TM: A Mind-Expanding Mystery Adventure

By H. D. Rogers

The Guardian Orbital Defense System, a network of 104 satellites shielding the U.S. from missile attacks and establishing American hegemony in orbital space, will soon be fully operational. From its inception, mystery and controversy have surrounded the system, known as GODS. Dr. Harold Symes, the scientist who designed the system's artificial i

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. D. Rogers
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989230440

H. D. Rogers

H. D. Rogers, a retired medical attorney and former computer systems engineer, has combined the mystery and thriller genres to create a thought-provoking novel that explores the boundaries of science and technology. His novel, TM, populated with interesting characters, also explores the political and philosophical issues surrounding the anticipated development of artificial general intelligence and its potential to evolve into artificial superintelligence. Dealing with the very real threat of proliferation of nuclear weapons among rogue political regimes, TM offers a potential future solution. It also introduces a character, Mac Slade, who comes about as close as humanly possible to being a realistic "superhero." TM is a wild ride and a thought-provoking read.

Book preview

About the Author

H. D. Rogers, a retired medical attorney and former computer systems engineer, has combined the mystery and thriller genres to create a thought-provoking novel that explores the boundaries of science and technology. His novel, TM, populated with interesting characters, also explores the political and philosophical issues surrounding the anticipated development of artificial general intelligence and its potential to evolve into artificial superintelligence. Dealing with the very real threat of proliferation of nuclear weapons among rogue political regimes, TM offers a potential future solution. It also introduces a character, Mac Slade, who comes about as close as humanly possible to being a realistic superhero. TM is a wild ride and a thought-provoking read.

BOOKLIFE REVIEWS: This tech-thriller epic, Rogers’ debut, blends firefight action, a grabber of a mystery, international political intrigue, and an AI-driven U.S. missile defense program called the Guardian Orbital Defense System—read it as an acronym for a hint as to why it strikes so many as ominous. . . . Missile defense, AI, and international intrigue and action power this epic tech thriller.

KIRKUS REVIEWS: This is an entertaining book, and at 500-plus pages, the reader certainly gets their money’s worth. . . .A political/SF thriller that stands above most in a crowded genre.

THE US REVIEW OF BOOKS: A space-age military defense system used surreptitiously to defeat terrorist attacks on the ground creates extreme political controversy in this high-concept thriller. . . .Overall, this is a good summer read that would translate well to the big screen.

PACIFIC BOOK REVIEW: Adrenaline-fueled, entertaining, and thoughtful in its approach, author H.D. Rogers’s TM: A Mind-expanding Mystery Adventure is a must-read action thriller of 2022. The way the author was able to develop and build this vast world and create a tension-filled investigation that spans the globe – and beyond – was incredibly engaging, and the twists and turns the story takes will have readers on the edge of their seats as the final revelations play out. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!

TM

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by H. D. Rogers. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN:

979-8-9892304-3-3 (paperback)

979-8-9892304-4-0 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

The greatest threats to civilization

are ideologies and religions that justify

and encourage their proliferation through aggression.

—Stanley Aaron Jacobson, PhD

Prologue

Historical Antecedents

In 1983, US President Ronald Regan announced the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), nicknamed the Star Wars program, to develop a groun H. D. Rogers d-and space-based shield against nuclear intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs), presumably from the Soviet Union. During the following year, the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization was formed to oversee the research and development of antiballistic missile technology, including directed-energy weapons and computerized missile targeting and tracking systems. The Strategic Defense Initiative Organization requested a feasibility study by the American Physical Society to evaluate the technology available for effective directed-energy weapons. In its 1987 report of that study, the American Physical Society concluded that none of the existing directed-energy weapon systems had adequate energy output to effectively defend against ICBMs. Thereafter, the approach to missile defense shifted primarily to the development of ground-based interceptor missile systems, but none was ever demonstrated to be capable of shielding the United States against a large-scale ICBM attack.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the perceived need for a shield against a large-scale ICBM attack appeared greatly diminished. But the arms race continued, and by the early twenty-first century, the United States’ major adversaries, China and Russia, had developed hypersonic missiles that could fly and maneuver at speeds exceeding Mach 5, five times the speed of sound. Russia claimed its Avangard missiles, called hypersonic glide vehicles, could fly at Mach 27 and maneuver to evade existing missile defense systems. A federally funded study by the RAND Corporation concluded that the threat of a missile attack was further increased by the potential proliferation of hypersonic weapons to lesser powers that could use them to threaten major nations. Unfortunately, such lesser powers included rogue nations that sponsored terrorism, which increased the risk that terrorist groups would eventually acquire and use such weapons against the United States.

In the early twenty-first century, the US missile defense comprised ground-based interceptor missile systems and an early-warning system, the Space Based Infrared System (SBIRS) of the US Space Force. SBIRS utilized four geosynchronous satellites and two high elliptical orbit satellites to provide global coverage. But because hypersonic missiles could evade interceptor missiles, early warning from SBIRS would likely be ineffectual. Furthermore, the security of the SBIRS satellites was undermined by the space-based weapons, including killer satellites, of enemies of the United States. Recognizing the inadequacy of SBIRS, US President Arlen McDonald turned to the largest American military contractor, Fortrell Industries, to revive the SDI program and create an effective missile shield for the United States.

From its beginning, the new program, officially named the Guardian Orbital Defense System (GODS), faced strong opposition. Inside the United States, political opponents of President McDonald’s administration initially asserted that the cost of the system was too high. After construction of the system commenced, they vociferously proclaimed that the risks posed by GODS exceeded the security it would provide. Outside the United States, enemies denounced the program as an attempt to spy on them and to dominate the military high ground of orbital space, despite their own attempts to do so.

Nevertheless, six years after the program began, having overcome both political opposition and various setbacks, including the disappearance of the scientist who had designed the GODS artificial intelligence system, GODS was nearing completion. Soon GODS, the world’s most advanced and expensive network of military satellites, would become operational.

Chapter 1

Slade

In the eerie, early-morning darkness, six heavily armed men clad in military-grade body armor scrambled out of a sinister-looking, black, stealth helicopter onto the roof of a massive, three-story research facility outside Los Alamos, New Mexico. When the pilot pointed at one of the roof’s security cameras, the assault team leader shook his head and remarked, They’re offline; we have someone on the inside.

One of the team members quickly anchored a long polyester climbing rope to the helicopter’s landing gear and threw the other end over the side of the building. One by one the men hooked their rappelling devices to the rope and began quietly lowering themselves to the rear entrance of Laboratory Delta, one of four huge labs at the Fortrell Industries compound. A few minutes later, at exactly 3:00 a.m., the first-floor security guard, George Avery, who had disabled the facility’s security system, opened the heavy steel door to the rear entrance.

Having heard the muted thrumming of the stealth helicopter, the second-floor guard walked to the closest window and peered into the darkness, searching for the source of the noise. Seeing nothing, he turned and happened to glance at a hallway security camera. He immediately noticed that a red LED on the camera was no longer glowing. He quickly walked to the next hallway camera and saw its LED was also unlit. Then he ran to the security control center, where he found all the security monitors shut off. As he started to turn the security system back on, an assault team member came through the doorway and immediately shot him in the back of the head.

Murry Jameson, the third-floor security guard, had also heard the sound of the helicopter and phoned Avery, who said he would investigate. While waiting for a report from Avery, Jameson heard the gunshot on the floor below. He ran to a stairwell and decended hurriedly to the second floor. Peering through a small window in the second-floor stairwell door, Jameson observed three heavily armored men carrying automatic weapons. One appeared to be giving directions to the other two, who then turned and began walking in Jameson’s direction. Jameson, armed only with a pistol, knew he was no match for armored invaders with machine guns. Now fearing for his life, he hurriedly descended the stairwell to the first floor.

Cautiously exiting the stairwell, Jameson anxiously crept toward a hallway leading to the building’s rear entrance. As he neared the corner of that hallway, he overheard Avery talking to a man whose voice he didn’t recognize. Now there’s only one guard left, said Avery. He usually stays on the third floor.

The other man, who spoke English with an accent Jameson couldn’t place, responded angrily. The men on the third floor haven’t found him. You should have shot him before we got here.

Hey, I’m no killer. That’s not part of my deal.

Then call him on your cell phone and find out where he is.

Overhearing this, Jameson quickly switched his cell phone to vibrate and hurried to a nearby office. As his phone vibrated, he unlocked the office door, entered, and relocked the door. He answered the call, What’s up?

Where are you, man? I heard some noise on the second floor and need you to help me check it out.

Okay, let me finish taking a dump, and I’ll meet you by the second-floor elevators. Jameson quickly telephoned the Los Alamos Police and speed-dialed Fortrell Industries’ head of security, Mac Slade.

At a nearby condominium complex, the huge hand of a tall, powerfully-built man reflexively reached in the darkness for a ringing smartphone on a bedside table. Beside him under the bed covers slept an attractive, naked young woman. Despite being taller than average, she appeared small beside him. Quickly pressing an illuminated icon on the phone, he stopped its ringing before quietly walking to another room to answer the call.

Slade here, he answered. If this isn’t Mr. Fortrell, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up.

Mr. Slade, this is Murry Jameson at Laboratory Delta. We’ve been invaded by what looks like a heavily armed assault team. I think George Avery shut down the security system and let them in. They’ve got automatic weapons and body armor. I’ve got a Glock and two mags. I just phoned the Los Alamos cops. What do you want me to do now?

Despite his suddenly surging adrenaline level, Slade calmly replied, The lab is so isolated that it may take the cops an hour to get there. The basement has a corridor to the next lab. Can you get to the basement elevator?

Maybe, but I don’t have the basement elevator’s access code.

Stay on the phone and go to the basement elevator. When you get there, I’ll give you the access code.

Jameson opened the office door and stealthily moved down a hallway to an intersection with another hallway that led to the huge elevator servicing the lab’s three underground floors, the lowest of which was the basement. Only Slade and the Fortrell engineers and executives had the access code to this elevator.

When he got to the intersection, Jameson cautiously peered around the corner. Down that hallway, he saw Avery and four members of the assault team, one of whom had begun cutting through the steel elevator door with an oxyacetylene torch. Jameson immediately reported this information to Slade, who was already speeding there in his electric roadster.

Sensing the panic in Jameson’s voice, Slade directed, Find cover and wait for the cops. I’m on my way there. Slade, a former Delta Force operator with years of combat experience, had made a career of running toward danger while others ran away.

Mr. Slade, there are six of them—seven if you include George Avery. They have military-grade body armor and automatic weapons. You’re going to need help.

Just lay low, Murry. This’ll give me a chance to use the WBA.

The weaponized body armor? But it’s an untested prototype! replied the incredulous Jameson.

So I’ll test it tonight.

Holy shit! was Jameson’s only response as he scrambled to find a hiding place.

Fifteen minutes later, Slade pulled his roadster into the parking garage of nearby Laboratory Gamma, another massive, three-story building similar to Laboratory Delta, which was one hundred yards away from it. Slade jumped out and sprinted through a covered corridor connecting the garage to Laboratory Gamma.

A security guard greeted him at the lab’s entrance. It’s a little early to see you here, boss.

We’ve got a security breach at Laboratory Delta, Slade gravely replied, concern written across his chiseled features. It’s been invaded by a heavily armed assault team. You and the other guards aren’t equipped to confront them, and the cops have been called. Alert the other guards in Lab Gamma and tell them to position themselves to protect the entrances to this lab until the cops get here.

Slade then ran down a hallway to its junction with another hallway, turned, and ran down that hallway before arriving at a large, steel elevator door with an electronic lock. After punching in the six-digit access code, Slade stepped in, punched a button, and began descending to the bottom floor of a three-story, labyrinthine underground complex linking the two aboveground labs; it was larger than both of them together. When he reached the bottom floor, known as the basement, he began to traverse the broad corridor connecting Laboratory Gamma with Laboratory Delta.

Inside Laboratory Delta, an assault team member had cut through the locking mechanism of the inch-thick steel door of the elevator to the underground complex. Avery and four assault team members entered the elevator, and the team leader asked Avery, What floor do we want?

Bottom underground floor is what I heard.

As the elevator descended, the team leader took a two-way radio from his pocket and called one of his other two men. Conversing in Kazakh, he asked, Have you found the guard yet?

No, he’s either gotten out or found a good hiding place. What do you want us to do?

He’s probably already called the local police or corporate security. You and Oleg should set up at the front and rear exits to keep them out until we’re done here. If we have to, we can use the torch to cut through the third-floor roof to get to the helicopter.

When the elevator door opened on the bottom floor of Laboratory Delta, the assault team entered the corridor connecting the two labs. Immediately, they observed Slade as he entered a room midway down the corridor through a large, steel door with a biometric retinal scanner and an electronic keypad. Two members of the assault team raised their AK-19s and fired on full auto as Slade jumped through the open door and slapped a button on the wall inside to close it. As the inch-thick door closed, scores of 5.56-mm NATO rounds slammed into the doorway. One round ricocheted off the doorjamb and grazed Slade’s left hip.

One more scar for the collection, Slade reflected as he placed a hand on the blossoming wound.

The assault team reached the door, now pockmarked from machine gun fire, as it closed. Immediately, the assault team member with the oxyacetylene torch put on his welding helmet, lit the torch, and began cutting through the door’s lock mechanism.

Slade limped over to a switch plate on the wall and turned on the room’s overhead lights, illuminating a vast room the size of an indoor stadium. At the far end was a small-arms range, one of the test sites for some of the military-grade arms and body armor Fortrell Industries produced.

With his left hand pressing against his bloody hip wound, Slade limped to a concrete partition beside the small-arms range, rounded the partition, and entered an alcove where there was another large steel door. He placed his eye against the door’s retinal scanner, then turned to the keypad and quickly punched in the access code. When the door slid open, Slade limped inside the darkened chamber, where he would dress his wound and plan to defend the lab. To Mac Slade, the best defense was usually a well-planned counteroffensive.

In the corridor, after cutting through the electronic lock of the steel door, the assault team forced the door open and cautiously entered the cavernous underground room. Like seasoned military personnel, they spread out to cover the area. At Avery’s suggestion, they began to converge on the small-arms testing range.

When the assault team drew within forty meters of the small-arms range, a loud, deep voice called out from behind a partition beside the range. Listen up, shitheads. Drop your weapons, and I’ll let you live.

Immediately, the men dove to the floor except for Avery, who stood momentarily frozen by indecision. Out from behind the concrete partition stepped what appeared to be a tall astronaut in a tumescent, faceless, silver space suit. Six-barrel weapons that looked like truncated M61 Miniguns were mounted on the shoulders of the silver suit.

Avery, hearing the team leader shout for him to get down, dropped to the ground. He lay in a prone position and covered his ears as the assault team commenced automatic fire on the faceless, silver-suited apparition.

Four AK-19s on full auto, each firing over six hundred rounds per minute, filled the room with hellish, earsplitting noise and covered the silver suit with hundreds of deep indentations. But the indentations quickly disappeared as the surface of the silver suit seemed to flow like liquid mercury, while the bullets ricocheted in all directions. Avery, who wasn’t wearing body armor, was struck in the head by a ricochet, and one of the other men was struck in the face. But the other three continued firing at the torso and faceless head of the rippling silver suit.

Inside the silver suit, Slade stoically watched the men on a monitor screen connected to the suit’s external microcameras. Through the suit’s hidden speakers, he announced, Last chance, shit for brains. Put the weapons down and stand with your hands up.

Despite the warning, the firing continued as the attackers slapped fresh thirty-round magazines into their automatic weapons.

After the silver suit absorbed and deflected more rounds, Slade sighed and mumbled, No cure for terminal stupidity. He then instructed the suit’s microprocessor, Alpha mode, weapons on. Sweeping his eyes from left to right across the field of fire, Slade used his right index finger to depress a pressure switch under the right thumb of the silver suit. With lightning swiftness the twin rotary cannons of the silver suit swiveled, tilted, locked on targets, and swept from one attacker to another, firing explosive fragmentation rounds. The sound of machine-gun fire was completely drowned out by a prolonged series of thunderous explosions. The explosive projectiles literally blew apart the armored bodies of the attackers, filling the air with bloody mist, shredded body parts, and blood-soaked body armor.

God, what a mess! mumbled Slade, shaking his head as he viewed the carnage through the suit’s monitor. He instructed the silver suit’s central processor, Alpha mode off. Telephone on. Call Murry Jameson.

Murry, this is Slade.

What the hell happened down there? I could feel it up here.

Some intellectually challenged dirtbags committed suicide.

So the WBA was effective?

Yeah, answered Slade as he surveyed the carnage. But these guys won’t be organ donors. The cops will blow donut chunks when they see this. Any more bad guys up there?

I don’t know. I’m in a second-floor janitor’s closet.

Can you safely get to the security control center?

I’ll see, replied Jameson. He slowly slipped out from behind a large supply cabinet in the janitor’s closet. Peeking out the closet door, he said, I don’t see anyone on the second floor. I think I can get to the control center.

When you get there, turn the cameras on and let me know if you see any more bad guys. And keep the phone on so I can hear if you get ambushed.

After stealthily traversing the hallways leading to the control center, Jameson whispered, I made it inside. I’m turning on the cameras.

Seconds later, Jameson said, I see one of them at the front entrance and one at the rear entrance. And the exterior cameras show police outside both entrances.

Okay. Sit tight. I’m coming up.

You’re bringing the WBA?

Yeah. But I won’t be using its weapons. I don’t want to blow the place up.

Within minutes, the police outside Laboratory Delta heard heavy machine gun fire coming from inside the front entrance and then from the rear entrance.

After several more minutes, Slade, now in street clothes, opened the front entrance. He shouted out to the police, The firefight is over. I’m the chief of security. I’m unarmed, and I’m coming out with my hands up.

Inside the entrances, the two assault team members lay unconscious. One had been wounded by a ricochet from his own weapon.

Chapter 2

GODS

Ln Washington, DC, a distinguished-looking gentleman, sixty-three-year-old Charles Austin Fortrell, CEO of Fortrell Industries, was accompanied by two Secret Service agents as he entered a secret entrance on H Street into a tunnel that would take them to the White House basement.

Is the secrecy really necessary? Fortrell asked one of the agents.

President’s order, was the reply.

Several minutes later, inside the West Wing basement, Fortrell was escorted into the 5,525-square-foot Situation Room, also known as the John F. Kennedy Conference Room. At the end of the long conference table sat President Arlen McDonald, tall, gray haired, and still physically fit at age sixty-seven. Sitting to the president’s left was the bespectacled and scholarly looking Defense Secretary Roger Horowitz, and to his left was the wiry, white-haired General Isaac Atkins, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and chief of space operations. To the president’s right sat the stylishly dressed, fifty-two-year-old vice president, Susan Morales, and to her right sat Howard DeLuca, the aloof sixty-year-old director of national intelligence. The national security advisor, George McFarland, was absent due to illness.

President McDonald greeted Fortrell. Good to see you, Chuck. I’m glad you could meet with us today. Since we all know each other, I’ll dispense with formalities. Please have a seat next to Howard.

When Fortrell was seated, the president abruptly asked, What the hell happened at one of your labs yesterday?

Our security was breached by a heavily armed team of mercenaries, who were assisted by one of our guards. But we handled the problem.

Quite a few casualties, I understand.

Unfortunately, there was a firefight.

Who was behind it, and what were they after? asked Secretary Horowitz.

I can only offer conjecture at this point. The FBI has the two surviving mercenaries in custody. One got away in a helicopter, and the rest were killed. Hopefully, the FBI will get some answers from the mercenaries.

What’s your best guess as to who’s behind it? asked the president.

They were well equipped, well trained, and well financed. So I’m guessing China or Russia, but it could be a corporate competitor.

You think they were trying to steal our Guardian system technology? inquired the vice president.

If they were, they broke into the wrong lab. That was a small-arms and body-armor testing lab, not the aerospace lab. But they could have been after a new prototype combat system we call the WBA, weaponized body armor. Fortunately, one of our employees was able to use the WBA to defeat their assault.

So one employee single-handedly took out a heavily armed team of mercenaries? asked General Atkins. Your WBA must be a very effective combat system.

It may have limited combat utility, General, considering the amount of collateral damage that occurred. Seems everything around it was either blown apart by its weapons or hit by ricochets from its armor. But the armor itself was very effective. It employs some of the same microprocessors and nanomaterials that are utilized in the armor of the Guardian satellites.

Speaking of the new satellites, said the president, let’s get to the main reason we’re here. Chuck, are we on schedule to complete the Guardian Orbital Defense System while I’m still in office?

"As you know, Mr. President, the Guardian system will consist of four primary geosynchronous satellites positioned in a geometrical configuration to afford us with the most line-of-sight visibility in both hemispheres. To greatly increase the system’s ability to visualize, track, and respond to ballistic targets, the Guardian system’s antiballistic safety net includes an additional one hundred strategically placed geosynchronous satellites. In other words, we will be able to clearly see and respond to threats emanating from almost every area on earth. All but two of the one hundred four satellites are in orbit. The remaining two are the primary satellites for the southern hemisphere, which should be in orbit by the end of the year. The network in the northern hemisphere was completed first due to the higher probability of a ballistic or hypersonic missile attack emanating from the northern hemisphere.

"All of the satellites are equipped with radar, thermal imaging, and extremely high-resolution optics and are armed with our newest directed-energy weapons, which are neutral-charge, pulsed-emission, proton cannons. We’re currently testing the system’s inter-satellite coordination of tracking and targeting, which enables all the system’s satellites in the area of a missile barrage to simultaneously track and target all missiles in the barrage, whether land launched or space launched. In simulated northern hemisphere attacks, the inter-satellite tracking coordination system has been successful in simultaneously tracking and targeting all the jets in fighter squadrons and even all the birds in large flocks. But we won’t be able to accurately gauge the system’s effectiveness against a large missile barrage until we begin live-fire testing.

"We’ve thoroughly tested the Guardian system’s M-Code communication system to ensure that its transmissions are impervious to hacking, jamming, and decryption. Even our best people using our most powerful decryption software have failed to breach our transmissions to and from the Guardian system. Our most powerful jammers haven’t interfered with the transmissions, either. But we’re also monitoring the Chinese and Russian attempts to breach the security of our communications with the Guardian satellites. So far, they haven’t made a dent. But we’ll keep monitoring satellite transmissions for the rest of the year before we conclude that our satellites are safe from foreign interference.

But, Fortrell continued, the incident at our small-arms lab did expose a limitation of the system’s current programming.

Which is? queried the president, appearing apprehensive.

The Guardian system uses its radar, thermal imaging, and high-resolution optics to cover the whole planet. But the system cannot track everything. Its pattern-recognition targeting system was designed to identify and track potential threats, such as missile barrages and cruise missiles aimed at the United States from outside our borders. The system is designed to ignore commercial flights and other air traffic within the United States. So the system didn’t warn us of a threat when the helicopter carrying mercenaries flew over Fortrell Industries and landed on the roof of our lab. If you want the system to monitor conventional air traffic over specific geographic areas that are not routinely monitored by radar or NSA satellites, we’ll have to give new instructions to the system’s artificial intelligence. And we’ll need a list of target areas for such monitoring.

Can you accomplish that by the end of the year? asked the president.

I believe so.

I’ve heard the Guardian satellites are much larger than our other satellites, commented Vice President Morales. Why is that?

The satellites’ solar and nuclear power sources are quite large. The multi-tract circular accelerators of the proton cannons also have to be large to generate pulsed discharges capable of penetrating the warheads and engines of ballistic missiles. And the four primary satellites have to be even larger to accommodate the massive computers that are the source of the artificial intelligence that controls the system’s communications, target recognition, target tracking, inter-satellite coordination, and all the other functions necessary to create an effective missile shield.

You know, Chuck, said the president, the Guardian Orbital Defense System will be my legacy as president, the crowning jewel of my administration. Previous presidents have tried to create a comprehensive missile defense system, such as Reagan’s Star Wars or Strategic Defense Initiative, but none effectively accomplished it. In this age of hypersonic missiles, none of our antiballistic missiles, not even our fastest ABM, can accurately target and destroy an incoming hypersonic missile traveling at speeds up to Mach 20 from a trajectory apex fifty miles above earth. We know both China and Russia have hypersonics, and they are rumored to be selling the technology to terrorist regimes, such as Iran. So it is imperative that the GODS satellites, which can fire particle beams at close to light speed, function effectively. It may be our only defense against hypersonic missiles. And after six years of development and implementation, the Guardian system is one the most expensive defense projects ever. I need this project to come off without a hitch.

As do I. I’ve staked my company’s reputation on its success.

Are the orbiting satellites fully functional?

Almost. Their defense systems against killer satellites, ballistic missiles, and collisions with space debris are fully operational. Their individual weapon systems are intact, but the system’s directed-energy weapons cannot be safely activated until we complete our testing of the communication and tracking systems. Then we can commence live-fire testing of the system against ballistic barrages and hypersonic missiles.

When we start those tests, we’ll catch hell from the Russians, the Chinese, and the left-wing nuts, remarked the vice president. They’ll say we intend to use them as offensive weapons.

"My political opponents and their media minions already claim the system is intended to spy on American citizens, and a conspiracy theorist on CNN suggested it may become a threat to the human race, like the Skynet in the old Terminator movies," added the president sardonically.

The partisan opposition to our protection of this country is truly perplexing, observed Fortrell, particularly in view of the rogue nuclear nations and terrorist groups that now have access to ballistic nuclear weapons. Then again, there always seem to be extremist and anarchist groups on both the left and right that are never satisfied with the programs of the current administration.

What a world we live in! lamented Secretary Horowitz. Mr. President, considering what happened at the Fortrell laboratory, I think Fortrell Industries needs military protection. We could station Special Forces personnel at the aerospace division.

I agree, said the president, at least until the Guardian project is completed.

Smiling, Fortrell remarked, We already have Special Forces. It was Mac Slade, a former Delta Force operator, who stopped the team of mercenaries.

I heard Slade went to work for you, said General Atkins. He had quite a career with the First Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta. He even trained many of Delta Forces’ current operators. I think he resigned his commission because he was promoted to a desk job at Fort Bragg.

I think he resigned his commission because I made him a better offer, responded Fortrell, again smiling. Mr. President, if you place Special Forces personnel at our corporate compound, I want Mac Slade to direct their deployment. He’s our corporate security director as well as our chief of combat weapons testing.

Works for me, said the president.

Director DeLuca, who had been quietly listening, said, Mr. President, considering recent events, I think we should provide personal security for Mr. Fortrell as well.

I’m assigning a Secret Service agent to you, Chuck, responded the president, and I’ll have the FBI watch out for your family.

And that works for me, said Fortrell, but I hope it proves unnecessary. I’ll let my wife know. Well, if that’s all, I need to get back to work to keep things on schedule.

When the meeting concluded, Fortrell, General Atkins, Director DeLuca, and Vice President Morales departed. But the president asked Secretary Horowitz to remain.

Secret Service protection for Fortrell was a good call, Howard, said the president, particularly in view of what happened to that scientist at Los Alamos National Laboratory.

You mean the disappearance of the computer scientist who helped to design the artificial intelligence of the Guardian system. I can’t recall his name.

Dr. Harold Symes, a leading researcher in AI. The FBI still hasn’t found him.

You think he was abducted—or maybe defected?

Shaking his head, the president speculated, I doubt he’s a traitor. If he’d turned up in China or Russia, I’m sure we’d have heard about it by now. More likely, he was a crime victim. As a wheelchair-bound paraplegic, he would have been easy prey for criminals.

But, interjected Horowitz, China or Russia could have been behind the attack on the Fortrell Industries lab,

Right. And there’s more bad news this morning, Roger. I was told by the FBI director that we’ve had another prominent disappearance—recently retired Chief Justice Warren Evan Winton. I’m sure his disappearance will be all over the news by tomorrow.

Probably the finest Supreme Court justice in my lifetime and certainly the most respected, remarked Horowitz. Did he ever tell you why he resigned?

When he resigned last month, said the president, I asked him what his reasons were. He was very vague—said something about it being the right time and him becoming more aware of his own mortality. I tried hard to convince him to remain. He just shook his head, said it had been an honor to serve the country, and walked out of my office.

Incredible, said Horowitz. For almost three decades, the man has a stellar career as a federal court jurist, gets appointed chief justice, and then resigns for no apparent reason at age fifty-nine.

According to the FBI, his neighbors haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks, gravely remarked the president."

I recall his wife died a few years ago, and I think he’s lived alone ever since. Do you think he might have become depressed and done something foolish?

If you mean suicide, Roger, I don’t think Warren is the type. And I doubt he’s the type of person who would needlessly alarm friends and neighbors by just disappearing without explanation.

So you suspect he’s a victim of foul play?

The FBI searched his house and found no signs of burglary or foul play. But they also found a refrigerator full of food, a kitchen sink full of dishes, a bedroom closet full of clothing, and what appeared to be a complete set of luggage.

Chapter 3

Fatherless Child

Two days after the assault on Laboratory Delta, thirty-three-year-old Maclellan Slade Jr., known as Mac, woke up alone. Gone from his bed was nubile and sultry Summer Tompkins, the latest in a long series of girlfriends to whom Slade had been unable to make a permanent commitment. She had called the previous afternoon to inquire why he had surreptitiously abandoned her in the middle of the night. Not inclined to prolixity, Slade had simply apologized and tersely added that he had been called to handle a problem at a Fortrell Industries lab. Summer became suspicious and angry when he declined to elaborate further.

After climbing out of bed, Slade performed his daily morning routine: five minutes of stretching exercises, followed by fifty quick push-ups, fifty quick sit-ups, and thirty pull-ups on a bar across the top of the bedroom doorway. Six feet four inches tall, he had to keep his knees bent to do the pull-ups, his shoulders almost touching the doorframe on either side. After showering and dressing in a dark suit, Slade went to the kitchen, picked up a blender canister, and methodically carried it around the kitchen, filling it with eggs, bananas, protein powder, an assortment of vitamins and minerals, and a quart of water. After blending this concoction, he quickly drank it from the canister while standing in his kitchen.

As Slade left the kitchen, he glanced at a calendar on the wall. The calendar indicated that it was Father’s Day. He walked into the living room and shuffled through a stack of CDs near a stereo system, found one from the Spencer Davis Group with his father’s favorite oldie, and slipped it into a coat pocket.

As Slade climbed into his roadster, he pulled out the CD and popped it into the car’s player. He recalled his father, an Army Ranger, once telling him he had often listened to a particular track on the CD before combat missions. This one’s for you, Pop. He drove off while listening to Gimme Some Lovin’, bobbing his head as the roadster sped toward Fortrell Industries.

As a child, Slade had viewed his father, Maclellan Slade Sr., as a superman who fought for truth, justice, and the American way against enemies of the United States. From early childhood, Mac Jr. had aspired to be a warrior like his father, who began teaching him martial arts when he was old enough to walk. Slade’s mother, a high school teacher and a disciplinarian, had motivated him to academic achievement. Slade became a multisport athlete and an honor student. He earned both scholastic and athletic scholarships to West Point, where he starred as a middle linebacker on the football team. For reasons Slade never understood, his parents divorced after he graduated from high school. Not long after that, his father was killed in action. Slade had long suspected that his marriage phobia might be related to his parents’ divorce.

Slade was recruited in the second round of the NFL draft but chose to pursue a career in the army as a commissioned officer. He volunteered for the Rangers and, after a rigorous training program, became a second lieutenant in the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment. After a year in the Rangers, he was selected for Delta Force, where he rapidly advanced to captain.

Slade met Charles Fortrell at Fort Bragg after Slade was selected to test a new combat weapon system being demonstrated for US Special Forces by Fortrell Industries. Slade recalled Fortrell telling him that he reminded Fortrell of Slade’s father, whom Fortrell had played football against in high school. Later, after reviewing Slade’s military record, Fortrell called Slade and offered to make him security chief at Fortrell Industries at a lucrative salary as soon as Slade’s current commission ended. When Slade hesitated, Fortrell said he would double the starting salary and also make Slade chief of combat weapons testing. Despite Slade’s penchant for colorful language, Fortrell recognized in Slade a rare combination of strong character, leadership, and formidable combat skills under the most stressful conditions.

Slade drove into the guarded main entrance of the Fortrell Industries’ Los Alamos compound, the location of its corporate headquarters and four research laboratories. The company’s manufacturing plants were located in other cities. After checking in with the guard, he drove toward the massive ten-floor headquarters building and parked in the multi-floor parking garage connected by a covered corridor to the headquarters. After parking on the third floor, he descended in an elevator to the covered corridor, where he crossed into an all-marble first-floor lobby. He checked in with the guard and then walked to a bank of four elevators; he inserted a key into a panel next to an elevator that ran only to the top floor. After stepping inside and turning to face the elevator door, Slade smiled at a camera above the elevator door and said, Morning, Jeanine.

Minutes later, Slade walked down a wide marble hallway to a tall, ornately carved, mahogany double doorway, where he entered the exquisitely furnished lobby of a vast office complex. Charles Fortrell’s attractive, middle-aged secretary, Jeanine Ray, rose from behind a desk with twin monitors to greet him and accompany him through another ornate double doorway into Fortrell’s twelve-hundred-square-foot office. On the wood-paneled wall beside the doorway hung a brass plaque that stated, Greatness is not achieved by ideal people but by people with great ideals. The quotation was from Fortrell’s father, Jefferson Adams Fortrell, the deceased founder of Fortrell Industries. Directly facing the doorway but twenty-three feet from it was Fortrell’s elaborate mahogany desk, and seven feet behind the desk was the twelve-foot-high, bulletproof-glass wall running the entire forty-foot width of the office.

At one end of the office, Fortrell rose from his chair at the head of a large conference table and asked Slade to join him and two others seated there. Turning to a tall, pleasant-looking woman in a dark business suit, Fortrell said, Agent Kimberly Johnstone, this is Mac Slade, our security chief. Mac, Agent Johnstone is the Secret Service agent who accompanied me back from DC. The president has assigned her to protect me outside the compound until we complete the Guardian project. Agent Johnstone, if you have any security-related questions, Mac’s your man.

Gesturing to the thin, slightly graying, middle-aged man seated to his right, Fortrell added, Mac, I was just introducing Agent Johnstone to Dr. Stanley Jacobson, our VP in charge of product development. So, Stan and Mac, you’ll probably be seeing Agent Johnstone with me when I leave the compound.

After the introductions, Fortrell turned to Johnstone and said, Well, I’ll have my secretary, Jeanine Ray, obtain a security badge for you and arrange for you to be shown around our headquarters. He pressed a button on the conference table’s intercom and summoned Ray. Jeanine, please send one of the security people up here. I’d like Agent Johnstone to be shown around the headquarters. And please request a security badge for her.

After the Secret Service agent left Fortrell’s office with a security guard, Fortrell turned to Mac and asked, How’s the hip wound?

Just a scratch. Only needed a couple of stitches.

Good. I was told the FBI is sending agents here to question you and Murry Jameson about the attack on our lab.

Damn it, complained Slade. Jameson and I spent four hours at the Los Alamos Police station getting grilled by cops. They acted like they couldn’t understand why I killed a bunch of scumbags who broke into the lab, killed a guard, and attacked me with automatic weapons. They treated me like a murder suspect. If Jameson hadn’t backed up my story, I’d probably be in jail.

So you didn’t tell them about the WBA or the lab’s video surveillance recording of the incident?

Hell no. Like you’ve told me, no one without a level-six security clearance is supposed to know anything about the WBA or any of our other classified projects. Since the cops had probable cause for a search, I did have to take some of them down to the basement where the firefight occurred and show them the mess the WBA made. But the WBA had been locked up in another room. When one of the cops said it looked like the scumbags had been blown up with hand grenades, I just pointed out their automatic weapons and said it was self-defense. But the cops still insisted I accompany them to the station for questioning.

"Okay. I’ve told President McDonald about the surveillance video, and he assured me that the FBI investigators will have the necessary security clearance to see it. So, to circumvent a lot of unnecessary questioning, I agreed to show them the recording. However, the president agreed with me that we will not provide them a copy of the recording, which