In the Name of the Sun

By Alex Drinkwater, Jr.

The whole thing started when a bomb was detonated on the space station by someone willing to give his life for his cause, taking dozens of lives with him. As a result, Colonel Roman Costello of the United States Space Force (USSF) had to go up to the station and find out who did this . . . and why. What he didn’t know that day that this was the beginning of an adventure that would bring him halfway around the world in pursuit of an elusive enemy determined to eliminate all forms of space travel by whatever means necessary. Another thing he didn’t know that day was that he was about to get involved with a very beautiful -- and very dangerous -- woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Drinkwater, Jr.
• Release date: Aug 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370474080

Alex Drinkwater, Jr.

BiographyI was born to Alexander and Josephine Drinkwater in Providence, Rhode Island in 1945. After my father (who was a somewhat successful writer of fiction among other things) died in 1954, I was raised by my mother, a bookkeeper for one of the major jewelry firms in Providence. Although the last name is English, my heritage is Italian as “Drinkwater” is a translation of the original family name “Bevilacqua,” a change which took place in the early part of the 20th Century.I attended the University of Rhode Island for one year and then dropped out to join the U.S. Army in 1966. Three and one-half years in the Army included one year in Vietnam and one year in Europe in various Army Intelligence assignments. In 1969, I was discharged and, after taking a couple of courses in night school, entered Rhode Island College in 1970, graduating with a BA degree in 1973 (Political Science major).In 1974, I got married, took a job with the Defense Intelligence Agency and moved to the Washington, D.C. area. The marriage lasted five years while the job with DIA lasted fourteen. During this time I obtained an MA from Georgetown University (International Relations). Assignments in DIA were primarily analytical in nature, with the Soviet space program being my prime area of interest. My desire to write fiction manifested itself around 1979 and, in 1981, I began my first novel, entitled “The Ghosts of Hanoi.” This dealt with the aftermath of the Vietnam War and the question whether prisoners of war were still being held in Southeast Asia (and can be purchased as an ebook right here on Smashwords).In 1988, I switched jobs, becoming a weapons system threat analyst for Air Force Systems Command. In 1991, AFSC merged with AF Logistics Command and my job transferred to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio where I lived for ten years. During this time, I started my second novel, “Duly Constituted Authority," concerning a revolt of the Joint Chiefs of Staff against a White House bent on radicalizing the military. In 2001, I retired from government service and took a job as a counterterrorism analyst with Science Applications International Corporation (SAIC) and relocated to the United Kingdom where I lived for almost eight years. The work was extremely interesting, although security considerations prevent me from talking (or writing) about it. There I met my second wife, Cathy, and we got married in the UK. We returned to the States in 2009, and now live in northern Rhode Island.In addition to the two novels, I have written a third which is a science fiction thriller called "In the Name of the Sun" which is available here at Smashwords as well as Amazon.com. I have also written a dozen or so short stories. My longer fiction can be categorized more or less as “military/espionage thrillers” while most of my short stories are science fiction or horror. I have published short fiction in an online magazine, Anotherealm.com, and another short story was published in Gate-Way Science Fiction Magazine.Alex Drinkwater, Jr.

Book preview

BOOK I - SUNRISE

1 – Having a Blast in Orbit

The commander of the huge space station studied the displays in front of him, broadcast from external cameras that covered every bit of his current home, orbiting the earth. Everything seems to be copasetic, Jim, Fred Shapiro said into the mike, I would say the security is . . . wait . . . holy shit! A blinding flash on one screen interrupted his pronouncement. In an instant, he realized what had happened. Looks like Module Five! Gotta seal that sunovabitch now! He hollered to his partner, Jim get those people into Module Four! He paused. If anyone’s left after decompression. He spoke more to himself than to anyone else.

Jim Sullivan grabbed a suit and headed down the passageway. I’ll stay on the Com. See if you can hold off ‘till you hear from me.

Go for it. Shapiro’s hands hovered over the buttons that would seal off sections of the station. Two minutes later he heard Sullivan’s voice on the Com.

Fred?

Yeah. What’s happenin’?

I’m in Three. We sealed it from here. He sounded subdued.

But what about - - aw, hell. Shapiro understood. There was nothing left of Modules Four and Five. Or the people in them. He sighed. How many?

Um, I’d say fifty or sixty, at least. Obviously we haven’t taken a head count yet.

Shapiro closed his eyes. Fifty or sixty people, perhaps more. Gone. Just like that. He knew who was responsible, he just knew. Bastards! Then he remembered. Modules Four and Five belonged to the Chinese who had recently come on board.

Shapiro sighed. Jim?

Yes?

Is the Emergency Team there?

Of course.

"Come on back, let them handle it. We got other problems. Big problems."

I know. On my way.

A few moments Sullivan was back in the Command Module of the United Space Exploration Platform or USEP the successor to the International Space Station that had been destroyed a few years before. He studied the craggy, worn face of his colleague. It was them, wasn’t it?

Shapiro grunted. Of course it’s them.

You think it was Megalor? He referred to a descendant of C-4, the much-heralded (and much feared) plastic explosive of the past. Easily handled in the vacuum of space, placed against the outer wall of a space vehicle, it was quite effective. It didn’t take much for a sudden release of air. Just like a balloon. Pop! End of story. And of lives. It was what everyone assumed was used against USEP’s predecessor a couple of decades back.

A shrug. Probably.

Sullivan lowered his gaze. In a soft voice he said Damned Solarites.

All good things come from the sun, don’t you know that?

Sullivan sat in the seat next to his boss. The view from the great curved window in front was fantastic. They were over the Pacific and had just cleared the coast of China. He gazed out for a minute and gulped. Man, Beijing’s gonna be pissed.

His boss stared at him. You thinking what I’m thinking?

Gotta be. Those were their modules. Might have been some others in there, of course, but the majority of the casualties must have been our latest ‘guests.’

Damn. I was afraid of that. The president busted his ass convincing them it was safe up here.

I know. I guess we’ll be expecting a visit from Castello.

Shapiro nodded. He’s the best. He’s nabbed, what, a dozen of those pricks so far?"

Yeah, at least. God knows how many he’s capped.

Jim, between you and me, he should have capped them all. The hell with putting them in jail.

That’s no lie. All they do in jail is learn how to be bigger and better assholes.

A chime came from the console in front of Shapiro. Yes?

Casualty reports, sir said a woman’s voice from the speaker overhead.

Hell. Okay, Lieutenant, how many and who?

Sixty-two, Sir. Mostly Chinese.

Shapiro winced. Crap. He closed his eyes for a minute. Anybody get out?

Two. They had just entered Module Three. They are the only people left from the Chinese delegation. There are two Americans and one Russian missing as well. I guess they were visiting.

Shapiro didn’t ask if there were any bodies. Whatever was left was mixed in the debris in space left behind by the orbiting USEP. Shapiro glanced down at all the blinking lights on the board in front of him. I guess Downstairs wants to know what happened. Catch you later, Lieutenant. He touched a button. Let’s see, who’s first? At his command, a small plasma screen silently slid up into view, a list of demanding interlocutors blinking at him. He selected one. Northcom - North American Command. Yes, General Fielder, Shapiro here.

An angry face greeted him on the screen. What the fuck happened up there?

Somebody lit up Modules Four and Five. They’re gone.

Four and five? The Chinese modules?

Yes, sir.

And?

Sixty-two missing as of five minutes ago. Mostly Chinese.

Shit!

Yes sir, that’s what I said.

2 – Roman Castello

Downstairs, on Earth, the aforementioned Roman Castello stretched out his six-foot-two inch body on his couch and gazed up at the screen floating over him, a wireless keyboard on his lap, part of his datapack, the latest version of what used to be called a laptop. He was also known as Colonel Castello, United States Space Forces Command Special Operations Section (USSF/SOS - the clandestine operations branch of the USSF. They truly were deep black). An image of a man stared back at him, a man with dark hair, even darker than Castello's wavy locks, a product of his Mediterranean heritage. You did it, didn’t you Zraqad, you sun-worshipper, you? You and yours took out those modules up there, didn’t you?

The image gazed back at him with humorless eyes. Castello’s mind flashed back to their last meeting, when he’d narrowly escaped death at Shimshaa’s hands. He fingered the burn on the back of his right wrist, a souvenir from Shimshaa’s laser pistol. He touched the keyboard and the familiar words appeared. He knew them by heart, but he read them again and again, just to psych himself.

Zraqad Shimshaa, pronounced ZRAH-COD SHIM-SHAH, leader of the Solarites, worshippers of the sun (or Sol - also known by the ancient Egyptian name Ra which is used when referring to the sun as a deity). The Solarites do not believe the sun itself is God; rather it is the representation of God’s power (in essence, a giant cross or Star of David, etc.) and is the medium in which God delivers His warmth and light. Twice a day, at sunrise and sunset, they prostrate themselves and chant Ra is God, God is Ra. There is no other and HE cannot be touched. They believe that Man does not belong in space because it offends Ra, sunspots, solar flares and violent weather being proof that Ra is unhappy. The Solarites act violently as well in their quest to keep Man on Earth. Took credit for the destruction of the International Space Station as well as numerous acts of destruction to space-related installations Downstairs. Some analysts believe the destruction of the earlier space shuttles Challenger and Columbia were acts of sabotage committed by people of similar beliefs, perhaps precursors to the Solarites (it should be mentioned that there is no evidence of this). Shimshaa emerged around 2055, declaring himself Chief Priest of Ra and a direct descendant of Akhenaten, the Egyptian Pharaoh who worshipped the sun. Little is known of Shimshaa’s background except that he was born somewhere in North Africa . . .

An image appeared at the lower right of Castello’s screen and a soft voice announced incoming communication from Northcom. Gotta be Fielder. He touched another node and the white-haired, three-star general’s round face filled the screen. Lieutenant General Gideon Fielder commanded the United States Space Forces, or USSF which, in turn, came operationally under Northcom, military shorthand for North American Command. Heading Northcom was Fielder’s other hat – he ran them both. Good morning. I had a feeling you’d call.

Get off your ass, Castello. Your friend’s been up to no good again.

"Hell. Don’t call him my friend." He rubbed the back of his hand again.

The general’s smile was thin. "I know. Get on the next flyer and get out here. I’ll upload the brief and you can view it on the way. Roman, this is bad, real bad. The Chinese Premier is on the President’s ass, the President’s on the Secretary’s ass, and he’s on my ass."

I take it I’ll be going Upstairs?

You want to inspect at the damage, don’t you?

I suppose. He started to rise. "You know I just love space travel." He lied.

A day later, Castello sat in the familiar, round briefing room deep in Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado, home of Northcom, charged with the defense of North America which included Upstairs, the space above it. All the way out to geosynchronous orbit, 22,300 miles above Earth. When the Lunar Base was finished, Northcom’s Area of Responsibility would increase. If the Lunar Base was finished, a touch and go situation, especially with the rather determined opposition of some people.

Like the Solarites he thought as he took in the sight of the Lunar Base model, a holograph perpetually floating in one small alcove of the room.

Proceed, Captain said the General to the young officer standing in front of the oblong, black table.

An image floated above the right side of the captain’s head. USEP, as it appeared three days ago. At exactly 0921 Mountain time a day later, the following event took place. Suddenly the room was awash with white light as the image showed one end of the station exploding.

CIA and her sister agencies as well as the intelligence agencies of the major Earth powers are in agreement that this was a deliberate attack perpetrated by this individual. At that an image of Shimshaa replaced that of the ill-fated USEP. The captain proceeded to give a breakdown of the casualty figures, prompting an audible Hmmm from one particular person at the table.

Fielder turned to him. General Teng, I assure you we will do everything we can to bring these people to justice.

Teng shook his head. I know, General. It is just that I will have to face Premier Hsiang. As you know, he was not in favor of Chinese participation in this ‘adventure.’

Fielder held his hands up in a what can I do? gesture. Teng merely shrugged in response. Fielder nodded to the captain to continue. After some images of the damage, and some known members of the Solarites for background, the briefer came to the proverbial bottom line.

The big question is how are the Solarites gaining access to orbit? Northcom monitors every launch from Downstairs, yet nothing out of the ordinary was detected that day, just as no unauthorized launches were detected twenty-five years ago when USEP’s predecessor blew up.

Fielder turned to Castello. How indeed? Ro, among other things, that’s for you to find out.

Castello tried to smile. Piece of cake. No one laughed.

3 – Back Upstairs

"Shuttle Conqueror docking at port one," said a husky but bodiless female voice.

Shapiro turned to Sullivan. He’s here. C’mon, let’s go meet him.

The two walked down the main tube that ran the length of USEP heading to the airlock where their visitor would be entering.

I never met Castello, said Sullivan.

Never? I met him a few times Downstairs. He seems like a regular guy but he’s good at what he does.

A minute later they were at the port. Castello was leaning against the bulkhead. Sullivan frowned. He seems spacesick.

I am.

Shapiro smiled. "He’s got good hearing, too.

Hi, Colonel Castello. I’m Fred Shapiro, commander of USEP. This is Jim Sullivan, my First Officer."

As they shook hands, Sullivan blushed just a bit. Sorry about the remark.

No sweat. It takes me a bit to get my spacelegs. I’m a cop by trade, not an astronaut. Shapiro, don’t I know you from somewhere?

"Yeah, sure. Remember when the sunlovers tried to blow up the Intimidator?"

Castello pointed a finger at him. Oh yeah! At Edwards Air Force Base. You were in training, right?

That’s it. I was training for this job.

Castello smirked. `Sunlovers.’ Gives a whole new meaning to that word, doesn’t it?

We’ve always had nicknames for enemies. He chuckled. `Japs,’ ‘krauts,’ ‘gooks,’ ‘commies,’ ‘ragheads,’ now the ‘sunlovers.’ You’d think we could come with something better than that, though.

`Assholes’ comes to mind, Shapiro chimed in. Come on, Colonel, we’ll go into the conference module."

Right. My name's Roman by the way, or just 'Ro.' Castello never cared much about rank.

Castello ran the video for the third time. Hmmm, it was a Megalor blast. No question about it.

You’re sure? asked Shapiro.

Yep. Watch. He froze the picture. Right here, probably a microsecond into the blast. Shock wave goes in. Next frame, here. The picture changed. What appears to be ice streaks coming out is air immediately freezing on decompression. Just a small, conventional shaped charge. Then you see the rest. Damn, he used a big chunk. I wonder why?

Sullivan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. But how did it get there? If anything as large as a man in a spacesuit came within 20 kilometers of the ship it would have been detected, much less a space vehicle.

Castello sat back. So what does that tell you?

Shapiro lowered his head and closed his eyes for a second. Of course. Damn.

What? Sullivan’s eyes opened wide. You mean the person who did it was already on board? Christ!

Correct-o. An inside job. That’s the only explanation.

But why not just place it on the inside, why go out? asked Sullivan.

Because someone might see the fucker and try and stop him. You see, Megalor only becomes explosive when its two components are mixed at the right proportion. At that point, it’s extremely unstable, so the bomber would have to mix it prior to placing it.

Is it a big deal?

Not really. Just two pouches but pulling them out and mixing them at a cocktail party or something would probably draw attention. Especially the size of what he seemed to be carrying.

And if he mixed them ahead of time?

Then he risks premature detonation if he were to bump against a bulkhead or some such. Castello sat forward. Shapiro, I take it onboard computers record every time a spacelock opens?

Shapiro was already on his feet. I’m one step ahead of you. Come on.

Two minutes later the three were in the Command Module. Shapiro indicated something on the plasma screen. Right there. At 1615 hours last Thursday, spacelock 2 opened for exactly thirty seconds. Just enough time for someone to float outside.

What about return?

Shapiro shook his head. No. No more openings until after the explosion when the Catastrophe Team went outside to inspect the damage.

His First Officer rubbed his chin. But where did he go?

Castello’s eyes were slits. If this were Downstairs, I’d say he went up in smoke.

You mean –

Suicide bomber. Almost parenthetically he added, I guess that explains why he used such a large charge. Bubble, bubble, no more trouble.

Well, sure, he couldn’t very well come back in, could he? said Sullivan.

There was a moment of silence. Shapiro thought of his great grandfather, killed on a bus in Jerusalem a few decades back. History repeats, doesn’t it?

"`Fraid so. It’s what I figured happened to the International Space Station as well. There was no indication of anything or anyone approaching it either."

What the hell . . . why didn’t we hear about this before?

Castello stared right into his eyes. "Shapiro, unless someone has a cloaking device like the old Star Trek TV show, then someone real nasty was able to come on board the ISS and USEP without detection. You think the ‘suits’ Downstairs want to admit their screening process is screwed up?"

Damn!

A day later, two things happened: the head count was finished and Castello’s legs were feeling like rubber. Damn, Shapiro, I’ll never get used to artificial gravity.

Yeah, it takes a while. Well, that’s it. Sixty-one Chinese, two Germans, and one American missing. And one pressurized suit. The surviving Chinese said they remembered seeing Miller and Steiner inside Module Four before they came out. That leaves the American. I’ve never heard of a Chinese Solarite.

Well, he might have been an American. Don’t rule out the Chinese. Stranger things have happened. Although suicide’s not their style. Castello studied the file. Seems innocuous enough. Dunstan Hargrove. Infotech Engineer. MIT, class of ‘65. What do know about him?

Not much. Seemed to be a loner. There are over 200 people on USEP, you know. Or there were, he corrected himself. Anyway, you can’t get to know everyone well.

Yeah. I’ll have to take this. How about the Chinese files?

I’ll download them to a microdisk. Too many to print out. It’ll just take a minute.

Good.

From the speaker came the announcement "Shuttle Conqueror approaching."

There’s your ride. Go get your stuff and I’ll meet you at the spacelock with the disk.

Okay.

An hour later, the newly loaded shuttle pulled away as the Commander and First Officer watched.

Look at her, said Sullivan, sleeker ‘n shit. Nothing like those `space trucks’ we used to use.

Yeah, she’s pretty alright.

You think he’ll solve this one?

Who knows? They still haven’t solved the ISS job.

What do you mean? The sunlovers took credit for it.

So what? Did anybody hang? Or go to jail?

"I see what you mean. Well, at least we’re out of the woods."

Don’t be so sure.

Sullivan turned to face his boss. How do you mean?

How do you know there isn’t another one of those assholes on board?

He turned on one heel and headed to his quarters, leaving his First officer standing there with his mouth open. Wide.

4 – Shimshaa Strikes Again

Zraqad Shimshaa sat in the lotus position, eyes closed, arms halfway extended, palms up. He and some of his followers had just finished their chanting and now they were sitting attentively, arrayed around their dark-eyed leader, anxious for him to impart his wisdom. The plain room was silent for a while and then his eyes snapped open.

We are one less than before, and that is good.

That is good, they repeated in unison.

He is not with us because he has done his duty.

He has done his duty!

He is with Ra.

He is with Ra!

He is a ray of Sunlight.

A ray of Sunlight!

He is with Ra and it is good.

It is good to be with Ra!

He lowered his arms and they sat. He shuffled slightly beneath his yellow robe. Beloved, Icarus has gone to Ra and has set an example for us all. The Defilers have been wounded. But our work is far from done. They still take their evil ships into the Great Beyond and thus they defy the wishes of Ra.

It is wrong to defy the wishes of Ra!

Indeed. So we have more work to do. We successfully managed to get Icarus onboard their ‘space station’ so he could carry out his mission. Beloved, I do not have to tell you how he must have been pained to have to travel to the Great Beyond, but he had to join the sinners to stop their sinning. And he knew the rules. And, yes, he paid for his ‘sin.’ But his heart was pure even as he left the boundaries of our beloved Terra. He knew what he had to do and he did it well. May he be in peace with Ra.

May he be in peace with Ra!

He stood and the others did the same. Soon you will be given our next sacred mission. Prepare yourselves! He outstretched his arms. One of you will soon be with Ra!

We will be one with Ra! Death to the defilers of the Great Beyond! Death to the enemies of Ra!

Now go, my children, and meditate on what we must do.

Ra is God, God is Ra. There is no other and HE cannot be touched!

When they left, Shimshaa exited through a small door behind the rug on which he had sat. Inside a small room stood a large statue of Akhenaten, the ancient Egyptian pharaoh, lit torches burning on either side of him.

He bowed and said, Through my eyes, you see. Through my mouth, you speak. And through my body, you shall rule again.

Damn! Castello whizzed through a list of names on his screen, each one with a picture next to it. When he saw one that seemed interesting, he pointed the laser mouse at it and it expanded. Damn, he repeated as he continued to scroll. Not a thing. Over two hundred known Solarites and not one even remotely resembles this guy. He checked Hargrove’s bona fides again. Oddly enough, there were few people on the list who even had the same height, weight, and eye color. He started scrolling again, sorting by hair color. Still nothing.

Castello went back and scanned Hargrove’s file once more. This time he noticed something he had not seen

earlier. A note next to his nationality. He beamed in on it and up popped a text balloon – Hargrove had been born in Tunisia and had changed his name. From what? NFI - No further information. Castello called up the map of North Africa and was searching for a town called

Sfax when a thought popped into his mind. Wasn’t General Fielder born there as well? He was about to check out Fielder’s bio when a familiar image appeared on the corner of the screen.

What do they want? He zapped it with the mouse and it filled the screen:

SECRET HANDLE VIA BRIGHTSIDE CHANNELS ONLY

A FUEL TRUCK EXPLODED AT CAPE CANAVERAL SPACE LAUNCH CENTER AT 1900Z TODAY IN THE PROXIMITY OF PAD L39B. THE ONLY CASUALTY WAS THE DRIVER. THE VEHICLE WAS HEADING TOWARD A GROUP OF TECHNICIANS WHEN THE EXPLOSION OCCURRED. AN UNMANNED LAUNCH VEHICLE WAS ON THE PAD BEING PREPARED FOR LAUNCH. IT IS POSTULATED THE DRIVER WAS WEARING AN IMPROVISED EXPLOSIVE DEVICE WHICH DETONATED PREMATURELY ALTHOUGH THIS HAS NOT BEEN CONFIRMED. INVESTIGATION CONTINUES.

SECRET HANDLE VIA BRIGHTSIDE CHANNELS ONLY

Castello immediately deleted the message, in accordance with the security rules of Brightside, the codeword for intelligence on the Solarites. This limited the distribution only to those who were read in. It also meant the assumption was that the Solarites were involved.

Well, who else? he said to himself as waited for the inevitable order to go to Florida. When it came, he was surprised.

Why aren’t you going? What’s the point? We know who did it, said a very unhappy General Fielder, his face filling the image.

"I quite agree, but how do you know who did it?

This isn’t public knowledge, but we received a videodisk with Shimshaa himself on it telling us they were going to do it.

Castello almost out of the chair. Why the hell wasn’t I told?

Calm down, Ro. We were about to send it to you and then send you down there but he pulled a fast one on us.

How so?

"On the disk he claimed it was going to happen tomorrow. Bastards tried it today instead."

And you believed him. Good thing the suicide bomber was a screw up.

Not quite. This is ‘Brightside’ access only, but we’ve been experimenting with something the Israelis came up with. It’s a combination of laser beams, extremely high frequency radio signals, and infrared that sets up a sort of ‘force field.’ Any known ignition or detonation system that gets within it is set off. Naturally that poses a lot of restrictions on what can be introduced into the field once it’s set up. We’ve had guys with books of matches go off in their pockets, that sort of thing.

Wow. And that was around the launch pad? What about the rocket’s ignition system?

That works differently. This thing wouldn’t affect it.

Castello remembered something he wanted ask him. Say, General, weren’t you born in Tunisia?

Yeah. My father was a diplomat. So what?

Well, I did some checking on Hargrove, one of the guys unaccounted for after the explosion on USEP. Apparently he was born in a town called Sfax. Changed his name but I can’t find out what it was. Any ideas on the matter?

Fielder shrugged. No idea. Listen, Roman, our preliminary analysis indicates this guy may be in Europe, but I don’t want to prejudice your thinking on this. You seem to have a ‘sixth sense’ for these things. I’ll get the contents of the disk to you.

Castello wanted to know more about the force field. Yeah, go ahead and upload it. I’m curious though. If this new gizmo of yours works that well, why don’t we use it all over the place, like up in space?

No, no. Too many things up in space that could be detonated by it – it would be too much work to shield everything Upstairs. It’s still experimental and besides, it’s completely black world – special access only.

But it would save lives, for Chrissake. When will it be perfected?

Ro, just forget that I told you about it. And don’t mention it to anybody, understand?

But . . .

Colonel Castello. You will forget that I told you about that and will speak of it to no one, do you understand?

Ouch. Fielder hardly ever referred to him by his rank, much less in that tone of voice. Yessir was all he could muster at the moment.

Good. Study that recording and when you’re done, get back to me with your analysis, got that?

Yes sir.

Fielder out. With that, he was gone.

Castello stared at the screen for a moment. That he held the rank of full Colonel in the US Space Force Reserve was ironic since he hated space travel. He hardly ever used the title, much less wear the powder blue USSF uniform. Still, it came in handy when one had to deal with underlings, the military mindset being what it was. It also had its disadvantages – like when a general barks an order at you. He tried to sort it all out mentally but was interrupted by a feminine voice. Audio/video transmission waiting for download.

He beamed at one point on the screen and in an instant the recording was ready to play. He lay back, and started the video of his favorite terrorist.

An hour later, he knew little more than he did when he started. Over and over he played back certain portions of the recording, carefully studying the man’s facial expressions, his speech patterns, and most of all, the background. None of this gave him a clue as to where this man was.

Another hour passed. More playback, more studying. More comparison with earlier images called up from the Brightside database. Castello now believed he could pick out this guy from a mile away – if he came across him again. But still no clues. And what the hell had made Fielder think he was in Europe? Only one way to find out.

His boss’s image soon replaced that of his adversary on the screen. Yeah, what have you got?

"A question. What makes you think this guy’s in Europe? I don’t see