“Do I know about them?”
“No, sir. These are most likely black budget programs run by the CIA and other Intel agencies.”
“Still, $100 billion is a lot of money.”
“Yes sir, it is. And the last president who tried to pull in the CIA’s reins got the back of his skull blown off in Dallas. In my opinion, Shariak has opened a can of worms. He has no idea the size of the shit storm he’ll be summoning if he starts issuing subpoenas to our defense contractors.”
The president turned to Stephen Bannon, his former campaign manager and most trusted advisor. “Stevo, what do you think?”
“Shariak’s expendable. At the same time, the public supports his investigation.”
“You’re not telling me anything.”
“Mr. President, what’s important here is that none of this happened on your watch.”
“Exactly. This is another Obama-Hillary mess.”
“There’s your talking point,” said Bannon.
“Good. Make sure Spicer has that. In fact, I think I’ll put that in a tweet.” The president removed his iPhone from his jacket pocket. “That’s why you’re here, Stephen. You get what’s important.”
The knuckles on Colonel Alexander Johnston’s fists were white as he gripped the padded steering wheel of his Chevy Suburban and waited for the wrought-iron gate to open. Growling through clenched teeth, he nudged the slowly parting fence with the truck’s front bumper before accelerating up the winding driveway to his estate home.
“Yvonne?” The colonel entered the house, stalking past the grand marble-columned entrance and down the hallway leading to his private study.
“Yvonne!”
“I’m in your office.”
He pushed open the solid oak door to find his wife at his desk, busy at his computer.
“You heard?”
“I caught it on CNN.” The gaunt, dark-haired practicing Satanist kept her eyes on the computer screen while her husband continued his rant.
“They never listen. I told them twenty years ago we needed to kill Greer!”
“Greer? Who said anything about Greer? Shariak’s the problem.”
“He’s only the problem because we allowed Steven fucking Greer to brief him. Well, I’m through listening to General Cubit and the rest of those bleeding hearts on Council. This time I’ll handle things my way.”
“Alexander, no one’s going to buy Shariak’s suicide or a diagnosis of stage four cancer hours after announcing his first investigation as Under Secretary.”
“Then we’ll wait a few weeks. Make it look like an accident.”
“Shariak’s a wounded war vet. Killing him, no matter how it’s staged, will only add credibility to the information that will be released upon his death.”
“What information? Shariak only knows what Greer has been spewing on YouTube over the last sixteen years.”
“Yes darling, but in the wake of his press conference, Shariak’s death could elevate information relegated as fringe into the mainstream. I found a better way to deal with this… come and see.”
The colonel walked around to her side of the desk to peer at the array of monitors. “Shariak’s war story? How does that help us?”
“When he was captured and tortured, Captain Shariak was aided by a young Iraqi girl in her teens. ‘My captor was quite clear; if I died, she died.’ ”
“So?”
“Can you gain access to Shariak’s statements that were taken right after his rescue? I need the girl’s name.”
“What for?”
Yvonne Dwyer-Johnston smiled. “Darling, the first step in killing a war hero is to tarnish his medals.”
26
Tuesday had been a nightmare.
Chris Mull had gone on non-stop for nearly an hour, briefing her one moment about where to hide the zero-point-energy device once it was delivered to her suite (we equipped your Maglev hoverboard with a wider-than-usual compartment to stow your leash), and bragging to her the next about the strength of their movement (surely you must have wondered how someone with your fiancé’s credentials could have been appointed Under Secretary of Defense), until Jessica’s overwrought nerves had finally reached their breaking point. The moment she had finished running diagnostic tests on the satellite’s power pack she had fled their station to find her assistant, like a distraught second grader being teased by the classroom bully.
“Sarah, I can’t take it anymore, the man is turning my stomach.”
“Mull? What’s he doing?”
“He just won’t shut up about Scott Hopper and his damn conspiracy theories.”
“Mr. Mull can cross the line at times, but he’s one of my best techs.”
“Then you deal with him, I’ve had my fill.”
“That wasn’t the plan. The objective of having me set up a rotation was to give you an opportunity to evaluate each member of our team before they leave on break. In fairness to Mr. Mull, can you at least wait until after lunch? Otherwise I’d have to—”
“No, Ladybug. I’ve had all I can handle from Mr. Mull — switch me now!”
Sarah’s expression had chastised Jessica even more than her words. “Really, Dr. Marulli? Did ya’ll really want to lower yourself to that? You won’t last very long down here with such thin skin.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Marulli?”
They had turned to find Chris Mull walking toward them, a power drill in his hand.
“I finished testing the scalar wave converter like you asked; everything’s working fine. But I’ll need your help repositioning the outer casing.”
“Chris, Dr. Marulli and I are going over a few things. Ian’s finishing our exchange; when he’s through, I’ll ask him to join ya’ll at Station-2.”
Mull raised his eyebrows in innocence. “Dr. Marulli, did I do something wrong?”
“Did you not just hear Dr. Mayhew-Reece? Wait for Dr. Concannon at your station.”
The tech feigned confusion, then appeared hurt. “Ma’am, if I said something inappropriate, I sincerely apologize.”
Not so sure I won’t turn you in, are you — you smug little shit. And what’s with the drill? Is that supposed to scare me?
Turning on his heel, Chris Mull walked away slowly, casually pressing the trigger on the power drill every few strides, as if sending a message.
The conversion of the twenty Zeus satellite generators from zero-point-energy rotary units to the far more advanced (and lethal) nano-crystal power plants had been completed by late Wednesday afternoon. Over the next two weeks, each satellite would undergo a battery of environmental simulation tests to make sure the equipment would perform in the frigid confines of space. Barring anything unforeseen, Project Zeus would then be greenlit for launch, its payload crew sent home.
Home was where Jessica wanted to be. She had barely slept; her every waking thought consumed by the implications of Chris Mull’s actions and threats. Their paths had not crossed again Tuesday, but he had given her one last push when the work day ended Wednesday afternoon.
“Nice to get off early after yesterday’s all-nighter, huh Dr. Marulli? If you’re ordering in dinner tonight, you should try the lobster thermidor topped with the lump crabmeat. I had it last night; I’m telling you it’s to die for.”
“Actually, Mr. Mull, I hadn’t decided what I’ll be doing for dinner. I might even catch a movie and eat in the mall.”
She had walked away, only to hear, “How’s your fiancé? I hear he’s holding a press conference in about ten minutes. Any idea what that’s about?”