by Ballan, Greg
Ross and the crew on deck cheered as the alien craft limped away from Earth orbit – but on an erratic course – trailing a steady stream of green plasma.
The alien ship then did the unthinkable; it turned back toward Earth, the nose of the craft glowing a hideous chartreuse. The vessel turned in the direction of the battle satellite and returned fire with a green blob of energy that raced from the nose of the crippled ship toward the satellite. The energy sphere grew and expanded in size with each additional kilometer it traveled.
New coordinates were sent to Sentinel and its rocket boosters fired, but the edge of the expanding plasma ball collided with the fleeing satellite, causing the craft to tumble erratically out of its prescribed orbit.
Ground control stabilized the platform before it burned in re-entry to Earth’s atmosphere. Sentinel exhausted most of its fuel supply climbing back into space in order to re-establish enough orbital velocity and altitude to escape the gravitational pull of the Earth. As the battle satellite achieved orbital status, its weapons’ computer locked upon the crippled intruder. The alien ship had turned and was once again heading back toward deep space when Sentinel fired another searing particle beam toward the fleeing intruder.
Almost 5000 kilometers now separated the two warring vessels and by the time the beam impacted the ship it was barely a third of its fired potency. The alien ship still buckled as the diminished beam managed to burn its way through the silvery surface skin and into the inner mechanisms of the craft.
The alien vessel no longer had any forward velocity; it limped through space slowly rotating off its parallel axis. Only momentum kept the ship moving on its course. Sentinel’s long range cameras were still able to get a fix on the craft and feed video and analytical data to ground control.
The distance between the two objects increased as Sentinel’s new orbit carried it further and further away from the crippled alien ship. Sentinel’s aft camera package detected another growth protruding from the hole in the alien hull. A cylindrical shape glowed red then orange then yellow and finally a blazing white.
The burning white cylinder leapt from the craft and sped toward the Earth’s satellite. Sentinel was doomed. It had exhausted the last of its fuel to stay in orbit. The platform’s camera recorded and transmitted the image of the approaching torpedo as it quickly closed the distance separating the two warring craft. The blazing torpedo struck Sentinel, and vaporized it in one massive explosion.
Groom Lake: Sentinel Control Center.
The duty personnel at the command center watched helplessly as the blazing white torpedo raced toward their multimillion-dollar weapon.
Colonel Ross knew that the craft was doomed, and watched in silence along with the rest of the technicians as the video signal went white for an instant and then ceased.
“Can lunar tracking get a fix on that alien craft?” he asked in a deceivingly calm voice.
“Yes, sir,” a technician replied.
“As soon as that thing comes within range of the moon base I want it nuked. Blast it into space dust.” Ross swung around in his chair and faced a giant control board that had been behind him. “Do we have telemetry locked on the object launched from the alien ship?” he asked the officer on deck.
“Yes, sir. The egg-shaped object passed over China and is heading toward the North American continent. It should pass over the California coast within the next ten minutes. The object altitude is now 100,000 feet.
The officer on deck accepted a new printout from an underling. His voice changed to an urgent whisper. “Sir? The object is using atmospheric friction to decelerate. At its current rate of deceleration this thing is going to land right on top of us.”
“Is it a bomb?” Ross’s voice betrayed his alarm.
“Unknown, sir,” the officer replied.
Ross quickly spewed out directions to protect the compound. “Get three security teams on full alert. I want them deployed the instant this thing hits the ground. We have six M-1 tanks in Hangar Eight. Two have already been retrofitted with EMP shock cannons. I want them ready for action if things get ugly. Have another M-1 loaded with the new armor piercing rounds to serve as back up. I don’t want to take any chances with this thing.”
* * * *
Special Agent Erik Knight muttered curses while he struggled to properly adjust the light blue cummerbund over his sentient staff concealed in a black satchel strapped to his waist. “This damn tuxedo is more like a straitjacket than formal wear.”
He then ensured the safety was in place on the carbon 9 mm and tucked it into the sleek holster that he strapped on the back of his formal dress slacks. He sighed with impatience and slipped on the vest holster that contained both of his combat pistols and their spare ammunition clips. Erik looked at himself in the full-length mirror, noting the paradox of formal wear and combat gear. Getting ready had been an exercise in patience.
This social event was going to be a high stress evening for all the security teams involved. Sarina Fahaad had arrived early in the morning with six fierce looking men; she was serious about her organization proving its good intentions. Erik, Paul and René had spent the early morning hours getting acquainted with the security men and reviewing every nook and cranny of the reception hall.
Erik was impressed by Sarina’s picks. They had pointed out several alternative methods of security and possible attack points that he hadn’t previously considered. While it was difficult for Erik to consider these men allies, they acted the part perfectly, and he detected no ulterior motives in them. They were genuinely here to protect the life of Monique LaSalle.
As the Arabs pointed out, the threat could come from virtually anywhere. The open-air design of the reception facility was the worst place to hold such a function.
Erik was glad to have the extra bodies as they were still seriously undermanned. The local police and government security would be present in droves, but their sole purpose would be crowd control, in and outside the building. They would be of little practical use in detecting the more subtle threat of trained assassins.
Erik was to remain at Monique’s side. Something still plagued his mind, a sense of danger he couldn’t place. He did his best to bury those feelings and focus on the objective at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything tonight. He entered the main hall and met with the nine men and one woman, who compromised what Jean Paul termed the ‘Threat Squad.’
At this point the French specialists took over. René gave each of his men explicit instructions, changing his tone to one of polite request and thanks when it came to addressing the Arabs. René clearly understood the diplomatic nuances at play. Monique LaSalle was in good hands.
* * * *
Jean-Luc and Paul distributed the communications equipment, and the guards went to their posts. René handed Erik a tiny headset. “Good Luck, Erik. I pray for all of our sakes that this afternoon goes smoothly.” He leaned over. “Between you and me, I have a gut feeling something will happen today. This is too good an opportunity for our opponents to pass up. I only hope that we can catch the rats before they do any real harm. It would be nice to gather some intelligence on our mysterious adversaries.”
Erik placed the tiny receiver in his ear. “Indeed it would. Let’s keep ourselves sharp.”
René gave him a hard look; “The child is like a daughter to me. I have known her since she was five years old.” René took a deep breath. “I would gladly take a hit for her.”
“Understood.” Erik knew what the French operative expected of him.
René extended his hand. “Good Luck, Knight. I must go over last minute details with the caterer.”
Clasping the outstretched hand, Erik added, “And to you. I will check on Miss LaSalle.”
* * * *
Erik conducted a quick equipment test with the others and then went to the main living quarters. Monique was busy with two close friends, putting the finishing touches on her gown while the president and first lady fawned
over their daughter. This was the first time Erik saw President LaSalle’s wife since he’d arrived.
“Erik, how do I look?” Monique twirled to show off her elaborate gown.
“You look absolutely radiant, Monique.”
“And you look quite handsome in a black tuxedo.” She took him by the arm. “Come, I have some friends I want you to meet.”
Monique walked him over to meet her two friends.
The two girls blushed as they approached.
“Marcy, Katrina, this is my date for the evening, Mr. Erik Knight. He is quite the hunk, is he not?”
The girls giggled and replied in French. Erik knew they were talking about him, but he had no idea what was being said. He hoped it was good, whatever it was.
Monique blushed and replied to her friends’ comments in her native tongue, then released him to finish her preparations.
“They think you’re a hunk. I told them earlier that you saved my life twice so far; they’ve been dying to meet you.”
Erik rolled his eyes. “It’s nice to know that I still have appeal with the younger generation.”
“More than you know, Erik.” She fell in close to him. “Papa said that you will be my shadow tonight. I must admit that I feel somewhat better having you by my side.”
“Don’t worry; we’ve got good people placed in key spots all over the great hall, plus dozens of police along with government security. I’m confident that everything will run smoothly.”
Deep down in his gut his Esper sense buzzed a warning. There was a threat out there, somewhere, and Monique was going to be exposed to it. All he could do was to keep the young woman at his side all night and intercept any force or threat directed at her. Fortunately, for him, a bullet wouldn’t cause him any permanent damage. If he were in Esper mode a bullet wouldn’t bother him at all. However, a seven-foot, silver-skinned escort would not mix well at this formal affair, though the reactions he would generate would be interesting.
Erik spent the next hour in the back room with Monique, her friends and the ‘first family.’ He still monitored the communications traffic among the security team. Guests were arriving and awaited the formal introduction of the president’s family. Monique was still rehearsing her speech while Jean-Paul fretted over every minute detail.
“We’re going to be formally introduced in two minutes,” Jean-Paul announced above the din. “Mr. President, you and your wife will come out first and walk directly over to the podium. After your speech, you will formally introduce your daughter.”
He switched his attention to young Miss LaSalle. “You will then be escorted out on the arm of Mr. Knight, immediately followed by your two companions. The master of ceremonies will take over and introduce Mr. Knight and the young ladies as their group approaches.
“The orchestra will play for about twenty seconds so please, Monique, time your approach accordingly. Then you will approach the podium with your escort and begin your speech to the crowd. At the conclusion, following the appropriate applause, Mr. Knight will escort you and your entourage down the flight of stairs to the main floor. The band will begin playing and Miss LaSalle and her escort will have the first dance.”
Erik groaned and Monique looked up at him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I can’t dance to save my life. I don’t want to make us look like fools in front of all these people – and embarrass you to boot.”
Monique laughed out loud. “All those flips I saw you doing at the gym, and you’re telling me you can’t dance? Don’t worry, just follow my lead and we’ll be fine.”
Erik grunted and monitored the radio traffic through his headset while advising his security counterparts of the upcoming introductions through a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt.
“The president and his wife should be out in about two minutes; the president’s speech has been timed at four minutes, but I can’t account for the MC and what he’ll be saying prior to that. So expect Miss LaSalle and me in roughly six minutes,” he reported to his teammates.
* * * *
Ralph Templar studied the gathering crowd as he served cocktails to the French dignitaries and socialites. The forgeries proved to be flawless; the police guarding the service entrance to the great hall had been bought by his employers, thus ensuring virtually unlimited access to the party area. Templar and his mercenary crew had ample time to set up and observe the security precautions as they were implemented.
The assassin easily spotted the Arabs as they took positions overlooking the large ballroom floor. He also noted the three Frenchmen and several other uniformed officials strategically placed throughout the open area that made up the lower level of the great hall. The lone Arab female was on the fourth floor, overlooking the entire proceedings and her perspective gave her a clear view of his desired perch where he had stowed his assault rifle inside the hollow of a small decorative podium. She was likely the lookout for trouble, the kind of trouble he and his mercenaries were bringing to the festivities. She had to be eliminated first.
Templar whispered a directive into the concealed microphone he wore and smiled as his command was acknowledged. The Arabic female would be eliminated before President LaSalle made his speech. Timing would be critical.
Templar surveyed the large sweeping staircase that led to the overhanging stage where President LaSalle and his daughter would be entering the great hall to address the guests. His best opportunity for a kill would be on the open dance floor during the ceremonial first dance. With only her dancing partner, Monique LaSalle would be exposed.
Once the ceremonies commenced, he would make his way to the third-floor balcony, thus be in place for his shot well before their dance occurred. He had previously chosen his hit location near a fire escape to enable a quick departure after his shot. The forged passes would allow the rest of his team easy escapes should they be detained by legitimate police or government officials.
Two of his men carried grenades and were eager to use them. But he frowned upon collateral damage, however, the confusion caused by smoke, debris and dead bodies would make his escape that much easier. He could tolerate the amateurish pyrotechnics, just this once.
His mercenary team and he were being paid a great deal of cash for this hit. The first two attempts on the socialite ended up in failure; he was determined not to be the third strike of this contract on Monique LaSalle.
* * * *
Erik listened intently as President and Mrs. LaSalle were introduced. The detective made one final communication to his team members. Monique was breathing heavily and a light film of perspiration covered her brow.
“I’m going to be right up there with you,” Erik said with sincerity. She had a right to be scared, but fear wouldn’t serve her while she addressed the guests. “Monique, focus only on what you want to say.” He gave her a confident nod and smiled at her. This was an important moment for her and if she gave in to her fear she risked freezing and stumbling through her speech.
She looked up at him, and the fear was clear on her face. “I know, Erik, but I can’t help it. I keep thinking that he could be out there, just waiting to kill me.”
Erik placed a hand against the side of her head.
No fear, I am here with you. He projected calm into her mind.
The young debutante took a deep breath and slowly her shaking stopped then she held out her hand for him to see; it was calm and steady.
“How do you feel now?” he asked her.
“I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but I actually feel calm and relaxed. How did—?”
“Later,” he whispered. “It’s almost time for your big entrance.”
Sarina watched from her station on the fourth floor and listened intently to the French President as he made his light political speech. She glanced briefly around, noting the position of each of her men. Footsteps approached her. She turned. A waiter was going beyond his duties to offer her something from the platter of food he
carried.
“Go back downstairs. You have no business being up here.”
“I’m sorry,” the waiter answered meekly. “I thought that you would perhaps like a bite to eat.”
“Thank you, no,” Sarina replied, irritated at the nuisance.
The waiter didn’t move right away. Sarina sought his eyes and saw malicious intent. She caught the slight movement of his other hand, partially concealed beneath the platter. His body angle provided cover for his movement. She quickly reached for her gun but was a fraction of a second too slow.
* * * *
The assailant fired his .22 caliber weapon. His bullet struck the beautiful terrorist between the eyes and the voluptuous Arab fell over in a heap, dead.
He put down his tray and dragged her lifeless body into a corner. Once her body was out of sight from the stairway, he fetched his snack tray and headed back downstairs to the crowd. If the first attempt on Monique LaSalle failed, he would be waiting in the shadows with an explosive grenade to end the French tart’s life. If the sniper killed the girl then the detonation of his grenade would provide carnage and cover for their escape. He admired the simplicity of their plan.
He straightened then descended the stairs to the main foyer, he paused to offer two of the Arabs food from his tray and smiled in gracious irony as they wolfed down several small delicacies.
* * * *
René, Jean-Luc and Paul were in constant contact as they performed visual sweeps of the large area. The main hall was packed with people now and it was difficult to maintain visual contact with each member of their security force.
René radioed Sarina but got no reply. He looked up to where the woman should have been standing and saw nothing. He dialed down one channel on his radio and contacted the other Arab men.