The Quisling Covenant

by Jerry Ahern

  “Holy crap!” Dalton exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

  “See if it registers on the camera,” was all Thorne said.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Then start taking pictures, damn it. Don’t use the flash.” For the next thirty minutes, the camera snapped again and again. Finally Thorne thought, Off, the image faded and he swiveled the pilot seat around. Sweat glistened across his forehead as he said, “Whew, it worked.”

  Dalton shook his head, “I don’t know how you did it but you sure made something happen.”

  Thorne stood up and followed Dalton out of the craft, “Let’s get to your office, I want to see those photographs.”

  “How did you figure it out?” Dalton asked as they headed off.

  “I kept thinking about what you said the other day, that it was as though the pilot had to ‘wear’ the craft to fly it. I couldn’t shake the idea. I couldn’t see how each of these craft would be designed for individual pilots. It had to be simpler than that. Flying is flying... we were over thinking the way to do it; I just simplified the thinking process.”

  The next day, Thorne and Dalton briefed the Chief of Staff, General Sullivan, on their progress. Sullivan said, “I have to get back to headquarters. I will expect a briefing on your progress tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Griffins landed close to the VTOL transport planes and were loaded. The wounded, including Natalia, were loaded on one bird with Rourke and Rubenstein. The flight back to rendezvous with surface ships from Mid-Wake took almost six hours.

  The plane carrying Natalia and the other wounded landed on the first of two carriers, followed shortly thereafter by the Combat Air Control planes; the other transport landed on the second. The wounded were off-loaded and transported to the medical facilities below deck. The two ships and their escorts then steamed away at flank speed for the underwater city of Mid-Wake’s coordinates.

  President of the United States, Michael Rourke, had been the first to meet the VTOL and helped off-load his wife and followed her below deck. John Rourke followed as Natalia was rushed directly into the operating room. An hour later, John said, “Michael, I’m going to check on Paul and the others. Then I’m going to get a smoke, I can’t stand this waiting.” Michael just nodded and said, “I understand, I’ll let you know as soon as I know. Dad, thanks for everything you did.”

  Rourke nodded and walked down the passage way. He had passed a hatch when he heard, “John, how’s Natalia?” Turning back he looked in and saw Paul lying in a bed; his right leg already in a cast and hung up by a cable system.

  “Don’t know yet Paul,” Rourke said. “She’s still in surgery. What did they say about your leg?”

  “It’ll heal but it’s going to take a while. The slug cracked the femur on its way through, pretty well messed the muscles but they’ve put that back together. Doctor suspects I may have some nerve damage but we’ll have to let it heal before we’ll know for sure. How’s Michael doing?”

  “Seems to be holding it together, that’s all any of us can do until the doctors tell us more. You get some rest, I still have to call Emma and let her tell the kids. I’ll check on you later.”

  Paul nodded, “Ask her to tell Annie I’m okay and I’ll call her or see her soon. Any idea when we’ll get to Mid-Wake?”

  Rourke glanced at his Rolex Submariner, “Should just be another two hours or so, I think. I’ll double check with the Captain and let you know. Now rest.” Rourke walked out and headed to the starboard observation platform. He stepped out, the sea air pleasantly shocking his senses. He pulled the last of his cigars and turning, cupped the battered Zippo and puffed.

  “You have another one of those?” a voice said.

  Rourke turned and saw Sanderson coming out of the hatch. “Nope, last one but you’re welcome to share it.” Rourke took another puff and passed it over to Sanderson who inhaled deeply, letting the smoke out in a long exhale.

  “How are your men doing?” John asked.

  Sanderson took another puff and passed the cigar back, “All of the wounded have been checked; most will be okay but Franklin—the one who took a slug in his back—is still guarded. How’s the lady doing?”

  “No word yet, she’s still in surgery.”

  Sanderson nodded and the two were silent as they smoked the rest of the cigar. Both lost in their own thoughts. The ship’s speaker squawked and a voice said, “Dr. Rourke please report to sick bay.” Rourke took a last drag and handed the cigar to Sanderson, “I’ll see you later, finish this.”

  Sanderson nodded and said, “Good luck, hope it all works out.” Rourke went below; Sanderson smoked the rest of the cigar before flipping it overboard and high in the air. He watched it until the wind grabbed it, jerking it toward the rear of the ship; he never saw it splash into the ocean waves.

  Chapter Twenty

  Michael sat next to the bed watching her breathe slowly, very slowly. Each time she exhaled it seemed an inordinate amount of time passed before she inhaled. Her face had been cleaned but was swollen, the left side particularly. Abrasions and bruises covered the rest of her face. A large bandage was wrapped around her forehead and another covered her damaged neck. With the bandages, bruising, and swelling, plus the tape holding an air line that ran down her nasal passage, he realized that if he had not known it was her... he wouldn’t have recognized his own wife. Throughout the night the only sounds in the room were the sounds of the nurses checking her vitals, repeated visits from his father who also checked the charts, her vitals, the connections of IVs, and electrodes. When no one else was in the room, the only sound was the rhythmic beep... beep... beep of the heart monitor.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “She is out of surgery,” Rourke told Emma over the satellite phone. “We should be in Mid-Wake shortly. They have stabilized her and are transferring her to the main hospital in Honolulu; the next twelve to eighteen hours are the most critical.”

  “I called Sarah and told her what we knew,” Emma said. “She’s leaving within the hour for Honolulu; she wants to help keep the kids stable while we’re waiting on word.”

  “That’s fine,” Rourke said. “It will help them I’m sure. How are you doing?” There was a long pause and he heard her take a deep breath.

  “John, I’m scared. What if Natalia doesn’t make it? What if she doesn’t recover fully? How are the kids and Michael going to take that?”

  “I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Honey, it is going to be what it is going to be. We’ll all have to deal with it but we need to find out what the IT is. I don’t know what else to say.”

  Michael had dozed off. He had hardly slept since the report of the attack had reached his office nearly fifty-two hours earlier. He stirred—she had squeezed his hand. Looking over he saw her eyes were open, “Hello Baby, the Docs say you’re going to be fine. You just need some rest.” He wasn’t positive but he thought she nodded slightly before drifting back to sleep. He studied her face and it seemed less drawn and her color, what he could see of it under the bandages and bruises, seemed better.

  An hour and a half later, the ship was moored. Natalia, Rubenstein, and the more seriously injured were sent by ambulances and admitted to the Honolulu Medical Center. Those who were ambulatory were bused to Honolulu General. Along the way, Natalia went into cardiac arrest. It had taken the EMTs three tries with the defibrillator to get her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Paul Rubenstein borrowed Rourke’s A.G. Russell Sting 1A and began cutting the lines holding his leg in the air while John kept the leg from falling. “Paul,” John said, “you know this is against your doctor’s orders.”

  “Yeah, I know.” When he had cut the last line, John gently lowered the leg to the bed and Paul moved into a sitting position. Swinging his body to the right, Paul pulled himself erect and supported his weight on a walker. He was careful not to put any weight on his injured leg. Rourke had helped him out of bed, agains
t the orders of the medical staff. Rourke moved the wheelchair behind Paul and braced it. Paul tried to ease himself down but ended up with a grimace of pain on his face, doing a butt flop into the chair.

  “Damnit,” Paul said through clenched teeth, then looked up at Rourke and nodded, “Let’s go see her.” Rourke pulled the chair back and eased it into the hallway; the steely eyes of the Director of Nursing locked him in her gaze. Rourke stared back and said quietly, “I know... I know. He made me do it, do you want to try and stop this guy?” The D.O.N. frowned and with a snort went back to her paperwork.

  They went down the hallway to the right and stopped at the elevator. When it opened, Rourke pushed the chair inside and they rode the elevator up two floors. Rourke pushed Paul out of the elevator and stopped to hold the elevator door for another patient. When he turned back, Paul was gone, pushing himself down the ICU hallway and up to the nurse’s station.

  “Natalia Rourke. What room is she in?” Paul asked.

  “Mrs. Rourke cannot have visitors, only family,” the charge nurse said.

  “Damnit,” Paul shouted. “I am family, what room?” Rourke grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and started it moving. “I know where she’s at Paul, calm down.” Rubenstein didn’t respond. When they rounded the next corner Paul knew what room she was in by the number of Secret Service agents around the door of room 342; he started propelling the chair himself. Rourke let him go. The agents looked at Rubenstein then looked at Rourke who nodded and flashed the okay sign to them and they stepped back; one agent opened the door for Paul.

  Paul nodded his thanks and, taking a deep breath, rolled into the room. Michael looked up and said, “How are you Paul?”

  “I’m fine,” Rubenstein said. “How about her?”

  “She woke up for a moment...” Michael checked his watch. “About twenty minutes ago for just a second then went back to sleep. We have to wait and see. She’ll survive but those bastards hurt her Paul. They hurt her badly.”

  “I talked to your mom a little while ago when John called her,” Paul said. “She’s en route to Honolulu to help with the kids. She sends her love to both of you. When do you expect the next report from the doctors?”

  “I don’t know,” Michael said, checking his watch. “Could be anytime but I’d say another hour at least.”

  “Alright, your dad’s outside. I’m going to check in with Annie again. I spoke to her yesterday but I wanted to wait until I saw you and Natalia before I called back.”

  “Tell my kids I’ll call them after the doctor gives us an update,” Michael said. Paul nodded and wheeled about, he kicked the door and it opened, held in place by the same agent who had opened it for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thorne took a deep breath before knocking on the office door. The door opened and General Sullivan smiled, “Come in Colonel.”

  “How are you Sir?” He noticed the Chief of Staff looked harried; stubble showed along his chin line and his face was drawn. He was in the same uniform he had worn the day before.

  “Frankly Colonel, I’m concerned. Sit down please; we have to have a talk.” Sullivan didn’t return to his desk but walked to a file cabinet and removed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Drink?”

  “If you’re offering... I’d be honored,” Thorne said. This must be serious, he thought.

  Sullivan nodded and poured two shots handing one to Thorne before he pulled a chair up and sat across from him. “I’ve looked at your record, Colonel. Command experience, combat experience, test pilot... You’ve made a career putting your ass on the line for this country.”

  Thorne shifted uncomfortably, “As you have, Sir.”

  Sullivan nodded, “So we have, Colonel... so we have. Cheers.”

  “Cheers, Sir.” Thorne clicked glasses and sipped the warm whiskey.

  Sullivan slugged down his drink and smiled. “Need you to do something, Rodney.” The shift to his first name did not go unnoticed by Thorne.

  “Sir?”

  Sullivan flipped open a humidor on the coffee table and removed two cigars, clipped the tips and handed one to Thorne. “You realize this is not a social call Colonel.”

  Thorne took the cigar; he hadn’t smoked in years. “Didn’t figure it was, General.”

  Sullivan nodded, lit a match and offered it to Thorne. Thorne puffed, got the cigar going and nodded. Sullivan touched the match to his own cigar and puffed. “Here’s where we’re at. There is every probability we are about to be engaged on two fronts. One is conventional, the other isn’t.” Thorne sat quietly. “I need a straight, no BS answer. Can you fly the UFO?”

  “Yes Sir, now that I figured out how to turn the damn thing on. I believe I can fly it.”

  Sullivan nodded, “How familiar are you with the old astronaut training?”

  “Truthfully, it was not that different in many ways from our current flight training. With the exception of course of long term zero-gravity activities.”

  Sullivan smiled, “Correct. The effects of launching and landing had various effects on astronauts, with the most significant effects that occur being space motion sickness, orthostatic intolerance, and cardiovascular events. Stuff like that. Space motion sickness could occur within minutes of being in changing gravity environments. The symptoms ranged from drowsiness and headaches, to nausea and vomiting.”

  “About two-thirds of astronauts experienced space motion sickness, with effects rarely exceeding two days. There is a risk for post-flight motion sickness; however, this was only significant following long-duration space missions. During training, astronauts are familiarized with the engineering systems of the spacecraft. Not the least of which was orbital mechanics.”

  Thorne paused for a moment, “If my memory serves, virtual reality was used as a tool to immerse astronauts in many of the operational aspects.”

  The Chief of Staff nodded. “In the old days, the training took years. We don’t have years. Let me tell you what we’re thinking. This conversation is ultra secret, Colonel. Agreed?”

  Thorne nodded and sat up straight, “Roger that Sir.” Sullivan spoke uninterrupted for the next forty-five minutes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A stern-faced physician stood at the end of Natalia’s bed, deep in thought.

  “How’s she doing doctor?” Paul asked.

  Glancing up at the intrusion the doctor frowned, “What the hell are you doing here?” He turned to Rourke, “Is this your doing?”

  John shook his head, “Couldn’t stop him, Doc. Answer the question, how is she doing?”

  “Dr. Rourke, as you know from your own experience, medical science has advanced significantly from what you learned in your training. In the ‘old days,’ if you will allow that term, doctors were more like mechanics. We really had little understanding as to how the body worked and how disease states functioned. The old pharmaceutical companies created drugs to attack diseases. Those drugs took over and initiated repairs to the body. The reality we did not know then, is the body itself is its own best physician. It can literally defend itself against and repair damage that is done to the body, with the right fuel.”

  “The most important discovery for your immune system is something called glyconutrients. ‘Glyco’ means ‘sweet’ in Latin; these nutrients are long-chain complex carbohydrates or saccharides. Six of the eight essential glyconutrients are known to be missing in the modern diet due to over-farming, green-harvesting, food processing, and soil depletion caused by the Night of the War. What we now know is that these eight sugars, or glyconutrients, are necessary to build ‘glycoprotein.’”

  “Those are the hair-like structures on the outsides of our cells which enable cell-to-cell communication, right?” Rourke asked.

  “Exactly, without adequate amounts of these eight sugars, the human body cannot function properly, as research has shown. Science and medicine have long tried to understand the code by which the cells in the body communicate with one another in order for its
complex functions to occur. For example, how does your digestive system know which food components to absorb into the blood stream and which to ignore? Or which cells to attack and destroy and which to protect and nurture? That code has now been broken. This role is undertaken by glyconutrients. Researchers proclaim it to be the most important discovery in the history of medicine. The key to a long, healthy life.”

  “Following the Night of the War, Mid-Wake scientists were faced with feeding its population. One of the best sources of food nutrition was Chlorella. It is a single-cell fresh water green microalgae that is loaded with nutrients. It contains more nucleic acids, RNA and DNA, than any other food, which gives it a lot of energy producing potential. It is a great supplement to boost any diet lacking in green vegetables. Chlorella contains more chlorophyll than most plants, along with an impressive array of vitamins and minerals.”

  “It is also one of the most vibrant and energetic organisms on Earth, able to reproduce rapidly due to its highly active cellular components. These nutritious factors are called Chlorella Growth Factor, what we call CGF. CGF is a mix of its nucleic acids along with important glyconutrients or essential sugars as well as vital amino acids.”

  Rourke was drifting in thought, Could it be that this is the missing part of the equation? Is this the science the aliens were using and the reason for the war with the Atlantians?

  “Simply put,” the Doctor continued, “Glyconutrition allows the cell-to-cell communication for the body to rapidly ‘heal’ itself. As you know, Mr. Rubenstein’s broken femur would normally require immobilization and support and it would take six to eight weeks for the bone to knit itself back together. However, on this regimen, he’ll be mobile in six to eight days.”

  “What about Natalia?” Rubenstein asked again.