Hybrid: Forced Vengeance

By Greg Ballan

Human/Esper detective Erik Knight has kept his bargain with the US government by functioning as an undercover operative and CIA Cooler for more than two years. But while away on assignment, Erik's life is shattered when he finds out his wife has been killed in a car accident. After attending her funeral, Erik can still feel a subtle trace of his beloved in his mind even as he throws himself back into his work to cope with her death. When the daughter of the French president begins getting death threats, Knight is assigned to protect her. After he foils two attempts on her life, he discovers that the radical group accused of the act is not involved. Joining forces with the group's leader, Knight discovers that the plot originated from inside his own government — and that the connection between the assassination attempts and his wife's death goes beyond anything he's ever faced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Lee Summers
• Release date: Feb 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005417079

Greg Ballan

Greg Ballan is a graduate of Northeastern University holding bachelor’s degrees in Marketing and Management. Greg enjoys several outdoor activities such as hiking, archery and shooting. Greg was an avid MMA fighter but realized after fifty, getting punched hurts ... a lot! He discovered the safer hobby, learning the acoustic guitar. When he’s not working his full-time job as a financial analyst or exploring some unknown woodlands, he’s crunched over his laptop putting his warped imagination into words or penning a column about the outdoors or his latest misadventure avoiding house and yard work.

Book preview

Hybrid :

Forced Vengeance

Greg Ballan

Hybrid: Forced Vengeance

Hadrosaur Productions

Second Edition: February 2022

First date of publication: November 2011

hadrosaur.com

Copyright © 2011 Greg Ballan

Cover Copyright © 2021 Laura Givens

Hadrosaur Productions

P.O. Box 2194

Mesilla Park, NM 88047-2194

www.hadrosaur.com

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Hadrosaur Productions, is an infringement of copyright law.

Hadrosaur Productions and Hadrosaur Productions Logo are trademarks of Hadrsoaur Productions.

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

To my son, Thomas, this book would never have come to be without your encouragement and honest critique. You're the best friend a writer could have.

Prologue

Final Report Summary

Hopedale Mountain Incident

Major Art Bartholomew Ross

Captain William Anderson

Detective Erik James Knight

Civilian Interviews

Summary by Phil Penn, agent #233-A2k1

After careful interview and interrogation of all surviving military personnel and civilian witnesses, it is the conclusion of this reporting board that what occurred at the Hopedale Mountain was, in fact, a result of alien constructs. The existence of Detective Erik Knight and his inhuman abilities serve to verify the claims of both military and civilian witnesses. The photographs seized from several media outlets have been carefully examined and are 99.9978% validated by our digital spectrographic enhancements. Power measurements obtained from on-site military equipment lend extensive credibility to the statements received by this department from civilian witnesses. The information gathered pertaining to the history behind this conflict was obtained from Erik Knight during an interrogation shortly after the incident occurred.

The two large constructs responsible for the child abductions and military deaths in Hopedale were the product of alien genetic engineering. Designed as soldiers with limited independent action, they were programmed to respond to a limited number of stimuli, one of which is the need for survival. These creatures feed on emotional energy, especially the stronger energies generated from hate and fear, the emotions most prevalent in a combat situation. In order to assure their survival once reanimated, they sought out the strongest sources of these emotions: Children. As to how these creatures were able to ascertain such insight and knowledge is unknown to us. Erik Knight could only speculate that perhaps these creatures had fed on primitive humans centuries earlier if no other food sources were available.

The race responsible for these creatures called themselves the Seelak – a warrior race with a code of behavior similar to the Spartans of Ancient Greece. From what little we were able to glean from the detective, these beings were somewhat larger than a human and charcoal gray in appearance – a technologically advanced species far above our current levels of scientific advancement. It was their wish to eliminate the human species and repopulate this planet with their kind.

In direct contrast to the Seelak, their antagonists, the Espers, were mankind's saviors. The Espers were a peace-loving people dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge for practical and beneficial purposes. If the Seelak were Spartans, then the Espers would be the Athenians. Silver in appearance with very long and slender bodies, their telepathic and empathic capabilities were staggering and their knowledge beyond the imagination. During their war with the Seelak, the Espers created a breed of soldier suited for martial purposes. Beyond compare, the Esper warriors were a marvel of genetic engineering with physical strength and abilities of superheroes. Even more staggering, these warriors had a bond with their planet's life force and the ability to manipulate their world's matter by sheer force. The Esper warrior stands almost seven feet tall with flesh that resembles the brightest chrome. The vacant burning blue fire of their eyes sends a shiver down the spine even when looking at them in photographs. The creature's flesh looks like liquid armor and appears to conduct bioelectrical and static electrical energies. At the time of this report, no tests of the detective's alternative persona have been conducted.

Erik Knight did reveal that the Seelak started the conflagration with the slaughter of an entire Esper research community on one of their planet's moons. The Esper responded with lethal and deadly force. The ensuing war decimated both sides and destroyed their planet. As to how two diverse species shared a world and developed such different cultures is a matter for extra-terrestrial historians; we will never have these answers. How they managed to put aside their conflict and move their remaining populations here is another technological marvel that we'll never be able to isolate or understand.

The Esper and Seelak fought their war on this planet to its conclusion. After several small skirmishes, the Seelak launched a major offensive utilizing their latest genetic constructs. The Esper warriors were able to defeat the army but the ensuing conflagration depopulated both sides to just double-digit numbers. The victorious Espers sealed the remaining Seelak in the empty husk of their huge ship along with the last pair of genetically created soldiers. Only the Seelak soldiers had any real control over the beasts, and they all lay dead on the battlefield. The Seelak survivors were entombed along with their creations.

The survivors of the war served as nourishment for the creatures as long as they lived. The Espers believed the creatures would then die from starvation. This seems a drastic and barbaric form of retribution, but it must be noted that the Seelak's intent was to wipe our entire species from the face of the Earth. How the Esper realized that the creatures wouldn't die and how they knew they would eventually be freed are mysteries we will never know. Erik Knight was very vague in this area.

The Espers created a genetic virus to implant in several compatible human hosts that would alter the host giving them the capability of combating the creatures upon their release. Again, how the timing had been predicted or how the virus worked or selected their hosts is information that we don't have and the increasingly evasive detective has chosen not to share at this point.

We know that the craft that carried both species here is buried under the Hopedale Mountain. A mineralogical survey team detected the metals in the alien hull and began digging a mining tunnel to extract what they believed was a vast wealth of minerals and exotic metals. The miners inadvertently broke into the ship, which was serving as a tomb for the last two hibernating creatures who awoke, then slaughtered the miners. They began their attacks on the Hopedale community.

Two attempts were made to survey the area and another to tunnel back down to the ship; each time Erik Knight, in the guise of the Esper warrior thwarted the expedition. The routed tunneling party informed us the area in question is geologically unstable – unfit for any type of mining or tunneling. We can only assume the repeated missile and rocket impacts in that area are the cause. At this time, it's apparent the alien ship is out of our reach.

Major Ross and Captain Anderson witnessed the destructive power the detective now possesses. The battle he waged against the two Seelak creations must have been fantastic to see, based on the still photographs and the energy emissions that were picked up by various pieces of recording equipment. It is in the interest of both the scientific and the government communities that this knowledge be acquired and utilized. Major Ross has insisted this hybrid human is a potential threat and needs to be neutralized. This organization believes that the means of doing so do not yet exist.

Although we gained valuable information from the debriefing of the detective, Erik Knight, this agency believes more vital information and data are being withheld. At this point, the government is in no position to take any action to force the detective to cooperate further. What we know is summarized below.

● Erik Knight (Referred to as the hybrid) is an Esper hybrid humanoid with untapped power potential.

● His fiancé, Shanda Kerwin, also contains a variant strain of Esper DNA.

● It has been determined by analysis that the silver weapon the hybrid carries only responds to the mental commands of Erik Knight.

● This weapon can assume various shapes and sizes and its potential is unknown.

● The hybrid can sense danger and negative emotion.

● Other humans may have limited Esper abilities from the genetic infection.

● The hybrid has accepted a field commission with a Boston Law firm that does legwork for the CIA.

It is the judgment of the Central Intelligence Agency that the hybrid be studied and utilized as best suits the government's needs. All attempts to coerce the hybrid into further medical examinations or interrogations should cease. More can be safely learned through passive observation than through questioning; it is deemed prudent to avoid another active aggressive display of his powers which damaged the interrogation room – resulting in over $125,000 in damage to the facility and observation equipment. The best course of action is to observe and annotate through each given assignment. It suits the government's best interest to have the hybrid on our side – for now.

Chapter 1

It was an ambush!

The intruder ran a desperate zigzag pattern through the darkness as bullets rocketed over, in front of, and behind his fleeing silhouette. Enhanced hearing detected the whine of rotating concave mirrors and micro oscillating motors from multiple starlight night scopes and infrared lenses. Angry reports of multiple machine guns and assault rifles unleashed wave upon wave of hot lead and glowing phosphorous tracers as the muzzle plumes from each weapon illuminated the darkness with tongues of rose-colored flame. He leapt an impossible thirty feet, crashing through a thin sheet metal wall. The dark form cartwheeled three times, avoiding a persistent line of machine gun fire that followed him through the opening. He spotted a nearby packing crate and leapt toward the much-needed cover.

Son of a bitch! He crouched behind the impromptu cover. They knew I was coming.

The lone specter paused to stare at the gaping tear in his black combat pants. He hadn't been quick enough, but the wound had already sealed and scarred over. A normal man would have been crippled. The intruder didn't have time to reflect on his situation as another line of bullets passed over his head from higher up in the building. He reached inside the black leather duster and freed two combat pistols while peering into the upper catwalks. Four distinct voices speaking Arabic echoed fifty feet above him. He didn't understand much of the language but recognized the words 'find', 'kill,' and 'American.'

It was time to level the playing field. The intruder's eyes began to glow, becoming luminous balls of aqua blue radiance. His bio-organic night vision far surpassed that of primitive human technology. With a well-rehearsed gesture, the man covered his eyes with dark protective goggles, shielding their glow from his attackers. He scanned the catwalks, the barrels of his pistols following two targets while simultaneously tracking the other two marks. Sweet dreams, he whispered tapping the triggers of each weapon. Both Wilson Super .45s barked twice, illuminating the darkness with mauve plumes of fire.

Each target jerked as two rounds violated their flesh. One form fell over the shallow railing, screaming in agony as his body fractured a nearby crate, covering the tattered wooden fragments and contents with blood and sinew.

The dark silence was shattered as the two remaining Arabs fired random volleys into the lower level. The intruder leapt twenty feet onto the nearest catwalk; though his landing was light, the metal structure squealed as rusted bolts and beams swayed slightly under his weight. He sensed the enemy's weapons discharge and spun his body ninety degrees. As he moved, the droning whine of several bullets traveled through the space his head had occupied only a heartbeat earlier. He raised his weapons again, locking onto the heat signatures of the last two targets. With another quick tap, two more metal-jacketed, lead messengers of mortality claimed their victims.

* * * *

In here! a voice shouted.

The intruder glanced down at the opening he'd made earlier. A stream of armed men poured into what he now determined to be a warehouse. He turned his weapons toward the newcomers and fired. Round after round spit from each muzzle, finding their marks on the unfortunate victims. He paused, expelled exhausted clips and reloaded. This gap in his assault gave the Arabs the time they needed to regroup and counter attack.

Six assault rifles sprayed bullets over the entire warehouse punching hundreds of holes in the thin sheet metal walls and damaging the weakened steel balconies and scaffolding. The sounds made by tortured, rusted metal stressed beyond its tolerances were the only noises heard by the combatants.

The intruder's platform began to tilt.

I need to move now, he whispered. No choice. Thought led to action as taut leg muscles exploded, carrying him fifteen feet up to another layer of walkways. The force of his kick off toppled the lower scaffolding, collapsing the entire level like a series of dominos. Steel clanged into the concrete floor and grated the intruder's nerves.

The Arabs advanced cautiously, peering through the kicked-up dust and debris with their night vision goggles, looking for a body.

The intruder's new perch placed him directly over the advancing group. He opened fire on the unsuspecting men, causing them to panic and flee. Two of the men managed to make a break for the opening; the other four were piled on each other in a growing pool of blood. He then dropped the thirty-plus feet onto the concrete floor and checked each still body for vital signs.

The fallen steel had crushed several crates. Their contents lay scattered throughout the warehouse floor. He walked over to the first crate and picked up a heavy rocket launcher. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and continued his inspection. The floor was littered with weapons: Hundreds of assault rifles, rocket launchers, rocket-propelled grenades and shoulder-fired missile systems.

Well, well, he mumbled, the motherload.

The man reached into his jacket, producing a handheld transceiver. This is Knight, confirmation code Alpha, Tango, Victor, Seven One Niner. I have confirmation that the Port of Salhan is a weapons depot.

Destroy it; destroy it all, a voice commanded.

Agent Erik Knight, CIA cooler, terminated the conversation and returned the transceiver to his pocket. He walked fifty paces away from the warehouse, opening the rocket tube in hand as he went. He then spun around and pointed the weapon at the hole he'd made during the firefight. He took aim and pressed the launcher's trigger. The rocket leapt from the tube and sped toward the warehouse. Erik smiled as the projectile flew through the gaping hole.

The explosion wasn't nearly as destructive as he'd anticipated. The detonation blew out several windows and ignited scattered bits of debris but it wasn't enough to level the structure and ensure that all the weapons stored inside had been destroyed. Reinforcements were likely due any minute. He had to act fast.

He retreated another hundred paces, hoping he'd given himself enough distance. He held both arms out and inhaled deeply, focusing his will on the static energy inhabiting the air around him. His forearms tensed and his fingers curled. As he increased his focus, two burning spheres of blue plasma – the size of softballs – materialized in each hand's open palm. He flung both his arms forward and both burning embers launched faster than the human eye could follow.

Each plasma ball impacted the warehouse, disrupting the molecular structure of everything they contacted. Within seconds, the warehouse exploded, taking out the pier and several smaller storage facilities nearby. A reddish yellow fireball rose two hundred feet in the air as wood and sheet metal fragments rained down upon the eradicated warehouse facility.

Sirens pierced the darkness as Erik leapt over the ten-foot razor fence, disappearing into the Saudi Arabian night.

Agent Erik Night approached the US embassy, pausing several hundred meters away to observe the surrounding human traffic. He recognized several local spies. A listening depot lingered directly across the street.

The Arabs were so bold they didn't even bother to hide their surveillance anymore. As he neared the embassy, a wave of nausea tore through his body. His mind shrieked a powerful warning, nearly causing him to collapse. Erik paused; to his horror, his telepathic link with his wife ceased.

Shanda! he called to his wife in a whisper. Erik ran the last few meters to the embassy, horribly frightened. His mind reached out desperately searching for her, but only a dark void remained. As he approached the embassy guard, his transceiver beeped.

He stared at his radio, tears already streaming down his face because he knew what he was about to hear.

Knight, he whispered hoarsely into the radio.

Erik, it's Martin, the voice began in a solemn, doom-filled tone. I'm sorry to tell you like this, but … there's been an accident.

Chapter 2

Gestation Day 11

And they buried the dead

Erik Knight stood alone among the crowd, barely hearing or comprehending the words the pastor spoke. His aqua blue eyes burned with tears as they locked upon the metallic coffin suspended above the freshly dug earth. He kept hoping he'd wake up from this nightmare, but the ordeal was real. Shanda was gone and he could do nothing but endure the black emptiness of their shattered telepathic bond. His ex-wife wailed as the service concluded; he was barely conscious of the hand that held his own. He gently placed a single long-stemmed red rose upon the coffin. He knelt, scooped up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over the casket.

Good bye, baby. I'll always love you. His whispers were followed by waves of despair which overwhelmed his body. He looked up toward the gray October sky. Watch over her, please?

He turned and walked away, letting go of the hand that had held his so tightly.

He climbed toward a ridge that overlooked the entire cemetery and remembered the last time he had been up here, a little over two years ago, saying good-bye to his best friend. The episode had been painful, but nothing compared to the loneliness, the vast emptiness consuming his entire being.

We were supposed to have longer than this, angel, he whispered, as if addressing his wife's spirit. What am I supposed to do now? He sat down on the cool soil, buried his face in his hands and wept, grieving for his lover, his wife – the woman who had meant more to him than his own life.

* * * *

Dad? a soft voice whispered.

The gentle touch of his daughter's hand upon his shoulder made him look up.

Dad, it's time to leave.

Erik noted his friends, Margaret, Jeff and Alissa in the background. The concern and sympathy they all felt were etched clearly in young Brianna Knight's eyes. The promise of beauty from her childhood now stood fulfilled in the young teenager standing over him.

Okay, munchkin, he whispered hoarsely.

Brianna offered him her hand as he stood up. Erik took it, stumbling along the narrow path like a feeble old man as she guided him along the cemetery's ridge. Jeff placed an arm around his friend's shoulder as they walked away from the burial site and approached the long black limousine.

Why, Jeff? he whispered to his friend as they climbed in. Why did it have to be her?

I don't know, Erik. These things rarely, if ever, make any sense. I know that's no comfort. Just remember that what you two shared, most people never find, even through marriage. Keep her love alive inside you and a part of her will always be there.

* * * *

The limousine pulled into the Barker Funeral Home driveway. Erik stepped out of the car and walked toward his black Monte Carlo SS, followed closely by his ex-wife.

Will you come by the house tonight? Margaret asked hopefully.

Thanks, but I just want some time alone. Besides, I don't think Richard would appreciate my presence there. There's still too much bad blood between us, he answered evasively.

You really shouldn't be alone. What happened between you and Richard isn't important right now. I'm sure he'd agree that hostilities between the two of you should be suspended. Besides, your daughter would feel better if she could spend some time with you.

Erik gave Margaret a forced smile. She would bully him until he gave in. And he didn't really want to be alone; the thought of returning to their apartment behind Madame's Restaurant was daunting. The space held too many memories, and he wasn't ready to face that emptiness just yet.

All right, I'll be there in about two hours.

I'll be waiting. She gave him a brief hug.

* * * *

Margaret watched as the modified black coupe sped away from the funeral home. How could her ex-husband endure another shattered relationship?

I'm worried about dad, Brianna provided. They were the picture-perfect couple. I don't know if he'll bounce back from this loss.

Margaret put a comforting arm around her daughter who seemed to share the same somber thought.

Hon, your dad is the strongest man I've ever known. His strength isn't just physical; he also has a deep, powerful spirit. It may take a great deal of time but your dad will be okay. She smiled and sighed heavily. He'll need lots of help from all of us. These first few weeks are going to be hell.

Brianna sighed. Shanda was the perfect match for him. I've never seen him happier than when they were together. I really liked her a lot.

Margaret nodded her head slightly. I did too sweetheart; we all did. Both mother and daughter entered their waiting limousine and headed home.

* * * *

Erik parked his car in the back lot of Madame's Restaurant and entered the apartment he'd shared with Shanda for the past two years.

They had planned on purchasing a home within the next year, and starting a family. Erik looked sadly at the scattered baby magazines that littered the coffee table in the living room. More than anything else, Shanda had wanted to be a mother. Erik stared at their wedding picture prominently displayed on the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

Emptiness, he muttered. All I have left is this empty apartment and a hole in my mind where your presence used to be. He took the picture of his wife from the wall. I would have killed the driver of the truck that hit you, but, he died in the hospital a few days ago. I'll leave the thrashing for you if he makes it up there.

Erik pulled the picture to his chest before replacing it on the wall. He wasn't ready to be here, by himself, with all their memories. Gathering his keys, he headed out to his office. He was tired, the kind of tired one gets from enduring too much grief and misery. He wanted to escape his pain through sleep and stop the hurt – if only for a few hours.

Erik unlocked the heavy door, entered his office and flopped on the couch. The noise of customers in Madame's dining area came through despite the soundproofing he had installed. Since his mutation, his senses were ultra-sharp and even the slightest noise was as clear as a voice in the same room. He could filter the sounds if he concentrated hard enough, but right now, he was unable to marshal a single spark of will power.

He lay on the couch and allowed the blackness to overcome him, welcoming the temporary reprieve that this oblivion would grant him. It had been only four days since he'd lost Shanda, the four longest days of his life. There was nothing he could do, no latent Esper power he could call upon to bring her back and that feeling of helplessness ate at the pit of his soul.

* * * *

Colonel Ross sat at the head of the mahogany briefing table in his new oversized office surrounded by his executive staff. Lt. Colonel Anderson sat at his right, supervising a briefing, assembled by a young second lieutenant fresh out of officer school.

Ross had been given this new assignment, and the fast-track promotion, not because of any great success in his already stellar military career, but because of his one failure that cost the lives of fifty soldiers. That single mistake would remain a blemish on an otherwise flawless record.

When Ross received his orders, he insisted that his current second be transferred as well. Anderson jumped at the opportunity and readily accepted the sudden promotion and the new challenge.

Anderson looked over at his commander and nodded. Ross cleared his throat and the twelve men seated at the table focused their attention on the large viewing screen.

Lights. Ross barked the order. The room went dark and fell silent as pictures of multiple headstones flashed upon the screen, each engraved with the names of young men who had died in service to their country.

Four months, gentlemen, Ross grumbled. Four months of back-to-back funerals, wakes and honor guard ceremonies. Fifty good men buried because of some long-forgotten incident. An event we've managed to keep from the headlines and television screens of an ignorant populace. The colonel's voice rose in intensity. I was there as the death calls came in for each group, and I personally saw that each family was notified and each soldier was buried with honors, but that's not enough. Ross stood, pacing back and forth, agitated.

We still have a wild card out there, a joker in our deck, a fly in the ointment, a pain in my ass that needs soothing, gentlemen – a threat to our national security – in mine and other military opinions. Ross lowered his voice to a deadly baritone. The powers that be decided now is the time to remove the fly, or at least put it in check. Ross glanced toward Anderson. Next set of pictures, he ordered.

A young man in jeans and a white T-shirt appeared on the screen. He had long jet-black hair and an athletic build. Despite the smile on his face, something deep in those eyes was foreboding and mysterious. The woman standing next to him was a drastic contrast to the clean-cut, intense-looking man.

She wore leather pants and a wild leopard-print vest. Purple and pink-dyed hair framed a face that was attractive despite Gothic black makeup. The look she gave the man was equal in intensity, yet seemed lighter, more joyful. It was obvious the two were deeply in love.

The man in this picture is Erik Knight, Ross stated. He pressed the remote, saying, He has to be removed immediately. Here's why….

The next slide depicted a massive silver-skinned being nearly seven-feet tall impaling another equally large dark humanoid with a silver-edged weapon.

This is also Erik Knight, or what Erik Knight is capable of becoming. Ross paused to allow the men to gasp and mumble their disbelief. He allowed ten seconds of disorder before he smacked the table with his fist, silencing the room again.

If you find that hard to believe, you'll love the next few slides.

Each new slide showed the silver being engaged in combat with the black-armored humanoid as well as a massive winged feline creature straight from a childhood nightmare. Ross remained silent as combat slides advanced.

The dull fluorescent lighting came back on. What in the hell were those things? a major inquired.

Soldiers, Anderson replied handing out mission briefs to each man at the table. "The last of a breed of genetically created soldiers designed to fight in a war while we still inhabited Europe – before the Bronze Age, when white men were fighting with sticks and stones and the native peoples were primitive tribes that had free run of this country.

The information we gathered was taken from a company involved in an illegal mining operation. One of our corporate snoops snatched that nugget of intelligence earlier this year. We, of course, can't do anything to the company since we've buried the entire story and all the evidence that would've incriminated said company has been blown to kingdom come. We make a big stink, and this whole thing opens up again. All relevant information pertaining to this project is in your briefing package. I strongly suggest that you read it and memorize every detail.

Everything's there but 'why' he needs to be neutralized I suspect. A voice challenged the colonel's authority.

The voice belonged to Overland Security Agency specialist Michael Sparks, Washington's clean-up agent in charge of the Hopedale cover up. The OSA and the NSI went to a great deal of trouble to bury the Hopedale incident. Erik Knight is not a threat. In the two years since that battle, the silver warrior has made only one appearance that we've discovered. It paid a visit to the young girl who was initially abducted by those two monstrosities, one of the children he rescued from that mine, truly the act of a dangerous being. Sparks added his last words with venom.

I appreciate the OSA's interest in this project, but you're better suited for espionage than assessing potential military threats or opportunities. Ross paused. Knight represents a wealth of untapped information and potential. If he shared the knowledge of those aliens with us, we could advance our weaponry and scientific technology hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. The medical breakthroughs in genetics research alone are mind-boggling. But he won’t. Ross pounded his fist against the table, doing his best to control his short temper.

Agreed, there would be benefits, Sparks nodded curtly. But you fail to acknowledge the obvious: Knight works for our side, through Martin Denton and his monolithic law firm. The company of Denton, Marques and Priscoli is the largest source of American intelligence and international counter-espionage in the United States! The OSA spook glanced around the table. Not only that, but Erik Knight has been pivotal in resolving several large government headaches regarding foreign agents and terrorist cells in, and outside this country. How do you expect to get the authorization to neutralize him when it's in the best interest of the government to keep him where he is, doing what he's doing?

Ross shot the operative a look of contempt, controlling his annoyance at being challenged in front of subordinate officers. I'm not sure we could neutralize Knight, even if that was this project's objective. There's another means of getting what we need. I just want him occupied for the next several months while our team implements our plan and develops our project. I want Knight sent out of the country, as far away as possible, kept as busy as possible for as long as possible. He pointed his right index finger at Sparks' chest. Send him on some deep op in South America, or send him back to hassle the Saudis, but just keep him out of the States.

I'll need to know why. Sparks paused then went on to explain his reasoning. "I have to make up some cover story for Denton. The consulting deal they have with Knight is on a short-term basis. Several months is a long time to keep somebody in Knight's particular line of work out of the country doing intelligence operations.

Even somebody as good as Erik Knight could have his cover blown after such a long period of exposure outside the country. You're asking me to put a special agent of the United States Central Intelligence Agency in unreasonable jeopardy just to have him out of your hair for God knows what.

We both know Mr. Knight is more than able to defend himself. You've seen the photographs yourself, Ross replied, tossing over one particular picture. The picture showed the large silver warrior tossing a two-ton Humvee as if it were a Nerf ball.

Sparks looked at the picture and looked back up at the colonel. "Granted our friend can take care of himself, but you're still ducking my question like a seasoned politician … and the question is why?"

Ross glanced over at his second and nodded. Lt. Colonel Anderson terminated the meeting with a curt Dismissed. The executive officers gathered their briefing materials and quickly departed, leaving the two men behind.

Ross strode toward a large wall safe, methodically punched in a series of digits and opened the heavy metallic door. The colonel took out a bright red folder with bold, black lettering.

OPERATION HOMEGROWN

BLACK PROJECT: ALIEN GENETIC SPLICING

Ross walked back to the table and tossed the file in front of Sparks. I know you're cleared, but I still must remind you what you see in that folder – no matter what you may think of it – remains in this office. If you leak any of this, your life won't be worth shit.

Oh, please. Sparks smirked. Spare me the military melodramatics. I took the same oath you did.

Sparks opened the file and began reading the documentation. As he read further the color drained from his face. The intelligence operative's hands shook as he flipped the first page over then hesitantly scanned a second page. His face contorted as he studied the large photograph again.

No! He glanced at Ross, furious. You can't be serious about this. This isn't science, Colonel Ross; it's butchery. Do you realize … comprehend the risks and ramifications you're undertaking by even attempting this?

That's not your concern. You are to keep Knight out of the country and oblivious until the project can be developed.

Sparks glanced over at the pictures of Erik Knight on the table, both facades of the man: Human and Esper. Then he wondered aloud. What if he finds out? What will you do then? he pressed. The reports from the Hopedale incident claimed that those creatures were nearly invulnerable to weapons fire. How are you going to deal with a raging, unstoppable and unbeatable one-man army?

We won't have to, Ross answered calmly. You'll see to that won't you, Mr. Sparks? It was time to cut through the bullshit. Your instructions in this matter are quite clear: Get Knight the hell out of the country! We'll handle the rest without your help. The colonel headed toward his adjoining office and opened the door, indicating Sparks was dismissed. Good day, Mr. Sparks. I expect to be notified when your task is complete.

* * * *

Sparks was beaten. Ross had somehow finagled clearance for this black project. Sparks swore that before Erik Knight left the country, he would know how Ross accomplished that feat. That knowledge would be an ace up his sleeve. He knew if Erik Knight ever discovered what was going on, the rogue operative would kill everyone involved. Someone over Ross was giving the orders and pulling the strings. A two or three star general level someone, perhaps? The type of black ops contained within the brief he'd read were the province of poor science fiction movies where the government was motivated by evil.

Michael Sparks smiled as he walked to his car. The writers of those B-Grade movies had no idea how close to the truth they actually were. Somehow, deep down, that fact bothered him. In his mind, he traveled back to his first year or two with the OSA, remembering how enthusiastic he had been about serving his country. After three short years, he became skeptical and disillusioned about how things really operated inside the Washington beltway. After thirty-five years with the OSA, he felt as if he no longer had a soul. Individual rights meant nothing; immoral and unethical conduct could be justified as easily as blowing his nose.

Sparks headed back to his office. Several calls had to be made and informants shaken down. Somebody high up in the food chain was pulling Ross's strings. He would find out who – and more importantly, why.

Chapter 3

Gestation Day 13

A long time jailed

Staff Sergeant Phelps served for nearly eleven years in the Air Force at the Groom Lake facility and he still could not get used to the idea of working on extraterrestrial projects. A science fiction fan, he knew every episode of Star Trek by heart, but even after seven years of black ops at Area 51, he never got used to the fact: 'We are not alone.'

The phrase was proven daily in his latest assignment; care and comfort of Specimen 4 – the only remaining survivor from the military's first successful attempt to down an unidentified flying object using a Sentinel Battle Satellite prototype.

The Sentinel Battle Satellite was the product of billions of dollars of black ops funding