Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “Jack, I’m not getting the best feeling here,” Everett said, reaching behind him and making sure the nine-millimeter he carried in the waistband of his jeans was still in place.

  “Definitely overkill for a large sandbox,” Jack said as he watched two more guards exit the largest of the six Quonset huts. “I figure they have the facilities for over a hundred men. Complete with a self-contained mess hall, and God knows what else. Will, get the parabolic mike out and let’s see if we can eavesdrop on one of these good ol’ boys and see what nationality they are, because they sure as hell aren’t Ecuadorian.” Jack handed the glasses over to Everett.

  As Carl zoomed in on the first set of guards he saw that one had blond hair and the other red. He turned the glass 100 degrees to the right and saw a second set of security men as they waved at the first and then said something he couldn’t hear.

  Mendenhall placed a set of headphones on his ears and pointed a short, very slim black microphone down into the compound. He adjusted the sensitivity when the words the guards were saying almost shattered his hearing. He then turned the set to external application and the words came out clear so the others could hear.

  As they listened, they heard the first set discussing the horrid lunch they had just finished and that the second set of guards had that to look forward to.

  “American,” Jack said. “At least the one on the left, maybe from Georgia, I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah,” said Everett, as he eyed the guards. “The blond-haired gentleman may be from the south too—south Berlin. What we have here, Colonel, is a multinational security concern, heavily armed and looking like they mean business. There is no way we get in there.” Everett turned on Jack with a smile. “Unless you’re feeling brazen today.”

  Jack took the glasses and scanned the interior again. “I am indeed feeling brazen, Mr. Everett,” he said, and turned the glasses on the large main gate and the guard shack beside it. “Shall we pay them a visit?” He reached into the back of his shirt and pulled out his own nine-millimeter. He handed it to Ryan as he continued to look at the gate. Everett followed suit with his own weapon and Mendenhall accepted it, shaking his head.

  “Why don’t we give you a lift in something more comfortable than your rental car?”

  Jack and Everett turned at the sound of the voice. A small man in tan work clothes and five others in immaculately pressed gray uniforms stood just on the other side of their Yugo. They had very lethal-looking AK-47s leveled at the four of them.

  “Hi,” Jack said.

  “Hello,” the small man said in German-accented English. “I predict you are going to tell me that you are four American tourists lost in the foothills of the Andes?” The small man gestured about the wilderness area and then came forward, as did his men.

  “Boy, this guy’s good,” Everett said. “You get lost tourists all the time out here, then?”

  The small man removed the set of headphones and parabolic microphone from Will’s grip.

  “Ah, but none so well equipped as you. Listening to the local wildlife as you try to find out where you made your wrong turn?”

  “Silly hobby, I know,” Jack said. “If you can just show us on our rent-a-car map here where we went wrong, we’ll get out of your hair.”

  The man nodded at two of the guards and they stepped around the Yugo, deftly removing the four weapons that were being held by Ryan and Mendenhall.

  “You know it is illegal in Ecuador to carry concealed weapons?”

  “But they weren’t concealed,” Everett said. “Our two friends had them right out in the open.” Everett’s eyes moved from guard to guard. They didn’t have much chance of escaping without being cut to pieces.

  “You know, half of my men here at the Müeller and Santiago Mining Concern are American, but after all of the years I’ve spent with them, I have yet to understand American bravado when you’re caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. Is it to cover your fear or are you just that stupid in not knowing when you have been caught.” The man shook his head. “I suppose it would be too much to ask if you have passports on your persons.”

  “Damn, I told you we forgot something,” Everett said, looking at Jack.

  The small man smiled and stepped as close to Everett and Collins as he could get. “To save us all a bit of time here, gentlemen, I will inform you that all private aircraft coming into Quito are thoroughly researched and checked out. It has been that way for over sixty-five years. You see, we like to know who’s visiting our friends the Ecuadorians, and when an aircraft with registry numbers identifying it as part of the United States Air Force inventory lands in this country, we become concerned not only for our friends but for ourselves as well. Imagine our surprise when the occupants of that aircraft just happen to be found on our security cameras zigzagging their way onto our property.”

  “Well, we can always zigzag our asses right back out of here,” Collins said smiling.

  “That you can, but I think we should escort you to our facilities and have a small chat. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same to you—” Jack started to say.

  “Oh, but I insist. There’s lunch in it for you. Today is Salisbury steak day.”

  “Then how can we say no?” Collins smiled at his three companions, then gestured toward the small man. “After you, Herr…?”

  The man’s smile never wavered. “We’ll save introductions for later. We have so much time to get acquainted.”

  “What about our car?” Ryan said as one of the larger guards took him by the arm.

  The small man looked from Ryan to the Yugo, and then he broke out in laughter.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll post a twenty-four-hour guard on your rental car. After all, its value is obvious.”

  “You’d better, pal,” Ryan said, as he was shoved none too gently into the back of the car. “I signed for that piece of shit.”

  From CNN World News

  The reporter stood on the deck of the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R91). The wind tore at his clothing and styled hair:

  “As the flagship of the French navy, the Charles de Gaulle is better protected than any other warship steaming from a European port. The great vessel has been moving at flank speed for the east coast of South America since the early hours yesterday.” The camera pulled back to show six enormous tarp- and plastic-covered cylindrical objects. “Her task is to deliver the component parts for two Ariane 7 rockets and their corresponding top secret payloads. It has been speculated among the world’s topmost intelligence agencies that an attempt is underway by not only the European Space Agency but also by the Russian Federal Space Agency and the China National Space Administration, or CNSA, to reach the surface of the Moon in a cooperative venture to find out the root cause for yesterday’s high-yield explosion at Shackleton Crater. While the United States has fervently denied any wrongdoing, it has become apparent that they have not joined in this effort to reach the lunar surface, and many in the international community are asking, why? This is Frank Dance, reporting from the deck of the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle somewhere in the central Atlantic Ocean, for CNN.”

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  The Reverend Rawlins closed his eyes, but this time he couldn’t contain the explosion that traveled from the pit of his stomach to his temples. He angrily threw the remote control for his television hard against the expensive high definition screen, cracking the plastic and sending shards of the remote control outward like shrapnel from a grenade. Rawlins stood and paced to the large window of his office in downtown Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the Hollywood Hills and the late afternoon sun playing off of the city’s many billboards. He calmly ran a hand through his silverish hair and then took three deep breaths.

  As Rawlins moved to his desk, he straightened his blue silk tie and made sure his white vest was pulled taut over his muscled abdomen. He hit the intercom on his switchboard.

&nb
sp; “Tom, have you reached Mr. Smith?” he asked, in a far calmer voice than he felt he could muster at that moment.

  “Yes, sir. He is on line one.”

  “Is the line secure?” he asked, looking down at his left hand and examining his manicured fingernails.

  “Yes, Reverend. All lines were swept this morning and there were no compromises.”

  Without saying anything to his assistant, he reached over and hit the first flashing button on the console.

  “May I assume you have seen the news reports coming out of Europe and Asia, Mr. Smith?”

  “Yes, sir, I have. While the reports from Europe involving the ESA and the Russians are worrisome, they are not yet as worrisome as the developments in China.”

  “Meaning?”

  “As I have explained to you many times, we can get to the European agencies and stop their launches. We cannot, however, do the same in China. We have no assets there, therefore we cannot stop them from attempting a Moon shot if they so desire.”

  “You told me, Mr. Smith, that you have the assets to stop them,” Rawlins asked, feeling his temper start to get the best of him once again. “What happened to those?”

  “And I do have solutions to these problems. But as I explained to you, the cost in human assets and monetary losses would be extraordinary if we have to strike at China.”

  “Cost is not my concern. I can outspend most nations. These blasphemers must not be allowed to bring back any evidence from the Moon. Am I making myself clear on this?”

  His eyes flared, as though reflecting the fire of some burning bush.

  DARPA SCIENCE OFFICES, ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

  The director of the agency sat at his desk and read the letter Niles Compton had delivered to him. Next to Niles, Lieutenant Sarah McIntire and Deputy Director Virginia Pollock stood silently watching to see Jensen Appleby’s expression when he saw the signature at the bottom of the White House stationery. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “Bullshit,” he said, surprising Sarah and Virginia. Niles, however, seemed to take the anger and the rebuke of the president’s letter in stride; he simply smiled. Sarah figured Niles had gone through this before. And ever since his seven-hour meeting with the president the previous night, he seemed extra tense, so the smile gave her some relief. “I don’t know you. And your credentials, which you refuse to show me, would more than likely prove to be as false as this forged document.” Appleby punched a button on his phone. “Get me a security team in here, ASAP.”

  Niles looked over at Virginia and Sarah and shook his head as he pulled out a cell phone and opened it. He hit only one button and then closed it just as the security team arrived. As the first man reached out to take Niles by the arm, Compton held his right index finger into the air, and then pointed at the phone on the desktop of Director Appleby—the phone buzzed.

  Appleby hit the intercom to his outer office. “Yes,” he said, while eyeing the small man in the black jacket and plain white shirt who wore his thick glasses down toward the end of his nose. Then his eyes turned to the two striking women next to him.

  “Uh, sir, the White House switchboard is calling; the president has asked to speak with you.”

  Suddenly the blood drained from the man’s face as he swallowed. He had just been cursing the president in the last few weeks for cutting his budget and that of NASA. He was wondering now if he had heard about his bashing and had sent these three here to collect his scalp. He slowly lifted the phone from the cradle.

  “Appleby,” he said meekly into the phone, as he held his left hand up to stay the security team from removing Niles, Sarah, and Virginia from his office. As the thin man with the lab coat listened to the president, he nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Appleby punched a button and laid the phone back in the cradle. Then he nodded for the security team to leave by moving his eyes toward the door. The speakerphone came to life.

  “Mr. Compton, I owe you five dollars, you were right, he didn’t believe the letter or the signature. I’ve got to stop betting with you. Mr. Appleby is now a believer and has recognized my voice, although he will undoubtedly run a trace program for further confirmation when no one is looking.”

  Niles took a step toward the desk. “Yes, sir, I’m sure he will,” he said softly as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose and stepped back.

  “Okay, Mr. Appleby. Dr. Compton and the two fine scientists in his company are there to evaluate any and all contingency plans DARPA may have on the boards for getting to the Moon in one hell of a hurry. If you remember the security briefing you attended at the Pentagon three years ago, you may recall the password Case Blue?”

  Neither Sarah nor Virginia had thought that still more blood could drain from the scientist’s face, but it did. Whatever that code name was it had scared the hell out of the director of the agency.

  “Dr. Compton and his two assistants are to be given every consideration, and hold nothing back from them. If there is something on the boards, explain it to these three. I don’t care if it’s something your people have doodled out on the toilet wall, show it to them. At the moment, the general public and the world think that the United States is out of the investigation that is to take place on the Moon’s surface; I want it to stay that way for the time being. Do you understand everything that I have said, Mr. Appleby?”

  “Yes, sir, full cooperation. However, may I ask just who these people are, and just what are their qualifications to be in our facility?”

  “Now you see, Director Appleby, that’s a good, sound question, and in answer I’ll say, no, you may not ask. Dr. Compton has been designated by me as a project director for findings on how we get to the Moon, and will lead any effort in this endeavor, if there is an effort. Now, is there anything more?”

  “Sir, this Case Blue, is it really—”

  “Have a good day, Mr. Director.” The line went dead and Appleby slowly reached out and disconnected his end with the question officially unasked.

  “He can be a bully; I actually think he enjoys it at times.”

  Virginia and Sarah looked at Niles and saw that it wasn’t the president that had enjoyed being a bully, but Niles. They saw the quick little smirk that disappeared from his face before they could fully realize it had been there.

  “Well, if the president says you’re qualified to be here, then you must be up on your Astro-Sciences and Gaming.”

  “Yes, I believe between the three of us we won’t make complete fools of ourselves with your staff,” Niles said, nodding toward Sarah and Virginia.

  As Appleby gathered his notepad, Sarah leaned in toward Niles.

  “Director, if I may ask, what is Case Blue?”

  “Lieutenant, as long as you live, don’t you ever say those words aloud to anyone,” Niles warned. “There are only a hundred men and women across the entire globe that know what that code name is for, so forget you ever heard it.” Niles kept his eyes on Sarah until she felt intimidated enough that she just nodded her head.

  Director Appleby walked to the door and held it open for his guests.

  “Then I guess we’ll start with any questions you may have about DARPA. I’ll answer them the best I can on our way to Building 11 for a tour of our Industrial Necromancy Division.”

  “Excuse me?” Virginia said.

  “It’s a place where dreams come true, Ms. Pollock—heavy metal dreams.”

  * * *

  As Niles, Virginia, and Sarah toured Building 11, they marveled at the mock-ups and engineering models they examined. There were seventeen different kinds of space vehicles that utilized everything from solid fuel to ion pulse generators for propulsion. There were over one hundred different companies currently bidding on the new Mars lander and environmental habitat and, best of all, there were full-scale mock-ups of the newest Ares I and Ares V rockets along with an Orion crew capsule from the Constellation program, which had just been canceled by the president. These were to have been used to return not only Americans, but also m
any other nations back to the Moon.

  “Mr. Appleby, do we have anything that is real here, or are we becoming the world’s best dreamers and toy makers?”

  Niles cringed at the harsh way Virginia stated her question. As for himself, he would have tried to use a little more tact, but Virginia had her way and that’s why she was with him.

  “Ms. Pollock,” Appleby said, rounding on her as men and women from DARPA’s Industrial Necromancy Division stood and wondered what was happening. “I assure you these are not toys. With less than a full year’s warning, we have companies out there ready to get started on these so-called dreams. In less than two or three years, with the right budget, we can have men back on the Moon not only for a few days but for longer, very much longer, durations.”

  “Mr. Appleby, you fail to understand, we may have to go back now,” Niles said. “If we lag behind, the Russians or Chinese will get there first. Then they could have a substance that makes plutonium look like Silly Putty. May I also remind you that there has been a discovery of advanced weaponry found at that same location that we hope went up in the Shackleton explosion, but if it didn’t it will set the United States back three hundred years or more in technology if somebody else gets to it first. You can see why the president is so concerned. He knows he may have made a foolish mistake by trying to be fiscally responsible in cutting your budget, but tell me who could have foreseen this happening? There are other areas of the military that the president has to concentrate on that have nothing to do with fighting our fellow man.” Niles refused to look away after the harsh rebuke.

  “That does not change the fact that we are nowhere near to getting there, even if…”

  The three visitors watched Appleby’s expression change as if a sudden gust of wind had blown away all previous thought.