The Guardian Collection (End of the Sixth Age Book 2)
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The Guardian COLLECTION
“end of the sixth age” book TWO
Bill@BillBest.net
W. Best Publishing
1114 Highway 96
Suite C-1 #120
Kathleen, GA 31047
Copyright © 2015 by Bill Best
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Bill Best
1114 Highway 96
Suite C-1 #120
Kathleen, GA 31047
Bill@BillBest.net
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2016, updated 2019, BookDesignTemplates.com
The Guardian Collection / Col Bill Best – 2nd ed.
ISBN 978-1-7321509-1-1
Dedication:
To my military brethren, on-call 24/7 to defend the United States and our allies. May God bless and protect you and your families.
To police, firemen and women, EMTs, and other first responders who also serve 24/7 to protect us, our property, and our loved ones. You are appreciated! May God bless and protect you and your families. May He grant you wisdom and discernment to correctly and safely do your jobs.
To Christian pastors, along with missionaries and those serving in parachurch ministries. You preach, teach, encourage, lead (by example), and serve in countless ways. Your impact is eternal! May God bless, anoint, strengthen, and protect you, your marriages, and your families. May God provide for you and give you discernment, wisdom, and (yes!) a sense of humor along with loads of grace and peace.
Contents
2020 - The Countdown Begins
1. TRAPPED
2. TRANSITIONS
3. PLANS
4. PREPARATIONS
5. CONFRONTATION
6. TEAM’S END
7. CONSTRAINT?
8. FINAL AFFAIRS
9. RECONSTITUTE
10. MAN MAKES HIS PLANS...
11. SELAH…
Guardian – Mach Ten
12. THE CALL
13. WE’RE GOING OPERATIONAL
14. LAUNCH!
15. PETERSON AIR FORCE BASE
16. IGNITION!
17. HYPERSONIC
18. TARGET LOCK
19. INTERCEPT
20. FALLOUT
21. JASON MATTHEWS
22. RECOVERY
23. A DIFFERENT REALITY
Guardian – Altered Reality
24. NOT GOOD
25. SLEEPLESS IN TITUSVILLE
26. SABOTAGE?
27. CONTACT
28. RESPONSE AND SECURE
29. DARK REALITIES
30. SIX MONTHS
31. ALIVE?!
32. CINDY AND TAYLOR AL-AMRIKI
33. RELOCATE
34. ON STATION
35. MAKE THEM SUFFER
36. FINAL REWARD
Guardian – System Two
37. THE GAME
38. PAST, PRESENT, AND PURPOSE
39. ALIAS
40. SHE’S ALL THAT
41. FOX
42. ENEMIES, OR…?
43. A PAWN IS LOST
44. A DEEPENING DARKNESS
45. A TIME TO REMEMBER
46. A TIME TO FORGET?
47. TRUTH
48. YOU NEED TO KNOW
49. DILEMMA
Guardian – The Reckoning
50. SUNDAY
51. MONDAY: All-Hands-on-Deck
52. GOODBYE
53. FRIDAY EVENING
54. DEEPENING DARKNESS
55. REVELATIONS
56. ATTACK!
57. REACTION
58. CONFRONTATION
59. RESOLUTION
2020 - The Countdown Begins
1. TRAPPED
Like a threatened cat, Stacey Townsend backed into a corner. Her dark eyes darted around the room, the floor, the ceiling. Her gaze always returned to the door, the only apparent way in or out of the small storage room.
The svelte woman in her early thirties would have stood to a medium five feet, six inches. But her slight crouch—her knees bent, feet shoulder-width apart with her left foot six inches forward of her right—made her appear shorter. And, gave her a fraction of a second extra time to confuse an attacker who would likely be half again her one hundred, fifty-pound weight and up to a foot taller. And if he were smart, he would not be alone.
Unlike a cat, Stacey would not act on instinct. Her enhanced intellect by now would register well above two hundred if she took the test again. Not good if you’re trying to remain inconspicuous, and “fly under the radar.” It would be like going on national TV wearing a sign, “Here I am, Jason!”
She again tried her smartphone, and as expected, had no connection to the outside world. Faraday cage, she thought. She looked around the room again. How in the world did they find me this time?
Stacey didn’t beat herself up about it. No point. If she didn’t escape, Jason and his team would do far more than beat her up. And many more people would die horrible deaths if their research continued to be unsuccessful. And if successful? Stacey shuddered. More would die. Many more.
The lovely young lady was not afraid. As dozens of scenarios and potential outcomes ran through her genetically enhanced mind, she even absent-mindedly swished a lock of her jet-black hair behind her right ear. She had faced this before and knew the exact rules by which she would live or die. And after all these years, she was prepared for either.
Years before, Stacey resolved not to use her powers for destruction unless not doing so would result in greater destruction. In this case, that exception clearly applied. She knew who would come for her. No, not by specific names, or how many. But she knew their boss. And she would rather die than be a lab animal for Jason Matthews again. And yes, she would kill if forced to do so.
Stacey arguably had the highest IQ of anyone alive in 2020. Occasionally, another unique capability manifested itself. And it was happening now. She began operating with dual streams of consciousness. Not rapidly jumping back and forth between tasks as most would describe multitasking. No, she was able to give full undivided attention to two tasks at once.
Stacey One: How will they try to subdue me? Most tranquilizers won’t work. Stun guns probably won’t. If they somehow incapacitate me and bind me with ropes or shackles, I’ll probably be able to break them. Hmm. If they’ve worked up a good profile they’d know, I’d give my life to save someone else like a young child. Would that be their play? How long would I have to interdict before they would harm him or her?
Stacey Two: Even my own biometrics equipment can’t break my cover. Except…The wedding! Just two weeks ago she attended a wedding at her church. She remembered holding the door open as the newlyweds ran to their car. Cameras – waving – YouTube – that was it. Jason’s scanning high-def images and videos for fingerprints!
The two Stacey’s came back together. I’ve got to finish the new gloves, she thought as she walked to the door. That gave her the time frame and told her that Jason’s team didn’t have time to fully prepare their trap.
She had to admit that the setup was clever. They—certainly Jason would send more than just a single person to capture her, likely well equipped and funded—they rented a corner shop. It was right along a strip she often
walked by in the morning. The door was propped open and a minivan was parked in front loaded with boxes of supplies. It gave every appearance of being set up to open a new business. As Stacey walked by, suddenly a young girl ran out of the shop and hollered for help, that her mother had passed out in a back room. Jason’s people knew from her profile that she had a tender heart and extensive medical training, and would try to help. Stacey followed the girl inside, the two of them followed by an older woman who had been sitting on a bench and reading something on her tablet.
They ran to the back of the small shop, the girl opened the door to a dark room, then she and the older woman—likely her grandmother—pulled it shut and deadbolted it. Quick, simple, away from her apartment neighbors, and early enough that no one was in the adjoining shops.
The door was solid as Stacey expected. They had replaced the regular door with a steel exterior door. If they had any sense, it would withstand a battering ram or a very determined genetically enhanced young woman. And the walls were bare, presenting nothing useful as a weapon.
Stacey nodded slowly. She knew how this would play out. And as much as she hated the thought, the reality was that one or more people would likely die today. Inside the locked room, wearing her red and white running suit to match her black hair and dark eyes, she began gentle stretching exercises…and waited.
+ + +
Jason was ecstatic. You could tell by; well, you really couldn’t tell. You knew only what he wanted you to know; no more, no less. That was part of the game he played consistently and exceptionally well.
He shook hands and congratulated the team on the successful installation of the thorium reactor on the International Space Station, just days before the aging facility would have been abandoned due to failing solar panels. He especially thanked Cliff Nesmith for his quick thinking, fabricating a critical wrench to replace one an astronaut carelessly allowed to float away during an extra vehicular activity. Cliff transmitted specs to a new generation high-speed zero-G 3-D printer delivered to the station along with the reactor. Within hours, the reactor was successfully installed using a new wrench.
Jason always remembered key people. He was a master team builder, and he had many teams. He might be able to use someone with Cliff’s talents. He made sure an aide copied down Cliff’s contact information, and the senator returned to his limo.
Building his teams was important. But he could not have cared less whether the mission succeeded or failed. It would have been fine with Jason if the entire Space Station, at least anything surviving re-entry, had slammed into LA. As a matter of fact, such a calamity might have even furthered his plans.
So, he put on a great show and made everyone—future voters—feel that they were really important. But his main takeaway was identifying another potential team member.
Still, his real excitement went much deeper. And far darker. The text was cryptic as always. He must find a better, secure way to communicate outside of normal channels. Hillary did, at least for a while, but that door slammed shut once her private servers were discovered.
The text was simple:
“Seeing the lady on her walk today. Prepared for pleasant meeting.”
Skylar always referred to Karen—regardless of whatever alias she used at the time—as “the lady.” They’d meet her away from her residence, and they were prepared and expected a good outcome. At least from their perspective.
Jason’s dark complexion lightened slightly, his typical smile seemed a little bit more sincere, and his dark eyes sparkled as he settled into the back seat. He ran a hand through his dark hair blown by the Florida breeze, fastened his seat belt, and anxiously awaited the good report he’d worked so many years to make happen.
Karen Lane Richardson would soon be back in his control, and his personally funded, highly proprietary Five Score and Ten—FSAT—project would continue.
It must continue.
+ + +
Skylar Brown never felt better. The no-nonsense African American carried his two hundred, twenty pounds of lean muscle on a stocky five foot ten-inch frame. If someone visited his small apartment outside the Washington Beltway, they’d find an impressive “I love me” room. It was filled with boxing, wrestling, and Karate trophies to show both his proficiency and enjoyment with conflict of the physical kind. There were almost as many more conquests that would never be talked about, even if the bodies were found.
Skylar was intelligent, resourceful, discreet, and Jason’s go-to man since his previous security team leader, Louis "Bull" Thatcher, took that FSAT stuff and went crazy. Skylar wanted to take Karen on. Only his fear and respect of Jason kept him from walking right in and confronting the so-called superwoman alone. So, he kept to the plan.
He paid off the child and her grandmother, recruited through contacts with known drug dealers in the area, and sent them on their way. They’d tell no one and didn’t ask any questions. Clyde drove up in the transfer van they had rented and the two men grunted as they pulled the heavy nitrogen tank out of the back and into the shop.
The men had sealed the room’s air vents when they replaced the door. There were no windows or other places for ventilation, and the large nitrogen tank would quickly displace the air in the small room. Even “superwoman” wouldn’t be at full fighting strength after four minutes of no air. And nitrogen itself isn’t toxic, so she’d wake up heavily restrained and might have a headache for a while.
Skylar and Clyde rolled the tank back to the small room.
Stacey—Karen Richardson—could hear them coming.
If Skylar had been required to submit an After-Action Report and had chosen to be brutally honest, his description of the next seconds might have gone something like this:
0740: Clyde and I approached the room carrying the nitrogen tank and the hose to run under the door. A gap at the top of the door would facilitate expelling air as the heavier nitrogen filled the room.
0740, Continued: Subject crashed through the wall approximately 32 inches from the far edge of the door, through two layers of half inch sheetrock.
0740, Continued: Subject dropped to the floor in a crouch. Before Clyde and I dropped the tank to engage, she jumped at him and landed a flying kick with her right foot against the left side of his face. The impact snapped his head back and immediately rendered him unconscious. Summary of injuries included a fractured neck vertebra, broken cheek bone, and a severe concussion.
0740, Continued: I began to engage. She landed on both feet and as I attempted a right boxing kick to her chest, she dodged quicker than any opponent I’ve ever faced. With a single kick to my left leg, she completely shattered my knee.
0740, Continued: As I collapsed, she picked me up by my right arm and leg. She raised me above her head and threw me half-way through the sheetrock wall on the other side of the door that she had gone through.
0740, Continued: I passed out, awakening later and in excruciating pain in the ER.
Lessons Learned:
Good: The room we locked her in was dark. We should have tripped the circuit breaker to keep her from turning the lights on, finding the wall studs, and then using a nail file to mark them. She ran out right between them.
Better: We should have covered the inside of the walls with floor-to-ceiling plywood, a minimum of ½ inch thickness.
Best: We should have done both and immediately gassed the room with nitrous oxide instead of nitrogen.
And we never should have given her five minutes to plan ahead.
Skylar didn’t seem to get around to writing that report. But he never forgot the shattered knee. Or that a much shorter, 150-pound woman took down both him and Clyde. In less than a minute.
2. TRANSITIONS
Karen Lane was furious as she quickly walked out of the store. She hurried back to her apartment, but not so fast as to draw any undue attention.
All her senses were operating at an unimaginable level. She walked facing oncoming traffic, and without any outward sign other than c
asually looking around, she saw every face in every car that approached her. She even saw the Lexus pass her, occupied by an attractive middle age woman who apparently wasn’t, based on a protruding Adam’s Apple and facial stubble from not shaving that morning. There were the conversations of workers installing a new underground fiber optic cable fifty yards away, and a couple arguing in a car heading past her, even with the windows shut. The noise from all the gasoline and diesel engines. Even the near-silent whine of electric vehicles. She was almost overwhelmed by radios broadcasting sports, news, and what some people called music.
Fortunately, no one heard the dialog screaming in her head:
I’ll kill him. This nightmare has to end. And if I don’t take him out who knows how many more will die!
She checked the security apps she developed for her smartphone and verified the all-clear from hidden sensors in and around her apartment. She also quickly walked around her building to make sure all appeared in order. Everything was normal as she expected. Jason would have one hundred percent of his resources focused on her take-down, not spread out between multiple locations.
I can’t believe he only sent two men…he’ll never make that mistake again. I’ve got to put him down.
Karen quickly walked into her apartment, went to the bathroom, and for the first time in decades she threw up. She was not by nature a violent woman. The few times she did fight, she literally had to. But running from evil incarnate over the years took its toll, and only a last-minute act of grace kept her from killing the men who attacked her. But Jason Matthews…
Got to focus!
She’d give herself no more than five minutes to clear out of her apartment, and three hours to leave town. She’d never be seen in Nashville as Stacey Townsend again. She executed her well-planned exit. For the many years since Jason started tracking her, she never stayed anywhere more than a year. She always paid the rent in advance, and everything she left behind would be picked up by a charity that she would choose shortly after arriving. Even the car would remain, and she’d mail the keys and title to the charity.