David Golemon - Legend

Pete Golding paced outside Niles Compton's office. Alice watched him walk by her desk for the twentieth time. She shook her head, wondering when people would learn that you can wear the carpet down to fibers pacing and worrying, but that still couldn't change the speed at which things happened. She had learned this after her ten-thousandth mile of doing exactly what Pete was doing now.

Pete stopped as the door finally opened. Niles was finished with his phone call to Scottsdale, Arizona.

"Well?" Pete asked.

Niles had spoken directly to the surviving member of the 1942 expedition to Brazil. Charles Kauffman, an associate professor under Enrico Fermi at the time, was still very cognizant of what they had achieved back in the war years. His mind was sharp and he remembered everything.

"The Army Corps of Engineers, along with the U.S. Navy and Army, removed one hundred and two pounds of enriched uranium from El Dorado." Niles sat on the edge of Alice's desk as he spoke. "They had discovered information from a spy in 1941 that the ore samples were indeed real and were stored in the archives, the same samples and cross Farbeaux got his hands on in just the last few years. Anyway, Mr. Kauffman explained to me that Fermi and the effort at the University of Chicago had yet to achieve that which they had been theorizing since Einstein had said it was possible—"

"A sustained chain reaction," Pete said for him.

"That's right. They needed something that they did not have, a source of enriched uranium. Well, we now know the source fell directly into their laps, thrown there by the U.S. military and Corps of Engineers when they confirmed the existence of Padilla's lagoon and samples. It was never about the gold. It was always the uranium."

"Let me guess from my memory of the dates," Pete said. "By the time the expedition had met its ill-fated end, Fermi and his team had achieved their reaction in the States?"

"Yes."

"And the material?"

"It was placed in storage in Utah by the Army Corps of Engineers, and forgotten about until just recently."

"Is that it?" Pete asked.

It was Alice who guessed at it.

"The material has come up missing, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has. And you will never guess who the beneficiary of this unusual find was."

"Well, who was it?" Pete asked when Niles didn't say anything more.

They owned the night. There wasn't a team in the world better at operations that called for sheer audacity than the Blue Light element of Delta, the highly secretive commando and antiterrorist unit of the U.S. Army.

They had been briefed on their mission by the secretary of defense, himself. The plan called for a twelve-man incursion into the most unlikely weapons storage facility they had ever been called upon to strike. The storage unit was placed three stories below ground level in an area the Iraqis knew no one would ever suspect.

The HALO parachute jump had gone off without incident and the twelve Blue Light commandos settled easily to the desert scrub just outside of the ancient ruins. The facility had been hastily constructed and was lightly guarded and the strike team took advantage of the close in intelligence supplied to them from Iraqi informants inside their military.

The target: the ancient ruins of the city of Babylon.

The material was stored in an underground bunker originally built by Saddam Hussein during his tyrannical rule of Iraq. Since no one but the topmost chiefs of the Iraqi military knew what the material was, the area was virtually unsecured. The bunker's few guards were easily dispatched with regret toward their innocence. Five soldiers in all silently, quickly killed without a warning being sounded.

Thirteen minutes later, the material had been found and tested, verifying the fact that it was indeed the same ore that had been removed from Brazil almost seventy years before.

An hour after the mission had started it was over and news relayed to the president of the United States that Iraq was no longer in possession of material that would enable that country to manufacture the world's largest "dirty bomb." The Iraqi government would have to defend themselves from Iran with the aid of a few well-chosen friendly nations instead.

The Brazilian chief of staff had just made a withdrawal from his protected accounts at the Banco de Juarez. Senor Mendez, his benefactor, was out of the country, or so he was told when he asked for him. He smiled to himself; it did not matter as he would never see him again, as his military career was over at any rate due to his final act of treachery to his country.

As he stepped from the suite of offices he looked at his watch; plenty of time to make his charter flight to Venezuela. As he strolled casually toward the elevator, his briefcase pleasantly heavy with more than six million American dollars in payoff money earned over the years from various cartels, to allow drug overflights of his country, he was appreciative of the attractive twenty-something woman who joined him as he waited for the elevator. As the express car arrived he smiled and gestured for her to enter first. As the door closed, the general removed his sunglasses and turned, smiling. His smile faded quickly as the silenced Glock nine-millimeter pistol went off in his face. The woman placed the smoking weapon in her handbag and waited for the elevator to arrive at the private lobby on the first floor. Before the door opened, she reached down and removed the briefcase from the dead hand of the general, then popped its latches and poured the money out, onto his prone body.

The president of Brazil did not care to be made a fool in front of the Americans.

The crowded pressroom was deathly still as the secretary of state slowly unfolded his prepared statement. He scanned those assembled and saw the president standing well away from any prying camera lenses. Secretary Nussbaum closed his eyes and then opened them, and tried in vain to smile.

"Good afternoon. For the many months of campaigning to succeed the president into this very office, I have been blessed with many letters of support from our party. Thus it is with a sad heart that I must now decline the upcoming nomination for the presidency due to health reasons I won't go into here—"

The president listened for a moment and then turned away. He had never been so tempted in his many years in public life to throttle a man he had considered a close friend and advisor. A man who found it easy to lie, cheat, and murder his way into the highest office of the country.

"Hi, Daddy," Kelly said as she joined him on his way back to the Oval Office.

He smiled and placed his arm around her. "Hi there, yourself."

"What's going to happen to that jerk and his buddies now?" she asked, thinking about Robby, Professor Zachary, and the others, and the horrible fate handed to them from these men her father had trusted.

"They are all being retired from public life."

"That's all? After what they did?" she asked incredulously.

He would have loved to explain the real inner workings of the world to his daughter, because she and the other survivors deserved at least that much. But what good would it do to tell them and his countrymen that, on his watch, trusted men were able to get their hands on the most deadly material in the world and use it for their own gains? None. Passing enriched uranium to a foreign nation and allowing them to use that material as a possible means of detonating a dirty bomb over the forces of an aggressive Iran was not legally treason. No U.S. law existed to forbid it. And so, the military men involved in the conspiracy were simply reassigned for their failure to foresee the Iranian threat of invasion. At least officially. They would be quietly retired, and their despicable lives would go on with only a look back at the positions they might have held in the secretary's new government.