Overlord

by David L. Golemon

  Vickers cleared his throat, knowing he was still in very deep and hot water where Peachtree and Camden were concerned, so he chose to speak only when it benefitted him. “Did the field reports from the company name the man that was in field command of the event in the desert in 2006?”

  “You know it did, Mr. Vickers. The commander was a Colonel Sam Fielding, 101st Airborne Division, killed in action, same mission.” Camden watched Vickers for a moment and saw the disappointment on his face. He shook his head. “But I’m here to tell you Vickers that this, while maybe not your lucky day, may be a godsend for you … and us.”

  Peachtree looked from Camden to his associate, who looked up expectantly.

  “Yes, his name is all over the reports; even received a presidential citation—a citation that lists no unit or even his real military rank.”

  Vickers began to smile. “Jack Collins.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes, it seems we may have lucked out on this one. Now here is something you’re both not going to like.” Camden picked up a thin sheet of paper and handed it to Peachtree. “The man you used to formulate and reinstate the Black Teams for Mr. Vickers. Your Leavenworth asset?”

  “You know what the code name means?” Vickers pushed in rudely with the question.

  “It’s not a code name, young man. With a little arm twisting I finally got to the truth. The name you referenced, the Matchstick Man, is what the surviving alien is being called by this mysterious think tank the president uses. Real name is Mahjtic.”

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Vickers said aloud. “Mahjtic, Magic, they can’t be that simple?”

  “So simple the CIA and your good offices couldn’t connect the dots, and if you ever use the Lord’s name in vain again in my presence I’ll make sure you wind up counting Russian penguins in some far off, very bad locale. Am I clear?”

  Vickers wanted to look at the Speaker of the House and flip him the bird but at that moment he thought that would not be a positive career move on his part. So he just nodded that he understood the threat.

  “Now that you know just about what you need, Colonel Collins will not be touched or harmed in anyway.”

  Both Peachtree and Vickers leaned forward in their chairs. Camden frowned and then held up a hand to stop the protests that were going to spring forth from the two CIA men.

  “You two gentlemen have to stop and think. The blunder that Vickers here did by killing Collins’s sister is getting ready to come home to roost right here in this office—if I know your competence like I think I do.” Again he held up his hand when Peachtree wanted to exclude himself from the blunder that caused this whole mess. “Mr. Vickers, get one of your Black Teams together and gather as much intelligence on this Chato’s Crawl facility as you can. The president has been lying to the American people for nearly eight years about a battle in the American desert that may lead to this world being invaded by a hostile force.”

  Peachtree relaxed when he saw where the Speaker of the House was going with his thoughts. Vickers, on the other hand, did not.

  “As for your other man, this Captain Everett, he just landed right here in Washington, D.C.—possibly to reverse the presidential decision to revoke his naval resignation.” He looked at Vickers and smirked. “Or he’s coming here to see you, Mr. Vickers. If that is the case I would start my Arizona assignment as quickly as possible, because you know who else’s name is in those Arizona reports?”

  “Captain Carl Everett,” Vickers stated flatly.

  “That’s right, and I suspect he works in that same desert think tank that this Colonel Collins is assigned to along with that strange little bald man with glasses the president seems to lean on so much. Get to the desert, Mr. Vickers, with all haste and find out what you can to assist me in stopping this military spending insanity by the president, or guess what? You could have some very disturbing company coming your way. So don’t fail me, Mr. Vickers.”

  Hiram Vickers had all of his power stripped from him and had been reduced to a field agent with the responsibility of a house cat. He decided that for the moment he would have to play their game. He stood, nodded at the two men, and left the office inside the gorgeous brownstone.

  Camden watched him leave and then looked at Peachtree.

  “That man is not to go to Arizona. I suspect that those two crazy bastards are coming after him, and if they get Vickers I’m afraid we will become exposed and brought into his foolish attempts at playing master spy. I want him elimin—” Camden stopped short of saying it. “Well, I guess I don’t have to voice that order to you of all people, do I, Daniel?”

  “Vickers will be dealt with by one of his own Black Teams”—Peachtree looked at his wristwatch—“in just about thirty minutes. I’ve already warned all three Black Team leaders of the situation.”

  “I don’t want particulars. The president seems to have ears everywhere.”

  “You are not involved in this. Vickers has served his purpose. The technology he and his Black Teams came up with has made us quite a sum of money, thanks to the president buying up any and all war material for this fictitious fight.”

  “Good, now let’s later discuss this so-called Russian invasion that’s brewing in Iran. If it succeeds, or even if it fails, I am going to crucify that sanctimonious son of a bitch in the White House, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Peachtree stood and buttoned his coat. “You don’t think Vickers would do anything on his own with that little green asset in Arizona, do you, if he makes it out of Washington?”

  “Vickers doesn’t have the brains to screw me over, Daniel.”

  * * *

  As Vickers drove away through the quiet streets of Georgetown, he smiled. He had all three names and now he even had a location on where to start. He turned on his radio and started whistling a tune.

  “Jack Collins, Carl Everett, and the Matchstick Man,” he mumbled to himself in the form of the song that was currently playing on his car’s radio. “All in all, not a bad meeting.”

  EVENT GROUP COMPLEX

  NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

  Niles, Virginia Pollock, and Matchstick had been sequestered inside the conference room for the past twelve hours. The remains of their dinner were spread across the large conference table, as were the many field reports from their field teams across the globe and others from archeological digs in France, England, Germany, and Russia. These countries knew the importance of finding a downed saucer with a mostly working power plant. If the president could not talk the Iranian leader into surrendering the prize, its recovery would cost many Russian soldiers their lives, not to mention the lives of Jason Ryan and Sarah McIntire. Thus far he hadn’t been able to convince their foreign ministry to even allow the president to speak to Rouhani. Niles laid down the report from China and removed his glasses in frustration. He looked up at Virginia.

  “What did General Electric have to say about their attempt to restart the Chato’s Crawl engines?”

  “No luck whatsoever. They lost two of their technicians just providing a nuclear jump-start to the pieced-together power plant. The explosion nearly took out their New Jersey facility.”

  Compton laid his glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes. He looked back up, into the dark eyes of Matchstick. The small being sat silently on an elevated chair and chewed on a pizza roll that the chefs in the cafeteria had made especially for their guest. The remains of Gus Tilly’s sandwich sat untouched beside Matchstick. Six and a half hours ago the old prospector had excused himself and, with the assistance of Dr. Denise Gilliam, had gone to the clinic to be checked out for exhaustion.

  Matchstick chewed on another pizza roll but remained silent, occasionally looking at the empty seat beside him left by his friend Gus.

  Niles placed his glasses back on his nose and then looked up as the double doors to the conference room opened. Alice Hamilton, wearing a new, fresh dress, entered. Compton looked at his watch and noticed the time was three in the
morning.

  “What are you doing up and out at this ungodly hour?” he asked.

  Alice walked over and kissed Matchstick on his green and very bald head and then looked at Compton. Matchstick smiled up at the woman and offered her one of the cold pizza rolls, which she accepted and popped into her mouth. She smiled and then made a face of disgust but managed to swallow despite the cold taste of the pastry. She held up a file and then slid it down the table to Niles. She returned to the head of the table to sit at her customary spot to Niles’s left.

  “Your pitch to the Joint Chiefs of Staff paid off,” she said as she nodded a greeting to Virginia. “Three of them already had his name at the top of their own lists.”

  Compton opened the file folder and perused the list of names, concentrating on the one name at the top and the number of staff members who concurred with the name submitted by Niles and the president of the United States. He nodded and closed the file. He knew that only a very few select personnel in six governments knew who led the list. Alice reached into the pocket of her print dress and placed two small black boxes on the tabletop just out of reach of Compton. He raised his eyes and took in the eighty-seven-year-old woman.

  “They just came in this afternoon. I took them to the jewelers in Las Vegas and had the backs engraved.”

  Niles smiled for the first time in what seemed months and then looked at Virginia.

  “In 1941, what did congress and the higher-ups in the army think about President Roosevelt’s and General George Marshall’s decision?”

  Virginia Pollock smiled. “Not well at all. As a matter of fact there was a significant push to have Chief of Staff Marshall removed from his post. Most said he had become incompetent, and that his choice of field generals was a clear indication that the old man could not begin to handle a world war. They wanted him removed, Niles”—she smiled even wider—“just like the politicians will want your head when that name is presented to them.”

  “Well, personally the sons of bitches can have my head if this plan fails.”

  “That’s only because if you and the president fail with Operation Overlord, there won’t be anyone around to demand your heads,” Alice said in her businesslike manner.

  Niles laughed. “That’s what he and I planned—the perfect crime.”

  Matchstick was listening and was very curious about the small boxes at Niles’s fingertips. He stood on the chair and, like a small child, stepped onto the table with his mouth full of pizza rolls and retrieved one of the small boxes, turning it over with his long fingers. He looked at Niles and the director nodded that it was all right for Matchstick to open it. He did, and his obsidian-colored eyes widened and his mouth formed the shape of that familiar O he had a habit of doing when amazed. The two stars gleamed in the recessed lighting inside of the conference room. Matchstick reached down and snapped up the other satin-lined box and opened it. There, a pair of stars were shining and the O was there again on the mouth of the alien.

  “You know this hasn’t been done officially since the beginning of World War Two,” Alice said as she watched the reaction of Matchstick to the boxed ranks inside of their gilded cases. “I think the last man who wore colonel’s eagles and was selected to be a brevet general was Dwight Eisenhower. Congress is going to shit wide and hard when they get wind of this.”

  “This war may be well over before they even become aware of it,” Niles countered with a sad smile. “Especially if that power plant is not recovered.”

  Matchstick looked up from the two boxes as he snapped the lids closed. He looked at Niles long and hard.

  “We will recover the engine.” He locked eyes with the small alien. “I promise.”

  Matchstick seemed placated by Compton’s reassurance and returned to his chair, started to pop another pizza roll into his small mouth, and then quickly thought better of it. The information about the failure to find one of the many alien crash sites had taken a toll on his appetite. Mahjtic knew that without that alien power plant there would be no war, only a slaughter.

  “Well, let’s get Jack in here as soon as we can and get a message and recall order out to Mr. Everett in Romania,” Compton said.

  Alice didn’t respond. She exchanged a look with Virginia, who sat directly across from her. The assistant director of the Event Group saw that Alice was concerned about something as she slowly pulled a note from the same pocket. She looked it over and then looked up at Niles.

  “Carl is no longer in Romania and Jack left the complex twelve hours ago.”

  Niles was speechless.

  “Jack left a message for me, with instructions to open it at eight tomorrow morning. Then I received a report from the State Department, telling me that Carl had used his passport to fly home on a commercial flight.”

  “Where is he going?” Niles asked and not politely.

  Alice remained silent for thirty seconds. “Washington. Carl flew into D.C. early this morning. If anything is going to happen it will be there. I took the liberty of opening up Jack’s e-mail early; it seems he had recent communication from Colonel Farbeaux. The subject matter in all of this is this man.” Alice opened her folder and pulled out the same photo Henri had sent Jack.

  “Why does this guy look familiar?” Niles asked.

  “That’s because you’ve sat in more than just one security briefing with the man. CIA—I think Jack and Carl, along with our French friend, have found the bastard that murdered Jack’s sister.”

  “Did Jack and Carl have communication at any time in the last two days?” he asked as his anger grew.

  “Not as far as Europa knows. Jack hasn’t seen or spoken to Captain Everett since the Group left Romania. I even went as far as checking out Anya Korvesky’s location.”

  “And?” Niles fumed.

  “She’s back in Israel, on active duty.”

  “Which is a clear indication that something unforeseen has happened to make these three people move as quickly as they did. Carl would never have left that woman, he loved her,” Virginia said, trying to assuage Niles anger as much as she could. “And Jack knew that we had major problems mounting here. Besides, would he have left the complex knowing that Sarah was heading into harm’s way in Iran?”

  Niles again angrily shook his head. “I didn’t tell him. Jack knows nothing about what we have ordered her and Ryan to do.”

  “Niles, Jack should have been informed.” Alice knew that she was pushing the wrong buttons at that very moment, adding fuel to the fiery anger of Niles Compton.

  “Jack is a soldier, he does not have to have everything explained to him. He cannot protect people all of the time. Sarah has a job to do.” He reached out, took the box that held the two shiny stars, and threw it against the wall. “And so did he, goddamn it!” Compton hit the second box and it also flew to the far wall and landed on the carpet. Niles placed his head in his hands and cursed again.

  “Do you think Jack would do it?” Virginia asked.

  Niles looked up with his swollen and reddened eyes. “You know he will, and Captain Everett, like a damn lapdog, will be right beside him. And then the two men we rely on the heaviest outside of Matchstick will be in jail for murder instead of where Matchstick and Garrison wanted them during the war. Damn it, Jack!”

  Alice knew what had happened as soon as she received the note from Jack. He and Carl had somehow found out the identity of the person who killed Jack’s sister, Lynn Simpson. She shook her head, knowing that there was one thing in the world you could make a sure bet on: the fact that Jack Collins would kill the person responsible, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  “What do we do, Niles?” Virginia asked.

  Compton stood as he watched Matchstick slowly slide out of his overly large chair. He quickly came to a decision.

  “Alice, call Kyle Stimson at the FBI and tell him to pick up Jack and Carl and place them into protective custody. Get them off the fucking streets before Overlord loses two valuable chess pieces that cann
ot be replaced. Inform Houston about the delay in getting Everett out there, and then inform General Wheeler in Japan that Jack is also on assignment but will arrive ASAP.”

  Alice wrote all of this down.

  “Are you going to inform the president?” Virginia inquired.

  “What, that two of the main cogs in the wheel just went off to commit what amounts to premeditated murder? Oh, that would go over real well with a man that has more on his plate than Wilson, Churchill, or Roosevelt ever had.” He shook his head. “No, I will deal with this myself.”

  Niles slowly walked to his desk and sat heavily.

  None of them noticed that Matchstick had retrieved the two boxes and was staring at the stars inside. He looked up, walked over to the large desk, and placed them on the top even though he wasn’t tall enough to see it. The long fingers pushed them toward the director, then he turned and left the conference room.

  Niles lowered his head, knowing that he needed to take the attitude that Matchstick was taking. He smiled lightly and reached for the brevet promotional ranks, then tapped his fingers on them.

  “Jack, what am I going to do with you now?” he mumbled, then looked at Alice, who always had words to smooth things over.

  She smiled in her coquettish way and batted those green eyes of hers at the director. She then became serious.

  “What will you do with Jack?” She looked from Niles to Virginia and then back to the director.

  Niles looked lost.

  “This is what you do, just like you and I used to with Garrison: you sit here and hope that our agent in the FBI can stop them. If not, we hope he and Mr. Everett catch up to whoever this murdering son of a bitch is and kill him. Society can overlook this one minor infraction, I’m sure.” Alice gathered her things, then went to Niles and kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulder. “That’s what you do, Niles—trust in Jack, either way.”

  CIA HEADQUARTERS

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  The field glasses were tinted with an electrified liquid crystal, the newest creation of the Bushnell Corporation’s advancement in binocular technology; it assisted in the elimination of glare bouncing off the tri-lenses of the viewing system. The man saw the target emerge from the main building after nodding his head to several of the CIA guards who roamed the outside, looking as if they were men and women taking after-lunch walks. The watcher adjusted his lenses so he could make out the feminine features of the subject he was tasked to follow.