Overlord (6 page)

“The name, Hendrix, the name.”

“He’s got a moniker that is a little off, but you should have no problem tracking him down with the right leads at your disposal.”

“Please,” he said sarcastically, “I can find anyone, anywhere.” He smiled as the guards were opening the exercise yard. Hendrix’s time in the sun was up for the day. “After all, I found you, and you were buried by secret orders of the president.”

“Touché, find me you did.”

“The name of the man?” Vickers insisted.

Hendrix stopped at the open gate and turned to face Vickers. “He’s not a man at all. I will explain to you in no uncertain terms that this name is one of the more valuable in the entire history of this planet.”

Hendrix saw the confused look on the CIA man’s face.

“I’m giddy with anticipation,” Vickers finally voiced.

“The name is Mahjtic, or as his friends underneath Nellis call him—the Matchstick Man.”

VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

The blond man in the overly large swivel chair spun around and hung up the phone. He kept his fingers on the receiver and tapped out a gentle beat as he thought. He was well-dressed, wearing a black sport coat with a simple white shirt underneath. His blond hair had grown out over his collar and his face had been unshaven for the past seven months. He pursed his lips, still tapping the phone when the alarm bell pinged on his fax machine. Annie was far faster than he gave the Kansas woman credit for. She had been easy to turn and for this man it came easily and naturally.
“After all,”
he had told her when he gave her an advance of ten thousand dollars,
“it’s not like you’re giving out the names of good guys here.”
The justification was that he was searching for the killer of a dear friend and he thought that anyone visiting U.S. Federal Prisoner 275698 could lead him to that killer. It gave the single mother a chance at excitement in her life, and if she was caught sending him information, well, that was just the way the world worked, in his opinion.

Colonel Henri Farbeaux stood while whistling and made his way to the large credenza by the wall and waited for the fax to finish. When it did he lifted the pages and looked at the face that had been sent to him from a cell phone straight from Leavenworth penitentiary. He looked from the features of the redheaded man to his name. The moniker seemed somewhat familiar to Farbeaux, but for the life of him he couldn’t place the face. He examined the name once more and seemed to remember meeting this man somewhere in the past. And then it struck him that he was liaison between the Centauris Corporation and the Central Intelligence Agency—their Games and Theory Department if he remembered correctly, which made sense because when he had met this man he himself had been a contract player for Centauris and their infamous invention, the Black Teams.

“I should have known,” Henri said. He took the sheets of paper back to his desk and sat down to study the man and his information.

Henri didn’t look up from the fax for a full forty minutes as he thought out his options. He smiled, laid the papers down, and then turned to look out the window. He turned and started typing commands into his computer. The screen was soon showing the tri-color national flag of France and Henri knew the DGSE—General Directorate for External Security—for the French nation had not changed his password. He shook his head, not knowing if he still had friends at the agency or if they were just that slow in their security department.

In thirty minutes Col. Henri Farbeaux had every piece of information on Hiram Vickers the French government had, and as he was beginning to notice it was quite a bit. Finally he printed out a better picture of the CIA agent and stared at it.

“Hello again, Mr. Vickers.”

THE HOGGAR MOUNTAINS

CENTRAL SAHARA DESERT, ALGERIA

TROPIC OF CANCER

The four Aérospatiale Gazelle helicopters flew low over the volcanic terrain. They had traveled 1,900 miles from Algiers, being refueled twice on their way to the desolate oasis. The four French-and-British-made helicopters were flying in tight formation after being alerted to a disturbance by, of all entities, the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration. NASA had placed an emergency call through to the Algerian military warning them of a highly unusual weather formation that had sprung up without warning in the region of mountainous terrain where there should be no weather systems at all other than the blazing sun—and a storm forming in or around the mountains was unheard of in the month of June. There was not a history of severe thunder and rainstorms in the entire northern portion of the Sahara such as Talmud. And the storm images taken by NASA declared this to be the mother of storms that came and went in only ten minutes’ time.

Talmud Oasis had been a viable source of water for the past five thousand years and was used by men traveling the barren wastes for more than half of that time. The French Foreign Legion made the site famous in many a tale of the Algerian wars. The oasis was home to just under thirty-three men and women who cared for the site and were paid monthly and supplied food by the Algerian government.

The lead helicopter made a slow turn to the north and then the pilot brought the Gazelle to three hundred feet and cleared a small rise. The view that greeted him was shocking at the very least. The spot where the oasis used to be, along with the small grouping of houses, was gone. Not only was the area featureless, there was a thousand-foot-diameter hole in the ground where it had once stood. It looked as if a giant manhole cover had been lifted and tossed aside. The edges of the hole were nearly a perfect circle where the small oasis and village had stood for over two thousand years. The action could have been done by laser cutting, it was that precise.

All four pilots and their emergency teams could see where the storm had washed out most of the sand dunes that used to line and surround the oasis. Even as they flew lower they could see small rivers that had accumulated in that very serious ten minutes of weather. Then they saw what looked like scorch marks on the sides of the small volcanic hillsides, accompanied by glass that shone brightly in the afternoon sun. They estimated that at least one square mile of sand had been blasted into glass by some form of searing heat.

The lead pilot in the first Gazelle hovered over the remains of the prehistoric oasis and made the radio call.

How he would explain this was beyond the language skills of any man he knew of. The world had just pushed the oasis off the face of the earth, not very scientific but he knew that was what he would say to his superiors.

Talmud was just gone.

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The president sat with his wife and two daughters and ate a quiet lunch inside the private residence of the White House. The two girls, eleven and eight, talked about the plans they had made for their summer vacation, which just started two days before. Their mother laughed and spoke as her eyes drifted to her husband, who seemed to be listening, but she knew him too well. He was looking, smiling, and even nodding his head at the right times as the girls spoke excitedly, but his mind was a million miles away. The first lady of the United States, as well as most Americans, had been watching her husband slowly commit political suicide, and the sad thing was it was something he had to do.

“Sweetheart?”

The smile slowly left the president’s face when his thoughts were interrupted. Evidently he had been asked a question that a nod of his head would not cover.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, drifted there for a minute,” he said, looking first at his wife and then at the two girls, who were just looking at him.

“They asked if you were going to make time to go to Disney World with us?” the first lady asked as her eyes met the president’s.

The president finally broke his spell and looked from his wife to the two waiting girls.

“Well, of course I am. The world can just go ahead and miss me for two days.”

The two girls laughed and clapped and then stood and ran around the table and hugged and kissed him. He returned the love as the girls broke their hold on him and then exited the private dining room. The first lady noticed his eyes following the girls and the sadness that seemed to be behind those eyes every time he saw his daughters.

“That bad?” she asked as she placed her napkin on her empty plate.

The president took a deep breath as the waitstaff came in and cleared the table. As the last man placed coffee in front of the most powerful couple in the world and left, the president looked at his wife.

“The idiots are not going to pass the bill.”

“I know this may sound traitorous to you, but even I would be throwing a fit if I didn’t know why you wanted the draft lottery instated.”

Again the deep breath. “I’ve explained to the senate and the house why we need the draft lottery ready to go. Why I need to extend enlistments and why I have placed retirement of any military man or woman on hold for the foreseeable future.”

“All of the house and senate?”

The president gave the first lady a bemused look. “Only the few that matter, the leaders of both parties.” He shook his head and sipped at his after-lunch coffee. “In other words, every enemy I have on both sides is tearing me apart in the papers.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you informed the world just what is really happening. I would want to know.”

“Like most American wives and mothers, you probably would have had a sense that something wasn’t right in the world. But being mere senators and representatives they’re a little slower on the uptake.”

“How are the branches of service taking the retirement and discharge freeze?”

“The staff at the Pentagon is fielding hate mail from their own soldiers, airmen, and sailors on a scale they have never seen.”

“You cannot stick to your timetable. The American people are beginning to think that either you’re militarily taking over this country or worse, you’ve gone completely mad. You have to tell them something. If your soldiers are listening to rumors they’re going to react in a negative way. You were a top soldier at one time and you didn’t like it.”

“I think I fit both scenarios at the moment—mad and a tyrant.” The president drank his coffee and then saw his Secret Service guard nod his head. The president stood and tossed the napkin on the table.

The first lady stood and paced to the president’s side of the table. She hugged him as he slid his relaxed tie up to its proper place under his chin.

“What is Niles saying?” she whispered in his ear as she kissed his cheek.

“Basically the same thing as you, and he’s just as big a nag.” He smiled and then regardless of his guards picked his wife up and hugged her.

“I think between your wife and the smartest man on the continent you should have a clear idea on what to say to the American people.”

The president finally lowered her and then straightened his coat just as the slight thump of turning rotors was heard coming from the White House lawn.

“Ooh, Daddy, that’s a Blackbird!” his younger daughter said as she had sprung from her chair and ran for the window.

“As a matter of fact, that’s just who I’m going to speak to right now,” the president said. He glanced only slightly toward his daughter, who was staring with wide eyes at the descending helicopter. “It’s a Black Hawk baby, not a Blackbird.”

The first lady turned his face back toward her own.

“Now don’t make him mad. Start off by calling him Niles and not ‘baldy,’ it puts him on the defensive.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not even supposed to know about him or what he does.”

“Then maybe you should have picked another person to be your best man at our wedding.”

“That, my dear, I should have done. That way I would have only one conscience to deal with.” He gave the first lady a quick wink.

“Such is life with the president.”

He smiled as walked to the door.

“What life?”

*   *   *

The president made his way to the administration wing of the White House. Most of the staff, visitors, and Secret Service men and women saw the same man they had been seeing on a daily basis for almost five years. He was always smiling, always confident. On his way into the Oval Office he nodded his head at his assistant and then nodded toward the door and she affirmed with a knowing look that his guest was inside waiting. His assistant knew almost immediately that the president was off limits for the next hour. However …

“Mr. President, House Speaker Camden has been waiting since 11:45. He does not have an appointment nor is he scheduled.” Senator and Speaker of the House, Giles Camden of Florida, stood up and got the president’s attention by placing his hands on his hips and glaring at him.

The president stopped and with no one seeing his face he rolled his eyes, but by the time he turned to face the senior Republican from Florida his customary smile was in place. The hawk from Florida was waiting and his hand wasn’t out. Even the president’s security detail disliked the man immensely.

“Mr. Speaker, this is a surprise, I wasn’t aware we had a meeting this afternoon.”

“Mr. President, my constituents as well as my colleagues are stupefied as to this draft lottery proposal you have been allowing to leak from your office.” The senator looked around to make sure that the ears inside the reception area were all tuned into his voice. “And keeping young men and women ensconced in military service when their obligations have been fulfilled to the utmost standards of the American military, well, sir, that’s just a little too much dictatorship and not enough democratic process.”

The president lost his smile as he stepped closer to the man from Florida who admiringly stood his ground against the formidable size of the former Army three-star general.

“One thing I don’t need from you, Senator Camden, is a lesson on my soldiers, airmen, and seamen, and how well they have fulfilled their duties in the global war on terror. I am well aware of it.” The president leaned over as far as he could and took the senator’s right hand in his own and shook slowly as he spoke low. “You of all people should know better than to listen to rumors. I have not made any such declarations, at least on an official basis, about either a draft proposal or freezing discharges.”