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

were to “cease and desist all activities that may jeopardize the lives of American soldiers or intelligence agents” and “remain only in the capacity as advisors to the South Vietnamese military.” And that was it. The captured men were left out to dry.

      Parker cabled Washington a dozen times, demanding, then pleading, and finally begging for a rescue attempt of the four men. He devised several different rescue missions that he guaranteed would retrieve the men from Hanoi without causing any kind of political fallout or embarrassment to the United States. But time and time again, as expected, his requests were emphatically denied.

      He even briefly considered conducting a solo mission, but he knew that without assistance, it would essentially be a suicide run. Parker was outraged, first at his government, then at himself and the captured men, and finally, the North Vietnamese. He came to realize that all soldiers assume certain risks, and they know the risks they take are dangerous, sometimes fatal. Whether the men had cracked under questioning was trivial because they died defending the flag, defending the world against communism, the evil force that it was at the time. They were heroes, unrecognized at that, but heroes nonetheless. And Parker dedicated himself to also being a hero, an unacknowledged one like the captured men.

      When the United States “officially” entered the war, Parker fought like a man possessed. His sole mission was to kill and destroy everything in his path. He had no conscience and no time for mercy. He led Special Forces troops on slaughter-filled rampages of the Vietcong that lasted weeks. He burned down dozens of villages, no matter if they were North Vietnamese or South Vietnamese. He did it all for the four men who would never be recognized by their government, whose deaths would be denied until every politician on Capitol Hill was blue in the face from saying that these men never existed.

      They existed to Parker, in his mind and in his heart every day, knowing that it could have been him rotting along with them in that shithole. The same thoughts course through his head almost each and every day since then:

       What would I have done?

       Would I have folded under questioning?

       No fucking way.

      The next major conflict for the United States was the Persian Gulf War. While it was Stormin’ Norman Schwarzkopf who attained all the glory and basked in the limelight of the press, it was General Parker's strategy that brought a swift and merciless victory for the Americans. He took charge, as he always does, disregarding fame or adulation to ensure a quick and decisive victory and bring the dictator Saddam to his knees.

      General Parker played a major role advising Schwarzkopf in positioning of troops and glaring weaknesses in the Iraqi army. It was his experience with warfare that gave the Americans the ultimate edge, along with a couple thousand “smart” bombs. He emerged from the war fully decorated once again and he soon became a five-star general. Several years thereafter, he was appointed to the Joint Chiefs-of-Staff and in the last few years, ironically, he arrived full-circle. He now commands the title of “special military advisor” to the Pentagon and once again, he seems to be taking charge, this time on orders from the President himself.

      General Parker rises from his chair in a body that has inarguably grown old, but has certainly not broken down. He remains fit and muscular for all of his seventy-five years and he can still intimidate a whole room simply by walking through the door. He begins moving around the conference table, simultaneously sizing up the situation and the men and women in the room.

      “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, “what occurred here tonight is one of the most callous and cowardly acts I have ever seen. Make no mistake, every act of terrorism is the desperate action of cowards, of enemies who are afraid to come out of the shadows and show themselves, people who hide from the very fight that they are trying to stir up. They strike at the innocent because it is not their way to be involved in a so-called ‘fair fight.’ The innocent are easy targets, ducks in a shooting gallery.”

      General Parker has the full attention of the room now, with all eyes glued on him. He is like a preacher in the pulpit whose voice begins to rise with each new word, each new condemnation. It is as if you expect one of his listeners to rise up and cry out, “Praise Jesus!”

      But they do not. They remain still, motionless, giving General Parker the respect he expects and, indeed, deserves.

      Parker stalks around the large, oval table and points around the room, looking each person in the eyes.

      “I want a promise from everyone here today. I should not have to ask it, but I will. I need a promise from each and every person in this room that they will not stop, they will not give up, until we have caught these despicable human beings and brought them to justice. Only then will this reprehensible act be avenged, and the dead will be able to rest in peace.”

      He pauses, looks around the silent room, and receives solemn nods from each and every individual. Not a word is said but Parker sees it in their eyes. He nods as well.

      He sits down in his chair and looks at the faces around the table.

      “Good,” he says confidently, “now let's get started.”

      FIVE

      Jonathan Kaley is pissed off. He is raging mad and with good reason. He knows with absolute certainty why those men came to his house tonight, and frankly, he is not surprised at their intentions, only at the swiftness of their response. It is Kaley's own fault for letting his guard down, for not assuming the worst after he and Rushmore witnessed something that was probably not intended for anyone's eyes.

      Curiosity certainly does kill the cat, he wryly thinks.

      Rushmore is his responsibility and without even thinking of the repercussions, Kaley has put Private Rushmore in serious jeopardy, and now, as is evident, mortal danger.

       But how could I know? How could I possibly know what the two of us would see?

      Kaley does know that the men sent to his house tonight were professionals. They had killed before and they believed they were going to do it again. They did not plan on Sergeant Kaley, however, a black belt in the martial arts and a man whose temper is equaled by his ferocity when threatened. They certainly fucked with the wrong man tonight.

      Kaley floors the battered military-issued jeep like a madman through the streets. He fully realizes that this is not the smartest thing to do, but he is returning to Evans to check on Rushmore, knowing that he must get to him before “they” do.

      When their shift ended several minutes after the “incident,” the two of them departed the operations center and went their separate ways, not speaking to one another or to anyone else about what they had seen.

      After Kaley asked Rushmore if they could zero in on the signal with another satellite, Rushmore located a satellite owned and operated by a global communications firm. In order for most corporate-owned satellites to keep their birds in space, they not only pay an astronomical fee to the U.S. government for the right to do so, but they must also make available to the military all passwords and access information in the event of an emergency. The information is stored in an enormous database that is supposedly impenetrable, but Private Rushmore is one of the best at finding backdoor codes and access to alleged high-security networks. To their surprise, they realized the military is unbelievably lax and sloppy in maintaining the structure of their enormous mainframe.

      Besides, the unwritten rule is that “if it is in the sky, it is part of the military's pie.” Once Rushmore gained access to the satellite, they noticed the signal from Lake Michigan had disappeared. They found something else, however, something much more extraordinary.

      The signal, which only moments before was directly in the middle of the lake in a stationary position, was picked up approaching land on the southeastern side of Lake Michigan. Their quick calculations showed that the signal traveled approximately 150 miles in the span of a few seconds. Nothing man-made could traverse that distance without killing every human inside from the g-forces. Furthermore, once it approached land, not only did the signal disappear,