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  “My boss”—here he paused for the best dramatic effect possible as Ryan smiled even wider—“is an even bigger prick than you.” The smile faded. “Only he doesn’t kill his own people and fill the world with your poison product. He sent me here to explain this to you in no uncertain terms.”

  This time Gutiérrez lost his confident grin. The game was quickly growing old.

  “I don’t want to hear any more, release our friends!” he said, and then smiled down upon the tattooed man.

  As the gates that fronted the horse trailers opened, the men inside the yard instinctively moved as far away as they could from what was about to join them. As for Ryan, he also smiled, but for a different reason. He returned to the wheelchair-bound Morales.

  “Here we go, kid, welcome to the real world!” Ryan said over the fearful cries of the condemned men crowding around him and Morales.

  The sky exploded with sound so loud that everyone froze. The prison’s PA system came to life with a vengeance.

  Ryan smiled as if he were the Cheshire cat. Then the smile quickly faded as he realized this was not the PSYOPS portion of the rescue’s chosen music. Instead of frightening, it was beyond confusing. Ryan had decided he would kill Sarah McIntire and Charlie Ellenshaw as they just butchered Jack Collins’s theory on shock and awe.

  “Psychological warfare my ass!” Ryan yelled, hoping Ellenshaw could hear him.

  Gutiérrez stood again as the music choice by Crazy Charlie Ellenshaw struck his eardrums and assaulted them.

  On the overhead speaker system and throughout the prison the song “Sugar, Sugar,” by the bubble-pop band the Archies blared across the yard. That, coupled with the screams of the inmates as the doors to the trailers were finally opened.

  “Shoot that man,” Gutiérrez screamed over the blare of the sugarcoated music that was coming near to bursting everyone’s eardrums.

  Before anyone could react in the confusion, the soundman in the balcony turned and popped a switch on the telescopic microphone boom and a stream of gas issued from the disguised mic. The blue-tinted gas filled the area and dropped two guards immediately.

  Gutiérrez was shocked as one of his men fell forward over the balcony and the other just fell. That was when he saw the cameraman turn toward him with his camera and was shocked to see the man wearing a gas mask. Then a compartment on the side of the mini-cam opened and the next thing the cartel leader saw was a nine-millimeter semiautomatic Glock pistol pointed right at his head. The man behind the mask didn’t waver as the sound engineer continued his gas assault on the balcony.

  Ryan screamed for the men to get down as the music was somehow shoved aside by another, even louder sound.

  Before anyone could know what was happening, three American Apache helicopters rose over the eastern, northern, and southern walls of the prison. As the Archies continued to sing on, the chain guns mounted on the nose of each attack chopper opened up. They struck the electrical lines leading into the prison and then one of the Apaches rose a hundred feet and sent a stream of twenty-millimeter rounds into the guard housing next to the cell blocks, effectively keeping any reinforcements from the yard. The second started tearing into the main gate of the facility until the chain-link fence and razor wire hung loosely in utter destruction.

  The soundman tossed the now-empty boom over the balcony and studied the warden and the rest of the incapacitated guards. None were moving.

  Sarah and Charlie ran from the offices and joined the soundman as he checked everyone to make sure none would spring up and surprise them. Still the Archies sang and the men below cowered.

  Ten guards sprang from a blockhouse and started toward the yard. The remaining inmates who had been gathered outside the exercise yard to witness their own eventual fate saw what the guards were attempting and immediately swarmed as each man knew instinctively that something extraordinary was happening and they had to take advantage. The ten armed guards didn’t stand a chance against the anger of Gutiérrez’s enemies. The Apache gunships circled, looking for any threat that sprang up.

  Gutiérrez was standing wide-eyed as the cameraman lowered the nine millimeter and then removed the black gas mask. The black man smiled at him.

  “Richard Gutiérrez, we are here to enforce a warrant ordering your arrest,” United States Army Captain Will Mendenhall said as he looked back at U.S. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jesse Rodriguez as he quickly emptied the harness bag they had brought along. Mendenhall looked at his watch under his gloved hand. “Thirty seconds. Sarah, give the gunny a hand, will you? Charlie, you and I have to talk about what represents PSYOPS operations and its intended distraction media. The Archies is not among the chosen selections to frighten your adversary.”

  “I will have you all tracked down and killed in your homes with your entire families!” Gutiérrez said as he watched the strangers unroll a large set of nylon harnesses.

  Will Mendenhall, after being interrupted by the cartel leader and his threat, looked at Gutiérrez and then simply raised the gun and hit him in the forehead with the gun, sending him grimacing as he fell back onto his ornate emperor’s throne.

  “It’s very rude to interrupt,” he said as his eyes lingered for only a moment on the man. He turned back to Ellenshaw, who was not smiling even though he knew he had screwed up. “We’ll talk later, Doc. Now help get this asshole prepared to fly.”

  Charlie did as he was told.

  Jason Ryan started frantically pushing Morales and his chair forward through the frightened inmates. He was screaming for the condemned men to make a break for the gates and the prison parking lot beyond. He heard the Apaches open up somewhere to his right and hoped there wasn’t wholesale killing going on. After all it wasn’t Gutiérrez’s henchmen they were after, it was only Morales and the leader of the most brutal drug cartel since the Cali, Colombia, extremes of the eighties. He made sure that the guards tending to the wild animals in their cages were either eliminated or on the run, then he went to the direct center of the yard and waited, feeling very exposed to whatever guards made it past the circling Apaches.

  With the blare of noise coming from the Archies and the powerful twin engines of the Apaches, no one heard the deeper bass rumble of something much larger as it approached the prison. Men ran and screamed as the giant Chinook double-rotor transport helicopter broke over the height of the south wall. The rotor wash of the large CH-47 heavy-lift chopper knocked men from their feet as they ran away frightened from the American black ops display confronting them. The harness struck the ground near Ryan and he immediately took hold and started strapping the shocked and frightened computer genius to the harness. The wide-eyed young man made no sound other than to scream when Ryan faced him.

  “Now don’t move until you’re told,” he said.

  “But who in the hell are you!”

  “Bye, kid, nice meeting ya!”

  Morales was about to ask again when his world went away. He and his chair were pulled so violently upward that he knew he had left his stomach somewhere rolling on the ground with Ryan. As for Jason he had to smile as the screams of the young selection of computer science department head were heard even over the noise of the music and engine assault. The harness held as the boy and his chair flew skyward toward the hovering Chinook. Ryan made sure the kid was pulled in by the CH-47’s crew and then he made his way toward the double gates that held the prisoners inside. He opened them and started moving inmates free of the yard. As he did he looked at the three horse trailers and that was when Jason Ryan really smiled.

  In the balcony above the action, Sarah, Charlie, and Rodriguez had Gutiérrez ready to ascend into the blue skies above Mexico. The man finally opened his eyes against the pain of Mendenhall’s rebuke with the pistol. The dark eyes widened when he saw the black American looking down at him. He was about to scream something over the noise of the Archies when Mendenhall held up his right hand and just simply waved good-bye as Gutiérrez burst into the sky, ripping the makeshift shade cover fr
om the prepared balcony. Will smiled and then attached his own lines as did the other three. He saw Ryan as he stood just below with his own harness attached and waiting.

  “Hey, toss down the warden and his men!” Jason screamed at a confused Will. Then he saw his friend’s smile and knew exactly what he had planned. With the help of Ramirez, Sarah, and an angry Ellenshaw, the five men were eased to the asphalt below by rope.

  As inmates freed themselves from the prison, Jason Ryan, United States Navy, looked down at his handiwork and with the large tattoo gleaming its glorious colors in the sun he gave the signal. The second CH-47 Chinook lifted him, Sarah, Rodriguez, and Mendenhall free of the ground, and with four personnel hanging from the giant bird, slowly made their way north toward the border. Operation Alcatraz was now complete.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later the prison warden awakened with a fright at about the same time as his guards and Gutiérrez’s henchmen. With wide eyes and loosened bladder they watched the black-coated Yucatán jaguars as they started creeping toward the spot where they had been deposited. Just before the first sleek cat lowered its ears to spring, he saw the scrawled note between his splayed legs. He read it and then looked up just as the five wildcats started forward with hungry intent. As the freed men ran into the surrounding countryside and the remaining prison guards decided they needed to find new work, the small note blew away in the wind and only the warden of Rio Natchez Prison would ever know what it said: “Compliments of the Greater Nevada Historical Society.”

  2

  BLACKSMITH ENGINEERING CONSULTANTS, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  The woman waited inside the idling taxicab until she spied her target. She lowered her dark glasses and took in the familiar figure of the man she had known now for eight years. She smiled and then pushed the sunglasses back up her slim nose. She straightened her skirt, then gave the cabdriver a twenty-dollar bill, and took a deep breath as she readied for the confrontation that had been coming for many years. She opened the door and with her briefcase in hand started to follow the broad-shouldered object of this covert visit as he took his brown-paper-bag lunch to the nearby park area.

  Assistant Director of Department 5656 Virginia Pollock waited while the brutish little man chose a tree to sit under. She again lowered the sunglasses as the man saw three squirrels frolicking under the protection of the trees. Like most California squirrels, these were in no mood to move from the shade of the tree and the pinecones it offered. She grimaced as she watched the gray-haired man remove the stub of a cigar from his mouth and then lean over.

  “You fuckin’ rats going to move or am I goin’ to throw you into a stew?” the raised voice asked loudly. The squirrels all stopped and looked up into the angry and mean face of the man and then decided they would indeed act like squirrels and run for their lives.

  “Yeah, that’s what I friggin’ thought, bunch of pussies.”

  Virginia shook her head as she watched Master Chief Petty Officer (retired) Harold C. Jenks slowly ease his bulk onto the grass. She saw that the master chief was tired. The blue denim work shirt he wore was wrinkled and the hair on his head was a little grayer. Assistant Director Pollock knew, like Jack and the rest of her colleagues, that Jenks wasn’t taking the recent personnel losses to the nation too well. The master chief had lost as much as anyone at Group; he had lost a student and dear friend when Carl Everett vanished into the wormhole after guaranteeing the destruction of the enemy in its own dimensional shift over Antarctica.

  The master chief pulled out a sandwich and then looked at it and decided he wasn’t that hungry. Virginia saw him speak with several of his people who were far better dressed than Jenks. Their clothes were expensive and clean, while the owner of Blacksmith Engineering was a complete mess—Even more so than usual, Virginia thought. When Jenks said the last to his passing colleagues he saw the tall, thin woman looking at him. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them in time to see his worst nightmare still approaching.

  “Well, I never thought I would gaze upon those legs again,” Jenks said as his eyes traveled up Virginia’s legs to her white blouse and jacket.

  “That makes two of us, Harold,” she said as she stepped forward until she stood over the reclined Jenks.

  The master chief’s face screwed into one of disgust at the mention of his first name. But then Virginia was the only person in the world who was ever allowed to refer to him that way. The very direct woman could be forgiven for a lot.

  “Before you even begin, I’m done.”

  Virginia smiled and then tossed Jenks her briefcase, which he caught in his lap but not before the corner of the case hit his left testicle. He winced as she sat next to him on the grass. She stretched out her long legs and then smiled over at him.

  “Done with what?” she asked, teasing him like she always had.

  Jenks started to throw the briefcase from his lap but caught himself as he knew from experience that Ms. Pollock was the only person he had ever known not to cower in terror at his voice. He gently laid the case aside.

  “Done helping whatever it is you and your so-called think tank does.” He looked sad for the briefest of moments. “If there’s anyone left, that is.” He looked deeply into her green eyes. “Your director and the president seemed to have killed off everyone else that I had any affection or respect for.” He looked away and then immediately back up. “Well, almost all, anyway. So tell your director Compton and his Captain America Jack Collins to screw off, I’m busy.”

  Virginia knew he still held a soft spot in that black heart of his for her. Their relationship went back to 2007 when they had become close during the Amazonian expedition. She knew that Jenks was hurting just as much as everyone else after losing so many men and women in the recent war. Most were lost on his reengineered battleship left on Earth by the Martian civilization that preceded Earth by millions of years. Yes, Jenks felt the pangs of guilt and they mostly stemmed from losing the man he had trained as a navy SEAL when he was but a boy, Carl Everett. Jenks was unforgiving toward Jack, Niles, and even her at the sacrifice Carl had had to make in order to end the war. Virginia tilted her head and then placed a thin but beautiful hand on the rough, unshaven cheek of the man she had once been intimate with a million years before. He softened as her hand caressed him.

  “Stop that,” he said as he pulled his face away.

  “You poor bastard, you know how to be angry all the time but you never learned how to grieve, did you?”

  “Look, Slim, take your pitch and sell it to some other broken-down ex-SEAL and even worse engineer. I assure you they are out there.”

  “Yes, they are, and we’ve interviewed most of them. But alas, and I don’t know the reasoning behind the decision, Jack and Niles want you and only you.”

  “I’m done with consulting for your damn strange Group, Ginny, done.”

  “I said nothing about consulting, Harold.”

  A confused look crossed his gruff features.

  “We want you to sign on with the Group full-time as the director for special projects. In other words we need all that engineering stuff you can bring to bear. Unlimited budget and full control of engineering and our rather unique facility.”

  “No.”

  “Full access to navy, air force, and army technology.”

  “No.”

  She smiled, knowing his weakness.

  “I want you to take it.”

  He looked sad for a moment. Then hardened. “No.”

  She raised her brows.

  “No.”

  “We have something planned, Harold, and Niles and Jack need you, and only you.”

  “No,” he said, and then looked at the woman he loved deeply, and he could say that about only two people he had ever known, Virginia and one other. He became deadly curious and he knew that was a bad thing. “What do you have planned?” he asked as he looked away for having caved so easily.

  Virginia Pollock smiled, leaned in, and kissed Jenks
fully on the mouth. She held it for the longest time, shocking anyone who worked for the former master chief as they gasped at the sight of the meanest man in the world being romanced by a gorgeous woman. She finally parted from him and then told him what the Event Group was up to.

  Ten minutes later the master chief was deep in thought.

  “Impossible” was his only word.

  “We at Group don’t care for that word much, Harold, you should know that.”

  “Well, start believing and caring, because it’s an impossibility. And I don’t care who came up with it.”

  Virginia stood, retrieved her briefcase, and then paused as she leaned in close to Jenks.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to make the attempt without you, Harold.”

  Jenks watched her turn and start moving away toward the street. He looked to the sky and cursed his luck. But deep down after hearing what it was Virginia had to say, he knew he was trapped.

  “Goddamn it!” he said loudly as he stood, frightening several of his consulting colleagues as they walked past, and then those same people watched stunned as the master chief ran after Virginia Pollock like a loving puppy toward its master.

  “All right, I’ll only listen on one condition,” he called out.

  Virginia stopped and waited. “And that is?”

  “Don’t call me Harold, you manipulative she-devil.”

  The assistant director smiled.

  “You got it, Harold.”

  The master chief watched Virginia smile and then she moved off, leaving him standing there just as angry as ever. “I’m freakin’ glad we got that settled.”

  Jenks chased after Virginia because he knew, failure or triumph, as an engineer and as a friend, he had to be in on the greatest scientific reach in the history of mankind.

  3

  CHATO’S CRAWL, ARIZONA

  Colonel Henri Farbeaux thought he would never lay eyes on the small town again in his lifetime. As the United States Air Force Black Hawk banked hard over the dead town of Chato’s Crawl, Arizona, chills coursed through the former French commando’s skin as he recalled the horrors that took place here and in the mountains outside of the small town. Underneath his sunglasses his eyes roamed to the mysterious and foreboding Superstition Mountains, and their dark presence made the deserted town that sat in their ominous shadow welcoming by comparison.