Angels in the Darkness

By David Lancaster and Jolene Lancaster

A cosmic event and man's insanity murdered Planet Earth but there are few left to mourn its passing. A thick cloud of dust blankets the globe and blocks the life-giving sunlight for years. It is the dawn of a brave new world, a nuclear winter of total darkness and frigid temperatures. Things that go bump in the night usually herald someone's death. Two and four-legged predators stalk the stygian darkness looking for food or someone to enslave. Out of the ashes rises an armored paramilitary group who stands between the weak and defenseless and those who would prey on them

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514482377

David Lancaster

This is the second book by David and Jolene Lancaster. Their first, "Wide Awake Nightmare” was set in the future period known as the Great Tribulation. Jolene has run a successful custodial service for over 30 years. David begun his military career in the Army as an infantryman. After enlisting in the Air Force, he worked in mobile battlefield radar stations, space-based surveillance, tracked satellites in low earth orbit, ballistic missile early warning, and flew combat missions as part of an airborne battle staff.

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Copyright © 2016 by David and Jolene Lancaster.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5144-8238-4

                eBook           978-1-5144-8237-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/22/2016

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1 News From Afar

Chapter 2 Operation Chatham Rescue

Chapter 3 Study ’Til Your Eyes Fall Out

Chapter 4 Operation Black Fury

Chapter 5 The Mercy Run

Chapter 6 The Debrief

Chapter 7 Deadly Brain Worms

Chapter 8 The Dogs of War Are Loosed

Chapter 9 Operation Apache

Chapter 10 Painful Steps

Chapter 11 Operation Clean Sweep

Chapter 12 Sunrise Over A Dead Planet

Chapter 13 A Time To Sow, A Time To Reap

Chapter 14 Operation Velvet Steel

Epilogue

Glossary

INTRODUCTION

I was suffering an acute physical health crisis in 1992 that made me question whether I would survive it. The inescapable, deep darkness of a severe depression plagued me every day. Writing Angels In The Darkness helped me get through terrible days. Whether it was literary genius or a depression-induced hallucination, it felt as though I was living the horror in the pages I was writing. l could vividly see the raw, bloody bones of humans who had been stripped of their flesh and smell the stench of death.

Peter Prescott is a multi-billionaire and the CEO of a successful international construction company. His crews, many of which are ex-military, will go anywhere and build anything if the price is right. The company’s future looked lucrative with more money flowing into its coffers. All of that changed when an old acquaintance dropped by his New York office one cold day in January. He warned of an impending holocaust that would result in the death of billions of people. It would begin with a large asteroid ripping into the Earth. Nations with longstanding feuds would use the impact as an excuse to launch preemptive nuclear strikes at one another. Survival of the human race was questionable.

The reason Peter’s company operated consistently in the black was due in large part to his ability to strategically plan for the future. He contacts an old friend who is a senior staff member at the Pentagon who confirms that the warning is true. At Peter’s request, he transfers an armored urban warfare unit to him from the depot where it is in mothballs. Peter liquidates his company, takes his money and his construction crews deep into the heart of Louisiana, and builds a massive underground complex in the time remaining.

The asteroid impact blasted a crater miles deep into the earth’s crust. Shock-waves rippled around the planet and brought dormant ash-spewing volcanoes to life. The impact coupled with the megatons of radioactive death that rained down on helpless populations rocketed tons of dust, soot, and ash high into the atmosphere. The impenetrable cloud circled the planet and blocked the life-giving rays of the sun. The world was choked in the icy embrace of a nuclear winter where summertime highs are only -50 degrees and the lows plummet down to -100.

The planet is dead. Man’s insanity ensured its funeral. Like the dinosaurs, modern civilization is now extinct with much of it part of the ash cloud high above. The survivors woke up the day after the planet’s demise to a brave new world with a frigid never-ending night. This new world they suddenly found themselves living in abounds with threats and danger. Two-legged and four-legged predators stalk the night seeking their next victim. Things that go bump in the night probably mean that you are the next one to die. Crime and lawlessness are the new norm. Peter and his crews attempt to restore law and order in the area where they are located. They are the Angels of Justice. The word angel means messenger.

DISCLAIMER: The first book, Wide Awake Nightmare, we published was Christian fiction about the Great Tribulation. This one is written solely from a secular point of view. There are no religious assertion or concepts in this book. It is fiction that is meant for entertainment and not as a medium for promoting or degrading established doctrine. We are not declaring any activity within the story as being right or acceptable. We apologize if we offend any of our fellow brethren in the faith.

PROLOGUE

The story content may not appeal to some and it is not intended for younger readers. Some of the chapters are filled with graphic, violent combat. What you will not find is foul language, sexual content, or vulgar situations Too many modern writers rely heavily on sex and four-letter words to add supposed realism to the plot. They sacrifice imagination, literary skills and offend many of their readers. It was our goal to create a moving, word picture that will immerse the reader into the dark, futuristic world that we have created.

Some of the story features genetic engineering at the highest achievable level. Genetic engineering has brought us fantastic medical breakthroughs that may lead to the eradication of cancer and other diseases. It is the bane however, that what one man intends for good, another perverts with evil designs and purposes. The geneticists and scientists have great power. Someone once said, Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. What we have written is for entertainment only and not a tacit admission condoning genetic experimentation on humans.

Many books and movies have been introduced into the market place about heavenly and fallen angels. This novel has nothing to do with either. Unlike our first novel, Wide Awake Nightmare, it has no religious theme.

Chapter 1

NEWS FROM AFAR

The view through the window of the New York high-rise office building was absolutely stunning. Small fleecy white clouds floated serenely against the backdrop of an azure sky. The trees ringing Grand Central Park were a green blur in the distance. The polychromatic sun screens of the office buildings below provided a canvas on which the sky above sketched itself.

The office which possessed such a beautiful view of the world was lavishly furnished as befitted a multi-billionaire. It put the ‘o’ in opulence. The man sitting behind the desk did not have time to bask in his wealth or to appreciate his magnificent surroundings. He scowled at the pile of paperwork on his desk. He mentally kicked himself for taking this project. It had been too lucrative to pass up in spite of the potential for trouble with the locals. He wracked his brain trying to find a workable solution that would allow the project to go forward but failed. It looked as though he had no choice but to pull his people out and take a heavy beating on the cost.

He leaned back in his chair and reflected on his humble beginnings. His grandparents had been poor sharecroppers down in the Mississippi delta. His mom had worked as a receptionist for a small accounting firm. His dad had been a construction worker all of his life until he died from blithesome at the age of fifty-nine. Working with his dad had taught him a love for the construction business. He began by subcontracting a few jobs here and there. His finances began to increase exponentially when he started taking the high risk contracts that no one else wanted.

He rocked forward in his chair and looked down at the forms and assessments from his foremen at the job site. He wasn’t naive. Sometimes high risk meant no pay.

He looked up with a frown when the intercom buzzed. He sighed and pressed a button.

Yes, what is it?

Mr. Prescott, an Iranian merchant is here to see you. He is not on your list of appointments for today, but he is most insistent to see you.

What’s his name?

His name is Ali Yassin.

Miss Feinstein, please send him in. We’re not to be disturbed unless it’s urgent. Use your discretion.

Miss Feinstein’s soft voice replied, Yes sir.

The door opened and a distinguished looking older man walked in. His dark complexion was offset by a bald head fringed with gray hair. Sharp, piercing, dark eyes glared out from under bushy eyebrows. He had on an expensive suit that probably was custom tailored in Paris.

Peter Prescott thought back on their first meeting almost two decades ago. He had a contract with the Saudis to build two large oil refineries and a desalination plant. It was a lucrative contract that contributed significantly to his fortune. It also opened a door for additional construction projects. The only fly in the ointment was the frustrating local customs and the red tape that had to be endured.

During the construction of one of the refineries, a native foreman brought a slightly paunchy middle-aged man to the office. Peter was able to determine from the ensuing conversation that this mild mannered man was a small-time arms dealer in the Middle East. He sold to anyone and everyone without political or religious bias. He would sell arms to opposing parties in a conflict as long as there was a profit to be made.

He was in seriously hot water with the Saudi government. He had contracted to deliver a shipment of arms to a group of Shiite fundamentalists who were in opposition to the Prince and the ruling family. The Saudi Secret Police were actively searching for him and were closely monitoring airports and sea ports. His clients were being surveilled and could not help. Public beheading was awaiting him if he was caught.

Paul thought briefly about the man’s problem but didn’t see any reason why he should jeopardize his relationship with the Saudis. He did not know this man and he was not certain that he wanted to.

He told the two men, Let me think on it and I’ll get back with you.

A deep furrow creased the brow of his foreman as he stared at Peter. What he was actually telling them was Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Get lost! That was not the answer they were hoping for. Mr. Yassin got up and walked out of the office.

The foreman shook hands with Peter and said, I’m going to move him to a safe location. It is temporary at best. Please let me know if you change your mind.

A series of incidents later that day caused Peter to decide in Mr. Yassin’s favor. The Saudi government refused to intervene in a dispute between him and the port authorities regarding the unloading of catalytic cracking tanks and pipes from a freighter in the harbor. Next, he couldn’t find native drivers who were willing to drive the trucks from the wharf to the construction site. The port authorities were only giving him twenty-four hours to move the loaded trucks or they would confiscate everything.

Then, there was a lowboy with a crane on it that was parked alongside the highway where the Saudi driver had walked away from it. He had already received a citation for it being illegally parked. He couldn’t move it with American drivers due to some local custom. He was angry and frustrated with Saudis in general.

He walked over to where pipe was being laid in a deep trench and motioned for the foreman to join him. Peter felt paranoid and was concerned that someone would overhear them.

Bring Yassin down to the beach. Come alone or the deal is off. I will drive away if I see anyone else. Let’s meet at 9:30 PM sharp.

Yes sir, Mr. Prescott the foreman said. You won’t regret it.

I already am. Don’t be late.

He walked away wondering if he was the biggest fool in the world. Oh well, he had committed himself. He would not allow himself the luxury of relaxing until it was over. He hoped that did not include his head dropping into a basket in the town square.

He drove into a parking lot by the beach with every nerve tingling. The clock on the dashboard said 9:25. He spotted a lone Mercedes parked twenty feet away. It flashed its lights one time. He responded by brightening and dimming his lights. He parked a short distance from it and switched the engine off. A gentle sea breeze blew through the open window and brought the tangy smell of salt and a sprinkling of sand. The mournful cry of a seagull echoed across the parking lot. He leaned back into the plush upholstery with a sigh of fatigue.

The leather seats creaked softly as he reached down and kneaded a cramp in his right leg. He looked up when he heard the sound of car doors slamming. Two men were walking nonchalantly towards him but tiny movements of their heads belied their calm demeanor. The foreman slid into the front seat, Yassin into the back.

They developed a plan that had the best chance of working and probably the only chance of Yassin leaving the country alive. They would smuggle him on board the freighter in a wooden crate labeled ‘TOOLS’. They set 2:00 PM the following day when they would put the plan in motion.

Yassin shook Peter’s hand before he got out of the car. He said, Many thanks to you Mr. Prescott. I owe you my very life. I swear on my father’s blood that I will repay you someday, somehow.

Let’s not throw a party just yet. Let’s wait until we get you on that ship, Peter replied.

The next day was very hot with the sun beaming down out of a cloudless sky. Peter walked around the pier with a clipboard in his hand as though he were checking the growing pile of construction materials against a manifest. A stomach churning stench of raw garbage wafted downwind from some festering spot on the waterfront. Sweat ran down his forehead and trickled into his eyes when he bent down to check a bundle of metal conduit.

Two Saudi custom officials accompanied by a group of uniformed policemen strode purposely towards the boxes and crates to be loaded on the freighter. Peter’s pulse quickened and it seemed he heard his heart pounding. His mouth was dry with an acrid taste. He nervously wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

The crane operator angrily climbed down from the cab. Soon he was yelling at the group and waving his arms. The loud, heated words of their discussion echoed from the corrugated siding of the warehouses on the pier. The horn of a tugboat temporarily drowned out their argument. The crane operator made a rude gesture at the Saudi officials and climbed back into his seat. He picked up a box and swung it dangerously close to the group of angry, red-faced officials. They shook their fist at him and walked briskly to an unmarked black Hyundai sedan in the parking lot.

Peter glanced up and saw the silhouette of his foreman in the darkened doorway of a warehouse. He smiled at Peter, adjusted his sunglasses, and made a barely perceptible gesture that everything was under control. Peter realized he had been holding his breath while the little drama had played out.

He continued his inventory of construction materials while keeping a wary eye on the crane operator’s efforts to make the various boxes and containers disappear into the hold of the ship. He didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he saw a crate labeled ‘TOOLS’ swing over the railing onto the Norwegian freighter. He forced himself to walk away with calmness. His part was done. The foreman had a contact on the ship who would assist Yassin. That was twenty years ago.

Yassin had a knack for showing up unannounced and unexpected. He had ‘accidentally’ run into him in restaurants, stores, government offices and on street corners all around the world. Yassin went from being a small time arms dealer to one of the most notorious with high level contacts in the major governments.

Peter had prospered himself during the years since their first meeting. He would go almost anywhere and build almost anything if the price was right.

His construction crews had developed a reputation for being rough and ready for any situation. They went fully armed in the primitive and uncivilized areas of the world. Hostile native groups backed off quickly after testing their mettle and finding them a tough nut to crack. One of his crews was all ex-military and ex-mercenary. They were his troubleshooters that he sent into hot spots.

And now, here was Yassin pulling one of his famous show up out of the blue meetings. Peter rose from behind the desk with a smile and an outstretched hand.

Well, Mr. Yassin, how’s the used camel business been lately? Are you still selling sway-backs and blind cripples?

The gray-haired older man smiled thinly and replied, Fine, just fine. Are you still violating the building codes worldwide with your flimsy constructions?

Peter laughed and waved him to a seat. He looked at his visitor closely. His age had caught up with him. The years and his profession had not been kind to him. There seemed to be a haunted look in his eyes as though something was weighing heavily upon him.

Can I get you something to drink? Peter asked.

Yes, a cup of tea, please, he replied.

Do you still drink Earl Gray?

Yes, that would be fine.

Peter reached over to the intercom. Miss Feinstein, please bring us two cups of Earl Gray tea.

Yes sir, she replied.

Peter turned to Yassin and asked, What brings you to New York?

I’ve come all this way solely to see you. You saved my life in Saudi Arabia and I have never forgotten it. I still owe you a blood debt that must be paid. As you know, I am a Muslim but I have never been faithful to the Koran. However, I began to despair as I saw the remaining years of life fast approaching and I had still not resolved this debt.

He paused when Miss Feinstein walked in with two steaming cups of tea.

He continued, Thank you for the tea. Sometimes it is the little things in life that are the most enriching. As I said, I began to despair of ever paying my debt to you. As of this day, however, the debt will be paid in full. I will have perhaps saved your life and we will be even.

Peter did not expect this. How could he possibly save his life? Was someone trying to kill him? He had the best security that money could buy. He looked at him in confusion

Mr. Yassin explained, As you know, I have sold a lot of equipment for the Russians to the Third World nations. I have made a few close friends among the Russian hierarchy in the Kremlin and the generals. One of them shared some top secret information with me that is known only in the highest governmental circles of Russia, the EU, and this country.

Space-based telescopes have picked up an extremely large asteroid headed for Earth. I don’t know how big it is but they estimate when it hits that it will be the equivalent of a very large hydrogen bomb.

Where will it hit? Peter asked.

The projected impact will be somewhere in Siberia. My contact said the Russian government is wondering whether they will even be a country anymore after the impact. There is a certain sense of angry resignation You know the old saying that misery loves company. Plans are underway to launch a nuclear strike on your country if they are hit. Your CIA had a mole in the Russian leadership that has since defected to the West. Now your government knows of the Russian plans."

Diplomatic relations have broken down between the United States and Russia even though your liberal mass media carries stories of the developing ties of friendship and cooperation between the two. Russia will attempt a preemptive strike when they are certain that they are in the impact zone. This will happen about four months from now. The sign to watch for on the news will be a report of peaceful space launches off the Kamchatka Peninsula. These will be a launch of space-based MIRV’s or multi-warhead devices targeted on American military resources and your major urban population centers.

The SALT II treaties, your president and congress, have castrated America’s nuclear deterrent. The Russians know this and they believe they will never have a better chance to gain permanent superiority. That’s if they survive the impact. If not, you both will be equally broken and destroyed. Your government is fully knowledgeable of this but they have chosen to leave the population in the dark. Now, our debt is settled. What you do with this information is up to you. I only ask that you keep my name out of it.

Peter was dumb-founded. Asteroid impact? Nuclear exchange? His head was spinning. Yassin watched as he got up and walked to the window. He looked out on a beautiful winter day with people living out their lives, ignorant of the high-level cover up that will eventually result in their death.

Yassin said, I forgot. The Chinese hacked your Pentagon’s servers and found something called Operation Black Kettle. It will be a retaliatory strike on Russia.

Peter said, I have a friend at the State Department. I’m going to call him after you leave. Where can I get in touch with you later? I may have some business for you.

Yassin drained the rest of the tea in his cup and set it down on the saucer. He got up slowly as though the weight of many hard years were pressing him into the seat. He walked over to the desk and scrawled a number on a post-it-pad.

He said, I can be reached at this number for two more days and then I leave the country. Call to set up a meeting.

He smiled sadly at Peter and kissed him on the cheek.

Good bye old friend, Thanks for the tea.

Prescott walked back to the window and looked at the street below. It was congested as usual with impatient New Yorkers commuting to work. A long white limousine slid out of the traffic and parked in front of the building. A black liveried chauffeur walked around the car and held the rear door open. Yassin walked out accompanied by four swarthy men dressed in dark suits and sunglasses. He never went anywhere without his bodyguards. They had a reputation of being ruthless and extremely protective of their employer. They packed enough firepower under their suits to give a TSA employee a coronary. He watched until the limo merged into traffic and disappeared down the street.

Peter walked back to his desk and sat down heavily into the chair. He contemplated what he had heard today with sadness. If Yassin was being truthful, the whole world was living on borrowed time. His fortune and the construction company were rapidly becoming devalued the closer they got to pushing the button. Neither would exist if it were not for the hard and dedicated work of his employees. His contribution to the company’s success other than monetary investment lay in long-range strategic planning.

What if it is all true? Should he just take his money and run or crawl into a hole and pull it in after him? He had always appreciated the loyalty of his employees. The more he thought about it, the more he felt indebted to all of them. How could he possibly abandon them?

He pressed the intercom switch, Miss Feinstein, hold all my calls unless it is Mr. Yassin. Also cancel all of my appointments.

Yes sir. What about Mr. Reinhardt? You are supposed to meet with him to close the contract on the Bangladesh road construction project?

Call and tell him that something has come up. I will call him later. I am canceling that job but don’t tell him that.

Yes sir, she replied in her soft voice.

He looked in his antiquated rolodex for a number that he had only used once before. It was for Jim Riseling, a senior staff member at the Pentagon.

The phone rang and was answered by a pleasant sounding voice. Joint Chiefs, Jim Riseling speaking.

Hello Jim, this is Peter Prescott.

Peter! Good to hear from you. Got anymore employees that need rescuing from a Cambodian jail?

No, no. Just a question.

I wondered who was calling me on my private line. Shoot. What’s your question?

What’s Operation Black Kettle?

There was pregnant pause. Jim’s voice had lost his pleasant demeanor when he finally answered. He sounded like someone to whom sleep had become a foreign commodity.

He urgently replied, Peter, don’t say anymore! This line is not secure. Can you meet me at Dulles International and we’ll talk.

Sure, I’ll fly down there in a company jet. You can’t miss the logo on the side of the aircraft.

Ok, see you soon.

Peter hung up the phone and pressed the intercom switch. Miss Feinstein, please call the airfield and tell them to get the jet ready to go for immediate take off and have Roger bring the car around.

Yes sir.

He saw an unmarked car with government plates driving slowly across the tarmac shortly after he landed. He turned to the pilot and said, Take a break in the terminal. I will call your cell phone when we’re ready to depart.

Ok, Mr. Prescott.

Moments later, Jim Riseling climbed in through the hatch. A man in a pin-striped suit was behind him.

Peter, this is Joe. He’s with the Secret Service. He’s going to sweep your plane for bugs. Don’t say anything until he is done.

Peter said, Have a seat. We may as well make ourselves comfortable.

Joe had a small hand-held device with a VU meter that he swept every inch of the aircraft.

It’s clean, Mr. Riseling.

Ok, thanks, Joe. I’ll be out in a few moments.

Jim looked hard at Peter. "What do you know?

I have an acquaintance with contacts in the Kremlin that told me that our planet has a bulls-eye painted on it and that a massive asteroid is predicted to impact in about four months. He also said the Russians were going to use it as an excuse for a preemptive strike.

Jim ran a shaky hand through his hair. I asked Joe to step out because he is not cleared for what I am about say. Your information is correct. The asteroid is just a big rock with the innocuous name of RN2OO8. We have confirmed its trajectory. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory has projected that it will be a near-extinction level event. The impact will blow tons of soil high into the atmosphere. The shock waves will probably bring every dormant volcano in the world back to life. The suspended layer of dust will block all sunlight from reaching the ground.

The decision to conduct a nuclear strike is not supported at all levels of the Russian government. My opposite number in their defense ministry told me that a majority are opposed to it. They have tried but failed to circumvent the conflict. The military hawks and communist hard-liners are firmly entrenched in power, and that’s the problem. They conducted a silent coup that left the president stripped of all power and really nothing more than a figurehead. Even the Parliament and Supreme Soviet now march in lock step to the military’s tune.

The hard-liners are determined to make this war happen. They have yearned for years to bring back the power and might of the old Soviet Union."

Both sides are moving towards a confrontation and there seems to be no way to turn the clock back. By all estimates, we’ve only got four or five months left. The delay is due to both sides launching warheads into space, hiding mobile systems, servicing subs for the last time, taking bombers out of mothballs and reestablishing penetration routes, moving civilian and military leadership to national bunkers, etc.

We are facing a lengthy nuclear winter. One thing’s for sure. There’s going to be a whole lot less of us humans when it is all over.

Peter looked away with a pained expression. It all seems too far fetched to be real but it was.

He thought hard for a moment, then said, I want to buy some military hardware quickly.

What kind?

Armor, guns, helicopters, that kind of thing.

Jim smiled for the first time since they had begun talking. I’ve got just the thing. We were putting together an urban warfare unit a couple of years ago. It was intended to be all high-tech stuff but the sequester killed the funding for it. The unit had M-113 APC’s and M-6O tanks. I know they sound obsolete but they have been specially modified. The contractor put a new type of engine in them with a high-performance supercharger. Inside are all kinds of electronic gizmos.

The crew members wear a helmet that is similar in appearance to a flight helmet. The visor is a new type of photo polymer that gives the individual a heads-up-display or HUD. They wear a control panel on their left arm that gives them access to the various functions. There are two features that I really like. The first is night vision. The visor allows the individual to see in the dark without cumbersome night vision goggles. The second feature is connected to a rifle known as the Viper. A small laser sight on the barrel communicates with the helmet. A red dot appears on the visor wherever the rifle is pointing. Also, the number of rounds remaining appears on the HUD. The rifle swivels in the middle so that you can fire around corners.

As a bonus, the unit was trying out a converted Multiple Launch Rocket System or MLRS as a mobile command post. The rocket launchers were removed and a large compartment was installed in their place. It is jam-packed with the latest comm gear developed by the high-tech wizards of R&D.

It sounds perfect for what I’ve got in mind. How do I get it? Peter asked.

I will push some orders through that will make it appear that you, as the new contractor, are installing a modified targeting system. This will allow me to generate the necessary movement permits so that the hardware will appear to be traversing the normal channels. You’ve got to promise me that if the balloon does not go up that you will return everything.

I’ve got a favor to ask. My brother-in-law is involved in a research project so classified that even the classification is classified. I would like you to take him and my sister.

Sure, what does he do?

He is one of the world’s leading geneticists. His name is Dr. Mark Sherwood. He has been working at a secret CIA laboratory where they are experimenting on dogs and gene splicing human genetic material that controls the formation of the brain and size. They are twice as large as a normal German Shepherd. The lab is working with the fourth generation now. The gene modification is stable and is passed on to succeeding generations. The brain of the dogs is predominantly human with an IQ that is equivalent to a thirteen year-old child. All of the dogs from the third generation on have had an experimental bio-chip inserted into their brain.

So what does the chip do?

The latest variant can hold about a gigabyte of data. They have seen some success with the program. They have programmed the chips to provide the dogs with a style of combat procedures that makes the old K9, guard dog, attack dog, and service dog training seem like disorganized puppy play.

Part of their training deals with close- in fighting with other dogs or humans. They could rip the jugular from an untrained dog in seconds. An unarmed human would have no chance at all if facing them in combat.

Peter scratched the stubble on his face. I don’t know what we will do with them but send them anyway.

Oh yeah, Jim said. I forgot to tell you but they can talk.

What? What do mean they can talk, like me and you?

No. The dogs have developed their own language. The lab calls it Canine-Speak. It is eerie the first time you hear it.

Jim continued, Have your agent that is conducting your transactions for you call the number that I’m going to give you. The phone number is classified but that won’t matter in a few months. I’ll try to help any way that I can to speed up the process. We go back a long ways Peter.

They shook hands and Peter watched through the open hatch as Jim walked with a limp towards his car. He reflected briefly on the time they had spent in Southeast Asia. They had been part of a mechanized infantry penetration into Laos. Legally, they were not supposed to be across the border, but the higher-ups had asked them to look for Viet Cong base camps. During a short reconnaissance trip, Jim triggered a trip wire that was connected to a Chinese fragmentation grenade. Luckily, he did not receive the full effect of the blast, but it left his legs full of shrapnel. Peter carried him on his back through the hot, steamy jungle and up to the tracks, a torturous three mile trek.

Jim had not always been in a position to wield the power he now possessed. He had begun his career in government as a lowly aide to a senator who was later appointed to Secretary of Defense. Jim rode on his coattails to power and then began to network among the various agencies until he himself was firmly entrenched. Later when his benefactor was deposed through the normal election process, Jim was spared. He continued building his power base until his name was both feared and respected among Washington insiders. He had a reputation for being utterly merciless. Very few were foolish enough to pick a fight with him.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the pilot. He started fleshing out the details in his mind of what had been a nebulous plan of survival. It was bold. It was huge. And it would take at least a year under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. There was a hyper sense of urgency.

He went to the accounting department when he got back to the office. He nodded to some of the accountants and clerks as he passed by their desks. His destination was the main office in the back.

A skinny, nervous man got up from his desk when Peter walked in.

Mr. Prescott, come in! What brings you down this way?

Peter came directly to the point. How much cash do we have on hand? I don’t mean capital that is tied up in land, machinery, or buildings. I’m talking about cash that we can put in our pocket right now. Include my personal accounts in your calculations.

The little man gave him a strange look and turned to his computer, punched a few keys, and brought up the information he had requested.

Mr. Prescott, you and the company have a combined total of fifteen billion dollars in each cash assets. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s this for?

Hiram, I need your financial genius and here’s why…

The clock on the wall inexorably ticked away the minutes as Peter explained his plan to survive the coming holocaust. Peter asked if it was financially possible to make all of this happen in time.

Hiram sat with his head between his hands. His body was wracked with silent sobs. His eyes glistened with tears as he thought of all his friends and even his world dying. His daughters would never finish college now.

Peter waved away an assistant accountant when they attempted to come though the door with a stack of papers.

Hiram looked up and said, Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is doable. What you’re suggesting is going to take a lot of muscle and manpower. What do you want me to do?

Peter stared off into the distance. "This is a huge undertaking and you’re going to need help. Pick out some of your most trusted accountants to help you with the money side of this thing. I will be talking with the VP of Engineering and also the VP of Operations.

You provide the money and they will get the project underway."

Next, I want all of our employees, here at home and overseas, at a special banquet. Charter planes to get everyone there. Make sure that everyone knows that attendance is mandatory. They either come or look for another job. We want their spouses and any other close family; parents, siblings, whoever. We will need some way to take care of the younger children after the meal so hire people for that too. Be sure the banquet hall has a stage and a decent PA system. Let’s plan on having all of our preparations for the holocaust done by May 1st. It is now January 3rd.

Hiram was steadily scribbling notes to himself on a legal pad. He looked up and asked, I’ve got it. Anything else, Sir?

Nope, that’s it for now. Let’s plan on bi-weekly progress meetings in the conference room with the department heads while we are still here in New York. You come to my office immediately if you need anything from me.

Two weeks later, Peter was looking out over the banquet hall at the assembled employees of his company and their families. Someone later said that there were two thousand people in attendance. He stepped up behind the microphone.

He waited for the conversations to quieten and then began speaking. I want to thank all of you for coming. I hope you enjoyed the meal. All of your meals and lodging are on me while you are here in New York. First, I want to express my gratitude to everyone of you for making this company and myself a financial success. You have made me a very rich man. It is your blood, sweat, and toil that put the money into the company’s coffers. We are all the best, from the janitor to the construction site engineer.

There was a long standing ovation and applause from the crowd in the banquet hall. Peter let them enjoy the moment and then motioned for everyone to sit down.

It is now time for each of you to receive a return on your investment. You have given me life. I now give that life back to you. As you will soon find out, the company is liquidating all of its assets and going out of business.

A loud murmur of surprise interrupted his speech as families turned to each other in shock. Why was the company going out of business if it was so successful?

Peter waited for the loud buzz of conversation to subside. All eyes were riveted on him.

What I am about to tell you may seem too far fetched to believe but it is true. I have confirmed it through my contacts in the Department of Defense and another who has friends in the Russian Defense Ministry. There is an asteroid hurtling towards an imminent impact with our planet. It is hard to see because it is coming straight at us. As if this disaster is not enough, the Russians are preparing to hit us with a nuclear strike. Our world as we know it is done. Trust me, I was skeptical at first like some of you may be, but I have confirmed the veracity of the facts.

He looked with compassion at his employees. Their faces so clearly registered their shock, stunned disbelief, and hurt. Some were openly weeping. Others were laughing because they thought he was playing a prank on them.

He continued, I am rich. I could take my money and run into an uncertain future. But where would that leave you? I don’t see this money as just mine but rather as a stepping stone to ensure our survival. I am willing to spend every last penny if it will help us survive.

This is my plan. I own several acres in a rural area outside of a small town in Louisiana called Jonesboro. From now until May 1st, we will run round the clock shifts to build a giant bunker, an underground city. It will contain living quarters that will support three thousand people. We will build housing units for singles and multi-units families, a chapel, machine shops, dining areas, hydroponics farms, indoor parks, water and air recycling centers, shopping malls, warehouse, garages, and much more. One of the engineers remarked that the place was going to be as busy as a beehive. The name stuck. The name of our new home is the Beehive. It will be covered under fifty feet of earth once we complete the shell. Inner construction of the Beehive will continue nonstop even after the war begins. Many of you will continue in your current occupation as mason, carpenter, plumber, etc. You will have carte blanche to furnish the interior as elaborately and expensively as you desire. After the war is over, we will salvage everything we can from any stores that are left.

Those of you which were a part of my troubleshooters will serve as my track commanders due to your prior military experience.

First on the list is construction of the Beehive. The locals will be told that we are building an electronics design and manufacturing plant. Other personnel of our company that are not here tonight are already purchasing the necessary supplies and weapons. As of this day, you either work on this project or you can start looking for another job. I will provide food and housing for your family but only if they come with you.

The newspapers and TV are already prepared to make a fool out of anyone who tries to break this story to them. The people who control the mass media are also controlled by someone higher up who knows about the coming disaster.

So, that’s it. You can consider me a crackpot, a nut case, and ignore what I have said or you can give it a chance. You will still draw your normal paycheck until May 1st. If nothing happens which is what I am hoping for, I will pay each of you a bonus and declare myself bankrupt. I know that the world’s best construction engineers and workers are sitting in this room. Now it is time to really show your stuff.

As a final note, no one will be required to go out of the Beehive on a mission. That is strictly voluntary. There will be plenty of support jobs that we will need filled. Everyone will work that is able. We will try to place each of you in a position that is best suited to your talents and skills.

We’ve got tables set up outside the banquet hall. The people there will take down your name and that of your family. There is a roster of work assignments posted on the wall outside the doors. We have a lot of construction equipment to move south. For those of you don’t believe me or you don’t want any part of this, go to the last table on the left with the red sign. You will be given your severance pay.

Men and material began pouring into Jonesboro by rail and truck. The tiny area that passed for a rail-yard quickly filled with crates, boxes, steel beams, huge motors, and hopper cars by the hundreds filled with concrete. There was a constant presence of armed guards that kept locals from getting too close. A large crowd of curious onlookers gathered at the rail station one day when a freight train stopped with one-hundred armored personnel carriers, two tanks, and five helicopters. Two of the locals tried to get close enough to take pictures until men in business suits wearing dark shades moved menacingly towards them.

One of the special shipments generated talk and gossip for weeks afterwards. It came through town at 9:30 PM just as the Palace Theater was releasing its patrons. The townsfolk had become used to all of the flatcars piled high with building materials. Two semi-trucks stopped on the street that ran parallel to the rail line and extended ramps to the ground below. The usual, ever present armed guard established a circle around the trucks and a box car sitting on the tracks. The door opened on the box car and someone slid a ramp out the door. By now, the crowd had grown as word spread about the curious sight taking place. People were craning their necks to see better. A few foolhardy individuals dared to get as close to the ring of armed guards as they could.

The crowd heard the command file, out, assume ordered ranks. There was a short pause, then a column of tall German Shepherds, five abreast walked down the ramp. They executed a sharp left turn and formed ten ranks of twenty-five dogs each. They all sat down simultaneously at the command, ‘sit, at ease’. Five individuals in regular civilian clothes walked down the ranks checking the dogs. Satisfied they were all Ok, they waved a hand at the guards standing by the semi-trailers. The command was given rise, double file beginning with the first row, into the trucks. The dogs obediently stood up and walked as commanded into the interior of the trucks.

There was a lot of speculation as to what they had seen. A grainy YouTube video surfaced for awhile until it mysteriously disappeared.

Two square miles of Louisiana forest were cut down and the ground cleared. A natural gas well was immediately bored at the far corner. That part of the state sat on a large natural gas field. The well would provide fuel for the gas turbine dynamos that would generate the Beehive’s electrical power. The furnaces would also use the gas to keep the Beehive at a comfortable temperature.

Colossal equipment normally associated with strip mining was leased and brought in by rail. Driving the oversize machines to the construction site required the full width of the highway and a special police escort.

The equipment gouged enormous scars deep into the Louisiana soil. The masons rapidly moved in behind the equipment and started pouring concrete forms. Dump trucks and bulldozers covered each part of the concrete outer shell with fifty feet of earth when it was completed. The operation continued around the clock, twenty-four hours a day. Banks of floodlights were erected that made the work site as bright as day.

Peter sat at his desk in the construction office and watched the flurry of activity. Men and women were driving the huge machines at far faster speeds than was normally seen at a construction site. The workers were painfully aware that their time was running out. This was one deadline they could not afford to miss. The budding trees and green grass were all warning signs that the end was almost upon them. No one had time to appreciate the last spring the world would see for many years. Overtime and time off meant nothing to them. They pushed themselves until they dropped with exhaustion.

The hidden clues on the nightly news were a goad to an even greater frenzy of work. They weren’t fooled by the announcement of peaceful space launches by both sides. A brief report said the United States had resumed underground nuclear testing. Appearances by the President always showed him in the Oval Office, never outside. Someone said he was already deep underground in a national command bunker.

Reports of the imminent nuclear exchange began to surface. Invariably, the left-leaning mass media ridiculed them and portrayed them as right-wing fanatics, quacks, or religious nuts. A special broadcast was aired that featured a man who called himself Elijah ben-Judas. He claimed that a spirit entity had told him that Russia and America were preparing for war. He was dressed in a long, white robe with tangled hair and a matted beard. He said during the interview that the spirit told him to gather the faithful believers together and lead them into the mountains. They were going to live off roots, nuts, and berries until it was safe to come back down.

The camera panned to his motley group of faithful believers. Some appeared to be praying. They stared with vacant expressions at their leader. They looked more like they were on a weekend furlough from the Pineville State Mental Hospital.

The group at the Beehive watching it on a portable television accurately assessed it as a staged event. The ‘special’ was followed by a series of news clips showing smiling Russians laughing with their American friends. The announcer sickeningly gushed on with her hypocritical prattle of a new era of cooperation and sharing between the two countries.

The phone from the gate rang loudly. Peter lifted the handset just as one of the engineers walked in with a set of blueprints rolled up under his arm.

Peter spoke into the phone, Yeah Joe. What s up.

Mr. Prescott, there is a man down here who says he knows you. He says he served with you in ‘Nam.

What’s his name?

Terry Mclntyre.

A smile creased Prescott’s face. Send him up, Joe.

He remembered Terry from his second tour of duty in Southeast Asia back in 1972. That was where Terry acquired his nom de guerre of ‘Mack’. Peter had been the track commander; Mack was the driver. He was the best driver in the unit during their time together.

Mack became hooked on cocaine and drank heavily soon after his release from the Army. He had entered a drug and alcohol counseling program but it had been too late to save his first marriage. He had drifted for awhile and floated from job to job. He found it impossible to adjust to being back in the ‘Free World’ after his discharge. He was the kind of man who functions best in the structured discipline of a military unit. Peter heard that he had remarried a couple of years ago and that his new wife was keeping him straight.

A dirty Ford Bronco pulled into a parking space in front of the office and stopped. Five massive Euclid earth scrapers lumbered past them with a load of dirt. Dark diesel smoke poured from their exhaust stacks and mingled with the dust cloud trailing behind them. Flatbed trucks piled high with building materials roared past them and continued out of sight around the perimeter. Hard-hatted individuals swarmed across the area, some with a belt full of tools or carrying blueprints.

Mack clambered out of the Bronco and gawked with incredulity at the frenzy of activity. A tall blonde stepped out of the passenger side and stood next to them.

The road they had driven up and the parking lot was paved with asphalt. Another road went through the hardwood forest at the south end of the parking lot. The office was one of those cheap portable trailers that was currently in the vogue with construction companies. A triple row of portable toilets sat off to the side of the office. An old mobile home had been gutted and served as the canteen. Someone inside was handing meals on a paper plate through a large window to construction workers waiting in line to be served. Several men and women, often with children, were eating on picnic tables under gaily colored canopies that were scattered amongst the trees.

There were numerous bright splashes of color under the trees around the perimeter where some had chosen to live in a tent. There were also motor homes, RV trailers, and pop- up campers in an abundance. The parking lot had more vehicles than the finest used car lot.

Mack counted fifty semi-trailers sitting on the edge of the parking lot filled with building materials and tools. They were stacked to the roof with lumber, furnishings, and electrical supplies. A large pile of durable materials such as bricks, pipes, steel girders, and rebar sat next to the trailers. A huge area in front of the office had been denuded of trees and was the site of the construction. Very few of the workers walked to their destination. They trotted or ran to the best of their ability. A loud yell drew their attention to a bulldozer teetering on the side of a pit before tipping over. Nearby workers hurried over to check on the driver.

Mack turned to his wife and said, I’ve never seen anything like this. They are going all out, not even slowing down for safety. This place is huge. I bet it is a good three miles from here to the other side of the construction site.

Yeah, she replied. The pit looks like it is at least one-hundred and fifty feet deep.

He said, C’mon. Let’s go talk to him.

What if he is not interested? she asked.

He stared down at his dust-covered shoes. If not, then I guess we will have to leave. You know what that means.

Peter rolled back in his chair and got up when they came through the door. He was finishing his conversation with the engineer.

He said, Hello, Mack. Have a seat. Help yourself and your wife to a soft drink from the fridge.

Deep below the ground in Section J, a husband and wife were struggling with a spool of cable. Their job at the moment was to feed the cable through a conduit tube to the room that housed the massive generators.

Sonya, the cable is hung up again. See if you can kick it loose, Roger asked.

Ok, just a minute, she replied.

She stopped to look down the broad corridor they were working in. There were bright maintenance lights on tripods every twenty feet and miles of electric power cords. She turned her attention to the recalcitrant cable. She gave it a good, hard kick.

Ok, try it now, she said.

Roger gave it a tug. That’s it. Gimme a hand so we can get the cable to those guys on the inside. Do you wanna go topside and grab a bite to eat when we’re done?

Ok, by me. She pulled her gloves tight and grabbed the cable.

Peter looked at the blueprints spread out on the drafting table with a frown. The dimensions just didn’t jive.

That looks way too small. You’re going to have a hard time getting everything in there.

The engineer nodded. We agree. The parking garage for all of our personal vehicles will need to be larger than when we first drew up the plans. We’ll have to make it at the same depth as Beehive Level 3. There will be a set of steel doors in the front and a tunnel from the Main Area. We’ll cover the outside doors with dirt to hide their location. There will be no need for heat in the garage since we are mothballing all of the vehicles. Additionally, we have disposed of older model cars or those of questionable value.

Peter said, I think you’re on track now. More importantly, let’s make sure the Beehive is ready for occupancy first. Our cars and trucks can wait for last.

After the engineer exited the office, Peter turned his attention to Mack. He thrust out his hand and asked, How ya been doing, Mack? Long time no see.

Mack looked much older and heavier than the last time Peter had seen him. His wife had long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and was dressed modestly but fashionably. She looked to be in her late 20’s or early 30’s.

I’m doing okay. Mr. Prescott, this is is my wife Christine. I’ve told her about the time you and I spent in Southeast Asia.

Mack continued, I won’t beat about the bush. Some of our old battalion is working for you. They called and told me the balloon is about to go up. They said you were building an underground complex that will survive the holocaust. They also said that you are putting together a mechanized paramilitary unit. We would like to be a part of it if you will have us. Christine spent six years in an Air Force security police squadron. She’s qualified on an M-16 or an M-6O machine gun. Her specialty was combat interrogation. She’s been working at IBM since she got out.

Of course! I’d be glad to have both of you. I’m still putting my crew together. If you think you still have what it takes, I would like to have you as my driver. Whadda you say?

Mack’s face lit up. It was the first time he had smiled in a very long time. Yes sir! I would love that. But what about Christine?

Peter looked at Christine. "Don’t worry. I’ve got a special position on my crew that I think she would be perfect for. Where are you two staying?

We checked out of our motel room this morning. It was down in Alexandria. Everything up here is filled with your people. Peter nodded. There’s nothing available. I’ve got multiple families living in the same house. A few went so far as to buy a house knowing they won’t need it long. As you probably noticed, we’ve got a lot of folks camping out here on site. You might check to see if anyone has got room in their house. If not, there’s a semi-trailer down at the end of the parking lot with Georgia plates. You’ll find some brand-new tents, sleeping bags, and cots. Take what you need. We’ve got a kitchen that serves all of our meals. It is in that old mobile home. They do a really good job. We have some communal showers, men on one side, women on the other.

Now then, what kind of construction skills do you two have?

I’ve done some cabinetry, Mack replied.

Good. We’ve got gobs of work for someone with your skills. What about you, Christine?

Not much, I’m afraid, Christine answered.

That’s OK. We’ll find you something.

The office shook and trembled as a massive D-9 Caterpillar bulldozer rolled by. The roar from the exhaust slowly faded as it rumbled across the construction site. The phone on Peter’s desk rang.

Yeah, Joe.

OK, tell them to park in the usual spot.

Peter looked up at Mack and Christine with a smile. Want to see something pretty? Let’s step out front.

The three walked out the door and stood under the gaily striped canvas awning. A cloud briefly covered the bright sun overhead. A gust of wind kicked up a cloud of the ever-present dust. The hot Louisiana sun returned and shone down like a spotlight announcing the main act. A