Book I: The Disappearance (The Fallen Race Trilogy). Colin Patrick Garvey

view. Rushmore explained that the satellite did not appear out of range, but rather it seemed that the satellite could no longer transmit, as if somehow it had been jammed.

      Less than four minutes later, the satellite was fully operational and it suddenly pinpointed several new moving objects, but the initial signal was no longer present. These objects were distinct in that they were identified as five Apache helicopters, the same ones Kaley assumed Fizer was referring to. It seemed suspicious that these choppers were dispatched to an area over a hundred miles away from where the signal was initially detected. Kaley did not think Colonel Fizer possessed the prescient ability to know where the signal was headed before it had even moved. The colonel evidently slipped on that banana peel.

      The helicopters approached land and according to the satellite, low-level blasts could be detected as they dropped something along the shoreline. The satellite detected no human presence when in fact, there were two witnesses to what occurred on that beach, one of whom had seen everything.

      None of this mattered as much to Kaley though as the fact, which Rushmore was quick to point out, that according to their bird in the sky, it had detected a massive human presence along the shoreline where the signal was approaching moments before the satellite went down. When the satellite began transmitting again within several minutes, the large human presence had disappeared, which seemed downright unexplainable to Sergeant Kaley.

       Where had they gone? How could they all have vanished in such a short period of time?

      Kaley ordered Rushmore to record the activity to a disc as soon as they gained access to the non-military satellite, and Rushmore made a copy for each of them. While it is inherently risky to have documented evidence of Kaley's insubordination, he also knows that what they were witnessing was extraordinary, even if it is utterly inexplicable. A record of the activity only seemed logical. Little could Kaley know that what they had witnessed and the documented evidence of it would, in the long run, cause more harm than good. The consequences, however, did not weigh heavily in his decision at the time.

      What continued to gnaw at Kaley was Fizer's quick assertion that the situation was being handled no more than a few minutes from the time the signal was initially detected. This suggested something more to Sergeant Kaley, something insidious, underhanded and worse yet, something planned.

      Kaley ordered Rushmore to keep his mouth closed and not to utter a word of this to his buddies or to Colonel Fizer. Their shift ended at 10:00 PM central time, less than a few minutes after the incident, and they did not speak to one another or to anyone else as they casually departed for their respective homes. Kaley rented a ranch house not far from the base and Rushmore lived in the barracks at Evans.

      Evans had not yet erupted in the chaos that would ensue upon hearing news of a “terrorist attack” on American soil. Kaley knew better, however, and so did Rushmore, that this “attack” did not appear to be related to any terrorists or extremists, but something entirely more evil and cunning. Exactly what they possess, or what they could do with it at this point, neither of them know. They do know that what they have is, without a doubt, intrinsically dangerous.

      Kaley turns into the driveway that leads to the front gate of Evans and flashes his identification card to the MP, a man named Daltry. Kaley can only hope that he does not appear too nervous or jittery in front of the MP. He is sweating buckets from a mixture of anxiety, his recent physical encounter, and the Midwestern humidity, which does not seem to dissipate even at night. Kaley's agitated appearance does not appear to sound any alarms as the MP likely has other things on his mind.

      “How are you, Daltry?” Kaley casually asks.

      A telephone rings inside the guardhouse and the other MP, a new guy Kaley has never seen before, goes to answer it.

      “A little shocked, sir. You hear what happened?” Daltry asks.

      “Yeah, I did,” Kaley answers.

      Kaley tries to remain calm as he looks with one eye towards the guardhouse. The base beyond the gate is abuzz with activity as soldiers scurry from one place to another.

      “What's been going through the rumor mill around here?” Kaley asks.

      “Mostly just guesses, sir,” Daltry answers. “Al-Qaeda at the top of the list, naturally, but nothing substantiated yet.”

      Kaley absently nods his head, probably focusing too much attention on the other MP, when Daltry asks, “You back on duty?”

      “Well, actually, I-”

      Kaley stops in mid-sentence when he catches the other MP subtly glance at him while holding the phone close to his mouth. Kaley reads the man's lips as he says a couple of quick “yes sirs” and hastily puts the phone down. Kaley estimates he has no more than fifteen seconds before both MPs have their weapons pointed at him, informing him that he is under arrest.

      As quickly and as casually as he can, Kaley asks, “Hey, you seen Rushmore around anywhere?”

      “Actually, sir, Private Rushmore was granted an off-base pass for a couple of days. Just before the shit hit the fan around here. I think he went to the big city,” Daltry offers.

      Kaley cannot decide if Rushmore is the smartest s.o.b. in the world for getting the hell out of Dodge or the dumbest for leaving and probably never coming back, an AWOL nut these same MPs would have to track down.

      With one last glimpse at the other rapidly-approaching MP, Kaley says, “Thanks, Tim. You boys keep cool now.”

      Kaley shifts the stick of the jeep into reverse, slams his foot on the accelerator, and the vehicle lurches backward in a cloud of dust and dirt as he skirts the side of the driveway. In the blur of it all, he sees an open-mouthed Daltry standing there as his partner grabs him by the arm and points at the jeep.

      Kaley twists the wheel around and steps on the brake, causing the vehicle to spin out and nearly tip over. He shifts the stick into first gear in one fluid motion and punches the accelerator while easing his foot off the clutch. Kaley's heart skips a beat as the jeep buckles, the typical precursor to the vehicle stalling and worse yet, stopping. The jeep buckles again and then starts to pick up speed.

      Kaley sharply exhales as he hears the faint shouts from the MPs as they tell him to stop. He has more important things to focus on, like finding Rushmore in one of the largest cities in the country.

      * * *

      The Foundation is quickly learning the craftiness of the formidable Sergeant Kaley, and to underestimate him is to do so at your own risk. Kaley managed to best the “clean-up” squad sent to his home, leaving one man dead and two others severely injured. His whereabouts are unknown and furthermore, the evidence has still not been recovered.

      Now there are two fish, possibly three if they include Private Rushmore, all potential witnesses to an event so horrific and utterly merciless that if any of them are to be implicated-

      No chance, as Moriah realizes his thoughts are beginning to run away from him. There is no one who can possibly connect any of them to what occurred in Tamawaca tonight.

      We are untouchable, Moriah thinks.

      And the thing is, he is right. None of the Foundation members can be linked to the events of tonight or over the next 36 hours. Covert plans and secret missions are nothing new to the group, and indeed, they have a multitude of experience in ensuring they are not connected to something that could lead to the group's exposure or worse yet, downfall. While the scope of what they have planned tonight and over the next 36 hours may be on a much grander scale than anything they have ever undertaken, and the stakes are greater than anything that could be imagined, the group members are certainly not ignorant to the risks they take and they never falter when it comes to protecting themselves.

      Despite these risks, they do not consider their business a chore by any means, but view it as both a privilege and an honor. In their eyes, they are the true Americans, the ones who bleed red, white, and blue. They know that what they do is something that no Joe Sixpack would have the stomach or the brains for. They know that to be the best, you have to