The Twelve Stones

by RJ Johnson

  Omar checked his scopes one final time for any infra-red signatures inside. Satisfied they were alone, he waved his fingers forward, giving the order to breach the house.

  Four men lightly ran up the front steps, their heavy boots surprisingly making no noise over the wooden deck. The first to reach the front door withdrew a tiny lockpick set and began working on the door. The three other sentinels stood behind him, watching his back, the infrared cameras around their eyes brightening the neighborhood around them. It was a pitch-black night, but the equipment Kline bought was the best, and for the men wearing their NVG's (Night Vision Goggles), it might as well have been noon.

  Geoffrey shifted his weight uncomfortably. What was taking them so long?

  As if they had overheard his thoughts, the door to Alex’s childhood home opened, and the four mercenaries entered, intent on killing anyone that might be inside. They crept through the house, searching thoroughly through each room, until each man had cleared his area. After a few moments, it was clear that no one was home, and the Commander waved Geoffrey in.

  Geoffrey peered inside, watching the team remove their night vision goggles and turn on lights. He began to wander aimlessly at first through the house, fingering random family photos, inspecting the furniture. He walked to the refrigerator, opened it, and after seeing nothing interesting inside, closed it.

  He walked back into the living room. “Commander, I want you and your men to set up a perimeter. Be prepared for anyone that might be coming.”

  Omar nodded and began issuing orders into his throat microphone. Geoffrey turned and walked upstairs to the master bedroom, where he began to toss through the papers located on the large hideaway desk in the corner.

  Digging through the files in the cabinet, he found what he was looking for, his heart sinking as he looked at it. It was a birth certificate. Looking at the date, the ages were close enough to fit.

  “A father-son outing?” Geoffrey mused to himself. Flipping open his PDA, he typed in the name and social security number printed on the birth certificate. He sent the text before closing the phone and sliding it back into his pocket. It was amazing how easy technology made his job nowadays. With the right contacts, and a decent signal, you could find out all you wanted to with just a name and social security number. Shoot, even a photo was enough nowadays. Given a few more details, it was possible Geoffrey could unlock the man’s entire life and make it a living hell.

  He grinned to himself; the secret price for all of life’s conveniences was privacy. Some people didn’t even realize how much they gave up about themselves online, making jobs like his even easier.

  The phone buzzed. Geoffrey tapped it, bringing up the background check on his subject. Instant access, Geoffrey thought to himself as he read the file. He loved the future.

  His name was Alex McCray, born September 19, 1981 in Del Mar, California. He was raised in the public school system, getting above-average grades throughout his entire schooling career. In the third grade, his mother died in an accident, killed by a reckless hit-and-run driver. Receiving a huge settlement from the insurance company, Alex and his father moved up to the mountains.

  After graduating high school, Alex attended Stanford University, where he graduated with a B average. Clearly, life was about to settle down for Alex McCray.

  The first thing to strike him was how ordinary the first part of his file seemed. There was nothing interesting or unique about this young man in the slightest. Nothing to indicate he knew how to take down a helicopter, anyway. Geoffrey, frustrated, pawed through the files, skimming them with his finger. He almost missed reading the last item on the file.

  After graduating from Stanford, Alex McCray had purchased a house and signed up for the Armed Forces. Two weeks into his training, he was killed in a training accident. He hadn’t looked where he was going on base, and had been hit by a truck.

  Alarm bells rang in his head. This was the type of information he was looking for, and it was not good news. He knew that Alex had handled the situation entirely too well to have been a simple civilian. However, this boy was supposed to be dead, which meant Geoffrey was back to square one.

  He shook his head, momentarily allowing the anger he felt at himself surface. “Photos! Albums, yearbooks! I want everything!” Geoffrey snapped to the men milling around the house.

  Omar glanced to his side, seeing a picture frame with three men standing in it. “Here’s one,” he called out, tossing the frame to Geoffrey from across the room.

  Geoffrey snatched it away looking at the picture. Two of them were the men from the desert. The old man that owned this house. A younger man, unfamiliar to Geoffrey, wearing a high school graduation robe and hat. The third, also wearing robes, was the young man he was after.

  Geoffrey removed the frame, dropping it to the floor, letting the glass crash to the ground, as he flipped over the photo. The caption on the other side read: Alex McCray and Scott Ermy, ready to take on the world. Class of 1999.

  After a short search through the rest of the bedrooms in the house, he found more family photos.

  Looking around the small bedroom, he spotted what he was looking for almost immediately. Four high school yearbooks lined the upper shelf, dated from 1995 to 1999. Grabbing the Class of 1999 from the bookshelf, he looked over the cover, from which two hundred high school seniors looked back up at him. Opening it, he ran his fingers across the names, looking for Alex McCray. Finding the name, he moved to the photo and he shook his head. The picture was old, but there was little doubt that the boy in the photo was the man that had killed five of his men, and crashed Kline’s helicopter into the desert floor. He was alive, and Alex McCray was his name. With the Army’s claim of “killed on base,” the whole thing was beginning to add up.

  Geoffrey smiled, relieved at what he was finding. This was an enemy he could understand. A man stuck in deep black bag cover? Geoffrey understood these sorts of men. Flipping through some more pages, he looked at the various names on the page.

  Finding the second name on the photo – Scott Ermy — he moved his finger and found the picture of some poor kid with some incredible dental headgear. Geoffrey chuckled at the kid. That had to be the biggest geek he’d ever seen.

  “The only thing missing is a Star Trek uniform…” Geoffrey chuckled to himself.

  Turning, Geoffrey looked at the other boxes that neatly lined the packed room. Going through a few, he found a few more interesting items.

  The first was a Christmas Card dated six years ago, announcing that Alex and Emily were sending “12 Days of Happiness and Holiday Cheer” to all their friends and family, with a picture of a cute couple. The man Geoffrey instantly recognized as being the man from the desert. The woman was beautiful, long dark hair, lying in thick curls down her neck and shoulders. Geoffrey smiled at her, wondering who she was. He looked on the inside of the card:

  Two years later and we’re still giving each other grief. Thanks, Pops, for all the help. Underneath this was signed, Alex.

  Another message, on the opposite side of the card was written in the flowing script of a female, careful with her delivery:

  Ted,

  Thank you for all the help you’ve given me and Alex over the years. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s been, knowing that I can count on you always. Thank you for your son, your love, and allowing me in your life.

  Love always,

  Emily Harper

  Geoffrey smiled and tucked the card away in his coat pocket, making a mental note to follow up on it later.

  The next item was a graduation card, left in the pile. Geoffrey picked it up and opened the card, reading the inscription inside.

  Well Alex, we made it through all four years without being trash canned or swirlied once! So now you’re up on teaching me how to get chicks at Stanford. Class of ’99 Rules!!”

  Geoffrey rolled his eyes and continued reading.

  In all seriousness, I want you to know you’re my best friend in the
entire world, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. We’re going to Stanford, we’re going to kick some ass, and we’re gonna save the world someday, you and me. I only hope I don’t have to move around too much. – Scott

  Geoffrey nodded thoughtfully. This wasn’t your normal, ‘Have a cool summer!’ type of signing that most people left in other’s yearbooks. This was true friendship. He strode out into the hall, all business, the team looking up as he walked into the living room.

  “Get me all the information you can find on Scott Ermy, graduated 1999, Onyx High School,” he growled to the man standing outside. It was a long shot, but every black bag operative he knew had a go-to guy in case everything went FUBAR. It wasn’t the greatest lead, but he wasn’t about to let Alex McCray slip away again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  For the first five minutes in the ride over to the lab, Scott wasn’t sure who would say the first word. Alex was lost in thought and deep within his own head. Scott decided now might not be the time for interrogation about his whereabouts for the last six years.

  Instead, Scott regaled Alex with heroic tales of his graduate work at Stanford, first on dark matter, and now more recently, the new Mission to Mars Program. NASA had set a landing date of 2020, and Scott had been put in charge of creating the kinds of equipment the two friends used to read about in comic books.

  Alex listened politely and murmured encouraging words at the appropriate intervals, but his mind was miles away. Images of the past few hours were flashing through his mind, a fast-forward horror show. It started with his father’s murder, and ending with him killing again, something he had sworn he would never do.

  Clutching the stone in his hand, he unconsciously rubbed it urgently with his thumb. The stone began to glow pleasantly, and Alex’s mind calmed somewhat. Things weren’t that bad; he had a friend he could trust, and as a bonus, Scott was one of the smartest men he had ever known. Plus his friend would walk through fire with Alex if he asked, and it was with that realization Alex that smiled. He was beginning to like his odds.

  Returning to the present moment, Alex forced himself to pay attention to his friend once again. Scott was proud of the work he was doing with NASA at JPL — plus it was all top-secret stuff Alex was sure he wasn’t cleared for. It didn’t matter; it felt good to have his friend next to him chattering away.

  “…because of that, I’ve managed to combine the energy from both microwave and sound technology, into a…” Scott paused, checking his blind spot as he moved to the right hand lane of the 210 freeway approaching the exit towards NASA’s premiere science laboratory on the West Coast. “…into this-this…amazing tool that I think has real implications for both mining here on Earth and on Mars. I mean, this baby really shows how far we’ve come from rubbing sticks together to get fire.”

  “Unbelievable,” Alex’s eyes widened as he forced himself to look interested, or at least, like he had been listening the entire time. “You really can do that stuff?”

  “Make fire?” Scott was confused, “No, no, you’ll see once we get there!” Scott’s broad grin made it hard for Alex to admit that he had been blissfully unaware of Scott’s entire lecture. It was probably best that way, Alex thought to himself.

  Scott flipped his blinker on as he exited the freeway, tapping his brakes slightly in deference to the red stoplight ahead. Scott leaned forward, hoisting his small frame up to look past the hood of his car and see if the other lanes were clear. Seeing no one, Scott turned right off the freeway, rolling quickly through the red stoplight.

  “Oh, California rolls, how I’ve missed you,” Alex lamented, as his friend turned the steering wheel straight again rolling down the road.

  Scott smiled, “There are certain advantages to living here, I suppose.”

  “Including the super-hot-model-like women surrounding you everywhere?” Alex asked with a wry grin. He knew Scott sometimes came off like a nerd, but the kid had discovered a natural well of charisma in college that the women swooned over.

  Scott stared straight ahead, his lips betraying only the slightest smile.

  The levity was short lived, however. Scott’s eyes narrowed, and his smile disappeared, as they approached the guard shack. The light was on, and a lanky Hispanic man was in the booth reading.

  “Dammit,” Scott whispered to himself as he frantically began looking through his pockets.

  “What is it?” Alex asked, alerted at Scott’s tone.

  “I left my pass in my car at home.” Scott double checked his pockets, his heart sinking in his chest. He was sure of it.

  “We’re not getting in without that pass,” Scott said flatly. “I’m sorry, buddy. I totally screwed up.”

  “Stop it,” Alex replied, “I’m the one who didn’t want to leave the Suburban at your place. There might’ve been another tracker on here that I didn’t know about and it would’ve led Kline and his men straight to you. That’s the last thing I want. I need you here, close, where I know I can keep you alive and safe with the Stone here.” Alex paused, rubbing the stone as he talked, “Kline’s already shown me that he doesn’t care who gets in his way.”

  Alex patted his friend on the shoulder. “Relax; we’ll get past the guard.”

  “I’m in awe of your mighty soothsaying,” Scott intoned dramatically. “What, pray tell, does the mighty Alexadamus see next for him and his faithful companion?”

  Alex’s brow furrowed as he struggled to think. “You don’t know the guy? What about all that Scott™ brand charm we’ve heard so much about?”

  Scott smiled at the compliment, reveling in it for a moment, before coming back to the conversation. “No, the rules are for real. They worry about international spies and stuff.”

  Alex’s right eyebrow rose. “You’re serious?”

  Offended, but trying hard not to show it, Scott replied instantly. “Well sure, we do have some super-top-secret stuff here.”

  Alex waved his hand over the valley that JPL rested in. “It’s not like you’ve got guard towers and sniper positions here. I mean, from what I can see — and I’ll be honest here; I’ve done this for a living — your security setup sucks. I mean, you’ve got what, an aging guard with a security cap and a radio?” Alex waved out his arms mockingly, “Woooo, back off, Chinese ninja spies…”

  Scott was angry; his friend was defiling his institution. “I will admit, our security system lacks a little…” he cleared his throat, “…pizzazz, but, you’re just not seeing the cool stuff.”

  Alex looked skeptical at his friend, “Cool stuff?”

  Scott stopped the truck and opened up his window.

  “Gimme your bottled water.”

  Alex clutched his water protectively. Scott grew impatient, and stuck his hand out again. “Gimme the water bottle. We’ve got more in the back. Just…come on, I need something with a little heft in it.”

  Confused, but curious, Alex handed him the water bottle. Scott pointed at a fence several yards away.

  “See that fence?” Scott asked as he opened his door stepping out to get a better angle. Alex nodded, interested to see what happened next.

  Scott casually tossed the water bottle over the fence. Alex’s eyes followed it as it arced up towards the top.

  Before it got on the other side, it caught in mid air, hanging as a brilliant blue crackle exploded from the top of the fence. The bottle instantly exploded, drops of water raining down on the neatly maintained grass below.

  “That’s why we’re not hopping the fence.”

  Scott smiled at Alex’s white face. He jumped back into the truck closing the door gently to avoid alerting the security guard a few hundred yards down the road.

  “All right, so we’re not going over the fence.” Alex decided. He closed his eyes and began to think. This is supposed to be my specialty, and I’ve got nothing. Alex was tired, and it was affecting his abilities and judgment. The road behind him had been long enough, and the last twenty four hours hadn’t been much better.
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  “I’ve got it,” Scott said suddenly. He pushed the heavy truck into gear, the tires spinning as they frantically tried to respond to Scott’s acceleration.

  Alex’s eyes opened and he looked at his friend confused, “What…?”

  “Just keep it quiet. I’ll do all the talking.” Scott smiled. “You’re about to see that Scott Brand Charm™ in action.” He slowed the truck, flashing the bright lights on the truck to alert the guard to his approach. “Do not indulge more than twice a day, or else be subject to all sorts of awesome side effects.”

  Carl Jimenez, the security guard, looked up from his Maxim magazine at the approaching vehicle. His nights were generally long and uneventful, to say the least. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena California was the preeminent science facilities for space exploration. Even with all the exciting science going on inside, and even with the institution’s 24-hour schedule, there were few latecomers at this hour.

  Not many things made Carl nervous about this job. He was in the middle of the ‘burbs of Los Angeles. It was about as safe as a job could get, but one truly never knew.

  The academic world had developed into one that thrived on competition. Many scientists were often working on similar projects at the same time, and they all wanted to be first to publish verifiable results, all for the glory of being immortalized in history with greats like Einstein, Bohr, and Newton.

  That was the interesting dichotomy about science; many of the greatest breakthroughs mankind made while attempting to understand their place in the universe often came as a result of collaborations. In a “publish or perish” world, sharing research with colleagues was discouraged, and for good reason. It could sink your chances at being first. Many labs, both private and government-controlled, had become incredibly suspicious of visitors to their lab; some even had stricter security protocols than Fort Knox. NASA’s JPL was no exception.