Ad Infinitum

By James Wright and Klay Cone

High-stakes politics and a stolen thermonuclear warhead are only the beginning for one CIA agent. Robert Gray, sent in on a deadly mission to disarm a terrorist group plotting Armageddon, falls prey to a nuclear deathtrap. But death is not an option.

Instead, Robert finds himself explicably traveling through time, and he soon discovers that he is being pursued by a much more powerful traveler. He must now discover the secret behind his own traveling, and he must learn the hidden motives of his indomitable pursuer. This time, the truth will either kill him or set him free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 9, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469733142

Book preview

Ad Infinitum

James Wright

Writer’s Showcase

presented by Writer’s Digest

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

Ad Infinitum

All Rights Reserved © 2000 by James Andrew Wright

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in

writing from the publisher.

Writer’s Showcase

presented by Writer’s Digest

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

5220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

Illustrations based on art by Klay Cone

ISBN: 0-595-14468-3

ISBN: 978-1-4697-3314-2 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgements

The Mission

The Aftermath

The Crusades

The Separation

The Madman

The Beast Resurrected

The Blazes

The Family

The Invasion

The Noblewoman

The Megalith

The Suggestion

The Bomb

The Infection

The Plagues

The Monk

The Aliens

The Greeks

The Cause

The Scientist

The Conversation

Beginning of the End

Gods on Earth

Divided Planet

Jungle Battles

Turn of the Millennium

Dangerous Toys

Conquerors

New Slavery

End of Time

This book is dedicated to my parents, who have made all ofthis possible.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank all of my editors: Gretchen Carstens, Greg and Nick Elliot, the entire Harris family (but most particularly Diane, Drew, and Emma), Professor Joseph Trafton, Philip White, Jim, Frank and Linda Wright, and Phil Yochim. A lot of thanks goes to Klay Cone, who did some really killer concept art for the novel. Also, thanks to Dr. Carrol Wells, who helped me find a perpetual calendar on the Internet; one can imagine how important that is in writing a time travel story. I finally want to thank my dad one more time for writing the About the Author section at the end of the book.

The Mission

It was very early in the morning—so early that the sun had yet to rise in Washington D.C. That didn’t matter to the president, he had been awake for quite some time now. He was tossing a thought back and forth in his head. He turned toward the Director of the CIA, who was still lingering in the doorway, and said, There’s a voice in my mind. It keeps asking me if I made the right choice.

Mr. President, he said, the choice was very tough, but I believe you made the best decision possible. Don’t worry, Robert Gray is one of our top agents. He was originally groomed to be a sniper, and he was in country during Vietnam. A team of Delta Force commandos is also being assembled, but due to Robert’s proximity, they won’t be there until a day after he reaches the base.

The president shook his head a little. It sounds like a lot for one guy to take on. Do you really think he can handle it?

Trust me, Mr. President, he’s as good as they get at counter-terrorism. It’s a shame that the CIA is not set up to implement his skills more often.

And ifhe fails, do we have plausible deniability?

Always, Mr. President. Always.

Robert Gray took in a deep breath as he approached the complex. He spoke Persian and Turkic fluently, which enabled him to talk to most people in Iran, but now it was time to see how well he could impersonate a specific Iranian—the high-level Iranian scientist whose identity he had assumed. He walked confidently up to the security guard at the outer gate. The guard casually checked his ID before running it through a scanner. Everything checked out; after all, he had taken the ID right out of the scientist’s pocket. The hard part was copying his face. Fortunately, Robert had access to a facemask of the highest quality— courtesy of Hollywood movie magic.

Robert walked into the facility. On the outside it looked like a normal, everyday medical research lab. The CIA was interested in what was happening on the inside, though. Rumors of Anthrax production abounded. It was Robert’s job to check it out.

Getting into the area that he needed access to required a fingerprint ID. Fortunately, Robert had taken the liberty of creating a fleshy, latex copy of his double’s fingerprint and placing it over his own. The machine accepted Robert’s false fingerprint as genuine, allowing him access to a restricted computer area.

Looking left and right to make sure no one else was in the room, Robert put on black gloves (he didn’t want to leave any fingerprints— not even false ones) and began to type away. It was time to see if the access codes he had stolen were worth anything. Thankfully, they were. As it turned out, the Iranians were indeed planning on producing that horrible biological weapon, Anthrax. Robert began copying as much data as he could—timetables, production techniques, etc.—on several disks.

Robert was copying the last bits of data onto his last disk as he heard the sound of someone beginning to enter the room. The data transfer was at 80% completion. Robert bit his lower lip; he really should take his gloves off, but he really didn’t want to. Deciding he could minimize extra fingerprints, Robert went ahead and removed his gloves, stuffing them deep into the pockets of his labcoat. As the door began to swish open, the data transfer was 95% complete. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty room. As soon as the display read 100%, Robert snatched the disk out of the drive and turned to face the approaching man.

Dr. Mohammed? he asked in a Persian dialect. Robert couldn’t help but notice the menacing machine gun hanging at his side.

I’m sorry, Robert returned in the same language, you must have me confused with someone else. I am Dr. Rashid. Robert pointed to his ID as a little show of proof.

The guard nodded and said, Of course. I remember the staff talking about how they were flying in a new scientist from Kerman to help on the later stages of the project.

Robert smiled and said, I only hope I can help. In truth, that was the main reason why Robert chose to assume the identity of Dr. Rashid. The man had no prior contacts in the city or on the staff; he had a hotel room that Robert could operate out of; and Robert could have room service before leaving.

By the way, doctor, the guard said, you received a message from the hotel. They said it was absolutely important to get it to you immediately.

Robert began to be a little concerned—the only people he could think of who would want to get an urgent message to him were his superiors. With any luck, it would be an urgent message for Dr. Rashid—like a death in the family. Unfortunately, Robert would have no such luck. The message gave a nonsensical English phrase followed by coordinates, the Iranian guard replied, leveling his machine gun at Robert. You are under arrest for espionage. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?

Robert raised his hands in the air and said, Hey, I’m no fool. Silently though, he was quite unhappy with how the mission had been botched. Luckily, the guard was standing too close to him.

Good, Robert’s captor replied, lowering his guard slightly for Robert to walk past.

Robert never did. Instead, he grabbed the machine gun by the barrel, pointed it away from him and then used it to pull his opponent into a throat punch. He rapidly considered what to do next. If his superiors were in so much of a hurry to put him in danger like that, he would probably have to go back to the hotel and get those coordinates.

Robert, although an excellent shot, didn’t carry a gun because it was way too suspicious. Fortunately, he could borrow the guard’s machine gun for a little misdirection. Robert ran out of the room, surprising and shooting everyone in the adjacent room and quickly ditching the weapon behind a large computer console. When the guards rushed in to investigate the gunfire, Robert yelled and pointed, A madman has shot them all! He went that way! That way!

In their haste to pursue the phantom madman, the guards left Robert alone. He then left the medical research lab, jumped into Dr. Rashid’s rental car and kicked it into high gear. He sped all the way back to the hotel.

Robert walked into the hotel as calmly as possible. He walked boldly up to the front desk and said, I’m Dr. Rashid. I understand that you have a message for me?

I thought they were going to give it to you at your work place, the man behind the desk said.

They were, but the message got kind of garbled, Robert said.

It’s no problem; here you go, the man replied, handing Robert a piece of paper with the message scribbled on it.

About that time, two guards from the facility arrived—they had obviously pieced everything together, so more were undoubtedly behind them. Robert moved to the elevator before they noticed him. As they went up to the front desk to find out his room number, one of the two caught sight of him as the elevator door was about to close. Bullets sped past Robert as he ducked for cover. People everywhere began screaming. Some immediately hit the floor; others panicked and ran. Robert hurriedly considered what his next move would be. He knew that those two guards would find him pretty quickly, and more guards had to be coming.

The instant the elevator doors opened, Robert dashed to his room. He quickly made sure that the real Dr. Rashid was still unconscious before he changed disguises. In record time, Robert was out of his room and began walking down the hallway. The two guards hurried past a quiet and modestly veiled Muslim woman on their way to Robert’s room. The woman then took the elevator down to the lobby and walked outside in full view of many guards from the complex who had come to make sure Robert didn’t get out alive. The woman then got into Dr. Rashid’s unguarded car and sped away.

Robert began discarding his female disguise as he thought about where those coordinates were—out in the desert. He would need to acquire a more suitable vehicle—and that would mean extra trouble. He would have to put his Dr. Rashid disguise back on for what he had in mind.

Robert sped through the city and ditched his car as close to the nearest military base as he could. Robert knew that Dr. Rashid was a military scientist, and his ID would give him access to the base, but not much else. He managed to get on base with no problems. In no time, he located a jeep with a nearby soldier. Robert, pretending to be the scientist he was supposed to be, struck up an idle conversation with the soldier then sucker punched him and stole his sub-machine gun, keys and jeep. Now, it was time for the escape.

Robert was speeding through the desert in a stolen Iranian jeep—it was approaching sunset. His superiors were in such a hurry to get him out that they blew his cover. At the moment, five military jeeps were chasing him. Robert reflexively ducked his head as bullets whizzed past, impacting against the windshield. He turned back, quickly aimed the sub-machine gun that he had borrowed from the jeep’s previous owner and fired. Bullets riddled the front tires of one of the jeeps, forcing it to stop its pursuit. He hoped all of this rush was worth it. At any rate, he was nearing the designated area.

Suddenly, Robert’s jeep jerked out of control as gunfire blew out its back tires. Fighting the machine for every inch of control it would allow, Robert braked to a stop before quickly jumping out of the vehicle and running; the designated area was just over the next sand dune. He could barely hear a whisper-thin, droning whine through the stiff breeze.

The Iranians were congratulating each other. One man on foot would be no match for four jeeps. They gunned their engines and plowed boldly over the dune—only to find themselves staring down the barrel of a rather sizable gun. The gun protruded from the back of a large four- engine cargo plane. It looked almost exactly like a C-130, except the nearly invisible aircraft was black and had no markings. The four engines roared to life, kicking up a cloud of dust, as fire spat from the large gun barrel and a hail of sniper bullets rained from the slowly closing cargo area. All it left in its wake was four smoking hulls.

Robert was duly impressed. During his entire career in the CIA, they had never transported him using the unofficial Black Air Force. Evidently, his new mission was not only worth the rush, but it also undoubtedly concerned the highest levels of the U.S. government— maybe even the president himself. Robert also noted the presence of five Israeli commandos—all with sniper rifles—which suggested the cooperation of Israel’s government. A man stepped out of the cockpit into the cargo hold and greeted Robert. It was his friend, Ravi.

Ravi! Robert exclaimed loudly over the considerable engine noise. What’s going on?

Big trouble, my friend, Ravi replied with a somber look, bracing himself as the aircraft sharply maneuvered. Have you ever heard of a Muslim terrorist group called the Chosen of Allah?

One of the aircraft crewmembers motioned for the two to sit down and strap in. Someone else asked for Robert’s disks. Once or twice, Robert answered, fastening his seatbelt and handing over the data.

Even other Muslim terrorist groups consider these particular terrorists to be sacrilegious and extreme. But, they’re really just small potatoes.

Not anymore, Ravi said. They have finally done something to be worthy of America’s attention. They have acquired a thermonuclear missile.

The shock showed plainly on Robert’s face. Ravi continued, Three days ago, a Ukrainian thermonuclear missile was stolen. We think the Russian Mafia was involved. Yesterday, U.S. intelligence discovered that the Chosen of Allah had ended up with the device. It is your mission to delay the launch of this missile and, if possible, to disarm, disable, or otherwise destroy it.

Delay? Robert asked. What will that accomplish?

A team of Delta Force commandos is being assembled, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow night, Ravi answered. So, if you can just delay their launch, they will be able to mop up.

Okay, Robert said, nodding thoughtfully. Go ahead and brief me.

Ravi began the briefing, As you probably already know, the Chosen of Allah are mildly primitive. They mainly operate out of a subterranean complex built under the Pakistani side of the Great Indian Desert, which currently lacks the capacity to launch the missile. The Chosen are busy converting an area inside the underground base into a launch bay. Intelligence indicates that they intend to launch the missile at Harhoma the moment it’s ready. That’s why they’re here, Ravi told him, indicating the silent group of commandos.

That makes sense, Robert interjected. Harhoma, the Jewish West Bank settlement, is the main point of contention for the Chosen. They don’t even care that they will wipe out Jerusalem in the process even though it’s the third holiest site for Muslims.

Ravi nodded in agreement. I have some blueprints of their base to show you.

Ravi produced a detailed drawing of the underground terrorist base. Robert paid special attention to all of the important areas: computer control, power, ventilation and such. We already have one agent on the inside. His name is Amir, and he’ll be here in the control room, Ravi said, indicating a place on the blueprints. He has been operating as a technician with them for some time, but he doesn’t have the kind of clearance to sabotage their operations. This is where you come in. You will be dropped right on top of the north face of the entrance, which means that you will be approaching it dead on.

You will be giving me a parachute, right? Robert asked with a smile.

Ravi returned the smile and said, Of course. Now, put these on.

Figuring it would be safe to stand for a while, Ravi handed him some special black clothing designed specifically for covert operations. The two of them stood from their seats. As Robert changed out of his Iranian scientist’s clothing and into his new clothes, Ravi said, You may have noticed the large domed structure in the middle of the base. Since it is the largest room and comes the closest to the surface, I think it is the most likely area to convert into a launch bay.

Robert agreed with that assessment. After he finished putting his new clothing on, Ravi directed him to a little table that had been secured in the corner. I assume you have no equipment on you? Ravi asked.

You assume correctly, Robert answered.

These are communications scramblers. They will jam all radio signals within sixty feet, Ravi said as he handed him two squat, disc-like objects.

Robert’s black body suit came with a compartmentalized belt. Robert found a place to put those useful little things in. Ravi then gave him a desert-camouflaged tarp, which needed no explanation. As Robert put that away, Ravi handed him a 9mm handgun and commented, Your favorite—with a silencer and fifteen-bullet magazine. And, he added, here’s a second magazine. Sorry we couldn’t get you more ammo.

Here’s some night vision goggles—perfect for night jumps, Ravi continued, picking up more items. A combat knife, an acid spray, a flashlight, a magnetic lock.

Ravi paused until Robert had stored all of his equipment. Anything else? Robert asked. There was still a box sitting unopened on the table.

Ravi smiled. I picked these up from your special cache in Jerusalem shortly before we left to get you.

He produced a handheld computer and a specialized grapnel from the box. Wow! Robert exclaimed, looking over his grapnel. I haven’t used this puppy since that covert op in China.

That was a good mission, wasn’t it? Ravi commented. It was also the last mission they had been on together—the last mission before Ravi had to take a desk job.

Yeah, Robert agreed, those were the days.

While Robert got everything squared away, Ravi went to the cockpit. When he came back out, he said, We’ll be dropping you off in a few hours.

Say, one more question.

Yeah? Ravi asked.

Give it to me straight, Ravi. Is this a 10 percenter? Robert asked.

Ravi recognized that Robert was using the term the CIA used when it felt a mission had about a 90 percent chance of failure. Usually failure didn’t automatically mean death. This time it almost assuredly did. Ravi nodded sorrowfully and said, Yes. Yes, I’m afraid so.

It wasn’t bad enough that he would be headed for a desk job soon; they seemed to be trying to kill him off before he got the chance. Robert gave him a wry grin. So, what are these guys going to be doing while I’m risking life and limb? Robert asked concerning the Israeli commandos.

The Chosen have a back-up device concealed in a hidden bunker near their main base. If you manage to stop the launch, they can trigger it from that location. It’s their job to make sure to take the Chosen’s back-up out of commission, Ravi answered.

Okay, I’ll just be looking over these blueprints until then, Robert told him.

Ravi handed Robert a sandwich and headed back into the cockpit as Robert meticulously poured over every detail. The information was very detailed, very useful and very up to date.

As he ate his sandwich, Robert noticed that there were only three automated doors in the entire base: one at the entrance, one leading to the central power core (the dome shaped building) and one leading to some sort of important arsenal. Each of the doors had duplicate controls on the inside and outside.

While he was studying, one of the commandos leaned over to his commander and spoke in Hebrew. Robert listened carefully and watched out of the corner ofhis eye. The man said, The great and powerful CIA sends us into a barracks while their star goes into a launching pad.

His superior gave him a disapproving look. Robert didn’t look up; he only responded in Hebrew, I don’t envy you your mission, since it will be difficult. Maybe you could try not to covet mine since it will also be hard.

The commando in charge smiled and wished Robert well. The other kept his eyes on the floor for most of the rest of the flight.

Eventually, Ravi came back and helped Robert put on a parachute. Before you leave, Ravi started, I have a lead on your...personal project.

Robert’s ears perked up. All of his good friends in the agency knew about his certain piece of personal business. They kept an ear out, but since it wasn’t an official agency investigation, they couldn’t do that much. What did you find out? Robert asked.

I found out that the group that set up the killing call themselves the Patricians, Ravi answered.

You’re a good agent, Ravi—and a friend, Robert said.

If anyone can pull off a 10 percenter, it’s you, so don’t die out there, Ravi said. I want you to nail the Patricians when you get back.

The back doors of the cargo bay made a dull mechanical sound as they sluggishly opened. Wind whipped about the seven men. I will get back, Robert told him. I have to now.

With that, Robert and the Israeli commandos jumped out of the airplane. Their black parachutes would be almost unobservable in the night sky. On the way down, the commandos sniped down four guards standing in the entrance. After landing, they all detached their parachutes and buried them in the desert sands.

Robert attached his silencer to his gun as he approached the entrance. The Israelis waved good-bye to Robert as they left to locate the Chosen’s bunker. Robert didn’t envy them their task—the bunker wasn’t just home to their failsafe to launch the nuclear missile, it also served to train and to house many of their members. In all probability, at least one of those men would not be going home.

Robert activated one of his communications scramblers and left it near the door on the inside so that any potential terrorists outside wouldn’t be able to communicate with their companions inside. That being done, he scanned the corridor ahead of him. It led a short distance to an elevator. Robert mentally steeled himself—he was a trained assassin and he knew he could handle the mission ahead of him. With his thoughts echoing in his head, Robert sprinted down the hallway, entered the elevator and tapped the down button. The elevator noisily whined down to the bottom level. The doors opened to a very surprised terrorist, who quickly received a bullet through the heart from Robert. Before exiting the elevator, Robert removed his night vision goggles and hung them on his side. He didn’t want to be blinded when entering a well-lit room.

Robert sent two bullets ripping through the elevator controls (he could repair it later, but he didn’t want anyone from the outside to be able to get in) and reflected on the blueprint layouts. The hall in front of him turned and led to a control room. According to Ravi, that room monitored and controlled every alarm in the base.

Robert walked to the end of the hallway and carefully peered around the corner. Two guards stood in front of the entrance to the room—no one else in sight. He deftly shot them both as he came around the corner. Then he burst into the room and immediately assessed the situation. There were ten people—at least two armed and one sitting near to what could be an alarm. One of the armed men was walking towards the door, having seen the guards outside fall. The other was still seated, but also preparing to rise. Into a flurry of shouts, screams and crashing furniture, Robert coolly and deftly minimized the two armed men, as they say, while swiftly moving left to right. One of the technicians shouted, Quick! Get him! He was pointing at the man at the console Robert suspected to contain the alarm. No sooner had Robert taken care of that threat than one of the others went for one of the fallen weapons. Robert shot him, too.

Robert looked at the man who had warned him and asked, Amir?

The man nodded. Robert told him to pick up the guards’ weapons and use them to cover the others. In the meantime, Robert ordered all of those left to gather in one particular corner. It would make them easier to shoot if they got out of line. He then made his way to the terminal and scanned the bloodstained screen as Amir kept a vigilant eye on the prisoners. Robert interfaced his computer with the base computer. The powerful computational chip contained at the core ofhis device quickly gave Robert full access. He checked the system for anything related to the missile. This computer could do nothing dealing with the missile except confirm which room it was in. That was exactly what Robert expected: the missile and its launcher were both being controlled by a separate computer (and undoubtedly on a separate power source).

Robert used his computer to disable all of the alarms then he pulled the bodies of the two door guards inside. While the computer worked on the alarm system, Amir asked Robert, What do we do now?

You stay here and cover them—if anyone moves, shoot him. Make sure the alarms don’t come back on, Robert instructed him. He then noticed that the man seemed rather uneasy. Hey, you ok? he asked.

Amir shook his head. I never really expected this when I agreed to work for the...for the U.S. I’m not James Bond; I’m just an informant, he said.

Take it easy, Robert said calmly. He detached his computer now that it was done. No one’s going to be shooting at you. Robert now took the electromagnetic lock from his belt and showed it to Amir. You know what this is?

Amir glanced at it, then put his eyes back on the captives. It’s an electromagnet of some sort, he answered.

That’s right, but it’s going to be so much more meaningful to you, Robert said. You can trigger a false fire alarm from here, right?

Amir nodded. All right, I need you to give me one of those in exactly fifteen minutes. Trigger it for a place as far away from the launch site and this room as you can think of—just as long as it’s not the bunker next door, Robert instructed him.

Amir nodded again. Robert walked over to the door and said, When I’m done, I’m going to swing back by and pick you up. Until then, this electromagnet will lock everyone else out. Listen for me when I come back because I’ll definitely be in a hurry.

Robert then placed his magnetic lock on the metal door. When he exited and closed the door, the lock would stick to the metal frame, preventing anyone from entering (and possibly overpowering Amir and sounding the alarm).

He started down the long hallway, taking the second branch on the right. He avoided all of the hallways that would bring him past secure areas, which would inevitably have guards posted in front of them. After two more turns, Robert was walking down a corridor when a door opened behind him. Light lined the sides of the walls next to him as he heard laughing voices emanating from the now open room. One of the voices was leaving the room. He quickly darted into a darkened room to his left. He didn’t think the man had spotted him. Just in case, he hid behind a tall stack of ammunition boxes.

Robert hushed his breathing as he heard someone enter the doorway. Apparently, the delay had been due to the guard trying to sound the alarm. Hopefully, he was going to look around before getting his friends from the other room.

The terrorist turned on the lights. Robert immediately looked to see where his shadow was being cast. Thankfully, the munitions stack was blocking the light, swallowing up his would-be shadow inside that of the boxes. Rather unfortunately though, he could tell from the number of footsteps that his pursuer was not alone. Robert steadied his gun. The barrel of a machine gun poked inside Robert’s peripheral vision. A few more moments and...pfft! A silenced bullet to the head sent the man to his grave. From the sound of it, there were still three more. One of them was telling the other two what to do. He was whispering his instructions in Siraiki—a variant of the more popular Punjabi and spoken by only about 10 percent of the Pakistani population. Robert understood both languages.

He swiftly ducked back into a corner. Seconds later another machine gun barrel poked out where he had been and peppered the area with bullets. Meanwhile, Robert could hear the other fellow coming from the other side—just as he had been told to do. Robert ambushed and shot the unfortunate man then moved swiftly to the corner nearer to the door. Reacting to the sounds of a struggle, the group leader started to charge around the corner. Robert grabbed the barrel ofhis gun, pointed it upward (a good idea considering the number of bullets that sprayed out of it shortly thereafter) and shot the man in the chest. The last remaining terrorist shot blindly around the side as Robert ducked for cover. Then, quickly and quietly, Robert pulled himself up to the top of the boxes and shot the man from above as he aimlessly looked around.

Robert quietly dropped down and rechecked the blueprints. At the end of the hallway he had been in, he would make a left turn. Near the end of that corridor was a relatively low security room. It probably had two men guarding the front—probably no one inside. Guarding the door to the missile bay, he could expect no less than eight men. So, he would penetrate the less secure room and enter the makeshift silo through the air ducts that connected the two rooms. That would still be difficult in and of itself because the room was sure to be swarming with terrorists. Robert thought back to the blueprints. The room the Chosen were converting to launch the missile had previously been the central power room. That information would be very useful.

Robert turned out the lights and headed down the hallway. He checked around the corner, but he couldn’t see the guards. That could be trouble since he wanted to be able to snipe down the guards before they could mow him down with machine guns. He removed the night vision goggles from his belt, placed them over his eyes and adjusted the resolution. The guards were about twenty or so feet away. Robert tried to visually verify his targets, but, without the goggles, the dim lighting and the distance made them invisible. Of course, that meant that they couldn’t see him either—a blessing. He knew he only had two bullets left in this magazine, so he was going to have to make these shots count. Robert looked through the goggles again. Two silent bullets and two heartbeats later, the guards slumped lifeless on the floor.

Robert ran down and checked the door to the room, removing his goggles as he moved. It had no locks and alarms were no longer a problem. Just in case there were terrorists inside, Robert replaced the empty magazine with his only other full one and readied himself to fire before he opened the door. The room had but one occupant—a man leaning back in a metal chair, completely surprised to see Robert. After dealing with the one inept guard, Robert brought the two other bodies inside and stashed all of them behind a large crate of empty anti-tank missile launchers. As he closed the door, he couldn’t help but think that these guys were loaded for bear. He now looked around for the grate. It was on the far wall opposite the entrance. Robert holstered his gun and removed his special grapnel from his belt. He aimed it at the ceiling and pressed the large yellow button. It shot the hook into the ceiling and attached itself. Robert tapped the green button, which began pulling him up to the roof. When he was level with the grate, he stopped the climb by touching the red button. Robert easily removed the grate with some well-placed sprays of acid. The acid ate through the galvanized steel, leaving behind a putrid smell.

Robert swung into the ventilation duct. By pressing the yellow button again, his grapnel detached itself from the ceiling. He rewound it by holding down the green button. Next to his gun, the grapnel was definitely his favorite piece of equipment.

Robert looked ahead. Thankfully, the duct wasn’t too tight of a fit. He returned the grapnel to his belt and crawled down an extremely long portion of the passage. He was thinking to himself exactly how well things were going as he mentally tracked the distance that he was crawling. Except for that one guard that spotted him in the hallway, everything was going according to plan. In fact, knowing that the missile was inside what used to be the central power core, things were even better. About that time Robert slowed his advance, sensing something was wrong. A piece of the floor was moving towards him. Hold on a moment, that wasn’t the floor. A snake was coming his way—an asp, by the looks of it. Robert’s heart nearly stopped from the fear alone, but a small dose of the asp’s poison would certainly finish the job. The venomous creature slithered closer, its forked tongue lancing the air. The serpent inched nearer as Robert’s mind raced to deal with it. The Chosen had been very clever to put an asp in the ducts. Robert carefully removed his acid spray and pointed it at the deadly, poisonous reptile. The moment the acid made contact, the asp writhed in agony as the acid wreaked havoc on its eyes and brain. Within moments, the serpent was dead; nothing was left of its central nervous system but a cloud of acrid smoke. Robert carefully crawled past the convulsing snake, endeavoring to prevent contact with the remaining acidic residue since even the little that remained could char his skin.

A short way down the passage, Robert discovered a fine wire mesh (obviously meant to prevent the surprise he had just dealt with from moving beyond this point). Using his combat knife, Robert unscrewed and removed the mesh. In no time, he arrived at an area that opened to a much larger grate. Robert looked down and analyzed the launch bay nearly fifteen feet below him.

The door was opposite him. The thermonuclear warhead stuck out of the center of the room. Six soldiers stood in the doorway; three hung around a large computer terminal on his right; and one soldier was standing directly under the grate. Some power generators were scattered on the left. Fifteen more soldiers—a total of twenty-five—were standing around the generators. An unarmed man (some sort of technician) monitored the large computer terminal while two others worked on the left. Several other technicians were monitoring the missile and the power generators. There was a thick cord leading away from the generators that crossed near the door. Robert devised a plan, but a large part of its feasibility rested on how many of them left to answer the fire alarm that would be sounding in the next couple of minutes. He knew that the Chosen were expecting trouble tonight, and they would know that any fire alarm would not be a normal fire alarm. With any luck, they would believe at least that the fire was real and send armed guards into the area to catch the arsonist.

Hoping that his ruse would divert enough of the guards away, Robert sprayed the last bit of acid around the circumference of the heavy, circular grate. As the acid ate through the seams, he discarded the empty container and prepared his trusty firearm. When he had steeled himself, Robert aimed very carefully and waited. Shortly after the alarm sounded, Robert listened to the lead soldier barking orders in Arabic. He was telling a bunch of different people to go and to expect an ambush along the way. A total of thirteen soldiers left to escort all but three of the technicians, who were carrying fire extinguishers. Robert still didn’t like having twelve soldiers in the room, but it was at least possible. He took a deep breath and let half of it out to steady his aim. In one shot, the bullet tore through the power cord leading away from the power generators, cutting off all the power in the area (Robert was more concerned about the power to the door). As some battery-operated emergency floodlights clicked on, Robert put on his goggles, kicked out the massive grate and jumped down with it. With the air rushing in his face, Robert aimed his gun and began to fire in rapid succession. A total of five bullets sent the three guards who had remained in the doorway on their way to Allah.

By that time, everyone in the room was looking at the falling object. The terrorist under the grate looked up in enough time to see his doom. The large, falling metal easily splintered the unfortunate man’s skull. Robert was now on the ground, and several of the Chosen were attempting to train their guns on him and yelling in Arabic. He picked off the two guards left near the computer on his right as he ran towards them. Robert had startled the unsuspecting group enough to throw them into a state of panic.

Robert leapt behind the terminal as machine gun fire buzzed over- head—a deafening sound in this enclosed space. The swarm of bullets soon halted to prevent damaging the computer, gun smoke hung in the air. Adrenaline increased his heartbeat and breathing. Very quickly, Robert popped up and shot two more men. One had been approaching the console and was nailed even as he was about to pull the trigger. The other had stopped to look at the man crushed by the grate and fell backward when the bullet impaled the side of his head. A small burst of bullets sent Robert ducking and scurrying down to the other side of the computer. That was too close. Robert took in a deep breath before darting up and shooting two more terrorists. One bullet tore through the man’s temple as he turned to say something to his companion. The other firmly buried itself in the forehead of the man next to him. These terrorists were not worth their salt. They were panicky, slow to aim and demonstrated an inability to cope with unusual circumstances. Robert could tell by what the lead soldier was saying that he was very disappointed with their performance.

Robert ducked down and considered his situation. When he was a young boy, he had always wanted to be in the CIA. Of course, being that young he thought James Bond was the very mirror of an agent and so he had trained tirelessly in the martial arts and in target practice. And, one of the lessons his father had taught him when he was learning how to shoot a gun was to always know how many bullets he had left. And, despite all of the things going on around him, Robert knew he had fired fourteen of the bullets from this magazine, which meant that he had only one round left to deal with two machine gun toting madmen.

Azim! the lead soldier shouted. Activate the launch controls now!

The terrorist had shouted this command in Arabic like all of his other commands. What they probably didn’t know was that Robert understood Arabic—it was one of the reasons the CIA had hired him. Robert figured the missile—since it was hooked up to a different computer—was also hooked up to a different power source. Shutting down the generators had done nothing to affect the missile (at least it had kept potential reinforcements on the other side of that door). Robert peered above the computer in enough time to see the man who had just shouted motion to his cohort. They were going to approach him from opposite sides. Robert made his way to the left side and readied himself to do something that was too dangerous not to work. The terrorist popped around the corner, ready to fire. Before he could even think about pulling the trigger, Robert unleashed a swift crescent kick. His foot hit the barrel of the gun and forced it against the corner of the workstation with such force that it broke off the end, but not before a bullet escaped and nicked Robert’s abdomen. Ignoring the pain, Robert then grabbed his opponent’s right wrist with his left hand, struck him in the ribs with the butt of his gun and flung him into the man coming around the opposite corner. Robert lined up his shot and fired. The bullet bored through both men, killing them instantly. It was either luck or divine protection that allowed him to stand alive at that moment— Robert preferred to think it was a combination of the two.

Without pausing, Robert quickly dashed around the terminal, back- fisted Azim and tossed him a few feet away. The two other technicians, boldly deciding to at least do something, came up behind Robert. Robert elbowed the one on his right in the gut, then quickly shoved his left elbow into the other man. Both of his assailants stumbled backwards. One of them passed out. Azim spat blood out of his mouth. It’s too late, American, said Azim, wiping the corner of his lips. The launch controls have been activated.

No problem, Robert muttered under his breath as he deftly accessed the computer controls.

Robert connected his number-crunching computer to the interface port in order to handle the encrypted password. He then input the command string (located by his little wonder box) to abort the launch sequence. The timer counting down the launch blinked off, but before Robert could even breathe a sigh of relief, a new timer quickly replaced the old. In pale red numbers, the timer began a one minute, thirty second countdown to warhead detonation.

You pre-armed the warhead?! Robert yelled as the realization swept over him in a wave.

You aborted the launch?! Azim responded with equal incredulity. Very well. Then you will die with us.

Suicidal maniacs. Robert whispered fiercely as he flew through the computer’s files.

According to the computer, the warhead could only be disarmed on the missile itself. Fortunately, the missile warhead was exposed in the center of the room, making a manual defusing at least possible. Robert quickly sprinted over to where the missile tip jutted menacingly out of the floor. He tossed his empty gun and his night vision goggles onto the floor beside him and began unscrewing an access panel below the warhead. By the time he got it removed, the LED display on the main computer console declared twenty-one seconds remaining. Robert began looking over the wire configuration. He was about to reach for one of the wires when a debilitating pain gripped him. The pain seared through Robert’s head without warning. Pinpoints of color began exploding in his eyes before rapidly dissipating into darkness. The pain seemed to ripple out from a point near the middle of his brain just as water in a pond ripples away from a stone thrown into it. Had he been shot? Impossible—he had accounted for all the guards. Was he having a stroke? He wasn’t that old. Robert thought that this kind of pain was impossible to feel—the brain itself has no pain sensors.

He involuntarily clutched his head in agony, desperately trying to force down the feeling of explosion. The pain slowly ebbed away and his vision melted back into sight. Robert hurriedly glanced at the timer, hoping beyond hope that he had not been incapacitated too long. All he saw was 2...1...0...

A brilliant flash oflight consumed his field of vision as a wave ofheat hammered him with a forceful concussive blast. Then the heat changed somehow; it felt different. He could see a mass of red color receding from all around him. He tried to look behind him so that he could see where the red was coming from, but his muscles did not respond. Is this death? he thought. Is this what it is like to die?

He could feel the heat cooling. His body felt distant from itself; he couldn’t even force himself to yell out. He could feel the temperature growing even colder. It had started feeling as the heat of a hundred stars; now, it felt colder than the embers of a dead sun. In a flash oflight, the feeling ended. The sudden sense of being pulled back together and brought to a much warmer temperature forced a wave of nausea over him. He might have vomited; he couldn’t tell. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a pastoral, dawn sky.

The Aftermath

When Robert came to, he found himself staring up at a thatched roof. His eyes were still adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. Where was he? Had he died? If he had, was this some kind of afterlife? The questions were coming faster than answers could be supplied. He closed his eyes and winced. Suddenly, a warm, wet cloth was placed on his forehead. Startled, Robert opened his eyes and sat up, causing the damp cloth to drop into his lap.

An Oriental woman was kneeling next to the futon he had been lying on. I’m sorry, she apologized. I did not mean to startle you.

Robert certainly felt alive enough, and his abdomen wound had stopped bleeding. And now he knew he wasn’t alone. The woman retrieved the cloth and returned it to a nearby bowl of water. Robert considered the possibility that this woman might know something about what was going on. Where am I? he asked.

You are in Biwa village, she answered.

Robert gave her a puzzled look. The village next to Lake Biwa—very near Heian-kyo, she continued, nodding her head earnestly.

That name sounded a little familiar to Robert for some odd reason. He knew that it was definitely an Oriental name. With any luck, Robert was in Japan. But how did he get here? How long had he been out? More importantly, what had happened? He shook his head. Ifhe was in Japan, he could walk anywhere in Japan to find a phone or something to contact his superiors. Of course, it would be a lot easier to simply contact them via the satellite uplink on his computer. Did you find a small, black box near me? he asked.

She looked surprised that he would think she had found him. My husband found you. He did not find any boxes near you. She seemed reluctant to ask him anything, but finally asked him, Are you a ninja?

Why do you ask? Robert wondered as he slowly stood up.

You are dressed like one, she answered, looking at Robert’s black body suit.

Robert looked at her blankly. You know that there is only danger in that question—and its answer.

He walked over to the door. Remembering Japanese politeness, he bowed and said, Thank you very much for your hospitality, but I must leave now. Good-bye.

The woman seemed reluctant to let him leave, but did not wish to be rude. You are welcome, she responded. Good-bye.

Robert slid open the door and stepped outside. He gazed at his surroundings. He was in some kind of backwater village. There were no paved roads, no tall skyscrapers and, worst of all, no telephones. Perhaps his hopes of being in Japan were misplaced. Then again, he could still be in Japan. Even industrialized countries like the United States had their underdeveloped regions. Maybe he had been unconscious longer than he realized. Maybe those Delta Force commandos had gotten him out of Pakistan and were, for some reason, forced to evacuate to some backward region in the Orient, possibly even China. Of course, none of that explained how he could survive a thermonuclear blast at ground zero.

Robert saw an old man with a small group of ducks walking past on the dirt road. Robert stopped him and asked, Please, sir, where is the nearest city?

The man looked at Robert suspiciously. He seemed reluctant to answer.

I must know, Robert insisted.

Heian-kyo is to the west—very close, he slowly replied.

The old man’s eyes looked past Robert.

As the old man hobbled along the opposite way with his ducks, Robert thought to himself, Why had that man been so suspicious? But, more importantly, who (or what) had the old man been looking at behind him? Robert whirled around. A man (maybe in his late teens or early twenties) stood a short distance away from him—he was wearing old-style Japanese peasant’s clothing.

You have business in Heian-kyo, but you are not from around here, are you, ninja? he questioned.

No, I am not, Robert replied. Is there a problem? He started to wonder if he was on some sort of movie set, but he couldn’t see any cameras around and any director would have called cut by now. Everything looked genuine.

Perhaps there is a problem, he began. What is your family name?

I come from the Gray family, Robert answered. His last name was the closest thing he had to a family name.

Robert suddenly began to feel uneasy; it was a sense that he relied on heavily as an agent. He could tell there was something not quite right with this whole situation. Robert suddenly turned to look behind him. Another man in peasant’s clothes had been sneaking up behind him. This man was more mature in appearance—possibly in his thirties.

Your family name is Gray? Do you think he’s joking with us, Ikuge- san? the more mature man remarked now that his ambush had been spoiled.

Ikuge added, Do you suppose that the Genji employ this family for their dishonorable ninja spies, Yoshi-san?

Robert could see this rapidly digressing into a fight. He also sensed that, if they were going to have a fight, it would be a good one. Robert suspected that these two men were trained in some sort of martial art; they might even be ninjas as they accused him of being. Unless he missed his guess, they had been spying on him ever since he left the hut, maybe even longer. The fact that they were dressed in ordinary villager’s clothes actually added to Robert’s suspicion—he had seen the way that old man with the ducks had looked at Ikuge. I do not work for anyone named Genji. Why not just believe me? I don’t want to fight you, but I will if you force me.

Believe you? Of course we don’t believe you! This is a small village, Gray, Yoshi remarked as he circled around Robert to join Ikuge. People do not travel in and out. You merely being here is suspicious.

And, what reason do you have for wearing your ninja uniform? Ikuge added.

They both made good points—he was awfully out of the ordinary. Perhaps he could dissuade their suspicions by answering their questions (to the fullest extent reasonable). Look, I’m not even technically a ninja. This ‘ninja uniform’ is standard issue covert operations clothing, Robert answered.

I do not care what you technically are or are not and I do not care what you call your clothing, but you still have not explained why you are wearing this ‘covert operations’ uniform, Yoshi retorted.

I recently finished a mission and haven’t had time to change, Robert answered. From the way he woke up, though, it felt more like the mission had finished him.

What kind of mission? Ikuge asked, drawing a disapproving glare from his superior.

Yoshi knew that the question should never have been asked. Robert knew that as well.

I will not tell you. This was Robert’s final answer.

Ikuge yelled a war cry and attacked. He charged in and threw his left fist at Robert’s head. Robert brought up his right arm, deflecting the quick blow. Ikuge quickly followed up with a right punch—also high. Robert countered the incoming fist with his left arm. Robert realized his mistake a moment too late. He had allowed both of his hands to be lured out of a position suitable for blocking low. Before he could correct this, Ikuge solidly shoved his heel into Robert’s torso. Robert stumbled backwards, his hands placed defensively over his stomach. Oh, that does it, Robert muttered under his breath as he swiftly regained his equilibrium.

The ninja, feeling much more confident about a victory, ran towards Robert. He jumped and extended his foot, aiming it at Robert’s head. Robert backfisted Ikuge’s ankle moments before impact. That caused Ikuge’s graceful kick to spin his body towards Robert, who landed a hard punch on the middle of Ikuge’s ribcage. The ninja dropped like a stone, but he maintained enough presence of mind to scurry to a safe distance and stand up.

Robert drew up into a more proper fighting stance so that he could withstand the next onslaught. He had basically been suckered by that kick earlier—he would not let that happen again. Ikuge approached with caution now—he had been sufficiently humbled. Ikuge swung his fist out in an attempt to backfist Robert. Robert responded by intercepting the blow with a chop and following that with a punch intended to strike the ninja’s already sore ribs. Ikuge grabbed Robert’s wrist, but, before the ninja could attempt any throws or holds, Robert used the hand that had already chopped away a strike to chop Ikuge in the back of his hand, forcing him to release Robert. Ikuge lost no time, however. He slid in close to Robert, his feet kicking up dust, and directed his elbow towards Robert’s stomach. Robert expertly deflected the blow and moved in even closer to Ikuge. Robert swiftly kneed Ikuge in the gut and, when the ninja doubled over in pain, Robert clutched both of his fists together and sent them smashing into his opponent’s back.

Ikuge rolled away, stood up and painfully bowed in deference to his superior companion. Upon seeing Yoshi reach into the folds of his clothing, Robert drew his combat knife from his belt (thankfully it was where he had left it). Yoshi flung a throwing star at Robert. Robert used his knife to deflect the shuriken from its intended course—into Robert’s heart. Having been thwarted in that manner, Yoshi drew a sword from behind his back and charged. Robert knew he would need to be extra careful—Yoshi’s blade was much longer than his combat knife. As Yoshi’s sword glinted in the noonday sun, Robert wished he still had his gun. At least then he could intimidate these bullies out of a fight.

Yoshi began his onslaught with a graceful slice. Robert brought his knife up, managing to parry the blow to the side. Yoshi, realizing how well Robert dealt with swordplay, tried a stab. Robert moved to the side while pushing away the deadly blade tip with his own blade. Robert pulled his thoughts away from what he lacked; his senses were now at their peak as they searched for an opening in Yoshi’s style. It was not long before they uncovered one. Yoshi swung his blade again. This time the razor-sharp metal was meant to cut Robert from his right shoulder to his left hip—a mortal wound, to be sure. Robert stepped back, but quickly closed in after the blade passed and cut the back ofYoshi’s hand. He reflexively dropped his weapon. Before the dangerous blade could reach the ground (and be recovered by the equally dangerous Yoshi), Robert kicked it in the handguard, sending it hurtling away from the fight.

Yoshi gripped his bleeding hand. It was little more than a flesh wound—and they both knew it. Robert put away his knife; his superiors would not be pleased to hear about him killing villagers in foreign countries. Of course, they probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear about him engaging in street brawls, but he would have to worry about that later. Yoshi brought his foot up and aimed a kick at Robert’s neck. Robert shoved the blow aside with his right arm. Yoshi then brought his fist around in a circle, executing a very fast hook punch. Robert drove the punch away with his palm.

Now, Robert decided, it was time to see how well Yoshi could block. Robert shot out his right fist—intended to impact squarely against Yoshi’s chest. The ninja deftly turned aside the blow, but Robert followed up with a left punch aimed for his head. Yoshi easily blocked that as well. Robert tried to hit Yoshi’s head with a straight right, but Yoshi’s blocking was a brick wall that Robert could not penetrate. Robert swung his back leg around and aimed a high roundhouse kick for Yoshi’s head. Yoshi intercepted the kick with his palm. Using his still extended knee, Robert directed a kick for Yoshi’s thigh. The ninja turned his shin into the kick, blocking it with ease. Robert planted his leg down and tried one last punch—a backfist intended for Yoshi’s head. Yoshi blocked with just as much dexterity as he had blocked all of the other strikes.

Robert hesitated in his attack. Now, Yoshi knew it was his turn. The ninja proceeded to launch an expert counteroffensive. He mimicked Robert’s first three punches, perhaps mockingly. Robert blocked them all as deftly as Yoshi had blocked his. Then, Yoshi slipped through Robert’s defenses with a blindingly fast punch to the ribs. Robert faltered for a moment—his defense was crumbling. Yoshi’s foot snapped out. Robert backed away, Yoshi’s foot missing his stomach by inches. The ninja’s foot snapped higher this time. Robert continued his retreat—this time the kick missed his face by little more than a centimeter. Yoshi now bent low to the ground and swung his leg along the dirt road, intending to trip Robert. Robert had enough ofhis senses still intact to jump away from the sweep.

Dust from the road swirled about Robert’s feet as he tried to think of