Page 1 of 155 Kevin Schmitt is the author of this story as well as “The Bear and Eagle Affair. Title: “Boot Print in Time.” Chapter One. “Maldicion ,” the horseman groaned as his right boot cleared the hind quarters of his battle weary mount. Pulled muscles were rare in the nether regions of a cavalryman, but this particular warrior had been reaching too far with his sword. Primarily because the enemy heads were too close to the ground. The young man yanked off his helmet, which along with his stained riding boots were the only belongings that identified him as a Conquistador , albeit a torn and battered one. His clothing was made up of dense quilted cotton, courtesy of the people he had been fighting. The material was called lchcahuipilli, and while it was inferior to steel plate armor, it could turn away most obsidian swords or atlatl darts. It was lighter and cooler than chain maille and didn’t

Page 2 of 155 rub against the flesh. It also didn’t rust, not that the young nobleman would have to concern himself with that little problem.
A gentleman need only keep his beard trimmed and his cock out of reach of any pox infested whores, and as of late, that had been fairly easy to do. The gore covered Spaniard took a swig f cheap wine from a goat skin then wordlessly nodded to the servant who was never out of calling distance, regardless of the circumstances. “ Jefa-- I am wondering---do you think there are cities in hell?” queried the servant as he slung the goat bag over his chest and shoulder. Captain Cisaro Longoria gazed up at the red haze that haloed the nearest wall of the Aztec metropolis. It came from a thousand fires that would illuminate the city until dawn. “Oh yes. But that need not concern you my old friend. The Devil would never allow you in. Your farts would be worse than any brimstone smell. Not to mention the rest of you.” Old Pedro Gonzales smiled at the joke; anything to divert his attention from the sounds of women shrieking in the distance. Gonzales had long served Cisaro’s father, and in those days he had learned that a city is not simply taken, it is raped, looted and brought down to its lowest possible level of humanity. The Spaniards were taking little joy in that. Their leader, Hernan Cortes had spent the last year recruiting native warriors from the outer regions, and those men were teaching the Spaniards the real meaning of total warfare. The Aztec capital was called Tenochtitlan and since it’s founding in 1325 it had faced no real destructive force save that of occasional floods from surrounding bogs. But the endorheic basin wet lands made the city into a kind of Island, which was beneficial from a defensive military point of view. The city itself was incredibly symmetrical with over forty public structures and enough living quarters for twenty-thousand people. Of course as a hub of commerce, the city could also accommodate many thousands of citizens from the outer reaches of the realm. Two double aqueducts nearly three miles long provided the city with fresh water from the springs at Chapultepec. That was one of the first things the Spaniards needed to destroy. Such irony was not lost on the Spaniards. They needed to bring down so much that a few months ago they would have sworn could not exist except in their dreams.

Page 3 of 155 Was Cortez a madman? Possibly, but he was sane enough to know that he was out on a limb with only a few hundred men he could trust, and many of them were suffering from wounds or dysentery. Still, the cavalryman had less to bitch about than most of his surviving comrades. He was one of only a dozen horsemen used to punch holes in the heathen ranks, and his mount was never placed where the fighting was the thickest, since the horse was not considered expendable. All in all not a bad way to earn a soldier’s pay. The only drawback was that he made a fine target for the projectile weapons as he towered above the common soldiers. But he wore the armor that once belonged to his father, and mount was armored as well. “Captain, I bear a message for you,” said a soldier who was doubling as a courier. “Read it,” ordered the captain. “The light is piss poor and men with brands get shot at.” “Your pardon, sir, but I cannot read.” The captain nodded and handed the parchment to his manservant. He then trudged in heavy boots to where his mount was tethered. A moment later Pedro approached his now mounted master. “You are to proceed to where Alvardo’s force was entrenched and confirm that he is shifting to the north. Then you are to patrol the Tlascalan supply road, looking for courier runners coming from the city.” Cisaro rolled his eyes at that. “My horse does not need this.” “Why does Cortez fear couriers at this stage of the game?” asked Pedro. “He doesn’t. They make the best sort of prisoners to interrogate. Montezuma’s brother will offer anything to the Tlascalans and remind them what we did in order to get this far. But I don’t believe our savage allies will turn on us. They understand that we fight for the yellow metal, not for maze or anything else in this bug infested land.” “That is not what I heard,” said Pedro. “I was told by one of Cortez’s servants that the general intends to level everything that is heathen in nature then build anew on the broken

Page 4 of 155 foundations. That would please his interpreter mistress, and she is very important, with or without a child.” “Shit, that could be bad for us. If he’s thinking about building a city state for his brown bastard son to rule, he might want his knights to stay here and keep the peace while he sails back to Spain.” “Well, I promised your father that I would look after you, even if you choose to keep soldiering all the way to Cathay. Of course, that promise was made easier to keep when he went to his reward. You’re stepmother didn’t like me much, not that I hold that against her.” Cisaro’s dark eyes softened slightly with the memory of their meeting. He had just turned of age and couldn’t wait to sail on a tall ship. Pedro was approaching middle years, and would end up cleaning privy closets if Cisaro’s gravely ill father didn’t find more meaningful employment for him. So Pedro went to sea with his cocky young charge. For years he exercised the patience of a saint and courage of a mild mannered fellow who is assigned to a trouble monger. Many a dangerous year later Pedro’s master managed to evolve into a proper fighting man possessing a measure of wisdom as well as a good blood line. Both men were large boned and fat free, but Pedro was stoop shouldered with gray hair and a slight limp. Lately his stool had turned jet black, but he wasn’t about to bring that up in conversation. “Climb aboard and I’ll take you back a piece where you can get some sleep,” said Cisaro. “What of you? A bit of wine is no substitute for—“ “I’ll get no rest around these parts. A man with a horse is a man who is constantly beset upon to pull this or carry that. Better to make my observations for the general and then get far out on the road.” “Just so a war club doesn’t turn a short sleep into a long one,” warned the older man. “There is nothing to fear beyond this place of slaughter,” stated Cisaro, “and if there are any women hiding in the wild, I will bring you one with the same number of teeth. So that you can compare smiles.”

Page 5 of 155 Then the horseman trotted off, on a road that was longer than anything imaginable.

Page 6 of 155 Chapter Two. Cisaro found no women, but at the crack of dawn he spotted an Aztec runner who had rounded the opposite side of a marsh while the darkness was still with him. Now he was two hundred yards away as the crow flies, running on bare feet (not to mention everything else.) If the rider wanted to follow the shore around, he could easily do so in five minutes or so. But he would loose sight of his quarry, and by his own admission he was not much of a tracker. If the runner had been wise, he would have run in a false direction, then dropped to crawl off on his intended route. But his destination was not all that far away, and the Aztecs had quickly learned that Spanish armor makes for a poor race. So the Aztec ran a bee line course, confident that his pursuer would stand with an empty sack well within the hour. Cisaro dismounted and proceeded to strip his horse and himself of their unneeded protective gear. He didn’t need to win any race, he just needed to avoid a death by drowning. His horse’s name was Allegro, and he was well trained in the sense that he tried to stay away from deep water. But now his rider wanted him in it, and the horse expressed his disapproval right up until he became preoccupied with the task of staying afloat. Cisaro swam along side his mount, holding onto the saddle fender with one hand. He sensed that the bottom was very close, but the horse was now willing to swim and there was no point in risking a drop off. When they reached the other side, the rider patted the animal and promised him half a dozen apples whenever and wherever they could be had. Now horse and rider would fairly float above the ground without the shells of steel that they had grown accustomed to. The runner dropped out of sight but only for a few moments as Allegro charged between small knolls of grassland. Cisaro was slightly puzzled at the sight of a thick column of stone that reached at least one-hundred feet into the air. Cortez’s woman had passed on word of such rock formations existing far to the north, but this one seemed oddly placed.

Page 7 of 155 No matter. The foolish runner was heading for it; and more pitiful sanctuary no idiot could ever run to. The Aztec capital had been built in a wide mountain valley fed by natural springs. But in the north entrance to that valley there was naught but thinly placed pine trees and gentle swells of earth that could hide a man, only if his pursuer was far away. Apparently this fellow had been selected for his athletic prowess, not his ability to think. Cisaro would have himself a prisoner in no time. The Spaniard closed in, all the while expecting the runner to foolishly try and hide behind the great rock, or better yet, flee onward to gain a few precious moments of freedom. The runner did neither. He stood brazenly in front of the monolith, promptly the rider to bring his mount to a halt. Cisaro scanned his surroundings carefully. He couldn’t see any trap, and his horse couldn’t smell one, but that alfil loco was just standing there, with a mounted swordsman not fifty yards away. It just didn’t make any sense. So horse and rider advanced slowly, expecting the runner to do something natural like begging for mercy. Instead, the thin brown man turned his back on the approaching Conquistador and proceeded to tap on a square piece of rock that was located at face level. Cisaro for his part could not have been more perplexed. Was this courier nothing more than a madman who worships stone towers? More likely he was pretending to be mad, hoping that would spare him three feet of steel through his scrawny body. Well, no play acting would work with Cisaro, who had learned long ago that subterfuge is a weapon used in all parts of the world. The Spaniard drew closer, and the runner then turned and smiled impishly at the swordsman, conveying the message that something unexpected was about to happen. The Spaniard quickly scanned his surroundings again, and when he refocused on the man in front of him, he received the shock of his life. A bright light shimmered on the surface of the stone, and it seemed to cover the image of the runner. Then the light vanished, and so did the runner. At least it looked that way to eyes that had been sorely taxed with battle and a lack of rest. Cisaro flew from his saddle and brought out his sword. He was no longer concerned with madmen or pawns of a heathen king. Now he was hunting for a trickster who’s abilities might prove fatal. For that reason the Spaniard advanced one cautious step at a time with his blade

Page 8 of 155 extended out ahead of him. Then with no space remaining ahead of him he jabbed the rock with the tip of his sword. The rock seemed to respond with the sound of far away laughter, and Cisaro angrily circumnavigated the column until he was again standing where the runner had disappeared. He then squinted at the strange square stone and realized that it had markings on it. Not writing of any obvious sort, just a dozen marks that could almost pass for imperfections on the surface of the stone. Cisaro tried to tap on them the way the native had done. That brought more phantom laughter, which in turn encouraged the Spaniard to try again and again. The soldier was just about to give up when he felt a strange tingling on his skin, like ants crawling all over his body. That was followed by a light that blinded him for an instant, and when his sight returned, he came fairly close to soiling himself. He was now inside a large room in which the walls, ceiling and floor were all made of metal. Everything was brightly lit, but there was no sign of daylight or fire. Cisaro couldn’t relate to most of the things around him, and he probably would have stood there spell bound for many moments if something hadn’t grabbed his attention. “My commander will never believe this,” exclaimed the Aztec in perfect Spanish. “The odds of you guessing the access code are approximately—“ Cisaro’s eyes grew wide and he charged at the alien with his sword poised to thrust. The make believe Aztec was holding a small black box and at the last possible moment it emitted a pencil thin beam of light that hit the Spaniard with the power of a lightning bolt. Cisaro lost consciousness and when he came to he found himself naked and in something that was like a glass coffin. With all his might he pushed and then punched at the transparency in front of him but to no avail. Never in his life had he ever been so terrified, and he kept hoping that it was all a mad dream that would release him in another moment. Instead, the bizarre runner came to stand before him and shake his head in disapproval. “Don’t hurt yourself. I don’t have time to take another corpuscle count,” scolded the Aztec. “What devilry is this?!” exclaimed the prisoner.

Page 9 of 155 “Devilry,” echoed the alien. “I have seen my share of that. I’m going to have my memory purged when I get home. Why does evolution have to be so long and bloody?” “Is this what the temples are dedicated to?” asked the prisoner. “Did the Devil give you all this in exchange for your souls?” The darker man fixed his guest with a non hostile stare and said, “Calm your mind, and then ask yourself what is truly happening.” “There is but one answer—“ “No,” the brown man quietly interrupted, “there is a non spiritual answer if you will see it. Do you recall how the Aztecs believed that you and your horse were one creature in the beginning? That was a mistake, wasn’t it? Now you are making another. You assume that anything you do not understand must be the work of a devil. But in truth, the things you see around you were made by human hands, just as your sword was forged by a human. Now do you feel better?” “Si, but this is a holding cell, regardless of its lovely craftsmanship.” “It is more than that. It is the place where you will sleep for a very long time. I cannot release you, and I cannot entertain your creature comforts for centuries to come.” “What did you say?” the Spaniard asked with a second helping of astonishment. “I have other projects to tend to on your planet. You will sleep in this safe room until I return to release you. I am sorry, but it is my opinion that you have brought this onto yourself.” “I will be inside a giant rock for hundreds of years,” the Spaniard muttered almost to himself. “Truly, I have gone mad as a punishment for all that I have done.” “Actually, you are in a ship that is buried three-quarters of the way into the ground,” explained the alien. “Madness. The sea is many miles away.” The alien let out another sigh, and then struggled to find words that would serve him in this Spanish tongue.

Page 10 of 155 “This ship does not travel on the water, and it comes from a place that is far away. I am sharing some tidbits of information with you because your predicament is the result of my incompetence. I would like you to understand that just as you are more powerful than the Aztecs, my people are more powerful than yours. But I did not come here in search of wealth or conquest. I am here to find criminals who came here from my land. This cannot be done quickly, so I needed to place you in my sleeper capsule.” “You place yourself in this glass thing?” the prisoner asked incredulously. “Yes. While the ship was moving, I needed to ---sleep----for a long time.” Cisaro struggled with all this for a moment and then asked, “So---while hunting criminals, you disguise yourself as an Aztec?” “Yes. I have comrades who more closely resemble you back in Europe, but I have something more important to talk to you about before you go to sleep. I would ask you now what will become of the native population that does not fall under your swords.” The Spaniard didn’t consider that an important question at all compared to the wonders around him, but he decided he’d better indulge his captor at least to some degree. “Well, they would be converted to the true faith, and learn to toil in honest labor. Farming for the most part.” “And many will become slaves, until your people discover that it is better to import forced labor from another continent. I need to go back and keep certain items out of the hands of your people. Are you a person of high authority?” “No. I suppose you would call me a soldier of middle rank.” “So you could not order your warriors to retreat, even for a short while?” The prisoner chuckled briefly, despite his predicament. “Ah, no. Not really.” “Then I will be spared the painful process of replicating your form and impersonating you. I confess that I have mixed feelings about that.”

Page 11 of 155 “Such things cannot be Godly. Only the Devil could conjure up such visions. Lord give me strength to meet my end bravely.” “You won’t meet it here,” the little brown man said half jokingly. “I do not kill. That is why I am bothered with you, in case you were wondering.” “I am wondering if this madness of mine is temporary or permanent. What else should I wonder under the circumstances?” “What is your name?” asked the alien. “Cisaro Longoria.” “Well, Cisaro Longoria, the truth is my people regard the Aztecs and the Spaniards as equals. Both are barbaric and savage. But someday all that will change. Like children learning to control their emotions, mankind will move forward.” “If those are your true feelings, then perhaps my host is less of a demon and more of a philosopher ,” the Spaniard replied after a pause. “I am beginning to hope that you are a decent enough sort, and will not poke me with a red hot pitch fork before I can awaken from this nightmare. But in the highly unlikely even that all this is real, let me ask this: If I were to swear before God that I will not bring soldiers to this place, will you turn me loose?” “I cannot, but you will be freed into a world that is more to your liking, Cisaro Longoria. That, unfortunately, is the most compassion I am allowed to show you.” “Will you hide your name, as you hide the meaning of all these wonders around me.” “You could not pronounce my real name, but as an Aztec I was called Atl.
” “You are done with that name then?” “Both the name and the features that marked me as your enemy. The next time you see me, you will probably be in for another surprise.” “I will still maintain that I am beset by dreams,” muttered Longoria. “If it is, Senhor Longoria, I hope that in the next dream I do a better job of managing things.”

Page 12 of 155 Then the Spaniard heard a feint hissing sound and he slipped into a sleep that would hold no dreams for a very long time.

Page 13 of 155 Chapter Three. Cisaro dreamed only at the very end of his unnatural slumber. In the darkness he felt as though every inch of his body was being pricked by tiny needles. But the real trial of his fortitude came when he realized that he was a wake and gazing into yet another blackness. The long sleep had left him totally blind Only the alien’s reassuring voice kept the sleeper from screaming inside the chamber, which eventually opened with a loud hiss. “Don’t move yet,” cautioned the alien. “I’ll place you in the low gravity chamber and then we’ll get those muscles of yours back in working order.” “I cannot see,” the patient reported grimly. “You’re eyesight will return in a moment. Your physiology is not precisely the same as mine. It has caused a small complication.” “I will agree with you when my eyesight has returned,” grumbled Cisaro. “Por cuanto tiempo estove dormindo?” “Five point two-one-three of your centuries.” Cisaro rejected the answer immediately, and at the same time was whitened by the miracle that hit him in the darkness. “Five point two------is not Spanish!” the blind man gasped out. “No. English.” “But I never learned English,” declared the Spaniard. “How is this possible?” “You were taught in your sleep. The last forty-eight hours to be precise.”

Page 14 of 155 “Wonder of wonders,” breathed the patient while he was bodily carried into a nearby cubicle. “What is the velocity of a 12mm rocket round at one-hundred meters?” asked the alien. “Seven-hundred meters per second,” the Spaniard answered without effort. “And when was Mexico’s independence formally recognized?” “September 27th, 1821.” “Excellent. I was a little concerned when we had that power failure back in 2000.” Suddenly Cisaro experienced a floating sensation. It bothered his stomach somewhat but it was more tolerable than the thousands of pin pricks. He was about to ask another question when the darkness in his head began to give way. “I can see some light! Thank God, I thought I would be permanently blind and that fear brought me to the limit of my inner strength.” “I doubt that,” responded the alien. “After all, I’ve treated you with the utmost consideration.” “Well, I’m going to need some more,” grumbled the Spaniard. “Have I truly been sleeping for five-hundred years?” “I’m afraid so. I meant to release you sooner by I got mixed up with Poncho Villa and I had to move us out of the neighborhood so to speak.” “But---you can’t be five-hundred years old. Not if you’re a man. So what are you---some sort of space alien?” “That’s right, and I am very pleased with your progress. You came to that conclusion without any mentioning of demons or dreams. How fortunate the ship’s computer carries that teaching program.” “Teaching,” muttered Cisaro . “So, everything that I have dreamed, is reality? Oh Dear God, how can I believe in anything anymore?” “Accept everything as real,” the host calmly instructed. “Let go your old way of thinking and tomorrow you will be set free. Until then we have much to discuss. You see, Longoria, this

Page 15 of 155 place you have been kept in is not nearly as bewildering as the outside world which you must soon join. You have been prepared for it in some ways, but you have also inherited an enemy that is the result of my long ago blunder.” Suddenly everything came into focus, and Cisaro Longoria craned his neck to survey the stark chamber that held his floating body. There was but one observation window, and while Cisaro was staring at it, a man with almond shaped eyes and a short nose bridge popped into view. “Holy shit,” Longoria exclaimed for the first time since learning the phrase. “It’s my Chinese look,” said the alien. “Do you remember me telling you that I am on the hunt for criminals who are of my people?” “Yes, but you’re not going to tell me that they had offspring that have been carrying on the family tradition---are you?” “Yes actually, as far as the lower ranks are concerned, but my primary problem is that they intend to construct an interior power collector that will be able to catch and geo-scrabble power sent down from a star ship. I can’t let that happen. Now before I cave the stone in, you need to get over there and save a group of construction workers that have been marked for death.” “Yea, that’s a good idea,” Longoria responded in a loud and highly emotional tone. “I sense just a hint of sarcasm,” said the alien. “You have no time to wallow in self pity. Consider if you will, what it must have been like for the Aztecs when suddenly they had to face the end of their way of life. Such things are always a test of one’s strength. Change is the great law of the universe. They had to accept that, and now so do you.” The former conquistador took several deep breathes while floating in the air and said, “I am not wallowing in self pity. I am reacting as any normal man would under the circumstances. I am trying to be rational about this whole thing, but for God’s sake man, stretch your explanations out just a bit, will you?” “I fully intended to. But you interrupted me with your diatribe.”

Page 16 of 155 The alien then tapped on a pressure plate and his patient slowly descended to the floor. The chamber door opened with a slight hiss and Cisaro struggled to his feet on limbs that were more than a little wobbly. “I feel weak as a new born calf,” commented Cisaro. “But of course. We’ll leave the ship and go for a nice long walk just as soon as you’re dressed in this.” Cisaro stepped slowly out of the chamber and gazed at what the alien was wearing, and at the stack of clothing that his host was holding under one arm. Cisco made instant use of his artificial memory and concluded that the khaki garments were uniforms for a modern military. “Mankind has become less stylish.” “That is probably the smallest disappointment you will have to manage. Can you dress without my help?” asked the alien. “I have you as an example. Now please elaborate on what you said a moment ago.” The alien nodded slightly and paused to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t accustomed to explaining things to primitives, and he suddenly realized that teaching savages was not as easy as splitting neutrons in a corbon chamber. “I am from another world, and my people have known about Earth for over two-thousand years. We allow races to evolve and develop on their own, but unfortunately, there are other extraterrestrial cultures who do not share that philosophy. Sadly, one of those races has the technology to reach this planet, and their main function is to steal processed uranium. They don’t use it the same way Earthers do, but they do have need of it. Since governments on this planet control all processing operations, the Klenocks have invested nearly eight-hundred years birthing, training and positioning what might be called sleeper agents in positions of authority throughout the world.” “So these Klenocks are the criminals you referred to in our first conversation,” Cisaro reasoned. “Yes. They have found a huge new deposit of uranium, and for the first time they intend to utilize Klenock technology to collect the ore. As I said earlier: they will construct an interior

Page 17 of 155 power collector that will be hidden inside a mesa. That rock formation had to be bored out with Earth technology, and the workers will soon be put to death in order to keep the project a secret. When the collecting process is completed, human equipment and corpses will be moved and an asteroid will be pulled into position with a tractor beam and dropped on the mesa. So I will have you deliver the workers from danger and then I will destroy the power collector. Then I will have to leave the star system until the Klenock ship also returns to our joint part of the galaxy.” “You said that you wouldn’t kill me. Does that mean that you won’t kill anyone---not even people who drop asteroids on other people?” “That is so. That is why so few of my people volunteer to be Light Marshalls. We have our little tricks to be sure, but we are somewhat disadvantaged with the Thrall Herders. They do not value life at all. They themselves are what your people would call test tube babies grown on board a special space ship that remains halfway between their home world and yours. They are brought to his world when a new generation of uranium thieves are ready to be lead in one country or another. It’s a bit complicated.” Cisaro suddenly realized that he had gotten the buttons lined up wrong on his blouse, so he back up and started again. “How do you find them?” “The hard way. Your way, because if I were to use the instrumentation available to me, a Thrall Herder could pinpoint my nesting site and call in a ship to drop a rock on me. So when I find a Thrall Herder, I need to plan my abduction very carefully. Prisoner pickups are also risky. Our ships have to wait until the enemy vessels are on the other side of the planet.” “How do you change your looks?” inquired the Earthling. “The same way you were taught so many things in your long slumber; with technology that cannot be replicated on this world, since you do not possess the proper metals. But the important thing to remember is that your job will be to defend the Earth from these Thrall Herders. I realize that you have been placed in this position against your will, but in time you will agree that your new occupation is preferable to your old one.”

Page 18 of 155 “I take it you have a procedure for me to follow. Precise instructions on how to save a group of men in a world I am unaccustomed to.” “Well--- I have a weapon for you, which you will be able to target practice with after our walk. But for the most part you will have to depend on your wits and your martial prowess. You have one advantage over the mercenary soldiers that you will be pitted against: You are a warrior of the old school. You are skilled in close combat. Most warriors in this time period only know how to sight through a rifle scope and squeeze a trigger. You rely more on hand to eye coordination, and you were raised on hardship.” “Riddles and more riddles,” grumbled the Spaniard. “Let’s see the weapon.” Cisaro was handed a device that bore only the vaguest resemblance to a match lock musket, which Cisaro had no personal experience with in any case. The Spaniard squinted through the sight and grunted with mild interest. “The ball goes where the cross lines meet?” “The projectile is not a ball, but we’ll talk about later. Now let us get some fresh air, and stretch those legs of yours.” “Should I take the weapon with me? “No. Bio scanners indicate that the Earthers at the mesa are remaining stationary. Even if that changes I will receive ample warning. Right now I just want to get your legs and inner ear back to normal.” The two of them stepped through a shimmering portal that startled the Spaniard and amused the alien just a bit. Cisaro fought down the temptation to inquire about it. In truth he possessed the wisdom to acquire knowledge only when and where it could serve some useful function. Also, the subliminal knowledge he had been given, transformed him into a different man. But the new man tended to fade in and out with every passing moment. “The passing of time could not bring about this much change in the terrain,” commented the Spaniard. I would guess that we are far from where you captured me.”

Page 19 of 155 “Yes. Where the corners of Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico meet. I have accessed the records keeping section of the United States military. By tampering with it, I have been able to create a new identity for you. Your name is now Caz Longstreet.” “I don’t like that name,” grumbled Cisaro. “There are many things you won’t like,” admitted the alien, “but you must content yourself with the knowledge that from now on your efforts will bring you no shame.” “If you tell me that you have the power to look into a man’s mind, then I will judge you to be a demon,” warned the unhappy Earthling. The Asian faced man from another planet gave his guest an almost paternal smile. “Once upon a time a man was executed by officials of an empire. The people of the Earth will never be able to agree on the substance or intentions of the man who was executed. But for countless millions he has served as a symbol of something that can even be found on other worlds. It is the belief that it is better to love than to hate. That message found its way into your heart, even though the Vatican was corrupted in the dark days of the Conquistadores.” “That is your side of the story, Senhor Space Man,” the Spaniard retorted. I would remind you that great cruelty could be found in the Aztec culture, and such barbarism could not be brought down with rosary beads.” “Yes. But where there are parents who love their children, there is the foundation for a better existence. The sword teaches nothing, and deep inside you heart, you have always known that. I am certain of this only because you talked while at the level of REM sleep. There is nothing supernatural or scientifically advanced about that. It is just what my ears told me.” Caz Longstreet turned to study the alien space craft from a distance of one-hundred feet. One again it was half buried in the earth, resembling the rock formation that he had approached so very long ago. With a sigh he turned his attention forward, constantly scanning the surrounding terrain for any hint of danger. The alien noted this and approved. “So what am I supposed to do after I save these workers you mentioned?” “That is for you to decide. You will be free to go where ever you wish.”

Page 20 of 155 “You can’t be serious. You pluck me out of the Sixteenth Century and fill my skull full of things I only half understand and then just leave me?” “Trust me-- Caz-- before we part company you will understand things far better than you do now. Things only seem frightening when you are in a state of ignorance.” “Which I suppose is next to the state of Arizona, Utah, Colorado or New Mexico ,” Caz put in with a gallows humor that would become a permanent part of his character. “Timing is the only thing I’m truly concerned about,” the alien said half to himself. “We have to time this thing perfectly, to keep the United States Government from barging in. If that were to happen, it would be most unfortunate.” “And you enlisted me into their military,” said Caz. “ Muy bien…….Muy bien….”

Page 21 of 155 Chapter Four The scar faced man of arms cradled his gyro rocket rifle while approaching the base of a geographical marvel. The sandstone mesa towered over two-hundred feet above the desert floor, but the professional soldier didn’t much care about that. He removed his sunglasses to squint at something that had been recently carved into the monster column with a rock nibbler, then spray painted over with colors that must have been hand mixed. Caz Longstreet was no art lover, but he nodded slightly at the elaborate image of a naked woman made to be nine feet tall. Undoubtedly created by one of the Mole Men , since this entire area had been sealed off from the public for a number of years now. The Mole Men were high tech rock cutters who had been contracted to hollow out a portion of the opposite side of the mesa. They employed a monstrous device that was cylindrical in shape and mounted on the back side of a huge tractor trailer rig. The back end of the cylinder sported over two dozen grinding disks that also rotated as one on a vertical turn table. The cutting method was not as fast as explosives, but the results added up to superior structural integrity. Caz strolled casually towards the sound of their work. He got halfway around the mesa before he was spotted by a squad of soldiers all sitting in the back of a transport. Even with sunglasses on, it was obvious the men were amazed that another soldier would appear out of nowhere and on foot. “Anybody seen this guy around?” muttered a master sergeant named Kimmel. All responses were negative, so the sergeant dropped out of the transport and approached the newcomer with his hand near his pistol. “Who the hell are you?” Kimmel asked in a moderate tone.

Page 22 of 155 “GS-12 Longstreet,” answered the man in his immaculate desert combat gear. “My wheels broke down five clicks out. What a rotten day this has been so far. I’m not used to the heat. Just got transferred down from Alaska, can you believe it?” “With a little help I can,” responded the sergeant as he pulled out his communicator. “Charlie Four to base.” (After a pause) “Base here.” “Confirmation request on a GS-12 Longstreet.” (Another pause) “Confirmed Charlie Four. Late courier. Security level seven.” Kimmel stared hard at Longstreet for a moment and then nodded slightly. “Acknowledged base. Charlie Four out.” The squad leader put away his communicator and then removed his shades to show a pair of remorseless gray eyes. “So what’s the message?” “Delay twelve hours.” There was a pause and then the sergeant put his shades back on. “You called a wrecker yet?” “No. I wasn’t sure how long this would take me and I got orders not to draw anyone into the red zone. Guess I’ll just have to hoof it back to base after the sun goes down. I got a compass and I’m not scared of the dark. In fact, I’m looking forward to a little star gazing. I’ve been told the night skies are real pretty down here.” “Well---we’d give you a ride back to base if you wanted it. But we got orders to stay here so if you’re boots fit you good, I guess walking back in would work best for all concerned.”

Page 23 of 155 “I’ll start out late. 0300. That way I’ll get back to base at sunrise. That’s better than being challenged in the dark.” “Yea, I guess so,” responded the sergeant. “Come on over here and I’ll make the introductions.” Caz met the other men, and noticeably, the rock cutters were ignored. Then when the sun went down and two separate campfires were started, Caz made a point of strolling casually between the two areas until he was rewarded with the presence of the one man he really needed to speak to. As luck would have it, most of the squad had started a poker game, and their leader was playing with his back to Caz. So the newcomer took a chance and steered a course that would allow him to pass the man who had been singled out. The chief of the twelve man excavation crew was a grizzled old man named Clyde Purdue. He was a solitary figure, due to the fact that he was much older than the other rock cutters. But there was also the little matter of his personality. He was a difficult taskmaster and the younger men gave him a wide berth when not on the clock. The gray bearded curmudgeon gave Caz a decidedly unfriendly look when the soldier stuffed a note into Purdue’s sweat stained shirt pocket. But he kept his hands at his sides and was wise enough not too read the note until he was farther away from the soldiers. The two men met behind the mesa, and Purdue angrily stuck the piece of paper under the soldier’s nose. “Where do you get off threatening me, Boy? You better explain yourself real quick cause I’ve been in bad mood ever since I dropped my bottle of rum.” “I didn’t threaten you, Old Man. “Bull shit you didn’t. Says right here: ‘Meet me behind the mesa if you want to go on living.” “Your work is done isn’t it?” “Don’t change the subject,” growled Purdue. “Those soldiers have orders to kill you after your work is completed. I’m guessing that they don’t want to dispose of any bodies in the dark, so they’ll wait until dawn.”

Page 24 of 155 “You crazy sack of shit,” muttered the rock cutter. “Bet you’ve been smoking some of the stuff that grows here-a-bouts.” “This project has to be kept secret, and the people in charge of it don’t give a rat’s rear end for human life.” “I’ve carved up mesas before,” protested the old man. “Ordinary work that never got men murdered at dawn or any other time of the day.” “What is the function of those soldiers?” “To keep the campers and the snoopers away,” answered Purdue. “The government is gunna put some high tech hardware in the mesa someday. Sure, it’s serious business alright, but not so the workers get kilt over it.” “You and your men will be shot at dawn. Unless you heed my warning and do as I tell you.” Purdue grinned at that, but there was a nervous look in his eyes. “You gotta be out of your fucking mind.” “There’s a park ranger station twelve miles west of here. You can call the sheriffs office from there and tell them what I said. Don’t suppose you were a little curious when they told you that no cell phones would be allowed on this job.” “That’s not so weird,” said the digger. “One thing we can agree on is that the government is gunna take certain precautions that---“ “You damn well better trust me on this one,” Caz interrupted. “I showed up on my own for a reason, and it had nothing to do with a broken down set of wheels. The sergeant is cozy with some hard looking gents. The rest of the detail seems to be made up of Cherries.
I think the green horns will be assigned to take your drill- on- wheels someplace before the dirty work commences.” “Even if someone really wanted us out of the way, you think a few men would be detailed to kill a dozen men and move their bodies?” argued Purdue.

Page 25 of 155 “You probably noticed the hydraulic lifter on the back of the truck, and you can pop a lot of guys if they’re on the ground sleeping.” “Course there is another possibility,” the old man brought up with an icy stare. “And that would be what?” “That you simply want to steal a three million dollar piece of equipment, and you don’t want to have twelve counts of murder hanging over your head. So you run us off with talk about killings.” “Yea, that’s another possibility,” Caz conceded readily. “So, if I’m running a con, and the guys with all that ammo are unwilling to shoot anyone---I guess you’ll look pretty smart to the intel people who’ll come to debrief you. But if I’m right, twelve ordinary working grunts will get killed--- twice. First by those guys near the truck---then later on in some kind of accident involving a very big bang. But at least nobody will ever say that Clyde Purdue got played for a chump. That’s the really important thing---right?’ The grim faced old man paused for a moment, then let out a sigh.. “Ok, I’ll take the guys out when you want. I ain’t fond of hikes, but my gut tells me that your gut ain’t often wrong.” “Your gut may be a bit oversized,” teased the soldier, “but your instincts are as accurate as can be. Now we best part company until I come for you.” Purdue took two steps and then turned to frown at his benefactor one more time. “What are you really? You some kind of special investigator or something?” “Do I look like one?” Caz responded. “You’re Latino, and the Mexicans aren’t what they used to be.” “You better not hold that against me. You better trust me---and don’t step on any snakes if you can help it.” Caz headed back to his detail, wondering if he would ever feel sane again.

Page 26 of 155 Sgt. Ray Kimmel was sleeping lightly in the desert twilight. This was no ordinary night for him, despite the fact that he was a well accomplished killer of men. He had planned to give himself two hours of sleep before calling in for the final confirmation, but when he awoke prematurely, he knew better than to indulge himself further. It was a good time to check on the odd ball, and give him the shtick that would send him and the other regulars off with the drilling machine. Kimmel was mentally prepared for every pain in the ass question that the odd ball might throw at him. The special operative almost wished that Caz would get wise to the whole thing so that Kimmel could stand him up next to his new found buddy Purdue. Kimmel had taken an instant dislike to the scar faced veteran. He couldn’t even say why, considering that the other sergeant had been more than willing to let Kimmel act as undisputed master of their little group. In time the operative would have figured it out. Caz frightened him, because the scar faced man had eyes that made him second guess himself. Maybe that’s why Kimmel bothered to step to the other side of the drilling truck before walking over to where Caz was supposed to be on guard. Kimmel’s eyes turned feral at the sight of so many abandoned sleeping bags, and with Caz standing next to the truck’s passenger door. “I was wondering if you were the sort that could sleep just before a murder,” the scar faced man said in the way of a greeting. Kimmel’s right hand inched a bit towards his low riding holster, but Caz only had to turn a few degrees with his heavy rifle. The squad leader then very wisely changed his mind. “And what sort are you?” queried the operative. “You look like you belong on my team---but you sure as hell ain’t.” The last five words were spoken as if in pronouncing sentence, and Caz didn’t miss that. “Ya know---in ancient times, a warlord might stash a treasure someplace, and then have the treasure bearers killed to make sure nobody would know about it,” drawled the rifleman.

Page 27 of 155 “You must have dug around in back and found the body bags,” Kimmel speculated. “Then you told the diggers that they needed to run for their lives because the rest of us were going to murder them.” Kimmel grinned while staring off to the west. “Shit, Longstreet; when you decide to step into it, you jump, to make sure there’s a big messy splash. But you got no right to assume the worst about us. It’s true that the press would end up being told that a dozen men were dead and stuffed in those body bags. But the mole men wouldn’t really be dead, you dumb asshole.” The gaze on the rifleman’s face was impassive. “Alright---then explain why they need to be dead on the six o’clock news.” “Sure---why not? The more you know, the more likely it is that some special ops boss will wanna hold on to your short hairs. I just gotta spill my guts cause I’ve got this crazy man pointing a deadly weapon at me and he’ll kill me if I don’t.” “Don’t rule out the possibility of getting shot for being long winded,” growled Caz. “Alright, alright,” soothed Kimmel with hands raised. “The simple fact is we got a new super secret weapon that needs to be hidden someplace in the southwest. We got a pilot who’s gunna fly over this area tomorrow and photograph twelve body bags laid out on the ground near the digging truck. We know an ear that will sell our made up intel to the opposition. The spy get’s his hands on the incriminating photos and passed them on. Bad guys then come to the conclusion that this here is where the secret weapon is gunna get set up.” “But it’s really just a low income housing project for bats,” Caz guessed. “Yup---and since we’re touching on the subject of housing, I should mention that the diggers will be spending the next six months or so on an Island in the Caribbean. None of em have families to answer to so they won’t feel guilty about being out of touch until it’s safe to cut em loose. They’re all gunna have a great time, Longstreet, after they get done hiking out there in the desert because of your overactive imagination.” “Overactive,” Caz muttered softly. “Well, I suppose that’s better than being called crazy.

Page 28 of 155 Caz stepped up closer to the highly apprehensive Kimmel and gave him a ghost of a smile. “But it doesn’t change anything.” With inhuman speed the rifleman brought the butt of his weapon around in a sweeping arch and caught the amazed operative squarely on the chin. Not even bothering to check for a level of consciousness, Caz strolled over to where the other soldiers were still sleeping and picked up two rifles that he felt needed to be secured. A young red headed kid named Jerry Klein was the first to wake up, and his opening question would have been easy to predict. “Sergeant---what are you doing with Evans and Jefferson’s weapons?” Those men ranked second and third on Caz’s bad guy list, and they were on their feet about three seconds after young Klein opened his mouth. “What the hell you think you’re doing, Longstreet?” inquired Evans with a dose of venom. “I need to go back to base and explain why the diggers walked out of camp a while back. I’ll need the weapon’s carrier for that,” Caz informed the soldiers as they all rose to their feet. “You mean you’re running out on us?” asked a man named Williams. “Back to the base,” Caz repeated. “I’ll take Klein, Olsen and Williams with me. Rest of you can bring the digger truck back. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to figure out how to secure the back end.” “Where’s Kimmel?” Jefferson asked with a suspicious look. “He’s sleeping. Let’s not wake him up. He wouldn’t have anything meaningful to contribute to this conversation anyhow. I’ll be stashing these weapons in the back of the truck if you gents don’t mind; or even if you do.” All the men tensed, but for different reasons. Klein and his fellow neophytes were focused on the fact that Longstreet had assaulted their squad leader and was now planning to run away with the best mode of transportation. The two remaining soldiers had every reason to believe that Longstreet was an agent working for the opposition. Why else would the scar faced man get in the way like this?

Page 29 of 155 “You take our weapons but the Cherries get to keep theirs,” growled Evans. “What makes us special?” “Good question, and I think its time I went and found an answer. Be careful with the rig. Purdue said it’s worth a lot of money. “You gunna object much if I check on Kimmel?” put in Jefferson “Hell---kiss him in his sleep for all I care,” snorted Caz, who then glanced at the three men he had offered to take with him. “You guys can stay behind if you want to, but it’s my opinion you would be better off with me back at the base.” The three men glanced at each other until one of them found his voice. “You drive, and if you don’t take the right road back to camp, I’ll shoot you in the back of the head,” declared Williams. “Sounds reasonable to me,” Caz responded, and with that, the four men all piled in. Caz just about got the truck backed around when Kimmel staggered out into the headlights. At the same time the highly athletic Jefferson jumped into the back of the truck and grabbed Klein’s weapon. “You’re not going anywhere till the squad leader says so,” snarled the black man. “Yea. Sure. Whatever,” Caz responded as he slowly exited the truck cab. Jefferson cursed because his prisoner had made a move without permission, but the incomprehensible man had left his rifle in the cab, and he carried no pistol, so the situation seemed well enough in hand. “Ok---now we’re gunna get to the fucking bottom of a few things,” vowed Kimmel as he came around the left front quarter panel with a swollen face. “Yea, I think that’s a good idea,” Caz grumbled with eyes turned skyward “Olsen, you think you can drive the digger rig?” asked Kimmel.

Page 30 of 155 “Uh, yes, Sergeant,---but I---“ “Shut up and do it. Forget about the guide bars. Drag the damn things back to base. You other cherries go with. Longstreet maybe crazy, but he knows poor help when he sees it.” “So what are the rest of us gunna do?” inquired Caz. “We’re gunna take the weapons carrier and see if maybe we can catch up with them late night hikers you chased outta here,” answered Kimmel. “I didn’t exactly chase them out, Kimmel, and I really am keen on the idea of sending those cherries back to base with the WC.” “God I wish they’d stop calling us that,” thought Klein as he grudgingly accepted his rifle from the man who had yanked it from him. “You lost your powers of persuasion when you laid down your rifle, Longstreet.” “Thought I’d use this,” said Caz as a fragmentation grenade suddenly appeared in his hand. Kimmel ran a beam of light over the pineapple and noted that the pin had been pulled. “Alright Asshole---I’ll give you some more rope to hang yourself with. No problem. Klein, Olsen --Williams---get the fuck out of here. But first look behind the driver’s seat. You’ll find a metal case under a spare blanket. Put that on the ground beside my pack.” Olsen dug out the metal case and handed it to Williams. Caz was tempted to ask for it himself but thought better of it. He needed to give these jokers around him his undivided attention. Klein took the wheel but gazed in puzzlement at the remaining men until Williams poked the driver in the back. Four men watched the weapon’s carrier roll off into the night before resuming their very serious discussion. “Alright, enough bullshit,” said Caz. “You were going to kill those diggers and someone does have big plans for this rabbit hole. Well, sometimes things just go sour, like they are doing now. But at least you all still have a future, cause I didn’t come out here to arrest anyone. I just want you boys to walk away, and cut your losses as best you can.”

Page 31 of 155 “You’re a spook of some kind,” guessed Kimmel. You’re just too damn ignorant to understand that your boss ain’t nearly as big as my boss. Too bad, Longstreet. Sure would be a nice world if guys like you never backed the wrong horse.” Caz glanced at the others and said, “Since you boys don’t look like you’re in the mood to use them rifles, why don’t you just put em on the ground. Then you can march off in any direction that pleases you. Might want to try and hook up with a lady friend one last time before the M.P.s find you. Just a thought.” Evans and Jefferson just glared at their antagonist. The Latin son of a bitch was awfully sure of himself---and they hated him for it. Kimmel’s face was deadpan as he addressed his confederates. “Drop your weapons and double time it outta here. Me and Longstreet got some last minute negotiating to do.” As the two soldiers jogged into the night Kimmel stepped over to where the metal case lay and said, “We need to take this back with us. You don’t need to know what it is--- just that it’s not something you leave lying around.” “Very well, I promise not to leave it lying around.” Caz walked up to Kimmel and delivered a front snap kick to the groin. As the prisoner doubled over, Caz removed the cotter pin from his pocket and reinserted it into the pineapple. Then he round house kicked the man in the side of the head, and secured his wrists with shoe laces while the man lay stunned. A few moments later Kimmel shook the cobwebs from his head and growled, “You ain’t gunna get the name of my recruiter this way, Asshole. Course, you could try cookin me on the camp fire, but how will the base C.O. feel about that?” “I have a more important question for you,” countered Longstreet. “What will the commanding officer think of your all important carrying case?” With that Caz grabbed hold of the suitcase and got the shock of his life. (Literally.) The handle had been booby trapped. The mechanism had been armed by voice command.

Page 32 of 155 Kimmel’s laugh was like the bark of a wolf. It rolled across the desert floor as Williams ran up and proceeded to cut the sergeant’s bonds. “You got the weapons carrier?” asked the sergeant. “No, Sergeant,” confessed the underling. “I jumped out the back and let them go on. I figured that a couple of witnesses to a shooting would be a bad thing.” “Good job, Williams. Get the flare gun out and go round up Evans and Jefferson. We may be screwed here but at least we got a prisoner to haul back with us.” “But, Sergeant---if this guy is a special agent sent to mess with us, then there must be other dudes that know what we’re doing here.” “This isn’t a place to think, this is a place to get the hell out of now that we got a prisoner to transport.” Williams swallowed hard. He was a courageous man by nature, but he was out of his element. “Just so we don’t get set up to take a fall,” the man muttered half to himself. “Hey, you got your money stashed away---right? Most likely the big shots will declare this area a highly restricted zone of some kind. They can do anything, so don’t lose your cool, Williams.” The lackey nodded and pulled out a flare pistol from Kimmel’s bag of tricks. He was just about to fire it when the earth shook and a loud whirring sound filled the night air. “What the hell is that?” asked Williams. “If it’s what I think it is, we better get under cover. Help me with the prisoner. We gotta get inside the rock.” The two operatives dragged Caz into the mesa, not realizing what was about to happen to all of Purdue’s hard work. The source of the unearthly sound lifted skyward, displaying no lights or image of any sort. Kimmel didn’t stop dragging Caz until they were in the deepest part of the mesa’s cavity. In a matter of seconds he had deduced that Caz was working for the other side, and those people could find their operative with highly sophisticated bio scanners.

Page 33 of 155 That was true, but it was also true that the alien pacifist had great destructive power at his disposal. He loathed using it, but that wouldn’t keep him from discharging his responsibilities, or the ship’s energy cannon. Many miles away witnesses would report a peculiar flash of heat lightning, but that was nothing to ponder over. The mesa itself would collapse upon itself, but alien operatives within the government were already taking steps to make certain that no one would make any discoveries in the area. People who didn’t officially exist would be vexed, but that certainly wouldn’t mean anything to the three men who had just been buried alive. They were just three pawns off the chessboard, with plenty others remaining all over the Earth.

Page 34 of 155 Chapter Five. The man was Chinese in everything but birth, with eyes that were much larger than norm and a somewhat lighter than norm bone structure. He walked alone in the pouring rain, in a huge parking facility that held hundreds of semi-trailers that were identical and possessed no registration numbers. It was a very unusual storage lot, but the security guards that patrolled the surrounding barbed wire fence didn’t ask questions, nor indulge any from outsiders. The lone walker splashed his way to the fourteenth trailer on the left, sixteen rows in from the only gate. There was no over head lighting and the visitor required none. With the confidence of a man in his own home, the lone figure produced a magnetic key and opened the heavy metal door just wide enough for him to slip through. Then he secured it behind him. The space shuttle within emitted a glow when it sensed movement three feet away. The same magnetic lock enabled the Asian to access a sliding panel door and climb into shuttle. The craft wasn’t much larger than a standard late Twentieth Century mini van, but to it’s occupant it was an office, and something else that was very important indeed. When the air tight hatch sealed alongside him, a cloud of blue mist rose up and enveloped him for twenty minutes. By the time the mist had subsided, the occupant of the space craft was ready to become one with the onboard computer that was now fired up and ready to go. Names and government department headings flashed by at great speed. Federal Aviation Administration……………………………………………………. POSITION SECURED U.S. Department of Commerce……………………………………………………….POSITION SECURED U.S. Department of Defense…………………………………………………………..POSITION SECURED U.S. Department of Energy…………………………………………………………….POSITION SECURED

Page 35 of 155 U.S. Marshalls Office…………………………………………………………………POSITION SECURED Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms…………………………………….POSITION SECURED Nat’l Telecom and Information Admin…………………………………………POSITION SECURED Financial Crimes Enforcement Network……………………………………….POSITION SECURED Office of International Affairs……………………………………………………..POSITION SECURED Office of Terrorism and Financial Intelligence………………………………POSITION SECURED And so it went down the line until he was ready to switch to a similar list written in Spanish, albeit that list was a thousand times longer. The reader knew every operative by name, and understood in what order they would receive their instructions. Some had been bribed, some threatened, but the highest placed minions understood that unprecedented change was in the wind, and if they wanted to thrive in such change, they needed to add their weight to a movement that would appear in the near future. Part of the ground work commenced with the new greatly empowered Klen-Thrall-Herder, but many followers possessed extremely high I.Q.s that originated with their great-great grandparents. They were a people scattered across the Western Hemisphere and in the Chinese capital as well. They had many outlooks and may expectations concerning their future. But there was only one true puppet master, and he sat in the back of a semi trailer, and read off the names of the slaves that would survive the coming storm.

Page 36 of 155 Chapter Six. Under cover of a moonless night an old school bus rumbled off without running lights, leaving thirty-five men and women poised to begin the greatest adventure of their lives. In a few moments they would leave their homeland behind and creep in defiance of the law into a country where their fates would be determined by total strangers. Everyone of them was frightened, and everyone of them was desperate to solve some personal crisis that God had seen fit to place on their shoulders. Most of them were also inclined to believe that God had brought men to them who would smuggle them into the United States. It was well known that such men were cut throat opportunists who were just one step up from the ancient Comanchero slavers that had once operated farther to the east. But in theory, God would sometimes use bad men in order to accomplish good things. Two brothers named Juan and Pedro Mendez sat on the ground by themselves, nervously watching the fellow immigrants that chose to pace back and forth in the dark. As far as anyone could tell, they were all approximately twenty miles west of Nogales, Arizona. The terrain was made up of rolling hills covered with scrub brush and patches of trees. Not a perfect place to hide dozens of people, but a damn sight better than most border land either west or east. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” grumbled Pedro. “Everyone and his dog knows that the American satellites are unbeatable. Even back when Uncle Jose made it across, seven out of ten would get caught before they could make it to a safe house.” “Si, but that was before they could bribe the people who pass on the satellite information,” explained his brother. “Also, the truck transports have fake refrigeration units that fool the police.”

Page 37 of 155 “You know such things but the police do not?” Juan asked skeptically. “I am also curious who pays for such things. If the people pacing around us are as poor as you and I, it is likely that the bus driver has left us in this patch of woods to rot. Such things have happened before you know.” “Well, if we are still here in the morning, then I will treat you with great respect as we hike back to our village,” promised Pedro. Juan was about to suggest that his brother carry him piggy-back, when suddenly a man armed with a rocket rifle appeared from the direction of the river. “Alright you people, it’s time to move out. Remember to stay close together, and if anything goes wrong, let me do the talking.” The group obediently made their way to the tiny stream There, most of them were tempted to remove their shoes and roll up their pants legs to deal with the twenty-two inches of water that was flowing at that time. But since they were mindful of the need to stay together, they simply sloshed across with their minds on the darkness of the American No Man’s Land. Some of the women had thought to bring sandals which they had slipped on before starting their trek to the stream bank, but that sort of portable foot wear was easily lost on the river’s muddy bottom. A small problem to be sure, and when they all made it to the other side of the river, a number of men nervously joked about the women’s bare feet. Beyond the ribbon of water was a line of steel marker posts that were spaced ten feet apart. They warned in two languages that this was the physical border between Mexico and the United States. It was said that once upon a time the Americans were actually going to build a fence that would extend the entire length of the border. That inspired much amusement. Only the Anglos would spend so much money on something that couldn’t possible work. Even the marker posts out in the middle of nowhere seemed an extravagance, and the men smiled as they passed the nearest one. Then suddenly the uneasy grins disappeared. A dozen flare guns went off in unison and the night sky disappeared. Everyone froze some fifty feet north of the border line.

Page 38 of 155 “This is the United States Border Authority,” announced someone in Spanish. The electronically amplified voice was coming from straight ahead, but to the frightened Mexicans, it seemed to be coming from God on high. The men at the head of the group looked around frantically for the guide who had promised to do the talking, but he was no where to be seen. Get down on your knees and interlace your fingers behind your head.” The villagers complied somewhat awkwardly; many of the women started weeping in fear. Americans in uniform appeared out of the night and moved in with guns held loosely. They weren’t expecting trouble, even though most of them hadn’t encountered a cross over this size in years. Two American women spoke words of comfort to the immigrants who were crying. The others gave instructions that were blunt but not harsh in tone. The Americans were mostly thinking about the paper work that would be waiting for them after such a large catch. It was a taste of the old days that most of them could have done without. Even though the mosquitoes were having a feast, each prisoner was slowly and methodically searched and briefly questioned. Being outnumbered didn’t bother them. They were all professional enough to read the harmless looks in the eyes of their prisoners. The whole thing was just a pain in the ass . The first stage of a crappy night in which they would have to give up their cold soft drinks to a bunch of clueless people. That was the size of it---until the tracer rockets began sweeping the mixture of American and Mexican targets. Juan grabbed his brother Pedro and forced him to run back in the direction of they had come. Pedro knew that it was a mistake, but even the people who had thought to assume a prone position were getting chopped up by tiny explosive warheads. Both young men got clear of the ambush, but were then cut down in the middle of the river by other marksmen who had not been needed up to that point. The senior Border Patrol officer was Sergeant Stan Williams; an ex Air Policeman who had spent four years guarding parked transports. “Night Wing One, this is Raccoon Three. We’re being ambushed on this side of the river. We’ll try to crawl out to the northwest. Scan the north bank for biologics and engage A.S.A.P. Do you copy.”

Page 39 of 155 “Affirm, Raccoon Three. E.T.A. to effect range, four minutes.” “Ah Christ!” shouted a border patrol man who had gotten a piece of his rifle butt impaled in his leg. “We haven’t got four minutes!” The Americans were firing into the dark, hoping to unnerve their adversaries “Hold your fire! Crawl northwest!” the watch leader commanded. “What about the civilians?” asked a female officer “The Dinks are after us!” the leader reasoned. “We’ll be drawing their fire away from these people!” It was a logical assumption, but gravely inaccurate. A dozen law enforcement officers struggled to distance themselves from the huddling civilians; belly crawling as fast as they could. But in the dark the rockets found their targets with grim efficiency, and for the most part those targets were harmless Mexicans. Four incredibly long minutes later the American team leader got one hell of a surprise. “Raccoon Three, the shooters are American, do not return fire!” “Williams keyed his chest mike and shouted, “Tell that to THEM!” “I can’t. They don’t seem to be on our frequency!” the gun ship pilot wailed back. “Oh fuck!” exclaimed Williams as he frantically pulled off his uniform shirt. He would use his undershirt as a white flag, hoping that the snipers would see it and understand it’s meaning. “Stan!” shouted a friend who had stopped moving. “Keep going, all of you! We got a total fuckup here!” Only the constant barrage of near misses convinced the other officers that they had no other choice in the matter. They couldn’t fire on their own people, and it was nothing less than a miracle that only one of them had been wounded so far. So while swearing under their collective breaths, they obeyed orders while their leader stripped off his sweat soaked improvised flag.

Page 40 of 155 After some frantic waving, it appeared to Williams that the shooters had gotten the message. With rubbery legs he struggled to his feet and again waved the undershirt while in the cross hairs of a platoon of Army Reservists. A minute of so later a handful of men appeared out of the darkness with their weapons pointed at the ground. “God forgive us,” one of them muttered half to himself. “We were told that the Mexican Army was overseeing a huge shipment of drugs here.” “Fuck that. I just want to know who gave the order to open fire on us!” Williams almost screamed. “Lieutenant Rollins. He’s about three-hundred meters back,” the scout answered quickly. “Give me your head set,” growled Williams. The army reservist quickly complied. “Captain Rollins, this is Sergeant Stan Williams of the U.S. Border Patrol. Can you fucking hear me?” There was silence for a moment, then a voice that said, “This is Sergeant Teiland. I don’t see the platoon leader anywhere. I’m damn sorry about this and we’ll have you taking to the lieutenant A.S.A.P.” Williams was about to throw the combat headset on the ground when something occurred to him. He pulled out a penlight and checked the frequency indicator. He was amazed to discover that it was indeed set to function on the same wave length as his own com-link. “Night Wing One, this is Raccoon Three. Do you copy?” After a moment of silence Williams double checked the frequency. “You’re set to communicate with us, but something’s messed up on your end.” “Jesus, I can’t tell you how sorry we all are,” said the scout. “I swear on my balls we have every reason to think that—“ “There was some fire coming from that little steam over there,” Williams interrupted. “You got shooters positioned there as well?”

Page 41 of 155 “Hell no. I mean---we ain’t supposed to,” answered the scout. Williams blew out hard and struggled to make sense of it while Night Wing One passed over head for the last time. “Raccoon Three, be advised that air ambulances are en route. I’m going back to the barn, since I’m not needed here.” “Negative, Night Wing. We took some fire from across the border. I’d like you to remain at least until the wounded have been taken out.” “Alright Raccoon, I’ll just stand clear for the air ambulances. Things are gunna be confusing enough for them in such a small LZ.” On the other side of the border, two Mexican army officers watched the gunship fly off while American soldiers prepared the wounded for evacuation. “Captain Lopez, I cannot guarantee that you will come out of this smelling like a rose. When it is finally time for the miserable diplomats to go to work, they might have to throw you to the wolves in order to complete the negotiations.” “I understand, sir, and if it comes to that, I will view it as a small price to pay for the betterment of our people.” The colonel was not surprised to get such an answer. Every man had been carefully chosen for what was to come. Even Colonel Francisco Carranza was very carefully screened before being approached by the recruiters. “We need China’s good will. Pushing the border further north will feel good to the historians among us, but the important thing is to get his country on an equal military footing with our northern neighbors. God only knows this is going to scare the caca out of most people I know, but it is a gamble we must take, if we are to become a first rate nation.” “Everyone of my men understands what is at stake, sir, and we are as ready as any soldiers could hope to be. “That’s good, Captain, because the time to act is now. May God forgive us---whether the Americans ever do or not.”

Page 42 of 155 Moments later Company A of the Poncho Villa Brigade hit the dumbfounded Americans with just enough small arms fire to kill half of them and drive the remaining half back into a huge culvert that had been dug some five-hundred meters to the north. Company A advanced across the border and tried to drive the Americans even further from the line of marker posts, but the national guardsmen quickly recovered from the shock of the attack and decided that the culvert was worthy of a proper defense. Naturally the Americans called for reinforcements in every conceivable form. First to respond was Night Wing One, who had to take his firing orders from Stan Williams since the guardsmen were still out of touch with the gunship. Night vision and motion detectors would have made the strafing easy, even for a pilot who had never been in combat. But unfortunately, the civilians were no longer lying on the ground. They were being herded first one way and then another. No one could accuse the Mexican soldiers of hiding behind the civilians, exactly, but they weren’t going in opposite directions either. Night Wing One had to content himself with short bursts of fire from his secondary armament. Those tiny warheads would claim one or two men positioned furthest away from the dazed and meandering civilians. For several moments the pilot took what he could get, hoping with each burst that the silly ass non-combatants would wise up and belly down on the fricking ground where they belonged. Little did he know that the soldiers were discouraging that very thing. While playing this frustrating game, the pilot suddenly noticed that additional troops were emerging from a small patch of woods on the south side of the border. They were just a handful compared to what was below him, but at least there weren’t any civilians to fret about. So the pilot nailed the men who were crossing the stream, then zeroed in on the edge of the five acre woods where the men had appeared. Taking a calculated risk, he cut loose with his main armament. Trees became match sticks. Incendiary rounds ignited the surrounding brush, and soon there was a pocket forest fire that betrayed armored vehicles; some of which had to be abandoned. That caused the pilot to frown in the midst of his demanding work. “Did those immigrants blunder into a super screw up---or were they MEANT to be down there?” he wondered for an instant.

Page 43 of 155 Well, General Holt could figure that one out over a very early breakfast. The sweating pilot cleared his throat and spoke loudly into his comlink. “Night Wing One to Barn Door One.” “This is Barn Door One—go ahead, Night Wing One.” In his mind at least, he began his report. But somewhere in that space of time his seat had been shoved up against the ceiling of the cabin. His neck was broken, and the cabin was opening to release a huge ball of flame. The pilot saw his grandfather coming towards him, and vaguely realized that the events of that night were no longer his concern. The same was true for many others who’s bodies were lying under the light of a small forest fire, and a burning gunship. But the vast majority of the civilians lived to share their experiences with a news hungry world. The testimony they gave to the media the following morning was somewhat conflicting, but much appreciated all the same. The military spokespersons were less obliging, and the media had to content themselves with aerial and ground photos of Mexican troop transports accompanied by more than a few tanks. Half of army vehicles rolled west along what had once been called the North Target Range Road.
The remainder of the force moved in the opposite direction until it was two kilometers east of Highway 189 Half a million U.S. and Mexican soldiers were all slipping into the same long running nightmare. For all intents and purposes, the United States and Mexico were at war.

Page 44 of 155 Chapter Seven In the privacy of his D.C. cubical, Allan Kimble brought up his Man From U.N.C.L.E. photo collection and set his page turner to bring up a new picture every twenty seconds. He waited for his least favorite picture (the one where Napoleon Solo was a guest of a hillbilly family) before mixing his favorite drink concoction, which required unerring precision on his part. “I was born a century too late,” he thought to himself while settling back with his drink. Kimble was one of five agents working the grave yard shift in the old Department of Homeland Security building on Murray Drive. For the most part, his job was to give the Federal Marshals someone to report to, besides their own superiors. Then in the wee hours of the night, Kimble could stream line the information so that his superior could understand it with only two hours sleep. Maybe three or four times a year he would get to fly out to an explosion site and kick some debris around, which never failed to vex the forensic workers. But on a typical night he was a man with a job, simply because bureaucracies are dedicated to their own growth. Not that Kimble didn’t have the right stuff in him. But he was part of a hive mentality that absolutely despised the concept of the rogue agent. Hence the need to keep his U.N.C.L.E. photos off screen except during his coffee breaks. “C’mon, Illya, we got a call,” said a co-worker who didn’t even bother to poke his head into the cube. Kimble frowned at the man’s attitude while hitting the off pad. Fantasy was embarrassing enough, but his dream world had existed long before his father was even born. The young man with the strange haircut was probably the last U.N.C.L.E. fan alive. (At least the last one not residing in a nursing home)

Page 45 of 155 “We got a big one, guys,” declared their modest equivalent to a watch commander. His name was Duane Teffen and he was an info-geek of the first rank. No one had a problem with that though, since the pudgy agent was their main work horse in the office. “As you all know, there is a fairly large tract of government last west of Nogales, Arizona. That area has been under media scrutiny for years because people keep getting shot out there for a variety of reasons. Well, a couple of hours ago, an element of the 158 th Combat Group fired on a team of Border Patrol people while they were making an exceptionally large bust.” “Ouch,” muttered a guy named Kelse. “I haven’t gotten to the worst of it yet,” stated Teffen. “A Mexican Army group just happened to be in the area and open fired on the 185 th .” “What the hell for?” asked Kelse. “They claim that the 185 th were committing mass murder.” “Oh for crying out loud,” muttered several people at once. “There’s one thing in particular that I feel needs looking into,” said Teffen. The 185 th was unable to communicate with the border patrol people. That is extremely suspicious.” “You’re right, Duane, but it’s not a job for our department. We don’t handle military screw ups,” said Kimble. “But if a techno-terrorist is messing with our military’s ability to function, that would make it our concern,” argued Teffen. “They won’t let any of our people dig around for that,” predicted Kelse. “They’ll bury the particulars of this cluster fuck just as fast as they can.” “Maybe with the help of a bigger cluster fuck,” Teffen speculated. “What do you mean?” “The Mexican Army has crossed the border in force. They’ve set up a kind of secondary border line about two kilometers in and almost within sight of the Nogales suburbs.”

Page 46 of 155 “I’m gunna get satellite confirmation on this,” growled Kelse, while his associates started getting the Higher Ups out of bed.

Page 47 of 155 Chapter Eight. President Diego Mario Salinas stood poised to make history. Judging by his perfectly tailored suit, his immaculately trimmed hair, and his steely eyed expression, one would never guess that he was as crazy as a soup sandwich. Crazy---but amongst very indulgent people. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fourth Estate-- Distinguished Visitors---Dear Friends. I have called this meeting to address an issue that I feel is long overdue. You all know by now that several dozen citizens of this country were fired upon by forces of the United States. The fact that they were in the process of illegally crossing the border is not lost on this president. However, in a civilized world, you do not condemn men and women to death for trying to find gainful employment. The Nogales area has been a blood soaked land for many years now. The Americans have always said that they lack the manpower to properly patrol this chronically troubled section of the border. I can appreciate why that is true. The United States has large military forces in several parts of the world. They want to keep our people out of their country, yet they choose to expend most of their resources on the other side of the world. Such policies are none of our concern. However---every year citizens of Mexico are shot because of some frustrated people on the other side of the border. I cannot in good conscious allow this to both escalate and continue until the day that the United States decides to bring all their soldiers home. I therefore have decided to utilized a portion of our army to secure a small part of the border that needs to be brought under control.

Page 48 of 155 Representatives of the United States have already protested this action which comes on the heels of a catastrophic error that both our governments must atone for. That is why this border issue must be resolved now, while the deaths of our countrymen are still fresh in our minds. I have declared to the President of the United States---and the world, that our troops will withdraw as soon as a proper American border force can be put into place. A force that is not over worked or under funded. A force that is capable of acting with restraint. Let the world know what is in our hearts. Let every American know that Mexican soldiers are not invaders, but simply peace keepers, just as the American soldiers claim to be in distant parts of the globe. Let us all pray that this awkward situation can be brought to a mutually beneficial conclusion in a short period of time. I will be conducting a press conference after I have conferred at greater length with representatives of the United States. Thank you all.” Teffen and Kimble waited for their boss to launch into a tirade packed full of colorful expletives, or perhaps throw the remote at the five foot viewing monitor. It didn’t happen. Jedediah Lancaster had not been taken by surprise. Furthermore he promptly called a meeting of his senior case workers and proceeded to share some interesting facts. “Boys and girls, we have a problem. Somebody is cutting into the communications network of our military---at will—and then passing on false information that is costing lives. What happened outside of Nogales was not the first incident of its kind. Last week a U.S. Navy pilot received orders to engage what was supposed to be a Mexican smuggling boat on the Pacific coast. A Mexican Air Force squadron was sent up to engage the Navy pilot. When the U.S. aircraft was hit the pilot ignored orders to bailout and landed the aircraft.

Page 49 of 155 After a very thorough inspection they discovered that the plane had a very sophisticated transmitter hidden inside that impersonated the home base. Of course it was meant to end up in the ocean along with the plane.” “Origin of the device?” queried one of the nine people in the conference room. “The materials come from here in the United States. The technology itself---is totally original.” Lancaster gave that a moment to sink in. In the past six months there have been seventeen incidents that we believe we can attribute to this new form of sabotage. I think we’ll see this stuff on a grand scale when our military is put to the real test.” “You mean, in the Middle East?” asked a woman who was even older than Lancaster. “Probably. It makes sense to use reserve units here in the States as test subjects. This way our people on the front lines remain off guard. Anyway, I want all the pioneers in the communications field put under a microscope. Eggheads who have had their research grants cancelled…..whatever.” Lancaster led the way out of the room and headed for the coffee maker. This was going to be a long day with frequent trips to the bathroom. Just yesterday they had installed a news monitor in both the men’s and ladies rooms. Located just above the mirrors. So today he would never lose sight of the Mexican war machines being photographed from the air. “Progress,” he thought as he reached for the sugar.

Page 50 of 155 Chapter Nine Captain Margret O’Neil extended her good arm and attempted a basic shoulder roll as another torpedo slammed into the shields, sending her already pain-racked body flying over the navigational board. To her credit, she managed to pull off the roll, but could do nothing to avoid the abuse to her broken wrist as her momentum carried her onward. She knew from the severity of that last impact that the number four shield had collapsed and that another hit on that quarter would give the enemy their opening. Fighting down an urge to retch, O’Neil managed to reach the vacant helm station in time to apply port thrusters. Another hammer like blow rattled everything including her teeth. “Good thing those bastards want souvenirs ,” she muttered to an empty control room. Drawing her pocket communicator she thumbed the pad that would put her back in contact with the heart of her vessel. “Preston, are all pods loaded?” There was a pause, like no other in O’Neil’s life. A silence that lasted twelve heart beats and was made all the more frightening by the fact that she hadn’t heard anyone since the evacuation of the CR. “Preston here,” a man finally stated. “Jim, did you hear my question?” “Negative, but all the pods are boarded and set to jettison. Guess we’ll have to do it, Captain, cause the damn track just went down.”

Page 51 of 155 O’Neil blew out hard. On a Neptune class submarine, that meant that the projector coolant which flows through a huge circular conduit (or track) could no longer vent the impurities that were produced every millisecond the shield generator was charged. The resulting increase in pressure was more than the ten inch proto shielding could withstand. Hell out of a bottle reduced the engineers in that section to ash in an instant, and their replacements had to fumble around in bulky environmental suits that would only protect them for a short time. “You and your holdouts have got pods waiting---right?,” queried the woman. “Yes, Captain, and I’d be real disappointed if you failed to board one of them.” “Oh I’ll board one all right,” the woman half snarled. “I’m going to ram their bloody bridge dome with it.” The chief engineer realized that he needed to pull just one last rabbit out of his hat, and in the smoke and poor lighting of his home away from home, he found one. “Captain, I think we can launch our last two fish. Let me check something.” “Quickly Jim.” O’Neil dropped into the nearest seat and gazed around at the emptiest room in the whole world. An hour ago it was occupied by sixteen people who were like a family to her. They made up the brain of a gigantic underwater vessel that could fight sixteen-thousand feet down, but there was a catch. At that depth, conventional mechanics failed to last, so they came up with an energy plasma that not only protected the ship’s exterior, but actually protected them from external destructive forces such as a torpedo hit. But this plasma had to be magnetically opened around the torpedo and missile hatches, or the ship would not be able to launch its weapons. Magnetic controls were now gone, and something had to be done about that. Preston turned off his communicator and addressed those engineers who had refused to board their life pods without him. “Ok, no more group therapy. Everyone to your pods except for Mercier. I mean it God damn it to hell.”

Page 52 of 155 The junior officers and technicians jogged out of the oven like chamber as fast as their environmental suits would permit, leaving the two remaining men to face each other. Another hit caused them to stumble. The younger man recovered first and said, “I can open the conduit to the torpedo tubes and still get out. I know I can.” That will be our back up plan,” lied the C.E. But first I want to try something that wouldn’t scar your family as much. I’m going to jump the track with a full speed start. Just a one second burst. I’ll give you just one minute to reach the bypass valve at the next junction. If you don’t shut off the flow at that point, the whole forward hull might get blown out so make double damn certain the valve is off fail safe BEFORE you remove the inter-lock. I’ll make the jump on your signal so time it real good Kiddo.” Mercier frowned at the idea. He didn’t know the power systems one tenth as well as the chief engineer, but he was fairly certain that his boss wasn’t playing straight with him.” “I don’t think that idea is any better than mine. There’s got to be a third solution.” “Yes, there is. We can let O’Neil ram the bastards with a life pod. Do you like that better? You know damn well she’ll actually try it.” Mercier fought down an urge to overpower the older man and drag him from the room. Would he have the courage to do the same to the captain? Perhaps, but probably not in time. So without another word, he turned his back on his only child’s name sake. O’Neil stared at the enemy vessel like a wounded panther eyeing it’s pursuer from light cover. Her wrist continued to torment her, but she ignored it as she ignored her knowledge of what was happening at her feet. The radiation from the lower deck was entering her body like a thief in the night; robbing her of a future that was hard to imagine without her ship. Contaminates that would burn her up in a year or two. Petty issues beyond the all consuming here and now. She only cared about the enemy sub that would soon be free to nuke the San Diego bay area. A sub that was much smaller than hers, but wasn’t crippled and heating up inside. “Captain?”

Page 53 of 155 O’Neil raised her backup communicator to her lips. “Launch the pods, Jim. Then open the blue rods all the way and bail out manually in your own tub.” “That might not be necessary, Captain. I believe you’ll have those fish in twenty seconds.” O’Neil dared to hope that there could be a trick left that she had overlooked, even though she had started her career in engineering. “Jim---why must you always wait until the last minute?” “Captain, I’m going to feed the launching system with power from the shield transformers. Stay at the helm and let me know when to connect. Then we’ll have to launch, even if the other sub takes evasive.” O’Neil had a little trouble with that. Dozens of modular burnouts had filled the bridge with a vapor that was intoxicating and impossible to vent. “Jim—did you patch the quad plate, or not?” “Captain, this is Mercier. I’ve been directed to tell you that we’re going to jump the gap in the track. I’ll close the flow down at junction A-2 as soon as you give the word to launch. Please don’t delay, Ma’am .” “Jump a breach…,” O’Neil muttered before the plan suddenly materialized with awful clarity. Steeling herself like never before she hunched over the helm station and zeroed in on a blip that grew larger minute by minute. “Mercier.” The sound of the engineer’s voice caused O’Neil’s eyes to moisten but she wordlessly held her course on the approaching target. “I’m ready,” the younger man responded, in a tone that was a mixture of grief and rebuke. “We’re lined up,” she half croaked. “Now,” said the man who would now become another human torch.

Page 54 of 155 With the enemy stationed at the insultingly close range of half a kilometer, twin streaks of pure rage lanced out and cut through the attacker’s unprotected bow. The twin torpedo hit didn’t destroy the opposing ship outright, but it did send it into a slow motion cartwheel toward waters that were fatal without plasma hull protection. When the enemy hull imploded there was no one to witness it except the creatures that lived in eternal darkness. O’Neil stared at the now empty navigation screen until it became a dozen viewers that began to spin crazily in front of her. With her strength all but depleted, she drunkenly set the helm controls on station keeping before allowing herself the supreme ecstasy of lowering her working arm and sitting down in her own command chair. That is how they found her, with her chin resting on a sweaty tunic that miraculously continued to rise and fall.

Page 55 of 155 Chapter Ten Colonel Alan Ezzell paused in the midst of a cloud of dust in order to relight the butt of his Perdomo “Worm Killer” . His T-3 Skyhopper could power down in twelve seconds, but the colonel was an old hand at lighting up in winter winds and desert stand storms, and therefore paid the aircraft no mind once he was out of it. Ezzel finished his chore in time to give a proper hand shake to Major. Jesse Larka, who had just existed a huge prefab building the size of a football field. “Good news, Jesse; your transfer to combat has come through. You and about half your people will be packing up inside a week.” “Hot damn, Colonel. That’s the best news I’ve heard since we found out that San Diego didn’t get nuked.” The senior officer shook his head. “Jesse would you stop bringing that up for Christ’s sake. There ain’t gunna be no nuclear strikes. The Bean Eaters don’t want that in the game and we sure as hell don’t either.” “Conventional wisdom is on your side, sir, but need I remind you that a Chinese sub came all the way around the world from Hainan Island, just to set us up for a fall?’ “We don’t know much of anything for a fact, Jesse.” “We know that the Edmund G. Ross got ambushed by the Mexican Navy’s best attack sub. We know that the Chinese boat turned around almost at the very moment our boat got jumped. Our boat was supposed to challenge the Boomer. That’s how the Mexican got to sneak up behind her. And if he would have gone down, what would have happened next?”

Page 56 of 155 “The skipper of the American boat suspected that the Mexicans wanted to capture the Ross. That’s why she was attacked in relatively shallow waters. Bean Eater technology is pretty good, but ours is still a bit better. I’m thinking they wanted a prize.” “To help them win a non nuclear war? Sir you can’t think logically when the enemy has gone totally nuts. From a Mexican Nut-burger’s view, Point Loma is a kind of symbol. After all---it’s still the only sub station on the California coast. Everyone knows that our boats don’t need Loma to operate in the eastern Pacific, but there’s always a fair number of boats in the facility. If it got vaporized---“ “That crackpot would find himself wishing he was somebody else; like maybe Adolf Hitler back in 1945,” declared the colonel. “I’m telling you Jesse that he wouldn’t dare use a nuclear weapon. Not even in his dreams. Yea, he came within a hair’s breath of sinking the Edmund G. Ross, but the real fighting will continue southeast of these mountains. They fight with one hand tied behind their backs and we’re matching them slap for slap. It’s lunatic, but it’s preferable to what we’d have in California if the Mexican coastal forces were given orders to move north.” “Which could become a reality if the Chinese aren’t bluffing,” grumbled the major. Ezzell nodded with reluctance. “Yea. Twenty-four subs that are supposed to be the equal of our Neptune boats. California real-estate prices would sure drop like a rock if Salinas got his hands on a fleet like that. The gloves would come off---and a lot of people on both sides would wish that we’d played nicer when we were kids.” “ When we were kids ,” Larka echoed wistfully. “Back then Mexico didn’t have much of a navy, and the submarine was just one iron in a large bag of golf clubs.” The two men grimly recalled the year when Magnetorheological technology made quantum leaps forward for the military. A major science fiction dream had finally come true. The “force shield” had become a reality. The only catch was that it needed tremendous amounts of power to work, and it generated awesome amounts of heat on the surface of the hull. Only a nuclear submarine could make practical use of the technology, so the U.S. Navy became a sub fleet. But that was just the first change that had to be dealt with.

Page 57 of 155 The Chinese managed to steal the technology and incorporate it into a brand new fleet of subs. Then along came a political phenomenon named Diego Salinas. He started out as a supposed mob buster, but for the most part he was only catching lizard tails. He had the charisma of Barack Obama on the campaign trail, the organizational skills of J. Edgar Hoover, and the ruthlessness of Hitler back in the 1930s. How the Chinese came to that conclusion is a tale in itself, but what mattered was the fact that they were willing to support him politically, and then militarily after he became president of Mexico. On the pretense of needing oil from the Latin American country, China gave Mexico a modern sub fleet on a silver platter. More than a few nukes were thrown into the deal. Salinas was not another Fidel Castro. (The new president shaved twice a day) Still, he was a hard core nationalist who felt that the United States owed his country a lot. When war broke out between the U.S. and Mexico, it came in the familiar form of yet another border dispute. Everyone with any interest in the news had long ago grown comfortable with the idea that the border would never be a good place to live. Most everyone on both sides of the border assumed that Salinas would try to re-draw the border, get his butt kicked, but reap the rewards given by a appreciative Chinese government. Of course those people on the other side of the world didn’t want all out war to take place. They just wanted the Americans to show an increased appreciation for the things that could go wrong on their own side of the planet. Some folks on both sides of the Rio Grande hoped that the U.S. would go all the way and give Mexico a purer form of capitalism, after firing a few thousand bureaucrats. But that wasn’t likely to happen, anymore than the likelihood of Mexicans taking over Arizona. A strange sort of madness settled over an area two kilometers deep and about one fourth the length of the Arizona border. No one expected the bizarre series of clashes to last more than a few days. All the initial shooting had taken place along the Arizona border, where bad blood had existed for generations. Mexican-Americans living in the southwest could only sit tight and pray that they wouldn’t be carted off to prison camps. But most people on the continent simply sat in front of their television sets and shook their heads in disbelief. It was all a mistake. It simply had to be. A mistake that was now five weeks in the running. Chess pieces were hastily set up south of Luke, Cannon, Kirtland and Davis-Monthan. Some of the abandoned air instillations were given

Page 58 of 155 rebirth. But even with state of the art weaponry, the Mexicans wisely chose to stay within sprinting distance of their border. It was the most sensible part of an insane military action. But then word got out that a Mexican attack sub was heading for San Diego harbor, and the fear meter went up a few points along the California coast line. The Edmund G. Ross barely won the engagement, leaving a whole world to wonder what the Mexican sub would have done if it’s approach had gone un-thwarted. The statesmen chose to believe that the Mexicans would have played chicken with the west coast command and then headed back out to deep water. They had even explored the possibility that Captain Margret O’Neil had pressured the Mexicans into a unnecessary engagement. The people who get shot at for a living didn’t see it that way, but they were somewhat divided on the theory that the war could turn nuclear. Logic demanded that it wouldn’t. But logic also demanded that the United States and Mexico never war upon each other. “I don’t much give a shit about the Navy end of this fight, Jesse. It’s enough for me to ponder on the fact that we got Mexican troops willing to fight WWI along our border. This shit has got to stop or we’ll be forced to do things that won’t easily be forgiven.” “Yes sir, but it does look like a fair bet that the Bean Eaters aren’t going to make any advances this way, so my people are ready and willing to relocate. They know that only a percentage of them will move south and they’re all anxious to find out who stays and who gets transferred to combat. Needless to say sir, no one volunteered to stay in this old folks home . You’ll have to personally console the ones that stay behind and give em a big hug when they start crying.” The colonel scanned the landscape of the Palo Verde Valley. They were just a few miles south of the little town of Blythe, pretty much where California and Arizona come together. A good place to be if you want to defend California’s southeast border, but a really long rifle shot from where the enemy was actually causing concern. The combat regiment at Blythe would be the first chess piece to get moved further south. Eight more would be visited by Ezzell before returning to Texas. “Yea---everyone wants in on the action. Even though the opposition is a lot more high tech than it was fifty years ago. Add to that the fact that this shit is so damn surreal. Every time my

Page 59 of 155 phone goes off I expect a message saying that Salinas has been impeached or maybe just shot, and that it’s all over. Shit---when am I gunna wake up from this crazy ass dream?” The two men passed through a door to find several hundred troopers assembled in the main chamber of the prefab complex. The colonel picked up a portable speaker and got down to business. “As you all know, this conflict started in Douglas Arizona, where hundreds of Mexican civilians were manipulated into a three way fire fight involving us, the Mexican Army, and a undisclosed drug smuggling cartel. That kind of God awful mess has taken place before---causing much regret, but nothing that couldn’t be ironed over. This time it turned into the biggest conflict we’ve had with our southern neighbors in over two-hundred years. We needed to prepare for the possibility that the enemy might try an end run into California from this side, which is why you were all placed here. But now it has become obvious enough that the enemy is not aggressive enough to invade The Golden State. I’m sure we’re all very happy about that, but we’ve got Mexican troops engaging our forces at every border crossing from Sonoita to Juarez. They haven’t committed their aircraft but they have thus far shot down nine Skyhoppers with S.A.M.s The arm of a sergeant came up and the man was recognized. “Excuse me sir, is it true that our airborne divisions are remaining in the Middle East?” “That is true as of this moment, but I am very confident that those divisions will be brought home A.S.A.P. Of Course there is the on going possibility that a peace settlement will be reached before any of you get into action. Captured Mexican soldiers have stated almost to the man that they don’t know why they were ordered to invade U.S. territory. Their morale is low and many have relatives here in The States.
This conflict is no laughing matter, but at least we’re not being invaded by Islamic fanatics looking for seventy-two virgins.” There was a short nervous laugh from the group. “Now allow me to anticipate another question that keeps coming up: I honestly do not know why the Mexican government has gotten totally F.U.B.A.R. Extremely bad leadership is an obvious answer but I don’t think anyone is totally satisfied with that. I can only assure you,

Page 60 of 155 again, that the Mexican government does not have the support of its population. Millions of Latinos are appalled by what has happened so far. They are demanding answers, just as we are. In any case, I brought the list of men who will be moving out. I want to remind you that the Mexican government has geared up it’s conscription program in the past year, so if they send the whole gang across the border, we’ll have our hands full until we can get our own draft program up and working.” “Excuse me, sir, you think the voters will go for that after all the sweating we did over Iran?” asked a certain news correspondent who was noted for his outspokenness. “Well, Mr. Stassen, I suppose the folks up Massachusetts way would probably complain a little. But I’m expecting the citizens that reside southwest of there to be open minded and reasonable. Anyway, you can go back to California and assure your readers that they have nothing to fear from his quarter. Can’t make any promises about Tijuana though.” “Excuse me sir—but I was given to understand that General Lampert was going to be here today,” said the correspondent. “He’s got bigger fish to fry south east of here.” “Are you conveying the general’s concerns about Tijuana, sir?” Ezzel snorted at the question. “You can count everyone from the General up just short of God, Mr. Stassen” “Why aren’t you including God, Colonel Ezzel? Ezzel relit his dog turd and fixed the reporter with an unhappy look. “Cause that section of the border has been a little short of prayer for a long time, Mr. Stassen, and I’m thinking that a lot of people on both sides are responsible. Oh, and that’s just my point of view---not the General’s.”

Page 61 of 155 Chapter Eleven Two women sat on portable lawn chairs facing the great salt lake of Utah. They could easily have been taken for sister, since they shared a number of physical features. Both were five foot nine in height and looked like they could crack walnuts with their rear ends. Both had large dark brown eyes and long hair that was streaked with gray. The difference was that one woman wore a wig. Her own hair had fallen out months ago as a result of her illness. Captain Margret O’Neil wore a loose fitting jump suit that was comfortable to nap in. She took a lot of naps, because of the drugs that were designed to buy her two or three years of life. Katie Kubish hoped to do much better, but her work with force shield technology made her a combination scientist and guinea pig. This was mostly due to the fact that they were in a race with the Chinese, and a safe testing environment was sometimes a slow one. Besides: how do you ask someone to risk their health working with the results of your research? The two women had spent the better part of the afternoon going over the grim details of O’Neil’s last few hours of command. Now an early fall wind was coming down from the north, causing the ex-sub captain to shudder involuntarily. Kubish quickly removed her long windbreaker and handed it to O’Neil. “No, that’s ok---“ “It is not ok,” the scientist responded firmly. “Here---you take the recorder and put down the order in which the pods were jettisoned and I’ll go back in and get you your own coat.” The two women had been working some five-hundred yards from the hospital where O’Neil was staying. This was for security reasons, and because O’Neil didn’t want to waste what little warm weather remained for her. Most likely she would be dead before spring, and the government wasn’t transferring their injured people any direction except north.

Page 62 of 155 “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, you might pick me up a chocolate bar. Anything that doesn’t have nuts in it.” The lady scientist raised an arm in acknowledgement and continued to trudge off. O’Neil stared down at the technological descendant of the later day lap top. She almost smiled at this reminder that none of the escape pods malfunctioned. The Mexicans had taken their best shot without going nuclear and her boat was still alive. It was being refitted in Hawaii, and if she kept nagging her old boss, maybe she would be allowed to fly out and watch it sail out under its new command. That happy thought kept her from noticing four big strong men who were approaching with a portable bathroom. It was not an all together remarkable sight. There were enough hikers and wind riders to justify the need for such a facility, and there was no reason for two men to strain themselves if four happened to be available. O’Neil gave the work detail a split second glance and then refocused on the computer screen. She was still gazing at it when she felt a pricking sensation along side her neck. One of the four men had shot her with a capture dart and she was dumped without formality into the improvised carrying case. When she came to, she was strapped down on a stretcher, in the back section of a sky hopper that wasn’t faring well at all. A brief glance out the nearest window told her that the aircraft was attempting to fly through a sand storm, with instrumentation that was reading Off Line.
“Where are you taking me?” O’Neil asked a man who was seated on the floor next to her. “Shut up, Bitch!” responded her captor while leaning off away from her. Suddenly the man vomited all over his side of the cabin floor. O’Neil tugged at her restraints just to make sure that her abductors hadn’t tied her up improperly. The descendant if the ancient helicopter was almost crash proof with its computer laser landing probe set up. But collision was another matter. All a blind pilot had to do was swing in front of something at the last moment, and the shuttle could get crunched the way automobiles did back in the Twentieth Century. Out in the deep desert, only a mesa would likely stop the aircraft with bug smear abruptness, but the odds of them being in mesa country were remote. Such places were worthless to all

Page 63 of 155 men going back to the days of the first explorers. They were probably further north, and this sandstorm was just a freak occurrence. Suddenly a huge tower of rock flashed by, and the pilot hit right rudder out of blind panic. That was a mistake, because it lined the craft up with the mesa’s nearest neighbor to the east, which was smaller in size but still make up of the same unforgiving brand of rock. The pilot got them down to landing velocity a few seconds before they hit, but even at that speed the instrument panel pushed his heart, lungs and ribs through the bucket seat so that the pureed flesh flopped onto O’Neil’s body like mud strayed by a passing motorist. O’Neil’s puke covered guardian flew forward and was effectively scalped by a jagged piece of fuselage that appeared in the instant of impact. The back end of the stretcher flew up but was stopped by the ceiling. The prisoner’s head was shoved under the pilot’s seat, but the stretcher kept it from advancing to where steel would have cleaved her skull. This was followed by the bone jarring landing that caused O’Neil to fear that she had broken her back. She remained conscious with her pain. She listened to the sound of wind and sand as it howled though the open can that both sheltered her and held her fast. Three long hours after the sand storm abated she actually tried to get some sleep. She had been told many years ago that if you should ever find yourself entombed on the ocean floor, you should give yourself up to sleep. You would either be rescued by someone topside---or not. O’Neil had spent most of her life with people who believed in an after life, and like them, she would not wallow in mindless grief after so many years of disciplined living. So she slept, and dreamed that Mercier was laughing at her very un-Naval like way of dying. Then suddenly her stretcher was being pulled out of the wreck, under the sun of another day. “Ma’am, can you understand me?” queried a young male voice. O’Neil smiled and squinted against the brightness of the mid morning sun. A squad of American soldiers stared down at her with looks of concern. “You’re coming in loud and clear, Kiddo. Now would you be so kind as to un-strap me, and retrieve my wig. Should be under the pilot’s seat there.” The private readily complied while another soldier undid the restraining straps.

Page 64 of 155 “What a cluster fuck. Two men dead and a wreck that can’t be hidden,” grumbled the squad leader. “They had to kill themselves just twenty feet from the whore’s crack of an entrance. Just twenty miserable feet!” O’Neil suddenly got a very bad feeling about her rescuers. “You’re---on the same side as my abductors.” “That’s right, Dr. Kubish. We’re that very mysterious sort that show up suddenly and disappear when our work is done. The only thing you need to focus on is the fact that you have no legal status with us. We do what we want with you, so don’t give us a bad time.” O’Neil tried to look like a civilian in danger for the first time in her life. Being covered in gore helped a great deal. “I’ll cooperate with you. You don’t need to hurt me anymore than I already am.” “Band her,” ordered the S.L. One of the men produced a plastic tie strip and proceeded to place it around the woman’s wrists. Then he made a sad discovery. “Shit, look at this.” The squad leader stepped up to the woman and read the identification bracelet that is worn by every hospital patient. “Pendejo!” the man erupted before letting fly with a long string of Spanish explicative’s. O’Neil let out a small sigh. Now she knew what the game was, and it had just gone into sudden death overtime.
With an extra helping of rage, the squad leader grabbed the woman by her blouse and nearly lifted her off the ground. “You are a fucking decoy!” “Ah—no—not really,” she responded awkwardly. “We were having a private conversation and she loaned me her coat before going into the hospital to get me mine.”

Page 65 of 155 The S.L. viciously cuffed the woman on the cheek, letting her fall heavily onto the rocky earth. “Do we hold on to her?” asked one of the men in Spanish The S.L. took a moment to compose himself, then gestured to a cave like entrance that was spitting distance from the crash site. “We will try to take her to Mexico, but first we need to make sure that the way south is still open. We’ll stash her in the cave and come back for her if the route has not been compromised. Lets not waste any time now.” With a man on each arm, O’Neil was ushered after the squad leader into the mouth of an artificial labyrinth. The small procession stopped at the edge of a pit that was eight feet deep, five feet wide and perhaps sixteen feet long. Once upon a time it was meant to accommodate a technological marvel, but that knowledge was now both lost and irrelevant. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you that my ancestors intended to use this monolith as a power transferral base. A filthy Optimo brought it down knowing that the Klenock ship would not be able to wait for another monolith to be hollowed out. That was long before any of us were born. In this present day struggle, we were going to hover the craft very slowly into the entrance so that it would not be detected by satellite reconnaissance. Alas, that part of the operation is no longer possible. However---since the aircraft was brought into the city by a truck, it is not likely to be tied in with your disappearance.” O’Neil shook her head with a fragile grin. “They’re going to look at every unusual thing that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. When you left Salt Lake City, you flew into a sand storm. When the satellite tapes are reviewed, someone will wonder why that was done. Soon or later they’ll tie the two occurrences together.” “Fine---as long as they do it after we are far away from the wreckage. With that, the prisoner was shoved into the pit and left to contemplate the difficulty of climbing a shear rock face with her wrists bound in the front and her lungs threatening to go on strike. Of course she was compelled to try, even though the work soon caused her finger tips to bleed and her lungs to protest the loosened dust. During an extra long coughing spell, O’Neil leaned

Page 66 of 155 heavily against her chosen wall and recalled the bad air she had breathed in her only combat. She was growing confused, like an old time submariner who had been breathing unfiltered air for a long time. She started clawing at the sand some more, but then stopped when something seemed to actually drop down and dangle in front of her. She swore a blue streak and staggered back drunkenly. It was a human arm inside a filthy shirt sleeve. After collecting her wits, she approached the grizzly object and moved a bit more earth here and there. Soon she had a man’s head to look at, and it wasn’t at all what she would have expected. It was a dust covered continence of a man about her age. Not the face of a decomposed corpse. No, the face of a man who might have died a day or so before her arrival. How the hell he got along side the pit was a mystery that O’Neil would leave to the well meaning folks who would show up too late. The corpse’s head, right shoulder and arm were now exposed as a result of O’Neil’s half blind efforts. The rest of the body was still interred in more loose sand and rock than O’Neil wanted to deal with. Her troublesome hole was dimly illuminated, but she could still make out what used to be called “dog tags” hanging down from his neck. That was interesting, considering the fact that all military organizations stopped doing that about sixty years ago. O’Neil didn’t mean to be disrespectful of the dead, but she wasn’t quite ready to join them either. With an effort she used the corpse’s neck to gain purchase half way up the wall. Then belly climbing with all her remaining strength she managed to get up to where she could crawl like a child toward the light of a desert day. But something held her back. Something very unnerving. It was like a cough that was not of her making. As if the darkening chamber was mimicking her own poor lungs. She stared in the direction of the pit, and waited to see if her imagination would torment her further. It did. Cautiously she crawled back to the edge of the pit and peered down into what had been her prison cell. Then the blood in her veins almost froze. The dead man was moving. No---he couldn’t have been dead, therefore she had carelessly neglected a man in need. Well, that was an honest mistake that she would now rectify.

Page 67 of 155 “Hey there, can you get free of the dirt? I’m right above you. I’m in bad shape myself but I’ll try to help you.” The man peered upward with eyes that were only semi-focused.” “Water,” he barely croaked. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have any. Did someone try and bury you alive? My God, and I thought I had it bad.” The woman then lost sight of the man and thought perhaps she had imagined him in the first place. She entertained that notion until she heard the sound of stone pounding on stone. It sounded strangely distant, and O’Neil presumed that the man was hitting sand more than he was striking rock. “Where are you? What’s going on?” she queried, but the only response was more distant pounding. Against her better judgment, she got down on her belly and crawled to the edge of the pit. The earth threatened to give way under her weight, but she kept inching forward until she could scan the entire cavity. To her amazement, her companion had disappeared into a claustrophobic tunnel, but the why of it was beyond her comprehension. Twenty minutes later she got another big surprise. A man staggered into the cave with a liquid container in one hand and some kind of suit case in the other. “I needed a drink. I found a thermos that must have flown from that thing when it crashed. Could you give me a lift to the nearest town?” “Um, did you empty the thermos?” “Yea—sorry. I didn’t have anything to drink for—ah---a number of days.” “Oh. Well, that’s ok then. With me it’s just been a matter of hours. Very tense hours though. Some Mexicans kidnapped me thinking that I was this expert on magnetorheological quantum physics. The sky hopper got caught in that last sand storm and ran into this mesa. Then some Mexicans who were impersonating American troops arrived expecting to take custody of the

Page 68 of 155 scientist. Guess they were a little disappointed when they realized that they had the wrong genius.” The filth covered man just stood there and didn’t respond. “So---what do you have in the suit case? Clean shorts I hope. I think you could use some.” The man held his neutral expression for a few more seconds, then walked up to the woman and offered her the case. “It’s a alien gizmo. Maybe a beacon of some sort.” “Yea. Sure.” The man shrugged and turned his back on the woman to survey his surroundings. “Ok, truth is I don’t know what the case is for. I just found it in the tunnel.” “What’s your name?” asked the woman as she studied the case and learned that it could not be opened. “Longstreet. Caz Longstreet.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Margret O’Neil, formerly of the United States Navy. How about yourself?” “I don’t remember,” he said after a slight pause. “Maybe my brain’s half dried up.” O’Neil nodded slightly. “Very likely. Say you wouldn’t happen to know what a Klenock is, would you?” “No.” The woman shrugged slightly. “Well, my former captors were talking about some very weird shit. Now you show up constituting even weirder shit; including old style dog tags. Why would you be wearing something like that?”

Page 69 of 155 “They belonged to an ancestor that I was named after,” the man responded smoothly, “but I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing here.” “Are you also wearing a uniform that belonged to your ancestor? That design is over sixty years old---and it smells a bit ripe, if you don’t mind me saying.” Suddenly there was the sound of small explosions in the distance. “Small arms fire,” said O’Neil. “Rocket rifles don’t make that much noise,” responded Caz. “True, but we’re not firing solid rounds anymore. Now everything sports an explosive warhead,” O’Neil informed him. “Hit a man in the shoulder, and the shoulder is gone. Miss your target, and I suppose you’d get a fairly loud bang.” “How far away do you figure?” Caz inquired. “I was a submariner, not a foot soldier. But I’m going to estimate three kilometers. Those Mexicans haven’t been gone that long, so I’m thinking they might have something to do with it.” “I’m gunna have a look-see. Wanna come or stay?” “I’m kind of sick,” the woman responded honestly. “I was in a hospital before those guys grabbed me.” “Ok, I’m come back as soon as I can, or at least send help your way if possible.” The woman stared in wonder at her new found acquaintance and said, “I’m still not convinced you’re real. If you are, remember that I’m going to be hiding behind the nearest mesa to the north. If I can make it that far.” “That thing is farther away than it looks, but suit yourself, Beautiful,” responded the man as he proceeded in the direction of a setting sun. The woman shook her head at yet another surreal moment in her life. She had to dig up Mr. Smoothie , just to watch him stroll away. Jez but the end of her life was looking weird!

Page 70 of 155 Chapter Twelve Captain Rafael Marquez scowled at the earthly remains of four men lying outside their urban assault vehicle. The men had come looking for trouble, dressed in full body armor and packing laser rifles that had been on the designing boards just five years ago. But state of the art weapons were useless against subterfuge, and that’s why they were now all dead. Marquez was not happy with his victory. Every murder threatened his team with a boomerang effect, and no one in his team had a death wish. But the men they had just killed were far better equipped than any fighting untit he had ever seen. Marquez now understood that there would be no second chance at Kubish, and in all likelihood he would become a grease spot if the best resources of the United States government were now aimed at him. “Hector, anything on the screen?” The soldier took out what looked like a miniature television and moved a tiny thumb mouse. “Nothing mechanical moving within eight miles, sir.” Naturally the special ops leader took a quick look inside the van like vehicle. A large black folder contained a blown up photograph that was a bit singed but otherwise still useful. Marquez froze when he realized that he was not looking at a likeness of Katie Kubish, but rather, the very same woman he had left at the mesa.
“So she was important after all. Well, maybe we can use her has a hostage. It is worth a try.” Every man nodded. They were loyal to Marquez, not any poxy standing orders. “There’s a depression over yonder. A good place to park a van load of stiffs. You’ll only need brush covering on this side.”

Page 71 of 155 “Captain, power plant’s got a hole in its magna plate. We’ll have to try and push the heap, sir.” “Screw that,” the officer responded. “Too much sand in the area. Just collect all the brush within a three-hundred meter radius. That won’t fool anyone for long, but we only need a few hours after daybreak.” One of the scroungers headed out to a particularly large brush formation. With his weapon slung across his back and an arm load of brush, he became vulnerable to a man who could have killed him under less ideal circumstances. He was too far away from his comrades to gurgle out a warning. He died on the business end of an old belt buckle knife, not even certain that it was a man that had turned his life off. The dead man’s rifle rose up to shoulder level while a warning was issued by the next closest man. Caz shot past him slightly to the left in order to nail an adversary who had been providing security for the brush collectors. The man’s spine was blown out but the shooter didn’t notice. He brought his night scope over to a target that was now zeroing in on Caz. Suddenly the night scope was punched in and the face behind it was reduced by one-third. Then it was time to get the man who had shouted a warning. That fellow went down with three ribs protruding from his chest. The last two men dropped on their bellies, far less aware of their comrades than the man who had just killed them. For his part, Caz was just thankful that the night scope and rifle were very user friendly. The challenge had been to assess and devise a logical order in which to eliminate the men. So far at least, he had called his shots pretty well. But the element of surprise was now gone, and he got his own ass down just as a rocket nearly parted his dirty hair. Some changes in technology were not to his liking The tiny 12mm rockets left no tracer glow, so a missed shot could not serve as a guide for the shooter, nor could it give away a shooter’s position. The target had to be identified as it attempted to blend in with its surroundings. The night sight made this possible, but it was a slower process than sighting in on a daytime target. That was fine with Caz, because he had long ago developed a superb eye for outlines made by men. It shaved at least one whole second off the time needed to zero in. It was an edge that went beyond what the new type of weapon had to offer him. So another man lost his face behind his scope, paying for the one and only good shot that would come from Marquez. That round

Page 72 of 155 streaked in on Caz and detonated on the front of the rifle’s for end. Caz’s left hand went numb, and shards from the plastic stock drove into Caz’ upper chest. Marquez saw the muzzle of his opponent’s rifle jerk aside and then zeroed in on the enemy’s face. But he didn’t squeeze the trigger. Revenge wouldn’t get him back across the border, only intel. Besides, he could always waste the son of a bitch after a proper interview. So he rushed across the open ground as fast as possible and kicked Caz in the face before searching him for additional weapons. All he found was the buckle knife, which he promptly threw away. “Wake up or I’ll put you to sleep permanently,” growled the Mexican while lightly slapping his prisoner. Caz had never actually lost consciousness, but he had learned a long time ago that a dazed prisoner sometimes takes less abuse than one that is bright eyed and bushy tailed. Sometimes. “I will count to ten. If your eyes do not open by then, they will stay closed forever,” pledged the captain. “One-two-three-four—“ Caz’s eyes opened and squinted at the man standing over him. “Why did you kill these men? You are certainly not with that bunch in the van. Give me a good answer, or I blow your brains out.” “Aren’t you looking for me?” Caz asked with feigned confusion. “You are an escaped prisoner?” The man on the ground nodded. “Well, that might explain the rags you are wearing---and why you look like shit. Can you stand up?” Caz staggered to his feet. The pieces of plastic in his chest hurt like hell but they weren’t in very deep. His captor walked him over to where Caz’ nearest victim lay.

Page 73 of 155 “What direction did you come from?” “Northwest,” said Caz, who could only hope that the answer would still make sense. “Did you spot any aircraft or ground units?” “Are you kidding? If I had, they would have spotted me with their fancy peeper hardware,” reasoned the prisoner. “My luck was holding until an hour ago.” “And then you began a slaughter of my entire team when it would have been much easier to withdraw from the area. That is very thought provoking. Now kindly grab hold of this man.” “Do your own work, Indian.
If you’re gunna off me, you can get your buddies into the transport without help from me. I’m too weak to pull a G string. So you just go ahead and shoot.” “Si, I can shoot. But should I aim for your heart---or your balls? I think you should decide for me. We Bean Eaters need the wisdom of Anglos to get through such difficult decisions.” Caz reached down, got a grip on the corpse and froze. Then he moved it in such a way that his hands were occasionally out of sight. When the task was completed Marquez smiled at his prisoner and asked, “Did you find poor Pedro’s hidden throwing knife? I will let you keep it since such things should not be found on the mortal remains of an American soldier.” Caz brought the weapon out into plain view. “Work detail ends right here. No point in continuing since you ain’t gunna leave this place alive.” “What a curious thing to say under the circumstances. So, you intend to gain your freedom with that blade? You must possess a great skill at throwing,” Marquez said with a ghost of a smile. “Better than anyone you’ve ever met,” Caz responded in a tone that was an open challenge. “But I have a rifle.” “And an ego. So you’ll give me a chance---cause you’d feel like a chicken shit if you didn’t,” said Caz.

Page 74 of 155 The Mexican pointed the muzzle of his weapon at the ground and stood ready for the piece of steel. “You are a good shooter, Gringo, but I don’t think you can throw a knife an undetermined number of paces in the dark and stick my chest. But you may try, and then I will shoot you in the cojones. That is my threat to you.” Caz was all done talking. He stared hard at the Mexican for what seemed like an eternity. Then just before Marquez could vent his impatience, Caz made his move and sent the throwing knife at his opponent’s torso. In truth, the Mexican wasn’t taking even the smallest risk. He was wearing a light duty protective vest under his camos , and therefore the end of this escape attempt was a forgone conclusion. Then suddenly the Mexican realized that something was terribly wrong. He felt a terrible pain in his throat, and when he reached up with his hand, he was amazed to discover a knife protruding from his flesh. “He hit the neck?” the man wondered before collapsing to the ground. Caz walked over and took possession of the man’s rifle, even though there were others to be had. “Impossible,” the man croaked out. “Yea. So am I,” Caz replied before yanking out the blade.

Page 75 of 155 Chapter Thirteen Caz rolled up to the mesa with the stolen troop transport and activated its loud speaker system. “Hey, O’Neil, it’s me!” With the utmost caution the ex-Navy captain inched her way around the south bend of the rock formation and peered suspiciously at the carrier that had brought a band of killers into her life. “Nobody’s hiding in the back?” “Hell no. I wouldn’t go along with something like that,” growled Caz impatiently. “C’mon, I wanna get to a town before the sun comes up. There’s no radio and the air conditioning in this piece of junk is busted. That’s probably why it was so damn easy for those infiltrators to steal it. “Where are they?” queried the woman. “Dead.” “What was the first round of shooting about?” “Some Feds came looking for you. The Mexicans ambushed the lot. No survivors.” “Then you did the same to them?” the woman asked incredulously. “Shit—you didn’t even start out with a rifle. How could you manage such a thing?” “Well, I jumped one while he was taking a leak, then I shot the others in the back while they were bunched together,” lied Caz. “Jez---the vultures won’t be able to fly when they’re done.”

Page 76 of 155 “Yea, I’ve fed more than a few of them birdies in my time. But don’t bitch about it. They were fixing to come back for you.” O’Neil sensed an opening and queried, “Who were you working for; when you were feeding the birdies?” “I guess you could say that I’m one of those men who doesn’t officially exist. You don’t need to figure me out, Sugar, cause I’m not the sort of guy you’re supposed to remember.” “In a moldy, obsolete uniform,” muttered the woman. Caz knew it was time to change the subject, and he had the perfect out. “If you’re ready for a drink, there’s a quart bottle of water under your seat somewhere.” The female passenger frantically groped for the container as the transport roared through the desert night. After downing a fourth of it’s contents she came up for air. “Is this all there is?” “No. There’s five more bottles in the back.” “How we fixed for fuel?” “Not sure. What’s the fuel?” “Hydrogen and Theilium of course. How many pounds do we have left?” “Uh—twenty-seven p.s.i.” “That’s the brake pressure,” O’Neil informed him. “Ok---I’m not firing on all cylinders. But I think we did pretty good today, all things considered.” “Hell yes. You’re a God send if ever there was one , but if you’re a bit disoriented, maybe I should drive.” “I’m doing just fine for someone who’s a few pints low,” growled Caz.

Page 77 of 155 “Then stop the transport and lets get another water bottle up front,” O’Neil said reasonably. “There’s no point in rationing the water since we’re bound to run into other searchers before long. The west isn’t as big as it used to be, fortunately for us.” “You know this area?” “No. It never got developed like other parts of the state, but I can take directions assuming you remember where you came from.” “More water is a good idea,” said Caz as he brought the transport to a halt. The two of them moved stiffly towards the rear door of the armor plated vehicle. Both had questions that needed answering, but neither was expecting The Grim Reaper to return now that the infiltrators were cooling down with the desert surroundings. “We’ll reach black top in twenty minutes if we stay on our present compass heading,” said Caz. “If you wanna drive, that’s fine with me. But when we get back to---“ Suddenly the roof of the armored transport was ripped lengthwise by a giant can opener. “Holy shit! Did those Mexicans rate a Stealth Fighter?” thought Caz as he flung himself to the ground. The transport began to emit an odor that was like nothing Caz had ever experienced before. “O’Neil, you ok?” “Better than our wheels!” the woman called back. “Crawl away from the heap. That flyboy might come around for another pass.” “If he does, we don’t want his heat sensor to pick us up. If we stay close to the wreck, it should mask our body signatures, so stay put.” “For how long?” asked Caz. Suddenly the transport erupted into flames. Then a series of low pressure hydrogen explosions slowly disassembled the transport’s protective shell. “Let’s give him a few minutes to circle and gloat,” O’Neil suggested

Page 78 of 155 “That’s why I hate aircraft. You have too many misunderstandings when you’re killing people from ten-thousand feet up. But the good news is that they’ll be sending out a patrol to inspect whatever is left out here. That means more water and ride back to civilization. Yup, clean underwear will feel mighty damn good,” Caz drawled. “You think they’ll wait until daybreak before closing in?” asked the woman. The scar faced man’s expression suddenly turned sour. “You think they might keep on mistaking us for Mexicans in the dark?” “Let me put it to you this way, Caz: Ever hear of something called Murphy’s Law?” “Yea. I’m an advanced student. So what we need to do is make sure they can see us for what we are. Even through a rifle scope.” “I think such an effort would be worth our while. Yes.” “Well, the authorities probably now know that those Mexicans were trained to impersonate American soldiers. So we need to do something that the Mexicans couldn’t have done, even to save their lives.” The woman stared expectantly at her companion, then noticed that he was staring hard at her body in the moon light. “No way.” “You’d rather be sniper bait?” “Oh for crying out loud!” “Captain O’Neil, are you a professional or not?” “I’m not a member of that profession!” she almost wailed. “All I’m saying is that if they got orders to shoot on sight, they might pop us before you could call out with a voice that definitely does not belong to a guy.” “We are going to risk it,” growled the woman after a moment of deliberation.

Page 79 of 155 Caz let out a shrug. “In that case I think we should play possum and pretend to be unconscious.” “That would have been my first suggestion,” the woman grumbled as she tried to get comfortable on the rocky earth. Caz bedded down twenty feet away. Hopefully any trouble would come to him first, but that was more wishful thinking than anything else. He stared up at the night sky and reviewed the star constellations. O’Neil soon fell asleep, but Caz remained wide awake. He was anxious to find his way. He would always be anxious to find his way.

Page 80 of 155 Chapter Fourteen The Mexican sky needle ceased it’s ascent at the four-hundred foot mark. The inhabitants of the circular observation platform understood that they were less than half way to the top of the impressive structure, but to rise any farther would have diminished their view of the Bosque de Chapultepec , something El Presidente would not allow. Mexico City’s great urban park measured over six-hundred and eighty hectares, but it’s size was of secondary importance. What mattered was the blood that had been spilt on that ground over the centuries. Indeed, the historic landmarks and museums made the park much more than just a place to go walking. Toltecs, Aztecs, Spaniards and the French all left their cultural marks, and scars on the strife worn landscape. Even the Americans added to the history with the famous Battle of Chapultepec in 1847. So many historic points of interest, and they all received mention as the Mexican leader demonstrated his considerable knowledge of history. His audience consisted of a few staffers, his bodyguard, and an American writer named Peter J. Donaldson. Needless to say the staff members of President Diego Mario Salinas were not riding the elevator for a history lesson. They were there because Donaldson was there, and the American was there to start the ground work on what could well become one of history’s greatest biographies. Donaldson was thrilled right down to his toenails. So much so that he didn’t even mind the two and one-half hour lecture that preceded the relevant portions of his visit. When Salinas finally got there, the American was more than ready with his trusty pen sized recorder. “Senhor Donaldson, as we enter into this latest chapter of history, we must not make the mistake of thinking that it is about narcotics, organized crime, or government corruption. No---it is still about what is taking place north of our border. American desires cost this country all of our lands north of the Rio Grande and American desires are the reason why so much drug

Page 81 of 155 traffic exists in the Western Hemisphere. Your people deny themselves nothing, and we are held responsible for the criminals who would be back to pimping whores if your government would just put an end to the decadence that runs through your society.” The writer nodded politely at this half truth. Salinas was an ex amateur boxer and a well known health nut. Women had been his only vice back in his college days, and after that he wisely devoted himself to a beauty contestant wife. Anyway, it would not have benefited Donaldson to remind the president that most Americans would rather have an addict down the street than a cop who would be randomly searching homes in every single neighborhood. Most Mexicans felt exactly the same way, and that wouldn’t be brought up either. “Mr. President, I will not overlook those sentiments, I promise you, but the average reader will be searching your book for the provocation leading to the current border crisis. Surely, sir, you do not expect anyone to believe that you have sent troops to the border region because of how you feel about American drug use. That issue is over a century old.” “Someday it will be two centuries old---then three. It will go on so long as there are spoiled Americans who have nothing better to do than escape reality with drugs. Thanks to pharmaceutical advances, the chemical stimulants are more entertaining than ever, but the core problem remains the same. Young people who have nothing better to do than feel good. But if those youngsters were to be suddenly placed in exactly the same situation that existed at the end of 1941, they could shore up a rotting cultural foundation.” “But Mr. President, how would such a thing benefit the Mexican people? The border clashes alone are causing great damage to business interests on both sides. An all out conflict, even without nuclear weapons would do incalculable damage,” the writer was compelled to say. “Yes it would, and I derive no happiness from the prospect, Senhor Donaldson, but before the inevitable peace negotiations can begin, we will accomplish something very beneficial to my people. We will establish an open border policy that will be more in keeping with the philosophies of your founding fathers. “But Mr. President, the population of the Western Hemisphere is one-hundred times larger than it was centuries past. We cannot support every Mexican national who decides to—“

Page 82 of 155 “I do not believe that any Mexican president has made the statement that immigrants are entitled to public funding Senhor Donaldson. Americans place financial burdens on themselves and then protest after the fact. I regret their dilemma, but they do not offer a solution to the problem. That challenge rests with me.” “Sir---it will rest with our two militaries, and the threat of escalation will be omnipresent.” “Sadly, yes, but now is a time for audacity, Mr. Donaldson. Nothing less will make a difference.” After a heavy pause Donaldson rose to his feet and said, “In that case, Mr. President, I must resign as your most current biographer and request permission to return to my country immediately.” The president stared off in the direction of his residence and said, “Tomorrow they will open this ride to the public. No one will notice. Everyone will be reading about the most noteworthy invasion since your D-Day at Normandy. If you wish to be outside the loop at the time---so be it. You will be kept under house arrest until after the invasion. Then you will be allowed to fly to any South American country you wish.” “Believe me, Mr. President---no aircraft flying over Mexican airspace will be safe at that time,” declared the American. “Eggs for the omelet,” muttered Salinas half to himself When the grim faced Donaldson returned to his hotel suite, he tensed slightly when he discovered that his belongings had been carefully inspected, then left to clutter his bed and dressing chair. He had been told to expect that, at the very least. Fate granted him the luxury of being alone, and he wasted no time getting into the shower stall where a camera lens would not fare well. With the tip of his pen, he scratched a mark on the third tile to the left of the hot water valve. Tomorrow morning the maid would come in to clean the shower and take notice of the mark. It was a simple task to perform but caused him to remain tense all the same. After a long and sleepless night, Donaldson was given permission to leave his suite and proceed to the Mexico City airport. After forty-eight nerve racking hours of playing secret agent, he couldn’t make up

Page 83 of 155 his mind which troubled him more: the fact that he was out of a job, or the realization that the President of Mexico was a warmongering lunatic.
Donaldson was no expert on the subject, but even he was able to conclude that the next few days would bring the United States closer to a nuclear showdown than the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, or the God awful crap that the Iranians had planned back when he was in grade school. Every fifteen minutes or so he activated his pocket computer for a news update. The Mexican press was less informative than he would have liked, but the bottom line was that the offensive had commenced, just as the president had said it would. He kept checking for undates until he was ready to vacate his cab at the airport. There, he was startled to hear his name being called by a man standing near a luggage conveyor. Donaldson approached the man who wordlessly handed him a heavy duty envelope. The stranger then briskly marched away, ignoring the American’s call for an explanation. The envelope was damn hard to get open, and his struggle with the thick paper was intentional, as it gave the sniper an opportunity to place the cross hairs on a stationary target. The American frowned at the mystery he had been given, and the last thing Donaldson saw in his life was drops of crimson on a blank piece of paper.

Page 84 of 155 Chapter Fifteen O’Neil took another sip of water and squinted at the desert landscape. “I don’t get it. Four hours of daylight and still nothing.” “Maybe they got us on a satellite. Or maybe the ever loving infantry is slowly heading towards us.” “Is that an educated guess based on a plethora of things you’re not telling me?” The man climbed to his feet and offered O’Neil his hand. “Let’s collect the sage brush and build our own little hideaway maybe two-hundred meters over yonder. I got a hunch that something is seriously wrong---in some way.” “That tells me nothing---as usual,” the woman muttered as she rose to her feet and went to grab her share of the camouflage materials. “Why don’t you conserve your strength. I can do this stuff myself,” said Caz. “Gotta work the joints or they stiffen up on me,” explained the woman as she shuffled over and then bent down to grab a plant by its stem. Suddenly there was a slight motion to the right of O’Neil’s working hand, and to her credit, she responded by making like a statue. “Caz,” she implored with lips that barely moved. The diamond back rattle snake was a good four feet long, and O’Neil’s outreached hand was just within striking distance. She stared for a moment at the reptile’s vibrating tail and then willed her hand to let go of the bouquet of brown weeds. Now all she had to do was back away.

Page 85 of 155 Just back straight away and give the little monster all the space he desired. Just push off with the forward foot and take the weight onto the back one. That was her only care in the world until something went terribly wrong. She didn’t know what it was, only that it caused her entire body to contract in revulsion. The snake’s sudden movement was as mindless as her own. It’s fangs reached for a target of flesh, but was weighted down by a length of steel that now impaled it some three inches behind the head. “Holy shit!” exclaimed O’Neil as her eyes began to serve her faltering brain. “Holy fucking shit.” “No sweat. I was close enough to spit on the little darling,” her companion assured her before stepping forward and retrieving a knife that had been thrown once before. “Was that----was that really necessary?” the woman croaked out. “You mean I should have shot it? Hell, there’d be nothing left of the critter.” The woman wiped the sweat from her brow. “Who would care---the humane society?” “I would. If my hunch is right, we’ll need the meat.” ”And how would we cook the damn thing, Caz. There’s nothing to burn but the flimsy little brush material we’re supposed to hide under. Caz slung the snake carcass over his shoulder and asked, “Who said anything about cooking?”

Page 86 of 155 Chapter Sixteen Colonel Fred Cox pulled off his brand new head armor before coming up behind a bear like man who was wielding a laser pointer in front of a wall sized map. “Excuse me General, I was told you wanted a face to face meeting A.S.A.P.” General Tyler Gates turned in the semi-darkness of his command tent and held out a meaty paw. “Good to see you again, Fred. I’ve got a job for your spearheading unit.” “Well sir, the transports are still quite a ways up north, and we weren’t issued the new E suits yet but---“ “That’s why they can be spared for this job,” the general interrupted. “Get them turned around right away, Fred. We got some infiltrators running around to the northeast of your convoy’s present position. Word is they kidnapped someone important. You’ll get specifics in about half an hour.” The colonel displayed open puzzlement for about a fourth of a second and then left the tent to call out the orders. Gates turned back to his other officers and made a circling gesture around a map of the Valle Verde Del Norte area. “As I was saying Gentlemen, I want this evacuation to work like a collapsing bag. All non combatants will proceed up this road to the outskirts of Tucson where the civil authorities can take charge of them. You shouldn’t encounter any armored units going south, but if you do, just remember that they have the right of way by virtue of their size.” “Excuse me, sir, but what do we do if any civilians offer to help with their own firearms?”

Page 87 of 155 Gates scowled at the second lieutenant and said, “Assign them to the defense of Flagstaff.” Until a few hours ago, that answer would have constituted a joke, but no one was sure anymore what the chess board would look like after another day or so. That and the prospects of a nuclear conflagration was on every man’s mind. “That’s all, Gentlemen.” Cox re-entered the tent as the others were leaving. “I got em turned around, General, but they’ll be hanging on their communicators waiting to find out the why of it all.” “Hope they’re well fixed for fuel, Colonel. If not, this will be the 3 rd dumb ass mission that’s passed through my hands since yesterday. Anyway, we think the Mexicans have a number of infiltration teams running around in south Utah. A Naval officer with a head full of sensitive info was abducted and flown into that region. Might be a coincidence but someone in The Fed is betting that it’s not. A squadron of gunships will link up with your pathfinders somewhere en route and steer them towards a proposed search area. Most likely Tattle Tale will have the infiltrators located by then. Assuming that they don’t hole up for weeks. All our people are being accounted for so hopefully the masquerading crap will be over with. “ My hope is that they’ve got a specialist to call the shots, sir. Pathfinders don’t usually liberate important prisoners. That kind of work might be above their pay grade. If it was my show, I’d ask the Air Force to drop anesthesia gas on those Bean Eaters once they’re boxed in . Surest way to get that prisoner released in one piece.” “A few days back it would have been a good idea,” the general said with a nod, “but now we’re being invaded, Colonel. Those crazy Mexicans are in the process of capturing Yuma, and Green Valley could very well end up being renamed Red Valley all the way north to Tucson. Only good news is that they’re leaving California, New Mexico and Texas alone. I’m relieved and also stymied by that. The Mexicans want a fight---but not an all out fight. What in God’s name is going on?”

Page 88 of 155 “I keep getting reports that our aircraft is just taking up defensive positions around Tucson. The president has drawn a line in the sand there and won’t commit our aircraft to the task of retaking the border. Can you add any meat to that rumor, sir?” “Policy makers still have their eyes on California, Fred. They’re not convinced that the real fight is in Arizona. Anyway, you won’t need your pathfinders. Most likely all your people will be guarding Phoenix. You don’t need spearheading troops for that.” “With all due respect, sir, everyone and his dog knows that if the Mexicans change their minds about a limited conflict, we’ll be putting rifles in the hands of fifty year olds. California or no California. How long has our infantry been short handed? Since before I was born at the very least.” “Yea,” admitted the more experienced officer, “why is it that our government has never fully understood the importance of a strong infantry? Generation after generation we bomb shit from the air and we destroy shit on the sea, but it comes to nothing until the ever loving infantry secures the enemy ground. Now we have these super subs that are so damn important---but the Mexicans outnumber us four to one on land. That is still the only thing that matters in this great big harry world, as far as I’m concerned.” “But they can’t push us too far,” muttered the colonel. “They’d be insane to push us too far.” “I don’t know, Fred. Maybe we’re the ones who are out of touch with reality---thinking that our precious technology will protect us until the end of time. I’m inclined to think that what’s in the average American heart is more important than what’s in our arsenal. Are the youngsters rushing to enlist as we stand here---or are they just brushing up on their Spanish?” “Well, I don’t enjoy this kind of talk, General, but people have been saying for a long time now that something is fading from the American psyche, and perhaps Salinas is genius enough to take advantage of it. But I guess I’m more inclined to suspect that the damn Chinese have finally gotten to the top of their game. After all, won’t they benefit from this nightmare no matter how it plays out?” “Yea, the Mexicans paid through the nose for the new Chinese built S.A.M. that would cost us a lot of planes, but that is no excuse for us being on the defensive like this. Shit, we could at

Page 89 of 155 least use up our automated hardware while we’re waiting for Washington to grow a set of balls. Hell, we’re acting as stupid as the enemy.” The general briefly struggled with the temptation to keep the next thought to himself. “It’s almost as if----both sides are playing with some sort of judgment handicap.
” “All the airborne units are still overseas, aren’t they, sir?” “Halfway across the Atlantic , and the Muslims couldn’t be happier. Lets just hope that Israel’s neighbors haven’t gone nuts like ours have.” Margret O’Neil tried to rise up out of the pile of brush that was covering her, but a grip of iron held her down out of reach of the sun. “Caz! We got incoming aircraft. Let me get a look at it.” The man lying next to her shook his head slightly. The strange expression on his face suggested that he knew something, but how could that be, under the circumstances? “Caz, you’re being foolish. We’re not going to be attacked like before. That sounds like an J-2 Air Trolley. That’s a vertical lift transport; the kind that would be sent out to help people on the ground, not kill them.” “You need to trust me, O’Neil. Them jokers over head ain’t friendlies.” “But you’re not going to explain how you know that,” the frustrated woman said with absolute certainty. “God forbid that we should ever do anything the easy way; even once. Well I’ve got news for you Mister, we collected all the sage brush and piled it together in one stupid spot. They will notice that unless they are complete idiots, and they will---hey!” Caz had released the woman’s arm and grabbed hold of both sides of her neck. The carotid arteries were expertly pressed under two thumbs, and O’Neil was half in the bag by the time she opted to strike at her companion. But O’Neil wasn’t alone in her unhappiness. Caz swore to himself when he realized that the new fangled contraption over head was actually coming down right over them, much in the way a helicopter would.

Page 90 of 155 The whine of its power plant was totally alien to anything Caz had ever experienced, and while blinded by the brush, the increase in sound caused him to fear that the vertical landing craft might set down on some part of them. Suddenly that fear was blown away along with the sage brush as the powerful landing thrusters were applied to the desert floor. The humans were burned, sandblasted and chocked all in one terrifying moment. For O’Neil, it was a wake up call that she could have done without. Inside the shuttle, an angry special ops leader cuffed his pilot on the side of the head. “Damn you, McKnight! The Roman isn’t down there alone. He’s got the bitch with him. If you shove half the desert down her throat, she’ll be as useless to us as you are!” “I’m sorry, Trent, but I’ve never flown one of these things before. The thing’s built to transport sixteen men, so it’s got a lot of juice.” “Crack the damn hatch before I crack yer damn head!” growled the leader who snatched up an oxygen bottle that also contained an all purpose stimulant. While the shuttle was still easing down, team leader Trent dropped off and headed for the woman, who was withering and hacking miserably. The soldier pressed the oxygen mask against the woman’s face, while stealing a wary glance at her companion. When the woman began to cough inside the mask, it was removed. “Ah, you must be the Conquistador , it is a great pleasure to see you. Would it interest you to know that we have been tracking you by government satellite ever since you woke up in the mesa?” the leader shouted as five more commandos rushed up to join him. “Yes, it is called Tattle Tale, and it can count pubic hairs in a nudist colony from two-hundred miles up. When we get you to a secured location, we’re going to plant a special transponder in your skull. It might leave you a bit unstable, but our doctors believe that your body won’t reject it if we place it right. Then we’ll be able to track you, and watch you from time to time. Then you won’t feel so lonesome.” Caz had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about, because his ears were clogged with sand. But he knew that he had to get away, and the woman would complicate things considerably.

Page 91 of 155 “Done coughin up the ground, bitch Captain?” taunted a man named Remick. O’Neil didn’t answer. Every square inch of her skin burned and her throat felt like an ancient Egyptian tomb. It was an effort just to raise her head, and as far as she was concerned, it was time to pass the baton to her mysterious partner. Trent struck an contemptuous pose at her side and briefly scanned their mid day surroundings. “Nice change of pace here. No cars lined up bumper to bumper trying to get north. No rear guard actions or tanks driving over abandoned vehicles. All very memorable---but nothing compared to the first rate invasions that you Americans have always been noted for. I suspect that my people will be in for one hell of a counter offensive, unless President Salinas has some additional surprise in store for the upholders of the status quo.
” O’Neil made another pathetic hacking sound, and the group leader paused in his clucking just long enough to drop a canteen in her lap. “I for one am surprised that the Chinese waited so long to put a pair of brass knuckles into the hand of a Mexican leader. This fascinating event could have taken place twenty---forty---even sixty years ago. Ah but then I would have missed it; and you, Roman---may or may not have been brought into it.” After washing out her throat, O’Neil tried to pass the canteen over to her Caz, but Remick deftly kicked it out of her hand, and then playfully stood between Caz and the water. “You know my associate well?” the woman inquired with some difficulty. “You have a knowledge of force shields, Captain O’Neil, but to understand the man lying before us, you would have to enter a world that would utterly dumb found you.” O’Neil stole another glance at her mystery companion. His expression told her that he was now in the hands of a deadly enemy, but how did he know that before the aircraft even got down on the ground? After clearing her throat once more the woman asked, “So, which of us are you actually here for?”

Page 92 of 155 “Both of you. Lady Luck has seen fit to deliver two prizes into our hands, albeit, under less than perfect circumstances.” The man then turned and said, “Remick, stop your foolish grinning and get him handcuffed. We have a schedule to keep after all.” The subordinate threw caution to the wind as he moved to comply. He was in strong company, and the prisoner looked like he could barely see through the caked on grit that covered his face. Caz was grabbed by his left arm and the restraining bracelet hovered for an instant over the surface of a strong but compliant wrist. Then suddenly Remick was falling forward and his testicles felt as though they had been chomped by a bear trap. The man fainted dead away and was hugged while his rifle was brought up to be wielded like a long barreled pistol. His remaining captors had plenty of time to respond, and respond they did. Tiny rockets were launched from different angles and Remick’s back was ripped apart in a matter of seconds, despite the body armor that had covered it. The shock waves that passed through the corpse were severe enough to hammer Caz from groin to collar bone, but even with fountains of gore splattering his face, the master warrior snapped off bulls eye after bulls eye until only one man remained. Trent was now very wisely using the female prisoner as a shield and forcing her to backup towards the aircraft. The muzzle of his carbine was jammed solidly against the back of the woman’s head “Caz allowed a sack of flesh to slide down and away. “Let her go and I won’t kill you.” “I need to bring at least one of you back, or I’ll end up just as dead as they are,” the team leader stated truthfully. The Conquistador was beginning to understand that, but it didn’t change anything. “I get the feeling the retirement program in your organization really sucks.” With that Caz fired his weapon and blew off the right side of Trent’s face. Both captive and hostage fell together, but only because O’Neil was at the end of her strength.

Page 93 of 155 “Get me inside the Air Trolley,” the woman croaked. Caz did as he was told, hoping that the lady wasn’t entertaining any ideas about flying the contraption. In fact all she wanted to do was get a hold of the first aid kit and the stimulants therein. After coming around a bit she then got on the aircraft’s transmitter and called for help. Her companion didn’t stop her because he feared that she might not live out the day without high tech medical assistance. But he wasn’t looking forward to the rescue. He had a feeling that for the first time in a very long while, he would be incapable of adapting to his new surroundings. “You were a dead man when I found you in that pit. I know you were.” Caz shrugged slightly, remembering what he had told Trent just before the killing. “More like hibernation, until the air could reach me. Back in 1521 an alien captured me and did something to my body. Please don’t ask me what because I’m still trying to figure it all out.” The woman almost stared a hole through her miraculous companion. It took her a moment to regain her wits, and her need to have at least a few questions answered. “Can you make contact with this alien?” “No more than you could. He told me to go save some guys and then he split. My brain’s been doing weird things ever since. Sometimes I think like my old self. Other times I work with memories that were placed inside my head while I was on a space ship.” “That’s interesting, but not as interesting as being buried and then coming back to life. How the hell does that work? “I think it has something to do with the time I spent in this coffin like thing for hundreds of years. Maybe---something unexpected happened to me. The alien said that our bodies are similar but not exactly the same. Maybe he did something to me by accident.” O’Neil’s head was spinning with the enormity of what she had learned. “Look. You’re going to need my help. I’ll give it, if you promise to teach me more about yourself after the doctors have worked on me a bit.”

Page 94 of 155 “I have no intention of being taken into custody,” said Caz. “I’m going out there a ways and bury myself in the sand.” Suddenly they could both hear the sound of approaching aircraft. “I think you’re going to have to deal with me---and I’d be a liar if I said that I’m sorry,” said the woman. “Yea, well, since you put it that way….” “Great. Just play like you’ve got amnesia and I’ll get to you where ever you’re staying. Fact is it’ll be kind of nice to see you crud free and smelling better.” “Likewise,” responded Caz. The woman closed her eyes and promptly went to sleep. Caz stayed with her for a bit, then got his sorry ass back outside where he could bury his dog tags before settling himself down amongst the slain. “Shit, I forgot to ask someone what year it is,” he muttered to himself as the sound of approaching aircraft grew louder.

Page 95 of 155 Chapter Seventeen Duane Teffen dropped a four pack of cupcakes on Kimble’s desk top and this time didn’t tease him about the screen pics. “Lancaster is calling another meeting.” The two men made their way though an office that now had an entirely different work atmosphere. There was no more joking about how dull their work was or how the building might get torn down and replaced by a monument dedicated to former President Barrack Obama. Everyone waited in silence for the latest intel, and no one needed to be reminded that they were collecting mysteries faster than they were solving them. “An autobiographer named Donaldson was shot by a sniper shortly after having a falling out with President Salinas. What is relevant to us is the fact that the C.I.A. asked Donaldson to do them a small favor: He was to let them know whether or not this gentleman was seen in the company of the president. Lancaster displayed the image of a middle aged Latino gentleman who was probably quite handsome in his younger days “His name is Adolfo Rivera, and we have reason to believe that he is part of our Trojan Horse communications problem, which has reached epidemic proportions by the way. Thirty-seven miscommunications have been reported since the Mexican offensive began. That’s not the only reason we’ve stayed on the defensive thus far, but it’s no small concern to our generals.” “I don’t see any reason to tread lightly here,” commented a man named Jefferies. “Salinas and his wacko administration is going to take the blame for all of this. There’s no way international opinion will be against us on this one.”

Page 96 of 155 “The president doesn’t give a damn about international opinion,” stated Lancaster. “We have a puppet master who’s playing two countries against each other and doing one hell of a job. This fellow Rivera is the only man we’ve found so far who is a definitely connected to the man pulling the strings. He came to the United States twenty-four years ago to earn a degree in communications sciences at M.I.T. People who knew him then say that he didn’t spend much time doing homework.” “Partying?” Kimble half joked. “As a matter of fact, yes, Mr. Kimble. He entertained China’s top female exchange student who was studying in a related field. As I understand it they were quite the pair until they graduated. Then he founded his own electronics company in Mexico and eventually built a second facility in the United States. Just a few hours ago we acquired proof that the device found in that U.S. fighter plane came from his engineering facility.” “But why would that get an autobiographer killed?” asked Teffen. “Well, the president of Mexico is-- unbalanced. When he is eventually impeached, his advisors will no doubt fall from grace with him. For some reason Rivera needed to meet with the president, but no outsider was supposed to see them together. We gathered that from the fact that no outsider ever has seen them together before Donaldson came along. We suspect that Rivera intends to be part of the next presidential administration, and that finally brings us to the heart of the matter.” “Good,” thought most of the people present. “Because of our poor relations with the Mexicans, it is impossible to assess the power structure that is propping up the Salinas regime. We know that it is temporary. We know that it cannot endure. But we don’t know how it is working. On the other hand, we clearly have a kind of fifth column at work here in the United States. M.I.T. graduates, Latino engineers, and international high tech merchants are all suspect. We want to know who they know south of the border. We can assume that Mexico’s new breed of high tech kingpins intend to have their positions in tact after Salinas and his followers are out of office or in prison. That is what concerns the intelligence community even more than the open warfare that is now taking place.” “So now we go over Rivera’s company data?” asked Teffen.

Page 97 of 155 “Yes, everyone except Mr. Kimble. He’ll be having a talk with Captain Margret O’Neil.” “Wasn’t she the sub driver of the Edmund G. Ross?” inquired Kimble. “Correct. Someone tried to abduct her. Technology thieves are of interest to this department regardless of their methods. Besides, I don’t want to wait for shared information that might not be accurate. You’ll be carrying micro tape photos of espionage suspects that you will show to O’Neil. If she fingers any of them, do not share that information with Ml or anyone else involved. We can’t trust other members of the intelligence community and we aren’t going to. Until we get a better grip on this fifth column situation, we are going to work entirely on our own.” “Yes sir---and thank you, sir.” “I’m not doing you any favors, Mr. Kimble. Captain O’Neil was being treated at Salt Lake City, but now she’s out in what used to be called Area 51. They’ll be flying you in as military cargo, and most likely you’ll be searched ever so thoroughly. I recommend that you don’t eat anything between now and then.” “Can I have your cupcakes?” whispered Teffen as they filed out of the meeting room.

Page 98 of 155 Chapter Eighteen O’Neil’s eyes popped open at the sound of Doctor Cheng Vang entering the room with another blood drawing kit. “Time to play vampire again. Say, they did a great job with your skin while you were sleeping. I haven’t looked that good since I hit middle age.” “Yea? Well, the important thing is that I’m breathing better,” the patient responded. “I don’t wonder, Captain. You inhaled a lot of dust while out in the desert. You know the intel people have been camping outside your door for the past forty-eight hours. A fella named Kimble actually disguised himself as an orderly and tried to see you. Would have served him right to get stuck doing bedpan duty for a day or two.” “How long before I’m fit to travel, Doctor?” “Ordinarily I would keep you around for a while longer. But we got wounded coming this way. The M.A.S.H. units are overloaded and some of our people have top secret stuff in their heads so they can’t go to a regular hospital.” “Where am I exactly?” asked O’Neil. “Well, the new name is Southland One, but it used to be called Area 51.” “Holy shit,” breathed the patient. “You mean I get to live long enough to see some little green men in pickle jars?” “I’m afraid not, Captain. Truth is the only point of interest in the entire base is the gentleman you were with when they found you?” O’Neil stared hard at the Asian physician.

Page 99 of 155 “How is he doing?” “Well, we have him cleaned up, but he refused to submit to a blood test. Since we’re not sure if he’s a civilian or not, we’re not pressing the matter at this time. But he claims to be suffering a memory loss, and that makes him a real temptation in the eyes of Major Derrick, our chief medical officer.” “May I see him now?” “I think that can be arranged. But the minute I report that you’re able to answer questions, your going to have one hell of a lot of them thrown at you, Captain.” “Anyone out there right now?” asked the patient. “Just that Kimble fellow. I would describe him as vey dedicated.” “Fine, just so he can ask questions on the move,” replied O’Neil as she struggled to get out of bed. “Here, I’ve got a robe for you,” offered the doctor. O’Neil smiled at the cute baby ducks that were printed on the robe. But the smile faded as soon as the door opened and a young man turned to approach an apprehensive patient. “Captain O’Neil, Ma’am? My name is Alan Kimble. I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you Ma’am. Your victory against that Mexican sub is just about the worst kept secret in all the military.” O’Neil didn’t stop, but she did slow down just a tad. Kimble was your classic ensign sort of guy. Fresh faced, eager to prove himself and a victim of his own youthfulness. She had been teaching kids like him since her exec days. “The enemy made expert use of underwater rock formations. The ambush was just about perfect and the only reason I’m here to talk about it is because one man incinerated himself so that---“ Suddenly the woman’s face was a contorted mask of both rage and grief. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her chest heaved.

Page 100 of 155 “Shit,” she hissed while wiping away the tears. “Interview concluded,” announced the doctor while placing herself between the man and woman. Kimble was no idiot, nor was he a jerk. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and allowed the two women to proceed without him. He couldn’t let it end this way, but he could at least visit the base cafeteria while O’Neil got her second wind. As for Dr. Vang, she was also in favor of a long time out for the patient, but the patient wasn’t going to make that unanimous. She was red eyed and sniffling, but under a full head of steam. (Albeit with just a bit of a cough) “So which is his room?” “Next door on your left,” responded the doctor. “I’d like to be alone with him, Doctor---presuming that the rooms aren’t monitored.” “Some of them are, but not the one he’s in,” Vang replied. “I suppose he didn’t look much like a threat to the security of the nation when they brought him in.” The captain nodded, still a tad embarrassed over her display of emotion. Then the doctor stepped up to a tiny rector plate and pressed her thumb print for the scanner to read. “Go on in. He should be decent; and I have a feeling that if he isn’t, he won’t much care.” O’Neil rapped twice on the door and then entered. She found her fellow patient on the floor stretching out his hamstring muscles. He remained on the floor, but stared expectantly at his visitor. “You’re looking much better, O’Neil. I hope you’re the bearer of good news.” “ No news, actually. I just regained consciousness about ten minutes ago. I was told that you refused to give a blood sample. Don’t tell me you’re scared of needles.” “I’m afraid of what they’ll find. I don’t want to become a professional patient, if you understand what I mean.” “Well, the best I can hope for is that they’ll keep us together, since we came in that way.”

Page 101 of 155 “Hey, O’Neil—don’t take offense, but I don’t care if we stay together. I just need to get away. It’s important to me.” The woman made a gesture of helplessness. “Caz, I’ll do all that I can to uphold your civil liberties—“ “You’re not going to do shit for my civil liberties,” the man interrupted. “It was explained to me that no lawyer or newspaper reporter has ever set foot on this base. That’s a good thing from the standpoint of the base commander, but it’s a bad thing for me.” “What would you have me do, Caz, smuggle you in a gun?” queried O’Neil with a sour look. “Don’t be ridiculous. They probably have a whole damn regiment on this base. Dr. Vang told me that they’ve been hiding stuff here for over a century. I’ll bet I couldn’t get out of here even if you took you hostage.” “That’s right, Caz---you couldn’t,” the captain responded with a look of disapproval. The man’s expression turned apologetic and then he noticed something. “Hey, you been crying?” “Yea, I kind of lost it in the hallway there for a second.” The man shook his head slightly and said, “You got no reason to let any rear echelon types get you down. Ain’t no denying that life has gone sour on you, but self pity never helps nothing. You gotta hang tough to the end. That’s that only way to play it.” “Hell, I wasn’t thinking about myself. What an insulting thing to suggest. Just goes to prove that you’re dumber than you look---and that boggles the mind,” growled O’Neil. “I was thinking about the crewmen I lost. One in particular.” “Got it. I screwed up. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.” The woman hesitated for a moment and then said, “You implied that you’ve seen a lot of action. You sure as hell weren’t learning on the job with me.” The Conquistador let out a deep sigh and stared at the nearest wall.

Page 102 of 155 “So many kills my sword arm felt like lead by sundown.” “Maybe that explains it,” O’Neil finally muttered to the same wall. “What?” “Those eyes of yours. I think when Atlas was holding up the world, he probably had eyes like yours.” The man let out a snort and said, “I was a dumb ass Spaniard, not a dumb ass Greek.”

Page 103 of 155 Chapter Nineteen President Diego Mario Salinas rose from his comfortable cot and approached the security door in response to the buzzer. His meals were always surprisingly good. There was no doubt in his mind that it was take out food from a restaurant somewhere in the area. That suggested that he was being held prisoner in a metropolitan area. Definitely in his own beloved country. The first time he was fed, he threw the plate of food at the heavy door. He was boiling mad that day, realizing the horror of what was happening to him. Like all statesmen he was deeply concerned with his image. Yes, he was a politician, which meant that he would always be twisting the truth. But he would not have taken Mexico to war, even if it would have made him a king for a life time. Mexico was gathering up steam like a runaway locomotive, and he, Diego Mario Salinas, would get the blame. Over and over he kept telling himself that the lives of innocent people were everything, and that his place in history was nothing by comparison. But ego is no small demon to a leader and most of the time all he could think about was how he would never be able to prove his innocence to anyone. Not even his wife would believe what he would have to say to her. My God, the imposter had even studied hidden camera footage showing how he brushed his teeth. That was just one of many tidbits of information that had been given to him by his warden and tormentor, Senhor Roberto Barojas. Salinas was truly amazed by this fellow. The captor and his confederates were demonstrating a vile brilliance that had thrown the North America into madness. Yet this Barojas fellow saw fit to visit Salinas almost everyday, and taunt him like a dim witted turnkey in some age old novel. It seemed as if his enemies were both devious and demented. They were experts in subterfuge, but they were not quite right in the head. Salinas finished his meal before the next visit, which was good because he didn’t want to waste good food throwing it at the small transparency near the top of the door.

Page 104 of 155 “Buenas tardes Senhor Salinas. What a wonderful day to be indoors. It must be at least thirty five degrees Celsius outside. Stupid tourists come here and get drunk in about an hour. That is one of the things we will change when we’ve taken over the country: No more rampant consumption of alcohol. No more whoring either. We will be much like the Muslims except for all that drivel about heaven and hell.” You Catholics have been such a disappointment to us over the centuries. Why didn’t you have the good sense to realize that you cannot peacefully co-exist with such horrific deceivers?” “I don’t think the Muslims are deceiving anyone in Mexico, which is more than I can say for your organization. If you did not already have a dragon as your symbol, I would recommend the chameleon. You are a lizard and you only display your true colors when you open your stupid mouth. Are you really going to let me go after all you have told me?” The jailor’s jaw tightened for an instant, but then he relaxed and nodded half to himself. “Yes, we are going to release you because there is one thing about you that we cannot duplicate, and that is your DNA. But we are going to administer a very unique form of ultra sound treatment to your brain before you are released. The damage will resemble an old boxing injury. You’ll be stuttering and stammering so much that it will be obvious to one and all that you have lost your wits. Your wild report about being abducted will lack credibility when your eyeballs drift off in two different directions. As for my stupid mouth— I will concede a point to a man with very little future. I have spent most of my life preparing to change the country of Mexico. My comrades and I will have more of an impact on this land than any military conquerors that came here before us. But alas, the world will never know this; and the sin of pride compels me to vent my frustrations.” “Your point being that you need to share your secret triumph with at least one outsider; even if he is naught but a prisoner,” Salinas stated more clearly. The jailor nodded again. “It is not always easy, living in a shadow world.” “When I get out of here, I will do what I can to brighten your world---with fire,” pledged the captive president.

Page 105 of 155 The captor smiled at his worthy adversary. “Cling to that belief. May it comfort you as the walls close in.” Salinas made no reply, put hoped for additional visits from the bigmouth. He needed to know what was going on. Even as a helpless prisoner, he needed that desperately.

Page 106 of 155 Chapter Twenty Lieutenant James Leavitt moved with bent knees and back until he reached the more fortified end of a man made ravine. Another junior officer was sitting in the dry dirt, turning his gear burdened head this way and that, trying to get home in on an errant signal. “Broken translator?” queried Leavitt. “Yea. Thought I could piggy back off of the nearest brother board but that doesn’t work so good when you’re below ground level.” “Yea, today’s been a real education for the surveillance people. Border patrol guys have been using the DMX Snooper for twenty years, but never had to receive anything from a hole in the ground.” “That and the fact that the border cops speak fluent Spanish, not just the required two year stuff that we get in high school,” added the man named Hietz. “I heard that the only people who actually depended on these things were immigrant cops from countries like Bosnia.” “Well, I’m here now so give me your vector and I’ll see what’s on the party line.” Heitz showed his monitor numbers and then patiently waited for his fellow officer to do his thing. Leavitt had majored in Spanish and minored in History back in college, and for that reason he was the go to guy in his unit whenever a translator broke down. After a bit of eves dropping, Leavitt shook his head and said, “Nope. These guys are just as unhappy as we are. Guess you can pack up and move to another hole, Todd. Don’t think you’ll find any Hawks rubbing elbows with those guys.” A Hawk was a Mexican commander who was trying his damnedest to win the war. They ran the spearheading units and a lot of them got greased during the first forty-eight hours of the

Page 107 of 155 unofficial war. But now only about one in twenty commanders were attempting to gain real estate north of the border. The other unit leaders were just trying to stay alive where they had been forced to dig in. “This whole thing is crazy,” said Heitz. “We got satellites that could target the helmet top of every Bean Eater along the strip. Why do we keep playing with those guys?” The linguistics specialist let out a sigh. He was hearing that question about once every fifteen minutes and it was getting old. “We don’t want things to escalate. We match them and then try to get the upper hand. If we can shove them back with infantry tactics, we will do so. But The Brass doesn’t want to make the Chinese happy by turning this fight into a full blown mechanized war.” “You don’t think they’d take advantage of the situation do you? The Japs are a pretty trustworthy ally, and their sub fleet doesn’t have to do anything but guard the Chinese coastline.” “Well, that’s a bigger job than you realize, but I don’t think it concerns us. No, I’m just saying that the Chinese would like to find out if their hardware is any good. Everything the Mexicans have is Chinese made.” “Well, what are we supposed to do, dig ditches in every border county and fight like they did in WWI?” Heitz demanded to know. “Not this child,” responded Leavitt, who instantly thought of the Battle of Verdun where each side lost half a million men in a fight that lasted ten months. No one would stand for that. The Air Force would jump in long before that sort of crap could be relived. “Well, the Bean Eaters seem to have plenty of those Chinese Chui tank punchers so we aren’t gunna fight WWII over again neither,” said Heitz. “Correct. So it’s our job to find out where the next Bonzai charge might come from. If we guess right often enough, we’ll leave the Mexicans with nothing but sensible commanders, and that might be something we can all live with.” “You’re certain the majority don’t want to fight?”

Page 108 of 155 “Didn’t you get that impression before your magic box broke down?” “Yea but I don’t do a volume business like you do.” Leavitt grinned and nodded. “Trust me---those guys out there think their government has gone nuts, and their hearts are not in this.” “Yea, but their bullets are,” muttered Heitz as the dirt kicked up to his right. “And something else,” Leavitt muttered half to himself. “Some troublemaking demon like the one that gave the Brown Shirts a leg up in the early 1930s. Maybe they’ll find it under the last rock we turn over before this nightmare is over with.”

Page 109 of 155 Chapter Twenty One Captain Margret O’Neil didn’t like blowing her own horn. (In a submarine the acoustics would have been terrible.) But she was determined to help the miracle man named Caz, so she called in all her markers, and that brought her to the attention of Admiral Jake Osborn; head of Pacific based Special Operations. He requested a meeting with O’Neil, who was happy to oblige since it was preferable to being ignored. The ex sub driver caught a commercial flight to San Diego and then took a cab to the historic naval base. She felt like crap. She always felt like crap, but it pleased her that she wasn’t stuck in some damn convalescent facility somewhere. At the visitor gate the M.P.s were expecting her and she was given a thin packet and some very unusual instructions. She was to walk to the end of the block and sit on the bus stop bench. There she would be free to examine the contents of the packet. When she opened the packet her expression turned hard. She had been given photos of patients who suffered from her affliction. Advanced patients who were on life support and very close to the end. She put the photos away and fumed at the military medical establishment. They had a strange way of doing business, as well as being a royal pain in the ass. A bus suddenly rolled up in front of her and the door opened. “O’Neil?” queried the driver. “Yea.” “This is your ride.” The woman coaxed her legs up the steps and noted that she was the only passenger. “Mind if I sit behind you?”

Page 110 of 155 “Sure. Any seat you want.” “So where are we heading?” “Silver Strand State Beach.” “No way I’m getting into the water. My skin would fall off,” joked the woman. “That’s ok Ma’am, the admiral wouldn’t be caught dead in a bathing suit himself.” “So these photos were sent by one of his staff?” she asked with a puzzled expression. “Don’t know, Ma’am. I just drive people around. I don’t have nothing to do with their stuff.” “Well I’ll say one thing for the Admiral: he sure knows how to peek someone’s curiosity.” Forty-five minutes later the bus stopped at the south end of the beach. A very heavy man in his late fifties was sitting in a civilian all terrain vehicle. He looked like a tourist, at least the sort that California used to play host to back when vacations were a big deal. “Welcome to the bay area, Captain. Hope the bus ride wasn’t too uncomfortable for you.” “Not at all sir, but a letter of explanation would have made the time go faster.” “Actually, Captain, this is all top secret stuff, so we had to keep you in the dark until now.” “I’m referring to this,” O’Neil responded while waving the packet in the air. “Ah yes. That. Well, the fact is O’Neil, you need to be well informed so that you will be able to make a very important decision this afternoon. I want you for a special ops mission, and you have to understand first and foremost that it’s a one way ride.” O’Neil’s thoughts went immediately to the photos she had been given. “So the pictures are supposed to help me make up my mind.” Osborn looked her square in the eyes and said, “I’ve already had a long talk with your attending physician. He probably didn’t draw you a detailed picture of what’s ahead of you. I can arrange for that if necessary.” The woman shook her head.

Page 111 of 155 “No. I visited such a patient about three years ago. I know what’s coming.” “I’m offering you an out. You can do something important and go out really fast. Interested?” “Yea,” was the quiet response. “Ok, everything I say from here on is classified. To start: your destination will be the Bay of Magdalena, on the pacific side of the Baha peninsula.” “Yes, I know were it is. About six-hundred miles south of us. I did some gray whale watching there in my youth.” “Very appropriate. Fact is the Chinese have given up making dragons. Now they build mechanical whales that move like the real thing and could give the Communists a practical first strike capability.” “Sir---how can they move like the real thing?” “Do you know what a shape memory alloy is, Captain?” In an instant it all became clear to the submariner. Over a century ago scientists experimented with a submarine stern design that worked exactly like a fish’s tail. This became possible with vertebrae like links made of very special wires. The wires were electrically heated which caused the joints to curl in one direction. When the power was turned off the “tail fin” returned quickly to its original shape. Only problem was, you didn’t want to gamble men’s lives on how long the gizmo would work. Water jet propulsion replaced the old fashioned props, and the fish tail became something that engineers could play with for the benefit of civilian projects. O’Neil didn’t doubt that the military never really lost interest in the project, but the technology never found its way into her world. “I have a pretty good idea how a mechanical whale would swim, Admiral, but I would think that it’s potential as a weapon would be limited to the high seas?” “Why?” “Because if we went to war with China, every inch of the Pacific and Atlantic shelves would be subjected to on going high intensity sensor scans. Sure, a mechanical whale could fool us for a

Page 112 of 155 while, but if a bogey starts six-hundred miles south of here and keeps coming, we’d take a closer look at it, to find out if it has the right body temp or not.” “ If we were on a wartime footing,” specified the man in the loud shirt. “A Trojan Horse operation would likely come first; and the targets could be scattered all over the Pacific . These things could range many hundreds of miles before locking onto a target. They might even be able to attract real whales that could delay suspicion. They could be built in large numbers and stored in relatively small pens.” Suddenly something very important occurred to the ex-sub commander. “I stated in my report that the rocks had shielded the first torpedo cavitations. But surprise was total. I mean absolute. We heard nothing right up until the first blast. They could have used one of their little toys to cripple us, then advance on us using conventional weaponry. But you still haven’t given me a concrete reason to believe in these toys. You been holding out on me, Admiral?” “No choice. This is highly classified stuff. But considering your involvement, you most definitely need to be inside the loop. Now you are one of a handful who knows about the mechanical whales. Proof came when a Chinese freighter got caught in that big storm in September. They made it clear enough that they didn’t want any help, but they got it anyway. After some amazing discoveries we decided to inform the Press that the freighter didn’t actually survive the storm. The crew is being kept under wraps indefinitely.” “Don’t suppose they had any complete models on board.” “No, but enough components to scare the hell out of us. I’m convinced that the Chinese want their toys tested. The fact that the Mexican navy is willing to do their dirty work is weird as hell but I can’t waste time trying to figure out why the Bean Eaters are going nuts.” “Maybe they don’t like being called names,” O’Neil muttered with indifference. “I’m sure our guys fighting in Arizona are calling them names that are far worse.” “So what do I do?”

Page 113 of 155 “We have placed a small nuclear device on board our newest Nereid class mini sub. You will pilot the sub into the pen and cure yourself of coolant radiation sickness.” “Do you know exactly where the cave entrance is?” “No. We can get you within two-hundred meters. From there you’ll just have to nose around with your cameras. Don’t ping the rock formations whatever you do.” “I’m not stupid, Admiral, just unlucky. So what happens if they catch me on my way into the search area?” “I was just coming to that. We’ve got a much smaller fire cracker on the boat as well. Just big enough to turn everything into slag metal. Either way you’ll be sailing into the arms of Jesus soon enough. Assuming that he hasn’t run off to some other universe.” “Well, if he has, he left some very interesting business unsettled on this planet,” O’Neil responded while thinking about the man she dug up.

Page 114 of 155 Chapter Twenty Two Caz Longstreet kept speaking and thinking in English. He continued to relate to things and references that he had no physical experience with. He was working with implanted knowledge that came from nowhere, yet was just as real as the memory or his horse or sword. It felt perfectly natural, yet it frightened him. But not as much as jumping even further in the future; and certainly not as much as the knowledge that he had been buried alive but had not died. A grand test of his sense of reality. But at the moment, he had something more conventional to deal with. The immanent Dr. Derrick had returned with a simple proposition: Allow him to draw a blood sample or he would bring two M.P.s in here and they will strap you down. Caz was about to declare that the doctor would need at least four men for that undertaking, but he suddenly remembered a meaningless tidbit of information that he had accepted without deliberation. It was supposed to help him if his computer generated identity went on the fritz. He didn’t know what it would do for him, only that it would be available. But that was way back when. Would it help him now? Only one way to find out. He asked Derrick if he could use a phone, and of course the wish was granted. Caz dialed the number and was more than a little surprised when he got a recording for N.A.S.A. That organization had nearly gone belly up back in the early Twenty-first Century. But a near miss with a huge asteroid put an entirely new complexion on things. N.A.S.A. was now bigger and better funded than any thing else in the federal government. It also, apparently, had some extensions that had gone unnoticed for nearly a century. Military Intelligence jumped on the phone number with great enthusiasm but got a royal run-a round by the same people who had kept the asteroid threat out of the newspapers. The next chore was to grant the holder of the special phone number his freedom, regardless of what things he might have done to get arrested. This was done to keep faith with the entity that kept

Page 115 of 155 the asteroid from hitting the Earth. It was done by a handful of men who knew that Earthlings did not stand alone in the galaxy. It was a hushed up thank you on behalf of eight billion people. But alas, even an extraterrestrial could not inspire the U.S. Federal Government to get all its limbs working in unison. The mysterious fifth columnists were throwing a lot of wooden shoes into the works, and The Department of Home Security was operating on its own, because it could not risk doing otherwise. The United States Government was now operating with one hand tied behind its back. But not everyone was unhappy about that. Caz was about half way to Caliente when a car came up along side his vehicle and activated its P.A. system. “Pull over, Longstreet. If you don’t, I’ll just call ahead and you’ll be pureed on the edge of town.” Caz wasn’t frightened at the prospect of drawing fire, but he had to admit to himself that he was in the dark in more ways than one. He had very little knowledge of present day government capabilities, and therefore he would be wise to thread lightly. He pulled over to the side and allowed the driver of the car to approach with a pistol at the ready. Caz thought he recognized the man from the base, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark. “Get out of the car and keep those hands in plain sight,” ordered the gunman. With a long sigh of resignation, Caz complied and kept his hands at shoulder height. “What’s your name, Mister?” “I don’t remember. I’m an amnesia victim,” said Caz. “But you have something to do with Captain Margret O’Neil,” pressed the gunman. “Don’t tell me you don’t know anything about that.” She found me out in the desert,” Caz said truthfully, “and she wanted to wish me luck before leaving. I remember seeing you on the base. What’s you name?” Alan Kimble. Department of Homeland Security.”

Page 116 of 155 “That just means you’re a Fed. Did you get to talk to O’Neil?” “No. I was hoping to do better with you.” “Do you know where they transferred her?” “Yea, but that has nothing to do with you.” “You get me to her and you’ll get enough info to write a book about her. You got my personal guarantee.” Kimble’s look of skepticism didn’t show well in the bad light. “That is a very enticing offer. But to get you to O’Neil I would really have to put my job on the line. Now I’m willing to do that, but only if you can explain why Military Intelligence dropped you like a hot rock. They checked out your NASA number and ended up clicking their heels and saluting someone or other. Want to earn yourself a plane ride by telling me what scared the crap out of them?” Caz stood toe to toe with the government agent. His expression was a challenge of sorts. Basically he was daring the other man to believe in the unbelievable.” “You got extraterrestrials meddling in a few of Earth’s biggest governments,” Caz stated after a pause. “Well-----a deal’s a deal,” Kimble mumbled half to himself.

Page 117 of 155 Chapter Twenty-Three The White House Situation Room was a hard thing to recognize when the power was on. Ceiling lights would go off and the three dimensional lasers would go on. The result: a sometimes spectacular display of flowing landscapes dotted with vehicles and troop concentrations. President Mildred Westmore had spent more hours there in the past week than in all the past three years combined. The faces of combat commanders would sometimes appear as eerie holographic images. Sometimes they were coming from a combat zone, sometimes they came from spots in the southwest where only the threat of hostilities existed. At the moment Westmore was conferring with Admiral Osborn and it was an exchange that would remain off the record for all time. “Jake, I’m thinking about pulling the plug on this one. The front has stabilized and more and more of our troops are filing into the sectors where Mexican troop concentrations exist. Hostilities seem to have crested and we just might be seeing a turn around in the next twelve to twenty-four hours.” “Agreed, Madam President, but I consider the Baha problem to be completely separate from the border crisis.” “Generals Schnieder and Getz disagree with that assessment, Jake. They feel that the Edmund G. Ross incident was intended to keep troops and material tied up in the southern California area. After all, the Tijuana area presented our satellites with a brazen display of troop strength, whereas the border crossing forces were like an iceberg until they were committed.” “Yes, and as soon as the offensive commenced, those west coast units headed south, instead of going east to augment their brothers in Arizona. Did Schnieder or Getz have any comments on that, Madam President?”

Page 118 of 155 “I’ll have to inquire, Jake. So what precisely is your theory?” “Madam President, the Mexican military has accomplished absolutely nothing in Arizona. They took some border land that they will likely have to give back. Am I correct?” The slender, silver haired woman nodded once. “That is the message that I have received from both houses of Congress. No one is willing to give up so much as an inch of U.S. soil.” “Some Mexican soldiers might have been psychotic enough to think other wise but I’m convinced that the boys at the top knew all along that the land actions would accomplish nothing of benefit. We are not going to redraw the border. From that standpoint, the Mexican offensive is a complete failure. Therefore it must serve some other purpose.” “The president of Mexico has stated on television that he wants a new and radically changed border crossing policy, Admiral. Surely someone on your staff must have mentioned that, if you’ve been too busy to watch any of the news.” “Yes Ma’am, but that line of reasoning is crazy, so I went looking for something that is not.” “Like a Chinese sub base that needs to be blown to kingdom come. Yes, but I agreed to that when it looked as though hostilities would escalate. Now things seem to be cooling off, so I’m not thrilled at the prospect of detonating a nuclear device south of the border.” “It’s a baby nuke, Ma’am, and I’m of the opinion that the Mexicans wouldn’t register a complaint with the United Nations because then they’d have to own up to the fact that they’re working with the Chinese on a first strike program.” “Such a tactic would likely cripple our west coast defenses and slaughter millions but it would not give the Mexicans victory,” said the president with an edge to her voice. “Jake, you want us to be the first side to go nuclear and you can’t give me a logical reason for it now. The Chinese technicians can sit in a cave until hell freezes over. It doesn’t mean a damn thing if the land fighting winds down and we negotiate a total cease fire. That is uppermost on my mine. Then after that we can find out which crazy people need to be held accountable for this mess.” The admiral didn’t want to go there. Hanging leaders had gone out of style.

Page 119 of 155 “O’Neil is getting checked out with the sub. If you’re scrubbing the mission I’d like to get the word to her a.s.a.p.” “Is it true that she’ll be on a respirator in less than six months?” “Yes Ma’am, the way the tissue breaks down---it’s uh--- pretty easy to calculate.” The president gave O’Neil a moment of solemn reflection even though the death toll currently stood at seven thousand. Then she let out a long sigh and made a decision. “We’ll compromise, Admiral. You will send the mini sub in with the ability to destroy whatever it encounters. But I want a visual inspection of this sub pen of yours. Give me pictures of something that needs to be destroyed and I’ll probably give you the go ahead. Assuming the Mexicans stay crazy.” “A diver will have to piggy back on the sub. I’ll need to find another terminally ill hero, Madam President.” “No you don’t. Use one of those old Darpa robots. I was told they can do anything.” “Anything is what we could run into, Madam President. Robots aren’t very good at improvising.” “Make it work with O’Neil, Jake. I’m not giving you anymore sacrificial lambs.” With that the president marched out of the room, leaving behind a man who would soon be a pawn to forces beyond his imagination

Page 120 of 155 Chapter Twenty Four The admiral got back to the mini sub tender as fast as he could. It seemed to him that O’Neil’s condition had deteriorated noticeably even in the short time he was away. But aside from the chronic cough, she looked like she was ready to give one-hundred percent. “Admiral, I took the boat out for a spin this morning. What a blast. Almost felt guilty being paid to do it. We’ll have it winched onto the tender in a few hours. Then we can shove off whenever you give the word, sir.” Osborn let out a small sigh. “Small complication, O’Neil. You’re going to have to give a Navy Seal diver a piggy back ride.” The sparkle vanished from the woman’s eyes. “Admiral, whether you’re talking about my backside or the sub’s, that is a bad idea.” “Agreed, but I didn’t dream up this fly in the ointment.
Our president, who you voted for, wants a visual inspection of the sub pen. “Is she nuts?!” O’Neil exploded. “A place like that will be crisscrossed with laser sensors. It will be impossible to get all the way in and hope to retrieve an agent!” “Don’t get your Irish up with me,” warned the old man. “This is the Navy. We don’t turn down jobs just because a healthy young man might get killed.” The woman pulled herself together and then asked, “Sir, do you think we need a visual inspection?” “No, but I’m not the commander in chief.”

Page 121 of 155 “But you are the next best thing: You are the man who is able to lie to the commander and chief,” O’Neil reasoned logically. “No, I won’t do that to her,” Osborn responded evenly. “You think we’re the only ones who want to pull the nuclear trigger for a righteous cause? If we are to be worthy of survival, we must remain a nation with laws. I have my orders, and soon you will receive the specifics of yours. Now if you will excuse me, Captain, I need to find a man who has a really strong belief in God.” With that, O’Neil’s eyes regained their luster. “Sir, I’ve got the perfect man for you. He is a personal friend of mine and he can out-soldier any man on the planet.” “And you want him to die?” the admiral inquired with a frown. “That’s what qualifies him sir. He has a death wish. I swear it, Admiral. If you gotta send a man to his death, this is truly the man to send. There would be just one condition that we’ll need to agree to: His next of kin should receive suitable compensation. I know you can handle that sir. Just charge it under the heading of special contractors.” “I know how to do it,” said the admiral, “but I’ve got an ugly feeling that this guy is not a member of the U.S. Navy. Am I right?” “No sir. He was in the Army, and you would be wise not to try to look up his service record sir, because---it’s probably been erased.” Osborn didn’t say a word. He just stood there and stared.

Page 122 of 155 Chapter Twenty Five “No holes in you! Great! I was afraid that you’d make an escape attempt!” called O’Neil in the way of a greeting. Caz met his new friend at the bottom of the gang plank and shook her hand carefully. She didn’t look well, but her eyes were sparkling like the sun off the nearby water. “Looks to me like you’ve got more clout than you were letting on, O’Neil. They got me over here faster than a duck mating.” “Yea, well---the clout you are referring to was recently acquired, and we won’t have it for long.” O’Neil glanced over Caz’ shoulder at a man standing expectantly at gate entrance. “Him again. Is he still after my autograph?” “He sort of implied that his boss wants to know what you know about your kidnapping. Kimbal sees himself as a confidential go between. It does seem important to him.” O’Neil looked thoughtful. “Word is all the military and para-military agencies are afraid to work together. Mexican fifth columnists are doing a number on us. They’re so damn good we haven’t caught more than a handful. Anyway, intel is being gathered the old fashioned way. Hence, Mr. Kimble.” “Sorry if I complicated your life, but I needed him to get here.” “You mean the Navy didn’t pick you up?”

Page 123 of 155 “Nope. Got free using my own super strange brain and then Kimble was thoughtful enough to guide me here. Maybe you should wave to him or something.” “Can he scuba dive?” “How should I know? But I think he’d carry your piss bucket if it would get him a long visit with you. Nice enough fellow. Next to you he might be the closest thing I’ve got to a friend since the big wake up.” “I’ll get to him in a second, but I need to ask you something: Could you go back into hibernation again if the circumstances warranted it?” “Jez---I don’t know. Maybe. Something inside me says yes, but I’m still having a lot of trouble believing in anything. Like I’ve been saying.” “Sure, but the fact is I need to know if you’re willing to take one hell of a big gamble with your life. If you aren’t, then some ordinary commando is going to have to go on a suicide mission, and you’ll probably end up in a giant test tube for the rest of your life.” “So what’s the alternative?” “You’re only chance for happiness, most likely. I’ve had a special bank account opened in your son’s name.” “I don’t have a son,” Caz interrupted. “Right. But after the mission is completed you will need a false identity to access the account that now belongs to you.” “Sorry, O’Neil, but that went right over my head,” confessed the ex Latino . The woman’s eyes were now filled with reluctance, but there was no turning back from the big plan. “Caz, I am in a position to pay you a great deal of what used to be called money, but you’ll have to do something extraordinary to earn it.” “Bite off a rat’s head?”

Page 124 of 155 “Drown while scuba diving in enemy waters,” responded the woman without humor. “I’d take less money for the rat trick.” “Caz---I’m going to pilot that mini sub into an underwater cave. A secret Chinese sub pen. The sub has a small nuclear device onboard and my job is to blow everything to hell. But---the president wants pictures of the sub pen before she’ll give the final green light to set off the device. You’ll need to piggy back on the sub and go forward to photo scan the interior.” “You did say a nuclear device, didn’t you?” Caz asked quickly. “Let me finish,” the woman implored. “You take you picture and transmit it to me. Then you get back on the sub’s hull and I’ll scoot you back out into open water. Now when the bomb goes off, you’ll get slapped by a wave that will---ruin your day. You need to get shed of your weight belt before that happens. I don’t know what will become of you. But when you---uh-- regain your faculties you need to escape whoever is holding your not so dead body and then assume the identity of your non existent son.” Caz’s face was like stone for a long moment, then he said, “O’Neil, I’m a babe in the woods. I don’t know how to pay a bar tab in this century---“ “It will take us several hours to get to where we’re going, Caz. I’ll show you where your access codes will be hidden, and the phone numbers of people who will help you. Trust me, a little drowning and an escape from people who might want an autopsy is all you need to worry about.” Thoughts of running filled the man’s head until something occurred to him. “So---this is a suicide mission for you.” “If I get the green light from the President---yes.” “That sub pen must be important.” “Well, you see, Caz, in this day and age the submarine is the ultimate weapon, and the Ocean is even more important than it was in WWII.” Caz let out a sigh.

Page 125 of 155 “You know what, O’Neil, I got a lot of artificial memories in my noggin, and I’m not very happy with the big picture they draw. The world is a wonder, but it’s also a lot of things that I don’t like. Comforts are great, but men seem to be--- smaller, in the sense that they have to fall in line all the time. Now I think I know how it feels to be a pet bird. I can have everything I want except real freedom.” O’Neil’s expression was that of sadness and wonder. “That is the price of civilization, Caz. But on the other hand, we have a crazy war going on and you could do a lot of good if you’re willing to play some very long odds.” Do some good,” echoed the man from the past. “Yea, that’s what the little green man said to me back when I was his guest. Maybe this is what he was talking about. Maybe he knew somehow, that I’d end up here. Well----call me crazy, but since you’re the one who dug me up, I guess you’re the one who should be able to point me in a particular direction. Ok, Lady, I’ll stay with you. Shit---if I croak, heaven has got to be less bewildering than this place I’m in.” The woman nodded slightly and then stared again at Kimble who was still waiting patiently. “I’ll go talk to the young man now. Maybe he can tote that barge and lift that bail or something.”

Page 126 of 155 Chapter Twenty Six The Chinese Zhang class air freighter dropped out of the clouds and reached the ocean’s surface in less than thirty seconds. Ordinarily it would not have come to a complete stop on the water. Ordinarily its Mazu sea chariot would disengage from the belly cowling of the aircraft and drop into the water with almost as much force as a torpedo launch. But the six person water shuttle was carrying a very important personage, who was not accustomed to drop style launchings. So the shuttle was eased into the water, and it sank almost immediately to its usual cruising depth of ten feet. It then followed a homing signal for eight miles until it reached an undersea passageway that measured twenty-five feet wide and almost the same height. At low tide the top of the sea cave was sixteen feet below the water line. Ordinarily whale watchers came and went not more than a few miles distant, but now two governments were keeping this area clear of all non combatants. The lone passenger peered out of his viewing port for a good twenty minutes before asking, “Why don’t I see any large fish?” “The Earthers stock their fresh water lakes, but the oceans have been severely depleted,” explained the shuttle pilot. Too high a population. “Well, we shall soon remedy that,” the passenger said without humor. His Earth name was Ma Huateng, and he had been altered to resemble a person of Chinese descent. But his true mother was a crystal tube just under a meter in length, and his allegiance was to a planet many thousands of light years away. He would never live to see that world, but he fully intended to see the subjectgation of this one. Then it would no longer be necessary to

Page 127 of 155 steal uranium it from various governments. More importantly: star ships would be able to effect repairs in a friendly environment, instead of on Mars. Like all of his kind, he was short and slender with larger than average eyes and smaller than average ears. He would be easy enough to spot if pitted against an enemy that knew what to look for. But fortunately, his enemies didn’t believe in his existence, and his subordinates would only have to share his secret for a few more months now. They were either Chinese or Mexican, and they all held visions of a grand new world on both sides of the planet. Technically Huateng was a Chinese admiral, but he almost always wore a civilian suit because such attire went better with his diminutive frame, and his egg head like expressions When the view of an undersea world was replaced by solid rock, Huateng took out his pocket data keeper and reviewed the base complement. Thirty-seven marine technicians of various types, twenty-four security guards, sixteen dock tenders, three supervisors, two communications specialists and one cook. All of them remained underground for three months at a time. Everyone except the prisoner. Huateng’s blood ran colder than usual at the thought of such a foolish incarceration. The alien made a mental note never to leave an Earther chief unsupervised again. The shuttle surfaced in the middle of a pool some one-hundred and fifty feet across. At high tide the pool was ringed three quarters of the way around by sixteen special dock lifts; each holding a forty foot mechanism that closely resembled a type of whale. The miniature submarines were all encased in clear plastic, and salt free air filled each interior. The network of ramps lead to a tunnel that had been cut into the rock almost a half century earlier. At the other end of the passageway was an eight chamber complex. The living quarters made up the largest of the chambers. Somewhat Spartan but better than a anything a sailor would experience on board a sub. The smallest of the chambers held a free standing structure that was relatively new. A detention cell that was the reason for Huateng’s visit. As the alien troubleshooter stepped off the small shuttle deck, a man named Ngo stepped forward wearing the uniform of a Chinese naval commander. Is Perez ready to receive me?” Huateng asked in the way of a greeting.

“Yes sir. He is in the machine shop, as you instructed,” stated the commander. Page 128 of 155 “I will see him alone. Which door is it?” “Second one on the left, sir.” “See to it that no one comes near the entrance until I leave.” “Yes sir.” The first door was twenty paces down from the tunnel entrance. The next one was even further. How foolish to make the chambers so large. The water wheel out on the surf could just barely provide the caverns with crude electricity. It was almost amusing that the Chinese military would place such sophisticated weaponry in such a ridiculous hole in the ground. Huateng entered the machine shop and briefly scanned the interior. It’s primary function was to service the docking platforms and lift equipment that was needed for the mechanical whales. There was also the occasional toilet that needed to be unplugged. The alien focused his attention on a man who’s wrists were bound together over his head. The subject’s feet were on the stone floor, but he was still be stretched a bit by the block and tackle that hung from the ceiling. The prisoner’s shirt was drenched in sweat, even though it was a cool seventy-two degrees in the chamber. “Senhor Perez---whatever am I to do with you?” “My Lord, I beg you to explain how I have displeased you,” responded the prisoner. “Every weapon is at operational readiness. The president is in good health and---“ “He never should have been brought here in the first place,” stated the alien. “I never would have allowed it if I had known.” “But My Lord, I was told that security for the prisoner had to be the tightest possible. This instillation is the only place where a spy could not reach the real Salinas.” “The plan was to return Salinas to his rightful place on the eve of revolt. With his last breath he would swear innocence, but have no data to support his claims. Now he knows of a secret organization that is taking over Mexico, and eventually China as well. Will his words be

Page 129 of 155 remembered before the assassin shoots him? I think that likely. Why did you give him unnecessary data, Perez?” The prisoner looked like a trapped animal. Obviously his conversations with Salinas had been overheard, and even more obviously those actions had been deemed traitorous. “I have decided to alter the plan somewhat. The president will be shot within an hour of his return to the capital. The diversion of a trial would have been to our purpose, but he has learned too much.” With that the alien took out a surgical scalpel and tweezers. He deftly sliced open the prisoner’s right ear lobe and then plucked out a device that was roughly the size of a pea. “You thought this was a cyst. You would have spent the rest of your life thinking that if you had discharged your responsibilities properly. Every Earther who is still alive a year from now will have one of these transmitters implanted in their bodies. You can still be one of them, but you will not wield nearly as much power as you had hoped for.” Perez had no idea what that meant exactly and it didn’t matter. He knew that more than nine tenths of the Earth’s population would die from a project of extermination that would only begin as a nuclear war. His mistress, her family and a few of his personal lackeys would be given shelter and sustenance. In perhaps fifty years the Klenocks would decontaminate the most desirable portions of the Earth and offer food and medicines to the prospective slaves in those areas. Maybe---just maybe he could redeem himself in the next few months. But for now, he needed to bow his head and eat his shit sandwich. He was just lucky that there were so few men like himself, and so many future slaves that will need supervision. “By establishing a dialogue with Salinas, I hoped to gain useful information, My Lord. I now realize that I committed a grievous error in judgment, and I will serve with greater efficiency in any future post I am given.” “You state the obvious, Perez. Be hopeful that the man who kills Salinas will then experience no hardship escaping the Mexican authorities. He will have confederates, and they will know

Page 130 of 155 that your lack of discretion forced them to kill under less than ideal circumstances. I will not protect you from---“ Suddenly the admiral’s private com-line was chirping. He saw at a glance that he was being hailed by non other than Liu Ming, current premier of the Chinese Socialist Republic. The alien activated his com-link without further thought of the man hanging in front of him. Perez for his part knew better than to so much as sneeze. His master lived a duel existence, and if Perez wanted to keep the only one he had, he’d have to remain silent. “Ma, I just received word that no sign of wreckage could be found where the freighter Pao Min was supposed to have gone down. It is the consensus of the Joint Chiefs of Staff that the Americans captured the ship, and know that it was bound for Mexico.” “That is very bad new indeed, Mr. Premier, but since the ship carried no completed units, and since hostilities between the two combating countries is taking place on a small scale, I see no reason to presume the worst. If the Americans shake their fists at us, I think we can afford to admit that we handed the Mexicans weapons technology that might not be useful for years. We have been accused of doing worse, Mr. Premier.” “Never the less, we suspect that the Americans have an approximate idea where the ship was heading.” “In a storm of such magnitude?” Huateng scoffed. “I was uncomfortable with the project from the very beginning,” stated the Chinese leader. “It is far too small, and situated in the realm of a most dubious ally.” “This conflict with the United States will reinforce our ties with Mexico, Mr. Premier.” “So you have said many times,” responded Ming, “but even as we speak, Mexico is positioning itself for its first civil war since 1920, and I am not referring to anything like those stupid drug wars that occurred earlier in the century. Seven Mexican generals have thrown their support to a pacifist movement that has appeared out of nowhere.” The alien grew tense, which was a rare state of mind for him. How could Ming possibly know of such a thing while Huateng did not? It was a most disconcerting development and would have to be confirmed by his own sources immediately.

Page 131 of 155 “May I have the names of those generals, sir?” “Yes, but they are of no relevance to you. Your task will be to dismantle the base and prepare to move everything to a location in the Caribbean . Weapons strength will be tripled, but secrecy will also be improved. We CANNOT allow the Americans to know that we have a first strike capability on your side of the planet. Now the alien was more than just tense, he was border line acrimonious. “Mr. Premier, I—“ “There will be no debating this, Admiral Huateng. You may gather additional intelligence data if it pleases you, but I want that base crated and ready for transport in five days. We’re going to start all over and THIS time we shall do a proper job of it. Additional information to follow. Ming out.” Perez swallowed hard. He had no idea what would happen next, but he was fairly certain that it would bode ill for him and his. “I can come to only one logical conclusion,” the alien said after a brief pause. “The Chinese are being fed data that does not support our current efforts. Now half my Mexican naval operatives will be useless to me. This is a most vexing development indeed.” “Does that mean that global war will have to be postponed, My Lord?” Perez inquired while he was being released. “Quite the opposite. We will step the time table, Perez. It will be sloppy work, but it is somewhat gratifying that I will no longer have to misrepresent myself while dealing with heads of state.” The Latino marched in lockstep with the fraudulent admiral even though the effort pained him. Every man except the cook had been summoned to stand in formation in the central portion of the docking area. Only the security people looked natural standing in rows, and they were the only ones that didn’t look nervous. While still in the tunnel Perez summoned his courage and asked, “My Lord---what of my people?”

Page 132 of 155 “You have no people. You have only your desire to remain alive while others turn to ash,” the alien responded evenly. Perez was not offended. He had spent ten years thus far getting used to the idea of the Earth under new management. Besides---many of Huateng’s covert operatives were female. They didn’t know they were working for a space alien and they didn’t know that a holocaust was in the works. But they would be sheltered and provided for so that they could serve in days to come. Maybe Perez would become the father of a future village. Huateng didn’t seem like the procreating type.

Page 133 of 155 Chapter Twenty Seven Kimble signed off with a smile and happily turned the radio shack back over to the naval operator who had been assigned for this special operation. “Done and done,” he said happily. The ex sub commander ignored him and focused her attention on the ship’s skipper, Lt.Com. Bob Clay, who had ordered the communications technician to give Kimble some privacy. “Is our umbrella going to keep you safe all the way back to home waters, Captain?” “Well Ma’am, the Gettysburg is just beyond the horizon and she’s got orders to keep the sky friendly.” “Past experience compels me to look down as well as up,” quipped the woman. “Can Gettysburg ping a fast moving beer keg approaching from below?” “They wouldn’t stay afloat long if they couldn’t, Ma’am, but no subs have been spotted so far. Course I don’t know if they’d want to spend a torpedo on us anyway. We’re a pretty small prize, and even though a sub is a hard nut to crack these days, a sub skipper would be very foolish to throw away the element of surprise on the likes of us. Assuming of course that the enemy doesn’t suspect what we’re about.” “Well---most subs could launch a missile from a safe distance---but I agree that they won’t bother with you. They’ll go after my toy if they do anything at all.” The captain of the tending vessel gazed thoughtfully at the fake bulkheads that were designed to hide a mini-sub. In a few moments they would be dismantled and dropped into the sea since they would not be needed again. Then the sub would follow, along with two human beings. The captain would then wait for an enormous eruption of water, then head for the Californian coast.

Page 134 of 155 “Ma’am---if you’d like to write a personal letter to anyone---I’ll carry it and deliver it myself,” Clay said in a quiet tone. O’Neil smiled at that and asked, “They told you this was a one way ride for me?” “No. They told me that a hover craft would come for you and your diver somewhere along the coast. Kimble is supposed to leave with the same idea. If I had known that he’s just a snooper for the D.H.S., I would have left him at the pier.” “Sorry about that, Captain, but Kimble did me a service and I didn’t mind returning the favor. Anyway I like the guy. He’s not your typical bureaucrat, and I’m hoping that he’ll bring us a bit of luck.” “What kind of luck does a dead woman need?” Clay thought for an instant. Then he nodded and said, “If you say so, Ma’am. But maybe your diver might want me to do something for him.” O’Neil shook her head with a smile. “He doesn’t have any family, and he’s another volunteer with a terminal illness, so there’s no reason to feel real bad about this.” “Other than respect,” Clay responded with a squeeze on the woman’s arm. The sickly sub pilot waited until the captain was away before touching her bicep and breathing a quiet “ouch.”

Page 135 of 155 Chapter Twenty Eight The alien who called himself Huateng was not one to be spontaneous about anything. But halfway to the shuttle he paused, turned on his heel and proceeded to the lonely chamber that accommodated a single person. The prisoner focused immediately on the visitor’s unusual features, almost certain that he had seen a photograph of the man during one of countless briefings. “I am Admiral Huateng of The People’s Republic of China. As I understand it, you have been made aware of the fact that a man is masquerading as you, and in fact is leading your country toward martial ruination.” Salinas stepped up to the viewing partition and willed himself to remain calm. “I was unaware of the fact that the Chinese has a pack of madmen in their upper echelon. I place you at the bottom of a long list of men who would conquer the world. If you worshiped something besides the totalitarian ideal, you would have eyes to see how appallingly futile this all is.” “Senhor Salinas, since my underling saw fit to share confidential information with you, I have decided to indulge you even further. Know that I have no intention of subjugating the nations of this world. I intend to destroy them along with the vast majority of the population. Of course Mexico will figure prominently in the destruction, but I am prepared to spare that portion of your country called Cancun. I would be willing to make you mayor of that community if you would be willing to accept all those political realities that are forthcoming.” Mary Mother of God,” breathed the Mexican leader, “you want to get a suntan after you’ve killed millions? This must be some sort of psychological warfare you are subjecting me to. Drive the prisoner mad with a mad interrogator.”

Page 136 of 155 “You are not looking at this logically,” stated the alien. “Much of your country is poor. I am willing to spare a portion that is affluent and worthy of your concern. You will not be blamed for the actions of the imposter, and one million of your countrymen will be grateful to you for choosing a productive course.” “I don’t know what to believe in this cave of yours. I only know that I am in the midst of human debris that would have made Mao Zedong look like a saint,” growled the Latino. “Roaring in defiance like a caged beast will accomplish nothing. At the proper time I will ask you again what should be done with Cancun. If you truly feel that death for all your people is acceptable, then I will have you returned to Mexico City, where you can say your farewells until the firewalls roll over the city.” “I will follow you orders on one condition,” Salinas stated grimly. “I want to meet with your superior. I want to confront the bastard that gives you your crawling orders.” The alien briefly envisioned himself peeling off his artificial skin to reveal the extraterrestrial underneath. Then the Klenock would come very close to genuine amusement. But the first step was to get the prisoner relocated. Then the mechanical whales would go out to a transport submarine. “Your terms are acceptable. You will be leaving this place within the hour.” “Muy Bien, if I can trust you.” The abnormally large Asian eyes were as cool as a mountain lake. But then, they almost always were. “Trust is irrelevant. You will be leaving within the hour.”

Page 137 of 155 Chapter Twenty Nine Not far away, a wild eyed ex subject of the Spanish Empire held on for dear life while being propelled through deep water at alarming speed. Caz was gripping the little submersible’s stubby antenna mount, listening to the sounds of his labored breathing and hoping that the force of the water wouldn’t yank his face mask off and with it his all important comlink. “How’s it going out there?” O’Neil inquired as if sensing that her rider might not be pleased with their present speed. “My body is suspended straight out,” reported the novice diver, “and I feel like this mask is going to end up at the backside of his head.” “Sorry, but I was in a hurry to put some distance between us and the ship. Besides which I needed to get the feel of this can at high speed. Would have taken it up to torpedo speed but I would have lost you for sure.” “Si, definitivamente.” “Well, hopefully we won’t get beached while looking for the entrance.
” Caz stared unhappily at the rock formations that almost seemed alive with all the water churning around them. “Wouldn’t we be safer if we were further out?” “Definitivamente, as you put it, but we’d probably miss the entrance. Fact is I’m not entirely sure we can find it without a homing beacon. Some places the silt clouds never let up. You might have to go topside and ask a friendly guard for directions.” “You serious, O’Neil?”

Page 138 of 155 “About everything except the ‘friendly’ part. They probably have satellite footage of the ship by now. Won’t take them long to figure out that the location of their hideaway has been compromised.” For nearly two hours the little sub prowled the rocky coast with Caz on its back. The cold began to penetrate his wet suit, and his throat felt like an Egyptian tomb, despite all the water around him. But he could hardly complain. The woman on the other side of the hull had come out here to die, and the ex Conquistador was calculating something like 50-50 odds for himself. Caz felt electrified when a single word came over the comlink. “Contact!” Now it was time for the diver to let go of his watery perch and venture forward with only his swim fins to propel him. That was the plan, but the surging water had other ideas. It fought him every inch of the way in, and O’Neil could hear the man’s struggles as he grunted and groaned inside his fogged up face mask. But the man from Spain still possessed a warrior’s determination to succeed, and he fought the water as if it were a monster of legend, and with little strength remaining he reached a point in the cavern where the currents lost much of their pull. “Caz---you in,” O’Neil finally queried. “Oh yea----I’m in. I just---needed to get----my mask unfogged,” the diver said with a heaving chest. “There’s a button on the right side of the mask that does that,” the naval officer reminded him. “Forgot,” grunted the Spaniard as he labored up an underwater slope to where he could poke his head above the waterline. Utility lights were mounted on every dock and they gave the intruder a vague idea as to the actual size of the labyrinth. Fortunately for him, the water around him was pitch black, and the dock workers were not expecting any web footed Conquistadors to come calling. So Caz felt free to activate his helmet camera and slowly pan the width of the docking facility .
He was two thirds across when a procession of men appeared from a back area and headed towards an

Page 139 of 155 undersea craft that was many times larger than the toy whales he was photographing with a grin. Caz zoomed in on the two men who were not wearing uniforms, thinking that it might be of benefit to some intel geek back in Washington. In actuality, it caught the attention of someone who was a whole lot closer. “Caz, lock onto the guy with the mustache and go to maximum magnification,” O’Neil instructed. The woman ended up looking at a man’s strong Latino nose. “My mistake, back off a bit.” The diver complied and O’Neil nearly ruined an eardrum with a shout, “IT’S HIM!!” Caz dropped a few feet below the water’s surface and ask “Who’s him?” “The president of Mexico! Hey, he’s wearing handcuffs. This could explain a lot! This could explain the whole damn silly ass mess we’ve been in!” “Does this mean we don’t have to get killed?” the diver asked hopefully. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does,” stated O’Neal. “Now stop photographing your feet and get back up there. I need to see if he’s boarding the shuttle.” Caz popped back up but by that time the dock only featured the men in uniform. “Aw shit! But he MUST be on board. Why would they bring him out to the docks if they didn’t intend for him to board?” “ ”Can’t imagine,” the diver responded back under the water. “You gotta move fast. Jam your diving knife into the screw manifold, but be quick about it or you’ll likely lose your hand!” “My artificial memory tells me a manifold is part of a car,” thought Caz as he raced to the back end of the shuttle.

Page 140 of 155 Once there the diver frantically swept the stern section with his flashlight. There was a port large enough to accommodate a diving knife, but before he could thrust his blade home, the portal came alive like the prop of an old style aircraft. The screw was revolving in reverse mode to back the shuttle away from the dock. So instead of pushing water out of the portal, it was pulling water into a small chamber that served a number of purposes. “Is it really important that I stop the shuttle, O’Neil?” “Yea Caz. Top priority. You better believe it Amigo.” With a deep breath the Spaniard transferred the diving knife to his left hand and extended the blade out to meet the advancing prop housing. In an instant the knife was broken in half and a section of the propulsion screw flew out to impale itself in the diver’s hand. Swearing a blue streak in Spanish, Caz retreated away from the stern section and drifted back towards the tunnel entrance. “What is it, Caz. What’s happening?” The injured diver adjusted his camera and then photographed his hand. The piece of metal was protruding from both sides of the hand and his blood was drifting off with the current in fairly large quantities. “Alright, Caz. Try to swim to the other side of the tunnel. I’m going to back this bucket up to you so you won’t have to swim so far. When you get on I’ll take you back to the ship. Then we’ll call in the cavalry.” “Sounds better than drowning,” Caz managed to say while struggling with his pain. O’Neil had to swing her boat around in the rough current so as to present her stern to the rocky coast. In the process her passive navigational beam was turned towards the open sea, and a few seconds later she got another big surprise. “Jesus. This keeps getting better and better,” she muttered to herself. Two-thousand yards out a full sized submarine was taking up station just above the coastal shelf. Since no American sub would have been ordered into the area, O’Neal had to conclude that the sub was either Mexican or possibly Chinese.

Page 141 of 155 O’Neil let out a sigh and adjusted her headset. “Caz---there’s a sub out there. I need to notify the Gettysburg A.S.A.P. You’ll have to hang in there a bit because I can’t transmit underwater more than a couple of miles.” “No problema. I will swim out of the tunnel and up onto the shore.” The captain shook her head, “Don’t try it unless you run low on air. You barely got through the currents with a good hand, and the rocks are more dangerous up above you.” “Then you better be like a woman on the way to a shoe sale, O’Neil.” The sub driver grinned at that and put the pedal to the metal. She was in the process of being cheated out of a clean death. If all went well she would now end up drowning in her own blood in some hospital ward. But maybe---just maybe, she would be instrumental in the foiling of a heinous operation. The mini sub hurled up from the depths and broke the surface like a frolicking whale. “JS9 submersible to mother ship. Urgent message for Captain Clay.” “Stand by,” came the almost immediate response. O’Neil blew out hard. She willed herself to be calm and patient. After an eternity of two minutes Bob Clay was on the horn. Report, JS9.” “Captain Clay, you’re not going to believe this, but the president of Mexico is being held prisoner in the sub den. They intend to transfer him to a submarine which is lying off the coast. We need our ships brought in to the area right now to scare that sub off.” The captain of the utility ship exchanged brief glances with the radio operator. Neither wanted to say what they were thinking. “O’Neil, show me your oxygen meter. I’m thinking that---“

Page 142 of 155 “You’re thinking I’m delusional because of bad air,” the woman interrupted . “Well Captain, I’ll show you something more interesting than a readout dial.” Clay kept his nose glued to a cabin monitor that showed O’Neil’s every move. That was suddenly replaced by the sight of President Diego Mario Salinas. “Ah---well maybe he’s an imposter,” Clay half mumbled. “Then why is he in handcuffs?” O’Neil almost growled. “Jesus---that’s why Salinas has been so crazy. It’s not Salinas.” “Very good Robert, now will you please contact Admiral Yates and tell him to get his ships over here immediately?” “Affirmative, but they are currently outbound on a course of 330.” “Why in God’s name?” “They detected a sub.” “Well mine’s more interesting,” declared the mini sub driver. “Alright, O’Neil, I’m bringing my ship in. If they don’t use a periscope, they might mistake me for a corvette.” “Only if their sensor man got his training in the Mongolian Navy. Get Yates on the horn and tell him we need air support until they can get back here.” “It’s in the works, O’Neil, but I’m still gunna come in to help you bird dog for the pilots.” “Damn it, Captain, I need you here like I need a breast implant!” “And I’m going to be up half the night erasing locker room dialogue,” countered the other naval commander. O’Neil shook her head at the man’s recklessness and put her mini sub into a dive. She decided that the only logical thing for her to do was watch that sub as only she could do. Caz would just have to fend for himself. More than likely he would come out of this alright one way or another.

Page 143 of 155 This was true, but it didn’t make Caz’ work any less painful. He had decided to take another peek at the shuttle sub, and when he saw a diver getting ready to jump into the water, he knew that he had a bit more work to tend to in that underground cave. Caz gave the diver enough time to approach the submerged part of the vessel and attempt to figure out what the hell happened to the screw assembly. His quizzical stare kept him from detecting the diver behind him. Caz could get the man’s knife clear of it’s scabbard without the owner feeling something, but by the time the Chinese diver realized that he was being attacked, Caz had the heavy knife in his hand and his victim couldn’t do much but blow out a huge collection of noisy bubbles. “Certainly never killed a man THIS way,” Caz thought as he dragged his dying opponent to the back of the launch bay area and into the exit tunnel. All this had to be done one handed, and the pain seemed like a punishment for this recent killing. Curiously, it reminded him of the nails that were supposed to have impaled the hands of Jesus on the cross. That thought brought on many others. The alien suggested that future killings would seem more honorable to the ex conquistador. Both sides would be more equal, and both sides would fight over political issues, and not in the name of God. That was a step in the right direction, but right now Caz was a very unhappy fellow. Pain racked, dead tired and strangely alone in a nightmare world in which there would never be a true awakening. Caz warily eyed a prowling shark and asked, “O’Neil---can you hear me?” “Just barely,” came the reply. “Getting low on air. I’m going to have to try for the surface. I’m taking off my weight belt and hoping for the best. In case I don’t see you again, my son will remember you fondly.” “Without regrets, Amigo. Neither one of us was meant for a hospital bed.” Caz frowned at that. “If you will not set off that giant fire cracker, queridisima captain, then how shall you cheat your fate?”

Page 144 of 155 “Well, let’s just say that this tub I’m in has a couple of things in common with an oxygen tent.” “And what might they be?” asked the Spaniard. “O’Neil?” There was no answer. Caz sensed that the woman had turned off her communicator. A wave of grief washed over the Spaniard, and that instantly turned into anger. Fueled by his emotions he fought clear of the tunnel and shot upward toward brighter light. Five times he was smashed against nearby rocks but each blow brought him closer to a place where he could roll and finally crawl away from the surging water. An hour passed then Caz spotted an inflatable speed boat charging straight at his rocky resting place. The boat bounced and slid over the boulders and finally came to rest where the waves could do nothing but spray its single occupant. Allan Kimble trudged awkwardly over the wet rocks and approached his ally with a large bag. He was wearing a wet suit, and he looked like a different sort of man somehow. “How bad you hurt? I got morphine here if you need it?” “Oh I need it alright,” Caz responded while displaying his impaled hand. “You’re a pretty tough guy,” said Kimble as he took out a battle syringe and doped up his patient. “But then, I sort of came to that conclusion earlier.” “Don’t suppose you got a rifle in that toy boat of yours.” “As a matter of fact I do. As well as scuba gear. I’m going down to that sub den and make sure that the shuttle doesn’t get repaired before our Seals can arrive.” “You? No offense Kimble, but I this is above your pay grade.” “Yes it is,” admitted the bureaucrat, “but Captain Clay wouldn’t send any of his men, and I don’t think we should wait for the guys with the harry chests.” “So you’ll go down there alone?”

Page 145 of 155 “You know what a hero is, Longstreet? A hero is the guy who’s in the wrong place at the right time. Qualifications have nothing to do with it more often than not.” “Si, but experience is still a good thing to have when it is available.” With that the Spaniard slammed his hand down upon a large flat rock. The metal object was driver almost all the way out. Then Caz yanked out the remaining section. “Thank you for the pain killer, my friend. You spared me a great deal of yelling. Now do you have a flare?” “What do you want that for?” the agent asked with heavy suspicion. “Just get it for me, por favor.” Kimble complied and brought out his gear as well. Caz ignited the flare and let it run almost all the way out. Then he did a most remarkable and somewhat alarming thing. He stabbed himself on both sides of the injured hand for several very long seconds.” “You know, the doctors might have saved that hand if you hadn’t done that,” said Kimble. “Can’t afford anymore blood loss. I’m a bit light headed as it is.” “Well shit man---I got a battle dressing. Why didn’t you ask about a battle dressing?” “That would not work well immersed in water.” “You’re nuts. You can take the boat back to the ship if you feel up to it, but you are not going to make another dive.” The American’s throat was suddenly held in a grip of iron. “What you said about heroes my friend is also true of leaders. You do not command on this beach, because you are not stronger than I.” Once released Kimble rubbed his throat (as well as his ego) and wordlessly geared up.

Page 146 of 155 “Do not be offended,” ex conquistador said when the wait was nearly over. “I would be nothing in your Washington D.C. Here amongst the sea gulls, I out rank you for the briefest of times.” “I’m not offended,” Kimble muttered as he got to he stood poised to enter the water. “I’m just not used to being in a tough guy world.” “Well then, it is time to indoctrinate you. Vamonos.” “It is a bit disconcerting that I have to do this with a man who obviously has cultural roots with the enemy,” Kimble muttered as he struggled across the rocks in his scuba gear. “Come again?” “Nothing,” grumbled the American.

Page 147 of 155 Chapter Thirty O’Neil found the escape hatch without much difficulty. The shuttle would come to rest on the hatch, and then seal the surrounding deck area. Then when properly mated, the occupants of the shuttle would be able to transfer to the sub. That could not be allowed. But there were only two ways to keep that from happening: She could ram the shuttle as it made its approach, or she could ram the sub. The shuttle contained the president of Mexico; the real one. Therefore it had to be spared. That left the sub. She would wait until it became necessary; totally indifferent to whatever hand the fates might deal her at this time. Interestingly enough, the sub began to move closer to the shore, suggesting that the shuttle had been effectively sabotaged. That meant divers would be used to get the president out. The sub would be able to handle the strong coastal currents, but the mini sub would have one hell of a time. So the logical thing to do was to ram the sub while it was still out a ways. So she was pretty much out of time. O’Neil allowed herself just a moment of self pity. When all was said and done she really didn’t want to die. Even if there was a form of existence waiting for her beyond this life, could it compare with the challenges and accomplishments that she had been given in this world? It was a black moment that she had to get past quickly. “No oxygen tent for me,” she said in the solitude of her little cockpit. She decided to go for the control room bulkhead. Even if she didn’t breech it she would probably scare the crap out of those Chinese bubble heads and that would be as good as a bisecting. So she put the pedal to the metal once more and charged in like a modern day kamikaze. The woman’s heart beat increased with the size of the target and O’Neil allowed her mind to go blank in those few moments that were left to her. But there would be no peace for her in that final moment. A terrible force ripped her cockpit open and robbed her of the very air

Page 148 of 155 in her lungs. She was vaguely aware of the absence of water but could take no comfort in that as her senses were hammered by something that felt like a huge electric shock. Now there was no submarine, no ocean, no pain racked body that yearned for a swift and merciful end. There was only a soft whisper of consciousness that was like an unborn fetus in a womb. The Chinese sub moved off to the southwest to hide from a fleet of ships that was now turning about and would be steaming in its direction. Their mission was aborted in the face of a new and greater development. A torpedo like object had almost hit them, and at the same time a wave of energy had frozen their instrumentation for several minutes. They had to report this, even though it meant abandoning a shuttle that was supposed to carry a V.I.P. That was Admiral Huateng’s biggest miscalculation. The sub commander would have held his station and completed his mission if he had been told that Huateng and the real president of Mexico needed a ride. But as it stood, he concluded that the safety of his ship constituted first priority. So the Thrall Herder lost an important piece on his chessboard, and the tide began to turn in more ways than one.

Page 149 of 155 Chapter Thirty One Caz would never forget how clumsy and borderline comical the H.L.S. agent had looked while struggling to get into the churning water with his scuba gear and bag full of tricks. Even with a near useless hand Caz felt that he would be twice as useful as this paper pusher that had come to him out of the blue. But when they got down to where the currents could play hell with them Kimble reached into his large bag and commenced to earn his pay. He pulled out a spear gun that operated on compressed air. The projectile was attacked to a line which in turn was attached to something that Caz couldn’t quite make out. Kimble fired the gun at a rock formation that Caz had barely reached on his last effort. Kimble then signaled Caz to hold on to Kimble’s tank strap, and the two of them were towed forward by a miniature winch that took in the line. Caz had to admit he was impressed. He briefly wondered why O’Neil hadn’t provided him with such a device, not knowing that it was dropped by aircraft at Kimble’s request. Until recently Kimble had been a relatively unimportant person in the Department of Homeland Security. But when his boss found out that he was with O’Neil, that put a new wheel on the wagon. Navy Seals were on the way of course, but Jedediah Lancaster wasn’t about to tell his man Kimble that he should just make coffee in case the Seals would like some. No, Kimble was given what he wanted just as fast as the plane could get it to him, and in the meantime the paper pusher came up with a very audacious plan. Caz didn’t like it, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that the bureaucrat had more balls than he did, so for totally illogical reasons Kimble got his way. When the two divers made it back to the darkest corner of the cave, Kimble pulled an Uzi style rocket shooter out of his bag and removed it from its air tight case.

Page 150 of 155 “Good one handed weapon,” Kimble whispered as if to a green horn. Then he pulled out a full sized one for himself, and Caz noted that it had an old fashioned laser sight on it. Then they slowly made their way under the dock that held the shuttle at station. An instant later the bay water was illuminated by huge flood lights positioned under the water line. “Sure timed that well,” said Caz before obliterating a TV monitor and then opening up on the dock planking next to the shuttle. Kimble smiled in agreement and between the two of them they launched enough explosive rounds to make Swiss Cheese out of the shuttle’s dock and the boardwalk that connected it to the tunnel. Predictably, the surviving guards and dock personnel were ordered back into the tunnel, because they didn’t want a fire fight that might damage the all important fake whales that were not rocket proof. “Keep your face mask. You might be needing it along with this.” Caz was handed a miniature compressed air tank to replace the ones they had just shed. He stifled the urge to comment on Kimble’s bag and got topside as quickly as his injured hand would permit. He tensely scanned the bodies on the dock and concluded that they were probably safe to ignore. The rockets had explosive tips that rarely wounded a man. They usually blew a victim inside out and that was the end of him. So he wasted little time taking up station along the rock wall to the right of the tunnel entrance. No doubt the remaining Chinese were positioned to repel a dozen or more commandos forced to rush the tunnel. But Caz and Kimble weren’t a dozen commandos and weren’t suicidal in any case. Kimble carefully made his way from one whale toy to the next, attaching a small box like object to each outer covering. While halfway done the Chinese launched several gas grenades which would do no harm to the whales or the shuttle. Caz saluted Kimble’s busy backside and placed the bit of the air tank between his teeth. A few moments later a pair of unfortunate souls were ordered forward to do what the broken camera monitor could not. Caz dropped them both before they could get their cross hairs on the invader who’s weapon pressed flat against the wall.

Page 151 of 155 “Ok, time to reason with them!” shouted Kimble as he scrambled away from the last whale. Caz nodded and shouted, “Hey in there! You can charge out here and kill us anytime you want, but we got plastic explosives attached to your toys! Now you’re going to get captured for sure, but if you surrender President Salinas we’ll do everything we can to keep you away from a Mexican firing squad!” “That would be wonderful!” a Chinese officer shouted back, “but we don’t have the president any longer! Our master has taken him away, knowing that even though we do not wish to die, we will. Believe in two things, American! Believe in the end of the world---and believe that this rat trap has a back door!” The officer began to laugh hysterically. It was the laugh of a man who was about to die. “If he isn’t telling the truth then he belongs in Hollywood,” grumbled Caz as he backed cautiously to where he had climbed up on the boardwalk. “Our chances of getting out aren’t good, but maybe they can give us a proper burial if we can get as far as the ocean,” said Kimble while scrambling down to his scuba tank. The two men didn’t bother to shoulder their tanks, they just grabbed them and struggled to put as much water behind them as possible. When the explosion came, it was not nuclear, and it was directed mainly upward, to bring thousands of tons of rock down on some very incriminating evidence. Of course it would be dug up eventually, but Huateng the alien was gambling that most of the entire world would be buried by that time so it wouldn’t matter. The men in the water didn’t have their swim fins on but as it turned out they didn’t need them. The force of the explosion shoved them through the watery entrance with a great deal of force. It separated the men from their air supplies and effectively sealed their fates. They were two puny little land animals that could not survive with so much water shoved against them. They lost consciousness together, and drifted through the careless depths the same way.

Page 152 of 155 Chapter Thirty-Two Caz awoke in a manner that did not cause panic nor even the slightest concern. He grinned at his surroundings and then began to laugh at the wonders that just never ceased. After a few minutes the overhead transparency lifted and a stranger stepped over to greet him. “Ah---Atl?” “Not for a very long time as you well know,” responded the black man. “How the hell did you save me?” “Underwater it was easy. The Klenocks don’t monitor activities very well underwater. I have a couple of friends of yours here as well.” The alien showed Caz two additional sleeper chambers that contained both O’Neil and Kimble. “Gifts from my superior. He said that I’m going to get into the habit of taking in stray humans, I might as well be equipped for it.” “They’re going to be alright?” “Oh yes, especially the female. Good as new in a few weeks. But there’s a catch, as you humans would say.” “What’s that?” “She needs to be transported to a planet that has different microbes. I know of such a place. Very pretty really. Only question is: does she go there alone, or with a companion?” “No other humans on the planet?” “None. She could be Eve, if by chance there was an Adam.”

Page 153 of 155 Caz grinned at that for a moment, then suddenly his expression turned hard. “The Earth. Are you telling me we’re going to lose it and I’m supposed to help humanity start over again?” “Oh certainly not. Good gracious what delusions of grandeur you are having. No. Salinas was liberated by a Navy Seal team that was given just a bit of assistance by a public spirited---um-- outsider. Huateng has left the planet and hostilities between The U.S. and Mexico are over.” Caz beamed with gratitude. “You have been very busy then. For that I thank you.” “Thank Salinas. I suspect that Mexico will be giving the United States a run for its money in the near future. But it will be a friendly competition, so their won’t be any real losers.” “And what of Kimble?” “Oh he’s fine. I’m just keeping him asleep because its such a bother explaining things to humans. He’ll wake up in his wet suit on the shore and think that a friendly dolphin saved him or something.” Caz gazed at his hand which was now as good as new. “So---I have to start yet another life. This one with a fig leaf on my balls.” “I think we can do better that that, Caz. But your conquering days are definitely over.” “I never conquered anything,” mused the Spaniard, “and I’m so very happy that you were able to stop a modern day Conquistador.” “I needed time to find some of the crucial puppet strings. I also needed to wait for enough Mexicans to stand up and reject what was happening in their country. You see that’s why I volunteered to work on this planet so very long ago. You humans really do what justice, but nationalism can trip you up just a bit from time to time. Still, it’s not a bad thing really.” “Not as good as family though,” said Caz as he gazed meaningfully at a future Eve.

Page 154 of 155 Chapter Thirty Two Kimble took his seat across the table from Lancaster and waited for his boss to finish conversing with whoever was on the other end of the line. When the Bureau chief hung up he shook his head with a look of mild disapproval. “That was another one.” “Sir.” “Those little compressed air tanks that you needed. The owners don’t appreciate the fact that they didn’t get them back. I must tell you Kimble that right now you are probably one of the most despised people in Washington. Army Intelligence, The Navy, all those people who had to drop everything so that you could go on your mad adventure. Which reminds me: when did you learn to scuba dive? That’s not on your sheet.” “Crash course, sir.” “A very good way to describe your career right about now,” quipped the boss. “Sir I’m not trying to wiggle out of anything, but I couldn’t have stepped on anyone’s toes if you hadn’t backed me up. I’m not saying that anything is your fault, but you did have the option of pulling the plug on me at any time—and you didn’t.” “Yes, well we needn’t elaborate on that. Suffice it to say no one is going to have your hide hanging from their door because if it weren’t for you, a Seal team probably would have gotten blown to bits going through the front door of that cave thing. More importantly, China’s secret weapons program has suffered a major setback, and the president of Mexico is back where he belongs.”

Page 155 of 155 “Ah, sir---when you consider how much good was accomplished---I just can’t figure out why I should be in anyone’s dog house.” “Very simple Mr. Kimble. You don’t get to take credit for any of it. The Seals did all of the work and you were just a meddling little fool who got under foot.” “Does that mean I’ll have to give up my job for my country, sir?” “Would you be angry if that were the case?” “I guess not, sir. O’Neil and Longstreet gave up a hell of a lot more. I don’t suppose their bodies will ever be found.” “You’ll have to be debriefed on all of that later. But now that we’ve had our little chat, I have something to give you.” Lancaster took out a decorative wooden box and handed it to Kimble. The agent slowly opened it and received one hell of a surprise. In a felt recess there was a pistol, and it was no ordinary pistol. “Its----its an U.N.C.L.E. Special,” the agent said in awe. “Quite inferior to the modern pieces, but should you decide to carry it---I won’t say anything.” Kimble smiled while staring at the gun. This was Lancaster’s way of saying, “Well done.” “There are no U.N.C.L.E. agents,” Kimble muttered half to himself. “No there aren’t. But if there were---I think you would do a fair job of fitting in,” said the boss. Kimble stared harder at the gun, and Lancaster suppressed a smile.