A Pale Horse

by Wendy Alec

  General Assaf stood expressionless. “New orders. We have to pick up some top secret cargo.” He gave Alex a meaningful look.

  “I don’t like it,” Jason said. His jaw set. He looked over to the oblivious Julia, who sat listening to the X-Pod. “I don’t like it at all.”

  Alex buckled his safety belt, then raised his gaze to Jason’s. “It’s my grandparents, Uncle Jas,” he said softly.

  “Your grandparents? What have they got to do with this?”

  Jason cast his mind back to the many family dinners at his and Julia’s first apartment, when Alex was a toddler. Jason had grown very fond of the fiercely intelligent, feisty silver-haired Rebekah Weiss and Alex’s laid-back, genial grandfather David.

  “Their covers have been blown. If we don’t pick them up, they’ll be exterminated.”

  “What do you mean, their covers?”

  General Assaf sank into his seat as the engines started to roar. “As you know,” he said, “before their retirement, Rebekah was head of the Goldyne Savad Institute of Gene Therapy at the Hadassah University Medical Organization, and David Weiss was former head of NASA’s astrophysics division.”

  “They’ve both been Mossad agents since the Munich massacre in ’seventy-two.”

  “Mossad agents? Your grandparents? They’re intel- lectuals!”

  “Joined the Illuminus ten years ago,” Assaf continued. “They’ve been two of our best operatives in Israel. It’s getting too dangerous. We have to get them out. At a private runway in Tel Aviv, a UH-60L Black Hawk helicopter is waiting for us.”

  “You knew?” Jason stared at Alex in disbelief. Alex nodded.

  Jason looked over to Julia, who sat with eyes closed, listening to Alex’s music.

  “Julia’s not to be told till we arrive. That’s an order, General Assaf.”

  General Assaf nodded. “Yes, Mr. De Vere, sir.”

  Jason turned to Alex.

  “Granddad oversaw NASA’s covert UFO program for thirty years until his retirement. He has in his possession the only untampered evidence in existence of the counterintelligence program at NASA. He’s also a fully fledged member of the Collins Elite.”

  Assaf nodded. “And Rebekah Weiss has documented proof that a covert genetic program existed under the employ of Guber and his specialists. We fly from Tel Aviv, then pick them up at Atarot Airport in Jerusalem. The Mossad—or whoever are left of the Mossad after Adrian’s own personal Kristallnacht—are working for us. Then we fly straight to Petra.”

  “My grandmother has evidence that Adrian and Guber are working avidly on reinventing the second holocaust. They intend to target anyone with Jewish ancestry, worldwide, courtesy of Project Coast and Wouter Basson.”

  “Impossible!” Jason gasped. “Adrian’s been treating the Israelis with kid gloves.” He looked from Alex to Assaf in disbelief. “Jerusalem’s just become his second headquarters, for Pete’s sake.”

  Alex and General Assaf looked at him in silence.

  “Look . . . ” Jason was starting to get heated. “He ratified the Concordat of King Solomon, and the forty-year Ishtar Accord—it’s a—”

  “A seven-year guarantee by the EU and the United Nations to defend Israel, as a protectorate, bound by international law. Israel, in exchange for her immediate denuclearization, would be protected both diplomatically and militarily against Russia, the surrounding Arab states, and any enemy third parties, by both the European Superstate and the United Nations. Israel would, however, retain a sufficient measure of sovereignty and remain a state under international law,” Alex rattled off with scarcely a breath. “Israel has been at peace with every Arab nation on her borders since the Accord and is forty-eight months into the implementation of her seven-year denuclearization strategy. A UN peacekeeping force occupies Temple Mount. Israel’s boundaries have reverted back to the borders of 1967. Jerusalem is undivided. Muslims, Christians, and Jews have free right of passage to the holy places in Jerusalem, regardless of religion, gender, or race.”

  “Exactly!” said Jason. “Not to mention, Adrian dismantled the wall, got them back the Ark of the Covenant, and has just finished rebuilding the Third Temple in Jerusalem almost single-handedly.”

  “He’s going to contravene the Accord, Uncle Jas.”

  Jason froze.

  “Today her denuclearization program is irreversible. Israel is demilitarized for the first time since 1948. Israel’s Samson Option is—”

  “But the . . . the Israeli government . . . they act as though Adrian’s their . . . ”Jason fumbled for words. “ . . . their . . . ”

  “Their Messiah?” Alex said grimly.

  “Adrian and Guber are already in the final stages of a DNA program that shows up Jewish ancestry going back forty generations. It was completed five weeks ago. No more gas chambers. Just a toxin that targets the specific Jewish DNA.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Investigative journalism’s pretty much my life, Uncle Jas.”

  Assaf turned to Jason, grim. “Mr. De Vere, sir, Israel’s real Mossad was pretty much decimated two years after your brother became president.”

  “Over eighty percent of Israeli agents were replaced with Guber’s thugs,” Alex added. “Forged Jewish heritage.”

  Jason stared at Assaf in disbelief.

  “Make no mistake,” said Assaf, “They have exhaustive files on every member of the government and their extended families, both inside Israel and out. The minute they don’t cooperate, their families will be exterminated. Gas ovens and concentration camps have left them with, shall we say, a far more pragmatic view of survival than we Gentiles possess.”

  Alex studied Jason intently. “Hey, Uncle Jas, Aunt Lilian—your mother—was Jewish, wasn’t she?”

  Jason stared back at Alex, silent. He had been raised an agnostic. Lilian had held no belief until later in life. He recalled seeing a carefully wrapped prayer shawl in her room. Come to think of it, she had supported Israel with money—vast sums of money, in fact.

  He remembered seeing her Hebrew surname once, on an old certificate. Her second name was Rachel.

  “Yes, Mother was Jewish,” he said very softly.

  “That makes you technically a Jew, Uncle Jas.”

  Jason stared out the porthole, deep in thought, as the jet took off into Kansas’s inky black skies. Whether he liked it or not—whether or not he even understood it—it was an indisputable fact.

  Jason De Vere was a Jew.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Area 51, Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

  2025

  The AC-130U Gunship IV, the elite’s latest innovation courtesy of the Lockheed “Skunk Works,” entered the restricted airspace of Area 51, shadowed by eight black unmarked helicopters.

  Kurt Guber, director of EU Special Service operations, and exotic-weapons specialist, stared out the gunship’s windows as they flew over the colossal three-million-acre Air Force base, approaching Groom Lake. Guber gazed out at the dry lake bed, severed by the 27,000-foot runway and studded with massive hangars and communications towers. He scanned the recently erected fifty-mile band of concentric razor-topped chain-link security fences that surrounded the inner perimeter of the base.

  Guber’s own team of security specialists had designed the new state-of-the-art electronic surveillance systems recently put into use. He knew that they were so advanced, they even had the ability to pick up the odor of human sweat—and transmitted a lethal electrical charge.

  He smiled. His master was now only minutes away from holding in his hand the most incendiary piece of evidence from this century or the last.

  Evidence of the U.S. and one-world government’s participation in the most treacherous pact ever initiated in the dark corridors of shadow government. Evidence that had to be destroyed.

  The gunship flew over the Groom Lake “graveyard,” then set down on the airstrip.

  Minutes later, eighteen members of the Special Operations Command task force ex
ited from the gunship out onto the tarmac, then marched toward the western elevation of the mountain range, led by Guber.

  Instantly they were surrounded by militia with automatic weapons raised. Their captain saluted Guber, who nodded to Neil Travis. who removed a heavy brown envelope from a briefcase attached to his wrist. He handed the envelope to Guber, who handed it to the captain in front of him.

  The captain instantly recognized the unique NCS seal. He shrank from Guber, fleeting fear evident in his eyes.

  Guber smiled in gratification. The National Clandestine Services, operational since October 13, 2005, had absorbed the infamous CIA Directorate of Operations. And since December 2022, it had been commanded solely by the one-world government.

  The captain examined the papers methodically.

  Guber paced up and down, his gaze fixed on the two unmarked aircraft with their distinctive red stripe along the fuselage, taxiing down a second runway in the distance.

  The “Janets”—nicknamed after their call letters, he thought idly. Each day, they ferried thousands of Area 51’s employees to and from McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, fueling conspiracy theorist sites all across the Internet.

  Guber gave a disparaging smile. If they had any idea what really lay beneath Groom Lake . . .

  The captain closed the envelope and motioned to the militia, who lowered their weapons.

  “The papers are in order,” he said softly. He handed the envelope back to Guber and saluted.

  Guber and his militia marched across the tarmac into Hangar 18 and into a huge, nondescript elevator guarded by six special forces soldiers, weapons cocked and locked. The doors closed. Guber’s party descended at high speed to thirty-seven stories beneath the surface, then came to an abrupt halt as the elevator opened onto monstrous camouflaged steel blast doors set into the bedrock.

  Guber stood at attention as the iris scanner automatically lowered to his. He looked into the camera lens. Seconds later, the massive doors slid open, revealing the western access to a sprawling underground city the size of Lower Manhattan.

  Guber smiled. This was the core of the covert “black world” of the shadow government’s classified research and development, financed by the new world order—The Shadowlands.

  Guber and his special forces operatives headed toward the underground shuttle system hub the size of Grand Central Station. The monstrous silver railcars’ steel doors slid open silently as the soldiers walked toward them. They boarded, sat down, and strapped themselves in. Five seconds later, the railcars took off. Quickly accelerating to Mach 2, they passed the flickering lights of hundreds of other railcars at high velocity through the vast subterranean highway engineered by Aerospace, descending to two miles beneath the vast Mojave Desert.

  The rail cars hurtledyunder the sparse acres of brittlebush and desert holly towards ‘Dulce’, then, seven minutes later, came to an abrupt halt as the doors opened onto an eight-ton blast door guarded by ten militiamen dressed in black, holding TDI KRISS Super V XSMG submachine guns.

  Guber exited. The militia saluted as one as he marched straight past them, through a security body scanner and into a high-security control room, where armed sentries monitored intrusion alarms linked to the black Vault.

  A tall man in a black suit stood with his back to Guber and the soldiers

  The man seemed able to read his thought waves.

  He lifted his hand, and black steel doors descended on each window.

  “You’re late.”

  Guber trembled.

  The man in black raised his hand, and the chambers spun around, transforming into one vast subterranean bunker with a wall of iron bars.

  The man in black walked through to the chamber. The entire chamber, which must have been a thousand feet square, contained only two steel boxes.

  The man nodded. The iron gates opened, and Guber walked toward the iron wall of boxes. He inserted an access card into a reader, and immediately a box to his right, halfway up the wall, lit up red.

  Guber placed the access card in one end of the steel box and punched in a code.

  The man in black punched in a code and nodded to Guber

  The box slid open. The man reached inside and carefully removed an old yellowed document.

  He looked briefly at the United States seal on the document, then turned the pages.

  There on the final page of the document was President Dwight Eisenhower’s distinctive scrawl, dated February 21, 1954. Opposite the president’s signature were three strange alien markings.

  On the front page, in precise black, above the United States presidential seal was the title: “The Greada Treaty.”

  “We are ready for the final implementation of our new world order,” the man in black said. He turned to face Guber.

  It was Lorcan De Molay.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Jerusalem

  “Isn’t that downtown Jerusalem?” Julia asked. “Look at the lights!”

  Jason stared out the helicopter window, then frowned. He recognized the outline of the old city wall. Strange—they were supposed to be headed for Atarot, between Jerusalem and Ramallah.

  He could hear hushed, terse voices in the cockpit, then silence. General Assaf walked from the cockpit toward them.

  “We’ve had word from our intelligence,” he said solemnly. “A small hitch, as you say in America.” He smiled slightly, but his eyes were troubled.

  “Your brother’s militia got to our agents at Atarot. A massacre. Chessler’s thugs got wind of our flight plan. The Weisses escaped with two ex-Mossad soldiers. We’ll pick them up at Hadassah Ein Kerem. The hospital—it has a helipad.”

  Alex sat bolt upright. “It’s much too dangerous.”

  General Assaf sighed.

  “Of course, we wanted to avoid it because your grandmother is so well known there. No choice, I’m afraid.”

  Jason looked out the window again.

  He could make out the outline of two Apache attack helicopters approaching in the distance. The Apaches’ comms flared on.

  “This is the One World Alliance. You are to land immediately by presidential order.”

  General Assaf shook his head and motioned to the pilots. “Continue the course to Ein Kerem,” he said softly.

  “This is the One World Alliance. Repeat, you are to land immediately by presidential order.”

  There was complete silence.

  Julia looked in apprehension at Jason, then at General Assaf. She moved toward the window just as the Apaches descended.

  “Julia!” Jason shouted, and grasped her arm.

  A stream of tracer bullets blazed toward the helicopter.

  Julia collapsed into Jason’s arms.

  Jason stared down in horror at the crimson blood gushing between his fingers from her chest.

  “First-aid kit!” General Assaf shouted.

  Jason stared down at Julia, paralyzed.

  Her eyes flickered open. “Jason,” she whispered. Assaf opened a first-aid kit and took out a sterile bandage.

  Jason smiled weakly. “I’m right here, Jules. You’ll be fine, pal.” He squeezed her hand, willing back his tears.

  “Jason . . . ”

  “Don’t talk, Julia,” Jason said gently. “Just let Assaf patch you up. We’re taking you straight to the hospital,” he lied. “Alex’s grandmother is a surgeon. The hospital’s right here.”

  “You were always a terrible liar,” Julia whispered. A tear ran down her cheek as she smiled up at him.

  “Roll up her sleeve,” Assaf instructed Jason.

  Jason rolled up Julia’s sleeve, as Assaf plunged a needle into her upper arm.

  “Morphine,” he said.

  Jason nodded.

  “When this is all over,” he whispered, “I’m going to marry you, Julia St. Cartier. The biggest wedding New York’s ever seen.”

  “Not New York—London,” whispered Julia. “I love you, Jason.” She struggled to form the words. “I’ve always .
. . ”

  Jason stared, horrified, at the blood trickling from Julia’s mouth. He placed his finger gently over her lips, willing back the sobs that were racking his chest. Julia smiled weakly up at him as she lost consciousness.

  “I’ve loved you forever, Julia De Vere.”

  Jason clasped her to his chest, tears streaming down his unshaven cheeks, and gently smoothed her matted hair.

  “I’ve loved you forever, Jules,” he sobbed, rocking her as he would a small child. “Loved you forever.”

  Alex looked at Jason, horrified. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Jas.”

  Very slowly Jason laid Julia down next to the medic, who sat beside Assaf, making a flutter valve.

  Jason watched the lights of the Apaches as they approached within firing range again.

  “They’ll shoot us down this time,” Alex said. “They’re going to blow us out of the sky.”

  Jason grabbed Assaf’s handgun from his belt. “Drop me,” he ordered.

  He pointed the gun straight at Assaf and the pilots, his hands trembling.

  “Use me as a diversion. I’m the one they’re after.”

  “No, Mr. De Vere.” Assaf’s tone was even. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Drop me right here on the street, General. Now.” Jason looked down at Julia, then up at the general.

  “Or I’ll blast your head off.” His hands shook. “You know I’ll do it, Assaf.”

  Assaf studied Jason intently, then nodded to the pilot. “Do as Mr. De Vere says,” he said softly.

  Jason glanced over at Julia. She had stopped breathing. He looked into Assaf’s eyes. “Get Julia to the Hadassah Hospital now.”

  Assaf nodded.

  “Sorry about this, General.”

  The helicopter descended rapidly, and Assaf opened the door.

  “May the Hebrew be with you,” he whispered.

  Jason jumped down onto the grassy expanse of the park opposite the Waldorf Astoria Jerusalem and stumbled up onto his feet. The helicopter disappeared as the Apaches started to descend toward him.