David Golemon - Event

The old man reversed his wheelchair and stared at his son. "That's our main information source at the Event Group! We can't just eliminate him. I taught you better than that! We need eyes next to Lee and that egghead Compton. We have to know everything they're doing, because if I understand Lee correctly, he'll see a danger to the country and that is all, not a possible resource."

"Hear me, Father. I don't order the deaths of anyone as casually as you did in your day, and you did teach me very well about dangerous people. This subject matter is far too hot to take a chance that Reese won't screw up somehow and lead the Group right to the doorstep of this company, or even, God forbid, the doorstep of this very building. We cannot have the Genesis history come spilling out, now can we? As a courtesy to you, and because I respect what you have done in the past, I will keep you up-to-date and as involved as I can. But know that if this is truly Purple Sage-related, I will not endanger either the group or the company. Reese is expendable, he's a traitor to his organization, which means, in a roundabout way, he's a traitor to his country, even if he is selling us the information."

"The thought of Lee being stabbed in the back by such a man, well, it has always made me sad." He looked at his son. "Just because I hate the bastard and because Lee's a Boy Scout doesn't mean he's not an American and a patriot in his own misguided way, he's just blind to the things that need to be done." The old man smiled when he saw the strange look on his son's face. "Does that shock you that I almost admire Lee after all these years?"

"No, but don't think for one minute that Lee has forgotten about his missing personnel back in '47. Everyone tells me, including yourself, that Lee has been waiting for years for some link as to what happened to his men. From his history, patriot or not, I understand he's the one who can really make people vanish. So, clearly stated, no one must be allowed to lead them to us. As of right now he isn't even thinking of you; after all, you're dead."

"Of course, you're right, but imagine what this country could do with a specimen such as that animal? Our soldiers wouldn't have to die fighting madmen around the globe. We must find out, we must." The old man reached out and took his son's hand.

His son exhaled and patted his father's hand. "We'll take care of it. If it's happening again and we can get anything out of it, more technology, or the animal, the country will be the better for it. As you say, maybe we can turn the situation, or the creature, to the benefit of the United States, to use against our enemies, either here, or out there," he said. Glancing upward, he patted the hand again.

The son released his father's hand and turned and left. The old man slowly sank into the plush cushion of his wheelchair. Then he lowered his aging head and turned the chair and faced the exhibits once again. His gaze centered on the containers holding the bodies of the three alien life-forms, and a sick smile slowly formed on his thin lips as he turned and looked at the cage that had once contained an animal that had specifically been brought here. A creature that might very well be back on this planet, and this time, it might just be alive.

He knew his son would want the secrets that came hand in hand with the animal. But it would all be wasted if Lee got there first. Everything they could have learned from such a magnificent species would be lost to that fucking Boy Scout.

He tapped the box containing the claw of the beast and smiled even more broadly.

"You better be careful, Senator Lee," he said. "If they are indeed back, and if they are successful this time, something may be out there that will explain to you in no uncertain terms why man has always been afraid of the dark."

The man sat at the ornate czarist-Russian antique desk and studied the gold-encrusted cross that had just recently come into his possession. It weighed an astounding half kilo. With a jeweler's loupe he examined the green emeralds that adorned the cross down its center. Smiling, he removed the glass from his right eye and turned his large chair to face the huge glass wall that afforded him a view of Los Angeles as it sprawled westward toward the Pacific Ocean. The house on Mulholland Drive had been paid for in cash thanks to small trinkets such as the one he now held in his hand. His eyes roamed from the lights of the city below to the pool that wound its way around from the side of the house to a stop just below his window. He then held the gold cross up against the blue of the pool and admired the emeralds that sparkled.

"The Cross of Father Corinth," he said softly. The very cross the priest had made specifically to bless the Spanish soldiers that had helped loot and rape Peru in 1533. The late father Corinth had then been a part of the Francisco Pizarro expedition.

His reverie was interrupted by a soft knock on the study door. The man placed the cross on his desk and covered it with a satin cloth.

"Yes," he said, hating the interruption at what was supposed to be his quiet time.

The door opened and a big man with short-cropped hair stood there. He was well dressed in a black sport jacket and black nylon T-shirt underneath.

Henri Farbeaux, former colonel in the French Army and late of the French Antiquities Commission, looked the American over and then waved him in. The man walked toward the desk and sidestepped the huge lion skin that sat in front of the Frenchman's desk and held out a manila file.

Farbeaux looked at the file without moving. He then looked back at the cross and uncovered it and once again examined it. "What is that?" he asked, letting the man know his interruption wasn't appreciated.

"It's our Black Team's field report on our successful infiltration of the General Dynamics Pomona facility." The man patiently held the file out to the Frenchman.

"Ah, the Space Systems engineer," he said as he again laid the cross down and took the file.

"We can turn him, he's sloppy. It took us only three days to find his mistress. The initial approach has been completed by Hector, and our engineer friend would be quite amenable in assisting Centaurus in acquiring the blueprints for the TOIL system."

Farbeaux had been working in vain for over six months on his own to find something with which to blackmail the engineer in charge of TOIL, and then Hendrix had sent his Men in Black out to assist him and they had achieved results in only five days. The female agent code-named Hector was undoubtedly good at getting needed and well-hidden information out of highly placed sources.

Hector , he thought. Hendrix and his talent for naming his different Black Team members by ancient period names always made him smile. But regardless of their overly dramatic code names, they did get results. TOIL--Tactical Oxygen Iodine Laser, the new toy on the block that Centaurus had to have as their own. Where General Dynamics would have to face years of testing to achieve U.S. government certification, Hendrix would bypass all of that and have a working prototype in six to eight months and ready for government scrutiny. Another weapons system the company could call its own.

Farbeaux signed the report and handed the file back to Achilles, another stupid name.

"I suppose you will be taking your team out of here now?"

"It depends on the orders we receive from New York."

A near silent buzzing came from the man's jacket, and he removed a small radio while he looked at the Frenchman. Hendrix had warned him again and again about Farbeaux. He was not to be taken lightly. He was an opportunist and not an official member of the Centaurus family, therefore he was a man to be watched.