by M. L. WILSON
“Bingo,” he says excitedly. He slides the disc into the slot, and the control panel instantly reacts. All of the flashing lights stop flashing, but remain lit and an automated voice comes over the speaker speaking in an alien language. Obviously, Bishop can’t understand it, but he knows a countdown when he hears one. Time to go.
Fifteen seconds to detonation. Fifteen seconds to get off the ship.
CHAPTER 116
BISHOP HURRIES BACK to the transporter. Plenty of time to get out before the ship blows. Mission accomplished. He saved the world. Piece of cake.
As he gets closer to the transporter, he sees a large figure standing in front of it. Turns out, he’s not the only one on the ship, after all. Bishop slows to a walk and looks for something to fight with.
For the first time, he sees a Promelian in its natural form. He can see why the Promelians dominated the Cereleans so easily. They are much larger and more muscular than the Cereleans were at the hideout.
Ten seconds.
Suddenly, the Promelian starts running toward him. Bishop has no choice but to stand his ground. Can’t run backward, that’s running away from the transporter. The only way is through him. Easier said than done.
The Promelians heavy footfalls make a thunderous, intimidating sound with every hurried step as he gets closer to Bishop. With every passing second, Bishop begins to accept that he will never make it in time. He’ll be remembered as a hero. Maybe even given an award from the president of the United States, posthumously, of course.
His epitaph will read, He laid down his life in defense of the human race.
Not bad. If you have to go, go down fighting. Caroline and Briana would be proud of him. He can finally be with them.
As the Promelian gets within arm’s reach of Bishop, something happens that Bishop didn’t anticipate. The Promelian pushes past him and continues running down the hall. Bishop is surprised. Pleasantly surprised. The Promelian has more important things to tend to, like trying to save the ship.
“Good luck, dumbass,” Bishop says with a smile as he watches the Promelian disappear down the hall.
Five seconds.
As fast as he can and in spite of the pain from the hit he took in the warehouse, Bishop runs to the transporter and makes a desperate dive for the transport panel.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Transport.
CHAPTER 117
THE AGAFYA HAS been at sea off the coast of Greece for three days. It’s been a good three days for the large, deep-sea fishing boat and its eight-man crew.
Business is good. The profits they will make from their catch will be enough to ensure the ship can sail another year.
Dimitrius Biros has been the ship’s captain for six years now. He inherited the business from his father, who inherited it from his father. He renamed the boat and named it after his two-year-old daughter. His little precious is what he calls her.
Business has been steady over the years, but this year has been the best in his six-year career.
Dimitrius prepares for his daily ritual: sitting on the deck and watching the sun set on the Mediterranean. He takes the straps from his fishing waders off his shoulders and grabs a beer out of the ice chest. He takes a seat in his lounge chair and puts his feet on the ice chest. The beer is ice cold and the fishing was good. He smiles as he cracks open his beer and takes a big gulp.
His moment is interrupted by a vibration in the water. The boat begins to sway as the vibrations increase. He jumps out of his chair and runs to warn his crew. Vibrations of this magnitude can only mean one thing,
“TSUNAMI!” Dimitrius yells as he scrambles to get to the bridge of his boat. Suddenly, an explosion of water shoots a hundred feet into the air, just twenty yards to the stern of the boat.
Biros and his men scramble to get the boat started. As the boat starts to move away, the water becomes calm. Seconds later, the water is as calm as it was when Biros was enjoying his relaxing moment. Like nothing ever happened.
Speaking in Greek, one of the crew asks Dimitrius, “What was that?”
“An explosion, I guess. Maybe our fishing has angered Poseidon,” Dimitrius says jokingly, trying to calm his crew.
“What do we do now, Captain?”
“We head for home.”
CHAPTER 118
EXPLOSIONS LIKE THE one witnessed by Dimitrius Biros occur simultaneously in the oceans and seas all over the world. Most of the explosions occur hundreds of miles out to sea and go unnoticed. Those that are noticed by fishing and shipping boats are reported in the news by scientists as rare but natural occurrences and that they did not pose a threat to land. Conspiracy theorists have their own beliefs, but in time, the events will be forgotten.
The virus worked to perfection. Hundreds of Promelian ships are destroyed within a matter of seconds. The homing beacon for the Promelian invasion force is lost. Their invading forces are left to wander aimlessly in space. The cloaking devices are destroyed, allowing humans to see the Promelians in their natural form.
Detective Kenneth Bishop. Savior of the human race.
There are pros and cons to this victory, though. The invasion force might have been stopped, but there are thousands of Promelian killers still on Earth, stranded and angry. The destruction of their ships, their ability to cloak themselves as humans is lost. The Promelians are physically superior to humans, but they aren’t invincible. Pretty soon, the hunters will become the hunted.
CHAPTER 119
JUSTICE LAYS ON the cold, concrete floor near death. Saunders tends to his wound, but knows that if he doesn’t get medical attention soon, he will die. If Bishop fails, it won’t matter, anyway.
Suddenly, Saunders hears the humming sound of the transporter. The sparkling lights of the transporter begin to illuminate the room in the makeshift headquarters of the Promelians. Saunders watches the lights and waits eagerly to see if Bishop’s figure materializes. They knew success was a long shot. If Bishop encountered any resistance on the ship, he would never survive and the plan would fail.
As the lights of the transporter begin to fade, it brings a smile to Saunders’ face to see a familiar figure standing on the panel. Bishop made it back. But was he successful?
“Just got one question for you, Doctor. Who’s the man?” Bishop says with a smile as he steps off the transport panel.
“It worked?” Saunders eagerly asks.
“Damn right. Blew ’em all to hell,” Bishop says with a smile. His celebration is brief as he turns his attention to his partner. “How is he?”
“I got the bleeding stopped. I...don’t know his anatomy, but I do know if we don’t get him some sort of medical help soon, he’s gonna die.”
“I...know...someone that...can help,” Justice struggles to say.
“Let’s get him up so we can get the hell out of here,” Bishop says. “The other Promelians will be coming back soon.”
Justice grunts in pain as Bishop and Saunders help him to his feet and they start down the stairs.
“What did the ship look like?” Saunders asks.
“Oh, nothing special. Just your typical, run-of-the-mill alien spaceship.”
“The least you could have done was take pictures,” Saunders says with a smile.
“As Bishop smiles back at her, he says, “Maybe next time.”
As they get back downstairs, they notice the light of the morning sun peering through the broken windows of the warehouse, slightly illuminating the room.
“Morning,” Saunders say.
“Yep,” Bishop says. “A new day, in more ways than one.”
“There’s my gun,” Bishop says. As he walks over to pick it up, he notices something else is missing.
“Wait a minute. Where’s the Promelian?” Bishop says as he looks around the room. There’s a large pool of blood where the Promelian leader lay. Bishop was expecting to see his dead body lying on the floor in that pool of blood.
Most of the room is still dark. He remembers the surprise the Promelian gave him earlier, and he doesn’t want that to happen again.
“How the hell—”
“He’s gone, Ken. We have to get out of here,” Saunders pleads. Bishop holsters his weapon and helps Saunders get Justice to safety. Earth may have won the battle, but the war is far from over.
EPILOGUE
TWISTS & TURNS
CHAPTER 120
“THIS IS BEVERLY Powers with Action Nine news. The murder of two New York police officers and a federal agent has been solved. FBI and New York City police detectives say Supervisory Special Agent Benjamin Breer is responsible for the murders of Captain William Danvers and Sergeant Jeffery Kuntz of the New York Police Department and Agent Jeffery Stafford of Homeland Security.
Breer is still on the loose and is considered armed and dangerous. In a joint investigation effort between the New York police department and the FBI, evidence shows that Breer has ties to international terrorist organizations and was assisting those organizations in carrying out terrorist attacks in several countries, including the United States.
Oddly enough, Benjamin Breer, a former FBI agent, is now number one on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. The FBI believes that Breer has fled the country.
The funerals for Captain Danvers and Sergeant Kuntz will be held this afternoon, while the funeral for Agent Stafford has yet to be scheduled.
In other news, police believe an arsonist is responsible for a fire that burned a two-million-dollar cabin down. Fortunately, the swanky vacation cabin was vacant at the time. The police are still investigating.
And on the lighter side of the news, several police departments have reported receiving calls about people dressed in alien costumes running around the city. The police have determined the calls to be a prank. Several videos have gone viral, but no arrests have been made. The police believe the prank was organized through one of the popular social network sites, although they are not sure which. No arrests have been made. Dave, back to you.”
CHAPTER 121
BISHOP ADJUSTS HIS dress-blue uniform and looks himself over in a full-length mirror in his living room. He hadn’t paid much attention to his accomplishments over the past two years. The medals on his dress-blue jacket are a pleasant reminder—Meritorious Police Duty; Commendation–Public Service, two unit citations. He’s most proud of the award of Police Combat Cross. He saved three lives that day.
Bishop listens to the news and grins and shakes his head at what he hears. Cartwright kept his word. Bishop and Saunders are no longer wanted by the police. The cover story is that Agent Breer committed the murders.
Good place to lay the blame. No issue with that.
Agent Breer is on the loose and is considered armed and dangerous.
Good luck finding him.
People dressed up as aliens?
If they only knew.
The murders of two police officers and a federal agent, explained away just like that. Not a word about aliens. Not that he really expected there to be.
Not a word about how he and his team saved the world either. No surprise there either. He wonders how many times the politically powerful has done this type of cover-up over the years. Maybe there’s some truth to the JFK conspiracy, after all. Hell, maybe it was an alien in the grassy knoll.
It’s been a few years since he’s been to a funeral for a fallen officer. Never two funerals in one day. Captain Danvers and Sergeant Kuntz both died heroically, yet no one will ever know exactly how they laid down their lives. Even if he told it, no one would believe him.
Bishop stares at himself in the mirror. He likes what he sees: the old Detective Ken Bishop. Oddly, he feels young again, rejuvenated. He thought the deaths of Kuntz and Danvers would push him over the edge, but they haven’t. They died for a cause. The least he can do to honor them is live for one.
He does wonder, however, about his future and the future of the human race. The invasion has been averted, but the Promelian leader is still out there, along with thousands of other hunters.
He picks up the picture of Caroline and Briana from his nightstand.
“Guess it wasn’t my time,” he says to the photo. He sets the picture back down on the nightstand and looks around his apartment.
“I really need to clean up around here,” he says as he walks out the door.
CHAPTER 122
THERE WERE OVER five hundred attendees at Saint Joseph’s Cathedral. A sea of blue. The two coffins sit head-to-head at the front of the church. The twenty-by-twenty-four framed pictures of Danvers and Kuntz in their dress-blue uniforms sit next to their respective caskets.
Kuntz didn’t have a family of his own. The officers who knew him best fight to hold back the tears.
Captain Danvers’ family sits on the front row. He recognized his ex-wife Martha from the picture that sat on Danvers’ desk. He never bothered to ask Danvers about his family. The only times he was called into Danvers’ office was to fight about something. Bishop regrets not getting to know his captain.
Martha wipes her tears away as she listens to friends and coworkers speak about their experiences with Danvers. Bishop wishes he could take the podium and tell the truth, how Danvers and Kuntz died heroically.
As the service concludes at the Mother of Mercy Cemetery, Bishop listens to Father Randolph Bennett read a passage from the Old Testament. He looks around the cemetery and thinks about the other officers who are buried here. Others that gave their lives to defend the greatest city in America.
He also thinks back on the times he spent with Kuntz. Fond memories. Kuntz was a cop’s cop. He never worked a case with Kuntz, but Bishop has seen him in action. When he placed a perp under arrest, the perp knew he was under arrest.
All of his thoughts about Captain Danvers, however, are how unfairly he treated his captain most of the time. Danvers was the boss, and the boss is always a politician. Turns out, there are some exceptions. Danvers was that exception. He was a good cop. He wishes he had told Danvers that earlier.
As the service draws to a close, Bishop spots Saunders standing with a small group of staff from the M.E.’s office. He barely recognizes her.
She’s wearing a Karen Kane black, long-sleeved dress with a white scarf across her shoulders. Her hair is pulled back and resting on her shoulders. It seems to Bishop that her hair has grown since their little adventure. He also can’t help thinking how attractive she looks. Even more so than before.
Bishop walks up to her and smiles.
“Thanks for coming,” he says
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” she asks rhetorically as she looks back at the two coffins. If it hadn’t been for them, we might not be alive today.
“They saved our lives,” Saunders says. After a moment, her thoughts turn to Bishop.
“How are you holding up, Detective?”
“Fine, Doctor,” he says with a smile. “You look...very nice.”
“Thank you. You cleaned up rather well yourself. Twelve o’clock shadow’s all gone.”
“Yep,” Bishops says as he rubs his chin. “So um...I was gonna swing by and see how Alan is doing. Care to join me?”
“The third musketeer? Sure, why not?” Saunders says. She takes Bishop’s arm as they walk to his car. Bishop is surprised. Pleasantly surprised.
“After that, would you like to get some dinner, Laura?”
Laura, she thinks to herself.
“Dinner, Ken?”
“Yeah, dinner. You’ve heard of it. It’s the food you eat after the sun goes down,” Bishop says jokingly.
“Yeah, smartass,” Saunders says with a smile as she pokes him in the chest with her finger. “I like Italian.”
“Really? What a coincidence.”
CHAPTER 123
MOST OF THE room is dark. Only a single light shines over a nine-fo
ot incubation chamber. Two men in lab coats wait nervously while a third man operates the control panel of the incubator.
“It’s done,” he says as he steps away from the incubator. The seal is broken on the glass door. The door makes a hissing sound as it opens. Thick, white smoke is released into the air and fills the room. Everything they have worked for hinges on the next couple of seconds.
There is no movement for the next few moments. They begin to believe it’s too late, that their best and only hope is gone.
Suddenly, there is movement in the smoke. A foot steps out of the chamber. Then a second. After the smoke completely dissipates, a large figure stands strong and erect, much to the delight of the three men.
The Promelian leader is alive and stands before his soldiers in his natural form.
“Sir, we were worried that—”
“I will not die by the hand of a human,” the Promelian leader says as he puts his hand over the wound in his chest. The thought of being injured by a human feels him with anger.
“What has happened?”
“Our...ships, sir. Our ships are destroyed.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them, sir. The homing beacon is destroyed. Mr. Jacobs is not pleased with our failure.”
“I do not work for him. The cloaking devices?”
“We managed to get the backups operational in time. The humans are still unaware of our presence, but we are...cut off from the armada. The policeman, sir. Detective Bishop—”
“NO!” the leader yells as he slams his fist on the incubation tube, shattering the glass door. “Bishop is a puppet, an insignificant insect that I will crush beneath my heel. No. We are betrayed by another. Cloak me. There is much that needs to be done. We have a new enemy.”