CHAPTER 28
Bauman
“Who did this?” screamed Bauman.
“I don’t know, Sir,” Rick answered. “All systems on the sub have shut down. Nothing is registering.”
Bauman was shaking with anger. He noticed the eyes of his men on him. His face was probably pink and puffed so he slowed his breathing, trying to relax. He was their Commander and Chief and it was essential to stay in complete control.
“We can still win this,” he said, straightening the sleeves of his maroon-colored tunic, proud of the new uniforms. “Detonate the New Madrid. At least we’ll be rid of the idiots who rule the world.”
“Aye, Sir,” said Rick. He flipped up a gray cover on the ebony panel and pressed the red button.
Nothing happened. He pressed it again. No detonation.
“What’s going on here?” said Bauman, leaning over Rick and pushing the button.
“Those nukes have been shut down also,” said Rick. “Sir, there’s a phone call coming from Admiral Payton Williams.”
Bauman picked up the receiver next to the screen. “What the heck is going on?”
“Justin is still alive,” said Payton. “He must have found a way to stop the nukes.”
Bauman roared so hard it felt like every vein in his neck had exploded. He started banging the receiver on the table. Rick jumped out of his seat.
How could the plan have failed? It was perfect.
For over nine years, every problem, every angle, every situation conceived had been dealt with, so what happened? All conspirators were eliminated.
“How could he still be alive?” shouted Bauman into the receiver.
“I don’t know,” said Payton, “but you need to get it under control. We’re at the final phase and we don’t need you breaking equipment. There’s always Javelin One. Remember, all self-destruct codes have been deleted.”
The computer beeped and he looked at Rick who was standing beside him and studying the screen. Bauman signaled him to sit back down.
“Sir, Telstar VIII is picking up what I think is...laser fire in space,” said Rick, typing. “There’s some kind of battle going on.”
“Laser fire?” Bauman stood behind Rick. The satellite picture showed short beams of light exploding. “Something’s come up,” he said to Payton. “I’ll call you later.” He hung up the phone.
“Follow a beam and magnify at impact,” he said to Rick, focusing on the monitor.
The white beam exploded and in the residue was a clear picture of docking bay doors.
“Freeze it,” said Bauman.
The two men studied the image.
Bauman chuckled. “Talk about breaks.”
“Sir, is that what I think it is?” asked Rick.
“Yes, it is,” said Bauman. “We can use this to our advantage. Get me Frank Bollen on the horn.”
Rick swiveled in his seat. “Sir, I would never contradict you in any way, but these are real creatures from another world. Don’t you think we should investigate? They may come after us.”
“Nonsense,” answered Bauman, glancing down at Rick’s buzzed blonde hair, which looked like short, fine bristles. “The existence of alien life has been known for over two centuries. Look at them.” He pointed to the frozen scene. “They’re in a battle. They’re not interested in us. Get Bollen now.”
“Yes, General, Sir!” said Rick, turning around.
“I’ll take the call in my office,” said Bauman.
“Yes, Sir!”
Bauman walked to the rear of the jet and into his private stateroom, shutting the door. He sat at his computer and began typing an article for the papers. It included a photo of the laser blasts in space and a clear shot of docking bay doors.
Everyone’s attention will be on this, including the military’s.
If his original plan was discovered, he could say him and Payton had unraveled a secret plot by aliens whose intentions was to terminate most of the Earth’s civilization and enslave the rest. The upper administration would have to buy it; the proof was there. This would clear them of any charges of treason.
They would also have the story of Justin Young, an unstable man whose missing daughter’s diary exposed his irrational psychotic episodes. Of course, a fake diary would have to be planted in Justin’s house and he would have to be blamed for the deaths at OSRI, including the untimely disappearance of Rina and Shiro, whose bodies were never found.
Then there would be the truth from the Secretary of Defense, General Theodore Bauman and Admiral Payton Williams, both devoted, high-ranking officials who had proven their loyalty for a total of over eighty years, receiving medals and honors, many directly from several presidents of the United States.
Yes, it’s starting to feel better all the time.
To disgrace Justin in front of the whole world would be a victory. To kill Justin himself and make it look like a suicide would be even better. A warm sensation soothed his body when he thought of his hands crimped around Justin’s neck. Of course, this all would be initiated if Javelin One failed which it wouldn’t. Not even the President could stop Javelin One. A wide grin crossed his face. His phone rang.
A deep computer-generated voice said, “Bollen.”
“We have a problem,” said Bauman.
Frank Bollen, whoever he really was, could hack into any agency, the CIA, FBI, KGB - anything - and get away with it. He was pricey but his work was ingenious. Once, on a mission, Bauman accidentally overheard a conversation between an Al Qaeda deterrent and Bollen, who was refusing the work offered. He smirked at the thought of Bollen having scruples. The man was a spook, wanted in seventeen countries for treason. He was a master of disguise and illusion, the perfect ghost.
Unfortunately, certain aspects of his agenda had to be revealed to Bollen, who showed no interest at all—he just didn’t care. Bollen was the best and the one who’d set up the transfer of funds from Hans Steinman’s accounts to his. Thus, it was decided a long time ago, Bollen would have to be terminated. He knew too much.
“Am I to assume your plan didn’t work?” asked Bollen.
“It’s just a bump,” said Bauman. “I’m going to send you an article with a picture I need inserted into the Associated Press files. I want this on the front page of every paper in America. I need the world’s attention centered on it.”
“It’ll cost ten mil,” said Bollen. “Transfer it to my account now and you’ll have it within the next thirty minutes.”
“Done,” said Bauman, typing the transfer. “Just get it right.”
“Have I ever failed you?” said Bollen.
A dial tone sounded. Bauman sighed in relief. There’s always a way out. He picked up the phone and hit a key.
“Initiate Javelin One,” said Bauman.
“Aye, Sir,” said Rick. His obedience was admirable.
Bauman tapped a button and the wall before him slid open. He hooked into Rick’s monitor and watched it on screen. The words “NC” for a better world...contrasted brightly against a picture of Earth.
The display changed to an orbiting satellite. It carried twenty-four nuclear missiles.
All I need is four.