“Do you know what became of Mr. Smyth?” she asked, more out of curiosity than any professional purpose.
“He had a heart attack the day we arrived. It just so happened to be his birthday. But some might have said the guilt killed him — or maybe he simply accepted it was time for the truth to come out.”
The Secretary of Defense said, “Yeah, well I’ll admit that what happened was awful, but I still don’t believe it gives them the right to their Independence.”
Sam looked out at the ocean, the freedom of the waves, and smiled. “On that subject, you know who else is going to apply for their independence?”
“Yes, I’ve already heard. The new government of the 8th Continent.”
Sam grinned. “You know they’re going to achieve it, too… don’t you?”
“Yeah, that one can’t be helped. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the British want to argue that it was traditionally one of their own colonies.”
Sam laughed. “How do you figure that one?”
“What? Why not? The 8th Continent was once part of the Australian Continent.”
“More than fifty thousand years ago.”
“I don’t know. Queen Elizabeth is weakening in her old age, but at her peak she never would have let one of her colonies escape.”
Sam smiled. “Was there anything else you called about, Madam Secretary?”
“Yes. You will be happy to know Alicia Yeager woke up.”
“Who?”
“Alicia Yeager. She was the woman you found on board the Carpe Diem. She was treated for acute radiation sickness. There was concern she wasn’t going to wake up. But she did.”
“How is she?”
“She’s been better. She would like to thank you for saving her life.”
Sam smiled. “I’m glad she’s okay.”
The Secretary of Defense ended the call.
A few minutes later he received another phone call.
He answered it on the third ring. It was a number he didn’t recognize.
But he recognized the soft Kansas accent of the woman on the other end. “Hello,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Sam Reilly.”
“Sam will do fine, ma’am.”
“All right, Sam. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re the fine young woman I met in the 8th Continent.”
“That’s right, although I don’t know how accurate the young woman part is.”
Sam let her comment slide.
She continued. “I’ve called to say thank you for your help. We’re making an official attempt at our Independence now that the previously ruling class have… how should I put it… abdicated their positions.”
Sam smiled. “My connections tell me that you killed the previous leader.”
“No. I deny that emphatically. We had the Gifted One — those who you call Master Builders — who managed the Summer Quadrant held under house arrest, nothing more.”
“So what happened to him?”
“One of the other Master Builders killed him.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. I’m told their entire race is dying out and they were worried about losing some of their most hidden secrets.”
“You might be right.”
“Anyway. I have a meeting in Washington to seek support and to discuss how we move forward with this thing…”
Sam asked, “You’re going to be the President?”
“Goodness no. I’m afraid I’m passed that time in my life, but I would like to support the people of the 8th Continent. Their progress has been withheld for too many years.”
Sam looked out at the rolling waves. “Let me know when you come to Washington. I don’t know if there’s all that much I can do to help your cause, but I’d like to meet up. Nothing inappropriate. Coffee or lunch or something. I’d just like to hear your stories.”
“All right, I would like that.”
“Oh, and Amelia…”
“Yes, Sam?” she replied without challenging him.
“I was serious when I said that I had been enamored with you since I was young boy.”
There was silence of the phone.
Amelia’s voice softened. “Mr. Reilly, are you flirting with me?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Because, despite what I might look like, I’m old enough to be your great grandmother.”
Sam laughed. “You don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
“Yeah, well I sure feel a lot older.”
“Good bye, Amelia.”
“Good bye, Mr. Reilly.”
Epilogue
His assistant said, “I’m afraid we’ve lost Excalibur.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed. “Good God! Are you certain?”
“The evidence is compelling.”
“But we shut down the project in 2011. Excalibur was to be put down.”
“He was, but there was a complication.”
Dexter nodded. “I remember. The vessel he was being transported on sank.”
His assistant raised his eyebrows. “Yes. The report suggested a fire. But my guess is that Excalibur was behind it.”
“You’re kidding. He was sedated and restrained.”
“What did you think he was going to do? He knew he was being sent to his execution. You didn’t think he would let that happen so easily?”
Dexter nodded. “Sure, but the ship sank in the end. There were no survivors.”
“You’re forgetting Excalibur was one hell of a swimmer.”
“Sure, but out there in the middle of the ocean. How long could he have survived?”
“Long enough to reach the Oregon Coast.”
Dexter coughed. “You mean, as in the US West Coast?”
His assistant crossed his armed. “Afraid so.”
“That can’t be an accident.”
“No. It would appear not.”
Dexter picked up the report and fingered through the notes. “What’s he doing there?”
His assistant met his eye. “You know what he’s doing there.”
Dexter nodded. Breathing heavily. “Have you contacted Dr. Peterson, to warn him?”
“Yes.”
Dexter raised his eyebrows. “How did he take that?”
“How do you think he took that? What would you do if you discovered Excalibur had survived and was spotted on his way to find you?”
“I’d run.”
“Exactly.”
“Did he?” Dexter asked, his voice almost hopeful.
His assistant remained silent for a moment. “No. Dr. Patterson said there was nowhere on Earth he would ever be safe while Excalibur was alive. Better that he bunkers down at his place, and roll the dice. Live or die. There’s a team of US Rangers — Delta Force I believe — on their way now to help.”
“Did you tell them what they’re up against?” There was an urgency in Dexter’s voice.
“Of course I did.”
“And?”
His assistant placed the palms of his hands skyward. “They didn’t believe me. How could they? If the roles were reversed, would you?”
Dexter thought about that for a second. His shoulders slumped forward. “No.”
“That’s right. And now they’re flying into a trap.”
“How many men?”
“Twenty. Two choppers. Two teams. They might be enough.”
Dexter expelled a deep breath of air. “God help them. They have no idea what they’re up against.”
His assistant’s cell phone rang. It made him jump with a start. He answered it on the second ring. “Yes?”
His assistant listened for a while. His face turning ashen gray. Finally he said, “Yes, I understand.”