Richard, for the fantastic boat trip today. And, I'm glad to say I managed to keep my breakfast down." There was laughter and he paused awhile. "As you now know, Vicki is having my baby and that means so much to me. I'm not getting any younger, and at this time in my life I'm ready to have a family and the responsibility of children, something I thought would never happen to me. I can't wait to be a proud father." Susan wiped a tear from her eye.

He turned to Vicki and took her hand. "Vicki will be a great Mum, I know that, but I want her to be a great wife as well. Vicki, will you marry me?"

"Yes...yes of course I'll marry you, Rob." Throwing her arms around him they kissed, like lovers do. Loud applause filled the room and the two children quickly fled to their room in embarrassment.

There was a real meaning to her life now and she cried with joy, swiftly followed by her mother and sister.

"Let the celebrations begin," shouted Vicki's father.

Richard felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach, and fought to control his emotions. He must smile; congratulate them; look like he's pleased for them, hug his sister and say how happy he is for her.

10

"Yes, Wayne?" said Hunter, picking up the phone.

"Mr Williams, I have checked out all the loose ends now, here in the Bay, and the damage limitation is as planned. I did pick up a set of mug shots while at Hudson's place and found out that they are some religious sect that had a link to Hudson. I saw him speaking to one of them outside a place down in Fisherman's Wharf the night he was murdered. I've put them in the file in case we need them, although I don't see what they have to do with any of this. My search found no criminal records for any of them, and all have good jobs in and around the Bay area."

Wayne had not made the connection with Richard and Vicki Stark during his search.

"Okay, Wayne, come back to Houston ASAP."

"Yes, sir."

Hunter put the phone down and sat back in his chair, deep in thought.

"Michel, it's Joe here, in New York."

"Hi Joe, good to hear your voice again."

"How's sunny Antwerp?"

"Not so fucking sunny at the moment!"

"You see, in America the sun shines on the virtuous all day long."

"Must be pretty fucking cold where you live then," Michel jibed. Laughter echoed from the earpiece, making him smile.

Joe was the mastermind behind the shipments to America. Born in Chicago he was a tough businessman who'd pulled himself out of the gutter at the age of fourteen. Now forty-two years old, he was rich beyond his wildest dreams. Even the time he spent in prison for robbery was put to good use: if you wanted anything from drugs to parole, Joe was the man to see, but his thirst for money was addictive. Like the heroin he pushed as a youth. He gave much of his stuff away knowing that when they were hooked they'd be back for more and he'd be there to take the money; and they did come back and he did take their money. Soon he was rich enough to buy-in his own gear and that's when he really made it big. Five years ago he met Michel and it became obvious that between them there was a market demand that they could satisfy.

Dealing in drugs was dangerous and the risks were enormous. Guns and rocket launchers where more fun.

"We've been paid, my friend" Joe said.

"Good," replied Michel.

"It took me under ten minutes to put the thing together. Who packed it?"

"The boys in Germany."

"Fucking brilliant job, even I struggled to find it and I knew it was in there."

"They're good and it's all done through the official channels. Right under their noses."

"What about the custom seals?"

"No problem, the slime-bag would sell his mother for forty dollars."

"How long will he be there."

"Long enough for us to make a fortune. I'm paying him more money than he earns in a year. He's a greedy fat bastard who'll do anything for money. Talking of money the buyers came yesterday, paid the asking price there and then in used dollars and drove it away."

"Okay, set up the show for next week, I'll be over to taste the good life."

"I look forward to it, Michel."

"Joe... Just one thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Are they existing customers?"

"No, new clients, sounded like west-coast to me. They didn't say much, so I didn't ask."

"Okay buddy, good work, see you soon."

"Thanks, my friend."

Kim Black was wearing a bright yellow, low cut, summer dress with tan leather sandals and she could feel the hot sun on her shoulders as she walked the few hundred yards from her car to Tom Hudson's grave in Colma cemetery. Pretty bunches of flowers were everywhere, laid on the graves by their loved ones. Kim read some of the messages as she walked: I will never forget you: I will love you until I die: You're always in our thoughts: May your soul rest in peace.

The earth around the black marble headstone, that carried the name of Tom Francis Hudson in gold letters, still looked fresh when she arrived.

For a long time she stood staring at his name, motionless in the heat of the day as beads of perspiration gathered around her neck and on her forehead. She was thinking about London, about the day when she phoned Samuel and how Tom lay in her hotel bed as she told him it was over. How he comforted her when she cried. The love he showed her was unparalleled and his generosity sometimes overwhelmed her.

Kim stood over the marble stone, legs apart and felt the warm splashes on the inside of her legs as she urinated on his grave.

"May you rot in hell you evil bastard."

Photographs of the project team were mounted on a wall of the Long Room with single drawing pins, their edges curling upwards slightly.

The elder father stood, straight backed, with hands held behind him, looking at each of the faces in turn and the names, type written on small labels, below them. His silent contemplation was broken by the sound of footsteps that echoed off the walls as two members walked across the room. Stopping at the altar they both kneeled and made the sign of the cross before continuing to where the pictures hung.

The time has come, Domaradzki thought to himself. "Tomorrow, gentlemen, you both leave for Houston," he said, continuing to look at the photographs as they approached. "And, remember this is a surveillance operation, do not be conspicuous. We need to know everything about these sinners," he snarled, pointing to the photographs. "The cars they drive—where they live;—their daily schedules—where they work—everything about them must be detailed if the plan is to succeed. Observe them well, report back soon and remember the words of our God to Hosea, son of Beeri: For Israel hath forgotten his Maker, and buildeth temples; and Judah hath multiplied fenced cities: but I will send a fire upon his cities, and it shall devour the palaces thereof. Hosea, Chapter 8, verse 14."

Reaching into his pocket, he handed both of them airline tickets for Houston. "We have no time to waste. Good luck and may God be with you." As he watched them depart he moved to the table where a Bible lay open. Sitting down he started to read:

Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of Heaven. And he overthrew these cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground.

Genesis:

Chapter 19 verses 24-25"

"Richard, are you okay?" enquired Susan.

"Yes, of course I am. What do you mean?" he asked.

"It's just that you seem on edge lately. As if there's something on your mind."

"No, it's nothing. I guess I'm just a little tired, too many boat trips, and your father worries me sometimes, with his chest pains."

Susan was unaware of the sect and Adam Domaradzki who controlled and manipulated her husband's mind. She would not be able to comprehend that her husband was a member of the Children of Jesus and that they murdered people. It was an organization of extremists, of killers. Their Church was different of course; it had no congregation, no sound of singing, no Sunday school for the little children. It was there to purge society of corruption, to cleanse God's Earth, like a modern day Inquisition.

Lead by a psychopath, who had already killed innocent people. (His real name was Adam Domaradzki —a descendant of Polish origin.) Born in New York fifty-eight years ago, he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic at the age of thirteen. His mother, a proud woman with strong beliefs had great influence on him as a child and was his source of comfort. His drunken father sexually abused him, buying his silence with terrible beatings. He would escape from reality into an insular world where nobody entered, a world safe from pain and the stench of his father's foul alcoholic breath on his face.

Changing his name to Adam Doors, he moved to California ten years ago, after being castigated by the Church, for his outspoken views, they were totally unaware of the murders he had already committed. All had died by his hand, from multiple stab wounds to the face and neck, and in each case their eyes had been gouged out and their tongues cut out.

Richard had met Domaradzki during one of his boat trips to Alcatraz. Over the years Richard had become very intolerant of many of his clients. On the day of the trip he made a chance comment to Domaradzki about the conduct of a small group of loud-mouthed drunks at the rear of the boat whose language was particularly bad, saying, "Where are their morals these days? Do you know, as a Christian I'm sometimes appalled with what I see and hear." That was the catalyst for Domaradzki who at the time was looking for recruits to fund his new Sect.

Within days Richard Stark had willingly joined. Now he was one of the twelve chosen disciples, happy to eliminate the scum from this Earth, the mindless morons that bring disgrace to the human race and happy to carry out the cleansing in the name of God.

"It's worrying I know," said Susan, "but, the Doctor says the medication should allow him to live a fairly normal life. He just mustn't get too excited."

"Oh that's easy to say isn't it. Just look at him since Vicki said she was pregnant."

"You don't seem too happy with that, do you?"

"With what?"

"With Vicki—and the baby."

"What do you mean?"

"Richard you were just not with it last weekend. I don't care what you say, but something's wrong."

"I'm tired I told you. I'm delighted for her and Rob, why shouldn't I be? She's my sister for God's sake," he responded angrily.

"Okay, okay. Take it easy."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to shout."

"Do you want to talk about it Rich?"

"There's nothing to talk about. I've told you. I just need some rest that's all."

"Why don't you have an early night? Why don't we both have an early night?" Susan said, smiling suggestively.

Richard was not able to think about such mundane matters as sex. His mind was firmly set on other things.

"Another time love, when I feel like I've got the energy to satisfy you."

"I never thought I see the day when you'd turn down the offer of sex!"

Richard didn't respond to her comment because he wasn't listening to her.

"Have you thought about seeing a doctor? Perhaps you're run down and need some kind of tonic."

"What?... No, I'll be okay."

"Then why don't you get away for a few days and have a break like you used to do?"

"Yeah—Yeah—Maybe that's not a bad idea. I'll give it some thought," he said, as he walked out of the room onto the veranda.

Susan looked pleased that her suggestion had been considered with some seriousness. Richard's mood worried her and she knew her Dad was not the only thing on his mind.

Hell, she thought. What if he's got another woman. I've just given him a reason to get away. She would approach the subject in bed tonight; she needed to get to the bottom of it.

It was evening and Westheimer was busy. McPherson indicated and turned off right into Brier Grove and continued the few hundred yards until the restaurant came into view. There were some parking spaces left and he pulled the truck into one near the main entrance. Even the short walk was uncomfortable in a relative humidity of 98%. Vicki was hungry but then she had been for months, ever since the baby had taken first priory over her energy supply. McPherson was looking forward to the evening and the chance to relax in an atmosphere of good food and wine.

"Good evening sir and madam, do you have a table reservation?" asked the smartly dressed waiter as they walked into the welcoming cool of the air-conditioned reception area.

"Yes, we do. It's booked in the name of Dr McPherson," he replied.

"Ah yes, I have your reservation. Please be seated, your waiter for the evening will be with you soon."

Subtle pink floor-lighting deflected off the white washed stone walls and lit the ceiling, where fishing nets draped as if drying in the heat of the sun. The smell of roasted coffee filled the air to complement the chatter of enthusiastic diners.

"Hi guys, my name is Simon and I'm your waiter for this evening. Can I fix you some drinks while you take a look at the menu or would you like to come through now?"

"I think we'll go through now," replied McPherson.

"Certainly, follow me please," said the waiter, as he gestured the way to their table.

At six months, it was now obvious that Vicki was pregnant and her stomach was a great source of amusement to McPherson, especially when the baby was active and kicking. He would lay in bed with his ear to her tummy listening to the variety of swishing noises that emanated from her lump as he called it.

The day of the wedding had yet to be agreed but they both planned to have a quiet affair with just family and a few close friends. Being in public with Vicki made McPherson very proud. Not only was she beautiful but she was radiant as well. Pregnancy certainly suited her.

After being shown to their table in a corner of the restaurant they spent some time in silence while they both studied the menu.

"What a difficult choice," said Vicki.

"I know. It's all good."

"I think I'll go for fish this evening...brain food you know."

"I feel like I need some of that, after today. All that data and not one Martian to be seen... or rather heard."

"Well, did you think it would be easy, darling?"

"No...not at all."

"Rob... What if God did make the heavens and the Earth?" enquired Vicki with a frown.

Rob considered the question for a while. "I read somewhere that back in 1650, an Archbishop Somebody used the biblical chronology to sum the lifespans of all the descendants of Adam, and from that he calculated that the World was created by God in 4004 BC. That doesn't add up, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," responded Rob. "We know now that the world is at least four-billion-years-old, not six thousand."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain how we got here does it. I mean as good as they are, these geologists, they don't have an unbroken history of man's evolution do they? Life on Earth may all be made of the same thing, but where did we get our souls? Maybe God's hand had something to do with it, you know, the Holy Spirit and all that stuff. All right, perhaps not quite the 6 days as described in Genesis but maybe some kind of divine intervention. After all, the Bible wasn't written by God was it. It's man's interpretation isn't it? This baby that's growing inside me, this little miracle of life; is it possible to say that it has evolved from a primordial broth? I find that hard to believe somehow."

"The official line is that we are the only ones, but you know that's not true."

"Have you seen another form of intelligent life with your own eyes?" Vicki asked quietly.

McPherson hesitated for a moment. "I've seen the bodies in Washington." Rob said in a whisper.

"Come on!"

"Keep your voice down...I've seen them with my own eyes."

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I am not kidding you."

"Well, what do they look like?"

"Please keep your voice down; this can't get out, Vicki; it's top-secret and I'm sworn to secrecy, you know that."

"Okay, so what do they look like?" she repeated, with a determined whisper.

McPherson looked edgy.

"Rob, If you don't tell me, I'm going to kill you."

Rob whispered, "...Not that dissimilar to us I guess. They're dead so they look kind of spooky anyway. They have no hair but they've got two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and ears. Their fingers are much longer than ours though."

"Five?"

"Yeah, five."

"So how do we know they're aliens? They may be twins from a traveling freak show."

"They tried to cut their skin with surgical knives, and couldn't." Vicki just stared at Rob in disbelief.

"There's no sign of tissue deterioration after fifty odd years at a temperature of 38 degrees, and if that's not enough, they're four times heavier than the equivalent human male. We don't know what sex they are, because they don't have bits."

"You mean a penis?"

"A penis or a vagina, there's nothing there at all."

"So how do they mate?"

"Well, as they're dead it's not that easy to ask them is it?" Rob responded with a hint of sarcasm.

Vicki giggled. "Am I likely to see this evidence?"

"I doubt it. Not even you are cleared at that level."

"So what happens when we start talking to Martians? Do we apologize and say we can't stop long, because we don't have the clearance?" The comment brought a smile to McPherson's face.

"After all, it's in Raymond's interest to say these things, isn't it? It's keeping him in a job."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Yes,...Of course I believe you, I'm sorry...... It's just so bloody incredible."

"Raymond's a very serious guy, I know I've worked with him."

"Where?"

"In Ohio—years ago. I was called out to a farm one day, very strange; an entire family had gone missing over night, their two dogs as well. Upstairs there was a tape recorder switched on and it recorded the whole incident. It was quite disturbing really."

"So what happened?"asked Vicki, completely intrigued.

"Well, it appears that someone or something entered the house, that's when the dogs started barking, unfortunately, because it made it difficult to hear what was being said after that. The old man seemed quite horrified by what he saw and took a couple of shots at the things. His wife was hysterical the whole time. You could hear the old man shouting: Don't take us away. God help us. Please God help us. The son's voice can be heard saying: What are they, Mom, are they aliens? Will they hurt us, Mom?" McPherson stopped for a few moments to compose himself.

"When I analyzed the audiotape it was clear that there were noises at the very top end of the audio range, almost inaudible to the human ear as if there was more than one and they were talking. Not talking as we know it, but definitely communicating."

"Do you know what they were saying?"

"We don't know. All we know is that the entire family were never seen again."

"Rob that's terrible. And, it's very disturbing."

"They're out there,Vicki and we must be the first to find them."

"Why don't these alien visitors want to talk to us though?"

"I don't have the answer to that one. Anyway, enough, just relax and enjoy yourself and worry about that tomorrow darling, my tummy's making strange noises."

"I know the feeling well," said Vicki smiling, as she poured a glass of iced water. Her thoughts stayed on the subject of impenetrable alien skin. She wanted to ask Rob where they kept the aliens but the moment had gone. She was prepared to wait.

Back at the Ellington Building the next day.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the White House has instructed me that this project will continue into the foreseeable future at least," Hunter said, smiling. "The government wants us to carry on even though we haven't yet had any success. In reality of course they realize that we've only just begun to listen to a source that is almost unimaginable in size and number. What we need now is a comprehensive plan of attack. Yuri and Rob will set out a program of actions over the next few days defining where in the Universe we point our sensors." He looked at McPherson as he spoke and he acknowledged him. "Are there any questions?"

Jerzy Rozanski raised his hand, like a child in a classroom.

"Yes, Jerzy?"

"Do we know if the Chinese are having any success?"

"We believe not. At least that's the latest word from intelligence. Remember, we are able to listen to signals far weaker than them and they're using ground based technology that only allows them to listen to a specific point in the sky for under 12 hours a day. We listen constantly thanks to our technology. As George Washington once said my friends: Put none but Americans on guard tonight."

The lockup in east-coast Beaumont w as down near the Neches River, in the rundown shipbuilding area that was once a thriving industry. A well-built brick building with secure metal double doors, it was ideal as a holding area for the launcher. Summa drove the automobile slowly down the road towards the lockup. The place was deserted and dirty. Litter was strewn along the street and on the left side of the street opposite the lockup a rusted old Ford truck abandoned years before, remained defiantly. No doors, no tires, no seats just a rusting shell.

"It's down here on the right, opposite that Ford, about a hundred yards," commented Freeman, pointing to the general location as Summa leaned forward to see the road ahead and steer away from the broken glass.

"That's it!" shouted Freeman, in his excitement. Summa pulled the automobile over in front of the lock up and cut the engine. The shabby dark blue up-un-over door was solid enough and securely locked with a large padlock.

"Yeah, this is it," said Summa, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. He felt for the key in his pocket and smiled. "I've dreamed about this moment for a long time."

Once in the street they both looked around to see if anyone was about but the place was deserted. Only the sound of squabbling gulls on a nearby factory roof broke the eerie silence.

Summa bent down and put the key in the lock and it sprung open with a loud reassuring click. Freeman grabbed the handle and pulled the creaking door upwards, as it hesitantly opened. Once inside they flicked on the strip light and closed the door behind them.

Summa's face was like a child at Christmas time seeing the presents around the tree for the first time. Stacked against the back wall some thirty feet away in a wooden box marked "Property of the Canadian Armed Forces" was the rocket launcher. Without hesitating, Summa had the lid off, in seconds.

"This is one hell of a baby," he said, caressing the 107 cm long anti tank rocket launcher with trembling hands. "It's a CG and was standard issue for the Canadian Land Forces," he said excitedly. "This particular M3 lightweight version is built on a steel liner which carries the rifling, which itself is covered with a carbon fibre winding. Look here. It's fitted with a two power optical sight that has a 17 degree field of view. All the external parts are made of plastic and the four weapons are what they call in the trade the HEDP kind, that stands for High Explosive Dual Purpose and designed to destroy fortified positions. Their effective range is 500 metres, well within the range of the hotel. I just had to have it as soon as I saw it. Help me try the fishing rod case for size... Look at that, It fits in as if it's been designed for the job and there's room each side for the rockets. Perfect. Are we going to make these sinners pay!" Summa said, struggling to contain his excitement.

The twelve-hundred-room Intercontinental Hotel had been chosen for its close proximity to the Ellington Building. Booked in false names, Freeman and Summa were able to watch the comings and goings of the various staff, from their east facing rooms on the twenty-fifth-floor. Only two hundred yards separated the buildings across the busy plaza. The hand held launcher could be fired from the veranda and inflict untold damage on the offices of Project M13. The location was perfect. The plan was to fire three rockets at different floor levels. The fourth rocket would be fired at a practice run, before the main attack took place. (Somewhere in an isolated spot yet to be chosen by Summa). Nothing would be left to chance, they would only get one opportunity and it had to work. After the attack they would leave the launcher in the room and make their getaway by car to the airport. Good timing would have them on a flight back to San Francisco within two hours.

The next few days were productively spent photographing the team members as they entered the underground parking lot. Vehicle makes and registrations were noted because it needed to be a full complement, as Summa called it, when the damage was inflicted; everyone on the list, already made out at the back of Freeman's pocket book, had to be present.

The glass-building was no defense against such armory and Summa tried to imagine the kind of damage it would inflict. Would the building totally collapse or would floors twist and mangle before the entire workforce burned to death in the distorted wreckage? The thought excited him and he rubbed his hand in anticipation.

"We must assume ten-seconds between each rocket launch," said Freeman to Summa. "I will wait in the elevator at the end of the corridor with the doors held open. I want you, at precisely six pm to count to thirty, that's the time to load and launch three rockets, then meet me at the elevator. We stop the watch at the parking lot. We also time the trip back to the airport, so that way, we leave nothing to chance."

"Yeah, that sounds good to me," replied Summa, enthusiastically.

The drill was performed three times and each run down to the basement was within ten-seconds. They knew that approximately three-minutes and fifteen-seconds after the last rocket had smashed into the Ellington Building, they would be leaving the parking lot of the hotel in a rental car, heading for the airport. The flight home would be a time for quiet contemplation.

11

Vicki was looking forward to a shower after a long hard day. During the afternoon she had visited the pre-natal clinic for a check up and breathing exercises. According to the doctor all was well with the baby, which pleased her of course and although in good health she was now beginning to feel more tired by the end of each day; but then that was only to be expected at seven months pregnant. As Vicki walked into the shower the phone rang.

"Can you answer the phone Rob? I'm in the shower," she said turning on the water.

"Yeah, sure," he shouted, coming in from the veranda wearing only running shorts and a towel around his neck. He was hot and perspiring from a muscle toning session he often did whenever he found the time.

"Hi, Rob, speaking."

"Rob, this is Richard in San Francisco."

"Richard, how are you?"

"Things could be better, I'm afraid. Vicki's father has been taken ill."

"Is it serious?"

"We don't know yet, but it looks like a heart attack."

Vicki called out, "Who is it Rob?"

"It's Richard to say your Fathers been taken ill."

Vicki immediately came to the phone, her face full of concern. "Rich!"

"Hi, Sis. I'm sorry to call you with bad news but Pops has been taken into hospital with a suspected heart attack."

"How bad is it?"

"I really don't know. I'm here at the hospital waiting for any news but they're still doing tests at the moment."

"How's Mom?"

"She's here and a bit concerned as you can imagine."

"Yeah."

"Could it be the angina again?"

"I don't think so. It was different this time, Sis, he was in considerable pain and the medics were very concerned. It happened at the store when he was shopping for Mom."

"I think I'd better come home, it sounds bad."

"Before you do that wait until I know something. Give me a chance to talk to the doctors."

"Yeah okay," Vicki sounded upset and she started to sob gently. McPherson put his arm around her to give her some comfort and she held his hand tightly.

"I'll call you back when I know more. Don't worry I'm sure he'll be okay, you know how tough the old soldier is."

"Thanks, Rich." Putting the phone down she hugged McPherson and cried. "I think I need to go home Rob, it sounds serious to me."

"Sure, I'll come with you."

"There's no need for you to come darling, you've got the project to think about right now. And, besides this is not the first scare we've had with Pops. You know he suffers from angina don't you?"

"Yeah, he told me on our visit to the Bay. So what's happening?"

"Richard's going to call back when the details are known."

"Let's hope it's not too serious."

"I want him to live to see our baby, Rob, I want him to be a proud Grandfather. It would be awful if he died without being able to hold our newborn in his arms." Vicki broke down in tears again.

"Come on now don't talk like that. He'll see the baby all right, believe me, your Father isn't going anywhere just yet. I know."

The phone rang again and Vicki quickly picked it up. "Vicki here."

"Hi, Sis, it's me again. Well, it looks like Pops will be okay."

Vicki's whole body visibly relaxed.

"It was a mild heart attack but nothing that he won't recover from they say."

"Thank God. Can I speak to Mom?"

"She's at his bedside at the moment. I've come outside so I could call you."

"Okay, don't worry, I'll speak to her later."

"They want to keep him in for observation for a least a week, Sis."

"I'm coming home to see him as soon as I can Rich. Tell him that I love him and that I'm thinking about him will you?"

"Yeah of course."

"Rich."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks...I love you too you know."

"Yeah."

Richard stood in the corridor and tears filled his eyes, Vicki had never said that to him before, and the realization rocked him. Was God wrong this time in thinking she was an evil sinner? Should he try and stop the rocket attack and let her live? His head spun and confusion rolled through his mind. His senses were lost in a thick dense mist, like the ones that rolled into the Bay.

"Good morning, Wayne, it's Hunter here."

"Good morning, Mr Williams, sir. I was just about to call you with the latest on Black."

"Ah good, what have you got for me?"

"His wife finally decided to take a suicide note that he had written into the police."

"And?"

"It was blackmail all right. Samuel Black had a well-kept secret that only he and Hudson knew about. Hudson decided some time ago that he was going to make Black pay, and the ransoms started about five years ago."

"What did he have on him?"

"Black accidentally killed a girl with drugs when he was in university. Hudson was there and helped him dispose of the body in a lake."

"Samuel Black killed someone?"

"Yeah, and in a desperate attempt to stop Hudson's blackmail demands Black gave him the details of M13. Of course, that wasn't enough for Hudson because now he was greedy, living a lavish lifestyle with expensive girl friends, boat parties and fast cars. Not content to make a killing with the exposure of M13, he continued to demand money from Black. In the end he couldn't take any more and the rest is history."

"Poor bastard he didn't deserve that. He wasn't a murderer; he was just unlucky that's all. Did the note say anything about the project?"

"No details, it just mentioned a secret project he was involved with, that's all."

"That is very good news."

"Keep it out of the papers please, we don't want a conflict with the press release."

"Sure thing, Mr Williams, sir."

Putting the phone down on Wayne, Hunter stood up to visit the control room, as he did his phone rang. "Hunter here."

"Sir, it's Vicki."

"Hi Vicki, what can I do for you?"

"I had some bad news last night. My father has had a heart attack."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How serious is it?"

"They say it's not life threatening and he should recover."

"That's good to hear," Hunter said, reassuringly.

"Yeah. The reason for the call is that I want to go to home this weekend to see him and I'd like to take the following Monday off. Rob's okay with it, so long as I get my workload cleared by Friday. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course, if Rob's cleared it. I'm not aware of any reasons for you not to go."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good luck and accept my best wishes."

"Thanks, see you on Tuesday."

"Tuesday it is."

Adam Domaradzki had arrived at the church fifteen minutes later than planned that evening and when he entered the Long Room everyone was there waiting for him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, to the group of twelve, but offered no reason.

"Everyone's here, Father," said Summa.

"Good, then let's get down to business."

Opening his brief case he removed a plain blue file and opened it on the table in front of him. Looking around at the members he began speaking. "Gentlemen the day of reckoning is approaching and I want everyone to be aware of the plan. Summa and Freeman have done all that was asked of them and we now know what is required to carry out God's work."

Richard was sitting at the table with his head lowered, listening to Domaradzki's every word.

"It's now November and four weeks from now Downtown Houston will see the hand of God deliver fire and brimstone like nothing ever seen since Sodom and Gomorrah. The result will be complete destruction of the Scientists of Satan. Summa and one of you, here tonight, will on that day of reckoning witness with your own eyes the power of God and you will rejoice in his glory. Is there one of you here that wants to be a servant of God?"

Richard looked around the table at the other members who were sitting in silence; stomach cramps like prodding knives racked his body. A voice from opposite him said.

"I do."

It was his friend and fishing partner Jack Freeman.

"I will help Summa."

"Thank you, Jack," said Adam Domaradzki. "What you are doing is for the good of mankind and every decent living person in this world. Be assured you will be blessed with eternal life." Jack Freeman smiled and lowered his head in gratification.

"Listen carefully. This is the plan..."

12

"Richard, is that you?" enquired Susan, hearing the front door open.

"Yes, sorry I'm late but the meeting went on longer than I expected. You know what they're like down at the club."

"Not surprisingly I don't, because you've never taken me." Susan was stood at the top of the stairs wearing a dressing gown and a pink cream face pack.

"It's all boring stuff anyway. I'm going to make a coffee before I come to bed darling."

"Please be quiet when you come up, I'm so tired I'll probably be asleep so please don't wake me. Oh, and by the way, Vicki will be here tomorrow evening. I'm picking her up at the airport at nine o'clock. She's staying until Sunday."

"Oh good, Pops will be pleased to see her." Richard walked into the kitchen and pulled a cold beer from the fridge. He opened the sliding doors onto the veranda and slumped into a lounger. Staring up at the night sky he took a long slug of beer and retraced the evening's events. God would surely not want him to do such a deed as kill his own sister, his pregnant sister. He couldn't volunteer, not like Jack did tonight. Vicki was going to die and he knew he was not able to stop it.

Richard was not capable of original thought, all his life he had looked for guidance from one source or another. His job suited him. It was the same thing every day, out to Alcatraz and back again, and he didn't have to make too many decisions other than when to dock the boat for maintenance or the frequency of trips to coincide with the demand. The route and ticket cost were decided anyway and thankfully not by him, so the power of Adam Domaradzki was intoxicating to him. The Father was his idol and his word was the truth. As a disciple he was commanded to do things and those commands were God's will. He couldn't question the supreme command. If he was told to kill his sister then he would have to do it. Often when the Elder Father talked about doubt and the frailty of faith he would remind them of Jacob with the Angels in the darkness and his wavering would soon be restored.

The following evening, Susan had seen the children to bed as usual and then driven down the 101 to the airport, some fifteen miles or so. At eight-twenty she parked up in the short term parking lot and made her way to the arrivals area. Looking at the arrivals display Susan picked out American Airlines flight no 519; it was flashing LANDED.

Vicki had flown from the Houston Hobby Airport, near the complex, to Dallas and then direct to San Francisco some seventeen-hundred-miles in total. Susan knew she would be tired and looking forward to a good nights sleep, but happy to know that her father was recovering well.

Vicki walked out from the customs area and Susan was there to greet her. She noticed how pregnant she looked and, no doubt, in need of some rest. "Hi Vicki," she said, as she approached.

"Hi Susan, how are you?"

"Fine, and yourself?"

"Very well thanks, just a little tired, it's been a long day. What's the latest on Pops?"

"Good news. He's doing just great and looking forward to seeing you, as you can imagine."

"After Richard called the other evening I thought it might be the end," Vicki said.

"He's a tough cookie you know, and I'm sure the thought of being a grandfather has pulled him through."

"Let's hope he keeps going long enough to pay for his university education," said Vicki, laughing.

"Ah, so it's a boy is it?"

"Oh, that's just Rob's wishful thinking. I'm sure a girl would be just as acceptable to him so long as she looks like me."

Susan laughed, "I'm sure he'll be delighted with whatever it is. I must say it's difficult to hide the fact now isn't it?" she said, looking at the protrusion in front of Vicki.

"Yeah, he can't wait to be a dad, he's so excited."She said, holding her lump with one hand.

"You picked a good one there Vicki."

"I love him, Susan. Even more than I thought possible."

"He loves you too, that's obvious."

"I must call him to let him know I've arrived safely. He gave me strict instructions before I left." Vicki took a cellphone from her bag and dialed. "Rob, Hi it's me...yes I'm fine...no, no problems...sure... I'll call you tomorrow after I've visited Pops...Yeah, Susan's here and she says he's doing just fine...Okay... Love you too." Vicki switched off the cell-phone. "Right now Susan, I'm looking forward to bed."

"I'm sure you are. I'll have you home in no time don't worry."

The next morning, Richard left home early for the boat, saying that he had some work to do on one of the engines, and that he would be home for the evening meal Susan was planning for seven pm. Vicki awoke at eight after a good sleep. Feeling refreshed, after a shower, she made her way to the kitchen. The aroma of bacon cooking filled her nostrils as she walked down stairs, and as she breathed out, she moaned gently in anticipation.

"Vicki, is that you?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Tell Susan I'll be down soon, I'm doing my hair."

"Okay. Hi guys," said Vicki, entering the kitchen where the kids were already devouring a plate full of syrup drenched waffles.

"Good morning, I trust you slept well?" enquired Susan busy cooking more waffles to keep up with the insatiable appetite of her two boys.

"Wonderfully well thank you. I feel quite refreshed now and just a little hungry having smelt the bacon."

"Would you like two fried eggs as well?"

"Oh yes, please."

"Sit at the table then, and help yourself to coffee. As soon as you've eaten these, boys, go and get ready for school," said Susan, loading the large white plate with another four hot waffles.

"Mom said she'll be down soon."

"Doing her hair no doubt," Susan commented. Vicki just nodded in agreement.

"Are you having a baby?" enquired the youngest boy.

"Yes, Paul I am."

He giggled in embarrassment before devouring another waffle and running off to his bedroom.

"He's so stupid," came the response from Aaron, through a mouthful of breakfast.

"He's only six, Aaron, don't be so nasty," replied Susan, with a stern look on her face.

"What are going to call it, Auntie Vicki?"

"Well, if it's a boy we..."

"Don't you know yet?" interrupted Aaron, sounding surprised whilst licking syrup off his fingers.

"No not yet,"said Vicki, smiling in amusement.

"If it's a boy we'd like James or Daniel. If it's a girl then either Sarah or Emma"

"Very biblical," interjected Susan.

"I suppose so. I hadn't really thought about that, but yes you're right."

"I hope it's a boy," said Aaron. "So we can watch the Giants together."

"Okay I'll see what I can do for you," said Vicki, sounding quite serious but still managing a wry smile. Aaron looked quite pleased with the response to his request and his round fresh face carried a broad smile. It would be a few years before puberty took control of his body, turning him into a spotty, arrogant teenager.

"There you are," said Susan, placing the delicious breakfast in front of Vicki.

"Not only does it smell good, it looks good too."

"Enjoy."

"Oh I will don't worry."

By ten o'clock Susan, Vicki's Mother, Mary, and Vicki had arrived at the St. Francis Memorial Hospital on Hyde Street, only a few minutes by car from home. Vicki had picked up some fresh oranges and grapes from a corner store on the way and they looked delicious. Susan gave the name of John Stark to the awaiting sister on arrival at the observation bay and she gestured with her hand.

"The cream door on your right, number 218," she said, quite bluntly.

As they walked to the room Vicki watched the general comings and goings of busy nurses, ward staff pushing trolleys and doctors huddled together in conference. It reminded her that soon she would be in a hospital bed, screaming with pain as the impossible act of pushing a seven or eight pound baby through such as a small exit became reality. At the moment it wasn't something she was looking forward to. The door of room 218 was open when they arrived and John Stark was out of bed, reading the San Francisco Chronicle, on a chair by the window.

"Hi Pops, how are you?"

"Oh, Vicki, it's great to see you."

"Don't get up, Pops," she said, leaning over to kiss him, followed closely by Mary and Susan.

"They've got you wired up all right haven't they?"

"It's monitoring my heartbeat. They say my rhythm is almost back to normal and the attack was only mild."

"I brought you some fruit, Pops, I'll put it in the basket."

"Thanks honey. You know you didn't have to come all this way just for me, I've got Mary and Susan to look after me. But, I must say it's great to see you, especially looking so well. How's that man of yours?"

"Oh he's fine."

"Good guy that Rob," said Pops, resolutely.

"He's okay," she said, winking at Pops. Vicki held his hand knowing he had a lot of respect for Rob, and it pleased her. She thought how surprisingly well he looked and very smart in his blue dressing gown that Mary had promptly bought for him the day before. The next hour was spent talking amongst themselves about the wedding and the birth and Pops reminding them on a regular basis that it was only a mild heart attack and that he would be fully fit within a matter of weeks. Vicki knew he would want to give her away but if that were not possible then Richard would have to do it.

Richard arrived home just after seven, looking tired and in need of a shower. He kissed Vicki and made straight for the bathroom.

"I'll be about ten-minutes, Sue," he said, as he ran up the stairs.

"Okay, supper's nearly ready."

The meal of cold chicken and tossed salad was quickly devoured, followed by a large selection of fruit, cheeses and fresh sourdough. Vicki noticed how edgy Richard was but put it down to tiredness and hard work.

"Have you been working hard over the summer, Rich?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've had a good season, Sis, probably the best in a few years."

Susan said, "I think he's in need of a break, Vicki."

"Don't start, please."

"Okay—I'm just thinking of your health that's all."

"What do you think of James or Sarah as names for the baby?" enquired Susan to Richard. "Aaron thinks they're very Biblical, too."

"Yes...I...suppose they are."

"Well, do you like them Rich," asked Vicki.

"They're biblical all right."

"Yes, but do you like them?"

"I suppose so, I... I haven't really thought about it," he said hesitantly.

Susan had asked him outright in bed a few nights before, whether he had another woman or not and she felt sure he hadn't. She was convinced it must be tiredness because they were okay for money. Somehow she had to get him away for a break, because that's what he needed.

"Rob and I have decided that we want the baby Christened, Mom."

"I'm glad about that Vicki, you bring that child up just like your father and I brought you up, in a respectable home with Church on Sundays."

Richard's head was bowed, and he avoided looking up at the others. His hand covered his eyes as he rubbed his forehead nervously.

Vicki noticed his agitated state and tried to please him by saying, "Rich, if Pops is not well enough to give me away, will you do it for me?"

Richard looked up at her for a moment in silence. "Of course I will, Sis."

Vicki got up and walked around to where he was seated. "Thanks," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Well, if you'll all excuse me I'm off to bed, I need some sleep."

"Rich, it's only eight-thirty," complained Susan.

"Sorry, but I've got another early start tomorrow, that engine's still playing up."

"I'll leave you some food in the fridge to take with you. Don't forget to take it with you," she said sternly.

"Yeah, okay. Goodnight everyone."

"Goodnight," came the communal response.

Waiting until he'd climbed the stairs, Susan said in a quiet voice "I'm worried about him, he's never like this normally. Something's on his mind and he won't tell me what it is. I even thought he had another woman for a while."

"Susan!" gasped Mary, in a shocked voice.

"If he has, she's sure wearing him out," joked Vicki. Susan laughed loudly before helping herself to more cheese and Mary smiled in slight embarrassment.

Adam Domaradzki was sitting on a barstool in a small wine bar on Jones Street drinking a bottle of Sierra Nevada beer. He wore tinted glasses and a black Giants baseball cap that partially covered his impassive face. His grey jacket looked shabby and stained on the lapels and sleeves. Sitting next to him were two youths that had been drinking heavily and were becoming loud and aggressive.

"You guys in need of something a little stronger?" Domaradzki asked.

They looked at each other through drunken, red eyes and smiled before laughing out loud.

"What kind of stuff have you got, old man?" asked one of the youths.

"What would you like?"

"Oh... Mr Big Time!"

"If you want to come with me, I'll show you what's on offer. It's all pure stuff, I guarantee you."

"I hope it's purer than you are," said the other youth, bursting into loud laughter again and spilling beer down the front of his tee shirt.

"Where is it then?"

"In my car, up near Huntington Park, just a few blocks away."

"We know where it is, stupid."

"Why don't you carry some on you then?"

"And you called me stupid." Domaradzki said with irritation in his voice.

"How much?"

"See it first, then we talk money."

"Okay... let's go."

"Don't leave with me, wait five-minutes and then catch me up," he said sharply, as he left the bar.

"Let's do this stupid bastard over, Joe."

"Yeah, let's clean him out and leave him in the gutter."

"Yeah!" Joe felt in his pocket for the penknife he'd never had chance to use.

Some minutes later Domaradzki had visited his car and was calmly waiting at the entrance to the park when the two youths arrived. In the trunk of his Ford was a plastic carrier bag containing a clean set of clothes, a towel and a new container of Wet Wipes.

"Walk with me in the park to a quiet spot where we can do business, but keep your voices down, we can get pulled for this you know," he said quietly. The two youths were nervous and their adrenaline was pumping at the thought of free drugs and the chance to kick the old man senseless.

Stopping at a place where the lighting from the street was dimmed by a tree, Domaradzki beckoned them to come closer. As they did he pulled two knives from his jacket and in a swift inward motion of his hands simultaneously slashed their throats, opening deep, bloody gashes in their necks that allowed the warm night air into their lungs as they inhaled in shock and confusion. Quickly he lunged the long bloody blades into their chests, twisting the handles like a trained assassin. Looking into their disbelieving eyes he smiled as their open neck wounds poured blood and bile that gurgled as they took their last breaths. In a pathetic attempt at retaliation, one of them reached forward with an outstretched arm but his trembling hand only slid slowly down Domaradzki's jacket as he crumpled to the floor.

Standing over them, like a victorious gladiator after some great battle, he gouged out their eyes and cut out their tongues. One of the youths was still alive and his body spasmed while blood from his neck wound squirted upwards in gushes for a few brief seconds more. Domaradzki decided to take the bloody prizes home and boil the tongues; they would make a cheap and delicious supper for his poodle, Missy. He laughed when he thought about how the dog would swallow the eyeballs whole without chewing; even though he told her off every time, she still did it.

Yuri Klyushin was sitting at his desk, busily working on the search plan for the next two months. He was a big man at just over six-feet and two-hundred-forty-pounds. His short receding hair stood up in patchy tumps and he wore round gold rimmed glasses that contrasted with his strong square features. He had decided to point the radio transceivers at the constellations: Andromeda, Canis Major, Corrus, Pegasus and Ursa Minor and now he was busily noting the sub set of Open and Globular Clusters of interest to him when McPherson walked in.

"Busy, Yuri?"

"Very, I'm working on the plan for the next two months, come and take a look," he said, with enthusiasm and a hint of Russian in his voice. "Both upsilon Pegasus and tau Pegasus are approximately two-hundred-light-years, so I think they're a good choice for distance category 2, don't you?"

"If you say so, Yuri," said McPherson, trusting his judgement totally.

"I'm also categorizing some Planetary Nebula and I'll probably start with Gemini."

"Whatever you say Yuri... Tell me something Yuri, do you believe in God? Do you ever wonder where all of this came from, this unimaginable mass of stars, gasses and energy?" Yuri looked upward for a moment before answering, as if searching for inspiration.

"Do I believe in God?" he paused. "Life, for my parents in Russia, was very hard. Like millions of other Russians they worked the land. Many times we were near to starvation and many died in the cold Russian winters. Religion was something that people needed, it gave them hope and it frightened them. But then came the revolution of 1917, and in three days my friend, the tsarist Romanov's who had ruled Russia for three centuries had been replaced by the Bolsheviks, an almost unheard of party of Idealists. My parents were believers and as a child I went to church, but faith to me was not something I understood very well. After the revolution, religion was banned anyway, and no one was allowed to openly admit to having a faith in God. But, I was young and I didn't care then and when I left Russia to go to university I didn't feel the need for religion anyway because I had many girls and vodka to occupy my mind."

McPherson laughed and nodded knowingly.

Yuri continued. "To answer your question Rob, I guess the answer is, no. Now and then I think about it, but I guess it's beyond my simple mind to understand such things. If there is a God, he never once answered the prayers of my parents and they died as poor as the day they were born, before I could return to my homeland. If he does exist, he is a very cruel, uncaring God."

McPherson was silent for a while, thinking about his words. "Vicki and I were talking about it last night and it seems that science postulates on the way the universe started, you know the Big Bang Theory and all that, but what was there before that? Who or what created the elements and what was there before the elements? Was there a time when there was nothing? I mean if there was, then how do you create something from nothing?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure we're meant to know those things, and even if we did, could we comprehend them? You see, our minds understand time, life and death, boundaries, changes of state; because that's the world we live in; a finite world. But tell us that the universe is endless with no outer limits and that all mass came from another parallel dimension that we can't see or comprehend even and then our cognitive thought processes break down. The human mind cannot understand principles that do not fit into our model of life."

"So God and heaven and eternal life just might exist then?"

"I suppose so, who knows what's out there. Maybe we'll be lucky and find out."

"Do you know Yuri, I'm beginning to think that we might not. Maybe we just have to wait until death takes us on a journey, to a place where all the questions are answered, a place very far from here that we would never find, even if we looked for a million years, because our eyes were never meant to see it."

"You'll be going to church next," said Yuri, jokingly.

"Maybe there's something in that after all. Think about it Yuri, God the creator sends his son to Earth to teach us how to live as flesh and blood, not that we've taken much notice mind you. And to give us hope that there is life after death and why not. If we live in a universe where the origin and rules are beyond our comprehension, then why not life after death, in another form, another dimension? So what's the purpose of it all? McPherson postulated. Why do we need to be flesh and blood, so that we can experience love, hate, anger, suffering and then, finally death, before we go off to a better place, as the Bible tells us? And then what; no suffering no hating no hurting just a house of many rooms where love is all. I really don't know Yuri," said McPherson, slightly disillusioned.

"Maybe we just live and die and that's it, there is no more. One thing I do know Rob, it's time for coffee. That I understand very well."

"So do I Yuri," said McPherson.

Back at his office McPherson touched the mouse on his desk and the monitor lit up. Opening the summary file on data from day one to the present, he studied the listings of Bin numbers, but not one had reached any significant number to suggest it was anything other than pure noise from outer space. "There must be someone out there?" he said, thinking aloud.

"Rob, is that you?" said Vicki, from her office next door.

"It is, I'm looking at the summary of results and it's surprisingly poor. Do you fancy a coffee?"

"I suppose you're also going to suggest a work out and cocktails after?" joked Vicki. McPherson laughed at the comment and remembered the lines he used when they first got together.

"No strings attached this time, just coffee," he said, jovially.

"If that's the case I'll pass this time."

McPherson laughed again and walked out of the office for two coffees.

Passing Vicki's office he stopped and looked in. "Remember that first night?"

"Oh yes, I remember it," she said, and smiled broadly.

Richard Stark was returning to the pier with another boat full of tourists, it was his third run of the day and he was looking forward to having lunch. The low drone of the twin diesel engines permeated through the boat's fiberglass hull and the square plastic container on the elevated seat next to him vibrated in sympathy. It looked full of all sorts of nice things including a message from Susan saying, I love you, scribbled on a paper napkin in blue felt pen that morning after she'd prepared his food.

The strong breeze blowing on the bay had cooled him and his passengers during the trip but was now fading as the boat neared the pier. Soon it would be hot and sticky again and the tourists would be consuming ice creams and cold drinks to beat the heat of the day.

After the boat had been moored securely and the last passenger had disembarked he sat down to enjoy his lunch in the shade of the cabin.

The Embarcadero was always a busy place bustling with visitors from all over the world and Richard would sit and watch the world go by as he ate his lunch. He switched on the radio as Lying Eyes was playing. Richard knew most of the Eagles' songs and started singing along to the record. "Late at night-- a big old house-- gets lone-ly; I guess ev- 'ry form of ref-uge has it's price -. And it breaks her heart- to think a love-is on-ly, given to a man- with...

"Richard," came a voice from the pier steps. "Richard!" This time the call was louder.

"Oh hi, Phil, what's up?" he said, turning the volume down on the radio.

"Have you heard the news this morning, Rich?" said one of the men, from a neighboring boat.

"No, what's up?"

"Jack Freeman's son was murdered last night, along with his friend... According to the police it was the work of a maniac. They found their bodies in Huntington Park at dawn this morning, all chopped up."

Richard was sitting in silence, trying to comprehend the words; his face was staring and impassive.

"Richard, did you hear me?"

"Mmmm," he said, without moving.

Phil shouted, "I hope they find the scum that did it!"

"So do I, Phil," Richard said, passionately. Then he spoke quietly, to himself, "that's what the disciples do, we hunt down scum like that and wipe them off the face of the Earth."

He wasn't hungry any more, and anger had taken over his emotions. He thought about Jack and how he'd loved his family. He knew his son well; he was a lovely kid and a good fisherman; always laughing and full of life. Someone; some mindless bastard was walking around out there, and Jack's son was dead.

13

It was a Monday morning and Rob and Vicki arrived at the Ellington Building just before seven o'clock. Rob's first task was to make a pot of freshly ground Colombian. Vicki was sitting somewhat uncomfortably on a swivel chair in Rob's office and supported her lump with both hands.

"I'm beginning to feel like a beached whale," she said, with irritation in her voice.

"It won't be for much longer now darling."

"I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

"Would you mind if we have a girl, Rob?"

"Hell, no! So long as it looks like you and not me," jibed McPherson. Vicki laughed and walked over to him.

"Kiss me, you handsome brute. I love you so much."

"I love you more."

"No, I love you more."

"Not as much as I love you."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Am I disturbing anything?" Hunter asked, walking in and smiling broadly as the two embraced.

"Hmmmm, good morning, Colin," replied McPherson breaking off the kiss.

"I'll see you later handsome," said Vicki, as she walked to her next door office. "Call me when the coffee's ready."

"Was the lady talking to me?" enquired Hunter, in a jovial manner. McPherson smiled broadly.

"Coffee?"

"Please, it smells good. Congratulations on your wedding by the way. Did everything go as planned?"

"It was great thank you. A small, family affair, as planned."

"Rob, we need to talk, is it convenient now?"

"Yeah of course — Problems?"

"Yes — we've got a problem. It's the President, he wants results, and I've got nothing to show him yet. I know that we may never get a result, but, quite rightly, he sees this project as a multi-billion dollar investment, and he's convinced himself, or rather, his advisers have convinced him, that we'll make contact, and apparently sooner, rather than later."

"Help yourself to milk," said McPherson, handing Hunter a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "I'll just take this cup into Vicki, one moment please."

On his return Hunter was sitting at his desk, deep in thought. "Tastes as good as it smells. Colombian?" he asked, as McPherson returned.

"Yeah, my favourite. So, what do you intend to do about the President's demands?"

Hunter answered, "I don't know, what can we do, other than listen to the Universe? According to our intelligence the Chinese are still listening to no avail. That though, is no argument for our failure."

"Well, by tomorrow we'll be up to date, having analyzed all the back data, and I understand from Walter, that we're moving to a new set of co-ordinates. Let's hope we have more luck there."

"Yeah, let's hope so." Hunter sipped his coffee

Hunter's secretary, Linda, had just arrived at her desk. She was in an exceptionally good mood. Sitting in her office chair, she raised her head toward the ceiling, and breathed in slowly. She began thinking about the previous evening and how she'd made love to another woman, for the first time in her life. She began to relive the night before but the sudden ringing of the desk phone made Linda jump and broke her thoughts.

"Good morning, Linda speaking," she said, trying to quickly regain her composure.

"Good morning, Linda. Did you have a good weekend?" enquired Hunter.

"Wonderful, thank you sir. Where are you?"

"I'm with Rob, in his office, at the moment. Take all my calls for the next thirty-minutes, will you please."

"Certainly sir," responded Linda jovially.

"You sound very happy this morning, Linda," commented Hunter.

"Do I sir? I think the weekend did me good."

"So what did you get up to?"

"Oh, nothing that would interest you, I'm sure. Girly things, you know," Linda said, grinning broadly.

"Girly things — Okay," said Hunter, with sudden disinterest in his voice.

McPherson was in deep conversation with Hunter when the phone rang. "McPherson speaking... Yes, good morning, Walter...Bin 8, are you sure? Okay I'll be down straightaway."

McPherson put the phone down and made his way to the control room followed closely by an excited Hunter.

On reaching the busy control room he could see people huddled over flat screen monitors, chatting excitedly. On the front wall eight red lights had been projected to indicate a Bin 8 data category, just below the huge night sky image showing the current search area.

Gesturing with his arm to Rob, Walter Rottenburg shouted, "Over here. This is the highest bin we've had to date, Rob," said Rottenburg, pointing at the screen display.

"What co-ordinates are we on?" enquired McPherson.

"We're still in Ursa Minor."

"What does it mean, Rob, have we made contact?" Hunter asked, eagerly.

"It's too early to say that. All this means is that the signal is showing signs of a structured nature, not random like most of the noise the Universe throws out. But Bin 8 is not sufficient, statistically, to get too excited about. It may be due to Pulsar activity or a Bi-Polar star even."

"At least the software is working well," retorted Jerzy Rozanski, smiling.

Vicki had now joined the excited group and was stood next to McPherson as he manipulated the Bin 8 data set.

"What have we got, darling?"

"Too early to say, I need more data before I can answer that one," responded McPherson without looking up from the screen. "Even a Bin Ten doesn't guarantee that we've made contact of course."

"But it would sure help," said Hunter, hoping he would have something positive to report to the President real soon.

McPherson spent the next few days working on the data, but to everyone's disappointment, especially Hunter's, the results were negative.

It was now Thursday and back in San Francisco the funeral of Jack Freeman's son had taken place. It had been an emotional affair with Jack Freeman and his wife clearly brokenhearted. Both, at times, needing assistance to walk to and from the church service.

All of the Disciples had attended the funeral, including Adam Domaradzki, although he kept a low profile, and wore a brimmed hat, that covered his emotionless face. Domaradzki had passed around the word that a meeting would take place in ten days time to finalize the details of the attack on the Ellington Building.

Richard Stark broke down in tears when the whispered message reached him via Disciple Summa.

The morning after the funeral Richard and Susan were sitting quietly at the breakfast table. The children had left for school and the house was silent.

"I've never seen you cry before."

"It was an emotional affair, with the kid being so young."

"Yes, it was emotional and I'm glad you cried Richard. You need to show your emotions more. I want you to be happy again."

"I'm just tired, darling that's all."

"I want to believe you: I really do."

"What do you mean, you want to believe me?"

Susan paused. "Richard, I know you better than you know yourself. I've seen you tired to the point where you'd fall asleep if you sat down for more than two minutes, but you were happy; you were Richard. Things are different now, you're not the same man. Something is occupying your mind. What is it Richard?"

For a brief moment he wanted to tell her everything. Share with her the pain he was feeling inside, but no, he couldn't do that. Susan wouldn't understand that it was the will of God that all evil sinners on Earth be destroyed.

"I'll be okay," he said, trying to sound upbeat.

"I think you need a break, just to get away for a while. Why don't you ask Summa to go fishing with you again, like you used to do down in Monterey?"

"Yeah, maybe I will." Richard looked at his watch. "Must go, look at the time." Standing up he moved over to Susan and kissed her forehead. "See you tonight," he said, as he made for the door.

14

Richard Stark had moored his boat for the night in its usual place at Pier 39 after another day of trips to Alcatraz and was driving the short distance toward Fisherman's Wharf for the meeting that had been on his mind ever since the funeral of Jack Freeman's son. The evening sun was shining in his eyes and the sea front was bustling with people enjoying the warm sea air. The sound of gulls, the occasional honk of a seal and the smell of boiling crabs reminded you that this was the Embarcadero, San Francisco, a place with an atmosphere all of its own. The sea was a calm blue and Alcatraz appeared closer to the shoreline than normal.

Minutes later Richard had arrived at the old brick building, still deep in thought.

"Okay let's get started, Richard's here now," said Adam Domaradzki, as Richard walked into the building.

"Everyone sit down please. We have no time to waste this evening."

Looking around the table Richard noticed that Jack Freeman wasn't at the meeting.

Standing with his hands in a praying position Domaradzki waited until there was complete silence from his disciples.

"Lord God hear our prayers and guide us, your devoted followers, through the coming weeks. Give us the strength to carry out your commands without question and bring peace to those who fear you. Amen."

"Amen."

"Children of Jesus, the time is now close. Soon the Lord's hand will wipe clean the evil doings in Houston and we will rejoice in his work." He paused, breathing in slowly.

"It's with great sadness that I have to inform you that Jack Freeman has been taken into hospital for observation today, I know you will all join me in wishing him a speedy recovery."

"That's thanks to the maniac that murdered his boy," retorted Summa angrily. Domaradzki took a deep breath and showed no emotion before saying:

"This means of course that we need another disciple to join Summa in Houston. Do we have a volunteer amongst us?" There was silence in the room. "Then may I suggest we ask you Richard, to offer your services to God? Your mechanical skills would be a great help." Silence prevailed for a few embarrassing seconds.

"...Richard, did you hear me?"

"...Is it the will of God?" asked Stark, in a low monotone voice.

"Yes, it is the will of God."

"Then I must obey."

"You will be rewarded in Heaven. Believe in the word of the Lord. I need you and Summa to stay behind tonight to sort out the details of your mission," said Domaradzki in an upbeat manner.

Richard Stark fought to control his emotions. Thoughts were spinning wildly in his head and his body was tense and trembling. His complexion was sallow and he looked ill. Quickly, he poured a glass of cold water from the jug in the centre of the table and drank. The coldness in his throat comforted him briefly, and he wiped his sweating palms on his denims.

"Is that you, Richard?"

"Yeah, it's me, sorry I'm late. I went for a drink with Summa after the meeting."

"Keep your voice down you'll wake the kids."

"Sorry, I'll be up in a minute."

After visiting the bathroom, Richard poured a glass of cold spring water from the refrigerator into his favourite glass and walked slowly upstairs to the bedroom.

"Hi, babe."

"Hi. How's Summa?"

"He's okay... I've decided to take your advice and I asked him if he'd like a fishing trip to Monterey again."

"And?"

"Yes, he's all for it."

Susan smiled. "I'm glad. You need the break. When do you plan to go?"

"Oh—in a couple of weeks. Gives me a chance to get a skipper sorted out for the boat. I'll have to pay him of course, but it's better than no money at all whilst I'm away."

"Good idea."

"Kiss me," said Susan, from the bed. "I'm nearly asleep." Richard kissed her before undressing. As he got into bed Susan was already sleeping.

That night he didn't sleep at all. He lay on the bed and the idea of suicide seemed the answer to his nightmare.

15

It was now December and the time had come for Richard Stark and Summa to go to Houston. The plan was to return immediately after the attack and drive to Monterey, staying there another three days to fish and take photographs of their visit. Susan would never suspect anything and Summa had no family to worry about him anyway.

There was a sound of a pickup truck pulling up on Richard Stark's drive.

"Richard, Summa's here!" Susan shouted up the stairs.

"Coming now. Where the hell is my fishing rod?"

"Look in your offspring's room."

"...Got it...Thanks."

Susan opened the front door and gestured to Summa, who responded with a smile and a wave as he turned the pickup around in the driveway.

Richard's luggage, in two leather backpacks, was piled on the porch steps, his ticket to Houston safe in the inside pocket of his jacket. Within minutes the luggage was loaded, Richard had kissed Susan, reassured her about Pops and they were ready to go.

"Take care of yourself and take it easy," Susan said, fondly.

"Thanks, darling."

"I love you, you know that don't you? Have you got everything now?"

"If we haven't it's no big deal," said Summa, in an upbeat manner.

"Take care, both, and enjoy the fishing."

Susan leaned into the truck and kissed Richard again before it sped off up the hill. Richard's arm was visible, waving goodbye until the truck was out of view. Closing the front door Susan took a deep breath. It was time to visit the hospital to see Pops.

"God! I'm so pumped up, how about you, Rich?"

"I can't say I'm feeling good about this." Richard's face was stern and pained.

"We have been chosen to do this, Richard. It's our duty to God."

"That doesn't mean to say we have to enjoy it, Summa."

Summa was excited and Richard's mood was not going to change things. He was relishing the thought of firing thermal rockets into the one-hundred-and-twenty-story Ellington Building. Summa was an old man, quite bald apart from the dyed black hair around the sides and back of his head. He wore sunglasses and in his mouth was a large unlit cigar. He was quite insane.

"The plan is quite simple, Rich, I do the firing, you drive—simple. When we get there I suggest we relax for a day and survey the target."

Richard was listening intently to Summa's words.

"We need to get the launcher from the lockup and make sure it's in good working order. I don't intend to waste a rocket by firing it at some wasteland trash target."

Richard looked serious. "But, that has always been the Elder's plan."

"No need, Rich, our target's big enough. The more rockets that hit the building the better."

Richard shivered. He tried to imagine the damage that would accost them as they drove out of the underground parking lot. All around them would be panic and mayhem, even if just one of the rockets was on target, and he shivered again.

"We'll practice the drill I did with Jack Freeman, so that we'll know exactly what's required of each other. It has to be done with military precision, Rich."

"Yeah, of course," Stark said, with distance in his voice, as the comment broke his thoughts. He knew Summa was the only disciple that could recognize Vicki, from the photos taken at Black's funeral, although he'd not met her and the framed photo of her at home was taken some time ago. He would have said something by now, deliberated Stark. Would he do this if it was his sister involved? Should he be doing it? He asked himself again.

Throughout his life, Richard had questioned very little. He was happy being led. At home, Susan did most of the thinking. On the boat he often switched off and thought about nothing. The Elder Father made decisions for him in the Church and, that, he was happy with. He knew it was the will of God to eliminate scum like the animal that cut up Jack's son. Having to kill his pregnant sister though plagued him. She wasn't scum, she was misguided perhaps, a non-believer yeah, but was she really evil? Domaradzki told him God wanted the evil ones stopped and God can't be wrong. His thoughts were again broken when Summa spoke, enthusiastically.

"On Monday morning, Rich, you check out those entering the underground parking lot and when we have a full house come back to the hotel. I'm no fucking good at that sort of thing, man. You just tell me they're all in; and leave the rest to me."

Summa tugged the steering wheel, and the truck lunged down the exit road off the 101 in the direction of the airport. They would leave the Ford in the long-stay parking lot until their return in three days time. Then they would drive down to Monterey along the coast road to finish off the holiday with a spot of sea fishing.

"I've booked the same room on the twenty-fifth floor, so I know the elevations and distances are the same and we're well within the range of the launcher." Summa said, confidently, "I don't expect to miss." His face glowed with enthusiasm. "You should see the baby, Rich, it's an eighty-four mm Carl Gustav, M3 lightweight, and it's got four high explosive rockets. Shit, they'll destroy the place," he said, excitedly.

He was a young boy when he fought in Vietnam, for the 9th Infantry Division. His target then was much harder to hit, invisible most of the time and always on the move. Badly injured in Operation Enterprise, fighting to clear Long An Province, he was flown home. For him, it was the most exciting time of his life and he missed the rush that pure fear gave him, he missed the camaraderie, the killing. Now though, he was going back and he couldn't wait.

Twenty minutes later and they had arrived at the Houston Airport Domestic Departures. The young girl at the United Airlines desk informed them that there was no delay, gave them their boarding cards, and directed them to gate number 12.

"The flight is departing at ten-minutes-past-eleven, you have twenty-five minutes, plenty of time."

As they walked to the gate, Summa turned to Richard.

"There's no going back now, my friend."

"No, I know," responded Richard, looking straight ahead.

16

"Bin 8, for the third time this morning, Rob," Yuri enthused, as McPherson entered the control room.

"Worth further investigation I think," responded McPherson, enthusiastically.

"It feels like we're homing in on something here."

"Bin 9," shouted Yuri, as the light on the main panel illuminated red. "That's significant isn't it, Rob?"

"It should be, if my software is doing what it was designed to do." McPherson sat down at a spare computer screen and tapped in his security code. The system acknowledged him and opened the menu page. McPherson picked up the mouse and pulled the cursor down the options on the screen until 3D Spectral Analyzer was highlighted. He quickly clicked on it and absorbed himself in the details.

"We seem to be closing in on something," said Jerzy Rozanski, excitedly. His square chiseled face, flushed with excitement. He was normally the quiet type, not one to show his emotions, but today he was stimulated, and it showed.

Vicki could sense the excitement in the room and her pulse quickened. As she bent forward to look at one of the monitors she felt a sharp pain in her belly and it caused her to take in a short breath and her hands instinctively cradled her now large pregnant tummy. No one noticed her discomfort in the excitement and the pain didn't persist.

"What have we got?" said Hunter, entering the dimly lit control room.

"We've got a Bin 9," replied McPherson, staring at the screen as he typed. His intense expression lit by the glow from the monitor.

Hunter wanted success badly. "Have we made contact?" he asked eagerly

"No, we haven't, but the data's becoming more structured."

Hunter again asked. "What do you mean, structured?"

Absorbed, McPherson didn't hear the question. "There are four or five Globular Clusters in this sector aren't there Yuri."

"That's correct, Rob."

McPherson's mind was focused. "Okay, let's home in on this baby. Yuri, send positional instructions to the five other satellites so that they all face this sector."

"Right away," said Yuri, sitting at another monitor some feet from McPherson. The instructions were tapped in and the "Confirm Positional Details" button flashed on the screen. Yuri clicked the cursor on the screen button and the information was transmitted to the satellites. High above the Earth, silent retro's fired on the sides of the huge metal structures, hovering effortlessly, like birds of prey in the sky. Simultaneously, each unit obeyed the new positional commands, slowly turning their long detector tubes to lock on to the new co-ordinates in Ursa Minor. Servomotors turned on each satellite adjusting the immense solar panels to compensate for the change in position and maintain maximum power generation from the sun's rays. The message 'New Station Position's Confirmed' flashed on Yuri's monitor.

"It's done, they've all locked on," confirmed Yuri, staring at the monitor in front of him.

Vicki smiled at no one in particular and gave a little shiver of excitement.

"Bin 10, we've got a 10!" Jerzy shouted, as the last light lit in the row. McPherson looked up, almost nonchalantly, for the briefest of moments before studying the monitor again.

"What have we got, Rob?" shouted Hunter, as he quickly walked towards him. "Answer me, Rob." Hunter said, impatiently.

"I don't know yet. It's much too early. I need to do a lot more analysis, but it appears to me that we've found a sequence of long data repetition."

"You mean a message?"

"I don't know. It may take days to search this stuff for meaningful data, if there's any at all, it's not guaranteed, Colin."

"We have the weekend my friends. Let's get down to business," said Hunter, as he strode purposefully out of the room, leaving his loud, enthusiastic voice ringing in their ears.

McPherson could feel his pulse racing, he knew this was significant but at the same time found it hard to believe it was happening. As he was sitting at his terminal something showed on the filter monitor that made him freeze. For some thirty-seconds or more McPherson franticly typed instructions on the keyboard. "Someone get Hunter back here now," he shouted in excitement seconds later.

"What is it?" shouted Rozanski.

"Someone get Hunter, now," repeated McPherson impatiently.

"What the hell's going on, Rob?" asked Yuri. Just then Hunter returned to the control room sensing there was something happening

"Okay, what have we got?" he said, smiling nervously.

McPherson looked at Hunter, his expression was intense. "I think we need a video link with the President."

"It had better be good, Rob, what is it?"

McPherson responded. "You remember the digital signal that was sent into space in 1973 from the Arecibo Telescope?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we've just received a reply."

"Can you understand what they're saying." Hunter asked.

"It's too early for me to tell but the signals are definitely some kind of structured communication," replied McPherson.

Vicki flinched, but nobody noticed.

"Get the President on the line!" shouted Hunter. "Right now!"

"Where are they from, do they say?" Rozanski asked.

"They're showing some kind of positional map like our digital message showed Earth's position but I don't understand what it means."

The video screen lit up next to McPherson and the President's face appeared. "Gentlemen, what do you have for me?" he asked with interest.

"Mr President," replied McPherson. "We appear to be receiving signals from an alien source far more advanced than ourselves."

"How do you know that?" enquired the President.

"Because they've mastered time-travel."

"What do you mean?"

"The signals we're receiving are coming from our own Solar System."

There was a chilling silence in the control room as everyone wrestled with Rob McPherson's words.

17

Summa looked at his watch, through bleary eyes. It was six o'clock and he had slept well. He pulled his naked body upright and leaned on the headrest. Last night's cigar was still in the ashtray next to his bed and he reached out to pick it up. It tasted good as he rolled the end around on his lips. He thought about the day ahead as he stared at the plain wall opposite and decided to go to Beaumont in the rental car later that morning to pick up the launcher and rockets. Impatiently, he got up and walked to the veranda.

Looking across the plaza he could see the tall Ellington Building and its fragile glass skin mimicking the blue sky. He raised his hands to hold the imaginary launcher and recoiled as the invisible rocket headed towards its target; his pert lips making a childlike rocket sound as he exhaled. He laughed loudly as he walked towards the bathroom, not waiting for the rocket to reach its target.

Richard awoke to the sound of the phone ringing on the table next to his bed. Reaching out he slowly fumbled to pick up the receiver and pulled it to his ear. "Yeah," he said with a deep, rough morning voice.

"Rich, get up, we've got work to do."

"Yeah, okay."

"Order breakfast in bed and be ready to leave in one hour okay."

"Okay, where are we going?"

"Beaumont," and then the phone buzzed in his ear as Summa ended the call. Richard Stark lay in bed and stared at the blurring ceiling as tears fell from his cheeks on to the starched white bed sheet.

One hour later there was a knock on Stark's door and he knew exactly who it was. With trembling hand he grabbed the door handle and opened it to see Summa standing there, his expression almost manic, his blood replaced with pure adrenalin.

"This is it Rich, are you ready?" asked Summa.

"I'm ready," responded Stark, trying to muster an ounce of enthusiasm.

Minutes later, Stark could hear the roar of the Chevrolet Suburban SUV Alamo hire car as Summa drove it up the ramp from the underground parking lot into the bright sunlight.

"Get in Rich, no time to waste," instructed Summa through the open front window, as he braked to a stop at the top of the ramp.

Richard Stark took a deep breath and jumped into the passenger seat. The SUV growled once again as the pair headed for the Interstate 10 and the lock up at Beaumont, some two hours drive east of Houston. He had to listen to the excited rantings of Summa for most of the journey. Silence only came during the long inhalations of the large cigar Summa relished. Adrenalin had turned him into a hyperactive, annoying individual, that Stark wanted to gag.

"Here we are Rich—it's just down here, opposite that old Ford truck." Stark felt sick. The reality of the situation was happening too quickly and he could do nothing to stop the clock. To take time out. Time to think.

Within fifteen-minutes the equipment had been loaded into the truck and the lockup closed again.

"Fuck me, Rich, I think I'm going to come. This shit is better that sex."

"Pull over please—NOW!" shouted Stark.

Summa stopped the truck and Stark opened the passenger door, leaned out, and vomited the entire contents of his breakfast onto the road.

"You okay, buddy?"

"I guess I'm not as good as you at this sort of thing, Summa," Stark said, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

"You'll be fine don't worry. I'll do all the hard work," Summa said, reassuringly.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Summa."

"It's okay, don't worry, this is not something we do everyday, Rich. This is something monumental, man. Even I'm beginning to feel nervous now."

Richard Stark looked at Summa and just knew that he was lying.

"When we get back to the hotel we'll take the launcher and the rockets up to my room in the fishing bags. No one will suspect anything Rich, okay?"

"Whatever you say."

"You'll feel better knowing that you've brought it up and it's safe."

Richard Stark was sitting, pale faced, staring straight ahead. He offered no response to Summa's comment.

18

The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the NYPD office filled Adam Watts' nostrils as he inhaled deeply, clasping both hands behind his head he looked upwards for some kind of divine intervention.

For almost eight-years Watts had given a lot of his resolve trying to solve a number of hideous murders in the New York area. When he finally lowered his head the bright light from the computer screen in the dimly lit office illuminated his craggy shaven face, highlighting his blank expressionless look.

All of the murders followed a similar pattern of mutilation. Each of the eight victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out and their throats cut. The females had been disemboweled. There were no witnesses and no fingerprints at any of the murders.

Harrowing scenes of crime pictures were stuck to the panel in front of Watt's desk and he stared at the named images, deep in thought. It appeared that the victims were selected randomly. There were four young female prostitutes, two male drug dealers, a small-time thief and a Catholic priest, who had been castrated. This evil bastard is on a mission: yet another sick delusional missionary but why cut out their tongues? It wasn't to stop them talking, the dead don't tell tales.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to find the motive for death other than the obvious; removal of scum from the streets of New York. But then the priest, how did he fit into that argument? Watts had checked the priest out and he appeared to be clean, no suggestion of child abuse or sexual wrong doing, so why castrate him?

Watts lifted his large frame out of the seat, dropped his glasses nonchalantly on the desk and walked slowly to the coffee pot some twenty-yards away. When he returned with a strong hot black brew in his black Batman mug, the computer screen was alerting him to a new email. In no rush he sipped his drink, still obviously deep in thought.

As a youth, Watts had decided that he wanted to be a cop, even though the family business would be his one day, pawnbroking offered him nothing of interest. Walking the streets as a young cop gave him a sense of fulfillment and every day was different. Now with six-years left of an unexceptional career he was not expecting any further promotion. Detective Watts was going through the motions as he slipped back into his swivel chair and clicked his mouse.

The email was a departmental notice from the Head of IT stating that from one o'clock tomorrow the systems would be down for about two hours to enable improvements to the system. These improvements would allow searches not just around the New York area but as far away as California, now that National database integration was implemented. Watts continued to read with interest. Credit card searches and DNA files were now integrated into one application. Search criteria improvements will allow the individual to enter multiple fields.

Watts finally finished reading the memo, downed the remaining coffee and decided to head for his favorite bar some two hundred yards down East 20th Street. With no one to go home to he was in no rush to get back to his empty, drab apartment. Without his wife who had died in a car crash seven years ago and no children, his life had lost a lot of meaning. Watts grabbed his jacket from the hook near the glass exit doors, mumbled a good night to one of his colleagues deep in thought at his computer to his left and closed the door behind him as he left. The implications of the database improvements were to change his life forever; he just didn't know it yet.

The evening was just another reason to spend time at the bar and tonight was no different. There were a couple of women that visited the bar and sometimes Watts got into conversation with them. He hoped that one of them would be there tonight.

Sitting alone drinking was no fun, tonight he felt to need to talk. He was a person who liked company, especially female company. Happy to buy their drinks all night in exchange for their time but not expecting anything in return. His confidence as a lover had left him years ago and the last time he'd had sex was too painful to think about.

Watts opened the door to the bar and noticed one of the women was sitting, chatting to the barman. He walked up next to her and ordered a drink.

"Hi, Adam, great to see you."

"Hi sweetheart, mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest, I'm on my own as usual."

"Thanks."

"Solved any crimes today, big boy?"

"No, just another day in Paradise, Jane." Watts picked up his glass and downed it in one. "Same again and one for the lady please barman."

"Thanks, Adam, don't mind if I do."

"How about you, Jane, what was your day like?"

"About as far from Paradise as you can get."

"What exactly do you do?" Watts enquired.

"I'm a shrink, for my sins. I sit and listen to people and I try to analyze what the fuck is going on in their crazy messed up heads. Believe me I sometimes think I need one myself some days."

"Jane, can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead, I'm all ears."

"I've got a lot of murders that are unsolved and they're pretty horrific. Do you mind if I talk about that sort of thing with you or not?"

"Don't worry about me, I had a husband once and he was the cruelest bastard on the planet," she said laughing. "And, anyway, my life needs a bit of excitement at the moment."

Watts smiled at her. "This person, if it is one person is cruel, too."

"Cruel in what way?" Jane asked, moving closer to Watts.

"Well, he kills men and women, seemingly randomly, by cutting their throats."

"Oh, fuck! — My husband wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, but there's more....... Are you sure you want to hear this?" Watts asked with genuine concern in his voice.

"Perhaps another drink would help."

"Same again, barman... Jane, have you eaten?"

"Not yet, no."

"Fancy a cheese burger and fries?"

The gentle kiss on the side of his face took Watts by surprise. Jane was a good looking middle-aged women who'd clearly looked after herself. Blonde, blue eyed and slim. Her low cut dress showing off her full breasts. When she leaned over towards him her expensive sweet perfume rammed into his dormant senses like a runaway steam train. It was going to be a better than average night for the big detective. He felt alive again for the first time in years. Someone was actually enjoying his company. He still had something to offer, it wasn't all over yet.

"If I explained the details of the murders to you, could you throw any light on the kind of monster that continues to elude me?"

"I can't promise anything but I'm prepared to give it a go for you, Adam, but only for you, you understand?" she said teasingly.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Watts leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

The next morning Adam Watts arrived at the NYPD building in East 20th. Street at precisely eight o'clock in the same cloths he'd worn the night before. He was unshaven and smelt of ladies perfume. The place was already bustling with activity as he entered the large open plan office on the third floor. A few waves and hellos, as usual, as he made his way, smiling, on autopilot to the coffee that smelt so appealing. After a later than normal night at his local bar and the first sex in ages, he needed to clear his head if he was to do a days work.

A bigger than normal pile of new files were on his desk when he arrived and he knew it was going to be another long boring day with last nights memories helping to pass the time of day. He felt tired but at the same time invigorated. Jane was one hell of a woman.

The morning passed quickly as he absorbed himself in reading files and documenting attempted murders, robbery, GBH, traffic incidents and drug offenses intermingled with images of Jane's erect nipples willingly pushed into his eager mouth and the wonderful feel, taste and smell of tender female flesh again.

Paperwork was one of his main pet hates so Watts planned to be out of the office after lunch on case follow-ups. It was lunchtime and the pizza delivery was on time. For a large man, over six foot five, he strode quickly to the delivery boy at the office entrance and paid for his large Margherita pizza before settling back in his chair to enjoy the delicious thin-base that tasted twice as good as it looked.

Let's give this new database a whirl, and see just how good it is.

Watts's big frustration was the unsolved murders that had plagued him for years. The eight mutilated bodies with no witnesses, no prints and no evidence to convict anyone. Time was running out, he knew that but deep inside him he still had a spark of enthusiasm that continued to burn and a small amount of pride that refused to abandon him.

There were a number of suspects but not enough evidence to build a case for the prosecution. Entering the hideous details of the eight murders into the database took about fifteen minutes, Watts then hit the search button and sat back to enjoy the rest of his pizza. He wasn't expecting anything back from the search criteria but then on the screen, information started to appear about a similar recent murder in San Francisco where the victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out. Four potential suspects with their photographs appeared on the screen, one of them was an Adam Domaradzki. Watts was sitting up intently, staring at the screen.

Has my luck finally fucking changed?

Today, unusually, the detective's lunch had become unimportant and most of the pizza ended up in the bin at the side of his desk.

19

When Summa awoke on Monday morning he felt rested and relaxed. He walked into the en suite bathroom of his hotel room and looked at his calm refection in the mirror. He picked up his toothbrush and began cleaning his smoke stained teeth before splashing his unshaven face with cold water from the sink tap. His thoughts soon focused on yesterday's trip to Beaumont and how well it went. Just to hold the rocket launcher excited him so much be could barely control his emotions in the lockup. He walked back into the bedroom and lovingly stroked the large fishing rod bag, laying on the spare bed, that now concealed the launcher. His pulse immediately quickened.

The long wait was nearly over, soon the rush of adrenalin, that death and carnage sparked in him, would be pumping through his veins, satisfying his craving like heroin; a craving deprived since the heady days of Vietnam, now just distant memories but soon to be resurrected from the fire like the Phoenix in the desert.

Every part of the operation had been rehearsed in his head numerous times and now he needed to do it for real. Within hours Houston would be a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah and the evil would be eliminated.

Summa picked up his cellphone and called Adam Domaradzki, as previously agreed in San Francisco, but strangely the leader of the sect didn't answer, just his voicemail greeting asking the caller to leave their name and number and a promise to return their call ASAP, which Summa ignored. Irritated by the lack of response he deciding to call him back a little later. He then called Richard Stark who responded immediately to the call.

"Summa?"

"Hey, you okay?"

"I guess so."

"Good, then get breakfast for two sent to your room Rich and I'll join you in ten minutes to talk through the details." Summa ended the call and took in a deep breath. It was time for a shower.

The atmosphere on Monday morning in the Ellington Building control room was electric, everyone was upbeat after contact had been made on the weekend. The whole team was in early, just after dawn, most had been there all night, high on caffeine and eager to find out who had communicated with Planet Earth and all lenses were desperately trying to get images of the Alien craft or crafts communicating. NASA had been instructed to turn the Hubble telescope to the area where the signals were emanating in an attempt to see the spacecraft but nothing was visible, as yet.

Vicki was walking across the room to one of the spare monitors when she stopped. Her waters had broken and she smiled to herself. The birth of her baby was now about to start, at last, and she couldn't wait.

"I think I need to get to the hospital," Vicki said, quite calmly.

Rob turned to look at Vicki and immediately went to her aid seeing her predicament.

"Are you okay, darling?" Rob asked, far more nervous about the incident than Vicki.

"Perfectly fine, thank you, it's what I've been praying for the last two week."

"We need to get you to hospital straight away. Gentlemen you'll have to excuse us, but we have some urgent business to attend to at the maternity ward," McPherson said proudly, but clearly nervously. The moment had upset his usually calm, controlled, professional manner and he looked uncharacteristically flustered.

Everyone wished them well as they left the room for the hospital. Clearly embarrassed by the disturbance the team quickly turned their attention back to the immediate tasks at hand.

20

Richard Stark, after the breakfast meeting with Summa, had done his reconnaissance of the Ellington Building parking lot and had checked off all the team members as present. He made his way back to the hotel with the information and photos of each automobile on his camera, unaware, that Rob and Vicki were about to leave the building for the hospital.

Richard Stark parked up the rental car at the hotel and made his way up in the elevator to Summa's room on the twenty-fifth floor.

Arriving there Stark knocked on the door and waited. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his hands visibly shook.

Nervously, he knocked the door again, this time harder and eventually, Summa answered.

"Well?"

"I've checked them all in; nobody is missing," responded Stark in a monotone way.

"Good, then I'm going to blow them all to hell."

Stark could see the rocket launcher on the bed and it was loaded with a thermal-head rocket. The window onto the veranda was open and Stark knew Summa had been out there eagerly looking at the target and imagining the imminent carnage the thermal rocket heads would cause.

"Have you managed to speak to Adam yet?" enquired Stark.

"I've been trying, but I can't get through to him."

"Is there something wrong, Joe? Should we wait to speak with him first?"

"We have our instructions what more do you want?" snapped Summa, in an irritated manner.

"Where the hell is he? He specifically told us to call him before we acted."

"I don't know where he is, but it doesn't change anything. We still carry on as planned."

Stark's cellphone rang, interrupting the conversation.

"That's probably him now," said Summa enthusiastically.

Stark answered the call as his wife's picture appeared on his cellphone.

"Hello darling, how are you?"

Summa realised it wasn't Adam, picked up the launcher and carried it out onto the veranda, leaving Stark to take the call. He sat down and rested the launcher on his shoulder. The time was right.

Richard Stark was stunned by what his wife was shouting down the phone. Adam, his leader, was on the run from the police and wanted as a serial killer of over twenty people. He had escaped the raid to arrest him in San Francisco and was on the run, but other members of the sect had been arrested by the FBI. She was screaming that the police were also looking for him and Summa as accessories to murder. Susan was crying down the phone at Stark and his head began spinning in disbelief.

"Call her back, Rich, we've got work to do," shouted Summa, impatiently.

"Watch this mother fucker go!" he cried out, excitedly, as Stark walked out onto the veranda.

Summa stood up and aimed the launcher at the Ellington Building. His finger squeezed the trigger and then released, as a bullet entered his head from Stark's gun. Summa slumped onto the floor with the launcher on top of him. His body was still jerking for a few seconds even though his brains had been blown out and the right side of his skull was splattered in fragments all over the bloodied wall and tiled floor of the veranda.

Susan's frantic screams bellowed out of his cellphone.

"Susan, shut up, and listen to me please! Susan, shut up!" Stark's voice was breaking up and tears welled up in his eyes.

"I want you to know that I love you and the kids more than anything else in the world and I want you to tell Vicki that I love her too, but I have to go now. Please find it your hearts to forgive me."

Stark held the smoking gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.

21

Sunday, around noon, in San Diego was quiet in the small bar on Seacoast Drive. There were a couple of regulars sipping cold beer from bottles and enjoying a game of poker on a table in the corner of the room and a stranger, sitting at the bar. The barman's Mexican girlfriend kicked open the door from the kitchen and deftly glided a cup of freshly brewed coffee onto the bar under the nose of the stranger who ignored her. The barman finished texting someone and put down his phone on the back of the bar by the optics. He picked up a cloth and beer glass, checking every few seconds as he wiped it to see if it was clean by holding it up to the bright sunlight flooding into the smoky bar through the open doors. The sound of a police car wailed in the distance.

"Not seen you around these parts before," said the barman to the stranger, trying to kick off a conversation.

"No, I'm heading for Mexico and I needed a break. The coffee tastes real good."

The TV screen in the top left hand corner of the room was tuned into the news channel and on-the-hour news had just started.

The female announcer introduced herself and then went on to give the main headlines. The barman stopped cleaning glasses and turned to watch.

The announcer said:

"The top story on the hour...It appears that one of America's most respected scientists has been killed in a car bomb attack." She continued to explain that Dr Robert McPherson had apparently died along with his wife and newborn baby son, shortly after 10am in Houston Texas. The motive for the killings is, as yet unknown. According to government sources, the husband and wife team were working on a project, based in Houston, studying climate change and global warming.

Images of the burnt out car filled the screen, followed by an interview at the murder scene with the Head of the Houston Police Department.

"What kind of a sick mother fucker would do that?" said the barman in disgust, to no one in particular. The stranger was paying no attention, just sipping his coffee.

"Don't tell me there's a God when this sort of thing goes on," the barman continued with anger in his voice, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but none came.

In frustration he looked at the stranger who was wearing dark sunglasses and a black, Giants baseball cap and showing no sign of emotion.

Unperturbed the barman continued. "I was a devout Catholic you know, all my life, and then one day I saw the light."

The stranger slowly looked up.

The barman noticed, clearly pleased that he had finally got the man's attention and said:

"I realised that this religion thing was all a load of crap. A money making machine that preys on the poor and the vulnerable, filling them with false hope, fear and guilt. An institution riddled with hypocrisy and corruption," he said, pointing to the TV screen. "And, that just proves my point. What kind of a loving God would stand by and let that happen?"

This time the man in the sunglasses and cap responded. "Never doubt the word of God, for come the Day of Judgement, when you meet your maker, you will have to answer for your sins, and blasphemy is a sin."

There was a pause as the barman looked on in disbelief at the short sermon he'd just heard. "Oh yeah," he finally retorted, smugly, "and when is that likely to happen old man?"

"Very soon, my friend—very soon, responded Adam Domaradzki."

Deep underground, below the Pentagon, the ice-blue eyes of the dead aliens opened.

-End of Part One-

### PART TWO

### THE ROAD

### TO

### ARMAGEDDON

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known"

Carl Sagan

22

Cancun Mexico

Adam Domaradzki had a lot on his mind as he walked the few hundred yards to the Aquamarina Beach Bar in Puerto Juarez. His once long white hair was now short and dark brown and his beard was gone, replaced by smooth tanned skin. He wore Ray-Ban sun glasses to protect himself from the hot Mexican sun that today, mercifully, was cooled by a welcoming sea breeze.

His appearance had changed, of that there was no doubt, but inside he was still a dangerous serial killer who's appetite for murder had not been quelled by the multiple deaths of the McPherson family in Houston only four weeks previously.

Cancun is located on the Yucatan Channel that separates Mexico from the island of Cuba in the Greater Antilles. Cancun's region is sometimes known as the Mexican Caribbean. To live in this adults' playground can be expensive, but to Adam Domaradzki money was not a problem. He was rich, very rich, thanks to the inheritance he received from his guilt ridden father and the money he took from the disbanded Church in San Francisco, infamous now as a fanatical and murderous secret religious sect.

Domaradzki pulled out a white wicker chair and settled down at a beach-view table, raised his hand to the young waiter at the bar and a cold bottle of Modelo Especial arrived in less than a minute.

"How are you today, sir?" the waiter enquired.

"Just fine, Micky, just fine." Domaradzki smiled and looked out at the Gulf of Mexico, sipped his beer and started planning the final destruction of the remaining members of the elite team of scientists once headed up by Rob McPherson.

He breathed the fresh, salty sea air deep into his lungs and looked up at the clear blue sky. Today was going to be very hot again.

Leaving the USA was easy but getting back in was going to be very difficult, especially since he was being hunted by the CIA and the police. Domaradzki knew it would require a boat if he was to eventually implement his plan to stop the evil misguided project. Richard Stark's actions had not been expected and it was a major setback, but it was only a setback. If the job was to be done properly he would have to do it himself. There was no room for error this time. Money can buy you anything in Mexico and now Adam Domaradzki no longer existed. He had a new identity matched by a fake Mexican passport under the name of Diego Martinez, born in Mexico City and now aged fifty-five. For an extra one thousand dollars he had also ordered a fake US passport in the name of Christian Hansen.

"Hi, mind if I join you?"

Domaradzki looked up somewhat surprised to see an attractive young girl with an American accent standing next to him.

"Feel free," gesturing to her with his hand to join him at the table.

"My name's Kim, but people call me Honey."

"What can I do for you?"

"A drink would be lovely," she said, with a broad smile.

Intrigued, Domaradzki raised his arm to attract the attention of the waiter as he eyed the girl sitting next to him. She was tall, extremely beautiful, tanned and obviously in need of money to feed her drug habit.

"So, what's your name then?" she asked, as she crossed her long tanned legs.

"Does it matter what my name is?"

"Hey come on, how can I drink with you if I don't know your name?"

"My name is Diego."

"Pleased to meet you, Diego."

"Drink for the lady please, Micky," Domaradzki said in a monotone voice as the waiter arrived.

"Bourbon on the rocks," Honey replied looking into Domaradzki's eyes, having already noticed his gold Rolex.

"I've not seen you around here before?"

"No," she replied, "I've only been here a few days. Had a big bust-up with my boy friend and he just fucked off and left me. I've got no money and nowhere to sleep."

"Forgive me, but I thought you were a hooker for a moment." Honey just smiled innocently.

"How are you planning to get home?" Domaradzki asked with interest.

"Not sure yet," Honey replied, frowning thoughtfully.

"Do you want some change to call your folks?"

"If I had any I would. A Marlboro would be nice though." Domaradzki offered her his pack. She nervously held the cigarette between the fingers of her trembling hand until he reached over and lit it for her. Honey sucked the smoke deep into her lungs and visibly relaxed.

"So why do they call you Honey?"

At that moment the waiter brought the drink to the table.

"Thanks," said Domaradzki.

Honey paused until the waiter had left, then she sensuously sipped her drink and slowly opened her legs to expose herself.

"I'm called Honey because I taste so good.......Does it look tasty to you?"

Domaradzki knew she was desperately in need of a fix. "When did you eat last?"

"Yesterday," replied Honey.

Domaradzki again attracted the waiter's attention. "Two flamed burgers with cheese and chili sauce, fries and salad for two."

"Thank you, you're very kind. I wish there were more men like you in the world." Her comment brought a smile to his face.

Two hours had passed since they'd eaten and Honey had finished taking a welcome shower at Domaradzki's apartment.

She headed for the bedroom drying her body as she walked with a large white bath towel. Her breasts were large and firm and her nipples hardened as her sexual anticipation heightened. The alcohol and line of coke had kicked in and she felt exuberant.

Domaradzki lay on the bed naked admiring her young tanned body and his heart beat began to race.

"My god you are a big boy, aren't you?" she said, somewhat shocked. "How do you want me?" Honey asked casually while drying her short black hair.

"I want all of you and a whole lot more," replied Domaradzki eagerly.

"Then try this for starters," Honey provocatively dropped the towel and walked onto the bed. Straddling him she slowly lowered herself onto his eager tongue which quickly probed deep inside her wet pussy.

Soon she was gyrating on his face in uncontrollable excitement. Caressing her sensitive nipple with one hand, she began stroking his throbbing shaft with her other. The flickering tongue that stimulated her clitoris so expertly brought her quickly to orgasm for the first time. As she pressed down, a second, stronger orgasm ripped through her and she knew there was more on the way. Eagerly she embraced the growing crescendo of pure ecstasy that would burst out of her shaking body like an erupting volcano. Looking down she saw her love juices glistening around his attentive mouth and her eyes rolled as another orgasm shook her entire body with the force of a massive earthquake.

"Does it taste good?" she asked, almost delirious with pleasure.

"Like honey," he replied. "Like honey."

"I told you so, didn't I?... And now I'm going to fuck you, like no one has ever fucked you before." Holding his stiff shaft with both hands she slowly lowered herself onto it.

"Oh my god, Diego, it's massive."

Blasphemy is evil.

At exactly seven o'clock, the alarm clock rang on the bedside table next to Domaradzki. He was lying spread-eagled on the bed like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Slowly, he awoke and eventually he walked out onto the sun drenched veranda straight to his pack of Marlboro reds and his zippo on the table. He lit a cigarette and inhaled, waiting for the hit. Remembering last night brought a smile to his face and he walked back into the coolness of the room and down the corridor to the utility room. He lifted the lid of the chest freezer and looked down at Honey's severed head.

At eleven o'clock, Domaradzki walked the short distance from his apartment to Avenue de los Talleres. He knew it was necessary to go to confessions to beg forgiveness for his sins. He knew he was weak and he knew he was unable to resist the temptations of the flesh.

The main heavily studded hardwood door to the church was ajar so he pushed it open and walked in. At first he couldn't see in the relative darkness, so he stood still for a few moments until his eyes accustomed to the light. The cool air was pungent with the smell of burning candles and wood polish. There was an overwhelming serenity in the building which he gratefully embraced. Colored beams of red, orange and blue light fanned out from a large circular leaded window that faced south and illuminated the stone floor that lead to the altar. After making the sign of the cross he walked to the confession box to the right of the altar. Closing the frail narrow wooden door behind him he sat on the polished wooden seat.

"Are you here to confess?" a voice asked from behind the wooden screen.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned. These are my sins."

Domaradzki gently pushed one thousand dollars under the gap below the wooden screen that separated him from the priest and watched as it quickly disappeared from view.

Continuing, he said, "I have been unable to resist the temptations of the flesh. I was weak and seek forgiveness. I am sorry for this sin and all the sins that I cannot remember."

After a short silence the priest spoke.

"My son you must learn to show strength by remembering the Word of God. The penance for your sins is that you read Romans, Chapter 8, verses 1 to 39."

"I accept the penance. My God I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good. I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help to do penance and to sin no more and to avoid whatever that leads me to sin."

"Your sins are truly forgiven, go in peace."

"Thank you, God."

Moments later he walked out into the unrelenting dry heat and bright sunlight, donned his sunglasses, lit a Marlboro and walked briskly back to the Aquamarina Beach Bar for his first cold Modelo of the day. He felt spiritually cleansed.

23

The Pentagon, Washington DC Four Weeks Ago

Kevin Short, Head of Pentagon Security, was awakened from a deep sleep at precisely four o'clock by the phone ringing next to his bed. Groggily he reached out for the receiver.

"Kevin Short speaking," he said, in a gruff voice from a smoke dry throat. Within a few seconds he was wide awake and sitting bolt upright in bed. "You're fucking kidding me, right?...When did this happen?...HOLY SHIT...I'm on my way."

Short stood in the temperature controlled room that had housed the bodies of the dead aliens for as long as he could remember and his body was shaking uncontrollably. The inch-thick bulletproof, hermetically sealed glass walls and ceiling were intact and gave the room its nickname, The Tank.

Positioned in the centre of a much larger subterranean room and lit by banks of high powered halogen flood lights from all four outer walls, the chamber was like a huge illuminated aquarium but without the water. The numerous motion, temperature and pressure sensors had remained silent and the only door to the chamber was in place and secure when he arrived. In the security control room overlooking the chamber he had watched the CCTV footage of the two aliens in silent disbelief. Pronounced dead since their discovery in the Nevada desert in 1962, they had been in The Tank ever since.

"This is impossible, it couldn't have happened." Short said out loud, to no one there. One hour before, the room had been crawling with people confused and in shock, trying to find out how the trick had been achieved; but it was not a trick. Now the chamber was silent again and eerily empty without its two long term occupants, occupants so top-secret that only a handful of people in the world knew of their existence. Occupants that had just vanished into thin air. In synchronized unison their muscular, pale white bodies arose from their stainless steel beds and walked naked, without hesitation, through the glass, as if it didn't exist. The CCTV images scared him to his bones. Where the fuck are they? Where did they go to? Short suddenly felt the need of a cigarette. He needed to think, and at this moment in time he had no explanation for what had happened.

How the fuck do you explain the impossible?

24

The Ellington Building, Houston Texas

Present Day

Hunter was sitting at his desk in the Ellington Building staring out of the window, deep in thought. Moments before he had put down the receiver after a tiring fifteen minute phone conversation with the President. His face looked strained and he rubbed his forehead to relieve the tension he could feel building in his neck and shoulders. It had been a month since the aliens had disappeared and thankfully, as yet there had been no public sightings. But more worryingly, there had been no sightings at all, even though a lot of highly skilled CIA agents were looking for them. The President was mad, very mad.

The alien communications had stopped and the source of the signals was still unknown other than to say they were coming from somewhere in the Solar System. Hunter had been fully briefed after the attempt to destroy the project by the religious sect from San Francisco had failed. The details had surprised him. Vicki's brother had basically saved the team with seconds to spare before blowing his own brains out in utter desperation. Worryingly, the connection between Richard Stark and his sister Vicki had been missed by Officer Wayne.

All of the remaining members were now in custody awaiting trial, except for their leader Adam Domaradzki. Hunter knew he was in Mexico, but Mexico was a big place. The documentation found at the Sect headquarters was disturbing. They had all signed a last-man-standing pact that meant, until Domaradzki was found, the team would be at risk and Hunter was acutely aware of the danger posed by this maniac on the run.

Everyone on the team was aware of the attempt to destroy the project but no one wished to stop working, not even Rob McPherson who was targeted with a car bomb.

Hunter picked up the phone again and dialed.

"Officer Wayne, it's Hunter here. I need to see you in my office." There was a pause. "Eleven o'clock." Another short pause. "Sure thing. See you then."

A few moments later Hunter walked into the control room.

"Good morning team," he said, in an upbeat manner.

"Good morning," came the communal response.

"How are things progressing, Rob?" enquired Hunter.

Rob McPherson turned around on his swivel chair to face Hunter.

"Well, the communications have certainly stopped and we're frantically searching to find the source of the original signals. All our co-ordinates point to a spot that is apparently just space, it doesn't make any sense at all." McPherson turned back to study the information on his monitor. Stuck to the top of his monitor was a photo of Vicki and his new born son, Daniel.

Right at this moment Hunter felt utter frustration with the whole thing but managed not to show his feelings to the team. They were still amazingly upbeat considering what had happened thanks to Rob's strong leadership and he sure as Hell didn't want to change that.

"Okay guys keep it up, you're doing a great job. Very soon we're going to find them, I just know it."

"Any news on Domaradzki?" asked Walter Rottenburg in a monotone manner, as Hunter was about to leave the room.

He stopped and paused in the silence of the room for a moment then turned to face Walter.

"Nothing to report as yet, Walter, but rest assured, we are chasing the rat down the hole and we will find him and bring him to justice. That I can promise you." Hunter gave a reassuring smile to Walter, turned and walked out of the control room towards his office.

"I believe him, Walter. Hunter is a man of his word. Please don't worry," responded McPherson reassuringly, knowing that the team couldn't relax while Domaradzki was still free. Walter turned back to study his monitor, but his face showed signs of stress.

McPherson had spent many hours analyzing the original alien communication but could not find a way of understanding it. It consisted of a sequence of digital ones and noughts, just like the signal transmitted from the Arecibo radio telescope on November 16 1974. That signal consisted of 1679 pulses. The alien signal consisted of 2,097,152 pulses, but what was the key to understanding it? McPherson was trying everything in his power to find the answer, but, as yet, to no avail. He recognized the number as the cube of 128, so the information was probably in some kind of three dimensional form, but what did it all mean?

At exactly eleven o'clock Linda Washington knocked on Hunter's office door.

"Come in," Hunter responded.

"Officer Wayne to see you sir."

"Punctual as usual, Officer Wayne," said Hunter, looking at his wrist watch. "Please take a seat....Thanks Linda, that will be all for now." Linda smiled and closed the door behind her as she walked out.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please." Wayne was nervous. Only the week before, he had been almost torn apart by Hunter at the enquiry, for failing to make the connection between Vicki and her brother. Luck had saved the project and that was unacceptable to Hunter, and he was real mad that a New York cop had blown Domaradzki's cover and not the man trained to hunt and kill, sitting opposite him. Hunter had conceded though that Wayne was not tasked with the job of finding Adam Domaradzki, as he was, at the time, below the radar.

Hunter poured some freshly brewed coffee into a cup and offered it to Wayne.

"Thank you."

"This job is not finished," Hunter said, in a stern voice, as he stared across the table at Wayne.

"Yes, sir, I realize that."

"But it has to be finished very quickly. Do you understand?" Hunter stated in no uncertain terms.

"Yes, sir — I fully understand."

"McPherson and his wife are still alive, thank God, but only by a stroke of luck. If they'd been on time they'd be dead now. Like the couple who took the car planned for them."

"Yes, Mr Williams."

"Good — So get your ass to Mexico, find the rat and kill him. Do you need any medicine?"

"I already have some thank you."

"Do you need any help?" enquired Hunter.

"No, sir, I don't need any help, I'm trained to work alone and I already have contacts in Mexico that I can use if necessary."

"Do not fuck up this time. You will not get another chance."

"I won't let you down, sir."

"I hope not. Just think of it as the most important assignment you've ever had."

Officer Wayne stood up and left the room. He sensed this was not the time to sit and drink coffee with Colin Williams. After closing the door behind him he looked up and exhaled. He knew exactly what Hunter had meant. He needed to do what he did best and there was no time to waste. Wayne walked briskly down the corridor to Linda Washington's office. Her door was, as usual, open. When he walked in Linda was holding up a white envelope.

"Your plane tickets to Mexico. Good luck." Wayne took them, smiled nervously and walked out without speaking.

Hunter was sitting in his leather chair staring out of the window, deep in thought. The phone rang and he knew the ring tone meant it was the President.

"Mr President, how are you?"

The next ten minutes was intense dialogue with the President about the missing aliens. Hunter had visited the Tank and spoken with Kevin Short. He had also watched the footage of the aliens walking through the inch thick glass, in utter disbelief. They were missing and nobody knew where they were or where to look. The pressure on Hunter was building and he was feeling it now, more than at any time in the past.

At exactly 19.00 hours the helicopter had landed on the roof of the Ellington Building and shortly after some of the team members had boarded for the short flight to Ellington Air Force Base and their secure compound. Hunter was not taking any chances with his team, knowing that their lives were still at risk, this was now the only way to get to work and the only way to leave, until Domaradzki was officially found and caught.

Vicki could hear the helicopter approaching and she looked out of the window to watch it land. Baby Daniel was fast asleep in his crib having just been breast fed until he fell asleep on the nipple. She looked at him and smiled, he was perfect in every way.

It was time to check the evening meal, as Rob would be home any moment and starving as usual. Vicki often thought about the quirk of fate that saved them from the car bomb that was meant to kill them all, even baby Daniel. And yet it was baby Daniel that saved them by delaying their exit from the hospital by just six minutes.

Soon Rob was home and sitting next to baby Daniel. His tiny fingers subconsciously clasped around Rob's little finger he'd placed between the rungs of the crib. Vicki watched and smiled at Rob as he watched his son sleeping peacefully.

"Well—Are you going to speak, or what?" Asked Vicki smiling.

"Sorry my love, yeah, how are you?"

"Fine, just fine." Vicki responded.

"And how has junior been today?"

"Oh, junior has been just fine too. He's eating, sleeping and filling his diapers, just as a baby should."

"He missed me today, I can tell."

"Oh really, how do you know that?" enquired Vicki, curiously.

"Father's instinct darling, I just know." Vicki laughed out loud.

"You silly fool. Sit at the table please, dinner will be ready soon."

"Oh good, I'm starving. It does smell damn good, what is it?"

"Diaper stew," Vicki answered with a broad smile on her face.

"Sounds good to me," laughed Rob, rubbing his hands in eager anticipation.

It was still difficult for both of them to find humor in their everyday lives but they were trying. The memory of Richard's suicide was still so raw in their memories, let alone the attempt on their lives but the baby was keeping them occupied, bringing them so much happiness and that helped the healing process they both desperately needed.

Rob watched as the steaming hot chili con carne was carried into the room by Vicki and placed in the centre of the table. The smell was delightful and Rob was eager to start. As Vicki sat down to join him the phone rang.

"How often does that happen?" Vicki said, annoyed. Rob got up to answer the phone but she pushed him back down onto his seat. "Eat it while it's hot darling, I'll get it."

"Hello, Vicki speaking......Hi, Mom, how are you?"...Vicki put her hand to her mouth and her eyes began to fill with tears. Rob just knew it was her father. "When did he die Mom?" Tears streamed down her face as Rob embraced her.

When will this nightmare ever end?

25

Cancun Mexico

Adam Domaradzki had hired a small fishing boat for the day from an old fisherman now more interested in liquor than fishing. The secondary reason for hiring the boat was to enjoy some sea fishing, a habit he'd picked up from Richard Stark in San Francisco. The sea was calm and blue, reflecting the cloudless sky and the fishing boat was reassuringly stable and steady, not like the day before when the swell was big, throwing the boat, the old fisherman and its contents of mainly empty beer bottles from port to starboard and back again for almost four hours.

Some three miles from shore in the direction of Cuba, he cut the engines. There was silence, no sounds, other than the gentle splashing of the sea against the side of the boat's old wooden hull. On the starboard side of the boat near the helm there were a number of black plastic bags tied with yellow string. Domaradzki picked up the one on the top of the pile and opened it. Inside some of Honey's leg muscle was already conveniently cut into chunks which he expertly threaded onto a large stainless steel paternoster consisting of six barbed hooks. Carefully standing up he cast out, putting the rod in its holder and reeling in some loose line until he was happy with the line tension.

The other bags contained her arms and her quartered torso, which one by one he tossed overboard into the sea. With no dog to feed anymore there was no point in removing her eyes or tongue as tasty morsels. From the last bag he pulled out her ashen, severed head and held it up in front of him by her short black hair. He looked into her clouded cold eyes and remembered how different she looked when he was fucking her. Gently he caressed her still frozen cheek with his index finger before tossing her last remaining body part into the sea.

All around the small boat the sound of squawking sea gulls filled the salty air as they eagerly dived into the water to feast on the intestines floating on the surface. The tip of the fishing rod at the back of the boat lunged downwards in its holder. Something had taken the bait. He grabbed the rod and yanked hard in an upward motion, setting the hook and straining the fishing rod and line to its limit. He could feel this was a big fish. As it broke the surface he knew he had a fight on his hands, the marlin was not going to give up without a struggle.

The following evening the sun was setting at the Aquamarina in Puerto Juarez and the cool white coral beaches were emptying of people and their sunburned children returning to their hotels and apartments weary and hungry from a day in the cruel Mexican sun and fresh sea air.

Adam Domaradzki was getting used to his new name of Diego Martinez and enjoying the seemingly lazy lifestyle of a playboy. All of the time though, his mind was working overtime on how he would finally destroy the Houston Project. He sipped his cold beer and pressed the dial button on his cell phone.

"How yah doing, buddy?...Can you bring the boat over this weekend as planned? ...Excellent, I look forward to seeing you and the boat. Are you bringing any company with you?...Blonde, young and beautiful yeah, and what about yours?...Do I know them?...Black young and sex crazed you say. Sounds good to me my friend. I look forward to meeting them. Bon voyage." He hit the END CALL button and placed the cell phone on the table, flicked open his Zippo, lit a Marlboro and inhaled deeply. It was time to read the Bible. Opening the page at Romans Chapter 8 verse 1 he started reading:-

"There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit."

He continued, reading all 39 verses for his penance and promise to the priest and God.

26

The Pentagon, Washington DC

Kevin Short had never met the President of The United States, although he'd often thought about it, practicing his opening lines like a film star rehearsing. Short never dreamed that it would be a nightmare scenario like this that brought them together. Where, as the man in charge of Pentagon security, he would be on the rack for the second time in just over a month. The first interrogation was by video conference and that was bad enough. What the fuck am I going to say to the man that doesn't accept failure? Short was sitting on one of six chairs outside the Presidential Office and breathed deeply trying to keep control. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and his hands shook noticeably. His doctor continually told him he needed to loose forty plus pounds because his blood pressure was dangerously high and he was seriously at risk of a stroke or heart attack. He lied to his doctor about how many cigarettes he smoked a day and he lied about his alcohol intake as well. He'd lied to his wife who left him five years ago. He wasn't going to lie today though, he wasn't that stupid.

"Mr Short, the President will see you now."

Short stood up quickly and looked at the young female presidential aid in front of him he'd not heard approaching. "Sure, I'm ready," he said in a nervous voice... "I think?"

"Please follow me, sir." The female aid escorted him along the carpeted corridor, some ten yards or so, to double doors. On arrival she knocked on the door and instructed Short to wait outside before she entered the room. A few seconds later she reappeared. "The President will see you now, please come in."

In the room Kevin Short was met by the President, Hunter, Rob McPherson and Raymond E. Strong, Head of Extra-Terrestrial Research.

"We meet at last Kevin," said the President with an outstretched hand.

"Mr President," was all that came out of Short's dry mouth.

"I believe you already know Colin Williams."

"Yes, I do. Good morning, Colin."

"Good morning, Kevin," Hunter replied, shaking Short's hand.

"This is Dr Rob McPherson, Kevin. Rob works for Colin."

"Nice to meet you...Aren't you the guy they tried to kill?"

"That's right, nice to meet you too, Kevin."

"And this is Raymond Strong, Kevin."

"Good to meet you, Raymond."

After the introductions were over the President offered Short a seat at the large conference table in the middle of the room that was laid up with fresh coffee and a selection of fruit and snacks.

The President waited until everyone was seated and comfortable.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem and I need to understand how and when we are going to resolve it." The President's voice was strong and assertive. "Can you please update us on the search for the missing aliens, Kevin?"

McPherson looked at Short and could see he was nervous. He noticed the telltale nicotine stains of a smoker on his trembling fingers.

Short felt his blood pressure rising and his heartbeat quickening. "I'm afraid that the search has drawn a negative to date. We have had no sightings of any form or any communications with them. They have effectively vanished gentlemen."

"Rob, have you made any progress with the signals they sent us from outer space?" The President enquired.

"We've been working tirelessly on the signals trying to decode them Mr President and at the same time we have continued to listen to locate the source, sadly to no avail. I'm beginning to think most of the signals they sent weren't meant for us."

"I don't understand," retorted the President, frowning.

"At the same time that we received the signals the aliens came back to life and vanished. I don't think the signals were meant for us at all; I think they were meant for them. What's the point in sending us a message that's so complex it's impossible for us to understand?"

"These Freezer Freaks didn't have telephones did they, Rob? I thought they were naked and secured to their beds with metal clamps around their arms and legs?" The President's voice was agitated.

"Mr President, these guys walked through inch thick bullet proof glass into thin air after lying dead for over fifty years. I don't think we can talk about this situation using conventional logic."

McPherson's point was well made and for a few seconds there was silence in the room. Kevin Short visibly relaxed and the President's fingers tapped a frustrated beat onto the desk.

"So, what the hell are we going to do, gentlemen?" asked the President.

Hunter looked around the table but he knew the answer to that question was not going to be easy.

"I believe, Mr President, that we will not find them, they will find us; if that's their intention. It could be that they came back for the two aliens and have simply gone away again."

"I have to say Robert, I'm inclined to agree with you." Strong interjected.

For the second time the room was silent as they wrestled with Hunter's words.

Some two hours later Hunter and McPherson were sitting in Hunter's Pentagon office, an office that hadn't been used much over the last year as Hunter had spent most of his time in Houston, at the Ellington Building.

"How is Vicki, Rob?" asked Hunter from behind his large desk.

"Vicki is a strong person Colin, but the last month has been hard for all of us... And now with the death of her father as well."

"Yes, I can imagine, it must be hard for both of you. When's the funeral?"

"We don't have a date yet," replied McPherson shaking his head.

"You know that if we haven't found Domaradzki by then you and Vicki are still at great risk don't you?"

"After all she's been through are you going to be the one who tells her she can't go to her father's and brother's funeral? She's already flown home with the baby to see her mother."

Hunter didn't answer the question, he just tapped his fingers on his desk for a moment.

"What's the latest on Domaradzki?" asked McPherson.

"We believe he's still in Mexico. Officer Wayne has been sent there to eliminate him. I spoke to Wayne this morning and he's currently in Mexico City. He's got no leads at the moment so he's about to move to the East coast, Cancun, I believe, why there I don't know. Wayne is good Rob, if that evil bastard is there he'll find him don't worry."

"I'm not that worried, Colin, I don't think he'll come back anyway. He's just a religious madman. Now that he's alone he has no focus anymore."

"I hope you're right, Rob, but we can't take any chances, you know that. I will arrange for your security during your visit to the Bay. Don't worry it will be discreet." Hunter quickly stressed.

"Yes, I know, thank you."

"I notice that you're carrying a gun these days, Rob."

"Yes, I am. I feel more comfortable in the current climate."

Hunter knew that McPherson was a fine shot. "What's your schedule today?"

"We're still working on this damn alien signal we picked up in Houston, trying to understand it. I'm in room D303 with the code busters until later today. Then I fly back to Houston tonight."

"Okay, I'll catch up with you in Houston tomorrow afternoon. I've got more meetings here today and late into the fucking night."

Rob McPherson was sitting in room D303 alone. It was lunchtime and everyone else was taking a break. He was intently studying the signal structure that still eluded him and some of the best brains in the States. He felt a presence in the room. Turning around he scanned the large windowless room but there was nobody there. Nervously he turned back and continued studying the computer screen information. Then in his peripheral vision he noticed some movement in the reflection from a glass partition. Looking up he could just make out two figures standing right behind him. Quickly, he turned around but once again the room was empty. He slipped his right hand into his jacket and unbuckled his Smith and Wesson 686P...I think I'm losing the plot.

Later that day, people were arriving at the White House for a meeting of national security. Black government limousines flying the Stars and Stripes were bringing senior military personnel, the Defense Secretary, Secretary of State and numerous senior CIA staff to meet up with the President. Disturbing intelligence reports from Pakistan had prompted the defense chiefs to request this extraordinary presidential debrief.

27

Band-e Amir, Afghanistan

For millions of years carbon dioxide rich water, oozing from the fractures and faults in this remote area of mountainous land had sculptured vast caves and caverns deep below the five lakes west of Kabul. Places ideal for people like Ahmed-Shah intent on destroying the Western World. He was a highly trained killer and disciple of Jihad. His hatred of the infidels was a driving force that fueled his obsession and inspired his master plan.

The cold winter air outside the caves carried large snowflakes that the cutting wind piled into large drifts making access into this remote mountainous region almost impossible to outsiders. Inside the main cave fires burned, illuminating the yellow and red ochre mineral laden walls. A smoke canopy from the fires hung close to the ceiling of the cave and wavered slowly, juxtaposed to the rigid walls of the stone cave. It was a perfect natural screen against US spy satellites and drones.

Four men were sitting around the warming flames of one of the crackling wood fires, smoking opium and drinking tea. The flickering flames illuminated their craggy faces and dark eyes while thick black beards hid most of their facial features. The deep scar across their leader's right eye identified him clearly from the others. They were in good spirits and their mood was expectant.

All four men were trained killers, learning their trade in the desserts of Yemen and mountains of Afghanistan over a period of four years. They feared no one and were prepared to die for their extreme fundamentalist beliefs.

"Khalifa, we have received good news from North Korea." Ahmed-Shah paused before continuing, breathing in deeply... "They are prepared to meet us."

Great excitement and cheers followed the announcement. Each member stood up and in turn hugged their illustrious leader.

He then continued.

"The satellite photographs showing the American nuclear warheads being transported through Israel are of the highest quality, and we leave with them for Pyongyang within seven days, inshallah. The meeting in Pakistan has been set up for two days time and our papers and passports have been arranged with the help of Ramazan-Ali. The North Koreans are arranging the flights through our intermediaries in Pakistan. They have fallen for this one my brothers, just as we hoped they would and they are happy to pay a lot of money for the privilege. We have almost convinced the Americans that they are about to be annihilated by their perceived 'number one' enemy and soon the second stage of the plan will be complete."

The smell of opium was strong and heady in the enclosed air of the cave but the good news from North Korea was a far more powerful stimulant than any drug they'd ever smuggled. A quantum leap in fact, like the buzz they got from killing an infidel.

28

Cancun, Mexico

The early evening flight from Mexico City approached the runway at Cancun airport from the sea and as it banked Wayne had a clear view of the lights of the city from his righthand window seat.

If you are down there you bastard, I'll find you and I will kill you. That's a promise!

After a good night's sleep and a breakfast of steak and eggs Wayne was ready to spend the next few days in the area asking questions, taking photographs and more importantly observing what was going on. His visit to Mexico City had uncovered absolutely nothing and he knew that finding Adam Domaradzki was not going to be easy. He would need a stroke of luck.

As he left the Hotel Ibis he donned a pair of sunglasses and strode purposefully towards the first of a row of taxis waiting for business.

"Take me to the port." Wayne said abruptly to the Mexican driver, who was sitting on the hood of his white Mercedes, smoking a cigarette.

"Puerto Juarez?"

"Whatever," retorted Wayne, with lethargy in his tone.

Adam Domaradzki was sitting under a large Modelo Especial parasol at his favorite beach-bar, away from the burning heat of the Mexican sun. He was wearing a Panama hat, white shirt, denim shorts and sandals and enjoying a cool beer and the welcoming breeze coming off the sea. Revenge was very much on his mind. Now he had the fake US passport from the priest he could get back into the US in the name of Christian Hansen, from New York City. He grabbed a Marlboro red protruding from the crushed pack next to his Ray Ban's and lit it with his Zippo. Breathing the smoke deep into his lungs he continued to scribble notes into a small black leather book on the table.

Domaradzki noticed the stranger approach the bar and sit at one of the stools. He watched surreptitiously as he ordered a coffee from the bartender. There was something odd about the man but he didn't know what it was. He's no tourist. Instinctively he put on his sunglasses and sipped his beer. He tried to hear what the stranger was saying but the music from the bar stereo drowned out his words.

Wayne pushed a photo of Adam Domaradzki across the bar. "I'm looking for this guy. Have you seen him or do you know him? he asked the barman."

The bartender stared at the photo of a white haired man with a beard for a few seconds and shrugged his shoulders. " Sorry, can't help you."

"He's probably changed his appearance now. I doubt if he's got a beard anymore." Wayne said disinterestedly.

"Sorry, can't help you... Sugar with your coffee?"

"Yeah... Any new arrivals around here in the last few weeks?"

"Who are you, Mister? Some kind of detective or something? Asking all these questions."

"Something like that, yeah," replied Wayne. "I'm trying to find a very dangerous serial killer and if he's here it won't be long before he kills another poor innocent victim. Someone just like you."

The bartender looked shocked and nervously started cleaning a beer glass with a cloth.

"You're a copper, yeah?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Domaradzki downed his beer, pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and briskly walked away.

Wayne looked around at the beach views and breathed in the fresh salty sea air through his nostrils. Picking up his coffee and the photo from the bar, he walked over to a shaded table and pulled out a slatted wooden seat to sit down, exposing a small black leather book on the floor next to a cactus bed. A small lizard stood quite still next to the book, guarding it.

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Domaradzki returned to the bar with a flashlight. He walked over to the table where he'd been sitting earlier in the day and shone the beam of light on to it. Fuck. Nervously he flicked the torch beam around the immediate area in search of the book. Then behind one of the chairs next to a cactus bed he noticed something. For a few seconds he stared in amazement at the book before eventually bending down and retrieving it. Domaradzki looked around to see if anyone was about, but at three o'clock in the morning he wasn't expecting to see anyone.

Officer Wayne's night vision camera caught his subjects image in perfect focus and the shutter clicked in multi-frame mode, but the sound was too far away to alert Domaradzki to his presence. Wayne looked at the LCD display on the back of the special Nikon DSLR and smiled at the image. Got you, you evil bastard. Thank you, Lady Luck.

The phone in Hunter's office rang and he picked up the receiver.

"Yes, Linda?"

"I have Officer Wayne on the line sir."

"Put him on please...Good morning, Colin Williams speaking." For over a minute he sat in silence with a smile that gradually broadened, listening intently with the phone to his ear.

"Okay, so you have confirmed it's him?...So what do you need?...When do you need it?...Okay, you've got it, leave it to me. Well done, Officer Wayne." Hunter put down the phone and walked out of the office.

Domaradzki woke at six o'clock from a short disturbed sleep, walked into the kitchen and made a cup of strong instant coffee. His mind was racing and his hands trembled from the adrenalin pumping inside his body. Everything was packed ready to go so it was only a case of driving to the boat some ten minutes away. Opening the double doors onto the veranda he lit a cigarette and looked out towards the ocean and the moored cruiser he'd leased some two weeks earlier. The time had come to go back to the US, much earlier than he'd originally planned but present circumstances dictated.

At eight o'clock, Domaradzki arrived at the mooring, and clambered aboard the Chaparral 290 Signature Cruiser carrying two large bags of designer luggage. The weather was fine and the sea peacefully calm. The diesel tanks were full and he'd calculated on sailing back to the US around the East coastline keeping Cuba to his right, rather than the direct route through all of the oil rigs, shrimping boats and commercial stuff, spending some time in Florida before coast hopping to Galveston. The experience gained on Richard Stark's boat was going to prove to be time well spent.

Once on board Domaradzki dropped the luggage and made his way down to the hold. He unlocked the door, switched on the light and looked in at the range of armory he'd collected together since arriving in Mexico. Hand guns, automatic and semi automatic rifles, hand grenades and a stash of plastic explosive. In Mexico money can get you anything you want.

Officer Wayne, aboard an unmarked government boat some two hundred yards out to sea, was watching with interest through high powered binoculars.

"Mr Williams, I think he's about to make a move," said Wayne into a cell phone. He then listened intently to the instructions that Hunter gave him... "Yes, sir, I fully understand. I will need you to confirm with me as soon as he enters US waters. I've got four armed officers with me so I'm not expecting too much trouble sir. Okay, thank you, sir. I'll speak to you soon." Wayne put down the phone and then instructed the other armed crew members on board as to what was going to happen once they got the green light from Hunter.

Standing at the helm, Domaradzki turned a key and pressed a button marked start engines. Without delay the Volvo Diesel engines responded with a deep lion-like roar, reverberating the boat into life. He then untied the mooring ropes at the back of the boat and scanned the quay before carefully climbing up to the helm again and maneuvering the boat out into open water. The navigation system was set for Florida and the journey commenced as he pulled down on the boats throttle. Once at sea he steered the boat until the compass turned and steadied at a north northeast direction. God will keep me safe.

The Ellington Building, Houston.

"Hello, Rob McPherson speaking."

"Rob, it's Hunter here. I've got good news for you, we've located Domaradzki. Can you come over to my office please, we need to talk."

McPherson could hardly believe what he'd heard. Putting the phone down, he walked briskly to Hunter's office. The door was open when he arrived and Hunter was on the phone. He gestured for him to come in and pointed to the chair in front of his desk. McPherson sat in silence while Hunter continued his conversation.

"Yes, we'll be leaving in about an hour." Hunter continued. "Myself and Rob McPherson; make sure it's ready and the armory is as I requested...That's good. See you at the airbase."

McPherson just looked in disbelief at Hunter.

"Rob, we've got the evil bastard in our sights," Hunter said enthusiastically.

"What the hells going on, Colin?" McPherson asked in confusion.

"Domaradzki has left Mexico by boat and is heading for US waters. We're going to meet him."

"We?" responded McPherson.

"That's right, you and I. I'm taking you with me to witness this bastard's capture, it's the least I can do after he tried to kill you and your family with that car bomb."

"Just how do you plan to do that, Colin?"

"You and I Rob are taking an AH-64 Apache to the action off the Florida coast. Don't worry, I'm a fully qualified military pilot and I've seen quite a bit of action you know."

McPherson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up from the sudden excitement. "I didn't know you were a pilot, Colin."

"Yes, I am, just like you Rob, but then...there's a lot you don't know about me." Hunter said, smiling.

"But the Apache is an attack helicopter" McPherson said with a confused frown.

"That's right, it is. I always believe it's a good idea to be prepared for anything, don't you? After all this man almost killed one of my top men."

The compliment made McPherson smile...I can't help but like this guy, he thought.

29

The White House, Washington DC

Mark Quail was a tall man, uncompromising and confident. When he spoke, people listened. An attribute necessary when you held the position of Defense Secretary and Chief Executive Officer of the Department of Defense for the United States of America.

"In summary Mr President we are taking this threat extremely seriously. The intelligence coming in from Pakistan suggests that North Korea is planning some kind of nuclear attack in the near future on the US or possibly Israeli soil. We cannot allow that to happen of course and it may be necessary for us to pre-empt their actions."

The President was sitting at the head of the table deliberating and looking over the rim of his glasses at the sixteen other members seated at the oval table. There was silence in the room which made some people uncomfortable. They scribbled meaningless notes on paper, coughed unnecessarily and avoided eye contact at all costs. The President's face was stern and he appeared agitated by Quail's summary. Finally he broke the silence.

"Why are they doing this?" he asked, to no one in particular.

"We don't know the answer to that yet, sir," Quail responded. "We can make a guess from three possible scenarios. One, they believe we are about to attack them. Two, they have decided to attack us anyway. And three..."

The President interrupted Quail in mid sentence. "Let's not deal with scenarios, let's deal with facts shall we. When you say we will have to pre-empt their actions, what do you mean?"

Quail tapped the table with his pen before answering. "I mean it might be necessary for us to bomb North Korea first."

"With nuclear warheads?" The President asked solemnly.

"Yes, sir," Quail replied. His eyes quickly scanned the others around the table as he consciously looked for support. Stone faced, they gave him no clues at all.

"Then you need to give me a real good reason gentlemen. If I'm to press the red button I need to know that it is the only solution left to me and the people of the US. Show me evidence of what North Korea is doing. Prove to me without a shadow of a doubt that we are under imminent danger of attack. Don't talk to me about scenarios...I want to reconvene in one week for intelligence updates and facts, unless of course the situation worsens in the meantime."

The President stood up, quickly followed by the other members around the table.

"Good-day ladies and gentlemen and thank you for your time today." He turned and left the room, clearly agitated by the worsening situation.

30

The Gulf of Mexico

Domaradzki's cruiser had just entered US waters when on the horizon to the North a US coastguard boat, carrying Officer Wayne and four other armed men, came into view traveling at high speed. Minutes later the boat had pulled up thirty feet from Domaradzki's cruiser. Wayne held a megaphone in his hand and then lifted it to his mouth.

"THIS IS THE US COASTGUARD, CUT YOUR ENGINES AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!" Wayne could hear the sound of the approaching helicopter behind him.

Domaradzki climbed down from the helm.

"What's the problem, officer?"

"ADAM DOMARADZKI YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!" Wayne's voice bellowed through the megaphone as rifles aimed at their target.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not Adam whoever. My name is Christian Hansen and I'm from New York City, gentlemen." Domaradzki shouted, through cupped hands.

As the two boats drew closer to each other mooring ropes were thrown onto the cruiser. At the same time Domaradzki pulled the pin out of the hand grenade clipped to his belt behind his back.

McPherson's heart rate was racing with excitement as the Apache approached the two boats. Hunter had flown the helicopter from the Ellington Air Force Base and now McPherson was fully aware of the onboard weapons guidance system Hunter referred to as TADS. Impressive but not something we'll need on this mission....

"That's our man," Hunter said into his helmet microphone. He was flying the Apache just above sea level as they approached the two boats.

"I'll be glad to see him behind bars," McPherson responded.

The hand grenade landed on the deck of the coastguard's boat with a dull thud and rolled between Wayne's legs. He looked at it in disbelief for a few seconds before reacting.

"GRENADE," he shouted as he dived overboard. As Wayne hit the sea the explosion ripped a hole in the boat's hull, killing two of the four armed guards instantly. A second grenade exploded, sending splinters of wood, flesh and plastic into the air. There was nobody left on board alive and Domaradzki laughed loudly. Hunter quickly banked the helicopter away from the approaching explosion and circled around.

"This motherfucker plays mighty dirty. It's time to take him out, Rob. You know what to do."

McPherson activated the twin rockets and dropped his visor into position in front of his face to locate the target area ahead. Bullets then started hitting the helicopter from machine-gun fire coming from Domaradzki's boat. Hunter again banked the Apache to move out of the firing line.

"Are you ready?" asked Hunter.

"Yes, I'm ready. Bring her around and give me a line to the target." Responded McPherson.

Hunter banked the Apache around a full three hundred and sixty degrees and attacked the cruiser low and fast. Domaradzki continued to fire at the cockpit as they approached. McPherson moved his head until the message on the inside of his visor display flashed:

-TARGET LOCKED ON-

He flipped the safety lever and pressed the red button on his joy stick. Immediately two rockets roared from the Apache like massive fireworks. Converging seconds later, they smashed through the front windows of the cruiser exploding with a fire ball that ripped the boat apart and hurled Domaradzki into the air some twenty foot or more before he landed on his back on the front of the stricken boat. Miraculously still alive and still holding the weapon, he raised his head and laughed again as the skin on his face peeled off. His finger pulled the trigger almost subconsciously and bullets ripped into the Apache once again. Hunter recoiled as a bullet passed through his upper body near his shoulder. "Shit!" he cried, clutching the wound with his right hand.

"GUNS ROB, USE THE GUNS NOW. GIVE HIM EVERYTHING WE'VE GOT."

McPherson fired as Hunter held the Apache as steady as he could with his one good arm. The noise was deafening as bullets tore into Domaradzki's body. McPherson fired continuously at his target and bits of flying flesh left bloody streaks all over the front of the boat.

"KILL THE EVIL BASTARD." Hunter shouted, grimacing with pain as he gripped his blood stained shoulder.

Bullets continued to tear Domaradzki's body into pieces and his arms splayed wildly from the recoil. Then the plastic explosive in the boat took a direct hit, sending a huge fire ball of bright orange light and smoke billowing upwards. Splinters of burning wood and shards of glass fell into the sea all around the boat.

Officer Wayne watched the movie style action through acrid black smoke that burned his lungs. His strength was almost gone but the large piece of wreckage he clung to in the water would save him from drowning. All around him his colleagues' broken bodies bobbed on the fiery water. In front of him he could see Domaradzki's legless torso floating in the sea. Shark bait. Time to go. Frantically, he waved both arms at the circling helicopter to attract attention. Minutes later the torso started to lunge in the water, as if coming back to life. Under the surface fish were biting at Domaradzki's entrails that dangled and swayed tantalizingly in the wake caused by the overhead chopper. Adam Domaradzki's eyes slowly closed and his last breath gurgled from his bloodied lungs.

31

Hunter was sitting up in bed reading when McPherson, Vicki and Officer Wayne arrived bearing gifts of candy, cookies and books.

"How's the patient?" McPherson asked, as they entered the room.

"Hey, guys, it's good to see you again. I think I owe you all an apology. This time I promise not to fall asleep, okay."

"I must say you're looking much better than you did two weeks ago," said Wayne.

"So how are you, my friend? Your black eye has turned a nice shade of yellow and your cuts are healing nicely". Hunter said, shaking Wayne's hand warmly.

"How are you, sir?"Wayne asked.

"The bad news is, I'm well on the way to making a full recovery."

"That's wonderful," said Vicki. "So what have they told you, sir?"

"Luckily it was only a flesh wound, thankfully missing my arteries and bones. The bullet went straight through. I expect to be out within a week and then it's just a case of physiotherapy to tone up the muscles around the wound. They tell me my blood count is back to normal but they're still forcing vitamin and iron tablets down my throat. To be honest I'm going mad here. The nurses are wonderful, I can't speak highly enough of them, but I still can't wait to get back to work."

"Well, things have been happening over the last few days as you already know and last night there was another burst of transmissions that lasted about twenty minutes, but we still can't trace the source and we still haven't been able to break the damn code. It's so damn frustrating."

"Yes, I know, Rob," Hunter said sympathetically. "But we knew it wasn't going to be easy when we set up the project didn't we? And we sure as hell didn't think our lives would have been put at risk like they have been. Saying that though, I never thought I'd fly an Apache again in anger."

Vicki noticed the glint in Hunter's eye as he thought about the incident that nearly killed him.

"Me neither," McPherson admitted.

"What do you mean, Rob?" enquired Vicki.

McPherson looked at Hunter for a while. "I think it's time to come clean, Vicki. I was in the Apache with Hunter. You'd gone home and it was a chance to see Domaradzki captured. We weren't expecting fireworks."

"If you ever do that again Rob I'll...You've got a son to think of now you know."

"Vicki, I have to take the blame for this one," admitted Hunter. "I'm sorry and I promise it won't happen again." Hunter's words defused the situation somewhat, but McPherson knew he was in big trouble.

"The one thing we can all do now is relax and get on with our lives and the project, knowing the threat has gone."

"Oh it's gone all right," asserted Wayne, smiling broadly. "Rob made sure of that."

McPherson looked at Wayne with clenched teeth.

"What do you mean?" Vicki asked, looking shocked.

Wayne knew immediately that he shouldn't have said it.

Hunter once again interjected to save Rob from another verbal beating.

"I must ask you both, how did the funerals go?"

Vicki looked slightly strained by the question and struggled to keep her emotions under control. And frankly she didn't appreciate the blatant attempt to change the subject using a tragic event in her own family to spare Rob any wrath for his careless behavior, especially now he had a family of his own.

"It has been a tough time for all of us, sir. You expect to bury your parents don't you? But you don't expect to bury your children. Mom was hit hard by the events." Tears started to fill in Vicki's eyes and she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"The baby has given Mom a reason to live. She absolutely adores the little tike."

"And your sister-in-law, how's she coping?"

"Susan's a tough cookie but she's hurting, I can tell, I know her. Richard's involvement with the sect came as a shock to all of us, especially her."

"Give my best wishes to your family for me, Vicki. I'm so sorry that it had to end this way."

"Thank you sir, I will." Rob could see Vicki was hurting and held her hand. She looked at him and smiled through tearful eyes. She loved him so much, even if she was mad with him.

"Listen guys, we need to talk about the project for a moment, while I've got you here, before we all dive into the candy. I'm not sure exactly what's happening in Washington as I've been off the scene for a couple of weeks, as you know, but it looks like we're about to lose two of our satellites."

"What? Why?" asked Vicki, already depressed.

"I don't know the reason but the military wants them back."

"Is this anything to do with the tension that seems to be building up between us and North Korea?" Rob asked.

"It could well be but as I say I've been out of the loop, so I can't be sure of that. What difference will it make to the search if we do lose two? Will it be significant?"

Rob hesitated for a while, looking at Vicki for support. "I don't think under the current circumstances it'll make any difference at all."

Vicki nodded in agreement.

"We're able to pick up the transmissions with just two, but that's not the point is it? Why are they now taking away the hardware from us that was so important to the project only a few months ago? Has their focus changed or what? What's more important than us breaking the alien code and deciphering their transmissions? That's why this project has cost so much isn't it? It's that important.We must obtain their superior knowledge before the Chinese— remember."

"Rob, I understand your frustration and I promise you as soon as I have any information I'll update you and the team. The last thing I want is for the morale of my team to drop at this crucial stage."

"Come on, let's crack open the candy. It's time to celebrate." Hunter wanted to sound upbeat even though he was fully aware of the serious military situation developing. He would tell his team if it became necessary, but for now, he knew, they'd been through quite enough already.

"Visiting time is over, guys. Time to go, sorry," said one of the nurses leaning around the door into the room.

32

Karachi, Pakistan

Ahmed Shah was tired. The journey from the mountains of Afghanistan to the suburbs of Karachi had been uncomfortable and arduous. The driver of the Mercedes crossed the Lasbela Bridge and turned right. Journeys end was now just a few minutes away. Ramazan Ali, next to Shah on the back seat of the taxi had been asleep since leaving the airport and was snoring loudly.

After an undisturbed night's sleep Shah awoke at dawn, feeling refreshed and hungry. It was time to eat because today was going to be demanding. The high rise apartment block in the eastern suburb allowed Shah a panoramic view of the sprawling streets of Karachi. He stood on the balcony in deep thought and lit a cigarette. He could hear the sound of snoring reverberating from Ramazan Ali's bed and he smiled.

Ahmed Shah was now a very different person to the young man who once lived off a veritable diet of parties, drugs, sex and alcohol. On reflection he now knew of course they were just temptations of the flesh, evils of the western world and soon that world would suffer. From the blackened ashes would emerge the young green shoots of Islam that would in time grow and spread like a fertile forest, until the whole world lived according to the Koran. The death of the infidels was quickly becoming reality and not just a dream for the future Caliph.

"Salam," Shah said on seeing Ramazan Ali.

"Salam," he replied before lighting a cigarette and taking in the views of Karachi from the balcony.

"You snore like a spitting camel."

"I know."

"I expect Kamran Khan Rana to call in the next hour. He'll bring the passports and flight tickets." Shah said, exhaling smoke through his mouth and nose as he talked.

"Are you sure you're happy with the satellite images, because we fly tonight?" Ramazan Ali asked nervously.

"Don't worry, they are foolproof, my brother; believe me, the North Koreans will buy into this one. The day after tomorrow we will be in Pyongyang implementing stage two of the plan. The consequences of our actions will bring the western infidels to their knees. The third and final stage of my plan is getting closer now. On that day the true believers will watch America beg for mercy, moments before they are annihilated from the face of the Earth."

33

The Ellington Building, Houston.

Hunter had called a ten o'clock team meeting in the control room and people were gathering with some minutes to spare. Yuri Klyushin, Jerzy Rozanski and Walter Rottenburg were drinking coffee and chatting by the drinks dispenser while Rob McPherson was sitting at a screen on the main console discussing some statistical charts with his wife.

At precisely ten o'clock Hunter and Linda Washington entered the control room. Hunter looked remarkably well considering his recent ordeal. The only evidence of his wounds was a sling supporting his left arm. Today was his first official day back at work. He strode into the room to loud applause from the gathering.

"Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen, it's good to be back." Hunter was smiling and waving in acknowledgement of the warm welcome he was receiving. "Thank you everyone I appreciate it. Okay, please gather round as I have some important information to pass on to you. Firstly, thanks mainly to Rob, the threat we were facing from Adam Domaradzki and his sect has gone away, forever. We can all now feel safe in the knowledge that there is no one out there trying to kill us anymore. From all of us, Rob, thanks for what you did."

Applause filled the room and Rob nodded in recognition. Vicki gave him a gentle well done pat on the back and he blushed slightly. She had forgiven him.

"We must stay focused and continue to search for the source of the signals," continued Hunter. "The President wants us to concentrate on the information we've already got and break their code. We need to know what they're saying and we need to know where they are. There's no news on the aliens who escaped from the Pentagon. There have been no sightings by the public or us for that matter but we must assume they are still out there because the signals are still being detected I believe Rob?"

"Affirmative, sir." McPherson responded. "We have had a number of transmissions now, the last was yesterday morning. The format is the same and the source seems to be the same but we still can't find what's transmitting the signals. It's as if the signals are coming from empty space. I'm afraid we don't have the answers yet."

"We will get there guys, we just need to keep chipping away at it. We have the best brains on the planet, all in one room. How can we fail to succeed?"

The team smiled at Hunter's efforts to instil some enthusiasm in the weary team.

"The second thing I want to discuss is our resources. The President called me this morning and told me that we are to lose another three of the satellites to the Military." Grumblings of discontent filled the room at the statement from Hunter and Vicki lowered her head in disappointment.

"I know it's not good news but we have no choice I'm afraid, Hunter confirmed."

"What's the reason for it?" Walter Rottenburg asked sternly.

"I honestly don't know. It has something to do with national security, obviously, because the military want them back. I can only suppose it's the increasing tensions between us and North Korea but that, Walter, is only conjecture."

Walter believed Hunter.

"Vicki will you liaise with the military please because they'll want to take control of the satellites again and they'll need to be repositioned facing back to Earth. The information will also need to be re-routed to wherever."

"Yes, I can do that, but who do I liaise with?"

"Linda has all the information. Can I suggest you two get together after this meeting and sort it out between you?"

"Yes, okay, sir." Vicki nodded at Linda and she nodded back in acknowledgement.

"Let's not forget guys that we've achieved a great deal already and we do have alien transmissions for our efforts. Something we all believed might not happen in our lifetimes. Let's crack their code. Let's find out what they're saying. Let's get some answers."

Hunter paused awhile. "Thank you all for your time, I won't keep you from your work any longer. Good hunting."

Later in the day, Rob McPherson was working in his office when the phone rang.

"Hi, Rob speaking... Good news, what have they offered...I'm prepared to accept that offer. Tell them it's a deal...When do you expect to complete?... Okay, I'll make sure the place is cleared out by then...Yeah that's great, speak to you soon."

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Vicki from the next office.

"Sure is, Honey, I've just sold the apartment for the asking price."

"That's the first good news we've had for a long time."

"Yeah, it certainly is. We need to go to DC as soon as we can to clear out my stuff. It'll be a chance for you to see the place."

"How do you feel about it? Will you feel sad to sell it?"

"Hell, no; I'm over that part of my life now. I won't feel at all sad to sell it and since Amanda has wavered any claim on the place the money is all mine."

"Ours. We're married now, remember?" Vicki smiled broadly.

"Sorry, darling, ours," McPherson emphasized. "When this is all over we can find somewhere else around the DC area to live. Leesburg has an executive airport and it's not to far from the CIA building. I could teach my son to fly the Cessna by the time he's five. We need somewhere where he can grow up and play outdoors in the fresh air."

Vicki listened, smiling broadly. "Yeah, that would be nice. Come here and kiss me you handsome beast."

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Rob duly obliged.

Washington DC (Three days later)

Rob and Vicki had enjoyed the lunch with his boss, Conrad, and it was great to catch up with the goings on of his old department and colleagues. It was over a year ago when Conrad offered McPherson the chance to go to Houston and a lot had happened in that time. Some of the experiences had been truly wonderful, some had been truly frightening.

"He really is a nice guy, isn't he?" Vicki said, looking out of the taxi window at the Smithsonian Institute.

"He certainly is, darling, and he knows a good restaurant too."

"Yeah, the meal was excellent. I enjoyed the fish very much."

"Look, that's my apartment over there." McPherson said pointing to a large Parisian Style stone building.

"Can you pull over there please, by the hydrant?" The taxi driver duly obliged.

Minutes later McPherson opened the door to his apartment and gestured Vicki to go in. The room smelt of fresh flowers and polish. Most of the furniture was covered in dust sheets and on the small Georgian entrance table was a bowl of fresh fruit and a welcome note from the housemaid. Maria you are wonderful.

Vicki walked tentatively into the sunlit room and looked around. "It's a lovely apartment."

"It's okay isn't it? We'll take some of the small stuff with us and the rest we'll leave for the movers to box up for storage."

"Doesn't it make you feel sad to come back here? It must hold so many memories?" Vicki asked nervously.

"No... sad isn't the right word. I was happy here, I won't deny it but I don't miss it at all now darling. I've moved on. I've got a beautiful wife and a wonderful son, that's far more important." McPherson gently stroked Vicki's cheek with his finger. "The place is full of memories, luckily most of them are good ones." He then remembered the day when he walked into the bedroom and Amanda sat up in bed; told him she was leaving him for another man and he visibly shuddered. Unaware, Vicki strolled around the living room looking at the various photographs hanging on the walls and feeling comfortable with the situation. It was obvious who Amanda was and how beautiful she looked, but she didn't feel threatened by her at all. Very photogenic, she thought.

One picture attracted Vicki's attention. It was Rob and another man and the setting appeared to be Cambridge.

"This is a nice photo of you. Was it taken when you were at Cambridge?"

"Yes, it was."

"Who's the other guy with the scar across his eye?"

"That's a guy called, Habib. He was a brilliant young scientist."

"Was?" enquired Vicki, with a frown.

Rob joined her next to the photograph of Habib and himself stood with their arms around each other's shoulders and smiling broadly. The young undergraduates were posing outside the splendid late Gothic chapel of King's College Cambridge. The scene was illuminated by a soft winter sun that cast long shadows.

Rob pointed to his friend in the picture.

"He was the son of a very wealthy Afghan business man. On a visit to his homeland the inevitable happened and he was kidnapped. A huge ransom was paid for his release but he was never seen alive again. His decapitated body turned up some months later and he was I believe, buried in Kabul. He was a great guy and a close friend. I wanted to go to his funeral but Uncle Sam had other ideas for me at the time."

"How awful. What a terrible waste of life," Vicki said, sadly.

"It was a terrible waste, because he was a genuinely brilliant scientist."

"It looks beautiful in the snow, Rob; like a picture postcard."

"Yes—now can we please do what we came here to do?"

"Sorry, darling, what can I do to help?" Vicki asked with enthusiasm.

34

The Ellington Building, two days later.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning and the control room was a frenzy of excitement as more signals were being picked up and recorded. This particular transmission was longer than any of the others and after seven minutes it was still transmitting.

"As soon as we have the full transmission, let's get to work on it guys." McPherson said, excitedly.

Everyone was standing and looking at the large screen displays as statistical information about the transmission started to flash up. Vicki was busy repositioning the satellites for the military and reprogramming the signal routing when by mistake a top secret bulletin flashed up on her monitor. She stared at the screen in disbelief as an image of Rob's university friend appeared to stare back at her. Quickly she changed the screen image. Unnoticed in the noise and excitement she purposefully walked out of the room and headed for her office, deep in thought. When Vicki arrived she closed the door behind her and switched on her monitor. A few key taps later and she was looking at Habib's image again. Opening a desk draw she pulled out the photo of Rob and his friend Habib taken from Rob's apartment in Washington, a photo she really liked. Carefully she compared the facial scars on both images. Vicki remembered Rob's words. His decapitated body turned up some months later and he was, I believe, buried in Kabul.

"This guy was not buried in Kabul." Vicki said out loud. "This guy is very much alive."

Rob was staring at his monitor when Vicki walked back into the control room. Grabbing a chair next to him she sat down.

"Rob...Rob."

"Sorry, darling, what did you say?"

"Rob, I need to speak to you."

"Not now please, we're very busy and right in the middle of a transmission. Can't it wait?"

Vicki looked around the room. "No, this can't wait, Rob."

"What is it, that's so important?"

"Not here...... In my office, NOW."

McPherson stared in silent disbelief at the image on the screen.

"It's him all right, it's Habib...What the fuck is going on, Vicki?"

"I don't know, Rob, but we need to let Hunter in on this one." Vicki said sternly.

McPherson picked up the phone and pressed a fast dial button.

"Hunter, it's Rob here, Vicki and I need to see you now, it's very important... Okay, we'll come straight over. Let's go, he'll see us now."

Two minute later Linda Washington was showing them into Hunter's office.

"Thanks, Linda. Can you sort out some coffee for us please?"

"Sure thing, sir."

"Okay, guys, sit down please and let's talk. Don't tell me you two want out just as things are getting exciting?" Hunter sounded anxious.

"Don't worry, Colin, it's nothing like that."

"Then what is it, guys?" Hunter asked, enthusiastically.

McPherson looked across at Vicki in silence, for a brief moment, and she nodded.

"When I was at Cambridge University, I befriended a young enthusiastic student from Afghanistan by the name of Habib."

Hunter's face donned a bemused frown.

"Please, hear me out." McPherson continued. "Habib was a brilliant scientist specializing in human biology. After obtaining his doctorate he worked for the British Government at Aldermaston where, I believe, he specialized in the development of extreme toxins and nerve gas for chemical warfare."

Vicki and Hunter were absorbing every word McPherson uttered.

"He was supposedly kidnapped and beheaded in Afghanistan some eight years or so ago."

"Rob, I don't understand, what has this got to do with our project?"

"Nothing." McPherson answered bluntly.

"Then why are we talking about someone who's dead?"

Rob again looked at Vicki. "Because he's not dead, and the CIA have flagged him up as an active terrorist answering to the name of Ahmed Shah. Can we use your monitor please?" McPherson asked.

"Feel free." Hunter gestured to the screen.

Vicki walked over to his keyboard and typed in some information.

"This is information I accidentally received during the satellite changeover. The transmission wasn't meant for my eyes and it is top-secret," Vicki admitted. "But I believe it's critical that you see it sir."

"Go ahead." Hunter was intrigued and leaned forward toward the monitor expectantly.

On the screen Vicki manipulated two photos of Habib side by side, one was from the Cambridge photo, both had exploded views of the scar across the subjects right eye.

Hunter carefully scrutinized the images in front of him for a few moments, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with his index finger and thumb. "Houston, we have a problem," he finally commented, picking up the phone.

35

Pyongyang, North Korean Capital

Ahmed Shah and Ramazan-Ali stood outside the 43 story twin-towered Koryo Hotel, looking at the thirty-foot wide jade dragon's mouth that led into the expansive marble-like hotel lobby. Next to them stood a uniformed, armed guard who spoke broken English. He and others had been their constant chaperones since they exited the Air Koryo flight from Bangkok at Sunan International Airport some two hours before. The hotel boasted five hundred rooms. Most of the year only fifty or so rooms would be taken, mainly by international arms dealers. There were bars, a swimming pool, restaurants and a casino in the basement for guests and party members only. One of the rooms was permanently taken by an American citizen.

They were instructed to stay in the hotel overnight and be ready to be picked up at eight o'clock in the morning by an official, for a meeting at a nearby government building that the guard had pointed out only moments ago. Ahmed Shah looked around at the spacious empty plaza. The evening sun was shining and warm on their backs and the willow trees all around wavered gently in the breeze, softening the hard sterile feel of the city. Where is everyone? The guard gestured with his arm and the two new arrivals walked through the dragon's mouth into the hotel.

"Luggage already in rooms please." The guard informed them, looking back at them as he walked away.

Shah didn't like the feel of the place but then that didn't matter. They would be gone tomorrow, a lot richer after the North Koreans had bought their wares.

Shah looked at Raman-Ali. "Breakfast at six forty-five, because we have a lot to talk about."

He nodded his approval. His facial expression showed no emotion but he looked uncomfortable.

The morning came quickly and Shah had already showered and dressed by six o'clock. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt and blue tie, not his normal attire but something appropriate under the circumstances. He felt on edge and lit a cigarette to calm himself. Looking out of the hotel window he could see the Taedong River that flowed through the capital city. The sun was up and the sky was a cloudless azure blue. A nice day to do business.

Opening his laptop he started up the slideshow presentation and mentally rehearsed his pitch for each of the slides. He knew that any more than ten slides would be risky if some of the military audience didn't speak English. Four of the images showed American nuclear warheads being transported and positioned on Israeli soil by US troops. One slide showed a supposedly official military document with approved US target coordinates for the nuclear warheads as Pyongyang and three other suspected nuclear testing and manufacturing sites, two in the north and one four hundred miles south of the capital. Shah would only have one shot at this and it needed to sound convincing. Nobody pays a million dollars without a very good reason.

36

The White House, Washington DC

Joseph Turay was fifty-one years old and the Secretary-General of the United Nations. As a child he had experienced real poverty and, as a child, he nearly died of starvation. But those memories were fading with everyday that passed. His African homeland of Ethiopia, known now as the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia, was somewhere he had not visited in over two years. His homeland had no appeal anymore. It was so far removed from the lifestyle he now relished, yet he was clever, manipulative, assertive and confident—very confident. He is one of the Oromo people and lived with his three sisters and three brothers south east of Addis Ababa in the region known as Oromia. The name Oromo means 'The Powerful.' Whatever the President wanted him to agree to, was not going to be easy, if he didn't see a good reason for it. The chair creaked under his large mass as he fidgeted impatiently in his expensive Italian suit. He was not used to being kept waiting.

Double doors opened.

"Joseph."

"Mr President." Turay forced his large frame into a standing position and held out his big hand.

"Good to see you again. You look well. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Both men shook hands enthusiastically "Please come in, I've arranged for your favorite tea."

Joseph Turay adored Earl Grey and shortbread cookies, and their imminent arrival brought a wide smile to his face exposing an array of gleaming white teeth, exaggerated by his ebony skin.

"Please sit down, tea won't be long." The President pointed to two leather chesterfields, separated by a low table in front of an open fireplace that housed a black wrought iron log cradle, made up with apple wood logs which gave off a sweet scent, not unfamiliar to Turay.

"Thank you. You know, when I was a boy in Africa, time went so slow. Now, life is just like a runaway train."

As Joseph Turay sat down the tea and cookies arrived on a tray carried by a maid. As she placed the tray on the table in front of him the subtle smell of bergamot oil filled his nostrils.

"Thank you, Alison...I now exactly what you mean Joseph. There's not enough hours in the day anymore."

The suit, the shoes, the watch; the Patek must be worth ten primary schools. This man likes the good-life that's for sure. Use it to your advantage, thought the President.

"How's my favorite city, Joseph?"

"New York...She's doing jus fine, tank you."

"That's good...Okay my friend, let's get down to business. You are, I know, fully aware of the situation and it appears to be worsening by the minute."

"Dis morning, North Korea publicly accused da US of planning a nuclear strike from sites in Israel."

"Yes, I know, Joseph—I can only assume they want to attack us, because that is a complete fabrication."

"You are telling me dat... it is not true?"

"Joseph, you have my word. My problem is convincing the military that we should not preempt an attack by North Korea, and that my friend, is getting harder to do by the day. We are watching them via satellite and the activity is disturbing. They are moving hardware and rockets into areas we consider to be their nuclear facilities. We cannot allow their propaganda machine to put the blame on us when it's them that are the aggressors."

The Secretary-General sipped his tea and looked deep into the President's eyes. "Are you asking de United Nations to back a preemptive strike by da United States on North Korea?"

"If it gets to that point, yes."

"Der is no way dat will happen."

"What if we can prove an attack is imminent?"

"How would you do dat, Mr President?"

The President paused and breathed in..."More tea, Joseph?...You are, I know, aware that if we cannot get the UN's backing on this and we know that a nuclear strike is imminent we will go it alone."

"I hope dat day never comes."

"Joseph, so do I, but we cannot bury our heads in the sand. We are dealing with a county that has turned its back on the world. Most of its people are starving and completely brainwashed. It is a dangerous, paranoid regime that we are dealing with here." The President leaned forward to make the point even more poignant. "Only yesterday we found out that there is co-operation between North Korea and a terrorist group operating out of Pakistan. Who knows what they're planning?"

"You can never be certain, can you? Nothing in dis world is certain, except death of course. If you pre-empt dem with a nuclear strike of your own it could be da end of all of us. As da President of da United States are you prepared to take dat risk?"

"Every US President, since the introduction of weapons of mass destruction has had to accept that the situation could arise and therefore by accepting the presidency we carry that burden every day. We hope to God that it will never happen."

"By using Israel as your base you have already alienated Russia, China and every Muslim country in da world." Joseph Turay sipped his tea and waited for the reaction.

"By that statement I can only assume Joseph, that you don't believe a word I've said." The President's tone had hardened. "If we are to go it alone we will need considerable funds. It will be necessary for me to advise the Secretary of the Treasury to pull back on any foreign aid to Africa." The President sipped his tea and waited for Turay's reaction.

Turay wrestled with the words for a while.

"Dat would not be good for millions of people. People dat don't have enough food or clean water to live on; even today."

"Joseph, off the record... you know and I know that Africa is poor because the people who run Africa want it that way."

Turay lowered his head to avoid eye contact.

The President continued, "They are power mad despots with private bank accounts that are bursting at the seams with foreign aid money that was meant for their people — People, who are unfortunately, a secondary consideration to their leaders' egos. Corrupt leaders, you and I despise."

Turay looked up and made eye contact again.

"Let me ask you something, Mister Secretary-General. What can the US do for Joseph Turay, that will guarantee us the support of the United Nations?"

"Dat, Mr President, is a very different question." Turay said, smiling broadly.

"I believe the Security Council meeting in New York is planned for tomorrow. Is that right, Joseph?"

"Yes, dat is correct. In de morning, at nine o'clock."

"Then we have work to do my friend."

37

The Ellington Building, Houston

It was just after ten o'clock at night and McPherson was still working in the control room when the call came from Hunter to join him in his office. When he arrived Hunter was on the phone and he gestured to McPherson to sit down.

"Michael this guy is definitely alive and we need to know what he's up to. Do you have the information about his time at Aldermaston?" Hunter put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to McPherson. "Michael Dench,; MI6."

McPherson nodded in acknowledgement.

"Yes, that's right, Michael". Hunter then listened intently to Dench about the information MI6 had gathered...

"Can you send that through to me please?...Have you got him on the wanted list now? Thank you my friend, I owe you one. Have a good day." Hunter replaced the receiver, took a deep breath and rubbed his chin thoughtfully....

"Well, Rob, it's not good news. It appears that your college friend definitely worked at Aldermaston and was actively involved in nuclear weapons research."

"So, he's selling that knowledge to the North Koreans?"

"I think that's exactly what he's doing, Rob."

"Oh my God!"

"Adam Domaradzki was a real threat to us and we dealt with him appropriately, but this is not our problem. We need to give the information to the people in charge of national security at the CIA so that we can focus on our job. Leave it to me please; you just concentrate on breaking that alien code. Oh, and by the way, it's nearly ten thirty. Isn't it time you went home?" Hunter said smiling.

"Yeah, but I'm in the middle of an important matrix run at the moment using a new symmetrical cryptanalysis algorithm." Hunter raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"SCA for short. If this motherfucker doesn't crack their code nothing will."

"Did you know George Washington used codes to send messages to his agents?" Hunter said nonchalantly.

McPherson just nodded. "I'll be here for another hour or so I'm afraid. Vicki knows I'm going to be late tonight."

"Okay, don't let me keep you from your work and good luck with that...symmetrical thing... whatever it is."

"Thanks." McPherson smiled and made his way back to the empty control room. He sat down next to his cold coffee on the central console, tapped the keyboard and the flat screen display lit up again. The room was quiet and the main lights were dimmed. Lots of small flashing red, green and yellow LEDS on the console and the main wall displays gave the room a strange aura that McPherson never really noticed. He was deep in thought, remembering his days at Cambridge with Habib and wondering what the future held for his son, Daniel. Was this the start of another Cold War?

"Please don't feel afraid." The voice shocked McPherson and he spun around on his chair. In total disbelief he stared at the two people standing in the corner of the room. He was desperately trying to comprehend the situation.

"We are not here to harm you, Robert."

"Who the hell are you guys and how did you get in here?" McPherson stood up and reached for his gun. The one that he'd left at home.

"We've met before, Robert—In Washington, DC."

"Who are you and what do want?" The two intruders walked slowly out of the shadows towards McPherson. As they approached he recognized them.

"Oh my God, you're the two aliens that escaped from the tank."

"Please don't feel afraid, it's not our intention to hurt you."

"Then why are you here?" McPherson was clearly shaken by their presence. Their skin appeared human like and their eyes were bright blue but with no iris. Where the hell are you from?

"We are from a place a long way from here."

"Oh my god you can read my thoughts." When they moved it seemed to McPherson that he could see through their tall bodies. They don't appear to have feet, they're just suspended, floating bodies.

This time the other alien spoke. "Your world is in great danger."

"From what?"

"From yourselves... Earth, as you call it, was chosen as a home for humans and now it is very feasible that humans will destroy themselves. Total annihilation of the human race, in the near future, is a very strong possibility."

"What are you talking about, chosen...home... total annihilation?" McPherson was confused and on edge. "Why are you doing this? Who are you? Where are you from?"

"We are best described, as guardians."

"Guardians, of what?" Rob was struggling to comprehend the whole scenario unfolding in front of him. Is this just a dream?

"No, it is not a dream, it is very real. We are guardians of what you call the soul. The soul is a form of energy that has been given to humans; it cannot be destroyed but it can be trapped forever between dimensions. Mankind is on the verge of just that."

"I don't understand a word of what you're saying,"

"We don't expect you to understand, Robert, but we can, with your help, prevent the human race from losing that precious gift. The soul has a journey that it must go on. It takes a direction I believe mankind calls fate. If that journey is not allowed to happen the soul is forever trapped, like an elevator stuck between floors. The soul is an energy that must never be trapped."

"This is madness. It makes no sense at all to me"

"Do you want your child to have a future?"

"Yes, of course I do." McPherson's tone hardened and he felt his pulse quicken even more.

"Please, do not see us as a threat, we are here to help you. Negative forces are being nurtured on earth that if left unchecked would take every child's future away, not just yours. Their souls would be trapped just like the elevator. You can stop that from happening Robert."

"I'm completely confused, I have no idea what to do. How the hell can I be of any help? What negative forces are you talking about?"

"You will know them, when the time comes."

The sound of the phone ringing on the control room console woke McPherson with a start. "Rob speaking." He said groggily into the receiver.

"Rob, are you okay? It's one o'clock in the morning. Are you ever coming home?"

"Yeah...yeah...sorry darling, I've been very busy and lost track of time. I'm on my way, I'll see you soon." What a crazy vivid dream that was. McPherson stood up to leave and noticed a clear crystal pyramid, some six inches tall, on the console next to his computer keyboard. Where on Earth did that come from?

38

Faculty of Mechanical Engineering, Kabul University, Afghanistan.

Hanif Mohammed Haseeb was fifty-nine-years-old and Head of Mechanical Science at Kabul University. At only five-feet-three his huge belly made his persona somewhat comical; but today he was't laughing. The threat of losing his wife and his three children had turned his world upside down. Until today life had been predictable and comfortable. He was in control... Until today.

Standing at the window of his office in the faculty of mechanical engineering he stared out at nothing in particular, totally bemused. Beads of sweat glistened on his bald head and the palms of his hands felt clammy. Removing his thick brown framed glasses he nervously wiped the lenses, with his initialed white cotton handkerchief, using his thumb and forefinger. Something he often did when nervous or during a lecture, for effect.

Behind him, Ahmed Shah rolled out a blueprint on the large office desk that he'd cleared moments before with a swipe of his arm.

"This is it."

Haseeb reluctantly turned, approached the desk and studied the details of the blue print in silence for many moments.

"Well, my friend, what do you think?" Shah asked, inquisitively.

"I think, I have no choice and you are not my friend."

"That is correct; forgive me, but how long will it take you to make it?"

Haseeb raised his hands in frustration. "I have never made anything like this before, I don't know, and anyway, what is it for?"

"It has to be ready in two weeks." Ahmed Shah stated categorically. "It is not necessary for you to know its function."

"Two weeks is impossible."

"TWO WEEKS," Shah shouted, impatiently, banging the desk with his fist. "You have all the facilities you need here at the university and success would mean money for you and your family to enjoy."

Weakened by fear and the awareness of the recent decapitations in Kabul, Haseeb's tone became conciliatory. "What are the parameters for the pressure sensor?"

"You will find all the information you need in here." Shah dropped a blue folder on the desk in front of his reluctant, ashen faced associate whose hands were visibly trembling.

Hanif Mohammed Haseeb knew that failure was not an option and this demand would push him to the limits of his capabilities. Would he have the moral strength to see it through, knowing the consequences of failure would be constantly playing on his mind?

This is a nightmare. Why is this happening to me? He realized that Shah had gone. Gripped with trepidation his eyes filled with tears. He was alone, with no one to confide in. The Head of Mechanical Engineering recalled the words of the Prophet:

Remember more often the destroyer of pleasures—death.

The smell of his urine filled his nostrils.

39

The White House, Washington DC.

Tensions were building between the US and North Korea. Both sides accusing each other of starting the conflict and now other major players like China, Russia, Iran and the United Nations had joined the rhetoric, seriously concerned about the possibility of a nuclear conflict. Shah had created the 'catalyst' for the conflict and it excited him to see how the 'reactor' was becoming unstable in such a short period of time. Instability, driven by rumor, suspicion, fear and lies.

The announcement by the President was due to be broadcast in a few minutes.

The world's press had gathered in the White House Briefing Room, eager to beam his image and words around the world; a world holding its breath in nervous anticipation. Cameras and video cameras were poised, pointing at the podium waiting to focus on the man who in the next few minutes might possibly decide the fate of billions of people.

An official walked up to the podium and performed a last minute sound check. The level of anticipation in the room rose, while the level of noise dropped equally. Then a side door opened and the President and his entourage walked into the now silent room.

He made straight for the podium without acknowledging the gathering. Griping the sides of the podium with his hands he resembled a minister about to deliver a sermon to a congregation of sinners. Before starting he looked around the room and unfolded his notes, placing the two sheets in front of him under the reading lamp. His expression was solemn.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming to the briefing room today. I want to make an important announcement concerning the political tensions that are developing between North Korea and the United States of America. I understand that the nations of the world are rightly anxious, wanting to know what is going on."

Raising his hand to his mouth he quietly coughed to clear his throat.

"In the last week, the US has been accused by North Korea of using Israel as a base to potentially launch nuclear warheads at Pyongyang and other cities in North Korea. As a result of this Iran has come out in support of North Korea. Military officials from Pyongyang have posted what they say are satellite images of US activity in Israel and have shown the world top secret military documents that purport to show the agreed strategic use of nuclear weapons on a regime identified as a severe threat to the US. Their words ladies and gentlemen, not ours."

The President sipped a glass of water before continuing.

"I want to make it clear to the world and especially to North Korea and Iran that these accusations are completely untrue."

The sound of camera shutters clicked and opportunist cameramen zoomed in on the President's stern image.

"We believe these lies have their foundations in Pakistan and are the work of an Islamic fundamentalist group. Let me say here and now, we will find them and expose them as liars driven by misguided Islamic goals. Dangerous individuals with no respect or wish for peace other than under their own terms. What really concerns us Ladies and Gentlemen, is that North Korea will use this information for its own political purposes. Let me say this to the people of the world: we are not the aggressors and we have no intention of attacking anyone. You have my guarantee that the images of US nuclear weapons in Israel and the so called top-secret documents are fakes, I repeat—Fakes. However, let me also make it very clear that we will defend our great Nation against an attack, or perceived attack, by whatever means we deem to be appropriate. Thank you very much: I will now take a few questions."

In Kabul Ahmed Shah watched the broadcast on television and throughout he smiled with great satisfaction, occasionally laughing out loud. His master plan was working perfectly.

Insha Allah.

40

The Team Compound, The Ellington Air Force Base.

The McPherson family was enjoying a weekend off and spending a few hours in the indoor pool on the Saturday with young Daniel who was turning out to be a real water baby, laughing and screeching every time Rob threw him in the air, catching him just as he splashed back in the water. Vicki watched them from her lounger in-between magazine articles. Other youngsters from the base were enjoying the pool too and the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly.

McPherson's iPhone rang on the table next to Vicki and she could see Hunter's face on the display. Vicki picked up the phone and walked to the pool.

"Rob, it's Hunter calling you. Give me the baby." McPherson handed Daniel to Vicki and took the phone.

"Rob speaking...Yes thanks, Colin, I'm fine." McPherson then listened to Hunter as he explained that the project was to be shut down forthwith. The decision he said had been taken by the President and the reason given was the current deteriorating situation with North Korea. The team would be given two weeks to close down any outstanding actions and then disbanded. Hunter gave McPherson his apologies and explained that he would call a team meeting first thing Monday morning to make the announcement officially to all the team members. Vicki knew there was something wrong by the expression on her husband's face as he walked back to her and the baby.

"What is it now?"

"The President has decided to disband the project." McPherson sounded totally dejectedly.

"Why?" Vicki asked, as she vigorously dried Daniel with a large bath towel.

"It's the North Korea crisis. They're all panicking in Washington and every bit of hardware has been taken back by the military. We don't have any satellites anymore, they've taken them all."

"Not yet they haven't. I will need to do some re-routing first. What about the alien signals, Rob? We still have them to work on."

"I don't think they care about anything anymore other than North Korea."

Unnoticed, Daniel had managed to raise himself on the lounger as they talked and then fell off onto the tiled floor. Vicki saw him just as he fell but she was unable to catch him. The fall cut him over his left eye and blood poured down his face as he cried out.

"Oh my baby, don't cry I've got you." Vicki picked up Daniel and cradled him. "Rob, he's cut his eye, we need to get him to the medical center, now."

Some hours later the McPherson's were back in their apartment. Daniel was playing on the floor, as if nothing had happened, although a large bruise was starting to appear around the area of the cut which according to the nurse didn't justify a stitch; much to the relief of Vicki. In the middle of the coffee table was the crystal that McPherson had found on the control room console. He'd brought it home because it intrigued him. He had no idea where it came from but it looked different from anything he'd ever seen before. His meeting with the aliens had been completely wiped from his memory. He looked at the crystal for a while and then picked it up, studying it from every angle.

"This is a strange thing Vicki. I've no idea whose it is or where it came from."

"Well, it must be one of the teams, Rob. Take it in on Monday, I'm sure someone will own up to it."

McPherson didn't really want to give it back to its owner, he rather liked it. Just then Daniel wanted to touch it and McPherson allowed him to hold it for a while.

"I hope he's not going to be left with a scare, darling."

"I hope so too, Rob. I feel so guilty. He's going to have a nasty bruise in the morning."

"Hey come on, it's not your fault, these things happen. He'll have worse than that when he's older."

"No, he won't, don't say that about my baby." Vicki picked up Daniel and kissed him, in an overreaction to his first real accident. Daniel still had the crystal in his hands.

"Rob, can you check his diaper please as it's almost time for junior to go to bed. He's had quite an eventful day, the poor little soldier. And I need him to take some milk now, I'm going to burst if he doesn't. My breasts are huge and I'm getting very uncomfortable."

The following morning at six thirty, Vicki and Rob were awakened by the sound of baby Daniel in the next room. He wasn't crying, just making baby noises and contentedly playing with his feet in his crib.

"Junior's awake, Rob."

"I know. Should I leave him or get him?"

"Go and get him please, my breasts are at bursting point. I need to feed him and I want to see how is eye is today."

Rob returned a few moments later carrying Daniel. When he saw his mother he smiled broadly and held out his arms.

"Oh my darling! Come to Mommy. How are you today?" Vicki cradled Daniel and guided her nipple into his mouth. While Daniel was feeding she gently peeled away the bandage from his eyebrow to check the injury. For a few seconds she just stared, speechless.

"Rob......the cut's gone...and there's no bruising at all. He looks like it never happened."

Rob stared at Daniel, in total amazement.

41

Kabul University, Afghanistan

One week had passed since Ahmed Shah"s imposing visit to see Hanif Mohammed Haseeb and now Haseeb was not eating, he was irritable and very tired from lack of sleep. The demand put on him by Shah was certainly taking its toll. On a more positive note though he knew the work was going well and the assembly was coming together but it still had to be completed and working in the next seven days and that worried him. Haseeb didn't know what it was to be used for but he knew it was a stainless steel, very high pressure canister with a sensor designed to release the contents, whatever that was, at a certain pressure. Haseeb knew that it was best if he never did know its function; because it was being built for a madman and the loss of his family was just unthinkable. He knew that Shah would kill his wife and children and not lose a moments sleep over it.

Each day, Shah called him to get an update and to remind Haseeb of the consequences of failure. The calls were made from a unit he'd rented for six months in Pakistan. Security at the building was tight with armed guards protecting it twenty-four hours a day. Very few people entered or left the building that was situated in a small inconspicuous industrial estate in the capital. Like most other units in the rundown area the windows of the building were completely blacked out. Unusually, this unit's windows were additionally protected by slatted, hardened-steel shutters.

Inside the unit Shah had constructed a laboratory that would allow him to fulfill his twisted dream. His knowledge, gained at Porton Down was privileged information and only a few people in the world were able to make what he needed. The laboratory was well equipped with centrifuges, three oil-free air compressors, drying ovens, distillation columns, hermetically sealed chambers, weighing machines, atomic scales, four specialist analyzers build in Switzerland and a mass spectrometer from Germany at a cost of two-hundred-thousand Euros. Shah needed specialist equipment because he was making something very special. The Americans were playing the game just as he'd expected them too. Pakistan was now under surveillance by the CIA and his team was busy giving out false information that was eagerly gathered and believed by a secret service that was completely paranoid. The world was on edge and the tensions were building by the hour.

42

The Ellington Building, Houston, Texas

It was Monday morning and the team was gathering in the control room for a meeting called by Hunter in an email to each member sent out on Sunday evening.

"What's going on?" Yuri Klyushin asked, to no one in particular, as he walked into the room.

"I expect we'll find out in the next few minutes," commented Walter Rottenburg. A few moments later Hunter, McPherson and Vicki walked into the room.

"Good morning, team. Is everyone here?"

"We're all here, sir," replied McPherson.

"Okay—Ladies and gentlemen I'm sorry but I have bad news. I have to inform you that the President has decided to close down our project."

Moans from the team made the announcement harder for Hunter to keep his composure.

"I understand your disappointment, I feel the same way. I'm told that the reasons for disbanding the work are based on increasing tensions between the US and North Korea and there is an immediate need for the satellites to be taken back by the military... The work we've been doing has been pioneering, successful and I'm sure you'll agree, rewarding. I would like to think that at sometime in the future we will once again come together, to finish what we weren't allowed to, because of circumstances outside of our control."

Hunter looked around the room at the disappointed faces staring at him.

"What about the signals we've received and the missing aliens. Surely they're interested in finding them?"

"Good question, Walter. I don't know the answer to that. I can only assume there are issues that they believe are far more important in the current climate. The thinking is that they've gone back to wherever they came from, because nobody has seen them since their escape from the tank seven weeks ago."

"Now we'll never know where they came from," retorted Walter Rottenburg, sarcastically. McPherson just nodded sympathetically.

"When do you intend to disband the team sir?" He asked, prompting Hunter.

"We have two weeks, Rob, after that we are out of here. I will need to speak to all of you on a one to one basis about your contracts and I intend to complete that exercise by the end of this week. Personally, it's a very sad time for me. As you know I handpicked this team because I wanted the best scientists in the world on this project and I was successful. I'm just sorry you weren't allowed the time to prove it. Thank you all for everything you've done, it has been a pleasure to work with each and every one of you." Hunter had to pause a moment to regain his composure. "On a brighter note I want to invite you all to my favourite restaurant for dinner one evening next week and I'm picking up the tab. Linda will be sending an email out with the details in the next few days. It will be our last social gathering together, so let's enjoy it...Are there any questions?"

Nobody responded, so Hunter thanked them all again and quickly left the room.

For a few moments there was silence and nobody moved, everyone looked bemused by the announcement, even McPherson who'd already been primed. The communal disappointment had brought the reality of the decision home to him with a bang and he looked as dejected as his colleagues.

"Rob, ask if anyone owns the pyramid?" Vicki said, trying to make light conversation.

"Yeah, good idea—Gentlemen... Can I have your attention for a moment please. On a slightly lighter note does anyone lay claim to this object?" McPherson held the pyramid up for all to see and held his breath....

"What is it?" Someone asked.

"It's a crystal pyramid. Probably a paper weight."

Walter Rottenburg asked if he could hold it and McPherson reluctantly handed it to him.

"What a beautiful object it is."

"It's got magical powers. It heals people." Vicki said jokingly.

"If only that were true," responded Rottenburg, philosophically.

"If only," retorted Vicki, completely unaware of the deeper meaning to his comment.

"I assume that nobody owns this object, so I therefore stake my claim on it." McPherson stated.

Rottenburg handed it back to McPherson who gladly accepted it. To give it away would have upset him but he didn't know why. He was happy to have it back and even though it was only a paperweight, he felt a kind of empathy with it that he couldn't explain.

One week later in Houston

Hunter had spared no expense for the dinner and the team were gathering at the 'Macon Rouge' restaurant off Westheimer and Kirby Drive. As they arrived he was there to greet them with a glass of champagne. The evening went well with a relaxed atmosphere. The French cuisine was exquisite and the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Walter Rottenburg was sitting on Vicki's left and Robert to her right. Vicki had always liked Walter and he was proving to be good company. After a few glasses he'd relaxed and was really enjoying himself.

"Walter, do you have any plans now that we're disbanding?" Vicki asked, topping up his wine glass.

"Oh... I've considered retirement you know. I've not been too well lately and it seems the obvious thing to do."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that."

"That's okay, Vicki, it wasn't common knowledge anyway, but tonight I'm celebrating."

"I hope you get well soon, Walter."

"Thank you but that's why I'm celebrating."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Vicki, do you believe in miracles?"

"I'm not sure, Walter, why?"

Walter leaned closer to Vicki and spoke quietly.

"Three years ago I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. The doctors told me that it was terminal and that I had between five and ten years to live. This morning I went for a consultation with my specialist and he informed me that the cancer had gone; completely gone. I have no trace of it in my system and my vital organs are performing like a man half my age. I have never felt better in my life... How do you explain that, young lady?"

Vicki sat in total silence for a few moments just looking at Walter's smug smile. "That's wonderful news Walter, let's drink to that." Vicki turned to Rob and smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" McPherson asked.

"I'm having a wonderful time, thank you. Do you still have that crystal, Rob?"

"Yes, why? It's in my office."

"I'll tell you later."

43

Kabul University, Afghanistan

Hanif Mohammed Haseeb was sweating as he sat at his desk. He was expecting Shah at ten o'clock and it was now ten thirty-three. On the desk in front of him, the finished canister was covered with a white cotton sheet. He wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers before he stood up and aimlessly walked around his untidy office, tapping his hands behind his back. The phone rang and he quickly picked up the receiver.

"Thank you, send him up please."

Moments later Shah walked in without knocking. "My friend, how are you?"

Haseeb looked irritated by the question and did not respond.

"I trust all went well with the manufacture?"

Again Haseeb didn't respond but walked over to the desk and pulled the cloth off, exposing the canister.

Shah picked up the stainless steel canister and inspected it in great detail. "Well, well, that does look good. I'm impressed, Haseeb, very impressed."

"I would appreciate it if you just took the unit and left."

"I will my friend, when I return next week to pick up the other unit."

Haseeb looked aghast. "What other unit?"

"I need two, and now you know how to make it, the other one will be easy won't it?"

"That was never the deal, you said one and I have delivered one."

Shah walked up to Haseeb and looked into his frightened eyes.

"I will return in one week for the other unit. Do not let me or your family down my friend." He then walked out of the office leaving the canister on the desk.

Haseeb sank into his chair, holding his head in his hands.

This is not happening. It's just a bad dream. A very bad dream.

Two hours later Shah was back at his laboratory some six miles from the university. He was wearing a white body suite, gloves and a pressurized helmet as he carefully opened a valve. He watched as the dial on the diffraction column's bourdon tube gauge slowly rose to thirty Bar. Clear liquid poured through a sight glass into a high pressure vessel and Shah smiled. He then isolated all the feed valves before setting the temperature at minus forty degrees Celsius. The laboratory mice in the cage next to him became restless as if they'd sensed there imminent death. Nobody had ever synthesized a liquid quite like this, it was clear and as a liquid, it was completely harmless.

44

The Ellington Building, Houston

Hunter looked across the table in silence at McPherson for some time.

"What's on your mind, Colin?"

"Rob, I want you to go to England. I've managed to arrange a visit for you to see a Professor Phelps at Porton Down."

"Who's he?"

"He's the man that your mate, Habib, aka Ahmed Shah, worked for."

"I thought he worked at Aldermaston"

"Yes, he did, but only for a short while and then he transferred to Porton Down."

"Why do you want me to see him?"

"MI6 is now very interested in Shah, since your wife alerted us to the fact that he's still alive. Professor Phelps has information about him that could be crucial and we've been given the green light by MI6 to talk to him on site. You'll have to sign the British Official Secrets Act and the conversation will be strictly off the record."

"When do you want me to go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Porton Down is all about chemical warfare isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, that's why I want you to go tomorrow. You're a chemist, you can talk his language."

"It's not my specialist subject, Colin, but okay, if it's that important I'll go."

"Good; find out everything you can about this man. We need to find him before he does some real damage."

"Is he a real threat, Colin?"

"Intelligence suggests he's very active and playing a part in this North Korea thing. We need to find him quickly. If need be I might ask you to go to Pakistan at some point."

"Why Pakistan?"

"That's where most the communications are coming from and they're using code that we haven't managed to crack yet. We might need your expertise if our boys fail. I'm sure it's not as complicated as the alien stuff you're used to."

"If it is we have no chance...Are you going to tell Vicki or shall I?"

"I'll leave that to you, Rob."

"Coward." McPherson said smiling, as he left the office knowing he needed to gather his things together.

I'm taking the crystal with me.

Salisbury, England

The digital alarm clock woke McPherson at seven o'clock. The sun was shining and it was going to be a pleasant day with highs of twenty-four degrees Celsius, light winds and a high pollen count, according to the BBC weatherman on the TV. McPherson still felt tired after the flight and the drive from Heathrow, even though he'd had a good night's sleep. His body wasn't expecting food but the thought of an English breakfast appealed to him. The last time he'd eaten one was at university. Might not get the chance to enjoy real bacon again. After an invigorating power shower and shave he dressed and made his way down to the restaurant, feeling more alive. The irresistible smell of bacon and coffee filled the air as McPherson entered the sunlit conservatory restaurant. He was greeted by a smiling young lady wearing a classic black and white waitress dress.

"Good morning, sir. Table for one?"

"Hi, yes, table for one please."

"Follow me please." McPherson was shown to a window table by the young waitress.

"Lovely views of the gardens,"

"It's very pretty this time of year isn't it sir. I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you. I wasn't expecting a four poster bed. I felt like a king."

"They are a bit special those rooms aren't they? What would you like for breakfast?"

"A full English please. No sorry, I've changed my mind. Porridge and honey followed by bacon and poached eggs, black coffee and toast please."

"White or brown toast, sir?"

"Brown, please."

"Thank you, sir. Can I have your room number please?"

"Room number seven."

"Thank you, your breakfast won't be long."

Removing a letter from his jacket pocket he read the instructions for the day ahead again. He would be picked up from the hotel at nine o'clock and driven to the Porton Down site. It was going to be an interesting meeting with Professor Phelps.

Porton Down, Salisbury. UK Government military scientific park.

Rob McPherson's taxi had arrived at the hotel on time and after a short journey he'd been dropped off outside the entrance to the Porton Down Scientific Park reception area. McPherson was traveling light, carrying only his favorite brown leather briefcase, an iPad and the crystal pyramid.

On entering the building he was greeted by a young receptionist who was sat behind a large desk.

"Good morning, sir, can I help you?"

"Yes, my name is Dr Robert McPherson, I'm here to see Professor Phelps."

"Just one moment, sir." The secretary glanced at a hidden monitor below the desk. "I'll try to contact him. Your appointment is for nine-thirty?"

"Yes, that's correct."

The young girl rang a number and waited for a response. "Professor Phelps it's Charlotte here, I have Dr McPherson in reception for you...Okay, thank you... He will be with you in a few moments sir, please take a seat."

McPherson sat down on one of the chairs and tried to picture the Professor. A tall spectacled man with a bushy grey beard. He would have a tweed jacket with pens in the top pocket.

"Dr McPherson?"

"Yes, that's me. Professor Phelps?"

"Yes, pleased to meet you."

McPherson was looking at a tall spectacled man with a grey bushy beard and pens in the top pocket of his tweed jacket.

"Is there something wrong, Doctor?" The Professor asked, looking at McPherson's surprised expression.

"No, no...there's nothing wrong. I'm just a little jet lagged. Very nice to meet you Professor."

"I've booked a meeting room for our discussions, it's just over there to our right, please follow me."

McPherson followed him into a small room marked "Meeting room number 1."

"Can I get you a drink, Doctor?"

"A coffee would be great, thank you."

"I'll be back shortly, please take a seat."

He's exactly as I imagined him to be. I saw him in my minds eye.

Moments later the professor returned.

"Here we are, help yourself to sugar and milk." Professor Phelps placed a tray in the middle of the table that carried two plastic cups of steaming coffee and then sat down opposite McPherson.

"So I understand you were in university with Habib, at Cambridge, is that right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm intrigued to know what you're after, Doctor. It's been a while now since his tragic death."

"Yes, it has."

McPherson decided to play along for a while.

"The reason I'm here Professor is to find out what Habib did during his time here. I realize that the conversation is off the record."

"Yes, those are my terms, Doctor. But I still don't understand why you need to know"

"Was Habib as good as Cambridge said he was?" McPherson asked.

"Oh yes....He was exceptional." The professor stroked his beard as he reminisced. "He was one of the brightness scientists I've ever had the pleasure of working with."

"Can you tell me what he was working on?"

"He was working on a project to produce antidotes to chemical weapons." The Professor looked uneasy.

"You mean nerve gas?"

"Yes."

"Any particular nerve gas?" McPherson was trying to tread carefully as the subject was obviously a sensitive one.

"What do you know about nerve gas, Doctor?"

"Very little, I'm afraid."

"Let me explain then." Professor Phelps stood up and moved to a chalk board on the otherwise plain wall picking up a piece of chalk.

"There are two general forms of the nerve gas, G and V. Both are organophosphates that block the neurotransmitter."

As he explained he enthusiastically chalked the salient points on the board.

"Specifically, nerve gas is a potent inhibitor of the enzyme acetylcholinesterase. The first gas was synthesized in Germany during the thirties, hence the prefix G. Then came Sarin classified as GB. It works on the nervous system, stopping the normal muscle function. The victims quite simply piss and shit themselves before dying from asphyxiation. A horrible death Doctor, I'm sure you'll agree."

"Yes, it must be awful." Why do I know all this ?

"Then, if that wasn't enough, came the V class of nerve gas." The Professor was busily chalking on the board as if giving a lecture to a class of young undergraduates. "The V form was invented here at Porton Down, in the fifties. It is ten times more toxic than the G form and far more stable."

"Is it still made here sir?"

"My dear boy, nerve gas is classed as a weapon of mass destruction, UN resolution 687, 1991. Production was outlawed by the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993."

"But that didn't take effect until 1997 did it." McPherson added. Where did that come from?

Phelps looked surprised, "Yes that's true."

"So Habib only worked on nerve gas antidotes, not nerve gas?"

The professor didn't answer his question and McPherson realized he was now on thin ice. It was necessary to rephrase the question.

"Is it fair to say that to make an antidote you would also know how to make the gas itself?"

"Yes, I think that's a fair assumption, Doctor."

"So, Habib has the knowledge to make nerve gas."

"Habib had the knowledge once, Doctor. He's dead, remember."

"Professor," McPherson paused..."Habib is not dead, he's very much alive."

"How wonderful... So why are you asking me all these questions and not him?"

"We think he's in Pakistan but it's not good news because we know he's now an active terrorist. His death was faked so that he could practice his jihad calling incognito."

"Are you suggesting he's making nerve gas?" the Professor asked.

"We don't know. How easy is it to make, if you have the know-how?"

"It's not easy at all. You'd need a laboratory with some very specialist equipment indeed."

"We must assume that he would be able to obtain that equipment, Professor."

"Oh my god!"

45

The White House, Washington DC

The President was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office having a telephone conversation. The southern sky was a peaceful backdrop, through the big bay windows behind him, and a delicate shade of pink that flooded the room with a warm glow that juxtaposed his cold, stony expression.

"Yes, Mr President." Hunter's response emanated from a speaker on the desk.

"Are you telling me that North Korea has the ability to mass produce nerve gas?"

"Our intelligence in the region identified two people traveling from Pakistan via Beijing to North Korea last week, one of them was our old friend, Ahmed Shah. We can only assume he was there to pass on or sell information to them. According to Rob McPherson who visited Porton Down yesterday, Shah is an expert in nerve gas technology."

"This is not good news, Colin. We're pretty sure that North Korea doesn't have a long range nuclear capability yet but if they're looking to use chemical weapons that's just as dangerous."

"We're dealing with people here that are completely unpredictable enemies of the state Mr President."

"That's what worries me, Colin...How long would it take them to make the stuff?"

"Rob McPherson says once they have the knowhow, and we must assume they now have it, then they could produce V series gas within weeks."

"What's that?"

"Sorry...The most deadly nerve gas ever made."

"Where is Shah, now?"

"We don't know, probably back in Pakistan. That's where his operational base is."

"And you say Rob McPherson knows him?"

"They were friends years ago at Cambridge. Shah was known then as Habib and apparently very different to the radical extremist he's turned out to be."

"I wish he'd stayed dead, Colin. It would be much easier without him around."

"We're on the case sir. We have already initiated a drone program. His days are numbered. We just need to get him out in the open."

"Well, if you think it will help, get McPherson to go to Pakistan to sort out the mess."

"We'll do everything we can, Mr President."

"Colin, thanks for the update. I need to arrange meetings with the Chinese Ambassador and the President of Pakistan immediately. Keep me informed. If the situation changes call me straight away."

"Yes, sir."

The President hit a switch and ended the conversation. Spinning around on his captain's swivel chair he looked up at the evening sky. He nervously tapped his lips with the tips of his fingers. God I need your help now more than ever. Hear my prayer and guide me through this crisis. Show me the way.

46

Band-e Amir, Afghanistan

A sickly, sweet, floral smell filled the cave as the smoke from the pure opium rose high into the roof of the cavernous space. A group of men dressed in black were sitting, trance like, around an open wood fire. Ahmed Shah had spent nearly an hour explaining his plans to the sixteen jihads and explaining to them what had been achieved to-date. Shah had enthusiastically repeated his ultimate goal to them and promised it was about to become reality. He reassured them that everything was going to plan and soon they would be rejoicing and praising Allah for his guidance and help. Now though, they where high and morphine surged through their bloodstreams corrupting and diluting their thoughts. In a dim corner of the cave Shah and Raman-Ali sat quietly together.

"We have our people in place at Karachi airport and they know exactly what is expected of them," Raman-Ali reported, smiling broadly.

Shah smiled back at him in satisfied recognition.

"They are key to this operation; without them all of this would not be possible. Make sure they are well paid for their efforts," demanded Shah.

"They will be well looked after and their families, I can assure you Ahmed, for one day soon they will be heroes in the eyes of Allah."

"Good. We also need to plan the final details of the bombing of the American Embassy in Karachi because that is key to the whole process. Also when we return to Pakistan tomorrow I will need to arrange for the canisters to be transported to the airport. Has Haseeb been silenced?"

"Yes, he has been silenced. He was not trustworthy and we cannot afford any mishaps now we are so near," Raman-Ali answered authoritatively.

"Absolutely—Did you cut off his head?" Shah asked nonchalantly.

"Yes, he screamed and begged for mercy just like an imperialist pig; scared of death. I saw the fear in his eyes and smelt his piss and shit as his body convulsed from the pain of my knife cutting through his flesh and then...I held high his warm severed head and I knew Allah was pleased." Raman-Ali smiled contentedly having excitedly relived the decapitation.

At six-feet-five and two-hundred and eighty-pound he was a big, strong man. His beliefs were extremist and he was very dangerous. He once admitted to Shah when he was high on opium that he enjoyed cutting the heads of infidels more than sex. The fear in their eyes as he approached with his knife excited him so much he would get an erection.

"Did you video it?"

"Yes, we did."

"Good, we can use it in the future if we need to. Fear is our most powerful weapon in this holy war."

Raman-Ali looked up from a small, black leather note book he was holding. "Three of our men are now full-time technicians on the presidential plane. Aarif is Head technician for hydraulics and the other two, Majeed and Mahmood Ali have complete access to maintenance procedures and software diagnostics for the 747. We can close the airport when we choose. Your requirements will be met in full."

"This is good news," responded Shah, as he raised his head to look at the smoked filled cave ceiling.

"We will meet up with them soon to explain the final details of my plan."

"I have already told them to expect a meeting." Raman Ali enthused.

"The second thing that needs to be done is to set up the raid on the flat. What is the status?" Shah asked.

"The apartment is ready. All the documents about our visit to North Korea are there and the computers are loaded with the information about the false satellite images as well. When they get their hands on it they'll think they've struck gold."

"That's exactly what we want them to think, Raman. It has got to look like a real scoop for the President of Pakistan. We need him to be invited to America as a hero who singlehandedly stopped a nuclear war and after they raid the apartment that's exactly what will happen. Tell them to make the call on Friday one hour after the bomb goes off at ten o'clock. The flat will be swarming with secret service agents in minutes. Praise be the servants of Allah, for soon the evil ones will be dead. But now my friend it is time for us to enjoy ourselves and relax before the coming days. Obey Allah and Allah will reward you."

"Subhaan Allah wa bi hamdih." (Glory and praise be to Allah) replied Raman.

"I will return in a few moments. I want to walk for a while under the stars."

Shah left the cave and inhaled the cool night air. He looked up at the night sky in awe, just as he did when he was a young boy. He knew that the stars would always be the same but soon the world would be a very different place.

Leesburg, VA (West of Washington DC)

Vicki McPherson stood on the veranda of the beautiful four-bedroom home and her smile showed her approval for the property. The sun was shining and the air was warm and scented with the smell of freshly cut grass. Rob McPherson stood on the large lawn holding Daniel in his arms and looking up at the home for sale.

"Rob, there's something right about this place. It has a feel to it that I can't explain; I love it."

"I know, I feel the same way."

"It's the kind of place I want our son to grow up in. Away from the city in the fresh air. The pool is great and the house is bigger than I imagined and that kitchen is amazing. It's a real family home isn't it Rob?"

"It's the fifth house we've viewed this week and I hope it's the last, darling," Rob said, smiling sarcastically.

Vicki walked over to Rob and the baby and wrapped her arms around them.

"Shall we do it, shall we make an offer?" Daniel reached out to her and she took him in her arms. "What do you think, my love, do you like it?"

"Let's do it, darling. The agent is sitting in the truck, let's get her to call and offer the asking price."

"Yes,—let's do it, Rob—Oh my god." Vicki's face was glowing with excitement and anticipation.

Within ten minutes of the offer being made the agent's cell phone rang.

"Hello...Okay, I'll let them know, thank you...They've accepted your offer guys. Congratulations; you're looking at your new home."

Vicki stood quite still and tears filled her eyes. She kissed Daniel on the cheek.

"The journey is just beginning my love. Let's enjoy it together."

Disinterested and suddenly insipid Daniel, lay his head on Vicki's shoulder. His normally healthy complexion had become alarmingly pale.

47

Karachi, Pakistan

The air in the high-rise flat overlooking the suburbs of Karachi was thick with cigarette smoke. Seven men were sitting around a large table looking at a stainless steel canister, some six inches in diameter by eighteen inches long, reminiscent of a large thermos flask. Additional bits had been welded onto the sides that appeared to be some kind of valves and there was a black plastic electrical connection box secured to the top of the robust, metal cylinder. Ahmed Shah was looking at the device with a smug grin on his face having just removed the cloth that had previously hidden the device from view. Nods of approval from around the table pleased Shah and he stood up to speak.

"My brothers, you're looking at an integral part of my final plan and with your help it will soon be reality. This is one of two canisters that you will fit into the President of Pakistan's personal plane. As some of you already know the devices will be connected into the hydraulics and activated when the landing gear is selected. As the plane comes into land at Dulles International Airport the canisters will release their contents into the air over the airport where the President of America will be eagerly awaiting the hero of the day...Waiting to greet the President of Pakistan no less. The canisters will release enough nerve gas to wipe out the population of the East Coast of America. The canisters will carry the North Korean emblem. The western world will be plunged into turmoil, the President of America will be dead and the financial markets around the world will collapse. Most probably, America will panic and drop a nuclear bomb on North Korea who have been threatening to do the same to America for some weeks now and the..."

Ahmed Shah was interrupted in mid sentence by a knock on the door to the flat.

Raman-Ali quickly moved to the door and looked through the security lens in the door.

"It's them," he said, looking at Shah.

"Brothers, it is an honor for us to meet the man who will deliver the bomb in the name of Allah."

Shah motioned to open the door. When the door opened a fresh faced young man was standing in silence with his head bowed and behind him stood his mother dressed in a black burqa.

"Please come in," Shah said, gesturing with his hand.

The room was silent as the two visitors shuffled into the corner of the smokey room. Finally the young man looked up and scanned the people stood around the table staring back at him uneasily. The smoke irritated his young lungs and he coughed.

Shah realized he did not know their names but he had to make a start. "Young man," What's his name? "It's a great honor to meet you. We want you to know that as the chosen one you will be rewarded. You have been chosen by Allah to do this necessary deed and soon you will be with him at his side. A proud hero, standing tall with pride."

The young man gave a nervous smile and nodded in reluctant approval of his task. His mother looked up at her son and also smiled her approval from behind her veil. She knew her boy was one of the lucky few people on Earth certain to meet Allah and be rewarded as a true servant of the faith. Everyone in the room then went over to thank the presumptive sacrifice and his proud mother. They were looking at a young man who would soon drive a car as near to the American Embassy as possible with its trunk packed with high explosives, glass and nails, designed to rip the flesh off the bones of anyone within a thirty yard radius. The explosion would be so powerful it would take the roof off the car and project the bomber's head some thirty feet into the air (a common consequence of wearing a suicide belt). Nearby windows would shatter from the explosion hurling broken shards of glass that would pierce the flesh of unsuspecting office workers. Pedestrian's bodies would be riddled with nails and glass and if not killed, hideously maimed for life within a matter of seconds. Many, including children, would bleed to death through gaping wounds as they lay helpless in the street. For long minutes the pitiful cries of the wounded and dying would be the only sounds, but soon chaos would take over and the wailing of ambulances and police cars and the panicked shouting of horrified, confused onlookers would add to the ambience of death on the streets, stained, once again, with the blood of the innocent.

Shah still couldn't remember the young suicide bomber's name. "Thank you for coming today and please be at peace, knowing Allah is protecting you. Soon you will be a martyr. A martyr your family will be proud of forever."

The young man again bowed his head and moved to the door, thankful to breathe fresh air again. He was quickly followed by his mother and Raman-Ali who spoke quietly to them for a few moments outside the door before they left to take the twenty minute ride home across the city to the north-west; in the same blacked-out chauffeur driven Mercedes that brought them there via the Lasbela Bridge. Finally Raman closed the door behind the two visitors.

"I have arranged for the money to be paid to the family,"

"Thank you, Raman. He is a good choice, you did well," responded Shah. "Okay...let's get back to work. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it in."

The people around the table clearly relaxed and the room soon filled with cigarette smoke. Shah took control of the meeting again by describing the series of events that had to take place after the bombing and everyone around the table listened intently.

"It is important that the authorities are tipped off by someone giving the code name that identifies it as a genuine call and not some stupid hoax." Shah glanced at Raman and he nodded knowingly.

"The caller, that is you Raman; unhappy with the many deaths, will give the location of this flat, housing the computers and all the information about the visit to North Korea, including the fake images sold to them for a cool one million dollars. Within minutes of making the call the front door will be smashed in by elite troops of the Pakistani Army and the room stripped of its contents. The game will be over and the President of Pakistan will have saved the world from the brink of disaster."

There was a slight pause before the gathering simultaneously burst into raucous laughter, led by their auspicious leader, Ahmed Shah.

48

It was the McPherson family's first weekend in their new home and Rob McPherson had decided that gardening was the main task of the day. He was busy tending the front yard, making the most of a glorious sunny day. They wanted it to look good for Vicki's family when they visited in a week's time. As he worked on the flower border his mind was occupied with the events and meetings planned for the coming week. Hunter had relocated back to the Pentagon after closing down the Houston Project and disbanding the team. Rob felt a real sadness at losing his team and a real sense of frustration at not being able to continue their challenge to the end, whatever that was. Knowing they are out there and not being able to do anything was so annoying. Hunter had made it quite clear to McPherson that he was still working for him and the first meeting on Monday was to be at Hunter's office in the Pentagon. McPherson wondered what kind of work he would be involved with and where indeed his office would be. He was after all a scientist, but he had to admit the Houston Project had been exciting, if not outright dangerous at times. The thought of continuing to work for Hunter pleased him and he knew there was a genuine respect for each other after what had happened over the last year.

"Lunch will be ready in a short while, Rob. Come in and wash your hands please." Vicki shouted from the kitchen window.

"Thanks, love, I'll be there in a minute." McPherson removed his gloves and stretched his aching back, after being bent over for more than an hour.

Having washed his hands Rob sat down at the kitchen table. Daniel was asleep in his bassinet, something he was doing more of lately.

"Junior is sleeping a lot lately isn't he?"

"Yes, I'm a bit worried about him, Rob, I think I'll take him to see a doctor. There's something not right with him. He's got no energy lately."

"I think he needs a dose of my crystal." Rob said jokingly.

"If you don't mind I think he needs to see a doctor. Hopefully, it's something simple like a virus."

"Yeah you're right," replied Rob...

I'm sure the crystal would cure his ailments but I won't push it at the moment, he considered.

Rob had no way of knowing that the crystal dictated the outcome of events, not him.

Vicki brought a piping hot Pizza straight from the oven and placed it on the table and Rob's thoughts immediately turned to food.

"Oh my, just look at that," he enthused."The oven works well darling."

"It certainly does." Rob picked up the pizza cutter and started to slice the bubbling circle of deliciously hot cheese and peppers. He was ravenous after his hour of gardening and took an unusually large piece.

"Hungry are we?"

"Yes, I am... and I'm going to enjoy this." Just as he bit into the slice of pizza the phone rang.

"I'll get it," said Vicki. "You eat your food while it's hot."

Vicki picked up the wall phone. "Hello, the McPherson residence... Oh...hi Colin...yes, he's here... yes of course. One moment please." Vicki passed the phone to Rob, clearly unimpressed with another weekend intrusion.

"Thanks for coming, Rob. I'm sorry to spoil your family weekend but I can assure you it is of the highest priority." Hunter gestured to the leather chair in front of his large pedestal desk and McPherson sat down looking somewhat uncomfortable having rushed his lunch before driving the thirty-five or so miles to the Pentagon.

"What's happening Colin?"

"All hell's let loose... I've just come from a meeting at the White House and believe me the President is fuming." McPherson soon forgot about his indigestion.

"Rob, North Korea is playing dirty. They insist on us removing all weapons from Israeli territory or they say they will go on a full war footing with the US with a threat of a strike on Israel if we do not comply."

"They are playing games again aren't they?" McPherson said quite coolly.

"Let's just hope it is games," Hunter added. "When I was in Iraq, I saw things there that are burnt into my memory; things I can't forget that should never have happened. These so called fighters are men who kill innocent women and children. Shoot them dead in the street in public. They have anger and hatred running through their veins. It's not just us they hate they hate their own people as well. Put Sunnis and Shias from Iraq in the same room together for ten minutes with one knife and there would be nobody left alive. And, all in the name of Allah. The world's gone fucking mad, Rob. Your old friend Shah has the same hatred running through his veins and we believe he's active in Pakistan. The President wants you to go there to oversee the intelligence operation."

"I'm a scientist not a detective. Do you remember what you said to me recently...This is not our problem," protested McPherson.

"Yes, I know, Rob but the situation has worsened since then and our options are limited. The President is convinced that your innate knowledge of this guy will help to root him out. He's clearly a very dangerous radical and we need to eliminate him."

"I hope you don't want me to do that."

"No of course not — but, I do need you to root him out."

"When?"

"Like yesterday. We're tracking their satellite conversations but they're clearly using some kind of code that we can't break. Unfortunately these sixth-century rag-heads are technically quite sophisticated. We need you there to break their code ASAP...We need to know what they're up to... We also need you to look at a laboratory in Karachi that the Pakistani authorities discovered late last night after a tip off. It was abandoned recently but we believe it was used by Shah to create nerve gas. The Brits are sending Professor Phelps from Porton Down to assist you over there."

"Is Shah supplying the North Koreans?" Rob asked.

"We don't know but we need to find out fucking quickly ...we really don't have much time. Get your ass to Pakistan young man. I need to get the President off my fucking back."

McPherson sat quietly for a few seconds and wondered what Vicki would say when he told her the news. He knew this wasn't a good time, especially as Daniel was not well.

Oh by the way dear, while I'm there I'm going to visit a laboratory that is probably contaminated with a deadly nerve gas. No need to worry about me though, I've got the crystal with me. I'm sure you'll cope without me for a while.

Hunter's voice broke through Rob's thoughts.

"Here is the dossier on Shah. It also contains your travel documents. You fly out tomorrow morning." He passed a sealed folder marked PENTAGON CONFIDENTIAL over the desk to McPherson.

Fait accompli, thought McPherson. I'm taking the crystal with me. I don't know why but I think I'm going to need it.

"You'll have plenty of time to read it on the plane and ground intelligence assure me it's as up to date as possible."

McPherson stood up and walked towards the door.

"Oh, Rob, by the way, Linda has booked you into first-class."

That will please Vicki, McPherson thought sarcastically. "One way, or round trip?"

Hunter smiled sympathetically. "I thought you might need the privacy."

"What I need is a bloody miracle."

"Good luck, my friend...For all our sakes."

Rob smiled back at Hunter, knowing his boss was under immense pressure, and then left with the folder under his arm.

Will this nightmare ever end?...Hunter thought...I need a drink. Opening a draw of his pedestal desk he took out a half full bottle of bourbon and a glass.

49

Previously at Shah's laboratory in Karachi.

Both canisters were now ready to receive the high pressure liquid that looked just like a weak blackcurrant juice, but there was nothing weak about this liquid. In fact it was the most toxic substance on Earth. Once inhaled as a gas it enters the victim's blood stream within seconds. From there it quickly attacks the nervous system, shutting down the neural messages from the brain to the various organs. Within minutes the victim's bowels and bladder empty before the inevitable death brought about by asphyxiation. You try to breath but you can't. You can't even stand or speak, you simply collapse on the floor, paralyzed. You cannot even smell your own excrement that surrounds you because your olfactory system isn't working either. All you can do is die. If two drops of the liquid were allowed to evaporate in Carnegie Hall at a sellout concert, everybody inside would be dead within ten minutes. Lots more would die foolishly trying to save them.

Understandably, Shah was wearing a protective suit and pressurized helmet as he checked a number of connections. The transfer would take place automatically by a software control package running on a pedestal computer in the lab. Shah looked at the array of pipes one more time to reassure himself before sitting in front of a monitor on the desk next to him. The display showed a box which said in large red letters: COMMENCE TRANSFER?

Shah sensed his heart rate rise slightly as he hit the YES option on the touch screen. TRANSFER SEQUENCE ACTIVATED flashed on the screen and the mimic display started to change color as the various valves opened and closed in a programmed sequence. Twenty minutes later the transfer was complete and the two flasks were full. The display flashed the message TRANSFER COMPLETE. Very carefully Shah disconnected the flasks from the rig, took off his pressurized mask and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. He then connected each canister to a plug that fed the sensor information to the computer.

The readings immediately appeared on the screen for both canisters:

C1 LIQUID PRESSURE= 200psi

LIQUID TEMPERATURE= -51 degrees C.

C2 LIQUID PRESSURE= 201psi

LIQUID TEMPERATURE= -50 degrees C.

"Perfect," he said, smiling contentedly. "Well done Hanif Mohammed Haseeb."

This place has served me well, Shah thought, looking around the once shabby unit that, for a short-time at least, had been transformed into a highly sophisticated laboratory, as good as any pharmaceutical giant could offer anywhere in the world. The huge transformation cost was irrelevant because it was necessary to achieve the ultimate goal. Tomorrow though it will be left abandoned having served its purpose admirably. Shah imagined the place swarming with men in protective suits and he laughed out loud. It will be too late you fools. There is no way of stopping me now.

50

Rob McPherson was relaxing quietly in the first class cabin of the Emirates Boing 747 sipping a gin and tonic and reading with interest the dossier on Ahmed Shah. It would be another two hours before his flight arrived in Karachi, Pakistan, having just taken off from Dubai following a frustrating two hour layover.

As he read, it became obvious to McPherson that Shah was a very different person to the one he had spent so many enjoyable hours with at Cambridge when he was known as Habib. The happy go lucky young man that lived life to the full. What happened to turn this guy into a monster? McPherson mused. The confidential dossier detailed the countries and dates that Shah had visited in the last eight years along with a long list of terrorist activities he was believed to be involved with. Saudi Arabia and the Yemen clearly had something of interest to offer him. Radicalization no doubt...Why would such a brilliant mind believe in all that shit?... Extremism is a cancer of the soul.

McPherson opened the leather case next to him and took out the crystal. He couldn't explain why but it always made him feel better when he held it. He downed his drink and pressed the button to get the attention of the flight attendant.

Within seconds an attractive young flight attendant arrived at his chair.

"Same again sir?"

"Yes, please." Finally he was beginning to relax for the first time in hours. Flying first class is a very enjoyable experience.

It was a good thing that McPherson didn't know what the future held in store for him.

51

Sheridan Hotel and Towers Karachi

A few miles east of the US Embassy in Karachi the Sheridan Hotel, on Club Road, was busy as usual. It was the only five-star hotel in the city and boasted many guest facilities including a swimming pool and gymnasium. Linda Washington had booked McPherson into a luxurious club room on the ninth floor, described by the hotel as the epitome of luxury. With it came many extra facilities like the use of a business center, meeting rooms and a personal butler.

Rob McPherson's body was confused and he felt quite lethargic. After arriving from the airport by executive limousine he managed to get some sleep but breakfast, after a power shower, was a struggle, even though it looked appetizing enough he ate very little, choosing to drink black coffee instead in an effort to kickstart his weary brain. He'd managed to speak to Vicki by phone and she was clearly pleased to hear his voice. It made McPherson feel good when she said that she loved him and missed him and hoped he would be back home in Leesburg soon. He loved her and Daniel dearly... and he told her so.

The phone next to his king-size bed rang and he picked up the receiver.

"McPherson speaking...thanks, send him up please, I'm expecting him."

Two minutes later there was a knock on McPherson's room door.

"Professor Phelps, it's good to see you again." McPherson shook his hand warmly.

"Likewise, my friend. Who'd have thought we'd meet again half way across the world?"

"Please come in. Can I get you a drink?"

"Scotch would be lovely."

"Double?" Professor Phelps didn't answer but smiled appreciatively.

"Please come through into the living room and make yourself comfortable."

"I wish my boss could see this room. My place feels like an abandoned chicken coop."

McPherson laughed and handed him a very large glass of single malt whiskey. "This might help."

"Christ!... I'll be drunk before I start. Thank you young man." The professor sat down and sipped his drink.

"Got a right telling off at the airport when I lit my pipe. I thought this place was third world."

"I'm afraid smoking has become a very anti-social thing Professor, no matter where you are in the world, especially a pipe. I'm not a smoker but I must admit I like the smell of a pipe."

McPherson sat down next to his guest and sipped a bottle of Coke... The professor with his bushy white beard and nicotine stained mustache was wearing the same jacket with the familiar row of pens in the top pocket.

Robert asked:

"Have you been debriefed on the situation we find ourselves in?"

"Situation... Is that what you call it, Doctor?... I'm still completely confused. Do you mind telling me what the hell is happening and why I'm here?"

"You remember our last meeting in England, when I came to quiz you about Habib?"

"Yes, of course... I understand that he is the reason for us being here... but I don't understand why."

"Well, this man is causing a few problems to say the least. We know that he's been to North Korea recently and possibly he's the reason for the latest standoff with them and the US. We think he's selling knowledge to them that they can't get anywhere else."

"You're referring to nerve gas?"

"That's right, Professor. You and I need to visit a location in the city that the authorities found recently. They say it's a laboratory that was used to make nerve gas, but that hasn't been confirmed. They're leaving that to us. The place has been sealed and cordoned off. I'm expecting a visit from an agent in the next twenty minutes who will take us to the site. We need to know if it's been used to make nerve gas."

"I doubt that very much. You'd need some very specialist and very expensive kit. Not the sort of thing you'd find in the middle of a ramshackle city like Karachi."

"Never underestimate the enemy, Professor."

"No.......you're right, Doctor. I always remember a quotation by Victor Hugo when he said: On resiste a l'invasion des armees; on ne resiste pas a l'invasion des idees."

"A stand can me made against invasion by an army... no stand can be made against invasion by an idea."

The Professor looked a little surprised. "You speak French, Doctor."

"Un peu, Professor, et vous?"

"Yes, my wife was French. She was a remarkable woman who taught me a lot. Not only the beautiful language but she also introduced me to the works of Victor Hugo, Cezanne, French markets and of course... red wine, to name just a few delights."

Phelps tapped his pipe on the palm of his hand and then blew twice into the mouthpiece.

McPherson knew exactly what he'd meant when he'd quoted Victor Hugo. This place is not the US or Europe —this place is a world apart. A culture we don't understand and never will. A culture light-years from Washington. The terms of engagement are very different today. The enemy hides in the shadows dispersed like seeds on the wind but patiently waits like a hungry lion to pounce on its prey and life...well...life is cheap. Who's right, who's wrong in this crazy world? McPherson pondered.

Sitting comfortably relaxed, Phelps was filling his favorite brier with a sweet dark tobacco mix that he bought regularly from a small tobacconist shop just off Oxford Street in London. One of a few specialist shops still in existence.

"I need to think...therefore, I need to smoke, young man. I'm going out onto the balcony before it gets too hot." McPherson watched him for a brief moment. He liked this guy even though he didn't really know him very well. There was something about him that reminded McPherson of his father. It wasn't physical, he looked nothing like is father but maybe it was his attitude, his quiet manner and his obvious intelligence. Maybe it was his mild confidence and the way he was at ease with himself.

As the professor lit his pipe on the large south-facing balcony there was a knock on McPherson's room door. "Excuse me, Professor, there's someone at the door." McPherson undid the security chain and opened the door.

"Dr McPherson—Good morning, I'm Agent Stieger," the young woman said.

For a moment McPherson was lost for words. He wasn't expecting a beautiful, tall, dark haired woman with azure blue eyes to be stood outside his room.

"Yeah... good morning, Agent Stieger... Please come in."

The woman gracefully walked into the room and immediately noticed Phelps on the balcony. She took out an ID card from the back pocket of her jeans and showed it McPherson.

"Never let anyone into your room until you've seen their ID Doctor, this is not America. Professor Phelps is here?" she said.

"You know him?"

"Only from the file; he's very distinctive isn't he?"

"Yes..indeed he is. Let me introduce you."

Thirty minutes after meeting Agent Steiger, McPherson and Phelps were on their way to an industrial site on the westside of the city, brought to the attention of the authorities by an anonymous caller. Steiger was sitting in the front of the Audi A6 with the driver and was turned around speaking to her captive audience; listening intently to her debrief.

"You see gentlemen, we need you guys to tell us what the hell they were doing at this place."

Stieger and the rest of the passengers were having a bit of a bumpy ride as the driver tried to avoid as many potholes as possible.

Stieger continued, "We'll be there any minute now and I can introduce you to the man tasked with sorting this mess out. His name is completely unpronounceable but thankfully he answers to the name of Ali. He works for the Pakistani authorities but we'll have no trouble from him. Since we turned up with our white suites, helmets and a plethora of electronic measuring equipment he's been happy to let us run the show. Oh...here we are gentlemen. Drive straight through please. We don't want any interviews with the world's press at the moment."

The driver nodded in acknowledgement.

McPherson and Phelps peered through the dusty windscreen of the car at the scene ahead and couldn't believe their eyes. They looked at each other in silence for a moment as the car came to a stop some one-hundred yards from the shabby grey clad building.

Exiting the Audi, McPherson looked around him. The area was clearly rundown. There were burnt out cars and litter everywhere. All the other units around the estate had been either closed by the police or were empty anyway and in the air there was a strong smell of burning rubber coming from a fire billowing black smoke into the sultry atmosphere some quarter of a mile away. Upwind, unfortunately, McPherson thought, coughing as the acrid fumes irritated his throat.

"I don't intend to be here very long, Doctor," Phelps said, with disdain in his voice from the other side of the vehicle. In front of them was what looked like a field center behind the front lines of a battle. There were tents, a decontamination unit in a Renault juggernaut that the French government had supplied at short notice at the request of the Pakistani Government. Media satellite dishes, the worlds press and even a coffee and cake stall hurriedly put together by some local young entrepreneur. The place had the feel of a film set.

Agent Stieger seemed somewhat undeterred by all the activity around them. "Gentleman, please follow me."

McPherson and Phelps duly followed her into a large caravan marked with a makeshift label on the door that said in large black letters 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Inside, the Pakistani officer in charge of the incident was sitting nervously smoking. Seeing the three new arrivals enter he quickly stood up to greet them.

"Ali, I'd like to introduce you to Dr McPherson from America, and Professor Phelps, from England," Agent Steiger said, pointing to the men in turn.

"Very pleased to meet you both." Ali, a very tall and thin man with short dark hair and cigarette stained teeth moved forward and shook their hands in turn. "We need to get you both suited up before you go in so please come with me."

"One moment please." McPherson interjected. "Before we go in can you please explain the situation as you understand it? Another few minutes won't change anything."

"And I can smoke my pipe." Phelps said, needing an intake of nicotine to calm his nerves.

Ali looked nervous, wanting to wash his hands of the whole thing quickly, but he agreed to the request. "Please take a seat and I will do my best to explain to you."

General Assembly Building, United Nations Headquarters, Manhattan, NewYork.

Joseph Turay cleared his throat and sipped water from a glass on the podium. He composed himself before speaking to the hurriedly assembled council of nations.

"Ladies and gentlemen of de council—today, it has been necessary to call an emergency special session concerning General Assembly Resolution 377...Uniting for Peace. Over de last few days de world has held its breath. Tensions between de United States and North Korea have escalated and de situation has now become critical. I personally have had talks with de President of de United States and de Prime Minister of Israel. Sadly, my request to talk to the Head of North Korea has so far been refused. De situation dis morning is dat North Korea intend to declare war on de United States as dey say der demands for nuclear disarming in Israel have not been met."

Turay stopped and sipped some more water before continuing. Beads of perspiration glistened on his black forehead:

"Both de President of de United States and de Prime Minister of Israel have given me personal assurances dat de allegations made by North Korea are COMPLETELY FALSE. Day assure me dat no American nuclear weapons are on Israeli soil and America has no reason to attack North Korea.

Today the Council has taken the unprecedented step of offering North Korea de opportunity to meet around de table to try and resolve what can only be described as a complete misunderstanding. We darefore offer North Korea the opportunity to resolve dis situation by constructive dialogue. De location will be their choice and de United Nations will act as mediators. Members of the council, we can only hope dat dis proposal is acceptable to North Korea. If not...den I fear der worst."

McPherson and Phelps walked the fifty yards or so in white protective suits supplied by the US Army. On their backs they carried an air cylinder that would supply air to the their hoods for about thirty minutes. The large pressurized hoods looked like flimsy cylinders and apart from hand signals, communication was only possible by radio mic. The engineer coordinating the communications was talking to both of them as they approached the industrial unit and both McPherson and Phelps acknowledged that they could hear him and each other clearly through headphones and mouthpieces built into the hoods. Agent Stieger said to no one in particular. "They look like they're on a moon mission...like astronauts."

When they arrived at the doors to the unit McPherson looked at Phelps.

"Are you ready, Professor?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Phelps answered, taking a deep breath but strangely enjoying the rush of adrenaline in his blood stream. It was so different to his normal routine. If only my wife could see me now.

"We're going in."

"Good luck guys, and stay in constant communication," was the response in their earpieces.

McPherson opened the metal door slowly and looked in. Ahead of him, some ten feet away in a well lit corridor was another closed double metal door. Both men were now in the building between the two doors. Phelps closed the front door and then McPherson approached the second door and carefully opened it. What he saw astounded him.

"My God! Take a look at this, Professor."

Professor Phelps was speechless for twenty-seconds or more as he scanned the equipment around the laboratory. He noticed a number of centrifuges, distillation columns, mass spectrometers, a liquid nitrogen and cryogenic area, computer screens and lab benches covered with all sorts of expensive looking analyzers and printers. In a large metal cage four hungry, surplus to requirements, laboratory rats, scurried around the cage sniffing the air and sensing the intruders. On one of the flat screens to his right Phelps saw a flashing message reading:

BATCH TRANSFER COMPLETE

His worst worries were confirmed. It was all so familiar to him.

"Are you okay, guys" came the question in their helmets.

"Yes, we're okay," responded McPherson, not wanting to say too much.

"This place must have cost a fortune, Robert."

"I've not seen anything like this anywhere, Professor."

"Unfortunately, it reminds me of Porton Down." Phelps said disconcertingly.

Then McPherson noticed something that made him freeze. All around the building, mounted on the H-section metal uprights with tape, was plastic explosive.

"Professor, DON'T MOVE. Stay perfectly still." Phelps obeyed the stern instruction from McPherson. Six inches ahead of McPherson, he noticed a faint red laser light about knee height off the floor, stretching across the lab.

"Time to get out Professor. Turn around slowly and exit the building, now. DO NOT TAKE ONE MORE STEP FORWARD INTO THE ROOM."

"What is it, Robert?" Phelps asked nervously.

"Just do as I say, I'll explain later."

"WE'RE COMING OUT NOW... THE PLACE IS WIRED TO BLOW." McPherson shouted into his mouthpiece.

Both men left the unit at a brisk pace, heading back to the waiting crowd. It was another six-seconds before the timer, activated by opening the inner door, counted down and the building exploded. The resulting pressure wave hurled them forward and they hit the ground hard, like flimsy rag dolls. Agent Steiger looked on in horror as the bright orange ball of fire mushroomed into the sky in front of her eyes and then she felt the intense heat on her face as the pressure wave pounded her slender body.

52

Professor Phelps was sitting in a wicker chair smoking his favorite pipe. He was staring at the clear blue sky, deep in thought. All around him the sweet smell of his tobacco filled the air. The hotel terrace was quiet when Agent Steiger arrived and spotted the plume of smoke at one of the tables. Just then a young waiter arrived with fresh filter coffee for two, that Phelps had ordered, and placed it on the table.

"Thank you," said Phelps to the waiter.

Agent Steiger waited until the waiter had gone before she spoke.

"Good job those suits were fireproof professor," she said smiling and shaking his hand as he stood up to greet her.

"I can't believe this is happening to me... My life, since my wife died some twelve-years-ago has been...to be very honest, Agent Steiger—bloody boring. In the last few days I've travelled half way around the world and almost got myself blown up. How exciting is that?"

The professor was clearly no worse for his ordeal and enjoying the moment and the company immensely as smoke billowed from his pipe.

"How are your elbows and knees today, Professor?"

"Oh...I'll survive my dear, it's only a gravel rash. The kind of thing you get when you're an adventurous child escaping from the Monster's lair."

Agent Stieger was warming to this man by the minute. "This monster is far more dangerous though... Milk, Professor?"

"Yes, please... You know I owe my life to Rob. I was fully aware that the situation was dangerous but I wasn't expecting that."

"He's an amazing guy, isn't he?" Steiger said.

If he was single he'd be mine, she thought.

"Yes, he certainly is. Have you seen him today?"

"Yes," Steiger replied. "The hospital doctor has checked him over and he's been released. The cut on his leg was nasty and he needed quite a few stitches under his knee. I think they were more concerned about a possible infection or blood poisoning from the broken bottle but I'm glad to report he's fine. I did hear that his son is very poorly though...He's been taken to the hospital for observation...something to do with his heart, I believe."

"Oh dear... that's all he needs. Let's hope it's not serious. He adores that kid. Talks about him and his wife all the time."

Steiger quickly changed the subject. "I know that we'll never be able to prove it now Professor but in my report I'm stating that from your observations it appears highly likely that the unit was used to create nerve gas of some kind. Are you happy with that statement?"

Phelps sipped his coffee and then thought for a moment. "Yes, I'm convinced that was the case."

Just then McPherson appeared through the open terrace doors. He was limping slightly but carried no other obvious injuries.

"Good morning, both," he said, sounding a little subdued.

"Good morning, Rob," they both replied, clearly happy to see him. Phelps asked if he was okay.

"I'm fine...thank you Professor. My knees bandaged up and I've got some stitches, but apart from that I'm fine. Should heal completely in a few weeks."

The crystal... I wonder, he thought.

"Doctor, I've just been talking to the Professor about my report."

"Call me Rob, please."

"Okay, I will, if you call me Beth."

McPherson smiled and nodded his acceptance.

"I'm going to state in my report that there is overwhelming evidence, based on Professor Phelps' statement, the equipment found in the lab, together with the forensic report, that the building was used to manufacture nerve gas."

McPherson looked at Phelps and he nodded his approval.

"Okay, let's run with that."

The waiter then reappeared with more coffee and a cup for McPherson.

*

The young man driving down the Mai Kolachi bypass was heading for the US Embassy with just one thing on his mind. The Toyota's trunk was stuffed full of high explosive nails and broken glass and the belt around his waist also held a ring of plastic explosive. In his lap there were some wires crudely connected to a small electrical switch. He was all alone and sweat ran down his pallid young face. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel and he was struggling to stay focussed on the task ahead, mumbling a prayer as he drove. Twenty minutes previously he'd been holding his mother in his arms sobbing like a baby.

Ahead, through his bloodshot eyes, he could see the exit off the bypass that would take him onto the Mai Kolachi Road where the embassy was situated. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he steered the vehicle onto the exit road until he finally approached the Embassy. Ahead there were armed US Soldiers and a barrier. He needed to be closer...accelerate...smash through the barrier...faster...

The guards saw the white Toyota careering towards them at speed. In a split second it was upon them and they opened fire without warning.

The young man hit the accelerator hard as bullets smashed through the windscreen. Crouching down to avoid being shot he felt a jolt as the Toyota smashed through the barrier, still accelerating. As he looked up he could see his target ahead.

Wherever you find a Kafir you kill them.

He closed his eyes and flipped the switch in his lap.

The thunderous blast shook the area around the Sheridan Hotel.

"What was that?" Professor Phelps asked, nervously.

"That sounded like a very big explosion, and not far from here either." Steiger said, clearly concerned.

Soon the wailing of ambulances reverberated through the city as they rushed to the scene of unbelievable carnage and another mother had lost her son to an ever demanding God.

"This place is something else and I must say a little too lively for my liking. I'm looking forward to getting on that plane tomorrow."

"Yes, I know what you mean." McPherson responded. "I need to go home too, as soon as possible. Beth, I believe you're taking me to meet the guys at the communications center. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Rob, in about fifteen-minutes."

"Okay, well, Professor... I'll say my good-byes now, in case I don't see you tonight. I need to Skype with my wife."

"Let's hope we meet again, Robert, in more peaceful surroundings. Oh and by the way I almost forgot. Thanks for saving my life and I hope your son makes a speedy recovery too." Phelps gave McPherson an appreciative hug.

A hotel worker shouted from inside the building:

"THE AMERICAN EMBASSY HAS BEEN BOMBED!—MANY PEOPLE DEAD!—TERRIBLE! —TERRIBLE!"

Hearing the sound of the massive bomb exploding, brought a smile to Shah's face, just as it had when he watched the laboratory explode, throwing the two men in suits to the ground. Shah had not been there when McPherson arrived and didn't recognize him in the hooded safety suit floundering on his belly in the dirt.

Shah's plan was working beautifully. Now it was time for the next stage. It was necessary to call the authorities again and give the address of the gang responsible for the atrocities at the US Embassy. Everything was ready at the apartment and this time it wasn't going to explode.

53

McPherson had decided not to tell Vicki about his near escape. He'd decided that she had enough on her plate with Daniel being ill and he knew he needed to be there with her to support their son—and not in this God forsaken place he was beginning to detest more and more by the minute. Vicki had explained over the phone that they were still conducting tests on Daniel and they suspected it was a heart problem. When she knew anymore she promised to call him. Daniel was cheerful enough she explained but he was getting tired very quickly. Vicki had begged him to come home as soon as possible. Bending down he picked the crystal out of his bag and lay on the bed holding it on his chest. Quickly he felt relaxed and his eyes started to close...

"I'm completely confused, I have no idea what to do. How the hell can I be of any help? What negative forces are you talking about?"

"You will know them, when the time comes."

Just then the phone rang at the side of the bed. "Shit." He pulled the receiver to his ear, "McPherson."

"Rob, it's Beth. Can you be in the lobby in ten minutes? We're off to talk to the boys at the communications centre."

"Yes, okay, Beth, I'll see you there in ten."

"Great!" Beth smiled and replaced the receiver.

McPherson placed the crystal back in its bag and walked, still limping slightly, to the bathroom. The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can go home to my family. They're far more important to me than this nonsense.

Pakistani special forces arrived at the high rise apartment block by helicopter and quickly shimmied down ropes onto the roof of the building. Soon, onlookers gathered at ground level, watching excitedly as the elite troops dropped ropes down the side of the building. Within minutes they had entered the apartment high above the ground through a window, bringing gasps of disbelief from below. All around people were craning their necks eager to watch the free spectacle.

Once it was announced that the place was safe, other uniformed officers entered the building through the front door, taking the computers and all forms of potential evidence away for examination. Now, just over one hour after the call was made by Raman-Ali the place was empty and silent, apart from some pieces of furniture and the beds. The front door was left open and a one eyed cat was already asleep on a bed. On the balcony, cigarette ends littered the floor.

People around the area had gone back to their everyday business now that the short burst of excitement was over. The musky stale smell of smoke, impregnated into the walls of the apartment would be there a lot longer.

An old man with a crooked back looked into the flat, scared to enter, and wondered what all the commotion had been about. Then some noisy children arrived but the old man raised his walking stick to them defiantly and they ran away.

Abu Kalizad was thirty-two years old and born in Iraq. He had been brought up in a society where violence and bloodshed was the norm. He had taken to arms at the age of fourteen and killed a man by the age of fifteen. His victim, another Iraqi, lay on the ground wounded, begging for mercy as the young victor walked up to him. He smiled as he looked down into terrified eyes and without hesitation fired six bullets into the man's head.

A five year old boy watched from behind a nearby wall, too frightened to cry out his dead father's name.

The young Iraqi found the excitement of killing addictive and from that day on he was hooked. He had been radicalized in the Yemen some years later and was now one of Ahmed Shah's most trusted brothers in the fight against the Kafir: The non-believers.

Embroidered onto his white cotton overalls, below his name badge, was the title of Chief Maintenance Engineer. Today was quiet in the Presidential hanger at Jinnah International Airport and the large Jumbo Jet stood majestically behind the huge metal doors. Deep inside the bowls of the plane Kalizad was carefully cutting into a stainless steel hydraulics pipe that was part of the plane's complex landing gear. Next to him was one of the canisters made by the executed Hanif Mohammed Haseeb and on its side it carried the distinctive red, blue and white emblem of North Korea. Fitting this one will be quicker, thought Kalizad.

The first one on the port side of the plane took almost thirty-two minutes to fit. This one would be installed in less than twenty minutes. The units fitted perfectly and they would go unnoticed, hidden in the mass of the hydraulic pipework responsible for pushing and pulling the huge wheels in and out of the fuselage at landing and takeoff. Kalizad had also wired the canisters into the onboard power supply so that batteries would not be needed to power the electronic circuit-board, a requirement demanded by Ahmed Shah.

"Done, but I'm not filling in a job sheet today," Kalizad said to himself, pleased with the result. Now it's time for a cigarette in the fresh air.

US Intelligence Communications Center, somewhere in Karachi.

The atmosphere in the underground room was electric. People were huddled around screens excitedly discussing the information that was slowly being released to them. Top Secret information about the inner workings and future plans of a ruthless band of extremists lead by a man named Ahmed Shah.

Details of the plan to fool North Korea were there for all to see along with the fake satellite images and false documents. Flight details to Pyongyang and all the meeting notes were on screen detailing the information given and the cost of $1,000,000, paid by North Korea, to Ahmed Shah for the information.

"The authorities had another tip off after the bombing of the embassy and they raided an apartment in the city and found...a pot of gold." Steiger said, putting her hand on McPherson's shoulder. "The Ambassador to Pakistan is on his way, obviously wanting a bit of the action."

"So, their plan was to trick North Korea into believing the US was just about to drop a nuclear bomb on them, launched from Israel?" McPherson asked.

"That's right, in the hope that North Korea would panic and strike first, hitting Israel with a nuclear warhead. Robert these people are quite insane."

"Insane without a doubt, but also very determined."

"This information proves the innocence of the US in this whole affair, Robert. North Korea has to be shown the evidence. Imagine if they did attack Israel, unaware of the truth, it would be a tragedy."

"I'm sure that won't be allowed to happen, Beth." McPherson replied as they walked to one of the monitors still free.

"I noticed that you're not limping today. Your knee must be getting better," Steiger commented.

McPherson couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. "Yes, it's much better thanks. I've taken the bandage off. It was much too tight." His thoughts turned again to the crystal that intrigued him more and more. Where did it come from? A magic crystal with the powers to heal and Daniel at home in hospital...What am I doing here?

54

The White House, Washington DC

There were many smiling faces around the table when the President walked into the room; especially Mark Quail, Defense Secretary. He'd been in conversation with the exuberant team in Pakistan that released the information that undoubtedly would now avert a nuclear war. The press office had already released a statement to the media and the details of it were already the top news story on every news channel around the world — details that deliberately excluded any mention of the cost to North Korea. The US wanted to tread carefully. Especially as no comment had yet come out of Pyongyang.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I must say it's nice to see so many smiling faces today. Is there any particular reason for it?" The President asked jokingly, to loud laughter. "Good news like this is, unfortunately, a rare event and we have to make sure we capitalize on it. They call it making the most of your assets, ladies and gentlemen." There were nods of approval all around the table. "I intend to invite the President of Pakistan to the US and welcome him as a hero. It will be in recognition of his country's efforts to fight the common enemy. An enemy that given the opportunity would destroy everything we hold so precious... freedom and democracy. Today a major threat has been averted thanks to our allies in Pakistan. A threat so serious that if implemented, would have brought the human race to the point of possible annihilation. Let's rejoice and thank the Lord because that threat has now been removed. The United States of America and the world is a safer place for our children to grow up in. Let's wrap this whole thing up guys so we can get on with running our country."

The President stood up, followed by the rest of the attendees.

"Mark, I need to see you in my office after lunch please."

"Yes, sir, Mister President," was the military style reply from Quail, as the President left the room.

Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Wisconsin Avenue, Washington DC.

Vicki was sitting next to her son looking at him as he slept on the bed. He was breathing erratically and his complexion was sallow. She held his hand and prayed that he would be okay.

"Mrs McPherson?"

"Yes," Vicki said, surprised by the unexpected disturbance.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr Walter Fritz," said the tall man in a white coat as he entered the room offering Vicki his hand.

She shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Doctor."

"Likewise... I have the results of the medical examination here and we need to sit down and discuss it if that's convenient."

Vicki felt nervous. A sense of foreboding engulfed her. Oh God it's bad news. I wish you were here Rob. Please come home, we need you.

"We have looked carefully at the scans and Daniel's DNA results and the diagnosis is not good I'm afraid."

Vicki froze. I can't take much more. Her eyes filled with tears. "Is it his heart?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is as we suspected."

Vicki stared at the doctor and sobbed. He was clearly upset too. He ran his hand through his blonde hair and took a deep breath. His fair hair and strong jaw continuing the bloodline of his Germanic ancestors.

"All the evidence point to the fact that Daniel is suffering from a degenerative heart condition."

"Oh God!" Vicki slumped, drained of any resolve that remained in her body.

Dr Fritz sensed her grief and held her hand to comfort her. He felt frustrated knowing Daniel's condition was very serious.

"Is he going to die?"

"Daniel has a condition known as Atrioventricular Septal Defect or AVSD. Put simply Daniel's heart did not form properly in the embryo. It is quite a common defect in children and Daniel has a form called complete AVSD and elevated pulmonary vascular resistance."

"He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Daniel needs surgery, Mrs McPherson, and he needs it soon. In my opinion we can save him because he's young. He has a good chance of survival and we will do all that we can to help him."

Vicki looked at Dr Walters as he talked, but she wasn't listening to him.

I'm so sorry, Daniel. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry Rob, it's all my fault.

55

The White House Press Briefing Room, Washington DC.

The world's press were eagerly gathered for an announcement by the President as he entered the room, smiling broadly.

"Please be upstanding for the President of the United States of America, someone called out."

In Karachi, Pakistan, Ahmed Shah was sitting quietly watching the broadcast on TV, stroking his black beard with his hand.

The President took his place at the podium and gathered his thoughts.

The cumulation of cameras focused solely on him and there was an air of anticipation in the room that was clearly palpable.

The President looked up. "...Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As you know the last few weeks have been a very worrying time for people all over the world. People naturally concerned about the threat to world peace. Recent events including the bombing of the US Embassy in Karachi, where tragically, so many innocent people died, have now been linked to a radical Islamic group from Afghanistan. Working out of Pakistan this group has been identified as the catalyst for the recent tensions between the US and North Korea."

Shah lit a cigarette and smiled contentedly at the screen image of the man he planned to exterminate.

The President continued, "It gives me great pleasure to announce that after recent tripartite negotiations involving the United Nations Secretary General, Joseph Turay, North Korea has today publicly acknowledged that the United States of America does not have nuclear weapons on Israeli soil. They have also announced the immediate cessation of hostilities towards the Unites States of America."

The President waited and sipped a glass of water while a plethora of camera clicks filled the room. He continued. "All of this has been made possible by the hard work of the Pakistani and US Special Security Forces, who have identified and neutralized this Islamic group's evil plot."

Shah laughed out loud, his hands in a praying pose. Say the words I want to hear, infidel.

The President was clearly relaxed as he spoke.

"Today I would like to extend the hand of friendship to the President of Pakistan and to invite him to Washington DC, as an act of gratitude for what Pakistan has done in averting a major international incident."

"Yes, infidel, you have just signed your own death sentence." Shah raised his hands to the heavens. "Praise be to Allah."

In Washington the President concluded his speech:

"It is crucial that all civilized nations work together against this evil. An evil, ladies and gentlemen, that threatens the lives of innocent people...Innocent men, woman and children. I look forward to the discussions with President Gandapur and the continued cooperation between our nations in the battle against terrorism. Thank you."

The Pentagon, Washington DC.

Hunter was sitting at his desk listening intently to Vicki McPherson, sitting in front of him. She wiped tears from her eyes with a tissue as she explained the situation that was becoming more intolerable to her by the hour.

"I'm struggling to cope without Robert by my side. He needs to be here sir, his son is very ill."

"Is Robert aware of the situation, Vicki?"

"I've just come from the hospital." Vicki said, sobbing. She knew telling Rob the truth was not going to be easy. Daniel's illness was genetic, passed on by her. How would Rob react? Guilt was beginning to consume her. "I haven't spoken to him yet."

"Okay, I agree, we need to get him back home." Hunter sounded focused.

"I need him here, sir."

"I understand, Vicki. I'll arrange to get him home as soon as possible. Leave everything to me and go to the hospital. Be with Daniel. He needs you there."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate your help."

Meanwhile in the President's Office at the White House

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity the President felt in control again and he felt and looked noticeably calmer. His briefing to the press went well and he took a number of questions from the floor which he felt he handled well, and his press secretary agreed.

He'd given Mark Quail a very hard time at their meeting but it was necessary. The public would see the Pakistani affair in a positive light, the press office would see to that, but the reality was something very different. Pakistan was allowing terrorists to move in and out of their country at will. Crossing the border from Afghanistan was clearly too easy for this extremist organization and Quail had to close that door. McPherson needed to break their communications codes so that the intelligence services could root these rats out and exterminate them.

His secretary's voice on the desk intercom broke his thoughts.

"Sir, I have the President of Pakistan on the line for you."

"Thank you, Susan, put him through please...President Gandapur, thank you for calling."

"It is my pleasure, President Wilson. I want to thank you for the invitation to meet with you in your fine country."

"So, do you accept my invitation?"

"It will depend of course on what you want to achieve from the meeting."

"I see this situation as a golden opportunity for our great nations to work more closely and I'm sure you have no objection to that?"

"It is my wish that this should happen." Gandapur's voice was crystal clear. The satellite link was a good one.

"I have no doubt that there are great opportunities for both our countries to benefit from improved trade relations."

"I am sure you are right and I welcome the opportunity to explore the possibilities."

"It will undoubtedly be worth millions to your country's economy and at a time of global recession that must be a real incentive to you? But, we can leave all of that stuff to the people who do it best. Please accept my invitation to join my wife and I at the Camp David retreat and enjoy yourselves for a well deserved break. We have the details of your private bank account in London. We will make sure that funds are transferred immediately."

"You are most generous."

"Not at all, we will also arrange the air travel for you and your wives."

"Thank you, but that will definitely not be necessary. I have my own plane and I prefer to use that, it is my second office, but I appreciate your kind offer."

"I understand completely. Shall we start the arrangements for your visit President Gandapur? I think it is crucial that we strike while the iron is hot, so to speak."

"I agree. My wives are desperate to spend my money so let's do it." Gandapur enthused.

"Excellent! The US awaits you," replied the President. Today is a good day.

56

Somewhere in Karachi, Pakistan.

"Our work here is done, Brother. We must leave for our homeland and watch as our dream unfolds into glorious reality." Shah said, looking at Raman-Ali.

Raman-Ali smiled. "I will arrange the transport today for us."

"Good. Has everyone been paid as agreed?"

"Everyone, and they are more than grateful. You were too generous my brother." Raman-Ali shook a finger at his leader in mock chastisement. "Abu Kalizad is staying until the presidential plane takes off and then he leaves too. His work will be complete. He plans to close the airport during the time around the Presidential flight with a bomb threat from someone protesting against the visit of Gandapur to the US. It will keep the authorities busy and away from the plane. He tells me that the flight is planned for this evening and the plane has already been fueled."

"It's a good plan to close the airport. He will be rewarded handsomely for what he has done for us and Allah."

"I have also arranged for the feast when we return to the mountains. We will be celebrating in style, Raman Ali confirmed."

"You are my right arm, my brother. What would I do without you?"

Raman-Ali was clearly pleased with the compliment and he embraced his leader.

The Sheridan Hotel, Karachi.

Rob McPherson was sitting on the bed in his hotel room holding the crystal. It somehow helped him to cope with the strain he was under. Minutes earlier he had put down the phone having listened to the bad news from Vicki. Daniel was very ill and Vicki was clearly distraught. He needed to get back.

My son needs me. My son needs the crystal.

Rob looked at the phone for a moment. I need to speak to Hunter, he thought. With that the phone rang and he picked it up.

"Rob McPherson."

"Rob, it's Hunter here."

"What a coincidence, sir, I was just about to call you."

"Yes, I'm sure you were, Rob. I've had a long chat with Vicki and she's made me aware of the problems facing Daniel. I promised her that I'd get you back home as soon as possible. You need to be on the next available flight my friend."

"Thank you, Colin, I appreciate that."

"Linda's checking the flight schedules now and she'll get you on the next available flight home from Karachi. Pack your bags and I'll see you soon buddy. Wait by the phone and Linda will call you, okay? Have a safe flight."

"Thanks, I'll see you soon."

"Rob, please don't worry, this problem will be resolved. I know Daniel needs surgery but he will get better."

"I hope so."

"I'll keep Vicki informed of the travel arrangements. She'll be delighted to know you're on your way home."

"I'm looking forward to seeing her again." Hunter sensed McPherson was becoming emotional.

"I can understand that, Rob. Hold on, you'll be home soon."

Rob replaced the receiver and lay on the bed. His mind was spinning from the turmoil. Again the phone rang.

"Hi, Linda."

" Rob, it's Beth here."

"Sorry, Beth, I was expecting a call from Linda Washington, Hunter's secretary."

Beth's heart was racing "That's okay... Rob... I've been given two tickets for the opera tonight. Do you like Vivaldi?"

"Beth, that's very kind of you, but I'm flying home. My son is very ill."

"Oh...I'm sorry to hear that, Rob. Do you plan to come back?"

"I don't know, it depends on my son. He has to have an operation."

"Did you say you're flying tonight?"

"Yes, from the airport."

"I don't think so, Rob. Jinnah Airport is closed. There's a bomb scare and there's police everywhere. They say it might be closed for some time."

Rob could hardly believe the news. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Apparently it's in protest against Gandapur's visit to see President Wilson. He's upset the anti-capitalists again." It might be fate. I don't want you to go. I'm falling in love with you. Beth held her breath waiting for Rob to respond to the news of the closure.

"I need to make a call, Beth, I've got to get home somehow. I'll speak to you later." Rob replaced the receiver and put his hands on his head in despair.

Checking his contacts on his iPhone he picked up the receiver and dialed the US. He needed to get home, somehow.

Linda picked up the phone when the call came through to her office.

"Linda Washington speaking."

"Linda, it's wonderful to hear your voice."

She recognized Rob immediately. "Hello sexy, how are you this fine morning? Or is it evening with you?"

"Linda, I need to get home."

"I'm on the case, don't worry. Hunter has explained everything to me."

"No...you don't understand, there's a problem. The airport's shut because of a bomb scare and it could be closed for some time."

"Oh dear. That could be a problem. Let me speak to Hunter and I'll get straight back to you. He's on the phone to the President at the moment so I don't know how long he'll be. You know what it's like when they're in conversation."

"Go and tell him Linda, this is urgent. My son is very ill and I need to get home."

Linda hesitated for a moment. It wasn't something you did. It was the President Hunter was speaking to.

"Linda, do you hear me? Go and tell him."

"Yes, I hear you, Rob. I'll have to call you back though."

"Get me out of here Linda, please." McPherson sounded desperate. "I'll wait, put me on hold."

"Yes, that's correct, sir. His son's health is deteriorating by the day," Hunter explained to the President over the phone. "The guy needs to come back to be with his family because it doesn't sound too good. The doctors have told Vicki some of the story but not all of it. They want McPherson back before they drop the bombshell on them."

The door to Hunter's office opened and Linda Washington entered the room looking somewhat tentative.

Hunter acknowledged her by raising his eyebrows.

"Sir, I've got Rob on the phone and he sounds very unhappy."

"Mister President, can I put you on hold for a few seconds please...Thank you sir. I'm talking to the President about him now. Can it wait please, Linda?"

"Sir he's mad because the airport is shut and he can't get out."

"Why is it shut?"

"Bomb threat in the main terminal I think."

"Leave him on hold, I'll get back to him in a while."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell him." Linda left the room and walked back to her office somewhat relieved.

"Sorry about that, sir, it was McPherson calling. He's not happy at all. Apparently Jinnah Airport is closed and he can't get a flight home." Hunter flicked the speaker switch on his computer screen and the President's voice was redirected to his hidden desk speakers.

"I know all about that Rob. It's in protest at Gandapur's visit. He's leaving there in under an hour to visit me here in Washington."

"I thought the airport was closed?" Hunter asked inquisitively.

"Not to him, Colin, he's the President of Pakistan for Christ's sake."

"Hell if only we could get Rob on that flight."

There was a pause on the line.

"I think I can arrange that... Gandapur owes me one." The President said confidently.

57

The Sheridan Hotel, Karachi.

Rob McPerson was sitting on the bed in bewilderment. One minute it was total despair and the next minute elation. How the hell did Hunter fix that? Hunter's words were still ringing in his ears.

Be on the roof of the hotel in ten minutes. There's a chopper coming to take you to the airport. You're flying home in style buddy.

A knock on the door refocused his mind. When he opened the door, Beth was there, smiling broadly.

"You do have some clout young man, I'll give you that."

"I'm just happy to be going home, Beth."

"Sure, I understand. Hope you don't mind but I wanted to say goodbye and good luck and all that."

"Thanks." McPherson felt quite awkward not knowing how to end the conversation. He was in a hurry to get out.

"Come on then. You need to be on the roof."

Oh God, she's coming with me. McPherson grabbed his things, making sure he had the crystal in his travel bag. Customs won't be a problem today, he thought.

McPherson looked around at the sprawling suburbs from the top of the hotel as the evening took control.

"The chopper can't land on the roof, so you're going up in a rope cage, okay?" Beth explained.

"Is there anything you don't know?" Rob was impressed with her efficiency.

"It's my job to look after you... Here comes the chopper now. See it over there?"

The drone of the blades got louder as the mat-black Apache helicopter approached the hotel roof. Dust from the rooftop filled the air now as a side door opened on the Apache and a cage was lowered down.

"Good luck," Beth said, in a loud voice. She moved forward and kissed him on the cheek."I hope to see you again soon."

McPherson looked a little embarrassed and quickly climbed into the cage. He gave a thumbs up and seconds later he was being winched up into the evening sky.

Come back soon, I love you Rob.

58

As the Apache banked to the right heading west, McPherson could see the airport's runway lights in the distance. There were flashing lights everywhere from police cars and ambulances and the roads around the airport were gridlocked. It was chaos because of the recent bomb scare.

McPherson remembered the last time he flew in an Apache – firing the airship's guns at Domaradzki in the Gulf of Mexico. The explosion, the bodies on the water; he shuddered.

He checked his travel bag again for the crystal. It was safe.

Surprisingly, within a few minutes they'd arrived at Jinnah International Airport and the chopper started to descend near to the presidential hanger, some distance from the mayhem of the main terminal building. Once the Apache had touched down one of the crew opened the side door and instructed McPherson to go into the hanger, some fifty yards away across the concrete airfield, where the President's private jet was waiting to taxi out into the warm evening air and onto the main runway. Traffic control had already given the crew the go ahead for takeoff. No other aircraft would be landing or taking off until the airport reopened.

Gathering his things he thanked the crew and duly headed for the massive silver hanger. As he entered the hanger he looked up at the plane, so majestic, so big and he could see the crew through the front windows of the plane. Pleasingly one of them acknowledged him. Inside the huge space, at the bottom of a set of steps that led to an open door on the side of the plane, was a young lady, smartly dressed in military uniform.

"Dr McPherson?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Welcome—please come aboard."

"Thank you." He happily followed her as she ascended the steps into the 747. As he did, a man in maintenance uniform, some distance away, discreetly took a photo of him on a mobile phone.

Shah's phone buzzed when the text came though from Abu Kalizad. He opened it and stared at a man who's face was very familiar to him. "My old friend, Rob McPherson." Then, the reality of the situation hit him. He was boarding the Presidential jet.

He read the text from Kalizad. Who is this man? He's getting on the flight and it's about to leave. Do you know what's happening? Shah was totally confused. Why was Robert McPherson getting onto the President's plane? What was he doing in Pakistan? Shah was in shock.

Memories of Cambridge came flooding back and the good times he and his friend Rob had enjoyed together. The parties, the girls, the music and for a brief second he appeared to smile.

Why him? Why here?...It makes no difference. Nothing can stop me now. You will die with the rest of them my old friend. It is the will of Allah.

The pilot pulled the throttle and the huge jet responded. Slowly at first but soon it was accelerating down the runway gathering speed quickly. McPherson looked out of the window at the airplane's huge wing. The terminal was out of site now as the aircraft's wheels left the runway. The engines roared, defying gravity and powering the plane upwards into the red sky as the sun was setting on the horizon.

The first officer retracted the landing gear and the massive sets of wheels withdrew into the undercarriage. Green LED lights on the hidden canisters changed to red and began to flash for the first time.

McPherson was so relieved to be going home. He still couldn't believe how Hunter had pulled this one off. But, he knew he owed him one. Big time.

"Welcome aboard, Doctor. My name is Sakina, and I'm here to make sure your flight is enjoyable. Can I get you a drink?"

McPherson was taken aback by the beautiful woman staring down at him. She was stunningly beautiful with large dark eyes and black hair neatly tied up under her hat.

"Thank you, Sakina. I would love a gin and tonic on the rocks please."

"Certainly, Doctor. We'll be serving food later and the President has requested you join him for dinner."

"Wow, that would be wonderful. Please tell him I gratefully accept his kind invitation."

"I will, Doctor, with pleasure. Don't forget to use your call button at anytime if you want something."

McPherson was finding the situation quite bizarre and completely unbelievable. Just a few hours ago he was distraught and totally demoralized, with no hope of getting home quickly and now, he's on his way and just about to have a meal with President Gandapur of Pakistan.

What a crazy situation, Vicki won't believe a word of this, he thought. But he couldn't wait to tell her anyway.

"Your drink, sir, and some snacks for you. Enjoy"

"Thank you." McPherson sipped his drink and closed his eyes. In his head a voice said, You are not alone. He opened his eyes and looked into his bag at the crystal. He picked it up and held it for a moment. Strangely this time he didn't experience the usual feeling of tranquillity. This time he felt on edge, as if there was something wrong.

Relax, enjoy yourself, you're going home to see Vicki and Daniel.

The White House, Washington DC

President Wilson's secretary was busy finishing the arrangements for the forthcoming visit of President Gandapur. Everything had to be done properly, especially liaising with the security forces. There was no room for error at this level. Gandapur's plane was due to land at seven o'clock in the morning and the President was going to be there at the airport to greet him.

This was a golden opportunity for some good publicity. Halfway through his term he needed a vote of confidence from the electorate and this success story was going to be milked to the very last drop, he had told her.

The red carpet was to be laid out from the steps to the awaiting limousine and the world's media would be there waiting to send the images of Gandapur's welcoming committee all around the world; all in a matter of seconds. President Wilson had a short speech being prepared for him at this moment by one of his press officers.

As the secretary typed, an email came through detailing the dietary requirements for the Gandapur entourage.

So much to think about, so much to do, she sighed.

59

McPherson slept for over an hour before being gently awakened by Sakina.

"Doctor."

"I must have fallen asleep," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, you did, Doctor. I think you needed it."

"Please call me Robert. I hate formalities."

"Okay, I will. Dinner will be served in the upstairs restaurant in thirty minutes, Robert. I thought you might want to freshen up."

"Thank you. That would be a very good idea. It's not often one gets to eat with a Head of State is it?"

"You'll find towels, shaving equipment and a range of new shirts, pants and underwear in the bathroom, just help yourself. Follow me and I'll show you the way."

Twenty minutes later McPherson looked and felt like a new man. It's very easy to forget that you're thirty-two thousand feet above ground, circumventing the Earth when you're having a power shower and listening to Edward Greig's Peer Gynt suite, in a bathroom that has a Jacuzzi, color television, surround-sound stereo, music matched mood lighting and an iMac to check your emails.

Vicki just won't believe me.

Returning to his seat he sat down and again picked up the crystal from his bag. There's something wrong. What can it be? There's something very wrong. Nervously he put it back in his bag.

"Robert, is there a problem?" asked Sakina seeing his expression.

"No, I'm fine thank you," unable to relate his concerns to her. What was wrong anyway? He had no idea, other than how he felt when he held the crystal. Was it trying to tell him something? If he mentioned it to anyone they'd think he was going mad.

"Dinner is in ten minutes."

"I'm looking forward to it." Again he held the crystal and this time an image of Ahmed Shah flashed through his mind:

Evil forces in the hearts of men. You will know them when the time comes and you will not be alone.

"The crystal is telling me something," he said to himself quietly. There's something wrong but what is it? Ahmed Shah you're in my mind, leave me alone.

"Robert, President Gandapur will see you now. If you'd like to follow me please."

McPherson composed himself and smiled back at Sakina. "I'll take my bag with me if you don't mind?"

"Yes, of course Robert, but it's quite safe here. You're the only passenger."

"I'd prefer to take it with me."

Sakina led McPherson up the stairs to the upper deck where President Gandapur and his wives were waiting to greet him.

This is just like a dream, he thought, as his pulse quickened.

"Dr McPherson, welcome." Gandapur stood at the top of the stairs with an outstretched hand. He was tall and thin for a man of his age with receding dark hair that was graying on the sides. He wore an expensive pinstriped black suit and white shirt open at the neck

McPherson guessed he was about fifty. "President Gandapur, It is a great honor to meet you sir. I'm not sure I can thank you enough for what you've done for me today."

"Nonsense, young man. It's nothing. Please join me."

On the table was more fruit than McPherson had ever seen in one place. Oranges, bananas, grapes, pomegranates, kiwi fruits, red and black currants, a variety of different mangos, Kinno, peaches, pears and dishes full of olives. His first thought was, who the hell will eat all this?

"Please help yourself to fruit but don't fill yourself, we have a meal awaiting us. Please come through when you're ready."

Sakina was at hand to explain some of the fruits he'd never even seen before. Tonight though food was not a priority for McPherson. He just wasn't hungry, just very restless.

Two hours passed quickly as they talked and ate. Gandapur listened to the story of Daniel's deterioration with genuine interest and how McPherson had been involved in the hunt for Ahmed Shah.

"Goodness me, is that the time? Robert I'm going to bid you goodnight. I've enjoyed our chat and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you again sir. I'm indebted to you for your kindness."

"After what I've heard tonight, Robert, I think I'm indebted to you, young man. Sakina will see you down to your cabin."

"Cabin Crew, two hours to landing please."

The announcement woke McPherson from a deep sleep. A little unsteady he made his way to the bathroom for another glorious power shower.

Fifteen minutes later he retuned to his cabin and there was a smell of fresh coffee in the air.

Sakina arrived with an envelope in her hand.

"Good morning, Robert. I've been asked to give you this, I'm told it's urgent."

McPherson took the envelope marked to him. "Thank you, Sakina."

"Coffee, Robert?"

"Yes, please," he said opening the envelope. He started to read:

Robert

It was a great surprise for me to see you boarding the Presidential Plane yesterday.

When I saw your face it reminded me of our days at Cambridge.

McPherson froze but continued to read:-

I did not plan it this way and your involvement is a mystery to me. However, it has happened, and as a consequence it means you must also die. I wish for you it could have been different but it must be the will of Allah.

An old Friend.

McPherson was speechless. The crystal was trying to warn me. Why did I doubt it? Fuck! What does it mean you must also die... This flight is doomed! Jesus Christ! McPherson's mind was spinning. There must be a bomb on board. Oh fuck!

His finger hit the service button and Sakina appeared within seconds.

"Your coffee won"t be long, Robert."

"Sakina, forget the fucking coffee. I need to see the President. It's urgent — believe me."

For a moment she was stunned by his outburst.

"SAKINA, I NEED TO SEE HIM NOW. WHERE IS HE?"

Her smile had disappeared and she looked worried. "Come with me." It must be the letter, she thought.

McPherson followed her to the upper deck and at the top of the stairs she asked him to wait while she got the President.

For what seemed like an eternity McPherson paced up and down trying to think what could be done. Then he heard the President arriving.

"What on earth is the matter, Robert?" Gandapur asked.

"Sir, I hope I'm wrong but I believe there may be a bomb on board."

"WHAT? What makes you think that?"

"I've received a note from the man we were talking about last night."

"Ahmed Shah?"

"That's right. Take a look." McPherson passed him the note.

For a few seconds Gandapur absorbed the words... "Oh dear."

"How many crew members do we have on board?"

"We have, I believe, eight technical staff, including the pilot, first officer and navigator and about eight catering personnel."

McPherson was thinking fast. "We need to inform the Captain and authorities immediately and search the plane from top to bottom. I suspect if it's anywhere it's in the hold."

"Let's get it organized." Gandapur was amazingly calm under the circumstances.

"Let's get all the technical crew together and organize a search of the hold first. It shouldn't take long, it's virtually empty." McPherson was trying to think logically but it wasn't easy under such duress. If it is a bomb why hasn't it gone off yet? Are they going to activate it remotely? What if there isn't a bomb? What would Shah do? What's his expertise? OH FUCK! I don't even want to go there.

"Mr President, knowing Shah's involved we have to consider the possibility that there may be nerve agents on board."

McPherson was thinking fast. If there is, how's he planning to release it? He's going to gas us, the evil bastard. His plan was to kill Gandapur and I just happened to follow him into the gas chamber. Shah's words, I did not plan it this way. I'm here by accident. McPherson's mind was now in overdrive. He had to find a solution. He wasn't ready to die.

He was going to prove Allah wrong, but at this precise moment in time he had know idea how.

60

The White House, Washington DC.

Rain was falling in Washington for the first time in over a week and the droplets were running down the windows behind the President's desk, obscuring the southerly view of Morris D. Wilson.

The news had been hard to take and he stood still, staring out of the window with his arms by his side, like a soldier on duty. Ten minutes earlier he'd taken a call from Hunter informing him of the possibility of a bomb on Gandapur's flight. The crew, he was told, were searching the plane now. Hunter was en route from the Pentagon to see him and an emergency strategy meeting was due to start in ten minutes.

President Wilson turned and with his clenched fist slammed the desk in anger. This could destroy me. Please God tell me it's not true.

He massaged his temples with his finger tips and took some deep breaths.

61

On-board the Presidential Plane

"We must accept that this whole thing could be a hoax," said Captain Boeker, in a Dutch accent. Peering over his designer glasses he looked around the table at nine tired faces. He was an experienced pilot who spoke confidently and assuringly. "I think we would have found a bomb by now, especially as the hold is empty. If we were carrying a few hundred passengers it might have been very hard to find but, this is not a commercial airplane, it's a private jet. Different access rules apply here. We have also run all the maintenance diagnostics and everything's fine. In Shah's note he doesn't mention a bomb anyway."

"I believe that's the case Captain. We are looking at a hoax gentlemen." Gandapur looked confident. "You have searched the plane from top to bottom and found nothing."

McPherson's instinct told him there was something, but he was going to be out numbered, and he knew it. It doesn't make sense to put a bomb in an empty hold, it would be too easy to find. If there is a bomb it's going to be hidden.

I can't mention the crystal. I'll lose any credibility I have left?

"I think we should inform the authorities that it was a false alarm. Do we all agreement, gentlemen?" The decision was almost unanimous, apart from McPherson who said nothing. His opinion stood alone and the others weren't prepared to listen to it.

"Thank you all for your efforts. Let's get back to normality. This emergency is over." President Gandapur stood up and left for his private quarters.

McPherson returned to his seat to find fresh fruit and orange juice on the table.

"One hour to landing, cabin crew," was the announcement that greeted McPherson as he sat down.

The clock is ticking and time's running out. He instinctively knew he was right but there was no point in arguing when you're out numbered nine to one. I miss you Vicki. You'd believe me; I know you would.

They would only listen if he could prove he was right, and that meant finding the bomb. Again he replayed Shah's message in his head.

It was a great surprise for me to see you boarding the Presidential Plane yesterday. Was Shah there, surely not? Did someone photograph me? Who was in the hanger when we left? McPherson walked quickly to the cabin. He needed answers and quick.

When he got to the cockpit the door was open and the pilots were sitting in their seats.

"Captain, can I ask you something please?"

"Yes, of course, come in, Doctor."

McPherson looked around at the mass of lights, dials and blue display screens that lit the cockpit like a late night cocktail bar. "Is all of this needed to fly the plane?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. Looks complicated if you're not familiar with it but it's not that difficult really," the Captain said, modestly.

McPherson looked around and knew what everything did, even though he'd never been in the cockpit of a Jumbo jet in his life. What's going on in my head?

"What was your question, Doctor?"

"Sorry, yes; would you happen to know who was in the hanger when I arrived to board the plane?"

"I can't be sure other than the maintenance engineer Abu Kalizad, because I spoke to him to sign off the preflight checks."

"Shit, if he took my photo that means he's working for Shah."

"You don't know that for sure, Doctor," the Captain said. "You're jumping to conclusions now."

McPherson wasn't listening to him anymore, he was thinking about the consequences of an infiltrator.

"Thank you, Captain, I'll leave you to it." McPherson left the cockpit and returned to his seat, deep in thought.

"Thirty minutes to landing, cabin crew."

Shit, I'm running out of time. I don't want to die. Pulling out the message from Shah he unfolded it and read it again. Then, he noticed the note was a copy of an email sent to the plane for his attention. Someone in the plane's admin office must have copied it, probably without even reading it. How did Shah know the email address for the Presidential Plane? Kalizad must be in on it.

Why doesn't the crystal help me when I need it most? McPherson picked it up and held it in both hands "Why don't you help me" he said out loud, in a rage of frustration. The answer was in his head. He knew where to look.

The approach road to Dulles International Airport

The President was sitting nervously in the back of a black limousine heading for the VIP lounge and listening to the update from the Defense Secretary Mark Quail.

"The Captain believes that McPherson's paranoid about Shah. I'm comfortable with the situation sir and so is President Gandapur. They've searched the plane from top to bottom and they've found nothing. There was never a mention of a bomb in the note anyway," Quail stressed.

The President was finally regaining his composure. "Thank you God. McPherson's been through an awful lot and with the pressure of his son's illness he's just over reacted, that's all. Let's just get on with it." Morris D. Wilson looked confident again. This was going to be a big day for him and the opinion of a paranoid scientist wasn't going to stop it.

62

McPherson rushed into the cockpit, surprising the crew. "I know where the bomb is!"

The three man crew said nothing but glanced at each other, not quite sure how to react.

"I need the First Officer to come with me."

"Robert, we're about to land at Dulles," Captain Boeker retorted.

"First Officer, please follow me if you want to save this plane and everyone in it."

Captain Boeker nodded reluctantly to the First Officer. "Make it quick."

McPherson raced down the stairs and headed towards the wing section of the fuselage followed closely by the First Officer. Climbing a small access ladder McPherson pointed to a bulkhead marked:-

WING SECTION—NO ACCESS TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL.

"IT'S IN THERE," he shouted, pointing to the steel door.

"How'd you know that?"

"It's a long story and we don't have time now." McPherson raised his voice above the drone of the engines that were beginning to slow for decent into the airport.

"Fuck. You need a special key to open it."

"You mean, like this one," said the First Officer, removing one from his jacket pocket.

McPherson took the key and quickly removed the door of the bulkhead. Inside was a mass of hydraulic pipes and the engine noise was deafening. McPherson quickly scanned the immediate vicinity, he knew he was minutes away from dying unless he..."THERE IT IS!"

The stainless steel canister carried the North Korean emblem. Flashing red neons meant the electronics was clearly active.

"OH MY GOD!" McPherson pointed to the device. "It's connected to the landing-gear hydraulics. When the wheels drop down for landing, this thing is going to blow. Knowing Shah, my guess is it's full of nerve gas."

The engines were slowing again and Captain Boeker was about to engage the automatic landing system when the First Office burst in.

"CAPTAIN, DON'T," he shouted, startling Boeker.

"What the fuck's going on? I'm trying to land the plane, if you don't mind, so get back in your seat and do your job."

McPherson moved close to him. "If you engage the landing gear, Captain, we're all dead."

"He's right, Captain. The plane has been sabotaged. There is a device connected to the landing gear hydraulics. It looks like a nerve gas canister and it carries the emblem of North Korea."

McPherson showed Captain Boeker a photo of the canister on his iPhone. "There's an identical one on the other side of the plane that's connected to the secondary hydraulic circuit and the manual override as well."

The First officer stared at McPherson in total astonishment but decided to say nothing.

Captain Boeker looked at both men in shocked amazement, trying to rationalize the situation.

"So, gentlemen, how do you propose I land this baby with NO FUCKING WHEELS? Because guys, I'M RUNNING OUT OF FUEL VERY QUICKLY."

"We've got thirty minutes worth and if you don't abort the automatic landing we'll all be dead in precisely eight-seconds." The Captain looked at McPherson in stunned silence before selecting the abort button with two-seconds to spare.

At that moment President Wilson had arrived at Dulles International Airport and was waving out of the back window of the limousine to the thronging crowd of spectators. The weather was fine and sunny and he was beginning to enjoy himself. Last night that situation seemed impossible and all because of Robert McPherson's paranoia.

Mark Quail's cellphone started playing the Star-Spangled Banner and he pulled it awkwardly from his inside pocket.

"Quail," he said, succinctly.

The President watched as the blood drained from his face to his highly polished black shoes.

"Are Boeing on to it? Because, my friend, we need answers and we need them now." Quail lowered the phone and looked at the President. "Sir, the landing has been aborted. There appears to be some kind of canister linked into the aircraft's hydraulics. McPherson says it's nerve gas."

"McPherson, McPherson, all I here is fucking McPherson. What the hell's going on here? Everything was fine until this paranoid idiot got on the plane."

"There's an emblem on the side of the canister sir and it's North Korean."

For a while the President sat in stunned silence. "Turn this thing around. Take me back to the White House. It looks like we got ourselves a fight, Mark." Holy Shit!

Quail allowed himself a wry smile.

"We have about twenty-minutes gentlemen, and then we go down, if we like it or not." Boeker reported walking into the room. McPherson was sitting with President Gandapur explaining what would happen. He'd told him that the only solution was to land on water. It was feasible, especially as the Jumbo was virtually empty.

Boeker continue, "Boeing has confirmed that the device is not there's and it has been added into the system. They're not prepared to say what it is."

"We know what it is." McPherson answered sharply. "Since when has Boeing bought parts from North Korea?"

Gandapur looked down and smiled.

"So tell me, Rob, what do you suggest we do. You seem to have all the answers?" Boeker was clearly irritated and nervous.

Gandapur looked up again.

"We land in the sea Captain, that's what we do."

"In the sea? That's never been done with a 747. I wouldn't even attempt it." Boeker looked incredulous.

"I can do it," McPherson said.

"Are you some kind of fucking idiot?"

"I can do it." McPherson insisted. "Come with me."

"WHOA! I'm not letting you anywhere near my controls, do you understand? You're not even a pilot and you think you can land a 747 safely on the sea. The chances are you'll kill every one on board."

"You nearly did that, a few minutes ago," retorted McPherson.

Boeker had no answer.

"We're carrying a lethal dose of nerve gas. If we attempt to land on anything other than water the chances are we'll breakup and explode. You know what happens next don't you?"

Gandapur now knew about the crystal. Robert had explained everything to him before Boeker arrived and he was an instant convert. He believed everything McPherson said and trusted him implicitly. He didn't know why, he just did and so far McPherson's track record had been impressive.

"At this very moment a group of the most senior US Government officials are in a strategy meeting, advising the President on our future. Soon we will be instructed by air traffic control to land on the sea. Away from any populated area, because they now know that Shah was producing the most deadly nerve gas ever made." McPherson explained. "It's called damage limitation, Captain. All of us on this flight are expendable. It's better we die than kill the entire population of the east-coast, given the exceptional circumstances we find ourselves in."

The Captain knew that McPherson was speaking the truth and the reality of it hit him like a thunderbolt.

President Gandapur stood up.

"There are extremely powerful forces working here that I can't explain, but most importantly, they seem to be on our side. Do you believe in divine intervention Captain."

"No, sir, to be honest, I can't say I do," Boeker replied humbly.

"Well, I do, and I'm prepared to put my trust in Robert, because I don't think we have too many choices."

"This is quite insane." Boeker shook his head in disbelief. "Let's get back to the cockpit."

As they walked in, the First Officer was talking to Air Traffic Control.

"Sir, they are saying that our only option is to land on water." Boeker looked at McPherson and wondered what he was dealing with. This guy was not normal. "Robert, how can you land this plane without knowing anything about the controls?"

McPherson pointed to the cockpit dashboard. "I know what every dial and what every screen does. I have the stall speeds in my head. The maximum fuel capacity is sixty-three thousand US gallons. I even know the estimated time Boeing calculate we have before this plane sinks, after landing. Which is by the way, about fifteen-minutes for a plane full of passengers, so we should have a little more time than that. I don't why I know all this, but I do. Our velocity approach speed for this plane has to be one hundred and thirty miles per hour, precisely one hundred and thirteen knots, with flaps fully retracted because the headwind is fifteen-miles an hour. If either of the wing tips hit the water at that speed they'll be ripped off and the plane will break up. If that happens, it's all over. If a wing tip contacts with the water at less than twenty-nine miles an hour, we will survive. So our fuselage has to act like a stone skimming the water. If we can stay horizontal after contact with the sea we cut the engines and the friction of the water will do the rest. Let's hope we stop with the plane in one piece. Captain I'm going to need your help."

"I can't do this." Boeker said. "It's fucking suicide."

"Can I take the controls and show you that I know what I'm doing?" McPherson asked.

"Sir, we have ten minutes of fuel left and landing coordinates are coming through," the First Officer reported.

"Well, Captain? We're running out of time."

"Go ahead." Boeker's resolve was broken and he started shaking uncontrollably. His nerve had gone. "We're all going to fucking die anyway," he shouted in shear panic.

McPherson quickly sat in the Captain's seat, connected his mic and head phones called the tower and told them that they were entering the new landing site coordinates and that their ETA was seven minutes.

"First Officer, I'm going to need you."

"Let's do it," came the reply.

McPherson banked the plane to the right and headed east. "Gentlemen, we're going to a little known beauty spot, thirty-miles past the mouth of Delaware Bay. Everyone to their seats, fasten your belts, assume brace position and prepare for a crash landing. Crew be ready to evacuate the plane into water and may God be with all of us."

63

Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Wisconsin Avenue, Washington DC.

Hunter held Vicki in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably. He'd explained the situation to her and now she was minutes away from knowing if Robert would live or die. The thought of life without him was unbearable. He was her soul mate and she loved him, unconditionally. She pulled away and sat next to Daniel's bed wiping her tears with a tissue. He was asleep and his condition was worsening. Vicki held his limp hand in an attempt to comfort him. Images of Rob's smiling face flashed through her mind and she broke down again. Hunter hadn't told her how bad Daniel really was. He wanted to wait until Rob returned, so that he could give her the support she desperately needed. Hunter was now beginning to regret that decision.

Vicki looked at Hunter through red, tearful eyes.

"It doesn't get much worse than this does it? My whole world is just about to collapse around me. He's not going to survive, is he? And my son is dying."

Hunter said nothing because he couldn't find adequate words of comfort. Tears welled up in his eyes. He kept thinking that if he hadn't arranged the flight, Rob would be back home now, comforting her, and the thought was playing on his mind.

It's a cruel world we live in, he thought.

64

On the Pakistani Presidential Plane

McPherson could see the mouth of the Delaware Bay and the lighthouse to his right, as he flew low, out to sea.

The First Officer was calling out their speed and height every few seconds. "Two-hundred knots and five-hundred-feet, Robert."

"Thank you. Here we go guys, there's no going back now." McPherson throttled back and the engines slowed.

"One hundred and eighty knots — Four-hundred feet."

McPherson checked the giro. The plane was level and there was no side wind of any consequence.

"Approaching landing speed; two-hundred feet, one-hundred and fifty feet. One-hundred-feet." McPherson could see the sea, closing in by the second.

"BRACE YOURSELVES GUYS—THIS IS IT," he shouted as he checked the giro again.

Terrified, Captain Boeker cried out, "PLEASE GOD, SPARE US."

Then there was a heavy thud and the plane lunged forward before another heavy thud seconds later. Cries of panic started coming from below like desperate slaves trapped in the hold of a sinking colonial ship. The Jumbo's huge mass was bouncing off the sea like a child's beach pebble on the shoreline.

McPherson waited for the next lunge that would throw them all forwards in their seats and as it happened, he cut the engines. He fought to keep the plane horizontal as it quickly slowed. The next heavy thud was the last. The plane had come to rest, intact, listing to port. The steaming jet engines, quenched by the cold sea sent clouds of steam into the air around the plane.

"Who needs wheels anyway?" he said, smiling. Looking out of the cockpit window, he could see the welcoming committee arriving.

"YOU DID IT—YOU DID IT—YOU FUCKING GENIUS," shouted the First Office.

Captain Boeker broke down in tears, sobbing like a baby.

"Let's get out of here, guys," McPherson said, impatiently.

In the White House and around the world cheers rang out as people watched the landing on television. The sky around the 747 was full of helicopters and the sea was full of boats all eager to witness the rescue of the passengers from the plane that defied all the odds.

The President looked on smiling. "That pilot is going to get a medal."

All the emergency exits opened and shoots automatically deployed together with large inflatable dinghies. The cabin crew quickly ushered everyone to the escape exits and immediately started the evacuation.

The atmosphere was unbelievably calm under the circumstances and soon it was the turn of McPherson to leave the plane and slide down the escape chute to the awaiting orange dinghy. He checked his jacket inside pocket and, reassuringly, felt the crystal.

"Go," someone shouted, and he raised his arms above his head and slid down the chute. At the bottom someone had collapsed backwards, blocking his exit. McPherson was thrown forwards over the man and the crystal dropped from his pocket, hit the side of the dinghy, and dropped into the sea.

65

The Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Wisconsin Avenue, Washington, DC.

Rob McPherson stood in the doorway, dejected; knowing he had failed. It was less than one hour ago when he'd landed the 747 on the sea and had been picked up by helicopter and flown straight to the Walter Reed Medical Centre. He was unshaven and his hair was matted and lank as he gazed at Daniel, asleep in bed. Vicki was asleep in the chair next to the bed and she looked pale from exhaustion. For a moment McPherson just looked; his eyes full of tears. His personal mission was to bring the healing crystal back—the crystal that would save his dying son—the crystal he watched fall into the sea as he screamed in anguish.

The rehearsed words of apology bounced around his head, still not properly formulated. Nervously, he walked into the room to wake his wife, but as he did, a quiet voice behind him said, "Robert—let her sleep awhile."

McPherson turned to see the two aliens in the doorway. One of them was holding something.

"The crystal! I dropped it in the ocean, escaping from the plane."

"Yes, we know Robert...Our mission is over now and thanks to you, the balance has been restored. It means we can return home."

The alien holding the crystal said: "We came to thank you and say goodbye."

"You're thanking me? It's me who should be thanking you. You saved our lives on that plane today."

"We did what was necessary, that's all." He then offered up the crystal. "I think you need this, Robert."

McPherson took the crystal and kissed it.

"You know what to do," the alien said.

Robert McPherson turned to look at his son. "Yes, I do, thank you...thank you."

"Where is, your, home?" McPherson asked, but when he looked there was nobody there.

He moved next to his son and placed the crystal on his chest. Gently, he wrapped his son's cold hands around it.

Tears of joy ran down McPherson's cheeks as he watched a miracle happen.

"Mission accomplished, darling," he said, proudly, to his sleeping wife.

-End of Part Two-

Author's Notes

The following morning, mysteriously, the crystal went missing.

Two days later, Ahmed Shah was killed in the mountains of Afghanistan, by an unmanned drone.

### PART THREE

### THE NINE MEN

My sincere thanks to Paul Llewellyn;

editor, advisor and dear friend.

The locations in Italy, France, India and Russia, used in this novel, are all real.

The story of the Holy Danilov Monastery bells is true and well documented.

The Nine Unknown Men is a myth and well documented.

The characters in this novel are purely fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone, living or dead.

66

The Vatican City, Rome

On a cloudless, blue Italian day, the majestic dome of St Peter's Basilica dominated the skyline.

Below, in the famous square, an excited congregation of some 60,000 people were gathered in a buzz of anticipation. Priests and nuns mingled, as if equals, with the expectant worshippers. There were many Italians in the crowd but the gathering included numerous flag waving visitors from around the world, all yearning for their holy experience. Some were looking for enlightenment, some for reassurance that God had not forsaken them and hoping desperately that the event would revitalize their waning faith. And many were tourists, with no faith to wane, simply enjoying the spectacle in the glorious Italian sunshine.

There was a colorful and animated group of East-African missionaries in the congregation who were attending a week-long 'Sales Course' at the Vatican College, entitled: 'Catholicism in the Modern World'; and advertised as an empirical appreciation of how catholicism enriched people's lives.

As the balcony doors of the Basilica opened and Pope Francis appeared, silence gripped the square, as if controlled by the flick of a switch. Clothed in his familiar white attire, his Holiness raised his hand to acknowledge his flock that inundated St Peter's Square.

Robert McPherson stole a glance at his wife and watched a tear run down her cheek. With the tip of her finger, she quickly wiped away the evidence before turning to her husband and whispering: "It's him, it's the Pope! This is just magical isn't it? My whole body is tingling with excitement," she said, as live images of the Pope were relayed around the square by three massive screens, akin to a rock concert, for the benefit of those behind the VIP area.

McPherson smiled and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and feeling the warmth of her slender figure next to his. He quickly reminded himself of how close to death he and his family had come, on more than one occasion; in the name of religion!

Rob glanced up to the perimeter of the square and the imposing array of carved, stone saints looking down at him. "...Yeah... it's very special my love," he said, tenderly kissing the top of her head.

Vicki hugged his waist and another tear found its way down her cheek. "I don't want this vacation to end, but at the same time I can't wait to see Daniel," she said.

Far too quickly for the gathering, the mass ended with a blessing and the Pope waved a final farewell to the crowds below before leaving the balcony. Today, unfortunately, ill health had prevented him from a walkabout to meet the faithful.

Robert and Vicki held hands and melted into the throng of people pouring through Piazza Pio X11 onto the Via della Conciliazione; leaving behind a few souls who had chosen to sit and contemplate the whole experience, plus a handful who seemed to be walking aimlessly around the square as if in a holy trance; presumably hypnotized by the word of God. Soon though, even they would be politely asked to leave.

Later, near Ponte Sant' Angelo, Rome

Rob smiled at Vicki as they walked hand in hand beside the river, shaded from the sun by a leafy avenue of trees. The smell of fresh Italian coffee wafted towards them from a small wooden trattoria. Quaint rows of books were neatly stacked on shelves around the eaves, adding to the place's cozy atmosphere.

"Let's sit here under the trees and enjoy a coffee," Rob suggested. "That was one mother of an experience, wasn't it?" he said, offering a seat to his wife at a table for two.

Vicki seemed focused on some distant point. "...It was an experience I'll never forget," she eventually said.

"You were quite emotional in there, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I can't explain it. You know I don't consider myself to be a religious person but the atmosphere certainly got to me."

Between them and the cabin a skinny young Italian walked by carrying a wooden crate full of leafy herbs, tomatoes and colorful vegetables; the distinctive scent of basil drifted towards them on the warm air.

A waiter approached and said, "Prego—cosa desidera ordinare?"

Rob answered, "Vorrei due cappuccino, per favore."

Vicki joked, "Don't tell me—a few days here and you're fluent in Italian!"

Rob laughed. "Not quite," he said, knowing that Vicki would have difficulty with the truth. He just knew what to say and he'd never studied Italian in his life; he also knew the reason why.

The couple were soaking up the smells, sights and sounds of the vibrant city; the Italian Experience as Vicki aptly described it when the waiter returned with their coffees.

"Grazia mille, Rob responded, with a warm smile."

"Prego," replied the young Italian waiter.

Vicki rolled her eyes at the aroma of the coffee before taking a sip. "Ohhhh!...Why does it only taste as good as this in Italy?" But the moment was spoilt when Rob's cellphone rang in his jacket pocket. Removing it, he frowned when he saw who the call was from.

"What's the matter?" Vicki asked.

"I'm not sure... It's a call from Hunter."

"Oh, for Gods sake, Rob, were on vacation. It's not as if we take many."

"Well, it must be pretty important." Rob accepted the call. "Hi, Colin, what can I do for you?"

"Rob, I'm really sorry to call you during your vacation but something has come up and we need you to go to Paris."

"Paris?"

"Yes, it's important you go to Paris on the way home. Linda has booked you on first-class flights from Rome. Take Vicki out for a romantic meal and put it on your expenses—Paris in the springtime and all that romantic stuff."

Rob's mood began to soften. "So what's it all about?" he enquired, winking at Vicki who still looked confused. She mouthed Paris and Rob smiled and nodded.

"We need you to check out a guy by the name of Victor Canseliet. He's a bit of an authority on secret societies, coded texts and all that weird and wonderful shit. Writes books on the subject."

Rob frowned at Vicki and she frowned back. "So why do I need to see him, Colin?"

"Well, as you've now joined GIMA, I think he might be of interest to you."

"Go on."

"Do you know anything about a secret organization called, The Nine Men?"

"...The Nine Men?" Rob shook his head, "...No, never heard of them. Who are these guys?"

"We believe they are the most powerful secret society on Earth and were hoping that Victor Canseliet will enlighten you further. Linda's sending you all the intelligence details by secure email; good luck, Rob, and give my regards to Vicki. Tell her the Nation's satellite communications are in disarray since she's been away." Hunter ended the call.

"What's going on, Rob?"

"I'm not sure, but we're going home via Paris, to meet a gentleman named, Victor Canseliet."

67

"Behold," said Boheme, "he will show it to you plain enough if you be a Magus (S _orcerer_ ) and worthy, else you shall remain blind still."

Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris

Smiling tourists enjoying the Easter sunshine were standing in awe as they gazed upon France's most famous gothic cathedral and the durable facade of the cathedral"s brooding, carved-stone masterpiece with its hideous gargoyles that peered ominously back at the visitors; the place synonymous with Victor Hugo's grotesque, hunchbacked bell-ringer, Quasimodo and his gypsy beauty, Esméralda.

Nearby, the gently meandering waters of the Seine sparkled and folded into bubbling wavelets in the wake of the passing tour boats.

In front of the cathedral's main entrance a small group had gathered and a tall, distinguished looking man with a white goatee and Panama hat was ticking off names on a clipboard. He was wearing a cream linen suit, blue shirt and a yellow silk scarf that draped loosely around his neck. His brown suede shoes were handmade.

The man smiled authoritatively as he looked over the rim of his glasses at his latest group of twenty enthusiastic, wannabe mystics, gazing back excitedly at their esteemed guide; happy to have paid him the three-hundred euros each for the privilege of being in such esteemed company.

"Kito?" the guide called out.

A spectacled Japanese girl with a pallid complexion raised her hand. "That's me," she said.

"Bon! That means everyone's here." The man paused as he slipped his pen into his inside pocket and did some simple mental arithmetic; Ca fait six-mille euros. "Is everyone happy for me to speak in English?" the guide asked. Smiling heads nodded their approval.

"Excellent!" he paused for effect. "I'm sure you already know who I am, but I'll introduce myself anyway... My name is Victor Henri Canseliet. A votre service," he said, doffing his hat.

"The one and only!" someone called from the crowd. Canseliet bowed in acknowledgement. "Most kind," he added with a gratified smile.

Trained as an archaeologist in France and the Middle-East, the young Canseliet had soon acquired a fascination for alchemy, especially Islamic, and the secrets locked in its ancient symbolism.

Now, some thirty-years later he was still working tirelessly, trying to unlock the secrets of a little-understood subject, painfully aware that, for him, time was running out.

To the common man, alchemy was simply a throw-back to the Middle Ages; conjuring up images of a studious crackpot, working next to a flame-belching Athanor (alchemical furnace), intent on turning lead into gold.

The astute Canseliet was conscious that alchemy was much more than that, with its hidden instructions, false clues dead-ends and a strange chemical language. Canseliet realized that alchemy was a recipe, a set of coded instructions on how to attain enlightenment; a way to transmute mind, body and soul through the medium of a mysterious substance known as the Philosopher's Stone...But only for the worthy...the privileged few who break the code.

The exact way to enlightenment, annoyingly, still eluded him. He did not yet know. But, if events go to plan, all that could change; he would then reap the rewards attributed to the chosen few; the secret elite who have climbed the Ladder of the Wise and tasted the Elixir of Life. People like the chemist and physician, Van Helmont (1577-1644) and the mysterious twentieth-century Fulcanelli. Only then would his life-long dream be realized.

Throughout the world, fifty-seven-year-old Victor Canseliet was considered to be the leading authority on secret societies and their manuscripts.

Raising his clenched hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat with a gentle cough. "...Ladies and gentlemen, bienvenue à Paris and to this magical place," he said, gesturing to the cathedral. "Today, I intend to take you on a tour of Notre-Dame; a tour unlike any other tour. I will prove to you that this magnificent building is not just a gothic masterpiece of structural engineering... it is not just a place of religious worship or where Victor Hugo's Quasimodo, once rang the bells... Non, ce n'est pas, mes amis!...This place is something much more than that... Incredibly, it is actually something beyond the imagination of most people... It is in fact, the custodian of the symbols; symbols that are cut into the stone for everyone to see, for all eternity. Symbols with hugely significant meaning, that I, Victor Canseliet, will interpret for you." He pointed to the cathedral.

"Soon, ladies and gentlemen, you will understand the real reason why this magnificent place was built. And, after the tour, I will be selling signed copies of my latest book, Reading between the Lines, which dedicates a whole section to this very cathedral... So, let's waste no more time.— Allons, mes amis!"

68

Like the weather, the McPherson's left behind in Italy, the sky over Paris was cloudless. The taxi carrying Rob and Vicki from the Intercontinental Hotel on Rue Scribe approached L'arc de Triomphe from the Champs-Élysées, and moments later, exited the Place Charles de Gaulle onto the 16th Century tree-lined avenue named after the famous French writer, Victor Hugo.

"It's such a beautiful city, Rob." Vicki reached over to hold her husband's hand. "We needed this, after what we've been through."

Rob smiled and kissed her. "You're right, we definitely needed this." He peered out of the taxi window at the fresh, green canopy of leaves that flashed by above him as they headed towards Place Victor Hugo and the recent past came flooding back in vivid images. There was Hunter, bleeding profusely from a shoulder wound, trying to keep the chopper steady and shouting, "KILL THE BASTARD." Rob could see the golden flares from the guns as the bullets ripped Adam Domaradzki apart. His thoughts flashed to the tense moments as he landed the Jumbo Jet packed with nerve gas and the terrified cry of Captain Boeker "Please God, spare us!" as the huge plane touched down on the sea. Then, in his mind the cold, dark eyes and scared face of Ahmed Shah appeared, before fading into an image of the crystal. The crystal that saved his son's life and changed his life, forever.

And to think I was once an astrophysicist, he thought.

Moments later the taxi stopped at a circular place with a central fountain and tree-lined avenues stretching off all around them.

The driver turned to face his passengers, "Nous sommes arrivés." He pointed through the windscreen. "Cafe Victor Hugo, it is there, Monsieur." The driver was dark-skinned and unshaven. He had a shaven head and on his right cheek, a deep scar crossed from his nose to his ear lobe.

Rob paid and thanked him. Not someone to argue with, he noted, before exiting the taxi. In his hand he was carrying his leather briefcase containing his iPad and the encrypted file on Victor Canseliet that Linda had emailed to him the evening before.

"There he is," Rob said to Vicki as they crossed the road. "The guy with the white goatee, sitting under the red canvas awning."

Victor Canseliet was sitting at a table sipping coffee when Rob and Vicki arrived at the cafe.

"Monsieur Canseliet?"

"Oui."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Robert McPherson and this is my wife, Vicki."

Canseliet stood up and held Vicki's hand. "Enchanté, de faire votre connaissance, madam." He then shook Rob's hand. "Welcome to Paris, both." He gestured to them to join him at the table. The Frenchmen checked his watch. "You are very punctual, Dr McPherson."

"Call me Rob, please."

"May I order a drink for you both?"

"Coffee would be just fine."

"Coffee for me too, please," Vicki added.

Canseliet gestured to a waiter and ordered the drinks as they settled down around the table, overlooking the glistening central fountains of the Place Victor Hugo.

To Vicki the Frenchman looked like a cross between a gentlemen and an aging hippie. He was tall and thin and had an air of elegance about him that she found quite charming. His thick head of white hair was tied back into a ponytail. His eyes were large and blue and his bearded face was lined around the eyes; but his bubbly personality seemed to negate his years. One arm of a pair of gold-framed glasses hung down from his jacket's breast pocket.

"I must say, Robert, your secretary, Linda, is it?"

"Yes, Linda."

"She is persistent if nothing else."

"Yes, she is—and I'm very grateful to you for seeing me at such short notice."

"Well, Linda explained that you were returning to America from Rome and it was an opportunistic meeting." Canseliet took a cigarette from a blue pack of Gauloises Caporals and tapped the end of it on the table before flipping open his zippo and sucking the golden flame into the tip of his cigarette. He pointed to the pack. "I presume...?"

Rob raised his hand in refusal. The smell of the zippo was distinctive, sparking a vivid evocation of his childhood and his pipe-smoking father.

"You don't look like smokers. Not many of us left now," Canseliet said, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs and blowing it upwards towards the roof of the awning. "Too late for me, I'm afraid; started smoking when I was eight-years-old. If it was going to kill me I think it would have got me by now, don't you think?...So, Robert, what exactly can I do for you today?"

Robert briefly glanced at Vicki. "I work for an organization in the USA called, GIMA, which, incidentally, doesn't exist!"

Canseliet sat upright and dabbed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the table. "How exciting! And what does this non-existent GIMA stand for, Robert?"

"Global Intelligence Management and Analysis."

"Isn't that what the CIA does, young man?"

Rob smiled, anticipating the question. "The CIA is concerned with keeping our country safe from whatever the world wants to throw at us, Whether it's bombs or cyber attacks. GIMA takes a more, shall we say, comprehensive view of the world."

Canseliet nodded approvingly. "I see...So tell me, why does GIMA want to speak to Victor Canseliet?"

Rob answered confidently. "Because we believe you may be able to help us."

"Really!" The old man raised his eyebrows. "Well, that depends on what you want to know."

The waiter arrived with two coffees and placed them on the table.

"Merci, Phillip."

Robert waited until he'd moved away. "We want to talk to you about the Nine Men."

Canseliet took a theatrical intake of breath. Finally he asked, "What is it you want to know?"

"We believe you have an interest in them."

"So what! It's not just me who has an interest, Robert. They're a secret society, and that naturally intrigues people from all around the world... I don't understand... Why is GIMA interested in the Nine Men?"

Rob sipped his coffee. "...A manuscript has been found that may be of great significance..."

"A manuscript?" Canseliet interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "And what has that got to do with the Nine Men?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me," Rob answered.

69

Victor Canseliet's apartment overlooked Place Victor Hugo. The living room was spacious and brightly lit by shafts of sunlight that streamed in through four, large, south-facing windows. The shaded inner wall, some twenty-meters long, was packed to the ceiling with books of all sizes and colors. On the shorter west wall three leather sofas surrounded a large open fireplace that was made up with a pyramid of neatly cut logs in a wrought-iron cradle. The sweet smell of applewood filled the room.

Vicki gazed through one of the windows at the fountains and the cafe below, where ten minutes earlier they'd been sitting and drinking coffee in the warm sunshine.

Rob was busy scanning Victor's eclectic array of books that filled the shelves; some modern, some, clearly very old indeed, and some written by their host.

Canseliet entered the room.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," he said, gesturing to the sofas.

"Thank you," said Rob, joining Vicki on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

"Cognac?"

"Bit early for me, Victor."

The Frenchman looked disappointed.

"Just a small one then."

"Good man! How about you, my dear?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Victor."

Canseliet poured out the cognac and walked in front of the fireplace, preparing himself for the lecture; brandy glass in each hand, cigarette in his mouth. He asked, "Where shall I start?"

"At the beginning, please," Rob asked, taking the cognac offered to him. "Thank you."

The Frenchman stood tall, breathing in through flared nostrils and holding his breath for a moment; enjoying the attention.

"D'accord," he said, quietly to himself. Smoke from his cigarette rose upwards towards the high ceiling.

"...The Nine Unknown Men are the most secret society the world has ever encountered. Their beginnings can be traced back to two hundred years before the birth of Christ. Their very existence is credited to one, Emperor Asoko, who reigned in India. Asoko was the grandson of Chandragupta, credited as the first person to unify India. It is said that Asoko, having experienced the horrors of war, wanted to stop further bloodshed and killings. During his reign, natural science, past and present, was vowed to secrecy. The Nine Unknown Men were tasked with protecting the secret knowledge that Asoko deemed too dangerous to be in the hands of the common man. Their task was to stop methods of mass destruction falling into the wrong hands and to pursue knowledge that would be beneficial to mankind." Canseliet took a moment to sip his drink. "Shall I carry on?"

Rob said, "Please do, this is fascinating stuff."

"The Nine Men kept nine books. Each of these books were a source of immense knowledge. The first book was said to be devoted to the techniques of propaganda and psychological warfare."

"Two-hundred years before Christ?" Vicki exclaimed.

"Exactly!...The second book was about human physiology and, amongst other things, explained how to kill someone... just by touching them."

Vicki looked at Rob in astonishment.

Canseliet continued. "They say that martial arts developed from information leaked from that very book. The fifth book contained a study of all means of communication, terrestrial and extra-terrestrial!"

Vicki once again looked at Rob, who simply smiled back.

"The ninth book is about sociology and sets out the rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures...Legend has it that this particular book, Book Nine, was stolen." Canseliet finished his cognac in one gulp.

Vicki asked "What language are these books written in, Victor?"

"I believe it's a secret language only understood by the Nine Men. And that would make perfect sense of course."

"So where are the other books now?" Rob asked.

"I presume they are with the Nine Men. You see, I believe they still exist, and that each book is being constantly re-written."

Vicki frowned. "Are you suggesting these men are immortal?"

"Not at all, Vicki, they are mortals and they guard secrets that in the wrong hands could destroy mankind."

"So how do you become one of them?"

"I don't know the answer to that one, Robert. I guess you must earn the right, somehow."

"So why do you believe this incredible myth, Victor?"

Canseliet re-filled his glass and lit another cigarette. "Myth?...Are you aware that the Vatican archives were transferred to Paris during Napoleon's occupation of Rome from 1809 to 1814?" The Frenchman didn't wait for a reply. "You see, with the escalation of papal excesses and Vatican deceptions, most Europeans had rejected Christianity and, because of this, Napoleon realized that the government faced the prospect of losing control of the country. In 1809, he ordered his grenadiers into the Vatican City and they subsequently removed a large quantity of documents from the Secret Vatican Archives and placed them in Napoleon's Paris headquarters. He deposed the brutal Pope Pius VII and exiled him to Savona near Genoa, and then in 1812, relocated him to Fontainebleau near Paris. Napoleon then set out to dismantle Christianity and create what he called, 'a new docile religion.' He abolished both the murderous Inquisition and the 'Index of Prohibited Books', and established a new Catholic creed, a new messiah and a new Christian calendar. Year-One was reckoned to start in 1792, and he identified Paris as the 'Holy City,' with Rome its subsidiary. Pope Pius VII was released in 1814 after the occupation of Rome ended and he returned home, along with the archives, returned in 1817; but that's another story."

"So where is all this leading to?" Vicki asked.

Canseliet paused to light a cigarette.

"A man by the name of Gerbert d'Aurillac who lived from 920 to 1003 has been closely associated with the Nine Men. He was also known by another, more familiar name...Pope Sylvester ll... I believe the missing Book-Nine was taken sometime between 1809 and 1814, while in Napoleon's headquarters in Paris and hidden at a secret location somewhere in the city until the outbreak of war in 1939, when it was covertly taken to Russia out of the reach of the plundering Nazis. For many years it was protected at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow, a prize stolen from the Holy See; imagine that! But at some point under the orders of Joseph Stalin, the Cathedral was destroyed and the ninth book was thought to have been transferred to the Kremlin; the book was a curiosity that nobody understood or appreciated but looked important. The latest thinking is it's still there; somewhere deep in the Kremlin vaults, gathering dust; assuming it hasn't been destroyed of course."

Rob downed the last of his cognac. "Are you suggesting that this... Pope Sylvester was one of the Nine Men?"

The Frenchman's cheeks imploded as he sucked on his cigarette. "...Yes...that's exactly what I'm suggesting; him and the succession of Popes that have followed him... What I'm also convinced of is that Albert Einstein was privy to information leaked from Book-Eight. The book that deals with the properties of light."

"E equals MC squared!" Vicki added. "Can you prove that?"

"I hope to—one day. You will just have to wait and see, my dear."...Canseliet stroked his goatee with finger and thumb. "What do you know about alchemy, Robert?"

"Very little, I'm afraid."

"I believe I'm close to understanding the secret language of alchemy. Just like the men who guard the secrets in the nine books, which must be kept from those who don't understand the implications of the knowledge; the secrets of alchemy are also hidden from the unworthy, but, at the same time they are in full view; meaningless of course, until you have the key to unlock the chemical code...I have been obsessed with esoteric languages. Like women they have fascinated and frustrated me all my life, driving me almost insane at times; and now I am so close... so close to unlocking the alchemical code."

Rob stood up and walked over to the window. "...If Book-Nine was retrieved, would you be able to decipher it, Victor?"

"I doubt it Robert; I would suggest it's written in a language understood only by the Nine Men, which bears no resemblance at all to the chemical language used by alchemists...I would need their key to break the cypher; wherever that is... So tell me, why is GIMA suddenly interested in a book that has been missing for hundreds of years, which nobody can understand?"

Robert turned to face Canseliet. "...Two months ago at the Badami Cave Temples in Karnataka southern India, a strange manuscript was uncovered by some local youths who found a secret chamber, near to cave five. I've got some drone footage of the actual site if you're interested."

"Formidable!" Canseliet enthused. "I've heard of the Badami Temples; they're dug into the sandstone hills around the town; they were discovered in the six-century. Cave five is a bit of an enigma if my memory serves me well, the experts have failed to date it; ummm... tell me more, Robert."

"The document is written in a language apparently never seen before and there is a suggestion that this manuscript may be the key to understanding the nine books."

The Frenchman stiffened. "And just who suggested that?"

"An old friend of yours I believe, Professor Shastri?"

"Not Shastri! Do not take his word for it; he might be a professor of antiquity but the man's an idiot and certainly no expert on esoteric languages."

"That's why we want you to look at it."

Canseliet's eyes widened. "Naturally, I...I would love to inspect the manuscript; where is it?"

Robert smiled through tight lips. "...At this precise moment in time, we don't know, Victor. It's gone missing; and what worries GIMA is that if this manuscript is the key and the Russians break the cipher, they will then be able to understand the contents of the ninth book."

"Book-Nine; The rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures." Victor Canseliet added, solemnly.

Robert nodded at Victor, "Precisely."

70

The Holy Danilov Monastery

Headquarters of the Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow.

At the age of twenty-four, Alexi Gorinyenko was the youngest of the monks at the Holy Danilov Monastery, in southern Moscow. He was tall and thin with a head of thick black hair. His big brown eyes that once sparkled now looked sad. Tonsured at the age of nineteen and with regular food in his belly and a bed to sleep in every night, he was disillusioned with his lot; treated by his fellow monks as the runt of the litter. His mundane daily routines and austere lifestyle helped to push him further and further into a dark place; a place his mind seemed to readily accept. But for those who knew him he was a kind, considerate person with a talent for mimicking others' voices, especially the Bishop's, to the amusement of the other monks at meal-times. To the astute, his wanting smile hinted at the torment pulling him and his faith apart.

"Are you aware that it's Bishops' Council tomorrow, Brother Alexi?"

"Yes, Bishop; I'm invited?" The monk asked excitedly.

"I have other plans for you this week, I'm afraid."

The Bishop's bearded craggy features remained hidden as he continued to write, ignoring the diminutive, robed figure standing in front of his desk.

"Oh... So I won"t be attending the meeting?"

"No."

"So... what plans do you have for me, Bishop?"

"What?"

"What plans do you have for me?"

"Plans?...Oh yes...I want you to do a thorough inventory of the vaults."

Brother Alexi's head lowered and his shoulders drooped as he quietly exhaled another small part of his soul.

"I'm sure, brother, you are aware that we received most of the artifacts from the Cathedral of Christ the Savior before it was destroyed in 1931?"

"Yes,... destroyed on Stalin's orders."

"Precisely! Well, the new administration wants them back. Your job is to catalogue the items for return and report back to me. You have two-weeks, Brother Alexi."

"How do I know which items are to be returned, Bishop?"

The Bishop dismissed the monk with a wave of his hand and continued writing.

The monk turned and walked towards the door.

"Brother," the Bishop called out, softly.

The monk stopped but did not turn around. "Yes, Bishop?"

"What happened was of your own making and nobody else's; you know that, don't you?"

The knuckles on the monk's clenched fists turned white. "Yes, Bishop."

"Good...and you know the importance of silence in such matters; for the Church's sake."

"Yes, Bishop."

"Good...Off you go."

The monk walked out of the office and as he closed the door behind him he turned and glanced at the bearded figure studiously writing at his desk. When the solid-oak door closed, the metal latch clunked into place, echoing down the long, cold corridor.

Brother Alexi looked up, closed his tearful eyes, and breathed out through puffed cheeks.

"God, please forgive me for what I'm thinking," he said in a whisper.

Within the hour the young monk had reluctantly made his way down the spiraling stone steps until he reached the locked doors of the vault. Inside his head the words of the Bishop repeatedly bounced around: What happened was your fault and nobody else's.

"You know that, don't you, Alexi?" he said out loud. "YOU KNOW THAT, DON'T YOU?... DON'T YOU?" The monk slammed the key ring against the door as tears dripped from his chin onto the cold floor-slabs. Twenty-meters directly above him was the Church of the Holy Fathers of the Seven Ecumenical Councils. Above the church, the striking golden domes of the monastery, a symbol of purity, juxtaposed the morning mist and the grey Moscow sky.

Composing himself, he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and sighed. Four, long and rusted keys dangled from the metal ring in his hand. He tried the first key but it didn't fit. The second key he tried turned with some resistance and the lock clicked open. The monk pushed the heavy door with both hands and reluctantly it opened, revealing nothing but darkness and a rush of dank air that brushed past his face as if a trapped and lonely spirit had seized the opportunity to escape the bleak solitude of the vaults.

71

New Delhi, India

Rob McPherson gazed down at the Indira Gandhi airport and its cross-hatch of runways as the private jet banked for final approach. The holiday in Italy with his wife was less than a week ago, but it was now just pleasant memories, spent with the woman he loved dearly. Three-year-old Daniel had been fine and clearly spoilt by his Auntie Susan, who'd flown in from San Francisco to Washington DC to look after her nephew while they were away. He was turning into a fine boy; strong and healthy. Rob visualized Daniel's pallid face and sunken eyes in dark sockets as he lay near to death, that wondrous day at the Walter Reed Medical Center, when Rob placed the crystal into his limp hands and watched as...

"I can't wait to have a cigarette!" Canseliet said, with the twitchy, nervous look of a man desperate for a nicotine rush.

"Not too long to wait now, Victor. We'll be down in ten-minutes, and then you can smoke two at a time if you want to."

Canseliet laughed; the croaky laugh of a heavy smoker. "One at time is quite sufficient, Robert, thank you," he said, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity.

The long flight had been a good chance for Rob to update him on the manuscript situation. Though missing for a day, during its transportation, the manuscript was now in the safe hands of Professor Shastri.

The Frenchman had studied the images of the strange text on Rob's iPad, during the flight, and excitedly proclaimed that: he had never seen a script quite like it before, describing it as "a fascinating amalgam of Japanese and Egyptian hieroglyphics."

As the plane landed at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, Victor Canseliet was ready to climb the nearest wall, desperate for a cigarette!

Within the hour Rob and Victor had checked into the Eros Hotel on American Piaza, near the outer ring-road that served the airport.

Victor was bearable again, now that the level of nicotine in his bloodstream was back to normal, and after a cigarette he'd wandered off to his room for a 'short rest' before the evening meeting with Professor Shastri in the hotel.

Rob lay on the kingsize bed in his room, having enjoyed a hot shower and shave. He was expecting a call from Hunter at any moment to discuss the matter of the missing Book-Nine. The setting sun's rays filled the room with a soporific, golden glow that confused his overactive mind's inner clock.

In the hotel room next door, the Frenchman was snoring so loudly that he woke himself up; he grunted, disorientated in strange surroundings, before slowly sitting up and sipping from a glass of water on the nightstand. As his mind cleared his thoughts turned to Professor Shastri and he tried to calculate the last time he'd seen him. "Quatre-ans, cinq-ans, peut-être?" he said to himself.

It was actually five-years ago when they last met; in New York for a conference. Both men had been invited to give papers. At the after-party conference Canseliet took an instant dislike to Professor Shastri and his pompous attitude; disagreeing with many of his opinions on archeology, especially when the professor extolled his interpretation of the indigenous behavior of the Incas to a group of champagne sipping followers.

"What does he know?" the Frenchman mumbled to himself.

He looked out of the hotel room window to see the shimmering sun dipping below the horizon. He checked his watch, but had no idea what the actual time was in New Delhi, or how long he'd been asleep.

It was time for a Gauloises.

72

The Holy Danilov Monastery: Headquarters of the Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow.

Brother Alexi checked his watch; he had been in the vaults for just three-hours. So why did it feel like a whole day? The stone walls and flagstone floors were cold all-year-round. The ceiling was a complex set of brick arches supported by six round, stone pillars.

The walls were covered in wooden shelving and the room itself, some ninety-feet by fifty-feet was one of four separate vaults, all separated by solid oak doors. The second vault on his list was called the Book Room. The monk looked at the closed door and decided he would make a start on it first thing in the morning, after prayers and a good breakfast. Right now he was feeling cold and hungry and evening prayers was only one-hour away. He checked the list of items in his book, counting some thirty separate artifacts including: a two-foot gold crucifix, four silver chalices, a stack of silver plates and a dozen candlesticks. The monk closed the book with a slap that echoed in the vault. A good days work, he thought to himself.

Strangely, he enjoyed the day's challenge. He was alone but he was in charge. Nobody was saying, do this, do that, clean this, brother, and at least it wasn't summer yet; the days outdoors were still cold and misty; awaiting the arrival of spring.

Being down here when the sun was warm on your face and the flowers were in full broom would really be depressing, he thought. Brother Alexi picked up his book and walked out of the vaults, switching off the lights, before locking the door.

"The book room tomorrow, that should be interesting," he said, jangling the keys on the ring as he climbed the stairs with purpose and a rumble in his belly.

The next morning with a stomach full of bread and oatmeal the monk headed back to the vaults. He crossed the courtyard, as rain, carried by a brisk wind, stung his face. As he entered the church he lowered his hood and stood facing the altar brushing beads of water off his black, woolen habit. The air he breathed felt cold and the building seemed strangely silent, as if the world outside didn't exist. Composing himself, he lowered his head and made the sign of the cross on his chest before making his way along the shadowed, wooden cloisters to the left of the altar and down the stone steps to the vaults.

This time the key turned easily in the lock and the monk pushed the door open. Reaching into the darkness he fumbled for the light-switch which clicked on and the two florescent tubes, hanging from long chains, reluctantly flickered into life.

Walking to the far end of room he selected another key and tried it in the door lock. It worked and he pushed the door open. Again, he fumbled for the light switch but something touched his hand and he jerked it back in shock. "Pull yourself together man," he said, taking a deep breath and again feeling for the switch. This time his fingers touched something round and he flicked the switch on, awakening a single strip-light above him; a cobweb dangled from his fingers. The monk noticed a long-legged spider scampering up his arm and he quickly brushed it off with his hand.

This vault was half the size of the first room and stacked books filled the shelves to his left and right. In the middle of the room, next to a pillar, stood a large table, covered with books in untidy piles, and beyond the table was another locked door.

There was a faint smell in the room that he couldn't recognize, yet it seemed somehow vaguely familiar. As he walked into the room he felt a waft of air on his face and the door behind him closed with a bang that made him jump.

"Come on Alexi, you have a job to do," he said, trying to reassure himself. A cold shiver rippled through his body. "It's just a room full of old books, that's all, and books can't hurt you, you silly fool."

On the untidy table Brother Alexi noticed a large, brown leather book that was labeled 'Book Inventory.' He opened it to find it was a book list compiled by a fellow monk, named Gregory, and dated 1987.

"That was a long time ago, but this should make my task easier," he said to himself, sitting down on a chair next to the table. Alexi noticed that the list was grouped into approximately twenty subject categories, including: theology, philosophy, geography and even gardening. At the end of the list was a category labeled, Miscellaneous. Out of interest he opened the book at the end section. Books were numbered and he glanced up at the shelves, noticing a numbering system. One of books in the list, number 877, was described simply as an uncategorized mystery item, and that intrigued the monk. A sub category indicated that it was originally from the Cathedral of Christ the Savior which meant that it was one of the items for return. Standing up, he placed the inventory book on the table and walked around to find the mystery book's location. The label on one of the shelves to his right indicated numbers from 850-900. The monk walked over to inspect the strange book, but the slot was empty; the book was missing. His brow furrowed. That's strange, he thought, returning to the chair and slumping on the seat.

"I wonder how many more are missing, Alexi?" he asked himself.

His hand brushed his pocket and his spirits lifted as he pulled out a pipe, full of tobacco. He struck a match on the side of the table and watched as clouds of sweet smelling smoke drifted upwards, before closing his eyes and relaxing with a contended smile. Eight-seven-seven! His eyes flashed open and he stared at the book in front of him on the table; on its ribbed spine was a stained sticky label and written in faded ink was the number 877.

"Well, well, well—the uncategorized mystery book!" He picked up the dusty tome and rested it on his lap. It was heavy and the burgundy leather was inlayed with an intricate, gold-leaf pattern around its perimeter; the corners of the book were protected by bright, metal reinforced edges that resembled rose gold.

The monk opened the thick book somewhere near the middle and delicately stroked the semi-translucent parchment with the tips of his fingers; the hand-written text was unfamiliar to him.

"This, is strange, Alexi; it's not Latin—that's for sure."

73

The Eros Hotel, New Delhi

Professor Shastri walked into the foyer of the Hotel Eros and wandered over to the reception desk. He was greeted by an attractive, dark-haired receptionist.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked.

"Professor Shastri... to see Dr McPherson," he answered, coldly.

"Please wait, sir, I'll try to contact him for you."

"Yes—okay." The professor tapped his fingers impatiently on the reception desk; looking down his nose at the young girl making a phone call. In his hand he was carrying a shiny, metal briefcase. He watched as the young girl made the call.

"Dr McPherson, reception here, I have a Professor Shastri in reception to see you......Thank you, I'll inform him... He's on his way down to meet you, Professor."

"Thank you." The professor walked away from the desk. His shiny, back-combed hair was thinning on top, and his round, burnished face and fleshy jowl allied well with his rotund belly. He was wearing an expensive light-grey suit and open-necked white shirt. His leather shoes were highly polished and from his appearance it would be easy to mistake him for a wealthy business man; Professor Shastri was no Indiana Jones.

"Sacré bleu! If it isn't the inimitable Professor Shastri."

The professor turned to see a smiling Victor Canseliet. "Victor... good to see you again." The two men hugged, with an awkward rigidity.

"Allow me to introduce you to Dr McPherson."

Robert moved forward and shook hands with the professor. "We meet at last, Professor."

Shastri, dipped his head, "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor... Is there somewhere we can sit in private?"

Robert smiled confidently. "I have a meeting room booked, if that's okay? I've also arranged for some coffee in about ten-minutes."

"Perfect."

Robert looked at the receptionist and nodded; she immediately walked over to escort them to the meeting room on the ground floor. On arrival she opened the door to a conference room and turned on the lights. The room comprised a large central table surrounded by twelve chairs.

"Coffee's on its way, gentlemen," she said with a broad, white smile.

Professor Shastri placed his metal briefcase flat on the table and settled on a chair, quickly flanked by Robert and Victor.

"I have just received the results of the carbon-dating," Shastri said as he flipped the catches open on the briefcase. "Gentlemen, the manuscript is around two-thousand-years old." He tuned to look at Robert with a smug smile that pouted his bottom lip.

Robert stole a glance at Victor whose expression remained impassive at the news.

Shastri opened the lid to reveal a sealed metal tube about three-inches in diameter and twelve inches long, sitting snugly in a sheet of charcoal grey foam-filler, cut exactly to fit the tube.

"I have never been so excited in my life, Robert," Shastri said, ignoring the Frenchman. "I have brought a copy with me today. The original is locked up in a safe place."

Victor looked at Robert and frowned. "When do we get to see the original?" He asked Shastri.

"Well,...I'm not sure that's absolutely necessary, is it, Victor?" Shastri's tone was clearly condescending as he opened the tube and pulled out a rolled up piece of paper.

"So who will be allowed to see the original, Professor?" Robert asked.

"...We need to understand the reasons for wanting to examine the manuscript before we can answer that."

Robert now understood why Victor disliked this pompous man.

As the sheet was unfolded on the table Victor stood up to view the document. "What is the original material made of ?" He asked.

"Parchment... goat's skin, we think. The edges of the original manuscript are strangely serrated."

Victor stood up straight and took a deep breath. "Nothing strange about that," he said, with an air of authority.

Shastri looked up. "What do you mean?"

Victor smiled and huffed. "If it's a key-code the serrations are there to match up to other sheets. No one sheet will give all the answers. There will be more, maybe four, possibly six sheets that lock into the serrations on each of the sides. A bit like a jigsaw puzzle."

Shastri looked deflated. "Are you saying there's more of these?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Professor." Victor glanced at Robert and nodded.

All three men were now standing, inspecting the strange script on the photocopy. The serrated edges of the original document clearly visible on the copy. Victor removed a magnifying glass from his jacket pocket and leaned over the copy with interest. Strange mumblings emanated from his mouth as he moved around the document like Sherlock Holmes investigating a murder mystery.

"What are your plans for this manuscript, Professor?" Robert asked, as Victor continued to examine the script.

Shastri clasped his hands behind his back and walked away. "A very good question, Robert! The manuscript obviously has some intrinsic value; but the real value would be realized if the missing book was found. The Professor stopped, with his back to Robert. The book in Russia that is; Book Nine; The rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures. That sheet of serrated goat's skin suddenly becomes an extremely, sought-after and expensive commodity." Shastri turned and looked Robert in the eyes.

Robert held his stare. "You're assuming the book can be found. It's been missing for a very long time, Professor. You're also assuming that this document relates to that book."

"And you won't know that until you can see the book itself," added Victor, raising his head from the sheet.

"I sense you're planning on talking to the Russian authorities in the near future?" Robert said. If you haven't already, he thought.

Shastri again turned away, hands folded behind his back. "...I'm not ruling out that possibility."

Victor folded the sheet and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"I'm sure you won't mind if we keep this then," Robert said. "We've come a long way to see just a copy, Professor; especially when you promised to show us the original document."

Shastri raised a pointed finger and opened his mouth to protest... but then decided against it.

"I'm sorry, Robert. I fear it was all my fault. As you no doubt noticed, I'm not Shastri's favorite person."

"Don't blame yourself, Victor, Shastri's out for one thing, and one thing only...himself."

Victor lit a cigarette and looked up at the stars in the dark night sky. The evening was warm and a gentle breeze carried his cigarette smoke away over his shoulder, to be lost in the evening air.

Robert was sitting at a table on the hotel terrace sipping a cold beer, deep in thought, while Victor wandered around, equally thoughtful.

"He's already made contact with the Russians."

Victor stopped in his tracks. "How do you know that?"

Robert smiled and sipped his beer. "We have our ways, Victor."

"Yes,...of course you do...that was a stupid thing to say... But what about the implications?" The Frenchman pulled hard on his cigarette and the red glow lit up his white goatee. "That thing about the serrations; I made that up, Robert."

"Yeah, I know, Victor."

"You do? How..."

Robert smiled, ignoring the question.

"The implications are enormous. We simply have to get to Book Nine before the Russians do. Shastri's manuscript is, as he pointed out, only useful if the missing book is found. Together they are dynamite, individually they are nothing but quaint items of antiquity; of interest to a handful of academics."

"And just how do you plan on getting to the book first, mon ami?"

Robert sipped his beer, his face showing no emotion. "That... is the million-dollar question... isn't it? How do find a missing book in Russia...before the Russians find it?"

74

The Federal Security Service _(FSB)_ building, Lubyanka Square, Moscow.

The coffee-colored building, just over a half mile north-east of Red Square, was once the home of the infamous KGB. Today it is the home of the Federal Security Service. Although the building was bathed in afternoon sunshine a blustery north wind stiffened the many flags that adorned a central position in front of the building's grand facade.

Commander Leonid Tsvetaeva stared out of the fourth-story window of his office, deep in thought, pondering the strange conversation he'd just had with the Russian ambassador in New Delhi.

His chiseled, granite-like face, short-cropped hair and sturdy six-feet five frame had served him well in the army. An adrenalin junkie in his twenties and thirties; he had built a reputation for being fearless and brave. The decorations on his jacket were a proud reminder of how he had risked his life for the Motherland in Afghanistan. He was just twenty-five-years old when he was sent home, seriously injured. In the same year, 1989, Russian troops, under orders from Mikhail Gorbachev, left Afghanistan for good.

Twenty-six years later, at the age of fifty-one, Leonid Tsvetaeva's combat days were over, just memories, memories that he frequently indulged in, sitting at his desk; memories that made his pulse race and his palms wet.

Now he was being told to find a strange book that might be of great interest to the Mother Land. He rubbed his chin as he limped back to his desk, and, as he put his glasses on he asked himself:

"How can any book be of interest?"

On his note-pad he wrote:

Look for a book!... Then he leaned back and looked up at the smoke stained ceiling. "Is this what my life has come to...Commander Leonid Tsvetaeva...looking for a fucking book!"

The big Russian had no idea where to start; despondently he lit a cigarette to help him think.

...Some minutes later he opened the telephone directory on his desk and checked for the name and number of the Kremlin's librarian. His large index finger eventually stopped next to the name of Veronika Glazkov; extension number 1249. Leonid Tsvetaeva picked up the phone and dialed... "Is that Veronika Glazkov?" he asked impatiently, in a deep, resonant voice.

"Yes, this is Veronika Glazkov, who is speaking?"

"My name is Commander Tsvetaeva from the FSB; I need to see you about a book."

"Certainly...what book is it, Commander?"

"...I don't know."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "You don't know?" she asked, hesitantly.

"No...All I know is that it's written in a strange eso...esot..."

"Esoteric script?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Is it an old book, Commander?" the librarian enquired.

"Very old... Around two-thousand-years old."

"Two-thousand-years! Well, that should narrow the search down quite a bit. Do you have any more details?"

"Not over the phone...I wish to see you in person this afternoon. Please make yourself available."

"Yes, certainly, Commander. At what time?"

"At precisely one o'clock; in your office."

The fifty-year-old spinster hadn't knowingly met anyone from the FSB or the KGB in her twenty-five-years as librarian of the Kremlin and the commander's deep, authoritative voice at the end of the phone had unsettled her; Veronika Glazkov's hand was shaking as she replaced the receiver.

Sitting back in her chair, she considered the strange request. "A book written in a coded script and probably very old. Where best to start?" she asked herself, rubbing her furrowed forehead and brushing a strand of grey hair away from her face.

She was very aware that many books had been destroyed during the turbulent years of the communist regime, especially religious books, ironically from the ornate churches within the Kremlin walls. Even today many of the books in the vaults were considered to be sensitive and not available to Russian historians. The question she asked herself as she walked pensively out of the office was: Why would the FSB be interested in such a strange old book? A book that probably doesn't exist anymore.

In his office, Commander Tsvetaeva checked his watch before lighting another cigarette; it was twelve-minutes past noon. He decided to walk to the Kremlin and enjoy the spring sunshine. He donned his cap and overcoat before walking out of the office and locking the door behind him. It was only a short walk down the marble corridor to the elevators.

Outside the main building he stopped and looked around as he inhaled cigarette smoke deep into his lungs. Checking the pack of Player's Navy Cut he counted seven and made a mental note to order some more ; he considered Russian tobacco good enough only for the peasants who worked in the fields.

Smoke streamed from Commander Tsvetaeva's nostrils as he glanced up at a cloudless sky. He raised his collar in defiance as a cold wind buffered him. With a twisting motion of his foot he extinguished his smoke and set off south, in the direction of the Kremlin. He enjoyed walking, even though it was sometimes a painful experience, and he enjoyed the respectful glances he received from the older people in the street; the younger generation were too busy looking at their phones to even notice him. He wanted his limp to invoke images of a war-hero; a man injured fighting for his country. A brave man, to be admired...It was all he had left in his miserable, boring existence.

In his coat pocket he carried a blue and red identity badge; the badge that carried his portrait photograph and the words Федеральная служба безопасности Российской Федерации, together with, in bold type, the Russian letters... ФСБ.

It was a badge that opened doors.

75

The half-glass door to Veronika Glazkov's office swung open and was replaced by the imposing figure of Commander Tsvetaeva. The wall clock's minute hand nudged to the top of the hour as he walked in, uninvited.

At the end of the long, sunlit room Veronica Glazkov was busy searching for information in one of four filing cabinets when she noticed the commander.

"Commander Tsvetaeva, I presume?" she glanced at the clock. "You're very punctual."

"I said one o'clock."

"Yes...yes, you did." The librarian walked towards the commander and offered him her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Commander."

Tsvetaeva ignored her hand and presented his ID card for the librarian to view.

"...I'm intrigued to know why the FSB are interested in an old book... Shall we?" Veronica gestured to a table and chairs in the corner of the room.

"May I take your coat?"

The commander pulled out a chair and sat down, ignoring the question. "I need you to find the book for me. How long will it take you?"

The slender librarian pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down. She looked tight-lipped at the commander as he lit a cigarette and blew smoke across the table.

"It's very important that you find it quickly." His words were carried in smoke as he spoke and his expression showed no emotions. Veronica realized he was a man of few words and small talk was definitely not on the agenda this afternoon.

"What exactly do you expect me to find, Commander?" She asked, sternly.

Tsvetaeva inhaled deeply and shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "As I told you, it's a very old book."

"Commander, do you have any idea of the number of books we have in the Kremlin?"

The Commander leaned forward. "I only want one," he said. "It's some kind of religious book."

Veronica sighed. "Most of them are. Within the Kremlin walls we have three cathedrals and numerous churches, each with their own libraries and extensive vaults. It might take a very long time to search for this book... if it's here at all."

The commander stubbed out his cigarette on the floor and smiled through tight lips. "I'm sure you'll find it very soon. You see, it's very important that you find it, and I'm sure you wish to be of assistance to the FSB?"

The commander's cold stare was unnerving and the librarian lowered her head. "Yes, of course I do."

"Good. Can you also inform all of the churches in Moscow that we need their help to find it? Start with the Holy Danilov Monastery and the Cathedral; they are on your doorstep."

"...Well...I can ask... but that's all I can do; we don't control them. And just what exactly do you suggest I say? Do we know what this book looks like, Commander? I'll need something to go on."

"...The one distinctive thing is the book's text. It is unique. It is not Latin, Cyrillic, Hebrew, English, Arabic or French...it is simply, unique."

The librarian raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's something at least. And may I ask what this precious book is about?"

"Let's just say... it's important. That's all you need to know."

To the librarian's disgust the commander lit another cigarette.

"How many assistants do you have?" He asked.

"Four," she said, raising her hand to her mouth to cough.

"That's not enough!"

"Sorry, but that's all I have, Commander."

"I will get you another four by tomorrow afternoon."

"But...I."

"They will do exactly as you instruct them. Make this your priority. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Good. Use their time wisely. I have already briefed Director Sadovsky and he is fully aware of the task ahead. You are effectively working for me now, until this book is found."

"Yes, Commander." Veronika watched as the commander winced slightly when he stood up. As he walked to the office door he rubbed his right knee. In the doorway he stopped and turned around. "You are working for the FSB now; you should be very proud." He turned and left, leaving the door open.

Alone in the silent office the librarian stood quite still for some time, deep in thought. The fingers of her hands were interlocked as if she was praying.

Finally, she whispered to herself. "This is no ordinary book, Veronica,"

*

"How are you progressing with your little task, Brother Alexi?" The Bishop asked.

The monk wiped his mouth with his cotton napkin, somewhat surprised to see the Bishop in the food hall. "...I am progressing well, Bishop, thank you. Another week should do it."

"Good. I won't disturb you while you're eating," he said jovially, and walked off smiling.

Alexi looked around at the inquisitive faces staring at him and he blushed. "What?" He asked, defiantly.

Soon the incident was forgotten and eating was once again the main focus as noisy chatter echoed around the cavernous space of the refectory.

Oblivious, Alexi mused in silence as he ate his cheese. Stop worrying; nobody knows you've taken the book. How could they know? He reached over and ripped off a chunk of bread from a large, floured loaf in the center of the table... It intrigues me. There's something about it that fascinates me, it's different; I need to know what it's about.

There must be someone out there who can help me decipher it?

76

Victor Canseliet was standing on the hotel terrace sipping his red wine and watching the golden sunset. Shastri's arrogance occupied his thoughts and he lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. "The conceited bastard," he said, exhaling smoke into the warm night air.

"Ah, there you are, Victor. Enjoying the sunset?"

"Hi Rob...I thought I'd make the most of it..last night and all that. I never thought I'd enjoy India but I must admit, I'll be sad to go home tomorrow."

Rob joined Victor watching the sun sink below the horizon. The sky was a fiery red with thin strips of white satin cloud brushed onto a glowing canvas.

Victor looked at Rob. "Like an alchemist's furnace...So, what will you do now Robert?"

Rob returned the glance. "Well, my wife isn't going to be very happy but I need to go to Russia, Victor; I need to get my hands on that book."

"I wish I could help you, mon ami."

"I really appreciate what you've done."

"I've enjoyed it, Rob. It's only Shastri that spoiled it. I never liked him... as you well know."

"And very astute of you, Victor, but, if I get to the book first, Shastri's plans will be ruined. He's only out for the money and he knows the Russians are only too willing to pay him if the book turns up."

"He's a bloody disgrace to the profession, that's what he is!"

Rob smiled at Victor's outburst and watched his cheeks implode as he pulled on his cigarette.

"Hungry?" Rob asked.

"Yes...as a matter of fact, j'ai faim, mon ami."

Rob chuckled. "Come on then, let's eat."

"The Last Supper?"

"Something like that, Victor."

"How's the red wine?"

"Well, it's a Chateau Laroque Saint-Emilion Grand Cru so it better be bloody good," the Frenchman said, lifting the glass to his nose. "Ummm, wonderful bouquet."

Rob watched as Victor sipped the wine like an expert wine taster.

"...Ohhhh...That will do very nicely. I love a good bottle of Bordeaux. Actually I love a good bottle of anything alcoholic."

Rob laughed while Victor poured.

Victor raised his glass. "Here's to success in finding the book."

"I'll drink to that." Robert enthused, as they chinked glasses. "...Ohhh, that is good."

"...On a more sober note, how exactly does the man from GIMA intend to get his hands on the book?"

"...You're very welcome to visit us in the States, you know."

Victor laughed. "...I don't envy you Robert and I don't want to sound negative, but it appears to be an impossible task."

"At this moment...that's exactly how it feels to me."

Victor studied Robert's handsome features: his broad neck, square jaw, attentive blue eyes and raven-black hair and as he studied him he tried to read the American's thoughts. He had taken an instant liking to Robert and his wife when they met in Paris and sensed the air of quiet confidence the American exuded, like a man that had done, and seen, a lot of things in his life. But would Victor be ready to hear about the McPherson's escape from death and the car bomb; the shoot-out with Adam Domaradzki in the Gulf of Mexico or the missing aliens that gifted him with the all-seeing crystal that helped him safely land a Jumbo Jet, loaded with nerve gas, on the ocean. A crystal that saved his son from certain death. That would be too much for any man to comprehend.

Victor placed a Gauloises between his lips and paused before lighting it. "...You know Robert, I haven't known you very long but for some reason... I feel that if anyone can find this book, it's you, my friend." Then he lit the cigarette.

The compliment brought another smile to Robert's face.

"Tomorrow I go back to my old routine taking tourists around Notre Dame and getting them to buy my books. Don't get me wrong, it pays the bills, but it's very much the same thing, everyday; it's the same old lines just different people staring at me in wide-eyed excitement. If I'm honest I'd rather be chasing my real goal...The Philosopher's Stone."

"You really believe in all that stuff don't you?"

Victor pulled hard on his cigarette. "Indeed I do my friend. It is my dream and I will continue until the day I die."

"So what exactly is the Stone?" Robert asked.

"Well, I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that it isn't a stone at all. Alchemy is shrouded in mystery. There are many things that alchemy keeps secret. Some things are just too dangerous in the wrong hands. Sound familiar to you?"

Robert nodded his agreement.

"...So the ancients developed a way of protecting the information and making it available only to those worthy of it by blatantly presenting it, for all to see, but hiding it's meaning behind strange symbols. People have this mis-conception that alchemy is all about making gold out of lead. That's just a coded chemical language used to hide the real goal...The Philosopher's Stone is the way to bodily enlightenment. That's what I'm chasing; and just like your manuscript, Robert, it's all in a seemingly unbreakable code. If I was granted only one wish in life, mon ami, it would be to find the path to enlightenment."

Robert sipped his wine, intrigued by the old man's rhetoric and enthusiasm for what most people would consider to be the dreams of a delusional crackpot. Yet Victor was hardly delusional. He was an astute, intelligent man; seemingly driven by a crazy objective.

Night had come quickly and the terrace restaurant was now bustling with hotel guests. Red light, from candle-lamps on the tables, flickered in the warm evening breeze and illuminated the faces of the diners.

Robert looked up at the night sky and recited... "The night was fair, innumerable stars studded heaven's dark blue vault."

"Vraiment! Robert, you surprise me—a poet at heart?"

"Shelley's, The Daemon of the World...It all started at university. A friend and I were at Cambridge together and we found out about this crazy society called the Pretty Percys. They were all young romantics; students, mad about Shelley. They'd meet once-a-week above a pub in the town. I remember the air was always thick with the smell of weed and beer. It was a break from the studying and if I'm honest, we tagged along because of the girls."

Victor grinned.

Robert continued. "Every week, each of us in turn, had to recite a new line from Shelley; otherwise you bought the beer and that got a bit expensive with twenty or so in the room. You had to hope that no-one spoke the lines you'd learnt, before you got the chance to recite them...I guess some of it must have stuck."

"Communists, no doubt; who now work in the city; with their expensive suits and fast cars." Victor observed.

Robert sipped some more wine... "Do you believe in God, Victor?"

The Frenchman reached for his cigarettes and lit one. For a moment he sat in silent thought. "...I believe this life is a stepping stone."

"A stepping stone to what?" Robert asked.

"I believe we are all on a journey, a journey of discovery, and one day, hopefully, we will understand what it's all about. But you asked me about, God." Victor huffed... "I had a woman once, she was the light of my life. The only woman I ever really loved, but she died. I used to pray to God every night to make her better." Victor pulled hard on his cigarette and inhaled deep into his lungs. "I watched as He took her life away from me, and I wondered why he never answered my prayers. Was it that, He, wanted her beauty for himself? My selfish God"...

Victor looked at Robert tight-lipped... "That light whose smile kindles the Universe. Well, I watched that light fade to darkness."

Robert nodded, knowingly. "Adonais."

Victor nodded, too. "Yes, mon ami—Words written in grief." He took a deep breath. "And what about you Robert, do you believe in God?"

The familiar image flashed into Robert's mind. He was placing Daniel's cold hands around the crystal and watching as the rude blush returned to his son's pallid lips. At that moment he wanted to tell Victor all about it; about the murderous, Children of Jesus, the aliens, the crystal and his poetry reciting friend, Habib, who, as the radicalized Ahmed Shah, came so close to killing the President, along with all the innocent inhabitants of the eastern seaboard; but he knew he couldn't.... "Yes, Victor, I do believe...but I have a problem with the word, God. For me the word carries too many historical associations; born out of Man's misguided beliefs and ignorance."

"So what would you call your God?"

"I would call him...The Creator; but I don't confess to understand any of it."

"Le Créateur!...Yes, I like that."

77

Alexi Gorinyenko strode purposefully across Red Square having walked the three miles from the monastery; in his pocket he was carrying an envelope. His eyes darted from side to side and the openness of the square unnerved him. He was heading for the Okhotny Ryad shopping-centre and the internet cafe with its 100 fast machines, just a few hundred yards ahead of him.

Ten minutes later the monk had settled down at one of a bank of computer screens in the busy cafe and had started his search, oblivious to the odd looks from other cafe users. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and his hands trembled as he began to type. To his left, a spectacled Japanese youth was busy playing some kind of weird online game that involved a red eyed, sword-wielding warrior. To his right, in contrast, a pretty, young European girl was typing a response to her cyber friend, somewhere in the world; a world quite unfamiliar to the monk.

When Alexi looked at the screen again the list of results he was looking for appeared in front of his eyes. He smiled for the first time that day; his excited face glowing from the brisk walk and the light of the monitor.

*

Victor Canseliet wasn't looking forward to the nine-hour flight to Paris even though, thanks to Rob, he was traveling first-class, on Air France. It was a return to the mundane existence he realized he was living. Yes, he was a minor celebrity and yes he travelled to conferences and gave speeches, but that wasn't everything. The trip to India had excited him, ignited a thirst for adventure; but now it was over and far too quickly. He had decided to see a bit of the city during his last day in New Delhi before catching the flight home in the early hours.

As he walked into the sunlit restaurant he could see Robert sitting at a window table ordering breakfast. Smiling, he joined him at his table

"Good morning, Victor."

"Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

Rob chuckled, "I think the wine had something to do with it."

Victor laughed before ordering a breakfast from the waitress who was waiting patiently near their table.

"What do you think of the email?" Robert enquired, quite nonchalantly.

Victor looked confused. "What email?" he asked taking his cellphone from his pocket. A moment later he was sitting open mouthed... "How did you know about it?"

"It's the book, isn't it?" Rob asked.

"It can't be anything else, Robert, it has to be the book," Victor replied, staring in disbelief at the images on his phone.

"This guy must have found you on the internet and realized you were an expert on esoteric scripts. He has Book Nine without knowing what it is."

"Who is he?" Victor asked.

"We don't know who he is or where he is, other than the email came from an internet cafe in Moscow. So...this is where you come in, Victor"

"I do?"

"... You need to befriend him and convince him that you need to see the book, as you're visiting Russia in the near future it would be very opportunistic."

"I'm visiting Russia?"

"We need to go to Moscow as soon as possible."

"Yes...yes we do. We need to go to Moscow," Victor repeated, excitedly. "But how did you know about..."

"Linda, back home, has cancelled your flight to Paris and is working on visas as we speak. You will be visiting Russia for your own research purposes. I'm visiting as a representative of Harvard University, who, in 2008, returned the famous bells to the Holy Danilov Monastery in Moscow."

Victor frowned. "Bells? Returned? I don't follow."

"Yes...Apparently they were going to be melted down by the communists so all eighteen bells were purchased by an American industrialist named Charles R Crane and were taken away and shipped to America for safety. Once there he donated them to the University, and, as I said, Harvard returned all eighteen bells in 2008. The biggest bell weighs thirteen tons! The Russians call it the Bolshoi or the Big One. Naturally, Harvard had their own name for it — They called it, The Mother Earth Bell."

"Fascinating!" Victor exclaimed.

"Yeah...Let's just hope they believe my cover story...Once our flights and visas are ready we're out of here. After we finish eating we need to agree a response to this man and find out exactly who he is and where the book is in Moscow."

"Let's hope he's not a Russian working in the Kremlin vaults."

"That would be the worst scenario, wouldn't it? But on a positive note, at least we now know the book still exists. We just have to hope the Russian authorities don't know about it."

Victor could not believe what was happening to him and when his scrambled eggs arrived he was so excited he struggled to eat anything. His mind was working overtime. "Is this just a coincidence—this email?" he asked, pointing his fork at his cellphone. "Or is it something, that bastard, Shastri, has started?"

Robert was staring out of the window, deep in thought. "Let's hope it's just coincidence, Victor; for all our sakes."

The Frenchman wiped his mouth with his napkin. "It might not be all bad news, you know. That bastard, Shastri, has suggested that the manuscript is the mechanism to break the code and enable us to understand the book, but think about it for a moment, it doesn't make sense that one manuscript should be the key; unless it's just one of a number of copies. And looking at the manuscript through expert eyes it doesn't seem to give away too many clues."

"Let's worry about that when we have the book in our possession."

"Very good point. So how's your Russian, mon ami?"

"Non existent, I'm afraid."

Victor chuckled. "That makes two of us then."

78

When Alexi arrived back at the monastery he headed for the refectory, in need of a drink after the six mile round trip. He was excited by the response he'd received from Victor Canseliet but he knew he couldn't mention it to anybody. How lucky was he? He was going to meet the man, in Moscow. He had promised Victor to keep the book safe and show it to no one, until the French expert had had the chance to examine it. It was their secret and Alexi smiled smugly as he made his way to the tea urn.

"You look pleased with yourself?" The voice caused the monk to stop in his tracks, like a thief caught stealing.

The monk turned to see the imposing figure of the Bishop walking towards him.

"Oh, it's you, Bishop."

"Did I scare you, Alexi?"

"No...no...I just wasn't expecting to see you, that's all."

"How was your walk?"

"I enjoyed it, thank you."

"Anywhere... special?" The Bishop enquired.

"No... nowhere special, just a good walk to stretch the legs."

The Bishop smiled; his cold eyes searching the monk for answers. "By the way, I'm expecting a visit from Bishop Yakunin from the Ukraine this afternoon. He will be staying for a few days and he has personally asked for you to visit him later tonight."

"But..."

"I'm sure you want to be seen as a keen member of this church with a rosy future ahead of you, don't you, brother?"

"I..."

"Good! I'm sure the Bishop will be delighted to see you again. Look after him well."

Alexi clenched his trembling hands and fought to control the anger boiling up inside him.

"Discretion is a virtue, but you know that... don't you, Alexi?"

The monk's head was bowed and his reluctant answer was lost in the vast hall.

"Have you finished the report on the items going back to the Cathedral?"

"I will have it finished tomorrow, Bishop."

"Excellent, bring it to me in my office as soon as it's ready. I'm very keen to know exactly what is going back."

Alexi watched as the pensive figure of the Bishop walked away with hands folded behind his back. As he reached the door he stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"Oh... I nearly forgot. Please clean one of the Golf Polos ready for the Bishop to use while he's here...Actually, do both of them while you're at it, it makes good sense; inside and out." He turned slowly and walked out of the building into the sunshine.

Standing alone in the hall, Alexi held his trembling hands out in front of him before clenching them into fists. His earlier euphoria had rapidly vanished with the news of the Ukrainian Bishop's visit. The dirty, perverted bastard that he hated with a vengeance.

Demoralized, he walked back to his dormitory and sat on his bed in silence. Tears filled his eyes as he slouched on the bed. Eventually he stood up and walked to his wardrobe in the corner of the room. He opened the door, bent down and lifted the clean bed sheets to expose the book he'd decided was now his. If it was valuable then he would sell it and get out of this hell-hole, never to return. He would go to Europe or America and be someone. Not a bum-boy for these depraved pigs, but someone who could hold his head up high as he walked down the street.

Young man how do you fancy earning five-dollars cleaning my Cadillac?

Five-dollars! Yes please, Alexi.

A smile returned to his face. One day...one day.

*

Commander Leonid Tsvetaeva's leg hurt, more than it had ever hurt before. He limped, noticeably, as he approached Veronika Glazkov's office. Why today, of all days? He mused.

Following behind him were four, young graduates from the Lomonosov, Moscow State University.

The Commander knocked on the glass door of the librarian's office and walked in, followed, tentatively, by the four students he'd waved in.

Veronica stood up from behind her desk. "Commander—come in," she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone that was missed by Leonid Tsvetaeva.

"I have brought you the extra help, as I promised."

She looked at the three girls and the boy, standing in a huddle next to the door entrance.

"They are from the university and all of them are studying literature."

Veronica watched as the commander slumped onto a chair. "Are you okay," she asked.

"Yes...yes...I'm okay," he said sternly; dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand.

"Well, come in and sit down. I won't bite you... I promise," she said to the students, who smiled back nervously and shuffled clumsily to the chairs around a white, circular table.

The commander lit a cigarette and forced himself into a standing position.

"I have things to do, so I will leave you to carry on. Remember what I told you." Limping, he walked out of the office in a cloud of smoke, leaving the door open behind him.

Veronica smiled at the students. "I apologize for him; he is not a nice man."

One of the girl students said, quietly, "He scares me."

"Me too," said another. "And to think we are being groomed to work for his organization."

The male student said. "I wouldn't worry, he smokes too much. I doubt if he'll be around by the time we graduate."

"That's quite enough of that talk, thank you, he's gone now and it's time for a coffee. Come on, give me a hand while you introduce yourselves and I'll explain what I want you to do for me."

Without the commander there, the atmosphere around the table was relaxed and the students were sipping their coffees and enjoying cookies, listening with interest to the librarian, as she explained the various symbols they were looking for, using a set of hand-drawn scripts on sheets of paper spread out in front of them.

"I'll give each of you copies of these to take away with you on your search."

Surprisingly, the students seemed to accept the task without much enquiry as to why they were looking for such an unusual book; which actually suited the librarian, because she really wasn't sure herself.

"Svetlana, I want you to visit the Cathedral."

The thin-faced student with short, cropped dark hair nodded in agreement.

"Viktoriya, I want you to visit the Holy Danilov Monastery."

The tall, slim girl with ice-blue eyes and fair hair that hung in ringlets over her shoulders, smiled her approval. "I've always wanted to visit that place, but I've never been able to find the time," she said, excitedly.

79

Morning prayers had finished by 5.30am and Alexi headed to the refectory for breakfast. He noticed there were boiled eggs to compliment the oatmeal and bread and asked for two. He filled his bowl with oatmeal from the steaming cauldron and grabbed a large chunk of bread before joining other monks at a long table bathed in the early morning rays of the sun.

"Good morning, brothers," he said, cheerfully.

"Someone's in a good mood!" commented one of the monks.

Alexi replied smugly. "I've finished working in the vaults, that's why."

"What were you doing down there, anyway?" asked another.

"Checking what items are going back to the Cathedral."

"You get all the good jobs, brother," said another around the table, and laugher echoed around the hall.

"Come on, let's hear you do the Bishop," goaded a fat monk at the end of the bench.

Alexi quickly scanned the hall before clearing his throat. Frowning, he said in a guttural tone: "Come here Alexi, I have a very important job for you today." The impressive impersonation sparked a spontaneous outburst of laughter and applause.

It was 9.30 when Alexi, carrying a brown folder, arrived at the Bishop's office. He tapped the door and waited.

"Come in."

He opened the door and walked in. The Bishop was sitting behind his desk writing something and only looked up some moments later. "Ah, Brother Alexi, please sit down."

As the monk settled down in front of the desk the Bishop's phone rang.

"Good morning, Bishop Remizov, speaking...."

Alexi watched as the bearded Bishop listened in silence for some time.

Eventually, he spoke. "Well, Commander, I can assure you we will do all we can to assist her. At what time will she arrive?...I see...Yes of course, Commander."

Deep in thought the Bishop replaced the phone and looked up. "That was a Commander Tsvetaeva from the FSB. He is sending someone here today to try and find a book."

Alexi sat upright. "A book?... What kind of a book, Bishop?"

"A very old one that apparently has strange writing... Did you come across something like that when you did your inventory?" The Bishop asked.

Alexi shook his head. "No... but what do you mean by strange writing?"

"Oh, I don't know. You handle it, I don't have the time for this kind of thing. Someone, a woman, from FSB is coming here in one hour. Make sure we co-operate with her. I do not want to cause any problems. This is the FSB we're dealing with." The Bishop leaned forward resting both his hands on the desk. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Bishop."

"Leave me now," the Bishop said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We'll do this inventory thing another time."

Alexi stood up and left the office in silence.

*

Viktoriya Pushkina's instructions were simple; arrive at the main entrance to the monastery at 10.30am where she would be met by a representative of the church. Her dictate was clear. She would have unrestricted access to all church buildings and property in an effort to locate the book.

But the task ahead made her nervous. She was only a student of Russian literature and here she was approaching the monastery in a role decided by the FSB.

Her mouth was dry as she walked towards the entrance. She could see a monk, dressed in black ,watching her as she approached and her cheeks began to blush. It had been over a year since she'd worn a dress and she worried that it might be too short for the occasion. As she walked she pulled her overcoat closed to cover her dress. Her shoes were beginning to hurt again and she wished she'd chosen a more practical pair.

As she approached the monk, he smiled.

"You must be Viktoriya Pushkina from the FSB?" He asked, holding out a welcoming hand.

"Yes, that's me," she said, as they shook hands.

"My name is Alexi, and I'm here to assist you today."

"Thank you."

"Please follow me. I've set up a work-place for you in the library." Alexi could sense that the agent was self conscious; and very young, to be working for the FSB; very young and very beautiful. "Do you have any idea how long this will take, he asked as they walked?"

"I'm sorry, I don't...Would you mind slowing down a little...it's my shoes you see. I..."

Alexi chuckled. "Of course...I'm sorry. I walk everywhere at a-hundred-miles-an-hour. It's just habit."

"Then you should try walking in these."

Alexi laughed. "I've never met an FSB agent before. Are they all like you?"

Viktoriya immediately thought of Commander Tsvetaeva. "...I'm sorry to disappoint you but I'm not really an FSB agent. I'm studying Russian literature and economics at the Lomonosov University. I'm being groomed to work for the FSB when I graduate."

Alexi frowned. "Groomed?"

"Yes, the FSB take the best of the graduates. You don't really have a say in the matter...and they are now paying my tuition fees, so I'm in a very difficult situation; I've sold my soul to the Devil...so to speak."

"They take the cream of the crop."

Viktoriya smiled at the compliment.

Alexi opened a door and gestured to Viktoriya to enter. The library room was some thirty-feet by seventy-five-feet long and wall-to-wall books, with a reading area in the middle of the room illuminated by a number of desk lamps.

"I thought this would be the best place to start," Alexi said, pointing to a couple of chairs. "Can I take your coat?"

"...I'm okay...thank you."

"I understand. You get used to the cold here after a while..."

The student smiled awkwardly as she sat down.

"Can you tell me exactly what you want to achieve today, Miss Pushkina?"

"I'm looking for a book."

"We have lots of them!" Alexi pointed to the shelves.

"We have over nine-million at the university!"

"Well, I'm very glad we're not looking there."

"So am I...This is a special book—very different; it's written in a strange script never seen before, apparently, and it's very old—so it should be fairly easy to spot." Viktoriya reached into her coat and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She opened it and offered it to Alexi. "This is the kind of script we're looking for."

Alexi showed no emotion as he immediately recognized the familiar script

"Have you seen anything like this?"

"...No...I'm afraid I haven't. What's so special about the book, anyway?"

"I really don't know, but the FSB want it, so it must be quite important."

"Do you think it's valuable?"

"I have no idea. But there are eight people looking for it, so I guess it must be valuable to somebody."...

I knew it was special! Alexi thought.

Viktoriya looked around the room. "Is this the only place where your books are kept?"

"No,...We have a vault and there are lots of books down there too. Our books are mainly religious, as you'd expect, but we also have books on gardening, beekeeping, woodwork, cooking, bookkeeping, mathematics; you name it, we've probably got it. Actually I have recently completed an inventory of the books down there, and I'm sorry to say but I didn't come across anything like this."

"I'd still like to see it for myself, before I go. Can I also see your inventory, please?"

"Yes... I'll be happy to show you, Miss Pushkina."

"Call me, Viktoriya, please."

"I'll be happy to show you, Viktoriya... What kind of books are you studying at the University?" Alexi asked, sensing that the young student was beginning to relax.

"Oh, mainly nineteenth century; what we call the Golden Age of Russian literature. Have you heard of Zhukovsky, Pushkin, Gogol?"

"I've heard of them." Alexi said, unconvincingly.

Viktoriya continued: "Turgenev, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy?"

"Of course, Leo Tolstoy. I didn't realize Russia had so many writers."

"And poets!" she added enthusiastically, with a glint in her eyes.

"Do you read?" she asked.

"I read every day, but only from the Bible, Can't say I've ever read anything else."

"You've never read a novel?"

"...Oh yes I have. It was a book that a visitor left behind, it was called... Far from the Madding Crowd. It's about a man who loves a woman, but she's blind to his affection."

"Thomas Hardy!"

"You know it?" Alexi asked in astonishment.

"It's a classic; Gabriel and Bathsheba."

"Yes, that's right...Oh, well, then... I've actually read a classic!"

Viktoriya laughed for the first time that day and her presence warmed Alexi better than a roaring log fire.

Her scent was new and intoxicating.

"What will you do when you actually join the FSB?" He enquired, struggling with his tantalized emotions.

Viktoriya's smile disappeared. "I really don't know. I just know it's not what I want."

"So what do you want ?"

Her contagious smile and the sparkle in her blue eyes returned. "I want to travel... I want to see America, Australia, Paris, London, New York."

"Me too! I think about it a lot," he enthused. Then there was a long silence as Alexi's excitement evaporated. "I'm wasting my life here; I know I am."

"But... you're a man of God, aren't you?"

"Huh!" The monk lowered his head briefly before gazing up into the student's eyes. "I was once... but not anymore...I don't think God likes me very much."

Viktoriya's jaw dropped. "Oh!" The intrigued student was about to ask him why but the moment was lost when Alexi stood up and clasped his hands. "That's quite enough about me; come along young lady, we have a book to find," he said, striding off.

She smiled to herself and happily followed the monk.

80

The American Embassy, New Delhi

The day had started well enough but now there were problems. The briefing went well but the new fake passport for Robert McPherson hadn't arrived and if the courier didn't deliver soon he'd miss his flight to Moscow.

Victor was loving the whole thing. He was to be himself on a visit to see the sights of the capital, but already a clandestine meeting had been arranged over the internet with the mystery person in Moscow.

Robert was to be a representative of Harvard University by the name of Dr Michael Waterman, also on a sightseeing trip but with an invitation, arranged by Linda, to visit the Danilov Monastery, home of the famous bells.

Robert looked at the wall clock as the minutes ticked by; it was going to be tight. "It might be that you go on your own, Victor, and we meet up later at the hotel. I'll get the next available flight."

"Okay, Robert."

"I'm Michael Waterman from now on, because the thought of spending the rest of my life in a gulag isn't very appealing, so let's get used to it."

"...Of course." Victor said, nervously.

Robert tapped his arm, reassuringly. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"Yes...Don't worry, I will...Michael."

At that moment one of the embassy staff walked into the briefing room, smiling. "Your passport, Dr Waterman," he said, handing it to Robert.

Moments later Robert and Victor were in the back of a black limousine heading for the airport. Robert breathed a sigh of relief. Victor pinched himself; no, he wasn't dreaming.

Robert regarded Victor with a faint smile. "We can't afford any hold-ups."

The comment reminded the Frenchman that this wasn't a game they were playing and a long forgotten tingle of excitement rippled through his aging body like an alchemist's elixir surging through his veins. "Je suis d'accord, mon ami."

81

"It's your own fault for being so bloody clever."

"What do you mean?" Viktoriya asked her room-mate, coyly.

"Well, you know that the FSB have their pick of the students and naturally they're going to take the best, aren't they?" Olga explained.

Viktoriya smiled. "Is that why they have me looking for some old book in a damn monastery?"

Olga lit a Marlboro Red then continued to carefully paint her toenail. "I'm sure there's a good reason for it, Viktoriya."

"But I don't want to work for the FSB. Who do they think I am, anyway?"

"What else will you do?" Olga asked.

"I don't know, anything but work for that pig."

"He's a monk isn't he?"

"Not him!"

"Who then?"

"Commander Leonid Tsvetaeva. He makes my skin crawl. The way he looks at me. I know exactly what he's thinking."

"What's he thinking?" Olga donned a broad smile, before flicking her cigarette ash out of the bedroom window.

"You know."

"I want to fuck you." Olga added without looking up.

"Exactly!" Viktoriya shivered at the thought then a moment later a slight smile appeared on her face. "The monk is actually quite cute though... in a strange kind of way."

"Do you fancy him ?"

"Not really, no... but he's a nice guy, even though he's a monk."

"Well, he won't be fucking you will he, being a monk and all that?"

"Olga! Is sex all that matters to you?"

"I haven't found anything better, yet."

"Honestly!...It's just that we have a lot in common, that's all."

"You and a monk have a lot in common?" Olga deftly flicked the cigarette butt through the open window and continued painting her nails.

"I know it sounds stupid, but we do. We both want to travel and we're both unhappy doing what we're doing. I think he's lost his faith and would get out of the church if he had half a chance."

"Is he good looking?"

Viktoriya hesitated and crinkled her nose. "No...not classically good looking. He's a bit thin to be honest. He needs a good meal or two; but he does have a kind face."

"What's his name?"

"Alexi."

"I bet he's all over you isn't he? You might be the first girl he's been in close contact with. Have you thought about that?"

"Don't be silly, Olga. He's not all over me. Actually he's very polite and respectful."

"Ohhh get you! Very polite and respectful." Olga laughed. "You mean he's not interested in getting into your panties."

Viktoriya smiled. "You're incorrigible," she said, shaking her head.

Olga screwed the cap back on the nail-polish bottle and inspected her feet. "There; that should do it. I have a date tonight and I want to impress."

Olga was tall, blonde and very attractive and tonight she was definitely dressed to impress. Her skirt was short, exposing long, slender legs and her blouse showed off her ample cleavage.

"Who is it this time?" Viktoriya enquired.

"That sounds terrible."

Viktoriya raised her eyebrows.

Olga was pouting in the mirror and noticed Viktoriya's reaction "Okay...okay... You don't know him, but he's loaded. I'm hoping he's my passage out of here."

"Room for one more?" Viktoriya asked, despondently.

"Sorry honey, this one is all mine. Anyway," she giggled childishly, "you have your monk now."

"He's hardly going to be my passage out of here, is he?"

"See you later my little virgin friend." Olga stepped out into the hallway, turned, smiled and blew a kiss to her room mate before closing the door behind her.

Silence. Viktoriya slumped on her bed, deep in thought.

82

Michael Waterman walked towards the uniformed officer who'd gestured for him to approach the desk. The officer took his passport and inspected it, glancing up at him a few times during the inspection. The phone on the desk began to ring and the officer picked up the receiver. For a moment he sat in silence listening to the person at the other end of the line. He then started speaking in Russian for what seemed like an eternity to Robert. He tried to stay calm and show none of the nervous emotions beginning to raise his heart beat.

The officer finally replaced the receiver. "Business or pleasure?" he asked sternly.

"Pleasure... A well deserved holiday."

"Where are you visiting?"

"Just Moscow."

"Where are you staying during your visit?"

"At the Danilov Hotel."

"You have a reservation there?"

"Yes."

The stone-faced officer stamped the passport and handed it back to a grateful Michael Waterman who smiled and walked off in the direction of luggage reclaim, taking a few deep breaths along the way; watched anxiously by Victor Canseliet, still to get through passport control.

*

Commander Tsvetaeva struggled to stand up. Grabbing his walking stick from the holder by his office door he walked out into the corridor towards the elevators. As he approached the doors they opened and a young woman holding a folder under her arm smiled and exited. Before he entered the elevator he watched her walk away. The doors closed behind him and the commander hit a button on the panel. A voice asked for identification and he peered awkwardly into a small blackened window on the panel.

"Identification confirmed, Commander," said a metallic voice and the elevator started it's decent to the Intelligence Gathering Centre some 180 feet below ground level in a lead lined, nuclear-proof chamber.

A few moment later the elevator stopped with a slight jolt and the doors opened. Commander Tsvetaeva stepped out into the bright, florescent light of the massive control room, which stretched as far as the eye could see. People were everywhere, busy staring at computer screens as he walked unnoticed down an aisle towards his destination. The buzz was that of any large, busy office. Some people were talking, animatedly, in small groups gathered around computer screens while others worked studiously at their desks, alone. They were all watching a suspicious world watching them.

Eventually the commander arrived at the desk of a young man who was studiously typing something on his keyboard.

"What is it?" Tsvetaeva asked.

The young man looked up and placed a pencil behind his ear. "I'm very well thank you," he said, with a forced smile.

Tsvetaeva said nothing.

"It may not be anything but I think you should be aware that Victor Canseliet has arrived in Moscow."

"Who is Victor Canseliet?"

"I thought you might ask that. He's a Frenchman and a world authority on secret societies and esoteric scripts. He's into alchemy and all that weird stuff."

"So he's a fucking nutter. What's that got to do with anything?"

"...Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that we've been told to look for an old book with a strange esoteric script—and all of a sudden this renowned expert appears in Moscow—on holiday?"

"...Where's he staying?"

"The Danilov Hotel."

"Okay, let's keep close to him. It's probably just coincidence." Commander Tsvetaeva turned and walked away.

"Excellent work, Nikolai—Please don't mention it, Commander, I'm just doing my job," the young man uttered to himself as he watched the old soldier hobbling away towards the elevators in desperate need of a cigarette.

"Just coincidence?...I don't think so somehow," Nikolai said, resuming his internet search of Victor Canseliet.

83

Commander Tsvetaeva looked around the table at the students before lighting a cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. "You have now been looking for this book for four days and I presume, as I have heard nothing from any of you, that it hasn't been found yet?"

Nervous mumblings and the lowering of heads confirmed the commanders suspicions. "I need to know what progress you have made, if any," he added sharply before sucking smoke deep into his lungs. "Let's start with you," he said, pointing a finger at Svetlana.

Svetlana glanced down at the note book in front of her. "I have been searching through the Cathedral books, and there are a lot of them I must say. I estimate it will take about two or three more days to complete the search. So far I have found nothing that even resembles the book we are looking for, so I..."

"Yes , yes , yes, just keep looking, but make it one day rather than three. Working into the night if you have to; this is important."

Svetlana nodded reluctantly. "I will, Commander."

"Viktoriya, what have you found?"

"I'm afraid to say my search has also found nothing that remotely resembles the book, Commander. I have been working through a book inventory that one of the monks created, and that has made my search easier."

"How long will it take?" the commander asked, impatiently.

Viktoriya took a deep breath. "I estimate three more days."

"One! You have the inventory."

"That's simply not possible, Commander; I'm already working over twelve hours a day."

The commander looked coldly into her eyes but Viktoriya held his stare... "And you, Victor?" he said, pointing to the student next to her.

It was only three days but the thought of being with Alexi for that brief time pleased Viktoriya. He was a sweet person and the more they were together the more she liked him. She wondered if he liked her as much as she liked him. He was funny and he made her laugh but he respected her and he made her feel special. She realized Alexi was the complete opposite of the 'smoking pig' sitting facing her at the table, struggling to take his eyes off her breasts as his fourth cigarette in fifteen minutes filled the room with acrid smoke.

*

Alexi was looking forward to seeing Viktoriya and eagerly checked his watch every few minutes. "The damned thing must have stopped," he said to himself impatiently, tapping the watch face. She's late, he thought, but then he saw her entering the monastery gates. She was wearing tight, denim jeans and a black leather coat. Viktoriya smiled and waved to him and his heart almost stopped. He had never known a woman so beautiful as her.

Alexi had not been sleeping well. Viktoriya had occupied his thoughts day and night and he was beginning to feel guilty about lying to her about the book. So much so that that very morning at prayers he'd decided to tell her about it and his plan. Now though, in the cold light of day, he wasn't sure he could confess. How would she react to him wasting her time? Maybe he would wait until he got the money from the book and then he could leave this place for ever. Then he would ask her to marry him. After all he would be a wealthy man and he could buy her anything she desired. They would have six children and a big house in the country with stables and a courtyard. It wasn't America but it was better than this and in a few days he would be meeting Victor Canseliet; then his dreams would start to become reality.

He watched as Viktoriya approached and his heart began to thump in his chest. "Hello, Viktoriya."

"Hello, Alexi."

For a moment he stood speechless looking into her blue eyes.

"Well,—shall we continue?"

"...Yes,... yes of course, I'm sorry; follow me please."

Some distance away Commander Tsvetaeva observed them and their body language as they walked slowly towards the monastery's main entrance.

With a twist of his boot he ground his cigarette stub into the pavement before setting off for his office. As he walked he reminisced about the beautiful women, so much prettier than Viktoriya, draped all over him every night, begging the young, good looking soldier to make love to them. But not anymore, those days had gone...forever.

As the commander wandered he lowered his head; a pained expression replaced his short-lived smile.

84

Robert felt refreshed after a good night's sleep. He pulled the curtains back and squinted at the bright morning light that streamed into his hotel room. He could see the Danilov Monastery from his room with the golden domes reflecting the early morning sun. Below in the hotel garden, manicured lawns, separated by cobbled paths, stretched out in the direction of the monastery. Robert smiled when he noticed the distinctive figure of Victor, walking along the path towards the hotel entrance, clearly enjoying a morning cigarette. Robert was aware that this man was crucial to the success of the operation. Victor was the diversion he needed, the breathing space to allow him to operate undetected as one Michael Waterman, interested to see the sights of Moscow and the Danilov Monastery bells that Harvard fostered for many years.

Victor had been briefed by Robert on the flight to Moscow and knew that contact between them would be minimal. He was also aware that the Russians would be watching him closely and the meeting with the guy who had the book would have to be carefully staged. The whole thing was like something out of a spy novel and Victor was loving every moment.

The Frenchman checked his watched as he walked up the steps into the hotel entrance. It was four hours until his meeting in Gorky Park where he would come face-to-face with the person who had the book. He tried to imagine what he would look like. Would he be old or young? And how did he get the book that's been missing for so long. Was it a fake? Was it a set up? His head was reeling with unanswered questions. He remembered Robert's explicit instructions and mentally rehearsed the meeting. He did not want things to go wrong. He did not want to blow Robert's chances of getting the book back. Tension was building in his body and his stomach was turning over like a cement mixer.

Robert slipped his Michael Waterman passport into his jacket pocket and checked the letter of invitation from Bishop Remizov for him to visit the monastery; but that was for tomorrow; today was all about meeting the man with the book. Checking his watch he picked up the room key and walked out into the corridor. At the same time Victor Canseliet was closing his room door, six rooms down. When they entered the lift together Robert slipped a piece of paper into Victor's hand. "It's the directions to the park," he said. Victor took the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "We're taking the metro. It's the easiest way and makes it more difficult for someone following us."

"Victor Canseliet being followed by FSB agents in Moscow! How insane is that?"

Robert smiled.

Within the hour both men had arrived at the park. Victor knew that the meeting point was a round, wooden summer house in the older more restrained part of the park, away from the noisy fun-fair and roller-coaster rides. As he walked he could see the white pavilion some one-hundred yards in front of him, just off the path. He nervously checked for his pen in his inside pocket, just as Robert had told him. As he approached he noticed the summer house was empty. He glanced at his watch and mentally chastised himself when he remembered Robert had told him not to keep checking the time before the meeting.

Victor walked into the empty summer house and sat on a wooden bench seat. He waited a few minutes and then walked back into the sunshine. Robert entered the summer house from the opposite side and sat down. As Victor walked slowly along the path a voice called out from behind him.

"Victor Canseliet?"

The Frenchman turned to see a young man standing behind him.

"Yes, I'm Victor Canseliet," he answered. "Can I help you?"

Alexi said, nervously, in broken English. "I have something I think you be very happy with."

"And what would that be, young man?"

"A book!"

Victor remembered his drill and took a pen from his inside pocket. "You're very welcome young man," he said in an upbeat manner and signed his name on a piece of paper before giving it to the monk. In a quiet voice he said, "I'm going to walk away now. You need to sit in the summer house. Someone is there waiting for you who is very interested in the book. Goodbye and nice to meet you." Victor walked off leaving the monk staring at the autograph.

Alexi was surprised. This wasn't what he expected. He turned to watch Victor walking off and then glanced into the summer house. Sure enough there was a man sitting in there. Was this a trap? He asked himself. Should he run before it was too late or should he take a chance? Nervously he approached the summer house. The man inside smiled at him and spoke in perfect Russian when he said, "Hello, please don't be nervous, I'm here because you have something of interest to me."

"Do I?" Alexi answered, tentatively

"You have an old book."

"Who are you?" Alexi asked in a suspicious manner.

"My name is Michael Waterman. I'm from the USA and I collect old books."

"You're American?"

"Yes, for my sins." Robert answered.

"But you speak perfect Russian," observed Alexi.

"That's a long story my friend... I'm sorry but I don't know your name?"

Alexi's eyes darted around the immediate area of the summer house and he sighed.

"You are safe here young man; there's no need to worry."

"...My name is Alexi, I'm a monk."

"Did you find the book at your monastery?"

"Yes."

Robert nodded knowingly.

"And where is it now?"

"Somewhere safe," Alexi answered, defensively.

Robert smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I know the book is very valuable," Alexi stated confidently.

"I don't deny that it is," Robert said. "But it's only valuable to a very few people who understand it's meaning."

"But it's still valuable and I want to sell it."

"What are you asking for it, Alexi?"

The young monk shifted nervously on his seat and rubbed his chin. He knew this was his one chance. "...I want a lot for it... I know it's worth it."

"And what do you mean by a lot?" Robert asked.

"...Five-million rubles!"

"That's a lot of money, Alexi."

"That's my price, take it or leave it." Alexi was biting his bottom lip.

"And when can I see the book? I need to see it before I buy it."

Alexi's eyes opened wide. "You're prepared to pay the price?"

"Of course."

The monk froze with his hand over his mouth, staring straight ahead. "...Tomorrow, you can see the book tomorrow. I'll bring it here."

"At what time?"

"In the afternoon; let's say four-thirty."

Robert considered the logistics, aware that he was visiting the monastery that morning. "Okay, I'll see you then." Both men stood up and shook hands. Robert said goodbye before walking down the steps into the sunshine.

Alexi was shaking from head to foot. The American seemed honest enough, he thought. Was his dream about to come true? Was he about to become someone, someone to be respected? He thought about Viktoriya and a rush of adrenalin shook his body like a thunderbolt; blood dripped from his bottom lip onto his chin. He smiled and smeared it onto the back of his trembling hand.

Victor was very pleased with his performance, and smiled contentedly as he strolled in the leafy park. "Formidable, mon ami!" he said to himself, smugly.

As he approached a group of a dozen or so foreign tourists, one called out.

"Look guys...It's Victor Canseliet!"

Some eighty-yards away an FSB agent had focused his camera on Victor and was capturing the scene as the Frenchman spent the next fifteen-minutes happily signing autographs and chatting to his admirers.

Michael Waterman walked past the excited gathering unnoticed.

85

The next morning at the Danilov Monastery

Alexi's mind was in turmoil. He knew this was the chance of a lifetime. The chance to walk away from this scant existence. No more abuse, no more ridicule and no more prayers. His faith had gone long ago and he had no feelings of doubt or guilt in what he was about to do. He cradled the book to his chest and closed his eyes. Then a thought struck him:

Was it a gift from God? Was this God's way of saying, "Sorry, Alexi... Sorry for the sexual abuse and mockery you've had to endure from the members of my devoted flock? Please have this book as recompense from the Trinity and accept my sincere apologies for the heartbreak you've had to suffer."

"I don't think so somehow," he said out loud, looking at the crucifix hanging on the wall above his headboard.

"Brother Alexi?" came a voice from outside his bedroom.

Alexi quickly pushed the book under the mattress and tried to regain his composure before opening the bedroom door.

"Good morning, Bishop," he said calmly.

"Good morning; I'm expecting a visit from Commander Tsvetaeva today. He's not very happy with the progress that's being made. How much longer will it take you and that girl to finish the search?"

"I think we should be finished by the end of the day, Bishop."

"Good...One way or another I'll have him off my back. He's a most loathsome man." The Bishop turned and walked away, scowling.

The monk closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. That was close, he thought, pulling the book out from under the mattress. He cradled it like welcoming a long-lost friend before wrapping it in his pile of dirty washing to take to its new hiding place until the afternoon and the meeting with Michael Waterman.

Alexi checked his watch. Viktoriya would be here any minute now. He felt his heartbeat increase when he heard footsteps.

"Alexi?"

"I'm here, Viktoriya," he called out, cheerfully.

She walked in to see Alexi standing by the table. When she approached him she noticed the cut on his bottom lip. Gently, she touched his lip with her finger and they looked into each other's eyes. Then slowly they drew closer and their lips touched. Alexi could feel her sweet breath on his face and their kiss became more passionate as they eagerly embraced each other.

"Is that better?" Viktoriya eventually asked, looking into Alexi's eyes and touching his lip again.

"Much better," Alexi said, breathlessly, and then they kissed again.

The sound of more footsteps broke their embrace. Alexi grabbed Viktoriya and pulled her into a side room. He locked the door and switched off the light. Viktoriya was holding him tight and he could feel her slender body next to his in the darkness.

"I cannot accept failure!" It was the familiar voice of Commander Tsvetaeva entering the vault.

"There is nothing I can do if the book isn't here, Commander," pleaded Bishop Remizov.

"I know it's here!"

Viktoriya squeezed Alexi tight, as fear gripped her.

The Commander strolled around the room looking at the books. "Where is the girl and that monk?"

"They were here not long ago Commander. They may have taken a break."

"A break?"

The Bishop lowered his head.

"Where does this lead to?" The Commander tried the handle but the door was locked.

Viktoriya held her breath as she leaned against the other side of the rattling door latch.

"Do you have a key?"

"No; the keys are with Brother Alexi."

"Of course they are... Where is the inventory?"

"I'm not sure, Commander. It may be here." The Bishop frantically searched through the books on the table. "Yes, here it is," he said, picking up Alexi's inventory.

"Is this the only inventory?" Tsvetaeva asked, coldly.

"This is the only one for the purpose of deciding what has to be returned to the Cathedral."

"So, is there another one?"

"There was one created years ago just for the books down here."

"Where is it? I need to see it, now."

The Bishop became edgy. "I, I... don't know where it is at the moment. Is it that important?"

"Yes, it is!"

"I will ask the monk when he returns from break and we'll get the inventory for you to see."

Not listening, Tsvetaeva rummaged through the pile of books on the table for some time eventually picking up one that interested him. "I think this is what we're looking for, Bishop."

The Bishop looked, clearly relieved. "Yes, that looks like it, Commander."

Viktoriya felt Alexi's body stiffen. She whispered into his ear. "You haven't told me the truth, have you?"

"Please trust me," he answered.

For what seemed like an eternity they stood holding each other in the darkness. Their emotions fired by a heady cocktail of raw passion and fear.

Then the Commander's deep voice broke through the silence. "There is an entry in this inventory, Bishop. It is under the miscellaneous category; book number eight-seven-seven. It is described as an uncategorized mystery item. I would like to see it please."

The Bishop walked over to the shelf where the book should have been. "It is not here, Commander."

"Of course it's not... I want the monk and the girl brought in for questioning, immediately." He stood up and headed for the stairs followed eagerly by the Bishop.

Alexi and Viktoriya listened as the sound of footsteps faded to silence.

Viktoriya was shaking. "Where is the book, Alexi?"

"Keep your voice down."

"Keep my voice down! I'm going to be questioned by the fucking FSB about something I have no knowledge of and you tell me to keep my voice down. Will you please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"...I have found someone, an American, who will pay a lot of money for the book. I have to escape this life, Viktoriya. I can't stay here anymore. Come with me...I love you."

"Come with you? Where? Do you honestly think we'll escape. They'll lock us up and throw the key away. We'll die in a stinking gulag and nobody will ever know we existed."

Fear rippled though the monk's body as Viktoriya's words sank in.

"How much are you being paid for this mysterious book?"

"Five-million rubles!"

Viktoriya's jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

"I'll split it with you... fifty-fifty."

"......We need somewhere to hide... We need time to think."

"Where can we go?" Alexi asked.

"I have an idea," Viktoriya replied, thoughtfully. "Can you get us out of here?"

"Of course I can," he replied and they kissed again in the darkness. "But firstly I need to get the book."

Viktoriya ran her hand through Alexi's hair. "I love you too, you stupid idiot."

86

"What do you mean, they've escaped? A runt of a monk and a dull blonde have made the FSB look like amateurs!" The Commander slammed his fist on the desk. "Find them and find them quickly!" He dropped the hand-piece on the receiver and stood up. He breathed heavily through his nostrils and lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. "I did not survive Afghanistan without knowing how to smell a rat," he said to himself as he picked up the phone again and hit a speed dial button.

"Nikolai, it's the Commander."

"Hello Commander."

"What's the latest on that Frenchman?"

"Well, he isn't doing a lot to be honest, Commander. He visited Gorky Park and signed a few autographs but that's about it. He hasn't had a meeting with anyone."

"I smell a rat, Nikolai. He's here for a reason and it's not a fucking holiday. Something's going on that we're missing and it's right under our fucking noses. Keep me informed if anything changes."

87

Olga, Viktoriya's room mate turned the key in the lock and the apartment door opened. "Get in," she said anxiously. "He's away for the next two weeks, so the place is all yours, guys."

Viktoriya kissed Olga on the cheek. "We'll never be able to repay you for this," she said, as Olga blushed.

Alexi closed the door and looked around the apartment, opened-mouthed. He had never seen opulence like it. He'd heard of, Rublyovka, a suburb on the west-side of Moscow, famous for its luxury homes but he wasn't expecting anything like this. Brightly colored modern art adorned most of the walls and cream leather sofas surrounded a stainless steel open fire in the middle of the room. In the far corner was a magnificent Steinway grand piano overlooked by a huge, mostly black and white photograph of Marilyn Monroe with stunning red lips and neck scarf.

"And all this from playing football?" he said, incredulously.

Olga looked the monk up and down. "Help yourself to some clean clothes, you're about the same height as him, just a bit thinner."

"Do you think I should?" Alexi asked with a frown.

"He's fucking loaded, believe me he won't even notice. There's stuff there he's had for years and never worn."

Viktoriya sighed. "Olga, please say nothing to anyone about this. We're in a lot of trouble and I don't want to drag you into the shit with us."

"Viktoriya, my lips are sealed...Isn't this all so exciting! It's just a shame I won't be able to call you virgin for much longer, will I?" Olga winked at her room mate.

Viktoriya flushed with embarrassment and glanced tentatively at Alexi who was equally flushed.

Olga laughed out loud. "Gotta go, guys, make yourselves at home. There's loads of beer and food in the fridge so help yourselves. You'll need to keep your energy levels up."

Then the front door slammed closed behind her and Viktoriya and Alexi were left alone standing in shocked silence; trying to come to terms with what had just happened to their lives.

*

"Michael, it's good to meet you."

"Thank you Bishop. It's great to be here," Robert replied as the two men shook hands outside the main entrance to the Holy Danilov Monastery.

It's a strange feeling pretending to be someone else, Rob thought, as he looked the Bishop in the eyes.

"Was your flight from America a pleasant one, Michael?" the Bishop enquired.

"Yes, it was, thank you. And well worth it. It's great to be here and finally see your magnificent monastery. I've heard so much about it from the folks back at Harvard."

"How long have you been there?"

"Only five-years, but it's my first real vacation in that time so I decided to make it a proper one."

The Bishop laughed. "I was a little concerned earlier that I wasn't going to make our appointment."

"Oh, really!" Rob said.

"All over a book would you believe. Some old manuscript that the FSB want for some strange reason."

"The FSB! Wooh! I guess it must be important. Did you give it to them, Bishop?"

Bishop Remizov frowned and shock his head. "It appears one of my monks has taken it and I don't know where he's gone, or indeed, if he plans to return with it; silly boy. Believe me, he won't get very far. You don't mess with the FSB in Russia, Michael. It's advisable not to rock the boat, if you get my meaning. But thankfully that's not something you need to worry about?"

Rob chuckled. "I certainly hope not, Bishop."

"Come along let's climb up to the bell towers. After all, that's what you came all this way for, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, I can't wait."

88

Victor Canseliet was standing in a slow moving queue waiting to visit the tomb of Lenin. Dark clouds were gathering above him in Red Square and a light rain had started to fall. The Frenchman lit a cigarette, filled his lungs with smoke and pulled up the collar of his coat in defiance.

A woman tourist in the queue asked: "Excuse me, but aren't you Victor Canseliet?"

Doffing his cap he replied, "Oui madam, Je suis Victor Canseliet."

"Oh my God! I thought so. Can I have your autograph, please?"

Some distance away the motorized shutter of a Nikon D5300 DSLR camera clicked into action.

The mausoleum was built just outside the imposing walls of the Kremlin and after what seemed like an eternity to Victor, he finally reached the entrance of what looked to him like a pyramidal, nuclear-bunker. The Frenchman extinguished his cigarette in a sand dish that was overflowing with cigarette ends before entering the welcoming shelter of the building.

Moments later he was staring into a glass sarcophagus at the embalmed body of the first Soviet leader, Vladimir Lenin. The Frenchman was surprised that the dead Russian looked surprisingly well preserved, considering he died in 1924. His shaved head and facial skin had a somewhat pale, waxy appearance that contrasted with his neatly trimmed, reddish goatee. He was wearing a formal black suit, shirt and tie and his hands rested on his thighs.

Victor, being an expert on Egyptian archaeology, knew that Lenin's brain and internal organs had been removed after his death. Only his skeleton, muscles and skin were being preserved, using a secret cocktail of expensive chemicals administered every 18 months by a team of embalming experts in a laboratory under the viewing room. The same laboratory that successfully embalmed Vietnamese president Ho Chi Minh, Bulgarian leader Georgi Dimitrov, and North Korean leaders Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il. Not to mention Soviet dictator Josef Stalin, whose embalmed body lay alongside Lenin's from 1953 to 1961.

Not exactly the eternal life alchemists strive to achieve, he thought drolly to himself. Victor checked his watch, "I've seen enough; time for a cigarette," he said quietly. He walked out of the dimly lit interior of the mausoleum and again his image was captured on a digital camera some distance away on the other side of Red Square.

As Victor strode away from the mausoleum he felt a tingle of excitement; knowing he was a major player in Michael Waterman's plan.

89

Professor Shastri was sitting in a small room somewhere in the Kremlin. He was agitated and the fingers of his right hand nervously tapped the aluminum briefcase that rested on his knees. He sighed, stood up and walked to the metal door. He tried the handle but the door was locked.

"Hello," he called out, but got no response. Then he raised his voice. "Hello... I am Professor Shastri and I am not accustomed to being kept waiting like this!" Shastri turned and huffed with indignation when no one answered.

"How dare they treat me as if I'm a common criminal." The professor was about to sit down again when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. "At last," he said, at the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. He watched as a tall man with a walking stick entered the room.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Professor, I'm Commander Leonid Tsvetaeva." The war veteran slumped onto a chair next to a small wooden table. "Please... sit down." Tsvetaeva motioned to the only other chair in the room.

"I am not used to this kind of treatment, Commander." Shastri said as he sat down at the table.

Tsvetaeva ignored his comment. "I'm here to understand what you have to offer me," he said, coldly.

Professor Shastri took some deep breaths trying to compose himself before placing the metal briefcase on the desk and clicking the latches open.

"I believe Russia is in possession of a very special book. A book that holds many powerful secrets." Shastri looked into the commander's eyes. "The knowledge the book contains is unique. It could make Russia the most powerful nation on the planet, Commander."

Tsvetaeva smiled wryly. "But we already are, Professor."

Shastri sneered at the comment. "No,...You just think you are, Commander."

Tsvetaeva nodded gently but did not retaliate.... "So... if we already have this book, as you suggest we do... why do we need you, Professor?"

Shastri smiled for the first time. "You don't need me, Commander, but you do need this." The professor lifted the lid of his briefcase and took out a shiny metal cylinder about twelve inches long and three inches wide. "This tube contains an ancient document which is the key to understanding the book. Without this key your book is worthless."

"And with it?"

"...Priceless, Commander... priceless!"

Tsvetaeva took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and placed them on the table in front of him. Then from his other pocket he took out a zippo lighter and placed it on top of the cigarettes. "It is a habit of mine to enjoy a cigarette once the deal is done," he said, smiling.

"Then let's hope we can agree, Commander."

"What is your asking price, Professor?"

"Five-million US dollars; a bargain if I say so myself."

The commander took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. As he exhaled he repeated the words, "five million US dollars."

Shastri smiled. "We have a deal?"

Tsvetaeva laughed and called out in Russian. A uniformed guard entered the room and grabbed the professor by the arm.

"Забери его!" (Take him away!), the commander ordered. The guard manhandled the professor out of the room and frogmarched him down the corridor. An angry and shocked Shastri complained bitterly but the sound of his remonstrations and threats soon faded into the distance allowing the commander to enjoy the rest of his cigarette in peace while he inspected the strange writing on the scroll that he had carefully extracted from the tube. "Five million US dollars for this?" he said, followed by a deep, throaty, smoker's laugh.

"All we need to do now, soldier, is find that AWOL fucking monk and then we will have the elusive book," he said.

Carefully replacing the scroll in the tube he left the smoked filled room, I just hope it's worth all this effort.

A few minutes later the commander was sitting in a small open-topped carriage, traveling the short distance north-east from the Kremlin to the FSB headquarters via a ten-foot diameter concrete-walled tunnel. In his one hand he was holding his walking stick in the other, the shiny tube containing the scroll. Normally there would others on the train, mostly young, attractive secretaries struggling with large bundles of paperwork; a testimony to the Russian government's computer paranoia, but today he was alone, with no pert young breasts to stare at and fantasize over.

I wonder what the geeks will make of this scroll? Tsvetaeva thought as he lit another cigarette.

Two-hundred-feet above him on the edge of Red Square, Robert McPherson was getting into a taxi, under his arm he was carrying a plain-paper parcel. For the last four hours he had spent valuable time with some extremely talented forgers.

90

Viktoriya turned her head to look at Alexi who was lying naked next to her on the bed. He was staring at the ceiling; trance like. "What are you thinking?" she asked, tentatively.

Alexi turned and smiled at her. "We have just made love for over an hour and you're wondering what I'm thinking."

"...Was it good, Alexi?" she asked softly.

"Are you serious! Was it good?...I just want to stay in this big bed for the rest of my life and make love to you." Alexi tenderly stroked Viktoriya's cheek with his fingers. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For everything...For showing me what to do."

Viktoriya giggled and straddled Alexi. "I seem to recall that you had a very good idea of what to do anyway," she added, before leaning down and kissing him.

Alexi groaned with pleasure and their bodies began to gyrate in unison, gently at first but then with passion. "Ooooh... it feels like you're ready for more, young man," she said, as Alexi entered her.

"I have a lot of catching up to do," he said as he fondled her breasts.

"So have I." Viktoriya's head jerked backwards and her eyes rolled as another orgasm ripped through her body. She cried out in ecstasy before collapsing on top of her lover.

Alexi held her trembling body close to his and stroked her hair. "Was that number six or number seven?"

Viktoriya sighed, "I've lost count," she answered weakly.

Alexi's emotions were in turmoil. His whole world had changed in a matter of hours and he wanted more...lots more of the girl he was madly in love with, but he was also scared, very scared. He knew there was no way back, but he had no idea what the future would hold.

"Whatever happens, Viktoriya, promise me that we do this thing together."

"I promise."

Alexi squeezed her tenderly. "We can't stay here for long."

"I know," Viktoriya replied. "We've got a few days at best before they come for us, because they will come for us, won't they?"

"Yes," he replied pensively. "I need to find that buyer for the book. We need the money. With it we can get out of Russia and start a new life together."

"How will you find him?" Viktoriya asked.

"Right now I don't know... I really don't know..."

A moment later there was a knock on the apartment's front door. Alexi and Viktoriya froze in each other's arms.

"Nobody knows we're here," Viktoriya whispered.

"Let's just ignore it and hope they go away, replied Alexi."

They embraced in silence for a long time and then there was another knock on the door. Alexi felt Viktoriya's body stiffen.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Oh God, they've come for us."

A voice called out in Russian from the other side of the door. "Alexi, it's me, Michael Waterman. I need to see you. Can I come in, please?"

91

"It's him, the guy who wants to buy the book!"

"Can you be sure it's him, he's speaking Russian?" Viktoriya asked nervously.

Alexi leaped out of bed and quickly dressed. He ran down the stairs and peeped through the security eye-glass in the door. He could see the face of Michael Waterman. "It's him!" he called to Viktoriya.

"Is he alone?" she asked.

"...Alexi, it's me, Michael. I'm here to help you. Can I come in please?... It's okay, you can trust me. I'm on my own and nobody has followed me."

There was a moments silence and then the sound of bolts being released before the door slowly opened.

Rob looked at a very anxious young man peering around the door and smiled at him. "It's okay, Alexi."

Alexi scanned the hallway before inviting Rob in and bolting the door closed again.

"How the hell did you find us? Nobody knows we're here."

"Only two people know you're here—me and Olga."

"Olga told you we were here?"

Rob didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "I have a solution to your problem, Alexi. Can we sit down and talk?"

Alexi noticed Rob was carrying a brown parcel under his arm and gestured to the table and chairs.

Viktoriya walked down the stairs and stood next to Alexi who smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulders.

"This is my girlfriend, Viktoriya. We are in this thing together... Do you still want to buy the book Mr Waterman?"

Robert placed the parcel on the table. "It's a bit more complicated now."

Viktoriya buried her face in her hands... "Then why did you come here?" she asked in desperation.

"I've come here to help you."

Alexi looked deflated. "We don't need your help we need money, so that we can escape this place."

"Exactly!" Rob said. "And I have a plan to do just that."

"I don't understand. Why would you do that? You don't even know us?" Viktoriya asked.

"Because I need you to do something for me in return."

"What?" Alexi asked.

Rob unwrapped the parcel on the table to reveal a leather bound book. "This is a copy of the book you have. I want you to return this copy to the FSB as if it was the original. Tell them you thought someone was trying to steal it and you panicked but always intended to get it to them safely. In return I will promise you and Viktoriya a safe passage out of here to anywhere you choose in the world."

"Why have you changed your mind? You offered to buy the book from me in Gorky Park for five million rubles. Why should I trust you now?"

"We need the money," Viktoriya cried.

Rob nodded. "Firstly you need to get the FSB off your backs or quite frankly you'll never see the light of day again. Delivering the book to them is the only way. Walk into the FSB headquarters and ask for Commander Tsvetaeva. Deliver the book to him personally; nobody else. Lay it on thick and he'll believe you."

"But will he believe the book is genuine?" Viktoriya asked.

Rob smiled confidently. "Take a look for yourselves, he said, opening the translucent pages. "Remember, the FSB has never seen the original, so they have no way of comparing it.

Alexi nodded his approval. "It certainly looks authentic."

"Made and expertly aged by craftsmen here in Moscow; the best forgers I have ever met. Believe me the authorities will think this is the original... You can keep the original until you're out of trouble with the FSB and then I'll buy it off you as promised for the agreed price, plus a safe passage out of here. That way we all get what we want, except the Russians of course, who end up with a document that is completely worthless, and the rub is, they'll never have a reason to dispute its authenticity."

Rob was waiting for them to ask him how he knew what the original book looked like?...But the question never came. Instead the couple just looked at each other, open mouthed, struggling to come to terms with Rob's offer.

Eventually, Viktoriya asked "Who are you?"

Rob paused. "...Let's just say I'm someone who needs this book more than most people could imagine. It's a historical document that has great value and significance to my family."

"It must mean a lot to you?" Alexi suggested.

"Yes, it does. It means a lot to me... So do we have a deal, guys?"

Alexi looked at Viktoriya and they nervously nodded their agreement to each other.

"Okay, Mr Waterman, we have a deal." Alexi said, firmly. "Where do we start?"

Looking out of his office window, the Commander said:

"That fucking Frenchman is here to buy the book. His visit is not just a coincidence. He wants this book for himself. I want him monitored constantly and he must not be allowed to leave Russia until I say so, is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Commander," replied the person sitting nervously facing Tsvetaeva's desk.

"Have you found the stupid monk yet?"

"No,...not yet, sir."

"Why not? You have the best resources in the world and he is just a half-witted monk with nowhere to fucking hide... And you can't find him?" The commander's face was red with rage. "You and your team have forty-eight-hours to bring him in, or heads will start to roll; do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander, I understand."

"Good!...Now get out... and do your job!" The commander watched as the person gathered his possessions and left the office, closing the door behind him.

"Useless piece of shit!" the commander uttered, as he lit a cigarette and slumped in his chair, deep in thought. He knew by monitoring the Frenchman he would eventually find the monk and ultimately the book.

"Sorry to disappoint you Victor, fucking, Canseliet but this book is not for sale," he said to himself.

The commander's thoughts were interrupted when his desk phone started ringing.

He answered it. "Commander Tsvetaeva, speaking"...and for a few moments he listened in disbelief to the female's voice... "What!" he finally exclaimed.

92

A few moments later there was a knock on Tsvetaeva's office door.

"Come!"

The door opened and Alexi and Viktoriya were ushered in to his office by a female member of staff.

"Leave us," he said and the woman walked out and closed the door behind her.

For a while the commander was silent, sitting at his desk staring at his apprehensive visitors.

"What have you brought me, monk?"

Alexis moved towards his desk and offered up a parcel. "The book sir, the one you're looking for. I was scared that..."

"Shut up!"

Alexi placed the parcel on his desk and moved back to stand next to Viktoriya.

Tsvetaeva looked at the parcel and nodded. Eventually he unwrapped it and held the book in his hands. Opening the pages he scanned them quickly and placed the book back on the desk.

Alexi continued, "I wanted to..."

"Shut up," the commander snarled.... "Viktoriya, you have been a very silly girl, haven't you?"

Viktoriya looked at Alexis and bowed her head.

"Lovers are we?" the commander asked... "WELL ARE WE?"

"Yes," Viktoriya answered. "We are lovers."

"Not for much longer!—Do you remember who owns you? We do, the FSB, not this fucking monk who can't keep his dick in his trousers."

Alexi's face contorted with anger.

"Get out and stay away from this girl."

Viktoriya hugged Alexi tightly. "You can't do this to us, you monster."

Tsvetaeva stood up and walked around to their side of the desk. He looked Alexi in the eyes. "Get out now, while I'm in a good mood, otherwise you know what will happen to you."

"...Go, Alexi, just get out," Viktoriya pleaded.

"What about you? I can't leave you with him."

"Please, Alexi, I'll be fine, please get out now. I'll see you later."

Viktoriya's expression was pained as Alexi reluctantly walked out of the office.

"Very touching," Tsvetaeva said, coldly. He raised a finger to wipe a tear from Viktoriya's cheek but she grabbed his wrist. "Don't touch me, you pig!"

The commander laughed and walked back to his side of the desk. He picked up the phone and dialed a number, all the while eyeing Viktoriya. "We have the book," he said and put the phone back on the receiver.

"You need to finish your education. Education that the FSB is paying for so that you can be a worthy contributor to this great country in the future. Forget that deadbeat monk, he is no good for you. If I find you with him, believe me, you'll never see him again."

Viktoriya stared the commander in the eyes. "I hate you, you evil monster."

Tsvetaeva laughed out loud. "Good fuck was he? Did he like it when you sucked his cock? I wonder who gives better head; you or the monastery's bum boy?"

Viktoriya's emotions reached boiling point. In a rage she ran at the Commander intent on punching him but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, peering into her beautiful, blue eyes he could feel her sweet panting breath on his face. Viktoriya cringed and he pushed her away.

"You piece of dog shit, I hate you!" she yelled, and ran out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

I could fuck you, he thought.

93

Sergey Volodin gestured to Professor Shastri to sit down. Shastri settled onto one of two burgundy, leather sofas and felt the warmth of the roaring log fire. The shower and change of clothes had improved his mood.

"As a representative of the State Duma I can only apologize for the unacceptable treatment you've experienced, Professor," Volodin said, offering Shastri a large glass of brandy.

In his early fifties, Volodin, was a tall man with broad shoulders. He sported a well trimmed, graying beard that accentuated his strong jaw-line. Wearing an expensive black pinstripe suit and a gold Rolex he looked more like a merchant banker than a member of the government, and it didn't go unnoticed by the professor.

Volodin's success within the party started some twenty-five years ago when it became evident that he was an expert negotiator. Within a few years his talent for getting results had rocketed him to the highest levels of Russian politics. He was also a close friend and advisor to the President.

"I will be making an official complaint against Commander Tsvetaeva," Shastri said, accepting the brandy offered to him. "You simply cannot treat people like that anymore. I thought Russia was a civilized society these days."

The Russian nodded, "It is unfortunate that you had to experience the Commander's, shall we say, abrupt approach."

Shastri sipped his drink and peered pensively into the flames of the fire. "The man is an arrogant pig, Mr Volodin."

"Yes, and that is probably being kind, Professor... However, here in Russia he is a war hero. A man decorated for his bravery in Afghanistan by our President, no less... Unfortunately, I sometimes think he's still at war, as you have found out first-hand."

"Yes, I have."

"It is my sincere hope that we can move on, Professor," Volodin suggested, sitting down opposite Shastri.

"What exactly do you have in mind that would allow us to move on, Mr Volodin, apart from you buying the manuscript from me?"

"...We believe the manuscript has a certain value and I'm sure we can come to a mutual agreement on price."

"You know my price." Shastri added, sharply.

"Yes,...indeed we do. But for that kind of money Professor we would also expect you to decode the book for us."

Shastri shifted nervously at the suggestion. "Are you confirming that you have the book?"

"Of course, we have the book, why would we be talking to you, otherwise?" Volodin asked.

The Professor took a deep breath. "...Good, then I...I need to see it first... before we can agree anything."

"You seem hesitant; Is there something worrying you?"

"No...No,...not at all but I need to authenticate the book."

"If you prefer, we can purchase the services of Victor Canseliet."

Shastri almost dropped his brandy glass. "Canseliet?...I don't think he would be the right man at all. And he's not easy to find these days."

"Actually, he's in Moscow at the moment on vacation."

The professor was clearly agitated. "I'm the expert on this kind of artifact, not him."

"Excellent! Then this is what I suggest... You are given the opportunity to decode the book before anyone else, using your own extremely valuable scroll. And if you succeed... then let's just say we will make it very worth your while. And, at the price you're asking for the scroll, my friend, I suggest you must be feeling pretty confident right now?" Volodin smiled smugly and sipped his brandy.

"And if I fail?"

"If you fail to decode the book, then you are free to leave Russia—the proviso is that we keep the scroll and you promise not to take any legal action against any individual in my country. If at any time you rescind on this promise we will destroy your career overnight."... The professor turned to look into the fire. This wasn't in the plan, he thought to himself.

Beads of perspiration appeared on Shastri's forehead and he forced a smile. "Clearly, you leave me no choice, Mr Volodin. You have me by the balls, you bastard."

Volodin returned the smile before taking a large gulp of brandy.

"I prefer to think of it as protecting my interests, Professor Shastri."

94

Alexi was standing all alone, looking at the familiar splendor of the green and white Church of the Holy Fathers of Seven Ecumenical Councils in the grounds of the Holy Danilov Monastery; his home for so long. Today, wearing faded denims, trainers and a Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt he looked like one of the hoards of tourists that frequented the place.

"It's time—let's do it," he said, and walked across the courtyard in the direction of the Bishop's office. At the office door he stopped. His heart was pounding in his chest as he took some deep breaths. "Do it," he said quietly, before knocking on the oak door-panel.

"Come in," came the resonant response.

Alexi lifted the latch and entered the office.

The Bishop looked up, surprised. "I'm sorry this is private property, can you please lea..."

"It's me, Brother Alexi." he said, forcefully.

Bishop Remizov's jaw dropped and he stood up. "What!—Where have you been?—Why are you dressed like that? You are in so much trouble young man; the FSB are looking everywhere for you. Where is the book you..."

"Shut up and listen!" Alexi demanded. "I have safely delivered the book to the FSB."

"You have?"

"Yes, I gave it to Commander Tsvetaeva personally."

"Oh, thank God." The Bishop visibly relaxed.

Alexi approached his desk. "And for my efforts he threw me out of his office—as if I was a piece of dog shit! I'd say he has about as much respect for me as you do, Bishop."

Remizov's mouth opened even wider. "What do you mean?" he asked, with an air of indignation.

"I have suffered your persecution and indifference for so long I almost forgot what life was really about. You and your perverted gang treat people like they're worthless commodities, and all in the name of God! Where is God when you need him, Bishop? I don't think he likes me very much. Do you think he approves of the sexual abuse this place practices?" Alexi then mimicked the Bishop's voice. "What happened was of your making and nobody else's; you know that don't you, Alexi?"

The Bishop lowered his head in shame.

"I will not be abused anymore, Bishop. I've decided to leave the Church... My faith in God has deserted me, I have no home to go to, I have no job and my future is at best, uncertain... but do you know what is ironic about all of this, Bishop?" Alexi placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Do you know, BISHOP?"

Reluctantly, Remizov looked up at Alexi and shook his head.

"The irony is that I've never been happier in my life... and it's because I've finally found real faith; it's a faith I can touch and see; a faith that is there for me when I call out for help; it's a faith that isn't demanding and gives back as much as it takes... and it has a warmth that finds its way into my heart. It has another name as well, it's called love, but YOU wouldn't have heard of it, because it's nothing like the fear and guilt-ridden crap this place peddles in the name of religion."

Alexi threw his room key on the desk. "I won't be needing that anymore," he said, and walked out of the office.

Adrenaline surged through Alexi's veins as he filled his lungs to capacity with the fresh morning air. At last he was free; gone were the religious shackles that weighed so heavily on his conscience.

He stepped out into the spring sunshine like a reprieved prisoner enjoying the sweet taste of liberation.

Viktoriya was waiting patiently outside the monastery walls; he waved to her and she waved back excitedly; her smile nearly melted his heart.

Back at the monastery, Bishop Remizov picked up the phone and dialed a number in the Ukraine...Clearly agitated, he tapped his fingers on the desk as he waited for a response....... "Bishop Yakunin?...It's me, Remizov...I think we might have a problem. Brother Gorinyenko has walked out and he isn't coming back...I fear he might talk."

The Bishop listened intently for a while before responding.

"Yes, I agree, we must meet this week because we simply cannot allow this to happen. I have a possible solution, which I hope will resolve our problems....Okay call me back with a date." The Bishop replaced the receiver and sat quietly, deep in thought. After a pensive few moments he checked his notebook, picked up the receiver and dialed.

"...Commander Tsvetaeva... Hello, it's Bishop Remizov speaking. We have a serious problem here at the monastery and I think you might be able to help us."

"What exactly is the problem, Bishop?" the commander asked.

"One of my monks has absconded and taken a quantity of priceless artifacts from the monastery. I would suggest they're worth a fortune on the black market."

"Who is this monk?"

"Brother Alexi Gorinyenko—the monk that delivered the book you were looking for."

"Do you know his whereabouts, Bishop." The commander asked.

"I'm afraid I have no idea. All I know is that the silly boy has run away, Commander."

"When did this happen?"

"We're not exactly sure, It was only this morning after prayers that we noticed the artifacts were missing and they're due to be returned to the Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Oh dear! This could be a national embarrassment."

"Calm down, Bishop. We'll find the little thief don't worry...and believe me, he'll regret it—I promise you."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Commander, I knew I could put my faith in your abilities."

95

Alexi was standing next to the grand piano, looking up at the image of Marilyn Monroe. "We did it Michael; and now you have your precious book back."

"Yes I do, and for that I am eternally grateful to you, but call me Robert, my real name is Robert," he said looking at Viktoriya, who was sitting next to him on the sofa

"We can't stay in Russia any longer." Viktoriya said. "We have to get out."

Rob held her hand. "I know...and I promised you I"d get you out of Russia, and get you out I will," he said, with conviction.

"Do you trust me?" he asked them both.

Alexi looked at Viktoriya for approval and she nodded.

"We trust you, Micha... sorry, Robert," Alexi said nodding his approval.

"Good, because now, more than ever, you're going to need my help."

*

Rob and Victor were walking together in Gorky Park, but not in the tranquil gardens; this time Rob had chosen the noisy fun-fair with its overly excited, rowdy children and the thunderous, scary theme rides that pushed the looping, steel structures to their physical limits.

Screaming, flailing passengers were enjoying a rush of adrenaline as they plummeted from a great height into a dark abyss.

"You'll never get me on one of those, mon ami," Victor said, as he licked his ice-cream.

Rob smiled. "We have enough excitement in our lives, my friend, without the need for that."

"My life has never been so exciting!... So, is our little adventure over, Robert? Have you got the book back?"

"Yes, Victor, I have the book."

"Formidable! Can I see it, Robert?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Victor. The book is no longer in Russia."

"What! So where is it?"

"Back where it belongs; somewhere very safe. Our plan worked out very well and the Russians are convinced that they have the book; so, for a while they're not interested in you anymore."

Victor frowned, "For a while?"

Robert licked his ice cream... "Yes, for now, because very soon they're going to be very interested in you, again."

Victor looked astounded.

"They are? Why?"

Rob smiled at Victor. "How good are your acting skills?"

Victor's brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

Rob said, "I'll explain. Professor Shastri is in Moscow at the moment. He's brought the scroll with him, as we anticipated, and now he's trying to sell it to the Russians for a fortune."

"But it's worthless without the real book isn't it, Ro..." Victor paused and grinned as the penny dropped. "But they don't know that, do they?"

"Precisely, Victor! Shastri has no chance of breaking the code because the book they have and the scroll are fakes."

Victor looked shocked. "They are?—I thought the carbon-dating test proved the scroll was genuine?"

"It did, but only because the carbon-dating results were fake."

Rob continued, "So, this is where you come in, Victor,"

"I do?" The Frenchman asked, excitedly.

"Yes, you do. The Russians are going to approach you to decipher the code, which you will agree to, for a very fat fee of course."

"Of course," Victor agreed, enthusiastically. "When?"

"As soon as they realize Shastri is incapable... I need you to keep the Russians off my back for just a bit longer because I have a promise to honor that wasn't in the original plan."

"What kind of promise?"

"I need to get Alexi and Viktoriya safely out of Russia."

"So... our little adventure isn't over yet, mon ami?"

"No, not quite, mon ami," Rob replied.

"...Okay...So what exactly do I have to do, Robert?"

As they walked together in the afternoon sunshine, enjoying their ice creams, Robert McPherson began to explain his plan to Victor Canseliet; and soon both were lost amongst the throng of visitors to Gorky Park.

96

Commander Tsvetaeva stood up from behind his desk.

"I'm not interested in that Frenchman...Canseliet, anymore; now that we have the book he is of no threat to us; but I am very interested in a thieving, little monk by the name of Alexi Gorinyenko."

"I don't understand," Nikolai said, repositioning the pencil balanced on his ear lobe.

"The same monk who brought the book to me has stolen valuable artifacts from the Danilov Monastery and gone AWOL."

Nikolai frowned. "Why would he do that? Wasn't the book far more valuable?"

"Apparently so, but clearly he didn't want to fuck with the FSB. But perhaps he thought a bit of church silverware might go unnoticed?" Tsvetaeva suggested.

"Obviously desperate for some money now that he's succumbed to the sins of the flesh... Talking of that, where is the girl?" Nikolai asked"

"No sign of her; obviously they've run off together. Put all your efforts into finding them, comrade, ASAP," the commander demanded. "They can't go far until they sell the artifacts, and that might take some time."

As Nikolai left the office the commander lit a cigarette and walked over to the window. He gazed out at a helicopter passing overhead. Memories came rushing into his mind's eye.

The Russian made Mi24 assault helicopter hugged the snow covered terrain of the Hindu Kush as it headed for the target area.

"There it is, that's the cave entrance straight ahead!" Commander Tsvetaeva shouted above the noise of the helicopter's engine and throbbing blades. Tsvetaeva's eyes were wide with excitement; adrenaline surged through his veins. "Let's get the rats, comrades."

As the Mi24 closed in on the cave a young Mujahideen fighter appeared at the cave's entrance. On his shoulder he was holding a Russian made RPG-7 rocket propelled grenade launcher.

A flash of light lit the cave for a brief moment as the rocket grenade snaked towards the helicopter.

Tsvetaeva reacted, "PULL UP—NOW."

The pilot pulled the stick and the Mi24 jerked skyward.

The Afghan disappeared into the smoky darkness to reload the launcher as the grenade exploded on the mountain side.

"It's one of ours, Commander!" the pilot shouted.

The commander nodded, "I know, it's an RPG and they're not heat-seekers they're just grenades, so they can't track us. Pull back and I'll hit them with everything we've got."

Tsvetaeva's thoughts were broken by the sound of an approaching ambulance siren.

In a gruff, monotone voice, he said to himself:

"Nobody escapes me, monk. I will get you, even if I have to drag you out of the sewers, screaming. Beauty, like Viktoriya's, is far too good for you."

97

Professor Shastri was sitting alone in the back of a black, s500 Mercedes, heading for the Kremlin.

Today was the day he would get to see the book. And today was the day the Russians would expert answers from him.

He looked tired from lack of sleep and worry about what was expected of him as a professor of antiquity. But he never expected to be tested like this.

This was something else, this wasn't just some common or garden Egyptian hieroglyphics, this was different, something never attempted before.

He would take his time and not allow them to rush him. It might take months to understand the book.

If it is the correct scroll? He mused.

It suddenly went dark and the professor could see that the Mercedes had entered what he assumed was an underground parking lot. A large metal door opened in front of them and they drove into what must have been a large elevator. The doors closed behind them and in semi darkness they started to descend.

"Where are we going?" Shastri asked, but the driver ignored him.

The elevator eventually stopped, a siren rang out and the doors in front of them opened automatically.

The driver eased the gleaming Mercedes out into a man-made, concrete cavern, lit by countless rows of florescent lights.

In the far left corner some thirty yards away the professor noticed Mr Volodin, waiting patiently. The Mercedes pulled up next to him and the driver got out and opened the rear door for the professor.

"Good day, Professor," Volodin said, holding out his hand to greet him.

The professor exited the car and reluctantly shook hands with Volodin. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around him.

"Somewhere safe," Volodin answered. "Please come with me, Professor."

Safe from what? Shastri thought.

A small electric train was waiting and Volodin and the professor took seats in the front carriage.

"The ghost train," Shastri commented as they headed off into an illuminated tunnel.

Two minutes later they came to a halt at what looked like a platform of some deserted metro station.

Volodin exited the car and Shastri followed.

Ahead of them the professor could see a security check point and a number of armed guards.

Volodin approached one of the guards and showed him his ID. The guard checked it and waved them through.

The sound of bolts releasing echoed in the still air as the metal gate was unlocked.

Volodin smiled. "Follow me please, he said, gesturing to the professor."

Shastri was tense and his palms were moist as they stepped onto a moving walkway.

"Almost there now, Professor," Volodin said, reassuringly.

Shastri forced a tight-lipped smile as he held on to the moving handrail.

"Our destination," Volodin said, pointing ahead to a white, plastic dome that drew ever closer by the second. They exited the moving walkway and approached the structure. Volodin swiped his ID card in a wall reader and, like a scene from Star Trek, a door slid open with a gentle hiss.

They entered an ante-room and a smartly dressed woman wearing a white blouse and red skirt approached them. A photo ID card on a metal chain hung around her neck.

"Comrade," said Volodin, shaking hands with the woman. She smiled confidently.

She was in her late forties, tall and very attractive. Her raven-black hair hung in curls onto her shoulders and she wore red lipstick that contrasted with her perfect, alabaster complexion. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were dark and mysterious.

"Comrade Zhukov, this is Professor Shastri—He is here to break the cipher."

The woman offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you Professor—I wish you the best of luck."

Shastri shook her hand in nervous silence as a bead of perspiration trickled down his cheek.

Volodin enthused. "I like to think of Dr Zhukov as a real-life, female equivalent of Dan Brown's, Robert Landon. But don't let her beauty fool you, she is an authority on ancient symbolism and I'm sure she will be an invaluable asset to you, Professor."

Then why have I never heard of you? The professor pondered...Finally, he allowed himself a weak smile before responding:

"Let's just hope I don't need your assistance," he said, coldly, staring into Dr Zhukov's eyes.

Equally coldly, she replied, "That would be very nice....Shall we make a start, Professor?" She gestured to a door behind her and swiped her ID card through the reader. A red neon turned green and the door opened.

Volodin said, "This is where I take my leave of you. I'll meet up with you both later in the day for a debrief." As he walked away he called out, "Good luck—because I really don't want to involve Victor Canseliet unless it's absolutely necessary."

With Volodin's words ringing in his ears, Shastri followed Dr Zhukov into the enigmatic dome.

He knew that his professional reputation was about to be tested to the limit.

What he didn't know was that his destiny had already been decided.

98

"Things have become a bit more complicated, Alexi," Rob said, settling onto the cream sofa. "But I still promise to get both of you out of here, safely."

Alexi frowned. "I did exactly as you asked me, Robert... I delivered the book and got the FSB off my back. So why are things suddenly... more complicated?"

Viktoriya arrived with a mug of coffee and offered it to Rob.

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug.

Viktoriya sighed, "If anything, it's me that's causing the problem now, Robert," she said, sitting down next to him. "After all the FSB are paying for my education and I've gone AWOL, as you call it."

Rob sipped his coffee. "Well, that's partially true Viktoriya...Unfortunately Bishop Remizov has accused Alexi of stealing precious artifacts from the monastery and reported it to the FSB."

"WHAT?" Alexi exclaimed.

Viktoriya raised her hand to her mouth.

Rob said, "they're afraid."

Distraught, she asked, "afraid of what?"

Rob looked at Alexi.

Alexi nodded and said, "It's okay, Rob,...she knows everything."

Rob looked at Viktoriya. "They're afraid that Alexi will expose them for what they are."

Viktoriya began to cry and Alexi moved next to her. "It's okay, love," he said as he pulled her close.

Rob placed his coffee mug on the smoked-glass table, stood up and walked pensively towards the portrait of Marilyn Monroe.

Eventually, he turned and said, "It means that the FSB are hunting you again. This place is no longer safe; we need to get you out of here."

Viktoriya sobbed. "Nowhere is safe if they're hunting us."

Alexi walked over to the piano. "What I don't understand, Rob, is how you know all these things?"

*

Commander Tsvetaeva knocked on Olga's dormitory door.

"Just a minute!" she called out.

When the door opened, Olga was standing there wrapped in a large white bath towel and drying her hair with a small hand towel.

"Yeah...can I help you?" she said.

"I'm looking for your room mate," the commander said, coldly.

"So am I," Olga replied and tried to close the door.

Tsvetaeva pushed his way into the room. Olga fell backwards onto the bed.

"Hey! Who the fuck do you think you are? Get out of my fucking room or I'm calling the warden."

"...Where is she... Where's Viktoriya?"

"Who the hell are you? I'm calling...."

"Sit down!" The commander flashed his ID badge in front of her face.

"FSB," he said. "...Now, I will ask you once again, where is she?"

"I have no idea where she is," Olga said, defiantly.

Tsvetaeva smiled as he eyed Olga from head to foot. He lifted his walking stick and gently flicked a curl of Olga's damp hair while his gaze settled on her breasts.

Suddenly, she felt vulnerable.

"When did you see her last?" he enquired calmly, moving awkwardly to peer out of the window.

"A few days ago, she replied."

"Did she say where she was going?"

Olga reached for her cigarettes and lit one with a trembling hand. "...No... she didn't. What do you want her for anyway? She's just a student like me."

The commander turned slowly and walked out of the room.

In the hallway he barked an instruction at two uniformed guards.

"Take her away!" he yelled. "I have a way of improving her memory."

99

Victor Canseliet had one more full day left in Moscow before his flight back to France.

Over breakfast he'd decided that the morning would be taken up with a visit to the nearby Danilov Monastery, having remembered Rob's fascinating story about the bells; followed by the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, and then in the afternoon, after a spot of lunch, a visit to the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts.

As he walked through the hotel gardens he reflected on his visit to Moscow. It had been fun but soon it would be just another memory. He pondered Rob's words:

The Russians are going to approach you to decipher the code, which you will agree to do, for a very fat fee, of course.

Well, I guess you got that one wrong, Rob, he thought, as he neared the monastery with its golden domes gleaming in the morning sunshine.

"Mr Canseliet?" A voice said, from behind him.

Victor stopped and turned in surprise to see a very smartly dressed man wearing a long dark overcoat.

"Yes, I'm Victor Canseliet."

"It is an honor to meet you, sir. My name is Sergey Volodin and I work for the Russian government...We have a proposition for you that I think you will find very attractive indeed. I wonder if you would be good enough to join me for lunch?"

Robert, you've done it again, Victor thought.

"What kind of proposition, Mr Volodin?"

"For now, let's just say it's a very lucrative one. I will fill you in on the details later. Shall we say midday? I do hope you like caviar?"

Victor smiled. "I think you should be aware that I fly back to France tomorrow, Mr Volodin."

"Yes,... I'm aware of that, but I very much doubt that you will want to when you hear what's on offer. As a matter of fact, MrCanseliet, I'm so confident I've already arranged for you to stay at the prestigious National Hotel in one of its finest suites for as long as it takes. The hotel is very close to Red Square with wonderful views of the Kremlin. I have also taken the liberty of booking the best seats in the house at the Bolshoi Ballet for tomorrow night"s performance of Swan Lake. I hope you approve? All of your expenses will be taken care of; there is no need to worry about a thing. We have a lot to talk about over lunch, Mr Canseliet. So, midday it is then. I'll meet you in the foyer of your hotel."

Volodin held out his hand and the two men shook hands.

Victor watched the Russian as he strode briskly to a nearby limousine. The chauffeur opened the rear door for him and moments later the sleek black limo vanished into the Moscow traffic.

"Mon Dieu!" Victor exclaimed. "Paris will just have to wait."

12.30pm—The National Hotel, Moscow

"May I call you Victor?" Volodin asked.

"Please do."

"We believe, Victor, that your unique skills match our requirements perfectly."

Victor raised his eyebrows. "And your requirements are?"

Volodin poured more vodka into his glass. "We want you to decipher an ancient book."

"My expertise is in esoteric script, not ancient books, Mr Volodin," Victor said.

"Exactly, Victor; but this book is no ordinary book. Have you ever heard of the Nine Men?"

Victor's mouth opened. "Are you telling me you have one of the nine books?"

Volodin smiled smugly. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. We also have an ancient script, recently found in India, that will allow you to decode the book."

"Is this the script found by Professor Shastri at the Badami Cave Temples?" Victor asked.

"Yes, it is." Volodin said, excitedly.

"Mon Dieu!" Victor exclaimed; quietly enjoying the performance of his life. "So it's all true, The Nine Men and the nine books really exist!"

"But we only have one book, Victor."

"The ninth book to be precise, the one that's been missing for centuries; the rules for the evolution of societies and the means for foretelling their futures. Powerful stuff, Mr Volodin."

"Very powerful! Do you happen to know the whereabouts of the other books?"

Victor placed his empty wine glass on the table.

"Only the Nine Men know that. Legend has it that Book Nine was once owned by Pope Sylvester ll, no less."

Volodin leaned over and topped up Victor's wine glass. "How's the wine?" he enquired.

Victor smiled, "It doesn't get much better than Château Margaux 2011, Mr Volodin."

"I'm a vodka man myself, Victor, good wine is wasted on me, I'm afraid," he said, downing his drink and immediately refilling his glass with the best vodka Russia had to offer.

Volodin stroked his beard thoughtfully. "...We realize it won't be easy, but we are prepared to reward you handsomely for your efforts."

Victor sipped his wine and looked out of the hotel window at the Kremlin. "You understand that I cannot give you any guarantees?" he said, pensively. "It's never been done before."

"We will pay you fifty-thousand dollars now and a further fifty-thousand if you succeed in decoding the book."

Stay cool, Victor, stay cool, he thought. They need you... and they know it.

"If you want Victor Canseliet's services then I'm afraid you'll have to double your offer."

Volodin finished his vodka and theatrically stroked his bearded chin with his thumb and index finger.

"...Okay...we have a deal, Victor, he said, and offered his hand."

Victor shook on the deal. "Good—When do I start?"

"First thing in the morning; please be ready at eight o'clock." Volodin stood up and walked off, followed by his two bodyguards.

Victor called out. "One question, Mr Volodin. Why didn't you approach Professor Shastri to decode the book?"

Volodin stopped, turned and looked at Victor.

"Why talk to the monkey when you can talk to the organ-grinder?" he replied, before walking out.

Victor allowed himself a wry smile.

An attractive, young waitress approached his table and topped up his wine glass. After she'd walked away, Victor picked up the wine bottle and inspected the label. I wonder just how much they were prepared to pay for my services?

He swirled the exquisite wine around his glass before sipping it.

"Layers of complexity and exceptional depth," he said to himself.

100

Commander Tsvetaeva finished his cigarette and ground the butt into the floor with the sole of his boot.

"I'm going to report you for this." Olga said, trembling uncontrollably. "I am not a fucking soldier, I am a university student."

"Report me for what?" the Commander asked calmly.

"TORTURE, you sick fucker."

"My methods are a very effective way of getting information from people who are reluctant to give it. As soon as you tell me where your room mate is, you can leave. Or is it that you like being hosed down with ice-cold water?"

Olga slumped against the tiled wall and as her head dropped she began to sob.

Tsvetaeva saw his opportunity and approached her. He jerked her hair back so that she was forced to look at him and smell his rancid breath.

"Well, where is she?" he insisted.

"...Odessa...They've gone to Odessa to escape from you; you EVIL piece of SHIT!"

The commander smiled. "Where in Odessa?"

"WHERE? I don't know WHERE. She told me they had things to sell and Odessa was a good place to get rid of the stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"I don't know, she didn't say."

"When did they leave?"

"A few days ago, I think; I can't be sure."

"Let's hope, for your sake you're telling me the truth; because if you're not, I will call on you again — do you understand?"

Olga slid down the wet wall tiles onto the cold floor and vomited over herself.

The commander watched as her naked body started to convulse.

"Clean yourself up, get dressed and get out of here!" the commander snarled.

*

The phone on Mr Volodin's desk began to ring as he walked into his office. He picked it up, "Yes, Anna?"

"There's a woman on the line, sir, and she sounds very upset. She refuses to give her name but she says it's very important that she speaks to you."

"Put her through, Anna."

"Yes, sir."

"...Sergey Volodin speaking," he said, and then listened intently, for some time, to the person on the other end of the line.

"When did this happen?...This is clearly unacceptable...Thank you for letting me know. I will deal with this personally, you have my word. For the moment I would ask you for your discretion in this matter. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," responded Viktoriya and replaced the receiver in the phone box.

Volodin grabbed his coat off the stand and walked out of his office, closing the door behind him. He glanced at his secretary at her desk, typing.

"If you need me, Anna, I'm with Commander Tsvetaeva at the FSB headquarters. We have a problem," he uttered, as he left.

Sergey Volodin exited the elevator, turned right and walked down the corridor to Commander Tsvetaeva"s office. He tapped on the door, and, not waiting for a response, walked in.

The commander stood up from behind his desk with a look of surprise. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Sergey Volodin."

"...Yes, of course, I'm sorry, I should have known. Please sit down Mr Volodin. What can I do for you?"

"You have a very impressive track record, Commander," he said, scanning the numerous military pictures adorning the office walls.

Tsvetaeva smiled and nodded his acknowledgement.

"Your country is very proud of you for what you did in Afghanistan," Volodin added.

"Thank you, sir."

"But this is not Afghanistan, Commander. Why did you strip a young, female student naked earlier today and hose her down with water?"

The commander stiffened, not expecting the question.

"I..."

"If this gets out, you are finished. Your career will be over, Commander."

Tsvetaeva sat down again and tried to compose himself. "I was merely doing my job."

"DOING YOUR FUCKING JOB?" Volodin yelled. "HOSING DOWN NAKED STUDENTS... That's your job is it?"

"I was getting information," the commander replied, tersely. "That's my job!"

"What kind of information, Commander?"

"Information about a thief; a sewer rat that has stolen priceless artifacts from the Holy Danilov Monastery."

"And what exactly has the student girl got to do with this?" Volodin enquired.

"She helped them escape."

"Them?"

Tsvetaeva opened a pack of cigarettes and lit one, before answering.

"The rat and his girlfriend; another student from the university who shared a room with this Olga girl."

"Olga, the naked collaborator?"

The commander slammed his fist on the desk.

"My method's work; she's very lucky she's still got all her fingers. I got the information I was looking for, Mr Volodin The artifacts are priceless and our two thieves are on their way to Odessa, to sell them on the black market, as we speak. They must not be allowed to get away with it. I'm leaving for Odessa in fifteen minutes. My surveillance team is already hunting them. They won't get far, believe me."

"And who exactly is this rat—as you like to call him?"

The commander hesitated, "...A monk."

"A monk!" Volodin laughed out loud. "Surely not the same monk who delivered the book to you, Commander; the book you and your team of experts failed to find?"

"...Yes...him."

"That's strange because he doesn't strike me as a sewer rat. Do you realize that the book he personally delivered to you is far more valuable to us than a thousand fucking artifacts from a thousand fucking monasteries."

For a while Tsvetaeva remained tight-lipped, breathing deeply through his nostrils...finally he said:

"He knew that book was too hot to handle; and he knew not to fuck with the FSB; but the fool thought he could steal from the church and get away with it."

"What exactly has he stolen from the church?"

Tsvetaeva shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I haven't got the list from Bishop Remizov yet, but he informs me that a number of significant artifacts have gone missing."

"How many?" Volodin pushed.

"... A number—that's all I know at the moment. What does it fucking matter anyway?"

"And he is positive that they were stolen by the rat?"

"YES," snarled Tsvetaeva.

"...One last thing, Commander—what proof do you have that this, Olga girl, helped them escape?"

"I know she did; it's called instinct. It's something a soldier needs, to survive in battle — Not that you"d know anything about that, Mr Volodin."

"Instinct, you say?" Volodin walked over to the window and peered out. "Instinct," he repeated as he headed for the door.

Standing in the doorway, he turned and smiled.

"Good luck in Odessa, Commander," he said. "But please remember — if you ever go near that girl again it will be the end of the war for you."

The commander watched Volodin walk down the corridor and enter the lift.

"The end of the war for me? I don't think so somehow, you pompous asshole," he said, grinding his cigarette butt into the ashtray.

101

Robert McPherson slipped into the back seat of the limo and the chauffeur closed the door behind him.

"It's good to see you again Robert, or should I call you Michael?"

Rob laughed and the two men shook hands.

"It's good to see you, too," Rob said. "I understand Victor has taken on a very lucrative project with the Russian government. I hope he negotiated a good deal?"

"Let's just say he was very happy with the arrangements. He starts first thing in the morning. I hope he knows what he's doing, Robert?"

"He's one of the best, if not the best authority in the world on this kind of thing. His bullshit will be very believable."

"Let's hope so. I'm making the arrangements to get both of them out of the country, on the basis that they take up new identities. They have never lived in Russia; that's the deal, okay? It's Russia's way of thanking the monk for finding and delivering the book," the passenger said. "Let's just hope the authorities never find out the truth, my friend, because if they do, I'm dead."

Rob smiled broadly. "Don't worry, they never will — and anyway, very soon you and I will be enjoying a cold beer watching the Washington Redskins... But right now, what about Viktoriya and Alexi, are they safe?"

"Very safe; they're in the same hotel as Victor."

"The National?"

"Yeah, right under Tsvetaeva's nose, the imbecile would never think of looking for them there. Viktoriya said you spoke to them earlier and explained the arrangements."

"Yeah," Rob said, "I just wanted to reassure them. They must be feeling pretty vulnerable at the moment; they're only kids after all."

"I expect they're drinking champagne and fucking each other's brains out, as we speak."

Rob chuckled. "You're not jealous are you?"

The passenger laughed. "I presume your lot are arranging their new passports and travel arrangements?"

Rob nodded. "Yes, the paperwork should be ready within the next two days."

"Let's just hope the Frenchman does a good job tomorrow, otherwise those kid's dreams will burst like soap bubbles," the passenger said, solemnly.

"He will, trust me," Rob said.

102

Victor was tingling with nervous excitement as the black limo pulled away from the hotel. As the limo sped off effortlessly, Victor turned and glanced through the back window at the National Hotel's impressive facade.

Breakfast had been very light: coffee, scrambled eggs and a little toast. That was all he could manage; apart from the four cigarettes of course.

"Where are we going?" Victor asked the chauffeur but the driver raised his hands and said: "No speak English, sorry."

Soon though the limo turned off the road into a building and entered a large service elevator.

Victor watched as they descended. When the elevator stopped a klaxon sounded and the doors in front of them opened. The limo rolled silently forward into a cavernous chamber.

"Mon Dieu!" Victor exclaimed, "Mon Dieu!"

When the limo stopped Victor looked out to see Mr Volodin, who approached and opened the back door for Victor.

"Good morning, Victor," he said, brightly.

"Good morning, Mr Volodin."

"Please, call me Sergey—I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you—with a little help from a bottle of Château Margaux 2011!"

Volodin laughed out loud. "Excellent!—Please follow me, Victor, we're going on a little train ride." The big Russian gestured to the empty carriages.

"I wasn't expecting this, Sergey."

Having taken the same route as Professor Shastri, Victor and Volodin eventually arrived at the dome and were greeted by Dr Zhukov.

"My name is Dr Anna Zhukov, I've heard a lot about you, Dr Canseliet and I'm looking forward to working with you," she said, shaking his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," Victor said, doffing his hat.

Volodin smiled, sensing the congenial atmosphere developing between them.

"I'm going to leave you now, Victor. You're in good hands with Dr Zhukov."

"I'm sure I am, Sergey."

Volodin walked off and Dr Zhukov showed Victor into the dome.

103

"The book is in a controlled environment," Dr Zhukov said, as she swiped her pass through the scanner. "Please go in Doctor."

Victor passed through an airlock before reaching the dimly lit main room. In front of him he could see the large, leather bound book on a tilted table top. Around the table a number of spot lamps illuminated the immediate area.

The room was silent; an eerie silence, the kind a magnificent gothic cathedral, like Notre Dame, demands and imbues upon its visitors.

The silence of respect.

Victor approached the book and he began to tingle with excitement.

Dr Zhukov offered Victor a pair of thin latex gloves.

"Please sit down, Doctor," she said and Victor settled on a stool next to the book.

With his gloves on he started to carefully inspect the pages of script.

Robert, you're a genius, he thought.

Dr Zhukov removed the scroll from its tube and unfolded it next to Victor.

"I have studied the scroll and the book," Zhukov said, "and I'm convinced the scroll is part of a key."

Victor studied the documents for a considerable time; examining the scripts with a large magnifying glass, like Sherlock Holmes,

Finally, he said, "I totally agree with you Doctor. This scroll definitely relates to this book. But this scroll is only one of a number that would be needed to decipher the book. You see these serrations around the edges of the scroll?"

Dr Zhukov leaned over the scroll. "Yes, I see them," she said.

"I believe this scroll is the central scroll of eight others." Victor grabbed a piece of plain paper and drew a square on it. Then, drawing two vertical lines and two horizontal lines, he divided the square up into nine smaller squares and pointed to the middle square. "That's our scroll," he said, "because it has serrations on each of its edges...but it's useless without the other eight. The serrations around its edges fit like a jigsaw puzzle with the other scrolls — wherever they are?"

"Nine scrolls for nine books," commented Dr Zhukov.

"Just an educated guess, but it seems logical, doesn't it?"

A phone in the corner of the room started ringing.

"Excuse me" she said, and walked over to answer it.

Victor busied himself, admiring the craftsmanship of the fake book, while Dr Zhukov chatted excitedly in Russian on the phone.

When she returned to the desk she was exuberant. Her normally pale complexion was suddenly flushed with color.

"That was the Russian Ambassador to India, Doctor... I have some very good news." She paused to compose herself. "He informed me that Dr Shastri's team have found another five scrolls!"

Victor resisted a sudden urge to laugh; instead he enthused. "That's wonderful news, Dr Zhukov!"

"Apparently they have unearthed another underground chamber in the region of the Badami Cave Temples in Karnataka and found the scrolls. And according to the Ambassador they're in excellent condition."

Robert, how do you do it? Victor mused.

Clearly excited, Dr Zhukov stressed, "so, that makes a total of six scrolls; six will make a significant difference."

Victor nodded enthusiastically. "Unfortunately, I have some business commitments, which I must honor that force me to return to Paris later this week, but I strongly suggest you and I reconvene next week, when the new scrolls have arrived here, and together, we try to break this cipher."

Dr Zhukov smiled. "I look forward to it."

"But that is next week, as for tonight, Doctor, I have a spare ticket for the Bolshoi Ballet and I would be delighted if you would join me for what I'm sure will be a memorable performance of Swan Lake."

Dr Zhukov was taken aback by Victor's invitation and appeared defensive and uncomfortable with the situation, but gradually her demeanor softened.

"...I have never been to the ballet," she admitted. "Very few Russians can afford to go."

Victor grinned, "I'll take that as a yes then?"

"...Yes, okay...why not — I would love to go to the Bolshoi with you."

Sorry, Mr Volodin, but I'm sure you'll understand, Victor thought, as the tingling returned.

104

The Kremlin

Volodin and the professor were sitting opposite each other at a large, polished table.

Professor Shastri held a tight-lipped smirk as he listened to Volodin's acknowledgement that the scroll was genuine and also the news that five other scrolls had been found by the professor's team.

"Well, I'm glad you have finally accepted the findings of my report."

"We have accepted the findings of Victor Canseliet, Professor."

Shastri's expression hardened... "Well, well, Mr Volodin, the great Victor Canseliet agrees with my humble judgment; how situations can change overnight. It would appear that I am now holding the ace card, not you."

"It would appear that way, Professor." Volodin agreed.

"I want to be on the next flight out of this God forsaken country and I never want to come back."

"I can arrange that for you."

Shastri raised his eyebrows. "I also want my scroll back, Mr Volodin."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"WHAT!" Shastri thumped the table. "IT'S MINE, DAMN YOU... It's useless to you without the other scrolls and you know it!"

"Yes, that was explained to me by Dr Canseliet. They should be here in a day or two though."

"Oh...no...no...I won't allow them out of India, Mr Volodin. They are my ace cards."

"I'm afraid they're already on their way. Your team received the email from you instructing them to ship the scrolls by air mail to Russia for further analysis by you. You actually don't have any ace cards, Professor."

Shastri froze. "...You bastard!"

"Before you say too much more, which you might regret later, hear me out."

Shastri stared defiantly at the Russian. "What do you mean?" he snarled.

"I propose that you go back to India and find the last three scrolls."

"Fuck you and your Russian arrogance!"

Volodin raised his hand, "Please, Professor... hear me out... If you find them, we'll buy them off you at your original asking price. After all, what you're selling has to be fit for purpose, doesn't it? And it seems to me, based on the latest discovery in India, your chances are very good. So... this is our very generous offer to you, Professor — Five-million US dollars for the job lot of nine scrolls....It's your call—Take it or leave it."

Shastri tapped his fingers on the table; his eyes fixed on Volodin.

"And what if we don't find anymore scrolls?"

"Then, sadly, the book may never be deciphered."

"I realize that, Mr Volodin."

"In answer to your question, Professor, it means that you will have missed out on a five-million dollar payout."

"...So it's all or nothing then?"

Sergey Volodin stood up and smiled. "As I said—take it or leave it."

105

The National Hotel, Moscow

"It's hard to believe, Robert," Alexi said.

"Yes, I can imagine it is, but trust me, it's going to happen very soon. You could say your new life together has already started," Rob gestured to the opulent surroundings of their suite overlooking the Kremlin. "But have you both thought about where you want to go when you leave Moscow, because there's no coming back, guys, this is a one-way ticket out of here. The Russians have agreed to release you but you'll no longer hold a Russian passport. In fact you've never been to Russia, either of you. It's their way of protecting themselves."

"From us?" Viktoriya asked.

"Scandal," Robert said, looking at Alexi.

Alexi giggled. "I can assure you, Robert, the last thing I want to do is revisit my past. I'm too busy looking forward to the future."

"I'm sure that's the case, Alexi, but the Russians want to make sure you can't revisit your past; but at least they don't want you dead. So... tell me, where do you want to go?" Rob asked again.

Viktoriya smiled at Alexi, sitting next to her on the sofa. "We want to go to America, Robert. We want to see New York, Washington DC, San Francisco, Hollywood, Vegas..."

Rob laughed, "Okay! I get the message,... but what about your families, have you considered that?" Rob asked.

Alexi shook his head. "Neither of us has any family any more; there's nothing to keep us here."

"No brothers or sisters to worry about?"

"No," Viktoriya confirmed.

"You realize that life in America is very different from life here in Russia. In America, money is everything."

"Will there be problems?" Alexi asked.

"More like challenges. Firstly you'll need to learn English, then you'll need to think about where you want to live in America, after all it's a big place. And then you'll need to think about your futures; you're still young and maybe you'll want to continue your studies or possibly set up in business somewhere. Quite frankly the world is now your oyster and I hope you enjoy every moment. There's a government organization that will help you to integrate into the American way of life with your new identities."

Rob knew that too much money too soon was a recipe for disaster. They would need managing, like all young people with a lot money. Rob also knew there were plenty of very clever people out there who'd love to get their hands on the couples fortune.

"It all seems too good to be true," Viktoriya said.

Alexi chuckled. "And all because I found a strange book that nobody can understand."

"This book, Robert, what is it all about?" Viktoriya asked.

Robert was looking out of the window at the Kremlin, expecting the question. He turned to face Viktoriya. "The book is very important. It's one of nine in total and until Alexi found it, it had been lost for a very long time. The nine books are a source of great knowledge, so powerful that they have to be protected."

"But nobody can understand them?" Alexi said.

Rob explained, "That's because they don't know how to use the books. The books are not meant to be read like you'd read a normal book."

"Then what are they for?" Viktoriya asked,

"That, I'm afraid, I can't tell you."

(See details of how to use the books in appendix 1)

Alexi turned to face Viktoriya, "Well, I'm just glad I found it... Almost as much as finding you, he said, and kissed her."

Rob smiled but slowly his expression turned to a concerned frown.

"...Are you sure you want to do this, Alexi?"

Alexi looked surprised. "Yes, of course we do."

"I'm referring to the phone call you intend to make."

Alexi's jaw dropped. "Oh my God! How do you know about that?"

106

Two months before at Camp David, Catoctin Mountain Park, Maryland, some sixty-miles north of Washington DC and the country retreat of the President of the United States.

"This is about as private as my life gets, Robert," the President said, enjoying the vista of leafy trees. "And what I'm about to tell you is for your ears only—Is that clear?"

"Very clear, Mr President."

Robert McPherson, Vicki and Daniel had been invited to Camp David for the weekend. Ostensibly the visit was in gratitude for the bravery Robert had shown in landing the Pakistani President's jet on the sea and averting a potential catastrophe on the eastern seaboard; for which he was awarded the Medal of Honor.

The President turned to look at Robert. "You've already seen things that most people would find difficult to believe."

Robert smiled at the comment, not sure where the conversation was leading.

"You've shown great courage, Robert, and most of all you've demonstrated the one great strength we're looking for—discretion."

Robert frowned.

"Things will soon become clear, I promise you," the President added as he removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with a white handkerchief. "Walk with me and I'll tell you more."

It was not until the both men had entered a wooded area, thick with trees that the President continued talking. "The trees keep breaking up the signal and they can't follow the conversation. It drives my agents mad."

Robert looked around in surprise.

"Oh yes, even here at Camp David we're being monitored"... The President stopped, closed his eyes and breathed in... "Tell me, Robert, have you ever heard of an organization known as The Nine Men?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," Robert replied, as they continued walking side-by-side in the pine scented air of the woodland.

The President took another deep, nasal breath and filled his lungs... "We are an organization with a long history. Our purpose is to protect the human race from self destruction and to do this we have a little help from our friends. Friends you've had the privilege to meet; the owners of the crystal."

"The aliens?"

"Our guardians, as we refer to them..."

"The Angels of Destiny," Robert added, profoundly.

The President grinned and continued. "Yes, I like that, Robert...The Angels of Destiny. You see, the Nine Men are charged with looking after nine very special books. Each book contains a blue-print of coded information about us, the human race, and the complex, diverse world we live in; but like all information if it fell into the wrong hands it would be devastating for mankind. Generations of the Nine Men have guarded the books and used them wisely, but only when necessary and guided by our guardians."

"What kind of information are you talking about, sir?" Robert asked, incredulously.

The President continued walking amongst the trees followed closely by an intrigued Robert. "These little beauties drive my agents fucking mad!" he said, patting a tree as if it was an old friend..."I'm talking about nuclear fusion, quantum mechanics, space travel, thought communications and a whole host of things not even you have heard of. Things that mankind would not be able to comprehend—yet."

"Forgive me ,sir, but why are you telling me these things?"

The President walked in silence for a short while, hands clasped behind his back like a thoughtful professor. "... A very important position has recently become vacant, Robert, and we want you to take it... To become one of us...One of the Nine Men."

Robert looked stunned.

The President's expression hardened. "...One of the books is misplaced and we need you to get it back."

"...And just how do I do that, sir?"

"Very soon a manuscript will be found in India, and that discovery will trigger the start of your mission to Russia."

"Russia!"

"Yes, Moscow to be precise...Let's keep walking—I have a lot to tell you about the Nine Men; but only if you accept the role. You must understand that we don't advertise or interview for this position. You are chosen and in fact you have been groomed for this role for some time now; without being aware of it. Very few people have ever been entrusted with a crystal. Nine, at anyone time, to be precise. Nine crystals and nine books."

"You say that I've been chosen?"

"Yes—by the owners of the crystals. You've already met two of them."

"I have?" Robert asked, frowning.

"The two aliens below the Pentagon! They've been here since the 1960s and, obviously, they aren't dead!"

"They certainly looked very dead to me, sir. Where are they from?" Robert asked.

"Somewhere, very far away."

"So time travel is possible!" Robert said, in awe.

"No, not time travel, Robert that's very inefficient."

"Then what, Mr President?"

"...Imagine a long roll of paper, say, just for example, thirty-feet-long. At each end of the roll of paper there is a black circle, and the circles represent their world and our world, two worlds divided by thirty feet. Are you with me?"

Robert nodded enthusiastically, "I'm all ears."

"Now imagine that roll of paper was Space-Time and the thirty feet was actually thirty-million light years! As you know Space-Time is bent and distorted by mass. Imagine being able to roll that piece of paper up into a tube so that the black dots actually lined up with each other. Then, they would be apart by the thickness of a few sheets of paper, and not thirty feet! Those sheets of paper represent different dimensions. Cross those dimensions and you can travel from one world to another in less than a second! Who needs time travel, Robert?"

"How do you roll up the paper?" Robert asked, incredulously.

The President smiled, "Simple... you use Black Holes!"

Astounded, Robert shook his head, struggling with the President's words.

"Over the years, Robert, there have been many guardians of the books, some famous, some recluses. The books seem out of place, don't you agree? Ancient manuscripts and alien crystals in a symbiotic relationship!"

Robert nodded, "It does seem odd, doesn't it?"

The President continued:

"The books and the crystals are symbolic, they represent frailty and strength; but the thing is they need each other. If we destroy our world the books will be destroyed with us; and never again will the beauty and diversity of life on this Earth be allowed. We will not be given a second chance."

107

The Holy Danilov Monastery

"I agree—until he is found there is obvious cause for concern," said Bishop Remizov, as he poured out freshly brewed tea into two mugs.

Bishop Yakunin rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the stress before excepting the steaming mug from Remizov. "If he talks we are finished, both of us; you know that don't you?"

Remizov took a deep breath. "If he talks, Brother; we are assuming the worst here. And talking in prison isn't going to get him very far, is it? Who's going to believe a common thief?"

Yakunin blew on his tea before taking a small sip. "What exactly did you say to the FSB?"

"I told them that a number of precious artifacts had gone missing along with Gorinyenko. I stressed that their intrinsic value was enormous, let alone their historical significance to the church. Commander Tsvetaeva from the FSB promised me he'd hunt them down. The latest word is that they believe Gorinyenko headed for Odessa, to sell the stuff on the black market."

"And what if they find them?" asked Yakunin. "They clearly won't have the artifacts will they? As they never had them in the first place."

"The FSB will think they've already sold them."

Yakunin, rolled his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm not sure if you're ready for this," Remizov said.

"Ready for what?"

"Gorinyenko has taken copies of the accounts."

"Which accounts?"

"Our private accounts."

"Oh my God; we are finished!" Yakunin cried out. "How do you know this?"

"The bastard left us a note in the file."

108

Commander Tsvetaeva had arrived back from his trip to Odessa, angry. Angry that it had been a complete waste of time. He now realized that that bitch, Olga, had lied to him and he was angry because he realized the Bishop had lied to him, too. "Nobody makes a fool out of me," he said. "They'll regret this for the rest of their miserable lives."

The commander flopped into his chair and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs and considered his next move.

Within the hour he'd put the word out on the streets of Moscow that he was looking for Alexi and Viktoriya and that he was prepared to pay a handsome cash reward for anyone coming forward with information that would lead to their whereabouts. Someone was protecting them and he knew it; but he couldn't trust the FSB to find them now, he needed to go it alone.

Word had reached the kitchens of the National Hotel by evening time and a young waiter by the name of Yuri happened to be there when he heard two kitchen staff talking about it. Immediately, he realized the descriptions of the two matched the descriptions of the couple upstairs, in the Kremlin Suite.

I wonder if it's them? 10,000 Rubles would come in very handy, he thought.

"It's time to find out if his name is Alexi Gorinyenko," he said to himself, and walked out of the kitchen.

There was a tap on the door of the Kremlin Suite.

Viktoriya looked at Alexi. "I wonder who that is?" she said as she walked to the door and peered through the security peep-hole. "Who is it?" she called out.

"Room service, madam," came the reply.

Viktoriya opened the door to see a young waiter holding an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. "Champagne for Mr Gorinyenko, madam," he said.

"Champagne?" Viktoriya looked confused. "Alexi, did you order champagne?"

"No, not me," came the reply.

"I'm sorry, it must be a mistake, it's not for us," Viktoria said and closed the door.

Yuri walked away, smiling.

109

Commander Tsvetaeva parked his Skoda and walked the short distance to the GUM department store in Red Square, where he'd arranged to meet Yuri the waiter from the National Hotel.

"You must be Yuri?" he asked the tall, thin guy dressed in a waiters uniform, standing near the entrance.

"Yeah, that's me," replied Yuri, blowing cigarette smoke down his nose.

"So what have you got for me?"

"The couple you're looking for... they're staying at the National Hotel, where I work," he said.

The Commander looked skeptical. "Are you sure, kid?"

"Positive; they're staying in the Kremlin Suite. I saw them earlier. His name is Alexi Gorinyenko; I checked, and he fits your description exactly; so does the girl staying with him. They've been there for a couple of days."

The Commander said, "Okay. I'll be in touch," and strode off in the direction of the hotel.

A few minutes later he walked through the main entrance of the National Hotel heading for reception.

"Can I help you, sir?" a receptionist said, seeing him approach.

"Can you tell me the room number of my friend, Mr Alexi Gorinyenko?"

"Just a moment please," she said, and checked her computer screen. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have anyone of that name staying here."

Tsvetaeva frowned. "Could it be that they're staying in the Kremlin Suite."

"Just a moment, sir." She checked her display again. "Well, that suite has been booked out in a different name by a Mr Sergey Volodin; I think he works for the Government," she said, quietly. "According to the notes the couple are due to leave for the airport the day after tomorrow."

Tsvetaeva raised his eyes, mockingly. "Where is he going next?"

"Would you like to go up, sir? The elevators are over there."

"Thank you," he said, walked towards the elevators, turned, and walked out of the hotel.

Outside he stopped and lit a cigarette.

It's going to be a busy couple of days, he thought, as he walked back to his car. His mind had already gone into overdrive and a rush of adrenaline was flowing through his veins. The rush he got from planning a good, clean kill.

As he walked his cell phone rang in his inside pocket. When he checked, it was the young waiter calling him back.

"Yeah," he said, coldly and listened to the young kid ranting on about the money he owed him.

"Shut the fuck up, kid. I'm a man of my word and you'll get your money, okay, but when I'm ready to give it to you; do you understand?"

Tsvetaeva ended the call just as he approached his car. He flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter, got into his Skoda and drove away.

Back at Victor's suite at the National Hotel, he was pouring a glass of wine for Robert. "If I say so myself, Robert, they really do believe the book is genuine. I did a fine job."

Rob sipped his wine and said. "I never doubted you for one minute, Victor."

"But when the call came through about the other scrolls I really struggled not to laugh," Victor said, sitting down opposite Rob.

"Shastri will go back to India and spend the rest of his life frantically digging in the hot, dusty sand, for something that isn't even there."

"Good enough for the pompous bastard!" Victor added before they chinked glasses. "Cheers."

"Cheers... So how was your date with Dr Zhukov?" Rob enquired, with interest.

Victor's eyes lit up. "What a wonderful evening that was, and Swan Lake was just, formidable!...Dr Zhukov is a lovely lady, and I must admit, I do feel guilty about leading her on like this. Although saying that, I'm definitely coming back next week."

Robert laughed. "To quote the famous lines: Do not go gentle into that good night."

Victor looked smug. "I have no intention of going gentle, as you say, mon ami. As far as I'm concerned it's an all expenses paid holiday; eating good food, drinking fine wines and... most importantly, enjoying the company of a very beautiful woman, whom, it would appear, enjoys the company of Victor Canseliet."

"And why not, mon ami?" Rob agreed. "Incidentally, the passports should be here tomorrow so it looks like we're all leaving Moscow two-day's from now. We have a private jet organized that will fly us to Germany; from there Alexi and Viktoriya will go to the US to start their new lives as Alex and Victoria."

"I can't imagine how excited they must be feeling at the moment."

"And we'll get you back to Paris. I presume you'll make your own way back here next week?"

"It's already booked; Air France and First Class! It's not a bad life, is it?" Victor said, topping up their wines.

110

Leonid Kovalsky was a born killer. By the age of thirteen he'd cut the throat of another boy for stealing his mother's washing basket.

In Afghanistan he'd survived the bitter winters as a sniper in the mountains of the Hindu Kush. A deadly shot then, and a deadly shot still.

With no job prospects on his return to Russia after the Afghanistan War, he turned to a life of crime as a paid assassin. There was no shortage of work in Russia and Kovalsky lived a life of luxury.

Physically, he would pass for the average man in the street. At just under six feet and weighing twelve stones he was still very fit, for a fifty-five-year-old.

He'd been driving through Moscow in his 7 Series BMW when the call came in from an old comrade, Commander Tsvetaeva.

He pulled over and immediately began chatting and scribbling notes into a small book as he listened on his cell phone to the Commander's request. Clearly there was an urgency in the Commander's voice. There was also anger, Kovalsky could sense it; even over the phone.

Why he wanted this man dead didn't concern Kovalsky, all he was interested in was the details of the person he was to kill. He'd been waiting for the favor to be called in, ever since the Commander had saved his life in Afghanistan.

Sergey Volodin, he scribbled in his note book and underlined it.

Why would the Commander want to kill a member of the Duma?

The flight scheduling officer at Moscow's International Airport walked back to his desk to hear his desk phone ringing.

With a mouth full of food, he picked up the handset and mumbled: "Flight scheduling, Boris, speaking."

"Commander Tsvetaeva, FSB," he said, coldly

The officer immediately straightened his back and quickly swallowed his food. "...Yes, Commander, what is it I can do for you today?"

"There's a private jet leaving here in two days time."

"There's more than one, sir; one moment and I'll check the flight schedules... There are eight private flights in all."

"Is there a flight booked under the name of Sergey Volodin?"

Boris scanned the list. "Yes, sir, there is. There are five passengers booked for a flight to Germany: Mr Volodin, a Dr Michael Waterman, a Dr Victor Canseliet, plus two others, simply listed as Alex and Victoria."

"That's fine, thank you for your help," Tsvetaeva said, and ended the call. "Bang!—You're dead, Volodin." He picked up the phone and called up Leonid Kovalsky again.

111

It was the morning of the departure from Moscow and Victor had invited everyone to breakfast at his suite. There was fresh and smoked salmon, caviar, a cheese board, cold meats, scrambled eggs, toast, bread, fruit, and of course, three bottles of Veuve Clicquot champagne.

By 8.30 only Sergey Volodin was missing and everyone else was enjoying the spread.

Viktoriya was nervous about tasting the champagne but Victor persuaded her to try it. She took a tentative sip and rolled her eyes in delight. Alexi was next to try but his response was less enthusiastic.

"I will stick with the orange juice," he said, grimacing. Victor laughed and popped another cork. He checked that everyone had a drink and nodded to Robert.

Robert tapped the table to gain everyone's attention. "Today, my friends," he said, "we are celebrating. It is the beginning of a new and exciting life for Alexi and Viktoria. And all because of a book that I wanted so badly. I know I couldn't have done it without you, guys and I will be forever grateful to you... So, please join me and raise your glasses in a toast to the book, Alexi and Viktoriya and their new life in the USA."

At that moment Sergey Volodin walked in.

"Sorry I'm late everyone," he said, and Victor offered him a glass of champagne.

Robert raised his glass, "To the book and to Alexi and Viktoriya."

"To the book and to Alexi and Viktoriya," everyone replied.

Robert continued. "I'm also delighted to announce that Sergey will be joining us on the flight today. He has also decided to leave Russia, for good."

Victor raised his glass, "To Sergey," he said.

"To Sergey," everyone said.

"Thank you one and all," he replied, "these are exciting times."

"They are indeed," Victor agreed and sipped his drink.

Robert noticed that Viktoriya had become tearful. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"I can't believe it's actually happening, Robert; it seems just like a dream. We will never be able to thank you for what you're doing for us." Viktoriya wiped a tear from her cheek, took another sip of champagne and giggled. "The bubbles go up your nose," she said, and everyone laughed.

Sergey looked at his watch and said, "Everyone,... we leave for the airport in one hour. The transport has been arranged so please meet outside the hotel entrance."

Robert looked at Sergey and nodded his approval.

Alexi made an excuse to return to his room and walked out. When he arrived at his suite he sat quietly on the bed, knowing his voice mimicking skills were about to be tested to the full. A few deep breaths and he picked up the phone and dialed a number. Suddenly there was a familiar voice at the other end of the line.

"This is Bishop Remizov speaking."

"Bishop, this is Commander Tsvetaeva speaking. I'm calling to tell you that Gorinyenko has been found," Alexi said, convincingly.

Remizov froze.

"He has produced some extremely incriminating evidence against you and Bishop Yakunin. I intend to bring both of you in to answer these accusations."

Remizov's head lowered as the words sank in.

"Please be ready within one hour, Bishop; we're coming for you."...Alexi smiled and replaced the receiver.

It's time to try the champagne again, he thought, and made his way back to Victor's suite.

The Bishop remained motionless for some time after replacing the receiver. Slumped in his chair he seemed to be focused on some distant object. Finally, he stood up and walked slowly out of his office and into the courtyard. There, he looked up at the bell tower, which housed the Bolshoi Bell and he smiled.

The steps leading up to the bell tower where familiar to the Bishop; he'd climbed them countless times over the years and each time it seemed to take an age; but not today.

At the top of the stairs he stopped to catch his breath. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

Facing him was the awesome 13 ton Bolshoi Bell; a survivor of the Stalin regime. He walked towards it and touched the cold, metal casting, caressing its inscribed icons of winged angels, saints and Christ.

Glancing around the floor he found what he was looking for. He picked up the length of flax bell rope and secured one end of it to the top of the wooden bell frame and with the other end he made a noose. Placing the noose around his neck he tightened the knot and climbed up onto the frame. He tugged at the rope to check it was secure. Then, with his foot, he pushed the heavy bell a number of times until it reluctantly started to toll.

"God, please forgive me, for I have sinned," he said, making the sign of the cross. As the bell swung to one side, Bishop Remizov hurled himself into the darkness.

The Bolshoi Bell continued its slow death toll, as the lifeless body of the Bishop swayed like a pendulum at the end of the rope.

112

Leonid Kovalsky had been up since dawn preparing for the kill. Like all good professionals he knew the importance of being well prepared.

He had confirmed the stand number of the private jet at the airport and he'd estimated the distance of the shot to be fifty-one yards, after visiting his chosen location just after sunrise. It was no problem for a sniper of his ability, especially with the weather conditions being favorable.

His plan was to park up on the perimeter road and shoot through the open window of his BMW as the target approached the steps of the airplane. He was pleased to find plenty of large holes in the perimeter fencing that he could exploit. It was, as jobs go, one of the easier ones. He considered all the angles, if the target exited the limo on the far side or the near side. He would still have time to take the shot.

In Kovalsky's mind the person he was about to murder in cold blood was now referred to as 'The Target.' It was his way of dissociating himself from the reality. It was just a job, nothing more than that.

Most of Kovalsky's victims had been Mujahideen fighters in Afghanistan and to see them die in agony gave him immense pleasure. The way they collapsed, convulsing in agony, blood spurting from their wounds before the second bullet blew their brains out. But that was different, that was war. Today was unrelated, this was a job. It was a case of one clean shoot to the head.

No enjoyment. No sentiment.

"...It's time to go, guys," Rob said, opening the doors of the limo. "All the luggage in?"

"All in," Sergey confirmed.

Victor stubbed his cigarette out in the sand tray and clambered into the rear seat followed by Viktoriya and Alexi. Rob and Sergey faced them on the opposite rear seat.

As the limo pulled away from the hotel, Commander Tsvetaeva started the engine of his Skoda and pulled out behind them.

The drive to Sheremetyevo International Airport took just over 30 minutes, through unusually heavy traffic, but the for the limo passengers, time seemed to fly by, with talk of things to do and places to see in the USA.

Rob suggested to Victor that once his project in Moscow was over he might like to visit the States for a holiday.

Victor seemed quite taken by the idea and agreed that a holiday in the US sounded very attractive. But secretly, all he could really think about at the moment was the enigmatic Dr Zhukov. The woman fascinated him with her beauty and brains. They had so much in common and yet there was so much he didn't know about her. All he knew was that he felt so alive. But remember Victor, Tu  dois idéaliser les femmes  et être trop exigeant, he reminded himself.

Sergey smiled at Rob. "So far so good," he said. "I've ordered champagne and caviar for the flight, as I think our celebrations will continue for some time yet."

Rob chuckled but inside he was preparing himself for what was to come.

One mistake; that's all it would take.

113

The advantages of flying in a private jet were made obvious when the limo pulled up outside the main arrivals area of Sheremetyevo Airport.

There was no queuing, no booking in and no baggage handling to worry about.

A female airport representative greeted Sergey as he exited the limo and spent a few minutes chatting to him, as if they were old friends.

The group were then escorted to the tranquility of the VIP lounge, avoiding the noisy throng of queuing travelers struggling to control their noisy, badly behaved children.

Victor immediately found the smoking area and lit up to calm his nerves. He was not the best of fliers.

Outside, in the parking lot, Commander Tsvetaeva was sitting and staring through the windscreen of his Skoda, deep in thought. He was looking forward to Volodin's demise and he'd come here to relish the spectacle.

The way he'd been treated by Volodin, as if he was an imbecile, and for what? For doing his duty for the Motherland and getting the information he needed out of that little, fucking whore, that's what!

It's obvious now why Volodin was protecting her. He's a fucking traitor; and very soon he'll be a dead one! The thought delighted him.

They're all involved in this. It's a fucking setup. He pondered over the reason why Volodin was protecting the monk and suddenly the answer came to him.

"Oh, how stupid! he said, banging the steering wheel. The book the sewer rat brought to my office—it's got to be a fake!" he said.

He opened his driver's door and stepped out of the car. "Time to break up the little party; their game is over." He turned and leaned inside the car to get his walking stick and a bullet shattered his left knee.

The Commander slumped onto the ground, writhing in agony. He looked up incredulously at a masked stranger, pointing a hand gun at his head.

"You made a huge mistake, Commander, when you picked on one of my family," he said, and pulled the trigger twice; shooting the Commander through both eyes.

The killer calmly unscrewed the silencer from the end of his gun and walked away, glancing at his watch.

Alexi was standing at a viewing window looking out in awe at the busy airport, watching the massive metal birds taxi, take off and land with comparative ease.

It was then that the nerves started to kick in. He had never been on an airplane. He looked around for Viktoriya who was accepting a glass of champagne from Sergey.

She noticed his worried expression and walked over to him. "Alexi, are you feeling nervous?" she asked.

Alexi nodded. "A bit," he said, trying to stay calm.

"I'm beginning to feel a bit nervous too, my love. This is a first for both of us." Viktoriya offered Alexi a sip of her champagne. "Try some of this, it might help to calm your nerves," she said, and he took a grateful sip.

"Viktoriya!" Robert called out.

Viktoriya turned and there, standing next to Rob, was a very excited, Olga.

"Someone to see you," he called out.

Both girls ran to each other and burst into floods of tears as they hugged.

"I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," Olga managed through some heavy sobbing. "I'll miss you."

Tears poured down Viktoriya's face. "I'll miss you, too, Olga. And I'll never forget what you did for us," she said, as Alexi joined them.

"Take good care of her, Alexi." Olga insisted.

Alexi smiled and hugged Olga. "I will," he said and put his arm around Viktoriya.

"Have you heard the good news?" Olga asked.

"No, what news is that?"

"Your friend, Commander Tsvetaeva has been assassinated."

Viktoriya's jaw dropped open. "No way! Well, I can't say I'm sorry after the way he treated you."

"Well, he won't be bothering you any more," Alexi said. "Do you know who did it?" he asked.

Olga suddenly looked uncomfortable. "No, I have no idea," she said, glancing at her watch. "Oh my, is that the time, I must go; things to do you know... Have a safe journey both, and please keep in touch?"

She kissed and hugged them again before turning and scurrying quickly out of the lounge, blowing her nose into a handkerchief as she left.

"Come and see us in America," Viktoriya called out as Olga disappeared through the lounge doors.

Alexi was intrigued by the news. "I wonder who killed the Commander?"

Viktoriya moved close to Alexi and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Olga's father is a senior Mafia member and apparently not someone to mess with. I've got a pretty good idea who did it," she said, nodding knowingly at Alexi.

"Oh," was all Alexi could say, stunned by Viktoriya's revelation. "Anyway, the evil bastard got what he deserved in the end," he added.

Robert checked his watch. "Are we ready?" he asked Sergey.

"Let's do it," Sergey responded.

Leonid Kovalsky was in position with the end of his sniper's rifle resting on the half open passenger window of his BMW. He could see the approaching limo and he knew the moment was imminent. He took some deep breaths to calm himself. A racing heart was no good to a sniper. He raised the gun and looked through the cross-hairs of the telescopic site to check the focus at the distance of the plane; it was crystal clear.

The limo came to a stop just in front of the airplane steps. Robert asked Victor, Alexi and Viktoriya to remain in the vehicle for just a few moments while he and Sergey got out.

Sergey stood next to Rob and nodded. Rob nodded back.

Opening the rear door, Rob said, "Okay guys, let's get on the plane."

First out, was Victor, who looked around with a beaming expression on his face.

Then Alexi got out and looked up at the plane, with trepidation.

Viktoriya looked at Alexi. "Oh! my love," she said, "You'll be fine, don't worry,"

"Are you sure?" Alexi asked, clearly unconvinced.

Kovalsky watched as his target came into view. His finger caressed the trigger as the cross hairs of his telescopic sight stopped on the target's forehead.

Without hesitation the sniper squeezed the trigger. He knew immediately that the hit was successful and Alexi dropped to his knees.

With both hands on the ground, Alexi's head slowly dipped, like a praying Muslim, until it touched the tarmac.

When Sergey saw the blood, he smiled and breathed a huge sigh of relief: "I'm glad that's over!... They've been chasing him for years, Robert. It's quite ironic that an assassin should die like that, don't you think?"

"By the sword you did your work, and by the sword you die." Rob concluded, quoting the Greek tragedian, Aeschylus.

114

"Alexi?" Viktoriya called out.

"...I'm kissing the ground, just like the Pope does," Alexi answered, "the difference is, I'm kissing it goodbye!"

"Come on then let's get out of here," Rob said, as he herded his happily oblivious passengers onto the plane.

"How you know these things simply amazes me, Robert," Sergey said, "but I'm very glad you do."

Sergey gave a thumbs up to a uniformed officer on the roof of a nearby building, dismantling his sniper rifle. The officer waved back in acknowledgement.

"That was a very close call," Rob whispered.

"Yeah," agreed Sergey, as they climbed the steps into the jet. "But... he is the best Russia has to offer. I'm just glad he doesn't know I'm defecting!"

Some fifty yards away on the other side of the perimeter fence, a group of armed guards surrounded the 7 Series BMW containing the unrecognizable, blood drenched body of Leonid Kovalsky. Shot dead through the windscreen of his car.

*

Alexi's expression was priceless; half fear, half wild excitement. He offered Viktoriya the window seat and then slipped in next to her; but with only five passengers and four crew there was enough empty places on the plane for everyone to have a window seat.

"What going on out there?" Viktoriya asked, peering out of the window. "It looks like there's been a road accident. Oh dear, they're putting someone into an ambulance."

"I wonder if he's dead?" Alexi asked.

He's dead all right, thought Sergey, as he fastened his seat belt.

Rob decided to sit next to Victor on the flight to Germany. He knew he was going to miss him next week.

Victor was busy looking out of the plane when Rob eased into the seat next to him.

"What an adventure that was!" Victor said.

"Yes, it certainly was. And thanks to you my friend it was a successful one, too."

"Oh, honestly, Robert! It wasn't that I did that much, was it?"

"You did more than you realize, Victor, and I'm eternally grateful to you."

"Nonsense, mon ami," he said, quietly delighted with Rob's compliment. "Anyway, I owe you one."

Rob looked curious. "You owe me one?"

"Yes, for introducing me to a wonderful woman; someone I just can't stop thinking about."

"Victor! Have you fallen in love?"

"Mais oui, mon ami, I fear the worst," Victor said, nodding.

Robert laughed and Victor joined in.

Thirty minutes into the flight the two stewardesses sauntered around the cabin offering champagne and caviar to everyone.

Alexi's initial nerves had calmed down and he was now beginning to enjoy himself.

Viktoriya kept staring at her new American passport and her new name, Victoria Waterman.

Just then Alexi stood up and asked for everyone's attention.

"Please, me sorry for English but try to say, okay," he said. "I want to be happy now in new life and I want be happy with Victoria, too...Please make me happy Victoria and be my wife?" he asked, dropping to one knee.

Victoria's eyes welled up again. "I would love to be your wife, Alex. I accept," she said, and they kissed, like lovers kiss.

Victor wiped a tear from his cheek and blew his nose.

Rob stood up and toasted the couple's happiness before rejoining Victor.

Victoria walked over to him and asked: "Robert, will you give me away at my wedding?"

Robert nodded his approval. "I would be delighted to give you away," he said.

Victoria kissed him. " Thank you," she said.

"Do you know something, Robert? All my life I've been searching for answers; looking for the Philosopher's Stone and the way to enlightenment. But recently I've come to realize that there's still so much more to do in life. Maybe one day, when the time is right I'll be lucky enough to experience enlightenment."

Robert opened his briefcase and something inside glinted in Victor's eye. "What's that?" he asked.

"Oh... that... it's my crystal. I take it everywhere with me."

Victor laughed. "I thought it might be the Philosopher's Stone for a moment," he said, jokingly... "Can I see it?"

Rob passed the crystal to Victor and he held it with both hands. "It's so beautiful. What is it for?" he asked.

Rob smiled. "...Make a wish for the thing you want most in life."

Victor laughed again and closed his eyes to make a wish before returning the crystal to Rob.

"If only it was that simple, Robert, he said, thoughtfully."

Dr Anna Zhukov was sitting in the dome, examining the fake manuscript, when a thought suddenly stuck her:

It's going to be a long few days and I'm going to miss you, Victor.

Back on the plane, Robert returned the crystal to his briefcase and settled back in his seat, trying to imagine life without the crystal; but he knew that wasn't possible anymore because it had become a part of him.

-The End-

Appendix

The secret of how to read the books was known only to the Nine Men, and now, Robert was one of them.

During his inauguration he remembered standing in the secret chamber, in utter amazement, being introduced to the power of the books and why they existed.

A broad beam of blue light emanated from a crystal onto a page from one of the nine books, creating a pattern that was read by a second crystal (something like a dual QR barcode reader).

The second crystal was activated by identifying the page's unique code, and projected a holographic, dynamic screen interface into the middle of the circle of the Nine Men.

The user could then interact with the interface to access the atomic knowledge database. Each page of each book was a key; a key to accessing information held within the crystals. Crystals like the one Rob carried in his briefcase; crystals given only to the chosen ones by the Angels of Destiny.

A note on symbolism

The crystals represent strength and durability. The paper books represent the fragility of the human race, but:

"The Whole is Greater than the Sum of its Parts."

Aristotle

Thank you for reading the Angels of Destiny.

I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating both the lovable and the loathsome characters.

Feel free to contact me at my website for competition details and the latest discussions:

www.haydnjones-author.com

email: haydnj1@icloud.com

I welcome your comments.

Other books by this author include:

The Devil and the Unicorn

The Journal of Harry Somerville

Shroud the Truth with Silence (Harry Waterman)

