David Golemon - Legacy

“Boy, this guy’s good,” Everett said. “You get lost tourists all the time out here, then?”

The small man removed the set of headphones and parabolic microphone from Will’s grip.

“Ah, but none so well equipped as you. Listening to the local wildlife as you try to find out where you made your wrong turn?”

“Silly hobby, I know,” Jack said. “If you can just show us on our rent-a-car map here where we went wrong, we’ll get out of your hair.”

The man nodded at two of the guards and they stepped around the Yugo, deftly removing the four weapons that were being held by Ryan and Mendenhall.

“You know it is illegal in Ecuador to carry concealed weapons?”

“But they weren’t concealed,” Everett said. “Our two friends had them right out in the open.” Everett’s eyes moved from guard to guard. They didn’t have much chance of escaping without being cut to pieces.

“You know, half of my men here at the Mueller and Santiago Mining Concern are American, but after all of the years I’ve spent with them, I have yet to understand American bravado when you’re caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. Is it to cover your fear or are you just that stupid in not knowing when you have been caught.” The man shook his head. “I suppose it would be too much to ask if you have passports on your persons.”

“Damn, I told you we forgot something,” Everett said, looking at Jack.

The small man smiled and stepped as close to Everett and Collins as he could get. “To save us all a bit of time here, gentlemen, I will inform you that all private aircraft coming into Quito are thoroughly researched and checked out. It has been that way for over sixty-five years. You see, we like to know who’s visiting our friends the Ecuadorians, and when an aircraft with registry numbers identifying it as part of the United States Air Force inventory lands in this country, we become concerned not only for our friends but for ourselves as well. Imagine our surprise when the occupants of that aircraft just happen to be found on our security cameras zigzagging their way onto our property.”

“Well, we can always zigzag our asses right back out of here,” Collins said smiling.

“That you can, but I think we should escort you to our facilities and have a small chat. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you-” Jack started to say.

“Oh, but I insist. There’s lunch in it for you. Today is Salisbury steak day.”

“Then how can we say no?” Collins smiled at his three companions, then gestured toward the small man. “After you, Herr…?”

The man’s smile never wavered. “We’ll save introductions for later. We have so much time to get acquainted.”

“What about our car?” Ryan said as one of the larger guards took him by the arm.

The small man looked from Ryan to the Yugo, and then he broke out in laughter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll post a twenty-four-hour guard on your rental car. After all, its value is obvious.”

“You’d better, pal,” Ryan said, as he was shoved none too gently into the back of the car. “I signed for that piece of shit.”

From CNN World News

The reporter stood on the deck of the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R91). The wind tore at his clothing and styled hair:

“As the flagship of the French navy, the Charles de Gaulle is better protected than any other warship steaming from a European port. The great vessel has been moving at flank speed for the east coast of South America since the early hours yesterday.” The camera pulled back to show six enormous tarp- and plastic-covered cylindrical objects. “Her task is to deliver the component parts for two Ariane 7 rockets and their corresponding top secret payloads. It has been speculated among the world’s topmost intelligence agencies that an attempt is underway by not only the European Space Agency but also by the Russian Federal Space Agency and the China National Space Administration, or CNSA, to reach the surface of the Moon in a cooperative venture to find out the root cause for yesterday’s high-yield explosion at Shackleton Crater. While the United States has fervently denied any wrongdoing, it has become apparent that they have not joined in this effort to reach the lunar surface, and many in the international community are asking, why? This is Frank Dance, reporting from the deck of the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle somewhere in the central Atlantic Ocean, for CNN.”

The Reverend Rawlins closed his eyes, but this time he couldn’t contain the explosion that traveled from the pit of his stomach to his temples. He angrily threw the remote control for his television hard against the expensive high definition screen, cracking the plastic and sending shards of the remote control outward like shrapnel from a grenade. Rawlins stood and paced to the large window of his office in downtown Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the Hollywood Hills and the late afternoon sun playing off of the city’s many billboards. He calmly ran a hand through his silverish hair and then took three deep breaths.

As Rawlins moved to his desk, he straightened his blue silk tie and made sure his white vest was pulled taut over his muscled abdomen. He hit the intercom on his switchboard.

“Tom, have you reached Mr. Smith?” he asked, in a far calmer voice than he felt he could muster at that moment.

“Yes, sir. He is on line one.”

“Is the line secure?” he asked, looking down at his left hand and examining his manicured fingernails.

“Yes, Reverend. All lines were swept this morning and there were no compromises.”

Without saying anything to his assistant, he reached over and hit the first flashing button on the console.

“May I assume you have seen the news reports coming out of Europe and Asia, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, sir, I have. While the reports from Europe involving the ESA and the Russians are worrisome, they are not yet as worrisome as the developments in China.”

“Meaning?”

“As I have explained to you many times, we can get to the European agencies and stop their launches. We cannot, however, do the same in China. We have no assets there, therefore we cannot stop them from attempting a Moon shot if they so desire.”

“You told me, Mr. Smith, that you have the assets to stop them,” Rawlins asked, feeling his temper start to get the best of him once again. “What happened to those?”

“And I do have solutions to these problems. But as I explained to you, the cost in human assets and monetary losses would be extraordinary if we have to strike at China.”

“Cost is not my concern. I can outspend most nations. These blasphemers must not be allowed to bring back any evidence from the Moon. Am I making myself clear on this?”

His eyes flared, as though reflecting the fire of some burning bush.

The director of the agency sat at his desk and read the letter Niles Compton had delivered to him. Next to Niles, Lieutenant Sarah McIntire and Deputy Director Virginia Pollock stood silently watching to see Jensen Appleby’s expression when he saw the signature at the bottom of the White House stationery. They didn’t have to wait long.

“Bullshit,” he said, surprising Sarah and Virginia. Niles, however, seemed to take the anger and the rebuke of the president’s letter in stride; he simply smiled. Sarah figured Niles had gone through this before. And ever since his seven-hour meeting with the president the previous night, he seemed extra tense, so the smile gave her some relief. “I don’t know you. And your credentials, which you refuse to show me, would more than likely prove to be as false as this forged document.” Appleby punched a button on his phone. “Get me a security team in here, ASAP.”