The tires squealed as the truck accelerated backwards and swung around, enraged Saudis hurling themselves clear as Ethan shoved the transmission into drive and Lopez once again accelerated. A hail of debris crashed down across the shattered windscreen from the Saudis in front of the vehicle as they threw what they held in their hands at the vehicle and then hurled themselves clear.
The truck blasted through the compound gates and swung hard left as Lopez aimed the vehicle away from the crowd. Ethan got himself a brief glimpse through the rear view window of streams of high pressure water blasting into the crowd and sending civilians reeling aside in the bright sunshine as the Saudi troops finally began moving in.
‘That bastard Assim set us up,’ Lopez snarled as she drove. ‘Those guards made sure that we were a target before they took off.’
‘We’ve got to assume Majestic Twelve are already on to us,’ Ethan agreed. ‘Huck Seavers must be in their pocket in one way or another, maybe over those mining rights.’
‘Seavers isn’t going to let us anywhere near him now,’ Lopez pointed out. ‘Our best bet is to get the hell out of Saudi Arabia before somebody torches our asses.’
Ethan looked over his shoulder and saw in the distance against the desert skyline a faint smear of dirty brown smoke against the perfect blue sky.
‘They’ve got Amber.’
‘Huck will offer her a deal!’ Lopez snapped. ‘Just like he did with us, except I hope that she has the brains to take it and run.’
‘I think we both know that she won’t do that.’
‘Then she’s as insane as her father and … ’
Ethan saw the sedan at the same time as Lopez did, just as it smashed into the front fender of their truck and sent it spinning to one side. Ethan’s head smacked into the window beside him with a deep thump and he saw Lopez’s hair flying under the impact as the truck’s tires screeched and it span across the road.
A second vehicle hit them from behind, impact cushions bursting into Ethan’s face from the dashboard to absorb the blows as the engine cut out amid a cloud of dirty smoke that spilled across the windscreen as the truck hit the sidewalk and came to a halt.
Ethan fumbled for the door handle but he could not focus, his head swimming and his fingers numb. A twist of nausea poisoned his innards as he tried to get out of the truck. He reached out again for the handle but it was suddenly pulled from of his sight.
The door swung open and hands grabbed for Ethan. He pushed out and tried to swing a punch at the masked man looming before him, but his arm felt like rubber and he almost fell out of the car. The smell of burning oil stung his nostrils and he heard shouts in Arabic, sharp and staccato like gunfire as he was dragged out into the heat.
He squinted in the brilliant sunlight and just had time to see the dusty canvass sack that was rammed down onto his head as something hard clubbed across his face and everything went black.
XV
Lieutenant General Nellis strode down the fifth floor corridor to his office and hoped that the meeting he was due to attend would not end his career. A former Chair of the Military Intelligence Board and a much respected figure at the Pentagon, Nellis was one of the US military’s most powerful figures. Yet today Nellis knew that he was heading for a serious grilling.
He walked into his office and closed the door as two men awaiting him stood from their seats. One was a former Navy SEAL by the name of Miller, who as a soldier was a man with whom Nellis could identify. The other was a tall man with a formidable physique, an African — American with slightly graying hair who despite his age looked capable of causing severe physical damage to anybody who stood in his way. The name Nellis had been given for him was Mister Mitchell, and that in itself was enough to send alarm bells ringing in Nellis’s mind: a man supposedly a civilian sitting in on a classified meeting in the headquarters of the DIA.
‘Gentlemen,’ Nellis greeted them without preamble. ‘What can I do for you?’
Miller and Mitchell sat down opposite Nellis as he eased himself into his chair. Miller spoke with a gravelly voice.
‘We’ve been sent up here regarding a breach of security by one of your team.’
Nellis raised an eyebrow. ‘Whom?’
‘Douglas Jarvis,’ Miller replied. ‘Former United States Marine, works under your watch. Homeland sent us because they have no access to files.’
Nellis remained motionless for a moment. Miller was maintaining a formal bearing but he was clearly trying to project a reasonable persona. Mitchell, on the other hand, simply watched Nellis with an unblinking gaze utterly devoid of any emotion he could recognize.
‘Jarvis is responsible for the oversight of a classified research program for the agency,’ Nellis replied. ‘It’s an autonomous program, so neither Homeland nor the Pentagon would have access to it.’
‘Why is that?’ Mitchell asked, speaking for the first time. His voice was both soft and yet threatening at the same time, his forged — in — granite confidence apparently divesting him of the need to project an attitude.
‘Intelligence security,’ Nellis replied. ‘The program has assets on the ground and exposure of their activities could render them at risk.’
Miller’s controlled expression slipped. Mitchell remained silent. Nellis became aware of the sound of people walking past beyond his office door as the silence stretched out for several seconds until Miller finally spoke.
‘We have identified two individuals connected to this program.’ He slid a pair of glossy images across the desk to Nellis. ‘Do you recognize them?’
Nellis looked down and saw a black and white mug shot of Ethan Warner staring up at him. It was typical of the Pentagon that they would have provided a shot of Warner taken years ago in Cook County Jail, and not one from the much easier to acquire service record from the US Marine Corp’s primary training base at Quantico, Virginia. Beside Warner’s haggard features was a shot of Nicola Lopez, again taken via a surveillance team and not a more formal shot of her proudly wearing the blues of the Washington Police Department.
He looked up at Mitchell and Miller.
‘They work for Jarvis,’ he replied.
Mitchell folded his hands in his lap as he spoke.
‘You are aware that these two agents were responsible for disrupting a sensitive operation in Argentina a few months ago?’
Nellis nodded. Ethan and Lopez, working with Jarvis, had deployed across the globe in search of something that even Nellis had difficulty in understanding: the remains of a species not of this Earth, a fossilized remnant of something that had died thousands of years ago and may have influenced human history and development. They had uncovered startling evidence of mankind’s ancient record of extra — terrestrial involvement in early civilizations, all of which had swiftly been recovered and concealed by Majestic Twelve. What Nellis could not be sure of was whether Mitchell and Miller were working for MJ–12 or were, like him, trying to get to the bottom of it all.
‘Jarvis’s agents were deployed to South America in that timeframe,’ he confirmed. ‘However I am not at liberty to discuss the operation due to national security considerations.’
Mitchell smiled without warmth but remained silent.
‘Your man Jarvis allowed both Ethan Warner and his partner, Nicola Lopez, access to highly classified material,’ Miller pointed out.
‘Their exposure to sensitive programs is more than justified by their success in utilizing the information obtained.’