Overlord Page 8

  “Okay, I can see your hobby of photography still has a way to go on quality issues, but other than that, General, what does this have to do with me or Carl?”

  Shamni smiled and then cautiously sat in a rickety old chair. The chair creaked and groaned under his immense weight.

  “You told me a story when you resigned your position in the Mossad. Maybe you should have kept your secret to yourself, but perhaps it was fortuitous that you did tell me. The story you relayed to me about your American captain and his friend, Colonel Jack Collins, and their search to find the murderer of a CIA asset—an asset that turned out to be the sister of Colonel Collins. It rang a bell, for some reason. Then I remembered a man buried deep inside Langley who specialized in dirty tricks. He led a group of men that searched out and confiscated new technologies intended for the eventual buildup of military forces the world over. This man restarted one of the more infamous groups in the history of American corporations—the Black Teams, more ominously known as the Men in Black. And the man that ran this desk at the CIA is this man.” Shamni once more pulled out the photo of the man in the ugly and outdated suit. “Hiram Vickers is his name. He works directly for, now get this, not the director of the CIA, but the assistant director of Operations, Daniel Peachtree.”

  “I’ve read that Peachtree’s relationship with the president isn’t all that good. As I recall, he was against his appointment but it was pushed through anyway with the help of the Speaker of the House, Giles Camden.”

  “I see you still know how to read a newspaper and remember briefing reports.” Shamni placed the photos of both men into the large envelope.

  “As I asked before, what does this have to do with us?” she persisted, not allowing the Israeli general to go into one of his soliloquies about loyalty and how badly the service missed her. She knew how her uncle played the game—he was good at it and very experienced in getting just what was needed for the State of Israel any way he could.

  “Okay, Major, we’ll get straight to the point, then. It is the opinion of intelligence and a few other departments inside Mossad that the man with the red hair is the entity responsible for the murder of the sister of Colonel Collins, and that this Charles Hendrix gave the CIA, Peachtree in particular, the operational standards and guidelines of his Centauris’s defunct Black Teams.”

  “I suppose you have evidence to back up that rather broad statement?” she asked as she started to see Shamni’s game.

  “Not one shred other than the fact we have people like you, Anya, that are the best in the world in analyzing enemies and allies alike and can put two and two together.” He smiled again. “Besides, it just so happens we have an asset inside Langley that says this Hiram Vickers is an ass of the first order and no one, and I mean no one, trusts him.”

  “And you think that you can tell Carl this guesswork of yours and your wunderkind back in Tel Aviv and he’ll go running back to the good old USA, and I back to you and the Mossad—is that about the gist of it, Uncle?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Anya closed her eyes as she realized that this day was always meant to come. She opened her eyes and watched as Carl stopped at the front gate of the empty village of Patinas. She saw his face as he studied the Range Rover parked along the dirt road. He looked from the car and the driver who sat silently behind the wheel, then to the small house and the men surrounding it. He saw Anya and raised a brow; she must look distressed even from the distance he was standing.

  “You know he’ll leave for a chance at assisting his friend Jack in finding the lowlife that killed his sister. He may even want to return after he does what needs doing,” Anya said with hope ringing her words.

  General Shamni stood and paced to the window to let Carl see who was visiting. He placed a hand on his niece’s shoulder.

  “If it were any other time in the history of the world I would say yes, he will return to you. But these are not times that were meant for joy and happiness. Israel needs all her children to come home for what’s heading our way.” He held a file in front of Anya and then turned to leave. “Perhaps you’ll show him the photos, perhaps you won’t.” He stopped but didn’t turn to face her. “Maybe you can trick him into staying. But the file I just handed to you is top secret and no more than two dozen people in the world know the code names in the contents. That, my dear niece, you can’t hide from him. We are just notifying Captain Everett a few weeks ahead of time, is all. Official orders will be delivered to him from the military attaché at the American embassy in Bucharest.”

  Anya didn’t look at the file and she didn’t turn as the general approached the door.

  “I will have an aircraft standing by to fly you home to Tel Aviv, as we have important work to do.” The general left.

  Anya Korvesky took a deep breath as she saw Carl being approached by General Shamni. He watched as Carl smiled and took the general’s hand in his own. Pleasantries were exchanged but even then Carl was looking past the general’s shoulder to view Anya’s sad countenance. She quickly turned away and looked inside the folder. She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she saw that it was an absconded copy of a United States Department of the Navy letter. It was an official notice that his resignation was not accepted and that he was to report immediately to Houston, Texas, and the new Naval Warfare Center, permanently attached to something called Overlord. She closed the folder and sat heavily in one of the old chairs.

  She felt Carl standing in the doorway. Without looking up she slid the large envelope across the wooden table. She placed her hands in her lap as if the envelope had a disgusting feel to it.

  Carl ignored the envelope and instead of reaching for it when he approached he went to Anya and placed his large hands on her small shoulders and squeezed lightly. She reached a hand up and took a soft hold on his arm and then just sat that way.

  “Carl, you have to sit down and we have to talk.”

  “The general is recalling you to Tel Aviv, isn’t he?” he asked as he kept his hands on her shoulders. He looked at the envelope sitting on the table and that was when he saw the file folder in Anya’s free hand. He patted her lightly and then sat and just looked at the large yellow envelope.

  “Yes,” Anya said as she found her eyes refused to take Carl in. “And I’m returning with him as soon as possible.”

  Carl sat motionless while his eyes studied Anya’s face. Her refusal to look at him told him volumes.

  “And you are to be recalled by your Department of the Navy,” she said, still not looking up as she laid the file on the table next to the yellow envelope. Finally her moist eyes rose to meet Carl’s. She slowly slid the file toward him and then looked away as he opened it and studied the stolen orders.

  “Pretty damn industrious of Uncle General, isn’t it? I’m sure the U.S. Navy would like to learn how he got ahold of transit orders before the ink was even dry on them.”

  Anya smiled at the naiveté that Carl showed sometimes, as he liked to believe everyone in the world was as aboveboard as himself and his friends in America. It was always amazing when she had to explain the hard truths to him.

  “The same place your CIA gets their information, Carl, and you know that. Some little analyst with a cheap computer broke into another computer and got the orders before release.”

  Carl shook his head as he closed the folder. “Yeah, I know about little analysts and their computers and what a pain in the ass they can be. Only the computer they use isn’t cheap.” He smiled, thinking about his old friend Pete Golding and his “girlfriend,” Europa, and then reached out to take Anya’s hand. “I guess someone in Washington needs to learn to read a resignation letter. I’m done with all of that.” He squeezed her hand. “Just as I hope you’re done with the Mossad.”

  Anya released his hand abruptly and then stood so suddenly she knocked the chair over as she turned for the window. “Carl, I’m leaving for Tel Aviv and you’re going home before those orders take effect. You may have enough t
ime before you have to report to Houston to do what needs to be done.”

  “Time for what, and what needs to be done?” he asked as he finally reached for the yellow envelope. He saw Anya wasn’t going to answer so he opened it and pulled the two photos free along with the report that accompanied them. He saw immediately that the written report was butchered by long, black editing lines cutting off information not meant for Carl’s eyes. He read as he looked at both pictures. His brows rose when he recognized Charles Hendrix of the defunct Centauris Corporation. He looked at Anya, who was still facing toward the mountain outside. When Carl finished the analyst’s conclusions as to the collusion between Hendrix, Assistant Director of Operations Daniel Peachtree, and this Hiram Vickers, he became silent as his fingers closed around the likeness of Vickers. He studied the man’s face and didn’t notice when Anya turned and went to Everett and sat next to him. She forcefully removed his fingers from the photo and then closed both of her smaller ones over Carl’s.

  “It’s time for you to go home, my handsome captain. Both our countries need us home.” She quickly released one of her hands and swiped at the tear that rolled down her right cheek. She hated herself for being a girl as she thought if it, but this was her life, her love that she was going to force away from her. “Your friend Jack needs you, and for the little bit of time you have left before your navy steals you, you can help him end this horrible thing that befell his sister. The general says we are running out of time—about what, he didn’t say, but I believe him when he says Israel needs all her children back home.” She smiled and leaned across and kissed Carl. “And so does America.” She smiled broadly as she pulled back after kissing him. “She needs all of her Captain Americas.”

  Carl swallowed as he realized his time with Anya was at an end. It was because Carl knew just what the Mossad general was referring to when he mentioned they were all running out of time. It could only mean one thing, and that business had to with the Event Group’s small green secret in the desert. But it was the other that concerned him at the moment. The information he now held could only be delivered by hand to Jack, as he could never trust sending it through any other means. Yes, he knew he had to return to Nevada and he knew he had to help Jack before the real-world problems started burning the world to cinders. Carl lowered his head as he found he was unable to speak. Anya broke down and started to cry, then leaned into Everett and held him.

  Deep in the Carpathian Mountains, the sad refrain of a wolf’s cry echoed across the windswept peaks.

  WARWICK PANGEA BEACH RESORT AND HOTEL

  JIYEH, LEBANON

  On the gleaming coast of Jiyeh sat the refurbished resort hotel that was now the pride of all Lebanon. The hotel had faced destruction many times and was partially burned in the civil war of two decades before. Sitting twenty-seven kilometers south of Beirut, the resort rarely had empty rooms as festive life had slowly returned to the war torn nation.

  On this Saturday tourists filled the spa and pool areas and crowded the many restaurants that served foods from all over the world. The resort was out to make Beirut the place to visit it had been thirty years before.

  As the noon hour approached the sun was blotted out by a few clouds that seemed to approach the coast without being noticed by either the guests or the resort staff. As tourists were just starting to lie out on the white sandy beaches while others were heading inside for lunch, the clouds grew heavier and thicker. The guests shielded their eyes against the fading sunlight as they watched the strange clouds swirling right above the resort.

  Suddenly thunder roared as more clouds joined the first group. These were darker and strangely enough were tinged with green and blue colored highlights that seemed to emanate from deep within the small storm. As sunbathers stood and started gathering towels and belongings, the wind picked up. It went from a calm five-mile-an-hour offshore breeze to a thunderous peppering of sand and seawater as the guests were pummeled by wind-sped debris.

  The hotel staff waved the guests inside as small tendrils of blackness reached out from the clouds for the earth below. The motion increased and the image of a hurricane filled most with dread. The suddenness of the storm and its power had patrons running in fear.

  The circling clouds sped up. The center started down, retracted, and then began to once more creep down from the sky. The few brave guests who braved the stinging sand and sea saw the very center of the storm as it slowly passed the main section of the resort. Eyes widened as they seemed to be looking into the very visage of an angry God. The blackness beyond the dead center of the storm was like the eye of a hurricane, only it was the blackness of space that lay far beyond the top of the clouds.

  Suddenly a streak of bright green lightning reached out toward the beach. Running patrons were struck down by the moving electrical fire. More strikes hit the resort. Multicolored yellow, green, and blue streaks slammed the spa area, immediately killing all inside.

  Men, women, and children screamed as the clouds suddenly slammed into the earth. Eyewitnesses miles away said it looked as if a dark and viscous liquid had been dumped on the resort. The swirling clouds, wind, and lightning completely engulfed the resort and the land and sea for two miles around. The speeding tornado made the image of the resort a memory.

  The storm started to diminish—not slowly, but as suddenly as it had sprung up. As the clouds lifted, the survivors heard the roar and crash of the sea as it rushed in to replace the billions of gallons of seawater that had vanished as surely as the resort itself.

  Water seeped into the giant hole that was once the location of the billion-dollar resort. The hotel, all of the outer buildings, and even part of the sea had disappeared—vanished into the tornado-like storm. A few palms fell over as half of their bulk had been stripped away and sent with wood, cement, water, and 4,800 men, women, and children. Water gushed from broken water mains that ended abruptly where the hotel once stood.

  The strange phenomenon had sucked up over four square miles of beachfront and had vanished as if it had never been.

  SIXTEEN MILES SOUTH OF CHATO’S CRAWL, ARIZONA

  The UH-60 Black Hawk hovered one mile away and sent out her coded signal to the security team at the compound. An answering bleep in the pilot’s headset told him the code had been read and acknowledged—they were clear to enter the no-fly zone. As the large Black Hawk slowly started forward it was still being tracked by three missile batteries hidden inside the compound and surrounding terrain, ready to shoot down anything that came near to the darkest asset in the United States.

  The helicopter rose to two hundred feet and swung slightly west; the compound came into view. The site had changed much in the past eight years since the incursion by the Grays during that horrid summer when so many American servicemen and women had lost their lives.

  The large and brand-new two-story Victorian house was the dominating feature with the small tar-paper-roofed shack sitting next to it hidden in its shadows. As Jack Collins, Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III, and Will Mendenhall watched from inside, they didn’t see any of the twenty-man security team they knew to be eyeing the Black Hawk’s approach. The pilot aimed for the very small helipad that was camouflaged by a cross of flowers from every angle except straight up. Jason Ryan eased the large Event Group bird down. Charlie started to move toward the open sliding door and was held back by Will.

  “Wait, Doc, we don’t want to lose you now.” The lieutenant eased Ellenshaw back into his seat, then nodded through the doorway at the approaching man in the jeans and blue denim shirt, with a white cowboy hat that had seen far better days. The man waved his hand and then stepped up to the open doorway.

  “Colonel, Lieutenant, good afternoon.” The man looked beyond the two officers and eyed the professor. “And Doc Ellenshaw.” He again nodded, held up a small black box, and extended it to Collins first. “Colonel, if you would squeeze the foam sides of the box, please.”

  Jack took the Bio-Dynastic cell, squeezed it with his
right hand—palm up—and handed it back to the cautious guard. The analyzer beeped twice, then a hidden green LED light glowed softly. Jack’s name appeared on the liquid crystal screen with his rank and picture. The DNA analyzer cleared Collins for entrance into the secretive compound. The guard nodded at Jack, peeled away the twin-foam-rubber grips, replaced those with two fresh ones, and handed it to Mendenhall. The process was repeated for him and Ellenshaw. The link to Europa had taken the moisture from their grips and processed it through the DNA autobase she had of every Event Group staff member.

  “Thank you, sir.” The guard stepped back after checking Charlie’s vitals on the screen. He was having a hard time not laughing at the photo of the crazy, white-haired cryptozoologist and the silly look he had on his bespectacled face.

  “Sergeant.” Jack stepped from the Black Hawk and then stretched. He scratched the itching beard he had yet to shave and then looked at the Marine. “Matchstick and Gus?”

  “Well, Colonel, Gus is in the small house as usual. Matchstick is still held up down in the computer room in the big house.”

  Will and Charlie stepped up beside Jack.

  “How long has he been like this?” Will asked, trying to get a firsthand account of what had been happening the past few days.

  “Five straight days and nights. We moved a small cot into the basement for the rare times the little guy lies down, and he takes all of his meals in there. The Europa link is running twenty-four hours a day. Not unusual in and of itself, but strange because he doesn’t want us looking over his shoulder.”

  “Yes, we know, that’s why we’re here.” Mendenhall smiled when he saw the old man open the even older screen door to the small shack. Gus Tilly stepped off the rickety porch and halfheartedly waved at the visitors. He moved toward the group at a slow gait and Jack saw the age Gus had fended off for so long had finally managed to slow him up.