Chosen: Book Two: Chosen, #2

By Lawrence Simpson

What would you do if you knew everyone and everything you loved faced extinction, but no one would believe you?

That is the question for John Stone and his new found family as they frantically prepare for the approaching menace. Fighting to overcome administrative disbelief, apathy, and political maneuvering, John and Jessica, Jacob and Samantha, and Isaac and Isabella are beset from all sides.

Forced to react to one challenge that doesn't seem possible and another that isn't human, they must find the courage to trust in each other and somehow persuade the rest of the world to trust in them.

Will John and Jessica find the future they both hope might still be there for them? Will any of us?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Simpson
• Release date: Dec 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733044639

Lawrence Simpson

Hello, I am so happy to offer my stories and books. I am a retired physician, a husband, father, friend, and humble before my God daily. I hope you enjoy my work. Please consider leaving a review at your favorite retail source. Peace be with you.

Book preview

Chapter One

John Stone hurried to the conference room. He was running late. He hadn’t counted on the unannounced presence of military brass today.

He returned from his morning run to find a nervous airman waiting for him with the news that his attendance at the round table had been requested ten minutes earlier. John thanked the airman, asked him to give Colonel Weiland his compliments, and to please let the colonel know he would join him as soon as possible.

He dove into the shower attached to his small dormitory room, once again happy not to have to use a common bathroom for a change. His ablutions completed, he dressed in a clean and pressed uniform and strode toward the administrative conference room.

John had grown to appreciate Colonel Weiland’s craftiness more and more during the last several months. The Colonel had outmaneuvered several attempts to take over the work begun by Jacob and Professor Maxwell. John worried this morning’s unexpected VIP presence might be more of the same.

Known to the group as the round table more for the free ranging discussions over the last four months than the shape of the table, they had utilized the conference room in almost daily planning and debriefing sessions since coming to this clandestine base. The colonel encouraged innovative thought and free discussion. In his words nothing should be held sacred other than duty to God, family, honor, and country.

Isabella, Jacob, Isaac, and four wide eyed airmen had flown Max One to this location under cover of darkness shortly after the funeral. They were met by a small contingent of soldiers and civilian scientists hastily enjoined to begin work on the new technology.

The scientists, engineers, and military personnel worked on Professor Maxwell’s research, code named LightSteam, in a facility concealed beneath Hanger Twenty-One at a private airport in southern Wyoming.

South Central Wyoming Airport (KSCW) looked dated but otherwise unremarkable except for the unusually long runways and the presence of a rail spur. Other than grazing land, the area was sparsely populated. The local ranchers cared not one whit about the comings and goings at the airport as long as no one bothered them or their stock. The cattle were long used to the sound of trains moving through the area.

The underground complex accessed from Hanger Twenty-One housed a robust research and development laboratory and advanced engineering facilities with an underground hanger perfect for evaluating and recreating Professor Maxwell’s dream. Approximately twenty acres of cavernous space existed underground with a large ramp and separate elevator for bringing in equipment and supplies like a certain advanced and super secret space shuttle now hidden where the military could attempt reverse engineering. John entered the conference room after clearing those thoughts from his mind. The airman posted outside the door closed it after letting him in.

Captain Stone. Good Morning. Nice of you to join us, said Colonel Weiland.

John found the only available seat at the conference table. A dedicated computer monitor screen came to life with his scanned fingerprint.

I know Captain Stone from previous service.

John recognized the voice of the man sitting across from him. General Norris Jernigan led the military review panel evaluating John following his last Afghanistan mission. It appeared Jernigan had finally secured another star.

Before any further introductions, General Jernigan, his lips pursed as if tasting something unpleasant said, What exactly happened Stone? I want the truth.

John felt the rest of the room focus on him. He looked to Colonel Weiland, who said, It’s all right Captain. Everyone in this room has clearance.

John knew Weiland was trying to tell him more than that. Swearing in the crew had been Colonel Weiland’s most expedient method of ensuring silence regarding the events surrounding Max‘s death. John agreed with the need for compartmentalizing information most of the time, but still hadn’t decided for himself if their current course of action made the most sense. Having public support would be a nice push to Congress to move forward, but people in mass panicked easily. If the visitors today had full clearance, then they had the ability to close the group’s efforts down.

I don’t understand, General, said John. I assume you have read my report and the results of my team’s debriefings.

John forced his face to remain impassive. He breathed in. He breathed out. He absently noticed the diamond and gold watch on the General’s right wrist.

Jernigan waved his arms and huffed, his way of discounting anything John could say.

Yes, I have read the reports, which stretch believability, said Jernigan. You seem to have a talent for that, if I remember correctly, Captain.

What General Jernigan is trying to say, Captain Stone, is that we are having trouble believing what we read.

This new voice came from a silver-haired older man who swiveled around in his chair to face him directly. John recognized Senator Randolph Kincaid. How could he forget him?

Senator, said John.

He felt his indignation and anger grow, but he let a corner of his mind see his feelings as if watching a storm on a distant horizon, a technique he had learned in his medical rehabilitation counseling. He sensed the ground in the conference room rapidly shifting. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself swimming in a bureaucratic avalanche. He needed to get his bearings. Best to let these two tear at him a bit to see their agenda more clearly.

Truthfully, Captain, when I learned of the existence of this project and the claims made for its support, I felt compelled to find out more, said Kincaid. I asked General Jernigan to allow me to tag along.

Senator Kincaid reached in his double-breasted suit vest pocket for a silk handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.

You can understand I might have more than a passing interest, he said.

Colonel Weiland said, Perhaps if you help us specifically understand your concerns, Senator, we might help you.

This business about an alien vessel, said General Jernigan. Really, Stone? I want to know how you got the rest of those people with you to say the same thing.

The General had both of his hands pressed flat on the conference table for emphasis.

Yes, it is difficult to justify the costs for this project based on limited observation with no physical proof and conclusions that, to put it mildly, strain credulity, said the senator.

John wondered about the identity of the third man sitting on the other side of Senator Kincaid.

I stand by my report, Senator, he said. He nodded to the General. The events described happened just as I lived them.

The unknown man beside Senator Kincaid spoke.

Captain Stone, I am Thomas Burch, science advisor to the president of the United States. You described a living quantum computer? A space shuttle flying via counter gravity? Room temperature fusion as a power source? Forgive me, but your report reads more like a science fiction novel, than a factual summary. What am I supposed to tell the president?

John gathered himself. Now, he knew the identity of the third visitor sitting at the conference table. In his heart, he knew they were living on borrowed time. His mind flashed to a dark, squat pyramid gliding over the tree tops backlit by lightning amidst rolling dark clouds. He could understand other people’s disbelief, but he knew what he had seen at Kincaid’s estate. They all did. Which is why the entire group worked nonstop. They could all feel the sand sifting in the hourglass.

Mr. Burch, I would ask you to tell the president to take our reports at face value, said John. The prototype shuttle Professor Maxwell built is here being studied as we speak. That part of the report is verifiable. I would submit that if one part of the report is factual, it is likely the rest of the report is true.

He glimpsed a faint smirk on Senator Kincaid’s face. General Jernigan rolled his eyes briefly before regaining control of his facial expression.

John thought it too early in the morning to have to explain so much, especially to men inclined not to believe him from the start. The research team here at the base worked each day with limited time and resources. He walked a tight line in this meeting. If he tried to claim that aggressive aliens were coming to find them, he would drive this fact finding team back with the idea his team was throwing tax dollars at lunacy. He knew they couldn’t afford that setback.

Colonel Weiland clasped his hands in front of him on the conference table nodding to each man in turn.

Gentlemen, I was there that night, he said. I saw something difficult to describe approaching us. I can tell you we don’t have it in our military.

Senator Kincaid tapped his fingers on the conference table, pursed his lips, and made a show of thinking.

Well, I know my colleagues in the Senate Finance Committee are questioning the resources being thrown at this project, he said. The senator brought up both hands in a placating gesture. I know, I know, something happened. But without clear answers and results we can show to them, well … frankly the sentiment is to tone this project down to simple research and development on the Professor’s work. I believe the president is inclined in that direction, right Thomas?

Yes, that’s what we discussed prior to our visit here, said Burch. Perhaps if we could see this shuttle?

Burch looked hopeful.

John regarded Colonel Weiland. He had grown to trust the colonel. It was his call. What remained after the explosion left the United States government trying to account through covert diplomatic channels to Russia, China, and several other countries regarding a weaponized space satellite held in disregard of previous treaties. And more quietly, the rumor of new and amazing technology represented by a working counter gravity shuttle, which the United States vigorously maneuvered to hide, despite the short and viral internet video of Max One floating down a local airport runway. Opposition superpower countries suspected a technology coverup and wanted in on whatever advancement the United States was attempting to conceal.

However, the shuttle remained partially dismantled in the research hanger. Isaac and Jacob were working to create a visual manual for both building and maintaining the technology. Isabella was away at flight training with the Air Force. Colonel Weiland had arranged accelerated training for her in several military aircraft. Jessica was away at Great Western University orchestrating her work transition and the disposition of Max’s estate.

John looked forward to her return. So did Colonel Weiland, apparently. He asked almost daily when Jessica would return. Her organization and communication skills had impressed the colonel, and she had quickly become indispensable. John was grateful for her absence at the moment. He didn’t want Jessica to see Senator Kincaid, and John knew she wouldn’t stand for seeing him anywhere near Jacob.

Colonel Weiland made his decision.

Gentleman, this way if you please, he said.

The colonel led the way out of the conference room toward the research hanger. John thought they had little choice. If Senator Kincaid and Science Advisor Burch returned to Washington, D.C. with negative recommendations, they would withdraw the funding needed to advance the professors research. John knew the colonel couldn’t let that happen. No matter what anyone else said, they both remembered Max’s dying words to John.

They’re coming, the professor said, before breathing his last.

Colonel Weiland walked ahead with General Jernigan and pointed out various facilities and areas of the complex, while Science Advisor Burch followed. John brought up the rear. Senator Kincaid slowed his pace to walk beside him.

Captain, I wanted to thank you for your efforts, said the senator. You’ve impressed a good many people you know. You’ve come far.

John didn’t know if Senator Kincaid referred to his previous military record or that moment when the senator’s influence helped sentence a newly orphaned, high school aged boy to a juvenile corrections facility. He pushed those thoughts away. Pummeling a member of the United States Senate over a life changing event occurring years ago would not help their cause.

The group approached the research hanger. The airmen posted at the door brace to attention. Colonel Weiland returned the salute and waved them to proceed. The VIP procession entered the research hanger after the well-trained soldiers inspected each visitor’s identification and clearance credentials.

The cavernous hanger bustled with activity centered around the gleaming white and partially disassembled Max One. The overhead lights coupled with the LED lighting in and around the ten meter long shuttle served to bring the scene into sharp focus. Several uniformed men and women worked on various tasks and didn’t immediately notice the approaching officers.

Jacob and Isaac were inspecting a section of hull underneath the rear gravitic nacelles. They both looked up at the unexpected visitors and braced to attention after stepping down from a scaffolding platform. The three other civilian scientist engineers with them knew enough to stand quietly off to the side.

At ease, said Colonel Weiland. I come with guests who want to know more about your work.

Isaac took the lead, his time in the service evident in his ease discussing work with senior officers.

We were reviewing the counter gravity lift mechanism, sir, he said.

Thomas Burch couldn’t contain himself.

Really? asked Burch. Counter-gravity? I read the reports, but that seems implausible?

Isaac looked over at Jacob who spoke.

Well, technically, we didn’t develop a force to counter gravity but to generate and bend it around us such that the downward force is fractionally negated depending on how much power is applied, said Jacob. There are some interesting additional effects from being able to bend gravity. We can use it for propulsion and shielding the shuttle from radar or visual detection.

John cringed inside. He caught Isaac’s eye, and they communicated without words. They both wanted to keep Jacob in the background to hide him from the attention of those who would use him for their own ends.

You must be Jacob, Professor Maxwell’s grandson. We were all sorry to lose him, said Senator Kincaid. His light burned brightly enabling all of us to see more clearly.

Kincaid stared at Jacob with laser like intensity.

Thank you, Senator, said Jacob.

Colonel, is there anything else you can show us here? asked Jernigan. This is an interesting looking craft, but seeing is believing.

General? asked Colonel Weiland.

They told me you had some ideas on weapons, said General Jernigan. But I see nothing like that here.

Colonel Weiland said, Yes. There are some ideas being floated that look promising, but nothing is ready for a demonstration.

That is disappointing, Colonel.

My team has worked almost around the clock with minimal staffing and funding, General, said Colonel Weiland. The progress made in the last four months is astounding. I’ve never worked with more capable people.

Weiland enunciated each word, his clipped syllables punctuating his opinion of the general’s pronouncement.

General Jernigan’s face flushed ever so slightly.

What I’m saying, Colonel, is we need to see this craft in the air, said Jernigan. We need proof of what it can do and how we can use this technology. I believe a demonstration is overdue. So far, we are running only red with this experiment. We lost an expensive asset with the loss of SLAMR, not to mention the political fallout. Bottom line. We need to see a demonstration with practical results. Let’s say in two weeks.

John saw Jernigan give a thin smile. He loved pushing people in the direction he wanted, usually until they broke.

Sir, you know this program is beyond classified at this point, said Colonel Weiland. In practical terms, how do you propose we generate a demonstration in such a short time frame?

General Jernigan had already turned his body to leave the hanger, but he looked back and smiled and said, I’ll leave that to you, Colonel, but either this pile of parts flies or this program doesn’t.

Chapter Two

Vincent knew the meeting was a trap. He had suspected such immediately when he received his recall notice. He had gone to one of the bookstores in Alexandria, Virginia and found a used copy of Sandburg’s Lincoln biography. He found the name Smith scrawled inside the front cover. The director wanted him to come in. If the handwritten name on the inside cover had been Jones he would have gone to a secondary drop locker for instructions.

When he ran from whatever madness happened that night, he had planned to leave the country. Vincent knew he could ply his trade elsewhere. There were always people in need of his gift for making problems disappear.

For his own health, he knew he needed to run, but when he reached his first safe location and rested, he started to have thoughts of not running. He felt maybe he could be of more use if he stayed and met with his employer. But that was crazy. They would kill him.

Let them try.

Vincent had looked around.

Who said that? he asked.

You are more than you were, V’incn’t. Present your self to your director. Do not be afraid.

And that had been the second time he heard a voice in his head since that night. He had felt a presence, a sensation of never being truly alone, but not formed words.

He got up and poured a shot of bourbon. Sipping the silky alcohol, he walked back to the chair in the small apartment and sat down, drink in hand. He’d almost been able to convince himself that it was all a dream. He’d been wounded and run into the woods fading fast and waiting to die. Then he was whole again. Well, if he didn’t count the impossible hallucination of being taken and somehow reborn.

Now, he imagined voices, and none of it made any sense. Except somewhere deep inside he suspected it was all real which terrified him more than anything the agency could do to him. So, he had called the wrong number to confirm his visit, and that’s how he found himself walking in to see the director in the corner office that didn’t exist in the agency no one knew about.

He was on edge waiting for an attack from the moment he walked through the front door, but nothing happened. The secretary ushered him into the director’s office.

Vincent, I am glad to see you looking well. I worried when we didn’t hear from you, said the director, a mask of worry on his normally impassive face.

Vincent knew this was his chance to explain, and whatever he said likely would not be good enough. He knew the attack would come either in the office or just after he left. A prepped team gathered for him even now. He had disobeyed orders and killed Professor Paul Kincaid, Senator Randolph Kincaid’s only son, and pursued his own plans which could not be tolerated.

Yes, I’m feeling better, said Vincent. I’m sure I concerned you and the agency a great deal. I’m a bit surprised.

That you’re still alive? said the director.

The director was nothing if not blunt. Vincent liked that. He could deal with blunt.

Paul Kincaid had to die, said Vincent, explaining. He would have exposed the agency and our operation with the information he possessed.

And Stone, Professor Maxwell, and the others? asked the director.

This was it, not all of it, but the core. For once, the agency didn’t know everything. The director wanted information from him before they killed him. He knew, suddenly, no matter what he said, they would take him to a secret place of their choosing and interrogate him until satisfied. The agency had sentenced him already no matter his answer. Still, maybe confusion could be his friend for the moment.

It’s complicated, said Vincent.

Yes, I thought it might be something like that, but in this case, I think you underestimate, said the director. We know about Similov.

The director sat relaxed, sure in his planning.

I thought you might, said Vincent.

He used his peripheral vision to scan for an attack. He had a ceramic knife hidden on his person. It was the only item he could get through the metal detectors at the entrance. Still, he was confident with a knife.

He thought he might reach the director before being taken down when he heard the crazy voice in his head whisper.

There is another way. Get him to take your hand.

He knew it was L’ment’l or whatever his insanity called itself, and visions of a dark back-lit shimmering object rising above the trees floated before his mind. Vincent kept his face impassive, serene.

Are we supposed to let this pass? The director asked, but they both knew the answer already.

The director twitched ever so slightly, but Vincent couldn’t fault him for the tell. The man hadn’t worked in the field for several years now. He was accustomed to having others execute his instructions and not being at the center of violence himself.

Easy now. Make him come to you.

Vincent’s newfound inner voice chided him. He moved his hands gently and slowly from his lap to his knees, but otherwise didn’t move in the chair in front of the Director’s desk.

Similov was a necessary foil, he said. I needed to leverage Stone and the Professor to get the information we needed. If you know about Similov, you know about the research I was trying to get back to you.

Vincent knew it was weak. He knew the director wouldn’t buy it, but he had to try.

Yes, I thought it might be something like that, said the director. Actually, that’s what I told Senator Kincaid when he asked why we killed his son.

Vincent remained impassive. That the senior senator knew the director didn’t surprise him.

How did he take that? asked Vincent.

He knew the answer but felt he should ask.

The director sighed.

We asked you to come in to help us give him more information. I’m afraid we need your assistance until we satisfy him.

I’m happy to help, said Vincent. I’m a company man. You know that.

Yes, well, we need a thorough summary from you. I have a team waiting outside to help you with your debriefing, said the director. You understand?

Vincent expected no less. Remarkably, he kept his face relaxed. He knew he was good but didn’t understand how he could feel so calm. He didn’t feel worried at all that a team of highly skilled men were waiting to take him away and savage him until only a shell remained.

Now, smile, agree, and take his hand when he offers it.

Vincent smiled.

I understand sir.

He stood slowly.

The director rose from his chair, walked around his desk, and offered his hand to Vincent.

I knew you would cooperate, said the director. You are a good operative. Maybe the best we have.

He shook the director’s hand. He could feel a slight dampness to the man’s hand. He’s nervous, he thought.

Now Vincent, Share your purpose with him.

He heard the inner voice, but didn’t understand at first, and then he did. He clicked a little section in his mind, willing some of his inner self to the director, knowing it was happening, but not able to explain how.

The director paused while shaking his hand and looked puzzled for a moment. He lowered his hand and stood there, his face slack, in front of his desk. Slowly, he walked back around to his desk chair. He sat and rested his head in his hands.

Vincent waited. He found if he listened carefully, he could hear the squad of men waiting outside the door in the anteroom, could sense their movements, anticipate their intentions.

Slowly, the director looked up staring into space, not focusing directly on him.

Wait, give him time.

He knew the men waiting for him would not be so patient, but they wouldn’t want to barge into the director’s office either. He shared their indecision at the moment, and was not surprised when the intercom light blinked on the director’s desk, slowly, insistently.

He suspected if the director did not answer that blinking light soon with reassurance, or at least annoyance at being interrupted, the squad in the adjoining room would enact their back-up plan, and he would have a chance to test his blade craft.

The director slowly reached down and pressed the blinking light.

Yes? he said.

His secretary said, Sir, your eleven o’clock is here.

Vincent knew this was code for Is everything okay in there? This was the moment. He tensed for action.

The director shook his head slowly, then said, Yes, please have him wait. I’ll be a moment more here. In fact, we may need to reschedule. Please share my apologies.

He realized the director had just told the capture squad to stand down.

The director sat back in his chair, shook his head, and looked up.

Vincent, what have you done? he asked.

Chapter Three

Lieutenant Hunt Marshall waited for Captain Stone to return to his office. The captain had been called to an unexpected meeting this morning, Marshall found himself trying to catch up with events over the last three months.

When he woke in the hospital to find himself alive, he realized he couldn’t recall what happened to him or his squad that night. He remembered the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter insertion and his team spreading out to begin their sweep, but after that, nothing. Just a few confusing fragments about light and shadow and wind in the trees.

He developed a recurrent nightmare of pain and voices, but that was only later in his recovery, and he decided not to share that with his medical team. First, he wasn’t sure what it meant, and second, he couldn’t get back to duty if they harbored concern for his mental stability.

Once his doctors cleared him, his debriefings had caused a great deal of frustration for his superiors. None more so than him. His squad, his friends, men he trusted, gone. No clues, no remains, and no explanations. He knew others looked at him with suspicion. It surprised him he was here.

Hunt had asked for duty with Colonel Weiland and Captain Stone, believing they were working toward solving the attack that had claimed the lives of his team and left him for dead. If he could be of some help, maybe he could get some sleep without fragmented nightmares replaying the screams of his team members. He couldn’t remember any details, but the screams woke him up nightly. He didn’t share that with his medical team either.

Hunt had grown up third generation army. He knew the military and unexpected waits. He knew Captain Stone and Colonel Weiland were at a meeting together. That was enough for him. If they were both there, it was important. He rubbed his eyes briefly. He had a headache this morning, just like most mornings. At least the nausea seemed better.

His doctors concluded he had suffered a significant concussion during the event. However, his magnetic resonance imaging scans and electroencephalograms repeatedly returned with normal results, and his physical test scores were better than before the event. Everyone around him agreed that it was a miracle he was alive.

Hunt