When Lex reached the bottom of the steps he noticed that the dog had tags on her collar. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a lighter and held it close to the dog’s collar. It took several attempts to get the lighter lit but once he did, Lex was finally able to read her name.
“Kassie,” he said, reading the name out loud. The dog’s ears immediately perked up at the sound of her name. “It’s going to be okay girl,” added Lex, more for his sake than the dogs.
In the distance he could hear the sounds of twisting metal and broken glass. He found a chair to sit in next to the far wall and Kassie sat down next to him, resting her head on his knee. Every now and again she whimpered at the sound of another loud explosion. Lex began to rub Kassie’s head, realizing it made them both feel a little better. He glanced up at the ceiling as dirt and dust came showering down on them.
Flight of the Condor
The Vanishing – Minus 24 Hours
Geneva, Switzerland
The red light at the rear end of the C-130 Hercules transport suddenly turned green; signaling Mason, code name Condor, that he was over the target. Mason’s orders were simple: break into the office of the United Nations Secretary General, steal information from his computer and then escape without getting caught. He’d carried out similar stealth missions in the past with great success and this one shouldn’t be any different.
Michael Mason, a covert agent for the CIA, was on a mission ordered by the President of the United States. He normally didn’t receive orders directly from the President; therefore he knew this mission was somehow different. As a seasoned agent in his mid-forties, Mason was beginning to feel his age, yet he still knew how to handle himself better than anyone else in the agency. He stood six feet tall and had a lean strong body, forged by obsession and years of hard work.
Mason kissed the photo of his family, which he held clenched in his fist, and then slipped it into the pocket of his jumpsuit. Standing up from his seat, he slid his helmet over his head and then took several steps toward the rear of the plane. In full gear, Mason looked more like a scuba diver than a skydiver and the equipment strapped to his back nearly doubled his weight. The tailgate of the aircraft slowly began to open, allowing the roar of cold air to rush into the belly of the plane. As Mason approached the opening, he could feel the cold suction, as it tugged at his body trying to pull him out.
He quickly checked all of his gear before finally stepping out onto the rear ramp. Cruising at an altitude of thirty-two thousand feet, he was about to jump out into what was known as the dead zone. The air up here was so thin that he had to wear an oxygen mask to breathe, but a Halo jump was the best way to avoid detection. Mason stepped up to the edge and in one fluid motion pitched forward, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
As he fell, with his back toward the earth below, Mason could see the underbelly of the C-130 Hercules, as the tailgate closed and it veered off, returning to its home base. He rolled forward and then arched his back so that he was now facing down. As he dove through the night sky, he admired a nearby flock of seagulls soaring above fluffy, white clouds. Entering into a cloud formation, Mason breathed in slowly on the oxygen mask and kept a close eye on his altimeter.
When Mason finally dropped out of the clouds a moment later, he was able to see the lights of Geneva, Switzerland. In the darkness below, the glow from the city was majestic. Mason glanced once again at his altimeter; the needle read fifteen thousand feet and dropping. At his current rate of speed, agent Condor was descending at over a thousand feet every seven seconds. He checked his location on the electronic map attached to the inside of his forearm; he was right on target. Mason could see dozens of century-old trees standing in the park below along with his objective. The United Nations in Geneva, located on the picturesque Ariana Estate, had a first-class view of the Swiss Alps and Lake Geneva.
Plummeting toward the ground at over two hundred miles per hour, the only sound Mason could hear was the never ending roar of wind, as it lashed against his face and hands. When his altimeter hit five thousand feet, Mason reached down with his left hand and pulled the rip cord, deploying a black parachute. He felt a violent, whiplash jerk as his speed suddenly slowed to around twenty five miles per hour. He steered the parachute directly toward the Palace of Nations using the two toggles. Gliding onto the roof, he pulled down on the toggles to slow his approach.
Fortunately, the entire building had been designed with a flat roof, making it ideal for a smooth landing. The roof’s many cameras did not worry Mason because he’d been briefed on their exact locations. Once his feet were safely on the roof, Mason pressed a button on his chest, which automatically pulled the parachute back into the pocket of his backpack. He quickly removed the pack and left it there on the roof, along with his helmet and oxygen tanks.
Dressed in black from head to toe and carrying a long, black rope, slung over his shoulder, Mason slowly began making his way across the roof, strategically avoiding the cameras. He’d landed on the far end of E-Building, which held conference rooms below, and would now have to make his way across to the far end, where the delegate’s private chambers were located.
In a crouched run, Mason crossed over a narrow walkway and onto the roof of the library. He turned right and then left onto the assembly hall, where much of the art and sculptures were on display below. Mason quickly crossed the Swiss Lounge and made his way onto the roof of the council chamber.
Once there, he fastened one end of the rope to a large backup generator, opened a large air-conditioning vent, and dropped the other end down the vent. Mason then lowered himself carefully into the vent, feet first. He started climbing down the rope to the second floor, where he left the rope and began slithering through an air ventilation shaft on his stomach. Mason stopped several times to glance at the electronic navigational system attached to his arm.
When he’d finally reached the correct vent opening, the light on Mason’s navigation unit began to blink red, notifying him that he was in the right spot. He opened the vent and slowly lowered himself down into the private chambers below. When his feet were on the plush carpet, Mason looked around and found himself standing in the office of the Secretary General. Even though the room was dark, he could sense its lavishness; from the dark red curtains hanging in the window, to the globe and mini-bar full of crystal and expensive liquor, encompassing a full corner of the grand office.
After a quick glance around the room, Mason walked straight toward the desk and the computer that sat on it. From his pocket, he withdrew a small flash drive and plugged it into the USB port. Mason watched a little red light began to blink rapidly, as the device copied the computer’s hard-drive. The entire process took less than ten minutes. When the download was complete, Mason returned the flash drive to his pocket and hurried back toward the air vent.
Jumping up and grabbing hold of the edge, Mason quickly pulled himself through the opening. He then slithered back in the same direction from which he’d come and climbed the rope back up to the roof. He was climbing out of the vent and onto the roof when suddenly an alarm began to sound, followed by flashing lights. Mason immediately started to run toward the front of the building and the assembly hall. As he ran, he began to wonder if this had been a set up all along. He didn’t make mistakes and he’d planned this job very carefully.
As Mason approached the edge of the building, he began unsnapping buttons on either side of his jumpsuit. He spread out his arms and legs and then leapt from the edge. From over six stories high, Mason soared off the roof and into the air. Wind immediately filled the outstretched flaps of his birdman suit, as he glided safely over the parking area and landed on the street, in front of the Palace of Nations. Mason hit the ground running, on either side of him was a row of flag poles, each one hanging a different member countries’ flag.
United Nation police officers immediately gave chase and were closing in on Mason. As he reached the end of the drive, he could hear the sound of them shouting
and shooting in his direction. Mason spun around and dropped to one knee, firing several rapid shots in the direction of the men pursuing him. Suddenly a black sedan with dark tinted windows came screeching to a stop, just inches from where Mason knelt. The passenger door swung open and Mason immediately dove in head first. Tires squealed loudly, as the car sped away into the night, with Mason and the flash drive safely onboard.
A Day like Any Other
The Vanishing – Day 1
Clearview, Nevada
The day had begun like any other day; Shiloh Evans awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. As usual, he’d fallen asleep on the living room sofa. Ever since the accident he hadn’t been able to sleep in his own bed, or any bed in the house for that matter. Yawning and stretching, Shiloh sat up on the couch and looked around. He scratched his head and glanced at his wristwatch. It was half past ten in the morning.
Shiloh slowly stood up from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen where he made some toast and a strong pot of coffee. While eating, he remembered the way his wife, Sheila, used to prepare his meals. He’d been on his own now for over six months. The days of a large family breakfast with eggs, bacon, hotcakes and fresh orange juice, felt like a distant memory.
At six foot three inches tall and 205 pounds, Shiloh looked quite-the-sight standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but boxers. His dirty blonde hair was ruffled and shaggy. He had dark bronze skin that complimented his physique and, what were now, very serious steel-blue eyes. Shiloh stood there chewing on a bite of toast and gazing out the window at his land, with a solemn look on his face. The ranch had slowly fallen into disrepair over the past few months. Part of this was because he’d dismissed all of his help except for one, his foreman, Alfonso Cortez.
Alfonso, a small Mexican man in his mid-sixties with soulful brown eyes and salt and pepper hair, was having a hard time tending all of the cattle and horses by himself. Shiloh’s his heart just wasn’t in the ranch or much of anything anymore. He was drinking and sleeping more, but talking and eating less. Often he would disappear out on the range for days at a time, never telling Alfonso where he went. The old man worried about Shiloh but he knew not to bring it up. There was nothing that anyone could say and talking about it would just rub salt in the wound.
At first, Alfonso thought Shiloh was finally getting back in the saddle and repairing fences around the range or checking up on the cattle. He’d often watched as Shiloh headed out onto the range in his truck, carrying loads of lumber, only to return with an empty truck bed. After riding the range, it soon became clear to Alfonso that no fences had been mended, and there was no sign of the lumber that Shiloh had been hauling out for the last few months.
Shiloh watched out the window while Alfonso went about his daily chores. When he’d finished eating his toast, Shiloh gulped down the remainder of his coffee, cursing when it burned the inside of his mouth. He walked back into the living room and gathered his t-shirt and jeans from the previous day. They lay crumpled in a pile on the floor, next to the couch where he’d slept.
As Shiloh sniffed both items, his nose curled up at the scent of stale sweat, radiating from his shirt. He walked into the bathroom and tossed the shirt into the hamper, which was already overflowing with dirty clothes. It had been months since he’d washed any laundry, or done any cleaning for that matter.
After a moment of searching through his closet, Shiloh found some clean clothes to wear. He pulled a red, long sleeve shirt with blue trim over his head and put on a fresh pair of boxers and socks. Then he slipped into his jeans, after deciding that they were still clean enough to wear. Now fully dressed, Shiloh turned and walked back through the kitchen.
He grabbed a water bottle out of the refrigerator, before putting on a corduroy jacket, and then walked outside. Standing for a moment outside on the porch, he once again yawned and stretched his arms. The winter air felt cool and crisp, as a gentle breeze blew down from the snowcapped Sierra Nevada Mountains, bringing with it the sweet fragrance of pine trees. Shiloh noticed puddles of water throughout the yard and could still smell fresh rain lingering in the air.
“Buenos Dias,” yelled Alfonso, when he saw Shiloh standing alone on the porch.
“Good morning Alfonso,” Shiloh called back, as he watched the old man brush a mare that he’d brought into the corral. He laughed when Alfonso offered the horse some water from the hose, only to have half of it sprayed onto his blue jean jacket. After a moment, Alfonso covered his eyes to shade them from the sun and looked south down the dirt road leading up to the house.
Shiloh instinctively followed Alonso’s gaze and saw a lone man walking toward them. The man wore a white robe, the bottom of which was covered in dust and dirt, and in his hand he carried a long wooden staff. He had a long white beard that matched the hair on his head and he appeared older in age. That is until he had drawn closer. His skin was dark bronze but did not appear wrinkled and his kind, blue eyes were sharp and clear. Shiloh thought it odd that the man wore no coat on such a cold winter’s day.
“Good morning,” called Shiloh, when the man was within ear shot. “What brings you out this way stranger?”
“Good morning, may I have some water please?” asked the man, as he gazed into Shiloh’s eyes.
“Of course,” replied Shiloh, descending the steps between the stranger and himself. “My name is Shiloh Evans, what’s yours?”
“Gabriel,” answered the stranger softly.
“Where are you headed Gabriel?”
“Wherever I am commanded.” A twinkle of delight sparkled in his eyes, as he examined Shiloh with a curious look.
Shiloh didn’t know what to make of Gabriel; he had the look and confidence of a wise old man, yet the strength and vigor of a man in his youth. He reminded Shiloh of Michelangelo’s painting the Last Judgment. He’d seen the Sistine Chapel while traveling through Europe and the awesome power of the image had haunted him ever since.
Shiloh turned his attention back to Alfonso who was standing in the corral, watching with much interest. “Alfonso,” he called out, “will you give this man something to eat and drink please?”
“Si Señor Evans,” answered Alfonso.
“Well Gabriel,” said Shiloh, returning his attention to the strange looking man standing before him, “go on inside and make yourself comfortable. Alfonso will get ya anything you need.”
With that, Shiloh turned and walked toward his truck, which was parked near the barn. He was going to head into to town today to pick up some more lumber and supplies. Shiloh was aware that Alfonso had been very curious as to what he was building, but he just wasn’t ready to share it with anyone yet. Depression had set in deep ever since he’d lost his family and Shiloh’s secret project was the only thing that kept his mind occupied. It was his only reason and motivation to get out of bed each day.
Shiloh tossed the thermos of water on the passenger seat of his baby blue ‘58’ Chevy Apache and climbed into the truck. The vehicle had been modified with a twelve inch lift and had large tires. Shiloh turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. As he sped out of the drive, kicking up dust and dirt in his departure, he saw Alfonso and Gabriel ascending the porch steps together. In the rearview mirror, Shiloh watched as Gabriel stopped at the top of the steps and turned to stare after him.
“What a peculiar man,” thought Shiloh, as he drove away.
Cat and Mouse
The Vanishing – Day 1
Chicago, Illinois
Several hours before witnessing the O’Malley’s vanish; Lex was working the crowd at Union Station in downtown Chicago. His profession was that of a swindler or conman and the train station had always proven to be a lucrative location to practice his trade. No job was too small or too large. Lex was always keeping an eye out for the next opportunity, and on this day, one fell right into his lap. Although, he still wasn’t quite sure about what he’d taken or if it was even valuable.
Lex was sitting on a be
nch in the station, watching as passengers hurried this way and that to catch their train ride home, when he noticed a man in a long, grey trench coat carrying a small black briefcase. It was not the case that caught Lex’s attention, but the man himself. He was behaving so peculiar that it was hard not to notice him. The man appeared pale and sweaty, almost as though he were about to have a panic attack; and his eyes kept shifting from person-to-person. It was almost as though he was expecting someone in the crowd to jump out and seize him, but he didn’t seem to know where or who the attack would come from.
Lex watched as the man walked over to a wall of green lockers. After selecting one, he began to fumble with the lock and a moment passed before he was finally able to open it. He quickly placed the black briefcase that he carried inside the locker and then withdrew an identical one from within. He closed the locker, and after a quick and frightened glance around, turned and headed back in the direction from which he’d come.
Lex was tempted to follow the man but instead decided to remain where he was. He pretended to read his newspaper, while watching the locker out of the corner of his eye. About ten minutes passed before his patience was rewarded with the arrival of a second man. This guy was taller than the first and seemed much more calm and reserved. He too wore a trench coat, only his was black. Lex watched as the man approached the very same locker and opened it swiftly. He reached inside and withdrew the briefcase that the previous man had left in the exchange, closed the locker, and then walked off in the opposite direction. Lex had an eerie feeling that this man had been in the station from the beginning, waiting and watching, as the first guy made the switch.
The Vanishing (The End of Time Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
