“So,” Hull said. “You would be my number two, then.” He would play this out and see how it went.
The man sat in the nearest chair and crossed his legs, saying nothing.
“I did not give you permission to sit down!” Hull rose, and grabbed his pants when they started sliding to his knees. “You will stand at attention until I tell you otherwise.”
His visitor raised his eyebrows and smiled, withdrew a trimmed cigar that was ready to toast, and with obvious relish lit it. At the first draw he closed his eyes, enjoying the flavor while ignoring Hull.
Hull’s face flushed with rage. “I did not give you permission to smoke! If you don’t put that out right now, I’ll put it out for you!”
“Don’t I wish you would try,” the man said.
Hull realized indignation would not work on this man. He began to feel desperate and tapped his lips with his index finger, thinking. “Got another one?”
“That depends. If you give me what I want, I’ll give you a cigar.”
“There it is. You want something from me.”
“Of course I do. That’s why you’re still alive.”
“You can’t simply execute me.”
“Well, you’d have a trial first, but I doubt a court-martial would be inclined to leniency.”
“So what is it you want from me?”
The man spread his arms, like the answer was obvious. “I want everything you know.”
“About?”
“About everything.”
“You want me to answer all your questions in exchange for a cigar?”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t made myself clear. I want you to cooperate fully with anyone and everyone who talks to you. I want you to answer their questions to the best of your knowledge. And I want you to discontinue this inane posturing.”
“What posturing?”
“This Patton masquerade. Give it up.”
“So if I do all of this, I get a cigar?”
“No. You get to keep breathing, and you don’t get to meet a young lady named Nipple. Think of the cigar as a bonus for good behavior.”
“You’re threatening a superior officer?”
“No, I’m threatening you… Lieutenant.”
Hull almost leaped at him, but controlled himself. “Do you see these stars on my collar? There’s five of them, and since you are obviously a member of the United States Army, I outrank you and every other member of your command!”
“Whoever made those did a lousy job. Do you want to see what a five-star cluster really looks like?” Reaching into his left breast pocket, the man withdrew his own symbols of rank and laid them on the table. “What do you have to say to that, Lieutenant Lester Earl Hull?”
Hull leaned back as if slapped; for several seconds he didn’t respond. His mind tried to rationalize the reality confronting him. “Lester Hull doesn’t exist. I am the reincarnated spirit of George Patton.”
“Right, George Patton. Are you also all the people Patton was before he was Patton?”
“I am, and one after him.”
“After him? You were somebody else, too?”
“Am somebody else. I am the accumulation of my past lives.”
“Right, right, an accumulation. So who else are you?”
As he replied, Hull leaned forward on the table, getting close to the man’s face. His voice dropped to a hiss between clenched teeth. “You mean besides Hannibal, Julius Caesar, and Napoleon? I am also Nicholas T. Angriff, Nick the fucking A. How do you like that?”
The stranger withdrew a .32 revolver from an ankle holster and pushed the muzzle into Hull’s mouth.
“What a coincidence,” he said. “So am I.”
Chapter 51
But if I die a lonely death,
My soul will wander nameless;
I cannot rest while you draw breath,
And I will have my vengeance.
Anonymous stele found at Tannis, believed to have come from Pi-Ramesses
1937 hours, August 3
Nick Angriff and Norm Fleming stood alone at the top of their mountain, facing the sunset. On their left, arrays of solar panels marched down a gentle slope on the southern face. A large metal shed, shaped like an igloo to counteract the summit’s buffeting winds, served as the access elevator’s topside terminal. Around the domed shed ran a wide stone walkway and a narrow road large enough for forklifts and Emvees.
Since the solar collectors were functioning as expected, Angriff and Fleming had the mountain peak all to themselves. Neither man had spoken since they’d first stepped out of the elevator half an hour before. The view in all directions was spectacular, and after the travails of the past few months, the tranquility was a blessing.
As usual, Angriff smoked a cigar. “You know, Norm, I’m not always the sharpest knife in the drawer,” he said, staring into the distance. “But I can see through a wall in time.”
“A cliché, followed by Tolkien. You never cease to amaze me, Nick.”
“I forgot you liked Tolkien, too. So let me try one my grandmother used to say all the time: don’t spit on my cake and tell me it’s icing.”
“Quaint. So what does it mean?”
“Now that things have calmed, I’ve had more time to think about our whole situation, how we got to this point and where we should go from here. As I’ve told you a hundred times, since I first heard about Project Overtime, there’s been something that’s bothered me about the whole thing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I still can’t, but I have figured out one thing: somebody lied to me, and that somebody was Thomas Steeple.”
“How so?” Fleming moved sideways as the wind shifted and cigar smoke wafted his way.
“Morgan.” He paused to let that sink in. “You don’t break one of the main protocols for an operation of this size without the permission of the head guy, and that was Steeple. And if you don’t bring him in on such a decision, you risk the wrath of God. Who would do that? Angering Steeple was a career-ender.
“But Morgan got married with the knowledge and permission of her Overtime recruiters. She wasn’t married first, then followed her husband into Long Sleep. They told Overtime to either take both or neither, and Overtime agreed, and then let them get married. Who had to sign off on that?”
“Steeple. But we’ve already gone over this. You can’t be sure he knew about it. Look how many sleepers weren’t on the manifest.”
“I’m not buying it, not for two active-duty Army officers. The others were shadowy characters like Bettison.”
“What about those geneticists?’
“I’ll grant you they’re an aberration. But you’re missing my point. If Steeple didn’t actually give permission for Morgan and Randall to join up, he sure as hell knew about it. He had to. And that was more than a year before he recruited me. All of which adds up to him lying to me by omission. He knew my daughter was alive and part of Overtime, but he didn’t tell me.
“Instead, if he didn’t engineer the whole charade with her funeral and the ashes and all that shit, he sure as hell signed off on it. That might be the worst thing anybody has ever done to me. He made me think my daughter died in a war I argued was necessary. Who does that? What kind of man could lay such guilt on a brother officer?”
“Come on, Nick. I didn’t like Steeple either, but you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“No, I’m not. Overtime is by far the most well thought out, well planned, and well executed military project I have ever seen or heard of. There was a central mind behind this whole thing, and if it wasn’t Steeple, then who was it? Aliens? Bigfoot? It had to be Steeple. And don’t say it’s a coincidence that Morgan’s death was faked and then within a year I was recruited…” His voice trailed off. His expression went from brows-lifted speculation to a staring-at-the-ground glare. “No. No, they would never do that.”
“Who would never do what?”
Angriff looked up and there was death in his eyes. He raised a forefinger, and stood like tha
t for several minutes, thinking the unthinkable. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped an octave.
“Consider this: the Zero Defects Initiative began shortly after Overtime got the green light. We didn’t know it then, but we do now. Highly trained men and women found themselves pushed out of the military for no good reason. Many of them had no family other than their branch of service. Suddenly there’s a pool of talented recruits for a secret project in need of just such people. Coincidence? You know how I feel about coincidences. Then, when the ranks are filling up, they look for a commander.
“When my daughter and her husband made themselves a package deal, that put me one step closer to being available. Only my wife and other daughter stood in the way, and this is where it becomes downright demonic. Maybe they could be turned into an advantage. What if they died? And at the same time, their deaths motivated me to lead Overtime with a passion others wouldn’t have.”
“That’s a lot of maybes. You can’t possibly mean any of that.”
“No? Why not? Until that meeting I had with Steeple, I thought he was the Devil incarnate. I thought I was a good judge of character and that he was being honest. But as I’m sure you remember, I wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to avenge my wife and daughter so bad, I would’ve agreed to cut off my right hand if it meant killing their killers, and Steeple knew that. He knew I was vulnerable and he used it. But that’s not the worst of it, Norm. What if Steeple was behind the whole thing?”
“Are you seriously suggesting that Tom Steeple, the highest-ranking officer in the United States armed forces, had your family murdered? Just so you would have nothing to hold you back from this assignment?”
“I’m saying it makes as much sense as anything else. And what about Bettison? I’ve never thought he was some rogue, in it for himself; he wasn’t that clever. If he was working with Steeple, then it makes perfect sense that he wouldn’t find my family’s killers or even try very hard.”
“Well, I think you’ve gone off the deep end, Nick.”
“Yeah? Then chew on this. The group who claimed responsibility for Janine and Cynthia’s deaths? Do you remember their name?”
Fleming shook his head.
“Well, I do. They called themselves the Sword of the New Prophet.”
“The Sevens.”
“Yes, the Sevens. They’re one and the same.”
Fleming walked off a few paces and rubbed his chin, trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t know how to explain that. I wish I could. And maybe I’m being naïve here, but I just can’t see the senior officer in the U.S. Army sanctioning the murder of a subordinate’s family — for any reason, much less for such a risky project as Overtime. But let’s say for the sake of argument that I could suspend my disbelief. Why would such a man do that when he would not even be around to benefit from his treachery…?” Then Fleming remembered his own words, not so long ago.
Angriff saw the recognition in his face. “Now you’ve come to it, Norm. You said it yourself, remember? If one Project Overtime was possible, why not two? Why die in the Collapse when Long Sleep could preserve you until America could be rebuilt in your preferred image and the image of the president you serve?”
“Part of me thinks you’ve gone insane, Nick.”
“But the other part knows it’s possible.”
Fleming adopted the pose he took when thinking deeply about something. Hands clasped behind his back, he stared into the western sky, where the sun had sunk behind a distant butte. “The president, his closest advisers, and Tom Steeple, all out there somewhere…”
“Maybe waiting for us to clean things up before they move in and take over,” Angriff said. “Claiming to be the rightful U.S. government.”
“But wouldn’t they be the rightful government?” Fleming said.
“I doubt it, not after this much time. But I don’t know and I don’t care. If Steeple was behind the death of my family, and if he’s still out there somewhere, then he and I have a score to settle. And since I don’t believe they would be the legitimately elected government, I’m not about to let him, his president, or any of his cronies take over this country a second time.”
“But if they were legitimate, what then?”
“You know I believe the Constitution is second only to the Bible in its importance. If they were eligible, and they were elected, I’d respect it. But I’d have to be sure the election was fair. Anybody who could engineer a project this size is a genius. But to do it with such little regard for his brothers in arms takes a monster, and even more than that—”
Angriff stopped again. In all their years together, Fleming had never seen the expression he now saw on his best friend’s face. Beyond shock, with wide eyes and open mouth, for moments all Angriff did was blink and shake his head.
“Oh, my God,” he finally mumbled. “Oh, my God, oh, my God.”
Fleming touched Angriff’s shoulder and turned him so they were face to face. “Nick? Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
The look on Angriff’s face twisted into something more familiar, with jaw set and mouth turned down. “Do you remember when we sat in my office back in Virginia, the first time I said I was missing something about all this? That I knew something was wrong, except I didn’t know what?”
“Sure, and you’ve said it a hundred times since then.”
“I finally thought of it. Dear God, Norm, I know what I missed.”
“Okay, that’s good. Take a deep breath and tell me.”
Angriff was so angry he shook. “Do you remember when we were on sub-floor eleven with Bettison?”
Fleming thought, I got shot twice in the chest. I’m not likely to forget that. But out loud he said, “Sure, Nick. How could I forget?”
“The little guy, remember him? With the Boston accent?”
“Yeah, Mole Man.”
“Right. His voice, I’d heard it before. I knew it as soon as he said something, but I couldn’t place it until just now. The video Bettison showed me of the terrorist attack, the one recovered from the tour boat? In the background somebody kept repeating Allahu Akbar. He said it very slow and clear.”
“I remember you telling me that.”
“Not like the ISIS mobs, or Hezbollah, but calmly. He annunciated each word so you couldn’t miss it. He wasn’t shouting it; he was saying it. Do you see what I mean?”
“I do. Terrorists would be jumping around.”
“Exactly! It was his voice on the video. I know you’re gonna say a lot of people have that accent, but it’s not just that. It was him. I’ve heard it in my dreams so many times I can’t count. Which means it was no terrorist attack. That was targeted at my family, specifically. All those innocent people used as a smokescreen for the murder of my family.”
“And you’re sure about this?”
“With God as my witness, I’m certain. So connect Mole Man with who took credit. Remember? The Sword of the New Prophet, which has morphed over the years into this Caliphate we just fought. This whole thing was nothing more than a conspiracy to ensure I took command of this brigade. Even Morgan being here… another bargaining chip in case I said no.”
Norm Fleming rarely cursed. For this situation, he couldn’t help himself. “Son of a bitch! It seems like a nightmare. I don’t want to believe it, but all the pieces fit. I think you’re right. They might really be out there somewhere and we could be facing more enemies than we thought.”
“Yeah,” Angriff said. “Maybe so, but if we are, so are they. And if Tom Steeple is out there, I’m gonna track him down. Then we’re going to have a discussion he might not like.”
Epilogue
Our genius ain’t appreciated around here. Let’s scram.
Moe Howard
1357 hours, November 24
Green Ghost stood on the crest of the hill, ignoring the cold winds blowing in from the northwest. Nipple, Vapor, and Wingnut had retreated down the lee slope to avoid the icy breezes. The chill penetrated him as much as it did
the others, and the older he got, the more he felt the effects of cold weather. Next time he would bring heavy clothes. It had been a stupid oversight, one he wouldn’t usually make. But for the time being, he suppressed the shivering his body demanded and continued looking for skid marks near the river below.
“I’m fucking cold,” his sister yelled. “Hey, B.B., let’s get out of here.”
Green Ghost could only stay underground for so long. With the brigade consolidating their hold on the newly liberated areas, his job as S-5 became tedious. Taking his three closest friends, the Core Four of Task Force Zombie, he’d announced to Angriff they were leaving on a slurp and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks. The CO hadn’t liked it, but just wished them well.
They’d decided to follow the gorge of the Little Colorado River north until it joined its larger namesake. For two days the sojourn had been a delightful hike through the high country in perfect fall weather. Game animals and predators filled the land, and Green Ghost got a feel for what it must have been like before the coming of white men to Arizona.
But on the third morning, Vapor had found tracks unlike anything he’d seen before. They appeared to be skid marks from some type of sled, only much bigger. There were three distinct sled tracks, each one about twenty-two inches wide. Inboard of the outer tracks were regular tire tracks. The whole mechanical footprint measured eight feet across, and the tracks sank deep into the hard-packed dirt. Whatever made them weighed several tons, at least.
Even stranger was the disruption of topsoil by some sort of wind. For twenty feet on either side of the tracks, something had thrown dirt and rocks out of the sled’s way. Green Ghost had no explanation, except some giant type of propeller.
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