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  Levine asked, “So, of this ‘relevant’ material, what did you recover?”

  Zima smiled. “Something called The Stargate Project. This was the code name for a Defense Intelligence Agency program to investigate claims of psychic phenomena with potential military and domestic application. The information gleaned was vague, included irrelevant and erroneous data, and there was reason to suspect that its project managers had changed the reports. Remember, information on psychic research in foreign countries was sketchy and poorly detailed. Mostly rumors from second-hand sources and unreliable disinformation sources from the Soviet Union. I really think it was a cover story.”

  “What do you mean?” Levine asked.

  “The best way to keep a secret is to hide it in the open. The Hall of Records’ material that the CIA and DIA used, documents the insight and technology obtained during the alien contacts of the late forties, through the mid-fifties and beyond. The cover story was that U.S. intelligence sources believed the Soviet Union was spending sixty million rubles annually on ‘psychotronic’ research. The truth is that was ‘shared technology’ obtained from the aliens.”

  “What the hell is ‘psychotronic’ research?” Levine asked.

  “A set of protocols designed for the research of clairvoyance and out-of-body experiences and a host of other paranormal abilities; we found a lot of data on telepathy for example. Then after spending millions of dollars, Stargate was shut down and the studies either secreted or discredited by evaluators.”

  “Apparently, the aliens withheld some details,” Zima continued. “In any event, neither the Russians nor our government had much success with psychotronics.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dr. Eric Stevens, the County Medical Examiner, had been the first to diagnosis the new virus. Even then, the outbreak of the disease had gone on unchecked. Temporary emergency facilities were springing up all over the state; so far to no avail. The body count was continuing to rise and new outbreaks were being reported daily.

  Stevens called for a conference with the Director of the Center for Disease Control, Dr. William Barlow. Barlow looked tired and haggard. Normally well-groomed and neat in appearance, Barlow looked like he had not shaved in days or slept in nights. Stevens asked, “Bill, has there been any progress at all? This outbreak is tasking the military and medical communities to the breaking point. We are knocking on the door of a pandemic. We need answers.”

  Barlow rubbed his face with both hands, his exhaustion evident. “Eric, we have been experimenting, looking for some way... any way, to develop a cure for this new strain of hantavirus or a vaccine. Nothing has worked so far, but last evening one of my people suggested a possible approach. We’re working it right now.”

  “What is it?” asked Stevens.

  Barlow smiled. “Mistletoe.”

  “Mistletoe? I thought all that was good for is a kiss around Christmas.”

  Barlow explained, “From the Druids to the present, mistletoe has played a role in traditional medicine as a remedy for headaches and seizures; long considered a natural healer. Today the leaves, shoots and berries of the Mistletoe plant are well known sources of various compounds with cancer-fighting activity. Four categories of compounds are used as cancer therapies, including alkaloids, polysaccharides, lectins and viscotoxins. He thinks it might be part of the answer.”

  “He is focused on one of these species, Korthalsella. They have enlarged stems and reduced leaves, look like an aerial cacti. While all species have had a range of drugs developed from them, viscum album seems the best from studies. One extract appears to work by enhancing activity of the immune system, which improves quality of life, and reduces fatigue, nausea, vomiting and depression.

  “My guy thinks we might be able to make something that would work on the modified hantavirus.”

  Thorne fastened the buckles of his seat harness; out of habit, reached down to the zippered pocket on the leg of his Nomex flight suit and pulled out his leather-palmed pilot’s gloves. The flameproof Nomex fabric would protect his hands, while the leather gave him grip and traction on the controls. Smirking to himself, Problem is, there aren’t any controls. He refolded the gloves and put them back in the leg pocket. He laid his left hand on the control pad and secured his wrist with the Velcro strap. Looking up he said, “Your turn, Doc.”

  The Senior Flight Surgeon, Dr. Dalton, cinched up the strap securing the right arm. “You ready, General?”

  Thorne shrugged his shoulders. “Hell if I know, Doc. I think so... Only one way to find out... take this thing up and see.”

  “You sure you don’t want this?” Dalton said, holding up a parachute.

  “No, wouldn’t do any good anyway. If something goes seriously wrong, I won’t have time to get out of this thing. Besides, there’s no room in the seat for it. Guess I just better not screw up.”

  “Okay, you forgot your Comm unit, I’ll buckle it on your head and get out,” Dalton said. “You don’t have to push any buttons or switches, just talk. We’ll be recording everything you say, just in case...”

  “Yeah,” Thorne said, “just in case you need another pilot. Thanks Doc, see ya when I see ya... If I see ya.”

  Dalton waved and Thorne could hear the hiss as the hatch closed. He cleared his throat and settled down to business. “Research Craft 1, Comm check.”

  “Comm check, roger, Research 1. We read you 5 x 5.”

  “Roger, Research 1. I read you 5x5 also, requesting permission to launch.”

  “Roger, Research 1. You have permission, good luck.”

  Thorne positioned his hands on the control pad and thought, Systems on. The holographic image sprang to life. Ship integrity check, it showed sealed. Power on, cloak on. There was an almost indiscernible whine as the ship powered itself up. Launch sequence activate, go to cruising speed 450, altitude 20,000 feet.

  The silver, egg-shaped vehicle sprang into the air, climbing quickly. So far so good, Thorne thought. Aloud he said, “Okay you alien bucket of bolts, let’s see what you can do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Days before, Manfred Schmidt, the head of security for New Germany’s President, Wolfgang Mann, had entered the Presidential Office. “Good evening Mr. President. Is there word on the situation in Hawaii yet?”

  Mann smiled. “Yes, Herr Schmidt. I just spoke to my wife; the children have been rescued and are all fine.” Checking his watch Mann said, “The First Lady will be landing there shortly and should be with the children and their families in less than an hour.”

  Schmidt smiled. “I am truly pleased, Sir. I know that lifts a heavy burden from both of you. I agree, I think it was wise to make her trip a secret.”

  “Yes, no need for a big show, just a mother and grandmother seeing her family. As far as everyone here knows, my wife has the flu and is on bed rest in the Executive Mansion.” Mann smiled and pointed at a chair in front of his desk. “You asked for a meeting Herr Schmidt; what can I do for you? Would you care for some coffee?”

  Schmidt said as he shook his head, “No, thank you, Sir.” He opened his briefcase and pulled a file, opened it and laid it on Mann’s desk. “Sir, I’m afraid we may have a problem.”

  Mann perused the file quickly and said, “You mean we’re not finished with these vermin yet?”

  “It appears we are not, Sir. The brother of the one Herr Generaloberst Rourke referred to in his report as ‘Woody the Woodpecker,’ was actually named Johann Burkholter. He’s the younger brother of Horst Burkholter, a lieutenant in the more militant arm of the Neo-Nazi movement, and it seems he wants revenge for his brother’s death.”

  Wolf frowned. “Do you believe there is an involvement in what just occurred in Hawaii?”

  “No Sir,” Schmidt shook his head. “They do not appear to have that type of capability. They are more home grown in their activities. We believe they may be targeting you and the First Lady, however.”

  “Do you have any idea how they would target us?”


  Schmidt sighed. “Frankly Sir, no... no we don’t. After Burkholter’s brother was killed by Herr Generaloberst Rourke, everything seemed to go quiet. It has only been in the past few days we noticed chatter starting back up. Burkholter, the older brother, had been active in the Democratic German Republic and we believe he was instrumental in the removal and subsequent assassination of President Croenberg.”

  Mann merely nodded but thought to himself, Excellent, then it is still perceived that Croenberg was assassinated. I am sure that Paul Rubenstein will be glad to hear this. Michael had briefed his stepfather on Croenberg’s resurfacing. “That I find very interesting, Helmut. For your information, we still don’t have an idea of when the First Lady will return to New Germany. With the kidnapping of our grandchildren and another family emergency... she may be gone for some time.”

  “Honestly Sir, I find that to our advantage. The threat seems to be localized, that means the primary targeting would, of necessity, be limited to you,” Schmidt said. “We are revamping some of your travel and speaking itinerary but frankly... we just aren’t that concerned.”

  Mann smiled. “Good, I am glad to hear that. Thank you, Helmut, keep me posted.” Schmidt stood, shook hands with his President and left the office.

  “Michael,” Mann said into the phone. “I understand your extermination operation is set to begin tomorrow. Is that accurate?”

  “That’s right,” Michael said. “I wanted to check with you... have you seen an outbreak there yet?”

  “No, thank God,” Mann said. “It looks like only your country was targeted. However, it is possible that the carriers simply have not arrived here... yet. I’m hoping your operation will be successful. In the event the bugs show up here, I want to have a plan in place to reduce their impact.”

  “Totally understand, Wolfgang,” Michael said. “We got caught in the surprise, we weren’t ready, and we have already had substantial loss of life.”

  “Any word on John? Your mother and I are both concerned.”

  “No,” and in that single word, Wolfgang Mann could hear the anger and frustration of his stepson. “No word, no contact, no ransom demands. All I know is he seemingly vanished off the face of the earth during the evacuation from Mount Rushmore.”

  Mann was silent for a long moment. “Michael, you know better than anyone that your father is a survivor. As long as we don’t have a body or conformation of his death, we have to believe he is alive. And if John Rourke lives, he’ll find a way to get back to us all.”

  Michael was silent, finally he said, “If, is an awfully big word to just have two letters.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Otto Croenberg sat in the suite he had at Honolulu’s largest and most opulent hotel. He handed a cup of black coffee to Rubenstein and said, “I’m glad to learn the children are safe and sorry to hear about Dr. Rourke, my friend. How is rest of the family dealing with it?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Paul said. “Sarah is staying with Emma to help her with the baby. It is a lucky thing they get along.” Paul sipped his coffee and asked, “What have you got for me, Otto?”

  Croenberg nodded. “Please give my salutations to the family and particularly to Sarah. I’ve conversed with the new Mrs. Rourke but I only met Sarah that once, long ago on the ship. Paladin was its name, was it not?”

  Paul nodded.

  Otto said, “Anyway, I found Sarah to be an especially intriguing woman, give her my best. Now, as you know, the Neo-Nazism movement began after World War II as social and political movements seeking to revive the far-right-wing tenets of Nazism. The term Neo-Nazism can also refer to the ideology of these movements. In short order, it became a global phenomenon, with organized representation in many countries, as well as international networks.

  “In some European and Latin American countries, laws were enacted that prohibit the expression of pro-Nazi, racist, anti-Semitic or homophobic views. Many Nazi-related symbols are banned in European countries in an effort to curtail Neo-Nazism.”

  “But,” Paul said. “Nothing... none of those legal actions slowed the Neo-Nazi movement.”

  Otto nodded. “Correct, it grew throughout Europe. In Russia, Neo-Nazis openly admired Adolf Hitler and used the German Nazi swastika as their symbol. Russian Neo-Nazis were characterized by racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia and extreme xenophobia towards people from Asia.

  “Russian Neo-Nazis wanted to take over the country by force, and put serious effort into preparing for this. Switzerland, Mongolia, Costa Rica, Burma and even the United States were touched by the movement.”

  “Then came the Night of the War,” Paul said. “Even that did little to stop the movement.”

  “No,” Otto said. “Nothing did and I’m convinced that the threat from them is real, again. I saw their influence in my old country and I believe they have expanded their goals.”

  “To what end?” Paul asked with concern.

  “The ‘end’ is simple: world domination, that goal has never changed. Where? Everywhere.”

  Paul shook his head. “Once, I think I was in the fifth grade, a woman who suffered the holocaust came to talk to my class. Her name was Mrs. Van Thyn. She told us of the camps and showed us the tattoo on her left arm. It had become almost unreadable but she knew what it said. She had to yell it out for twelve months during the morning lineups at the Nazi-run death camp, the last time shortly before the U.S. Army arrived, liberating the camp.”

  “She told us, ‘Physically surviving was the easier part. What’s important is that you do not go insane. That’s the part you can work on. I kept repeating: I will survive, I will survive. I was nineteen when my parents, two aunts, an uncle and I were forced from our homes and loaded on a cargo train.’

  “When they arrived at the camp, the camp doctor separated her from her family; she never saw them again.

  “When the Army arrived, they fed the survivors slowly because too much food, they explained, would kill them. But she said she couldn’t resist and ate ‘day and night.’ When weighed the first time, she weighed just seventy-three pounds but reached ninety-five pounds three weeks later, when she hopped on the roof of a train for the long journey home. She hoped to find a surviving relative waiting for her, but all had perished.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “I want our President and his bitch wife dead,” Horst Burkholter said, slamming his fist on the table. “It was Wolfgang Mann that allowed John Rourke in to rescue his wife. My brother died on that mission, killed by Rourke. My brother just wanted to ransom Mann’s wife; that would have financed our operations for years. Rourke killed him.”

  “I know, Horst,” said Peter Vale.

  Helmut Freed said, “And my brother Franz sits in prison with no hope for release.”

  “I’ve read the reports. He is the one John Rourke referred to as ‘Pocked Mark’ and I believe he is two years older than you,” Vale said.

  “Correct, Rourke’s slug permanently crippled Franz’s right arm which now hangs useless by his side. I want not only the New German President and First Lady, but Rourke as well.”

  “My sources,” Vale said, “say Rourke is off on a mission above the glacial line in North America. We will have to settle for what we can get now and hope to settle our debts with the others later.”

  “Rourke can wait,” Burkholter said with a sneer. “First, I want him to suffer the loss of his friend and ex-wife. When his time comes, the debt will be paid in full. Now,” he said, “when do we kill President Mann and his wife, Sarah?”

  Vale nodded. “The First Lady has not been seen for several days and supposedly, she is sick. If that is the case, to take them both out it will probably be necessary to attack them at the Presidential residence. That appears the best way to be sure we can kill both. However, the President has a speaking engagement in two days; if his wife is present, we will kill them both there. If she is not, we will move on the Presidential residence when he returns.”

  Burk
holter asked, “So how do we pull that off? Those two locations will both have tremendous security.”

  Vale smiled. “Let’s take a ride gentlemen.”

  Four hours later, they pulled into an abandoned mine in the forest east of the capital city.

  “Okay,” Burkholter said. “What’s your surprise, what’s the answer? How do we kill them?”

  Vale indicated a road on the far side of the mine. “Put these on and watch.” He handed each a set of ear protectors, placing a set over his own ears. Keying a handheld radio, he said simply, “Begin.”

  A plain white cargo truck charged out of the jungle and down the road. Suddenly, doors opened on both sides of the cargo hold, and a second later, a barrage of missiles came streaking out of the vehicle headed for a concrete block house that had served as the mine’s headquarters. Following the circular road, the truck emptied its load of rockets and belched machine gunfire. An instant later, the demonstration was over.

  “Holy Crap,” Freed said, as he removed the ear protection.

  Vale smiled. “Yes, indeed. My contacts were able to obtain rocket launch pods from seven helicopters that were retired from active duty with the Democratic Republic of Germany. These have been donated to your cause.”

  “Why?” Freed said.

  “Let us just say that my government’s goals and your own goals have aligned for the moment. It is your desire to rid the world of Wolfgang Mann and his wife and theirs as well; albeit for different reasons. With Mann’s government destroyed, the Democratic Republic of Germany believes they can consolidate power between the two countries and take more control of world events.”