The Great Deception (10 page)

The only guy in the room who didn't imitate
the others and shoot at something instead attempted to communicate
to the guards in the lobby of the structure.

"Contact! We have contact! Inform the
president. Shots fired...." his voice cut off as the enemy had
gotten to him. But his dying plea unmistakably got through.

...

The sentry from the lobby who'd received the
distress call didn't appreciate being vindicated for being right
about his hunch. In this instance he'd gladly trade a "I told you
so" for the safety of his team.

Right now it was his duty to let the
commander and chief know the bad news.

After a few rings chief of staff Leonard
Palmer picked up.

"I'll get the president," he informed the
breathless caller.

Precious few seconds ticked away.

"Who is this?"

"Mr. President, I have bad news sir."

Alexander's wiry hair stood on end. This
couldn't be good. "What is it?" Everyone else in the
Basement
with a view of the president's face couldn't have
missed the unmistakable worry in his features.

"We have a..."

But right as he was about to give specifics
the bad guys burst into the room, firing. The lethal salvo silenced
the messenger.

"You have a what?" the president asked.
After moments of static he knew he wouldn't ever get his
answer.

The president looked at his national
security advisor and shook his head. Ahmed Negler read the
expression instantly. "We must send in the security forces from
outside to clean up. Otherwise all is lost."

"Did you get that Barker?" the president
addressed the minister of defense.

"I'll inform the commanders," he grimly
replied to Alexander.

The president cursed up a storm before his
cabinet. "How could this be happening?!" he half-yelled.

"Mr. President," a grave Edmund Drezzler
leaned in, "we must stay calm."

Alexander glowered. "Don't tell me what to
do or not do."

The vice president backed off. "All I'm
saying is have a little more faith in our men to

handle it."

"You'll forgive me for my skepticism Edmund
when everything so far has not gone

according to plan."

…

Inside Westover Complex in between the wings
a seating area became the scene of an intense firefight. The Viper
agents originating from the Energy Division were headed back to the
planes right when they stumbled upon the enemy lying in wait for
them. A welcome grenade bounced towards the good guys and detonated
with three victims trapped inside the kill zone. That evened the
odds now with both sides numbering at six a piece.

Good versus bad exchanged fire back and
forth like two ships facing off with all their broadsides
discharging. The Viper agents utilized the marble columns for
cover, but unfortunately Scorpion scum had the same idea.

Something had to give.

Outside Westover Ventures word on the street
drew in a full platoon of reinforcements to put out the incendiary
situation. Going in through the front door would not even be
considered. Teams circled the building instead and prepared to
blast their way into the action.

Two soldiers had with them explosive tape
that they intended to make a giant square with on the rear facade
of the structure. A minute later the controlled explosion created a
spacious entryway for the troops to rush in.

The bad guys took out the first wave of
fresh bodies to join the fray...but it wouldn't be enough. The FRN
had finally retaken the building and planted their flag of
victory.

The lieutenant in charge of the rescue
operation stood over the carnage while appearing to assess the
situation with hands on hips--his men roamed around.

After receiving the official count on the
number dead he immediately got on the horn to deliver the terrible
outcome to the president.

Once he had finished speaking to Alexander
he directed the security forces under his command to complete the
task the fallen Viper agents weren't able to do.

--

The War Room

Men with high IQ's wearing suits and solid
ties waited on Howard to blow them away with his diabolical
scheme.

He asked them a direct question. "Which of
you have ever seen a movie on aliens?" No one had an immediate
response to the bizarre inquiry.

"Come on, somebody here had to have...."
Howard snapped.

"We don't go to the movies in Mother
Russia," Igor said with an air of disgust. Jasper Turpin
volunteered an answer, albeit reluctantly at best. He contemplated
his naval and said, "I saw one long ago as a kid." Howard broke
into a grin. "What struck you about the movie?"

The British prime minister shuffled a bit.
An exaggerated morose visage communicated to his peers he felt
shame over his past life choices.

"Quite frankly it scared the heck outta
me."

"What did?"

"The ineptitude of our weapons against

ET's."

Howard expected an answer like this. It set
him into action. An assistant that stood at his elbow appeared
ready to carry out what came next. Howard imperceptibly nodded to
the man. He disappeared.

"Gentleman, I have a motion picture I think
you'll like to see. And for those of you who haven't been to the
movies," he had the Russian leader in mind as he spoke, "this is
your golden ticket!"

German chancellor Lothar Kirsch who had
come to hear Howard speak appeared a little ruffled at the news.
"A...
movie?"

A light clicked on and revealed a hidden
section to the war room. The movie theater. "Everyone, if you'll
follow me, we have a show to catch," Howard beckoned. He left them,
not leaving any time to loiter around. There would be no previews,
no messages to turn your cell phones off. The feature presentation
began to start.

Igor Orloff ironically enough led the
politicians to the sunken seating area. The Russian found a
staircase and took it down to the already waiting Howard and
Maxwell. His right hand man, Grigory Sliva, chased his boss down
and found a seat next to him in the second row.

The acoustics of the room were
impressive.

The screen went black. Opening music boomed
through the speakers and rattled everybody's nerves. This wouldn't
be a sit back and enjoy the show kind of flick.

...

For years planes have left a chem trail
footprint in the sky. Officials have argued (in vain) against
conspiracy theorists that these trails are actually normal
contrails and not the other thing.

Even though the governments may deny
their existence, no one understands why. What could the agenda be?
Why leave chemicals in the atmosphere when it's not necessary to.
But it was necessary for those with a great scheme plan.
These crisscrossing sky paths made excellent jerry-rigged
screens on which the mass deception planned for the human race
would play.

Motherships from galaxies far, far away
would cruise towards the seat of power of every major nation on
earth. There they would hover, uncontested, in the no-fly zones
over earth's governments. The alien ships would delay long enough
to sow the seeds of fear in man's heart over his uncertain fate.
While mankind decided how to handle the artificial crisis, those
actually behind the holographic images in the night sky positioned
themselves for a global takeover. It was their hope that an alien
invasion would unite the militaries of the world to overcome it.
The natural conclusion of such an action would be the birth of a
one world government with a strong leader behind it.
Howard.

--

Moldova

Never trust the official story. Seth
certainly learned not to. He believed the whole reason they were
being moved from turbulent Turkey to Moldova had something to do
with a coverup.

Turkey's controversial president waxed
eloquently through state channels on the eve of an assassination
attempt on members from his own party that Mossad had showed her
hand once again. Supposedly the police held in their custody a
captured agent who spilled the beans on everything. Lesson number
one: Israelis will gladly take torture over helping their enemies.
The fact that this "agent" so willingly came forth with such a
fantastical story made him not credible in the least.

Another thing Seth Markov didn't like about
everything that had transpired? The distance that grew between him
and his son. Previously Seth had a little contact with Azriel
through a surrogate mother he paid off to take care of the boy.
However this little experiment ran amuck with the youngster
rejecting the care of the undercover agency woman.

And then there was Uncle Ephraim. The man
really worried Seth. For years there had been bad blood between the
two brothers. Actions done in secret, only to be uncovered years
later gave Seth more reason not to trust his brother.

If only he knew of Ephraim's involvement
with his son...there'd be hell to pay. Seth didn't want him or his
family to have anything to do with his brother. But now that his
job took him so far away from Israel, while he was busy protecting
the homeland it left the homestead extremely vulnerable.

He had long suspected his brother of
comingling with terrorist groups because of the unexplained gaps in
Ephraim's timeline that weren't accounted for. Whenever Seth would
see him he'd ask the man what he did for a living. The answer never
satisfied him. Ephraim had his rear-end covered pretty good. Just
in case people came snooping around the personal details of his
life, he had plenty of alibis who swore up and down the veracity of
the false records. According to the white papers Ephraim Markov
worked in the energy business as a low-tier manager at a solar
power company.

Seth called the company one time, eager to
expose the lie, only to be further irritated when a man claiming to
be his brother's supervisor came on the line. This served to
further enforce the level of treachery which must have been deep,
hence the need for a convincing cover. Did he serve the United
Islamic Caliphate? A European power? Heaven forbid, Scorpion.

…

In the intelligence business being on a
need-to-know basis was quite common. Especially when you were the
one doing the killing. Seth resented this system though because to
him, unlike the other operatives in the agency, the targets weren't
faceless cardboard cutouts. They were real people with real lives.
And he didn't always trust Mossad to be making the best decisions
on who doesn't deserve to live anymore. Most killers were so
dehumanized, so divorced from feeling that the only reason they
needed to kill stemmed from an order to just do it. Act, then
react. They didn't want to know what their victim did to deserve
this...it was just another trigger pull. Mossad got lucky with Seth
Markov. No matter how much training and brainwashing they gave him,
he still couldn't
turn it off
when someone else's life
rested in his hands. There had to be a
reason
to sanction
this murder. And he wanted to be in the know. If it hadn't been for
his uncanny ability to stay on top of any situation, be a master
of

his own fate, Mossad would've moved on to
the next guy and not waste their time with a stubborn agent.

He became the closest thing to indispensable
in his field of work.

…

From where he rocked he heard the soundtrack
of the night air: the deep ribbit of frogs and the music of the
crickets. A few hours of sleep would be a luxury. That night Seth
and Baruch would be briefed on their next mission.

Perhaps their most important
mission...ever.

--

Barcelona, Spain

The confusing jog took him down streets he
had never heard of before. Along the way he passed by old widows
spinning strange yarns to their granddaughters. Salesmen enticed
the young people to spend their small allowances on the latest and
greatest cell phone at pop-up kiosks that populated the center
boulevard in a busy shopping district. The police seemed to be
everywhere. A couple officers dressed in blue pants with red
stripes down the side, checkered conductor hats, and light blue
short sleeved shirts questioned a few locals at the corner of an
intersection by the crosswalk. The pedestrians looked pressed for
time judging by the way they twirled around, longingly gazing at
the opposite side of the road. Alfonso could read lips. "Just a few
more questions," he saw the officer beg. The couple complied. A
little while later it startled him to see the woman saying
something to the cop while pointing at the street Alfonso had just
been on.

If I weren't so paranoid, I'd swear they're
talking about me.

Alfonso made a sharp turn that led him
through an alley. He pushed trash cans over that impeded his
progress.

Now would be a good time to check my phone
for an update.

The person he trailed appeared to close in
on his position from a perpendicular artery that intersected the
back alley he would exit from. He would wait for them to pass and
pick up the trail again. An idea struck him and before long he
pulled up a list of coffee shops within one square mile of his
current location.

There were a few.

Once the blip on the screen passed by and he
decided it was safe to peek and try to acquire visual confirmation
of the target, Agent Marcello slowly peered around the protruding
stone cornice.

Several people with their backs turned to
him followed the sloped road down to their destinations. Only one
of them had a fair complexion untouched by the sun. Alfonso smiled
to himself.

Amalia plodded along. She didn't appear to
be lost either. The woman with auburn colored curls and an
hourglass figure allowed the bottom of the hill to draw her in: as
if gravity did all the work.