by Bob Mayer
Kopec nodded. “I will do my best.”
“I know you will.”
“But—“
Abaku frowned. “Yes?”
Kopec grabbed the mouse and clicked on a small box on the bottom of the screen. The image changed from numbers to a video feed of six people in a cell. There were three men and three women. Various races and ages. What they all had in common was the terrified look on their face. “The test subjects. What if it doesn’t work according to specs? What if—“
“They are in God’s hands.”
“But we devised the technology,” Kopec argued. “Doesn’t that make it our responsibility?”
“You were the one who just told me your concerns about the transmission,” Abaku pointed out. “We’ll run a test on them to make sure one last time that the project is not dangerous.” Abaku reached past Kopec and clicked on the mouse, shutting down the view of the holding cell. He nodded toward the passage on the wall. “Note that there were only eleven disciples there for our Lord’s tasking of the Great Commission. You have the honor of going after the infamous twelfth. The Great Betrayer of our Lord. Don’t you feel privileged?”
Kopec nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“If you and Father DiSalvo succeed, you will save many a considerable amount of suffering. It’s time for you to be going.”
Kopec stood up. “Thank you, Reverend.”
“Go with God,” Abaku said as Kopec left. When the younger man left the lab, Abaku spent a long time staring at the door with a troubled look on his face.
New York City
“They’re going to test the Mission again.”
Brunswick rubbed his eyes, the effort wasted on the redness that resulted from having been up all night. He looked up at Thornton who had brought this news. “Of course they’ll test it. They’re not madmen.”
“We can’t allow that,” Thornton said. “Even if the test is successful, it will be very different when they try to do it on a world-wide scale.”
Brunswick sighed but didn’t say anything. The Mission location and project had been discovered over two years ago, and Illuminati agents had done as much intelligence gathering as possible without direct confrontation with the Brotherhood. The Pax between the two groups that had existed for millennia had not been breached.
“The line between this thing sending a signal and being a weapon or simply malfunctioning is so narrow,” Thornton continued, “that I don’t think we can take a chance on it. The Brotherhood could end up killing everyone on the planet before the Intruder even hits.”
Pierce spoke for the first time. “Would that necessarily be a bad thing?”
Thornton ignored him, keeping his focus on Brunswick. “And even if the Brotherhood does send their message, it’s propaganda on a global scale.”
“And if we can’t stop or divert the Intruder?” Pierce asked. “What does it matter?”
Thornton twisted in his chair and acknowledged Pierce. “So we should do nothing? Let the Brotherhood spread their lies and manipulate people? Possibly destroy the mind of every person on the planet with their transmitter? We know the Mission is dangerous. We know the Brotherhood did test it as a weapon, besides preparing it as the vehicle for their Great Commission. The Brotherhood extends the word of God with one hand, but always remember they keep a dagger hidden in the other to slay those that oppose them.”
Brunswick still said nothing. There were reasons why the Illuminati was run by a Triumvirate. There would never be a stalemate in decision-making. A majority always ruled. Furthermore, for security reasons, the Illuminati worked in cell structures of three, branching down through the ranks. Each man in this room had three underlings, whose identity only they knew. Each underling had three under them, that only they knew, and so on all the way to the lowest levels. Thus, any member of the Illuminati could only expose themselves, the two members of their cell, and their link, either up or down. It was a tried and effective method of compartmentalization that had been used throughout the ages.
“What is the Intruder?” Pierce asked Thornton.
“What?” Thornton was confused for a moment. “It’s obviously an asteroid.”
“That appeared out of nowhere?” Pierce pressed.
“We don’t search the skies that thoroughly,” Thornton argued. “I’ve consulted with some of my best people and they say it had to have been there, coming toward us, for a long time. It just wasn’t spotted until yesterday.”
Pierce gave a wan smile. “Your best scientists, correct?”
“Who else would I ask about an object in space?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that scientists often extrapolate their results from insufficient data and then call their results facts, when they are best just guesses?”
“So you think it’s this Wormwood?” Thornton’s voice took an edge. “God’s wrath coming to punish us and separate those who believe from the rest? Perhaps we should repent our sins and be saved?”
“I’m open-minded enough to consider it a possibility.” Pierce held up a hand to forestall Thornton’s angry retort. “But, no, I don’t think it’s Wormwood as described in Revelations. I do, however, believe in God, a greater power, whatever you want to call it, but the God I believe in would not send something like Wormwood to destroy us.”
“So what do you think it is?” Thornton was not appeased.
Pierce shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“All right.” Brunswick cut in. “Let’s not get off track. We don’t have the time to sit around and have philosophical discussions.”
“I disagree,” Pierce said. “I think this is the perfect time to do exactly that. It’s something we should have done a long time ago.”
“No,” Brunswick insisted, “we don’t have the time. The priority is still to work with the confederation of nations that are trying to figure out how to stop or deflect this thing. As far as the Brotherhood and the Mission, I say we end that problem with extreme sanction.”
“I agree,” Thornton immediately said, ending the issue.
Pierce did not protest or argue, knowing there was no point.
Atlanta: The Doctor
“There is always a chance,” the short, Asian doctor said to the waiting family, much to the chagrin of his fellow surgeon. They were both dressed in their scrubs, the green material stained with sweat, an indicator of the efforts they had been exerting for the past two hours.
“Doctor Lee, with all due respect, there is no brain activity.” The other surgeon turned to the parents of the child whose body now lay on a table behind the doors the surgeons had just come out of. Parents were always the hardest. “Your son might live, in the state he is in, for years. But his brain will never come back. Even if he somehow came out of this coma, which is extremely unlikely, he will not be the person you remember. He has, and will have, no awareness.”
The husband and wife looked from one surgeon to the other, distraught and confused. It was all too sudden. They’d arrived at the hospital only thirty minutes earlier, after receiving the terrifying phone call about their son’s motorcycle accident. Until these two men dressed in green had appeared, they’d received little information from the hospital staff other than that their son had been seriously injured and was in emergency surgery.
Doctor Lee noticed the crucifix dangling from a chain around the mother’s neck. “Might I ask what your religious affiliation is?”
“Doctor Lee,” the other surgeon said in a warning tone.
“I’m Catholic,” the mother said.
“Then this is no issue,” Doctor Lee said. He leaned close, looking like he was putting a hand on her shoulder for comfort, but actually so that only the mother could hear what he was about to say. “You will be committing a mortal sin if you have the life support turned off. You will burn in hell.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw the Jesuit coming down the hallway. As the other surgeon began talking about the importance of organ donation, Lee turned and walk
ed away from the stunned woman.
“The Wrath of God,” Lee greeted Father DiSalvo.
“I am God’s Warrior,” DiSalvo acknowledged.
“I also serve God,” Lee said. When he saw the red envelope that DiSalvo had pulled out of his robe, Lee felt an electric charge pass through his body, almost orgasmic in nature. The parents, the young man still in the operating room, all were forgotten. “Finally,” Lee whispered as he took the envelope.
DiSalvo put out a hand, stopping Lee from immediately opening the envelope. “Remember, Doctor, that my mission takes priority. I will help you as much as possible, but you must remember the greater good.”
“I always answer to God,” Lee said, “and as we are God’s Wrath, I will remember my place and my task.”
Jerusalem: The Scholar
“Doctor Hyland?” The two words echoed through the stone chamber, startling the young officer who had uttered them. The way he said the name indicated he very much doubted that he had been directed to the right person by the old rabbi who’d escorted him down here. The lieutenant was dressed in full combat kit, automatic weapon slung over his shoulder, a not uncommon sight in the Old City of Jerusalem.
“I prefer ‘Professor.’”
“I need you to come with me. Immediately.”
“A ‘please’ would be polite.”
Professor Hyland slowly stood and the soldier backed up a step, surprised that he suddenly had to look up into her eyes. At four inches over six feet, Hyland was used to that reaction. She was also used to, but did not enjoy, the officer’s skepticism that she was what her title claimed. She looked like she would have been completely at home on the beach in California competing in volleyball, which was exactly what she had done while completing her dissertation. The athletic scholarship had paid for the learning, which she had considered an interesting trade-off.
She waited for the third usual reaction from men, which would be his eyes raking from her braided blonde hair down her tall, lean body, but she had to give him credit; he kept his eyes locked on hers.
“Professor Hyland,” he corrected, drawing the first word out. “Please. Would you accompany me? You have been summoned. There is a private jet waiting for you at the airport.” He held out something in his left hand.
The last word and the red envelope drew a reaction from Hyland. She had been told it might come some day, but she had never really believed it would. She took a few deep breaths. Then she grabbed the old text off the table where she had been working and tucked it into her bag.
“Arabic?” The Israeli soldier inquired, getting a glance at the leather-bound book.
“Aramaic. Seventh century.”
“You’re a historian?”
Hyland’s mind was still on the implication of the envelope. “Yes. And archeologist.”
“What were you looking for here?”
“Ever hear of the Fifth Gospel?”
“That’s New Testament, right?”
“Yes.”
“Not my religion,” the lieutenant said. He glanced at the ancient text in her arms “Are you an expert on the seventh century?” the soldier asked as they walked up the stone stairs out of the monasteries basement.
“No. It’s a historical text referring to an earlier time. It mentions the Fifth Gospel. My area of interest is the person who is supposed to have written that particular Gospel.” She could hear the sound of an idling helicopter waiting for them.
“And who might that be?”
“Judas Iscariot.”
“Him, I’ve heard of,” the lieutenant said as they exited the building.
New York City
“The Mission will be destroyed,” Thornton announced. “I’ve got Central Command out of Afghanistan moving the military forces that will be needed.”
Brunswick nodded in satisfaction, but there was no reaction from Pierce. Each had their own offices in this building from which they could control their empires. Brunswick had called the other two in for an update, of which the plan for the Brotherhood’s array on the island of Moheli in the country of Comoros was only the first part. He turned to Thornton.
“What are the options regarding the Intruder?”
“The problem is one of time,” Thornton said.
“It always is,” Pierce said.
“Scientists at Lawrence Livermore, which I own” He gave a sharp glance toward Pierce. “ave been studying the issue of comet and asteroid strikes for quite a while. Especially since ninety-four, when the comet Shoemaker-Levy hit Jupiter producing fireballs that we could see here on Earth.
“There are only two options. Vaporize it or divert it. The first is more difficult than people realize. You can’t just lob a nuke at it. Comets and asteroids, whichever this is, are very fragile. Yes, the explosion would break the object apart, but it wouldn’t vaporize it. In fact, it would simply break down one really big threat into a lot of smaller, but equally deadly threats. Instead of one major impact, we’d end up with dozens of smaller impacts that in sum would equal the single impact, but over a wider area of the planet’s surface.”
Pierce glanced at some notes inside a binder. “A proposal has been floating for several years at Livermore called the cookie cutter approach. A lattice of wires and tungsten bullets—” he paused and sighed. “There’s no point talking about something that can’t be done in the next three days.”
“What can be done in the next few days?” Brunswick asked.
“Divert the Intruder via stand-off thermo-nuclear bursts,” Thornton said. “It’s the only option given how close this thing is and how little time we have. We send a nuke up and have it explode in the vacuum of space some distance away from the Intruder. The heat from the radiation vaporizes one side of the object. Given Newton’s Third Law of Motion, every action must have an equal and opposite reaction, the asteroid should be pushed in the opposite direction from the vaporization. The standoff would keep the Intruder from breaking into smaller pieces, and give it what my people call a ‘gentle push-off.’ Because the Intruder is coming so fast and is so close, one blast won’t do it. We’ll need a sequence of blasts, one after another, each one slightly altering the Intruder’s path until it’s angled enough to bounce off the upper atmosphere.”
“How many?” Brunswick asked.
“Twenty, at least,” Thornton answered. That brought a moment of silence as all three considered the logistics involved.
“Are the assets available?” Pierce asked. “The lift capability that can be launched that quickly? I know we have enough nukes.”
“The United States has six Atlas five and four Delta four launch vehicles that can be used. The Russians have a variety of launch vehicles. NASA is still trying to get the exact number that are in working condition, but best guess right now is about ten working among their Soyuz, Zenit and Proton lifters.”
“Twenty.” Pierce did the math.
Thornton shook his. “And that’s if the numbers are right for the Russians. Their space fleet is in pretty bad shape. We doubt they can get ten off the ground in twenty-four hours, which is the limit for our launch window if we’re to catch the Intruder far enough out to make a difference.”
“So we need at least an additional five, if not more, for a little margin,” Brunswick said. “India has four GSLV—Geosynchronous Satellites Launch Vehicles—available and ready. The European Space Agency has three Ariane Five’s it says it can have ready.”
“So that’s twenty-eight, giving us room for the Russians and possible failures,” Brunswick said.
Thornton nodded. “Yes, I think we can get the launch platforms needed. But,“ he paused. “Contrary to what our companion said.” He glanced at Pierce. “The nukes are the problem.”
Pierce shook his head as he realized what the issue was. “We’d have to give India the four nuclear warheads.”
Thornton nodded. “We know India has plenty of nuclear weapons. Our best guess is somewhere between eighty and a hundred warheads. However
, they refuse to part with any of them for this. They feel doing so would make them vulnerable to Pakistan.”
Pierce leaned forward. “The world faces annihilation and they’re still worried about their petty border differences? Over terrain only a goat could live in anyway?”
“You can argue about it all you want,” Thornton said, “but it’s a real problem. Not only are the Indians insisting we give them the four nuclear warheads, there’s the issue of what happens when Pakistan realizes we did it.”
“Not an issue,” Brunswick said succinctly. “Let’s get this straight, gentlemen. We just decided to kill a bunch of people at the Mission. Yes, we’re doing it by using the US Military and through cut-outs, but the job is being put together fast and there will be loose ends. It will eventually be tracked back to us. But you know what? I don’t give a damn. Because reality dictates these things are the least of our problems. This Intruder is going to destroy Earth in less than three days. If we fail, then none of this matters. If we succeed, then we’re the saviors of mankind. There is no third option or path to worry about.” He looked at Thornton. “Pressure our people on the NSC to convince the President to send the nukes to India. Let’s get this thing rolling.”
“And if diverting it doesn’t work?” Pierce asked.
“Then it will be destroyed with the Final Option,” Brunswick said. “As it enters the atmosphere, every ICBM we have, along with the Russians’, British, and French, will be fired from every launch platform.”
“You just said that wouldn’t work,” Pierce pointed out. “It would just give us multiple strikes instead of one large strike, but the cumulative effect would be the same.”
“It’s better than doing nothing,” Brunswick said. “We’d rather go down fighting back with everything we can.”
Afghanistan: The Commando
