David Golemon - Ancients

"Yes, Dahlia, we were just speaking of you. How is the operation proceeding?"

"We move in twelve hours, but that's not why I called you. I wanted to tell you personally that our attempt to kill the men responsible for Ethiopia and the raid in Westchester has failed."

"I see," Tomlinson said as he poured his drink.

"That is not all. We managed to follow the helicopter used in their escape and now they are under the protection by the same group of men at a secure location at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada. William, it would be most difficult to get to the Ancients or Colonel Collins there."

Tomlinson looked around at the two people who were watching him closely. He smiled at them as if he were receiving good news. "Is that right?"

"You seem to be taking this matter extremely well, since these two Ancients are undoubtedly spilling a lot of information to that colonel and whoever it is he works for. Information, I may add, that could be very detrimental to your health. You must assume you have been compromised and leave your home immediately."

"You are sure of this?" he asked, losing his smile at the others.

"I won't sit here and debate the validity of my surveillance techniques with you. If you had paid me fully in advance, this conversation would have ended two minutes ago. As it is, you still owe me a considerable sum. In addition, I was not told about these mysterious men that seem to show up at the oddest times and are very, very good at what they do. Your intelligence in this matter was sorely lacking. Therefore, William, I suggest you leave before several nasty men from the FBI and some Virginia farmers show up at your door. I'll report when I have the plate."

Tomlinson blinked as the connection terminated. He hung up the phone and half smiled as he looked at his two Coalition colleagues and then around him at the ostentatious study. He knew he was going to leave everything behind that his family had worked for, for centuries, and he was angry.

"I'm afraid Dahlia has informed me that our old family members Carmichael and Martha have taken a trip to Nevada and are more than likely breaking their tradition of silence about their heritage. I must assume we are, or soon will be, compromised. We must leave immediately for Crete, as it has now become a sanctuary earlier than we thought it would have to be."

"We knew this day would come," Lilith said as she set down her drink and slowly stood. "I will miss the lifestyle and titles, I must admit."

"We can commiserate on the plane later. For now, we must evacuate." Tomlinson made for the study doors, then stopped as he placed his hands on the doorknobs. "August, leave a defensive team here and tell them nothing. I also want a large surprise waiting that will show the authorities they have a fight on their hands. I want the destruction of my own home and everything I possess to show my dedication and firm belief to our cause. Also, get Operation Boomerang launched immediately and order Professor Engvall to prepare for his move to Crete."

"I will order it," August Nelson answered, as he placed a reassuring hand on Tomlinson's shoulder. "And Professor Engvall is already safely in Crete, supervising the unloading of the Wave equipment."

With one last look at his American home, William Tomlinson left, knowing that he would not return until the Coalition was in control not only of the United States but the entire world.

The Boeing 777 weapons platform that had initiated the attacks in Iran/Iraq, Russia, Korea, and China had undergone a radical change during its layover in Jakarta. The Wave equipment remained inside and intact, and the outside of the aircraft had been repainted, from the livery colors of a commercial carrier to those of the United States Air Force. Every Russian fighter pilot in the world would recognize the blue-and-white paint scheme, and that was just what William Tomlinson and the Coalition wanted.

The pilot and copilot onboard had explicit instructions to turn on the Wave Decibel Transmitter remotely just as they crossed over Russian airspace. The system could do no harm because the frequencies had been changed in Jakarta to new, benign settings, and now an that would happen was that the Wave signal would be broadcast in the open--directly into the ears of Russian listening posts.

The airliner was equipped with military-style ejection seats in the cockpit; the pilots would eject when they made first contact with Russian air-superiority fighters. Within thirty minutes of ejection, a Coalition trawler would pull them from the rough sea. Dangerous, to be sure, but they each would receive a two-million-dollar bonus.

"We have company and are being painted," the copilot said in heavily accented Bulgarian from his position in the right seat.

"Roger, we have attempted contact and have had no reply to our instructions," said the leader of the flight of four MIG 31s.

"Can you identify the aircraft? According to commercial routes it should be an American Airlines flight out of Fairbanks, Alaska, over."

"Negative. We have visually identified aircraft as that of a U.S. Air Force 777 transport conversion, tail number 6759875. We will attempt--"

The Russian colonel yelped as the penetrating Wave signal burst through his headphones.

"This is Tango-Abel lead; we have picked up a strange audio tone emanating from the American aircraft, over!"

"Tango-Abel, lead, lock on to, and destroy target, immediately!"

"What? They may just be off course--"

"Flight leader, destroy the target. This command is from the highest authority!"

The MIG 31 slowed and took up station half a mile from the American 777. He ordered his wingman to lock on and fire. The Russian colonel heard a clear and long signal from his missiles' seeker heads as they both locked on to the large GE engines.

As soon as the Coalition pilot saw the incoming MIGs on his radar, he set the controls to automatic pilot and made ready for his ejection. He and the copilot wore cold-water survival gear and were equipped with a life raft.

"We are ready. Stand by to eject. Eject, eject, eject!" he shouted out as he pulled the ejection seat's yellow-and-black-striped release bar.

Nothing happened. He pulled again and still nothing. The copilot pulled the dual handle on his and had the same result. Both men started to panic, as they knew they were only seconds away from a fiery death. In their terror, neither that the men who had paid them so handsomely had betrayed them. The Coalition needed American-uniformed pilots to be discovered if any wreckage was ever found, but the men had never questioned the need for such an elaborate ruse as the uniforms.

The missiles flew off the rails. The first heat seeker struck the port engine mount just below the long, wide wing of the Boeing plane, while the other hit the engine itself. The next two, fired by the copilot, struck the remains of the already damaged wing and the giant plane rolled over in the sky and nose-dived two miles down into the sea.

The Russian pilot angrily pulled his face mask away. He was confused as to why the American pilot had not attempted to break away and try to avoid the missile attack.

It was as if he had wanted to die.

Niles sat on one of the ornate couches in the Oval Office and watched the president listen to his opposite number in China through an interpreter. His old friend was about to put the medicine into the mouth of the president of the People's Republic of China first, before feeding him the sugar. The Chinese ambassador to the UN Security Council, with Russian backing, had been claiming a horrible accident since early morning concerning the air-to-surface encounter with North Korea.