I told them everything I’d learned from Yuri Rolgavitch and made sure they were all keyed into the mission intel channel. We all wore Google Scout glasses, which were something developed exclusively for the DMS by one of Church’s friends in the industry. They were several steps above standard night-vision. We could switch to thermal scans and cycle through ultraviolet and infrared. And we could get hard data projected onto one lens. We all still wore small tactical computers strapped to our forearms. Especially for a job like this where we are making it up as we go, there’s never “too much” when it comes to access to fresh intel. I was about to begin mapping out our approach when Bug contacted us.
“Cowboy,” he said quickly, sounding stressed, “we picked up a police call for Rolgavitch Technologies.”
“Yuri woke up pretty quick,” I said.
“No,” said Bug. “Yuri Rolgavitch is dead.”
“Bullshit. I darted him with horsey, and we checked ahead of time to make sure he wasn’t allergic to any of the components. No way that killed—”
“Cowboy,” Bug cut in, “Rolgavitch called the police to say he’d been robbed, but when they arrived he attacked them with a golf club. Beat one cop’s head in. Killed him … and then another officer shot him.”
“What?” I demanded.
“Yeah, death by cop. He also started a fire in his office and half the building is burning.”
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
THE HANGAR
FLOYD BENNETT FIELD
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
“So what do these Reptilians want?” asked Doc.
Junie was busy refilling their teacups and took a moment with that. She brought the cups back and sat again. “Here’s the central problem with the UFO conspiracy world. A lot of people—the majority of all people on Earth, by the way—believe that we have been visited by alien races. Now, most reasonable people, when they see a strange light in the sky, may think ‘Okay, that’s a UFO,’ but their default opinion is that it is precisely that. An unidentified flying object. A smaller percentage will assume that any UFO is automatically of alien origin. An even smaller group will make snap judgments—based on whatever underpins their own belief systems—that they may be from this world or that. Often that depends on the shape or movements of the observed craft. And then we get down to those people who see a UFO, decide it is alien, and then purport to know the planet of origin, the nature of the species, and the details of their agenda.”
“The aluminum-foil-hat crowd,” suggested Doc, but Junie shook her head.
“You’ll be on safer ground,” she said, “if you don’t leap to dismissive judgments. Some of them may be right. We don’t know for sure that they’re wrong. After all, some of them were right about aliens when the scientific world tended to dismiss it out of hand. I am proof that some of those people were right, can we agree on that?”
“Very reluctantly,” sighed Doc.
“Okay, but here’s the thing—I have proof. My DNA has been sequenced, as has that of Prospero Bell and Erasmus Tull, the only two people we have definitively established to have come from the same breeding program as me. Tull worked as a Closer for M3 and Prospero built God Machines.”
Doc sipped the hot tea and winced, but it was likely not because of any burn.
“So, given that I am actually part alien, and was raised by people who were building craft based on recovered alien technology, yet none of them—not one—knew who actually built the machines, where they came from, or why they came at all. We are completely in the dark. In fact, I’ve never seen a photograph of any of the original crew of the crashed vehicles. If Howard Shelton or the other governors of M3 ever did, it was not recorded in the Majestic Black Book.”
“So … they could have been reptiles?”
“Yes,” said Junie. “And the Closers who Joe and his guys dealt with on the road in Maryland bled green.”
Doc drank her tea and stared at Junie for a long, long time.
“Okay,” she said weakly, “what else can you tell me?”
Junie thought about it. “Well … I read the field report Top filed. He said there was a distinct green color in the explosion on the road. And we know from Washington that the God Machines exploded with a green fireball.”
“Yes. So?”
Junie blew across her cup and peered at Doc. “What do you know about Lemurian crystal?”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
PUSHKIN DYNAMICS
VOSTOCHNY DISTRICT
RUSSIA
Bug shifted to the mission at hand.
“Well,” he said, “it looks pretty ordinary from the outside, but it’s not. First off, they have too large a facility for the amount of product they sell, at least according to their balance sheets. Maybe forty percent of the factory and staff would be needed for what they pay taxes on. I can back that up with utility usage, too. They’re using way too much electricity and water, so figure they have at least double the staff running twice as many machines, and they have too many trucks going in and out. And there is a big shipping bay on one side, but in back there’s a garage for buses. Why have buses unless they’re bringing in more staff than they have on the books?”
“Understood. So, what else are they making?”
“We still don’t know that,” admitted Bug. “Companies in the competitive electronics market are usually filing patents every five minutes. Pushkin was, too, but there’s been a slowdown on that recently, which is weird, because everyone else in their field is speeding up that process. Tech changes so fast that you have to innovate and rush new models or products into production in order to survive. Pushkin is doing well financially, but I don’t like the fact that they’re not filing enough patents. And they’re sure as heck being cagey with internal discussions on new R and D. They’re being really, really careful, Cowboy, because there’s nothing about what they are really doing stored on their company hard drives. Probably using intranet computers with no exterior hardlines. So, what we need are samples, photos, scans, and anything on their computers.”
“Hooah,” I said, and everyone nodded.
“Oh, and since we don’t know what’s in there, Doc wants you to use rad scan and BAMS.”
“Copy that,” I said. “Do we have an eye in the sky yet?”
“We haven’t had enough time to retask a satellite,” said Bug, “so you have to use your drones. I arranged for a couple of the big eagle drones to do a flyover, and they picked up ten thermals. Pushkin’s pay records account for that many nighttime security guards, so that’s kosher at least.”
“Ten guards are a lot for overnight security,” said Tate. “Place this size would only need two, maybe three.”
“Right,” agreed Bug, “so why they need ten guys is one more oddball thing. The total effect is giving me the wiggins. Anyway, I sent a basic floor plan of the building and security data to your team. I suggest you put some pigeons on the roof to watch the parking lot. I hacked local law enforcement and sent you patrol patterns. They never seem to enter the parking lot of the place, though, so they must have been told not to. That says something.”
“Okay, Bug. Thanks. Keep digging.”
The news about Rolgavitch twisted inside my head, and I could feel the depression gnawing at the edges of my mind. Maybe it was Auntie and D.J. and Sam. Maybe it was all the dead Americans in D.C. Maybe it was the fact that the DMS and I had been outed on the news. I don’t know, but I felt like I needed a week of extra-long sessions on Rudy’s couch. Or maybe to go skydiving without a chute.
I stopped when that thought flitted past. Ghost growled very softly, but no one else except me heard it.
“It’s okay, boy,” I said to him, and offered my hand for him to sniff. He did, but that still didn’t change the way he looked at me. Top gave me a curious look, too, as if he read my mood. Wouldn’t surprise me if he could. He was that sharp.
“Huddle up,” I said, and as they gathered around I opened my laptop and called up a schematic of th
e building. “Two-story building with basement. No windows, no skylight. What we know about the insides are only what was on the original construction blueprints and reports from city inspectors.”
“Can we count on any of that being accurate?” asked Cole.
“Doubtful. We’ll bring a bunch of houseflies and let them map the place once we’re inside.”
Houseflies were small sensor drones closer in size to bumblebees. They could travel solo or in swarms, transmitting telemetry to the computers we all wore on our wrists. Those, in turn, fed the data to the TOC.
“Bottom line is that we’re not sure of anything,” I said. “We’re here to gather intel, get all possible information, and get out without making a fuss. Top, you and Cole go in through the loading bay. Tate and Bunny, go in through the east-side door, which looks like offices. Ghost and I will take the front and see if we can find the computer room. Smith, you walk the perimeter. Stay out of sight and be ready to come in if any team needs extra muscle. Duffy, find an elevated shooting position that covers the parking lot and front door. Combat call signs from here out. This is a soft infil, so we go in quiet as church mice. Don’t break anything unless you have to.”
“Rules of engagement if things go south?” asked Top; mostly asking because he wanted the team to hear it and have those rules reinforced. He never stopped teaching.
“Weapons slung except for dart guns. Even so, we don’t fire first,” I said. “Those guards may be innocent working stiffs and, if so, they don’t need to get hurt. But if you are fired upon and cannot retreat without engaging, then do what you need to do in order to save your lives and the lives of the rest of the team. We all go in and we all come out.”
“Hooah,” they said softly.
I looked at their faces. Seeing strength, resolve, and confidence, but also some fear and uncertainty. It is a mistake to forget that soldiers, even top-flight special operators, are human. Just as it’s a mistake for them to forget it, too.
“Now hear this,” I said, “Coffey and Darth Sidious, this is your first field op, but it’s not the first time you’ve been in the shit. You were cops and your records speak to your courage and professionalism under fire. You’re here because you’ve both demonstrated superior skills. You got gold stars from Top Sims, and believe me when I tell you that he is a hard sell. Remember your training, trust your instincts, trust to knowledge rather than assumptions, and be the elite operators I know you are.”
Tate and Smith said, “Hooah.” There was no high-fiving or trash talk. This was a moment for sober understanding, clearheadedness, and resolve.
“Then let’s roll,” I said.
And so we rolled.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
THE HANGAR
FLOYD BENNETT FIELD
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
“Lemurian crystal?” echoed Doc. “Never heard of it. But don’t tell me you want me to believe in the lost continent of Lemuria. What’s next? Atlantis?”
“No,” said Junie. “Look, Atlantis was almost certainly the Minoan culture, and what’s left of it is probably Santorini and some smaller islands. That’s not where I’m going with this. In the areas where Atlantis and Lemuria were thought—by some—to have existed, there have been artifacts found made from a very specific kind of green quartz crystal.”
“From Lemuria?”
“No. Just listen, okay?” Junie explained about the two types of quartz labeled as Lemurian crystal, and how the much rarer green variety was tied to the ancient Roman festival of Lumeralia. “The Romans performed rites on the fetish items they carved, and these rites were intended to activate some kind of power. In the texts they called it summoning or invoking, and they believed the activation called a demon or god to inhabit the stones. Now, I don’t believe that’s what happened, but there may be a hint in there, an echo of what really happened. The story has it that these Lemurian crystals were part of an altar, and if the pieces were assembled the correct way it opened a doorway to the realm of gods. Opened the wrong way, it opened to a world of demons and evil.”
Doc Holliday tried to keep a disbelieving smile on her face, but as Junie spoke, it cracked and fell away. “Lordy, I see where you’re going with this,” conceded Doc. “Kind of like what Prospero Bell’s dadgum God Machine was supposed to do.”
“Right. From what I’ve been able to piece together, the ancients knew how to assemble a completely crystalline version of the God Machine. Maybe it’s an older technology from before the earliest machine ages, or maybe it’s simply a similar design with a different purpose. We don’t know.”
“The machine Joe saw was metal.”
“Right, but with green crystals inlaid. Possibly a third design, possibly a Russian redesign … I don’t know. What I do know is that in all of the old legends and histories, those crystals are not natural to our world, but were part of some kind of technology brought here by—”
“Let me guess … little green men.”
“Big green men. Yes. The Reptilians,” said Junie.
Doc suddenly stiffened, squeezed her eyes shut, and slapped her own forehead. “Junie, you may be as crazy as a box of frogs, but here I am being one fry short of a Happy Meal. Why didn’t I see it when you said it?”
“What?”
“You done said it yourself, about how the Romans who were exposed to the activated green crystals ran wild? Ran wild … how?”
Junie’s eyes were filled with strange lights. “If the rituals of proper handling were not followed to the letter, some people would run mad and kill their own families, slaughter whole villages, and often kill themselves.”
“Riiiiight. Now … what does that sound like?”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
PUSHKIN DYNAMICS
VOSTOCHNY DISTRICT
RUSSIA
Once Duffy was in place, and Smith was spooking his way around the perimeter, the rest of Echo Team moved out, running low and fast. The fact that all the video cameras were hacked was not an invitation to be clumsy or incautious.
The first two teams split off and vanished. I knelt in place and covered them until everyone was in position, then Ghost and I ran for the front door. The lock was expensive and trustworthy by ordinary standards, with a keypad and a card-swipe. I smiled, feeling almost nostalgic for quaint stuff like that. It’s adorable. I tapped my earbud.
“Bug—”
“On it.” Without me having to touch anything, the little red lights on the keypad flicked to green and I heard the door click open.
“Thank you, Thing,” I said in my best Gomez Addams voice. Bug laughed, because Gomez sounds a lot like Rudy Sanchez.
There was a short entrance hall inside, with an umbrella stand, time clock, various official certificates on the wall, and doors leading to an empty conference room, a broom closet, a secretary’s office, and a set of stairs. I swept the area for motion sensors, found none, and shook a bunch of housefly drones out and let them buzz their merry way throughout the building. A built-in reconnaissance program coordinated the swarm’s dispersal pattern with the floor plan of the building. Got to love twenty-first-century mad science.
The new DMS policy was that if anyone else had the same toys, Mr. Church made sure to give us next year’s stuff. He had a lot of “friends in the industry” dedicated to making sure we would never be outfoxed again. At least not by technology. And Doc Holliday was right there with him, upping the game in a lot of truly disturbing ways. Disturbing for people we don’t like, I mean. Personally, I found it all on the comforting side of creepy.
Ghost and I took the stairs, moving without sound in the empty building. The lack of noise bothered me on a weird level and I had to fight to keep myself focused. Made me wonder if I wasn’t beginning to manifest a little PTSD. If so, the timing really blew.
“Bug to Cowboy,” came the quiet voice in my ear. “I’m still picking up the energetic signature from that green crystal gun. Have you found more of it or is that thing still with
you?”
The hall was empty, so I risked a response. “With me.”
“It’s messing with your suit’s telemetry.”
The new combat rig for Echo Team includes a fully integrated tactical telemetric netting sewn into our clothes. What that means in human language is that there are hundreds of tiny sensors in every part of our clothing and equipment. It hot-links to all of the other sensors and to our forearm computers so that we are both gathering information through those sensors and being fed real-time data. And we each wore special contact lenses that gave us a virtual reality display of information that ranged from facial recognition to a mission clock to technical readouts. It’s all very science fictiony and I felt a bit like a horse’s ass with it running. The trick is to not let yourself be distracted by the available data.
“Messing with the telemetry how?” I asked.
“Weakening the signal on your vitals. Suggest using a Faraday bag.”
“Why? It’s broken and it doesn’t have any electronics that I can see.”
“The interference started when you took it from the safe, and it’s getting stronger, so humor me, okay?”
“Yes, mother,” I said with bad grace. “Wait one.”
Faraday bags were an invention by the late Dr. William Hu, former director of the DMS Integrated Sciences Division and Doc Holliday’s predecessor. The one into which I placed the green crystal gun was a heavy plastic envelope veined with a wire mesh that nullified all electronic signals. I mostly used them to disguise my own electronic gizmos when traveling commercial, because they won’t register at all, even in a metal detector; but the bag also kept high-tech surveillance devices from transmitting signals. As I sealed the bag I felt a shiver whip through me. It was so fast and intense that I nearly cried out. Ghost came to point and stared fixedly at me, then he came closer and pushed his head against my hand. It surprised me, but I ran my fingers through his white fur.
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