Empire of the Dragon

by David L. Golemon

  “Okay, time to get onboard the Chattanooga choo, choo, track twenty-nine, I hope you make it on time, you Jap sons of bitches!”

  The small ballpeen hammer came down on the glass tube of mercury that once connected ‘Thin Man’ to the altimeter trigger.

  Qin Shi Huang saw heaven in the blink of an eye.

  The world went white.

  * * *

  The entire mountain rose three feet from its base as the trapped energy of ‘Thin Man’ was released. Then the entire world came crashing back to earth with a rumble that would be felt all the way to Australia.

  The Chinese armored column, which had just breached the pass, was caught in the wrath of the American atomic bomb. The entire mountain top came down and buried the entire brigade.

  But ‘Thin Man’ wasn’t done with its work just yet. When the pressure wave of heat met the unyielding strata of solid rock, before dissolving the stone, it gave way and released its power to the subterranean waters that had been captured by the Dragon Asteroid’s original impact. The deep waters of the underworld spewed forth, inundating the eastern edge of the Gobi Desert, creating the largest fresh water lake in the world.

  The waves crashed against the Great Wall of China, and then rebounded back into the bowl that had been the Gobi.

  * * *

  “Jesus Christ!” the Marine pilot shouted, as the crew chief looked out his window as they hovered above the Great Wall.

  Giant jets of water moving at the speed of sound shot out of thousands of tunnels that had been the biproduct of the asteroid’s initial strike millions of years before. From on high, the crew of the V-22 Osprey saw the mountain range crumble on the far side of the border to nothing. The air roiled and the Osprey barely maintained its altitude. The pilot fought for control as the giant wave struck the Great Wall, sending a wall of water up and over the ancient construction.

  “There isn’t anyone coming out of there,” the pilot said, turning the Marine Corps bird around to head south.

  “Wait, look!” the crew chief said as he shook his head in utter amazement.

  As the pilot changed course, he saw eight people as they were hanging on for dear life at the top of the Great Wall. There was a man atop the wall trying desperately to flag then down.

  The Osprey lowered to the top of the wall and set down as the waves receded. He smiled when he saw several men and women running their way.

  “Well, take a good look, those are the luckiest sons of bitches in all of China right there!”

  Epilogue

  THE MEMORIES OF DRAGONS

  The dragon looms before him with waiting wanting jaws and with its talon-ed fingertips it grasps him in its claws.

  ~Sarah Spang

  The Dragon

  Paris, France

  Professor Vassick sat at the table and slowly sipped at his glass of Russian vodka. He received the news about the failure in Mongolia and was content to live with the fact that it was the Siberian Council’s failure and not his own. As for the failure in Nevada, he had the out of blaming the rogue agent, Demi Blintnikov, for disobeying his orders.

  As he awaited his flight crew to make ready his private jet to Moscow, Vassick started forming a new plan to bring the American group in Nevada to heel.

  A waiter approached and placed another drink on the table. Vassick looked up.

  “From the gentleman at the bar, Monsieur.”

  Vassick looked over and his heart froze. It was Number One. Known for never leaving the borders of Russia, it was quite a shock to see him in Paris. The professor stood up as the tall man approached. He was followed by four men in black clothing. His personal security. The professor buttoned his coat and then bowed his head.

  “Professor, nice to see you. May I sit?”

  Vassick eyed the four men as they dispersed to somewhat more benign areas of the five-star restaurant, he gestured to Number One to take a chair. “Please.”

  “A very busy day for the Council, wouldn’t you say?” Number One said as he refused the waiter’s visit. He placed his left leg over his right and smiled.

  “Unfortunate, I would say. Obviously, we had inept leadership in Mongolia.”

  Number One’s blue eyes failed to give Vassick an indication of where this was heading. He remained silent for a long time.

  “Evidently our forces ran into an anomaly of determined resistance.” He smiled. “I believe from reports by the Mongolian President that this force consisted of the very American field team you had designs on eliminating.”

  “Yes, this was unexpected. My agent went rogue on me and superseded his direct orders. His attempt on this American agency was clumsy and unforgivable.”

  “The man in Laos you reported as,” he paused, his blue eyes drilling into Vassick, “what did you say, oh yes, on his way to the motherland. What became of him, Professor?”

  “I have not received an update. Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps he was in Mongolia?”

  “Impossible.”

  “Nonetheless,” was the simple reply that Vassick knew didn’t require an answer to. “We have some serious problems, Professor. This foul up has placed that fool at the head of our government scrambling for lies to tell. Very messy indeed.”

  “I will set things right when I return home.”

  “Yes, I suspect you will.” One of the bodyguards approached and handed Number One a note. He read it and then stood. “Anyway, enjoy your flight home, I have business to conduct here in Paris.” He looked around at the excellently dressed men and women sitting in the restaurant. “The City of Light. I can never get enough.” He looked down at Vassick and nodded his head once in farewell.

  Vassick watched him go with chills running down his spine. He removed his cell phone and called his flight crew.

  “There has been a change. File a flight plan for Barcelona.” He put the phone down as the chills at seeing Number One finally faded to a bad memory.

  * * *

  Three hours later Vassick’s private Learjet was banking to come at Barcelona from the Sea of Sardinia to line up with the correct runway at El Prat airport. Vassick was near drunk as he fled the wrath of the Council and the memory of the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen when Number One bid him farewell. He finished off his fifth vodka as the pilot announced that they were on final approach to Barcelona.

  As the expensive jet leveled off, they failed to detect the MiG 29 as it approached from its radar’s blind spot. The fighter had been tracking the Learjet since it left Paris.

  The R-27 radar guided missile came off the left rail of the MiG, which immediately turned away after launch. The R-27 locked on the gleaming fuselage of the Learjet and closed at over a thousand miles per hour. It slammed into the right wing and severed it, sending the Lear rapidly into the sea fifteen miles short of Barcelona.

  Professor Vassick had been terminated from the highly secretive Council in Siberia.

  * * *

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  The ballroom at the Grand Hyatt in Las Vegas was loud and festive as the members of Department 5656 celebrated the union of Jack Collins and Sarah McIntire. Sarah, now a civilian Professor in charge of the Group’s geology Department, was dancing with Charlie Ellenshaw. The Professor thrilled the gathered members by twirling Sarah and then lightly setting her down. Jack and Carl laughed at the sight. Almost as funny was the sight of Anya dancing with a very sore Xavier Morales as she sat in his lap as he spun the wheelchair in a dizzying circle.

  Will Mendenhall and Jason Ryan were sitting together arguing over which duty was more dangerous, field work or sitting in the office at the Complex. They could see that Will had won the argument when he raised the front of his shirt and exposed the four eighteen-inch purple and black bruises he had received when the assassin’s bullets struck him. Ryan winced at the sight and then called the waiter over to order drinks.

  As for Alice Hamilton, she was walking around the room in a cast and on crutches. She had broken her leg trying t
o impersonate Bruce Lee during the attack and had paid dearly for it. She was helped by Virginia Pollock, and a grumbling Master Chief Jenks, who was complaining about old broads that can’t walk on their own.

  Jack and Carl were approached by Niles Compton who looked spiffy in the same suit he had worn for the past fifteen years for the special occasion.

  “Gentlemen,” he said as he leaned against the bar with drink in hand.

  “Mr. Director,” they both said at the same moment.

  “The President sends along his congratulations, Jack. He said he would have sent a gift, but it seems he had to pay for a flight of Ospreys in China. Said he’s a little short this month. Imagine that.”

  They exchanged looks and smiled.

  “By the way, the department of defense tracked down the two children of Major Pierce. They were given each one of his dog-tags. They seemed happy to know what became of their father. I imagine it didn’t hurt getting old Dad’s seventy-three years of back pay.”

  “I wish we could have brought the old man home,” Jack said with regret.

  Niles placed a reassuring hand on both men’s shoulders. “You brought enough home, gentlemen.”

  “Henri?” Carl asked.

  “Well, our friend is still down in the dumps. But he did send you and Sarah this,” Niles held out a small box but refused to let Jack take it. He unwrapped it himself. “For your wedding.”

  “Wow!” Carl said when he saw the diamond earrings and the man’s bracelet studded with the same.

  Jack had to laugh. “Don’t tell me, they’re stolen from some collection, right?”

  “Not some collection, Jack. They’re from our own vaults. They are from Marie Antoinette’s personal jewelry box.”

  “Easy come, easy go. Don’t tell Sarah, she’ll want to keep them.” He paused a moment and then asked, “Where is old Henri?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, but I imagine he will turn up soon enough.”

  “Niles, what about the descendants of Shangri-La?” Carl asked.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, draining his whiskey. “After our medical team got a chance to examine them, it was their conclusion, sad to say, that their abilities of Air Bending will slowly fade over time. Being separated from the Dragon Asteroid will eventually drain that phenomenal ability. Then all we have left are just kids. Just kids.”

  A sergeant in Will’s security department entered and looked around and then finally found Niles. He came forward and held out a manila envelope.

  “Sir, this was delivered to Gate Two an hour ago.”

  Niles took it and then nodded his thanks.

  “You mean someone off the street walked right into the pawn shop and delivered it?” Jack asked, suspicious as hell.

  “Yes sir. Its been checked for radiological and explosive materials. No bacteria other than normal bugs.”

  “Thank you,” Niles repeated.

  “Sir, there is also a deputy sheriff outside that says he needs to see you.”

  Niles nodded his head and ripped open the envelope. He pulled out a newspaper clipping. He looked it over and then held it out to Jack and Carl. “You may find this of interest.”

  They both saw the headline from a Barcelona daily newspaper.

  Private aircraft vanishes off the coast of Barcelona. No survivors. The plane was reportedly owned by Russian oligarch, Professor Demetri Vassick. No cause of the crash has yet been determined.

  Niles pulled out a note and read it and then handed it to Jack.

  Please accept this small token of regret over the unpleasantness of the past week. Certain aspects of our failure have been corrected. Here’s hoping for a better and more peaceful tomorrow—

  “The son of a bitch finally crossed the line,” Carl said.

  “One life for over two hundred innocent sailors is not enough.” Jack said, wadding up the handwritten note. He smiled, “but it’s a start.”

  Evidently the sheriff’s deputy couldn’t wait any longer. He came into the ballroom and found Compton. Jack recognized the young officer because he was on the Event Group list of friendlies in Las Vegas. Curious, Jack and Carl followed.

  “Sir, I hate to bother you here,” he paused as Jack and Carl approached. “Congratulations, Colonel,” he said, shaking Jack’s hand. “Anyway, the property you own up on North Flamingo Road, the one on the hill?”

  Niles grew suspicious. “Yes,” he said.

  “We had some vandals cause quite a stir up there, sir. I told my Captain that I would inform the owner.”

  “Vandals?” Niles asked.

  “Yes, sir, I suggest you go and see for yourself before some reporters start snooping around.”

  “Thank you, deputy,” Niles said as the man tipped his hat and left.

  “North Flamingo Road? Isn’t that where—” Carl started to say.

  “Jack, I hate to break in on your party, but we had better get up there.”

  The three men left the ballroom without a word to anyone.

  * * *

  The three men found themselves at the Desert Rose Cemetery. The private lot was owned by the Group and was where all department members who had no family were buried upon their deaths.

  They entered with flashlights and saw the crime scene tape long before getting to it. They saw the grave of Garrison Lee. The marker for Pete Golding, whose body was claimed by his brother after he was killed, and then the grave of Doctor Denise Gilliam. Next to that the scene made all three men almost double over. There was the grave of Gus Tilly, and next to that the burial mound of Matchstick Tilly.

  It was empty.

  “Oh, my God,” was all Niles could say.

  Jack felt stunned as he looked into the open pit. But it was Carl who stepped up to the black hole, and then went to a knee. He reached down and picked up some dried earth. He rubbed it together in his fingers. He stood up.

  “This grave wasn’t broken into, it was broken out of.”

  As they shined the lights on the scene, they all realized that Carl was right. The dirt was pushed up out of the grave. Jack shined his flashlight on the ground and his heart froze. There were small four toed footprints leading away into the desert.

  The three men of the Event Group grew cold as they stared out into the night.