Lauren parks the triwheeled dune buggy on dry sand, her eyes focused on the forty-foot-high perimeter fence which runs parallel to the shoreline.
WARNING: ELECTRIFIED FENCE. NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.
She tosses a seashell fragment.
Zapp!
Okay, Einstein, now what?
A flash of headlights causes her to duck. She watches as a white stretch limousine parks in front of the main entrance.
Lauren sits back, rubbing her head, trying to fathom the sudden sensation of deja vu.
Grand Master Chong, Dominique, Jacob, and Immanuel stand before the two-way observation panel, watching the occupants in the next room.
Seated at the head of a simulated oak conference table is President John Zwawa. On his left is Alyssa Popov, on his right, a Hispanic member of GOLDEN FLEECE.
‘Danny Diaz,’ Jacob mutters, ‘Dave Mohr’s right-hand man. Looks like the bastard sold us out.’
A disheveled Dr. Mohr enters the conference room, followed by the most stunning woman Immanuel Gabriel has ever seen. She is young, about his age, but carries herself in a more worldly way. Mocha tan skin. High cheekbones, accentuated by long, wavy ebony hair, which rolls down her taut, muscular back to her flawless waistline. Her lips are full and luscious, her dark, wrap around sunglasses adding an air of mystique. She saunters around the room in her own little world, her bone-colored silk pajama-style outfit threatening to fall away.
Manny watches her circle, his eyes wide. ‘Who is that?’
Jacob stares at the woman as if seeing a ghost. ‘Trouble.’
Dave Mohr’s voice emanates from speakers within their sound-proof office. ‘Mrs. Mabus, honestly, I’m not really sure what you’re after. After all, we’ve been attempting to reverse engineer the starship for more than a decade now, and-’
‘Please, Dr. Mohr, let’s not begin our tenure together with lies.’ Her voice, so soothing, yet not one to be trifled with. ‘Daniel?’
Danny Diaz activates a recessed volumetric display, which rises to show the three-dimensional image of the Guardian’s starship rotating above the tabletop. ‘We’ve been able to access the Balam ’s astrotopography program. We also located the source of the electromagnetic pulse weapon, which essentially prevented us from annihilating one another back in 2012.’
Lilith glides around the room, then abruptly stops and stares at her own reflection in the two-way mirror, inches from Jacob and Manny.
‘Who is she, Jacob?’ Dominique whispers.
Lilith suddenly smiles like an enchantress, then slowly lifts her silk top, exposing her tan, grapefruit-sized breasts at the two-way mirror.
Immanuel grins.
Jacob’s heart skips a beat.
And then the woman removes her wraparound sunglasses and reveals the sociopathic intensity of her azure-blue eyes.
Jacob grabs his twin by the arm and forcibly drags him from the room.
‘Jake, stop-’
‘No! You need to leave here, now!’
‘Jake, her eyes… was that-’
‘Yes. Now listen to me very carefully-’
They race down a corridor to a door marked EQUIPMENT. Jacob keys a code into a pad, then opens the door – revealing a stairwell that descends into darkness.
‘This will lead you outside to the beach. Give me two minutes, and I’ll cut power to the electrical fence. Your girlfriend’s outside.’
‘Lauren’s here? How do you know-’
‘Don’t talk, just listen. Head south. Stay out of the public eye. Find Frank Stansbury, he’s a friend of the family. Lives in Delray Beach, in the Western Estates.’
‘What about you?’
Jacob embraces his twin. ‘Don’t ask-just run! Remember, Frank Stansbury. And stay out of the nexus, or the Hunahpu will sense you. Now go!’
Immanuel hurries down the steps. Kicks open the rusted steel door and jogs out onto the beach, the wind gusting, the ocean spray blasting him in the face.
Searchlights activate behind and to his left. He dives forward, rolling to the base of the electrical barrier.
The searchlights’ motion detectors locate him. He tosses sand at the fence, which sizzles with static. Come on, Jake, shut it down!
He takes a few breaths, looks around, then throws another fistful of sand.
This time, the charge is gone.
Leaping to his feet, he grabs hold of the fence, scaling the forty-foot-high steel barrier like a lizard. He leaps into the night, drops and lands on both feet – as a familiar figure runs away from him, heading for the ocean.
Lauren sprints down the beach, away from the sirens, away from the searchlights. The wind whistles in her ears as the world-class sprinter races for the Amphibian.
‘Lauren, wait!’
Sam?
Lauren stops running as her fiance stumbles, barreling sideways into her.
‘Lauren?’ Sam stares at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, God, it is you!’
She leaps into his arms, sobbing. ‘Sam, I’m in so much trouble-’
‘You and me both.’ Looking back over her shoulder, he spots the armed security guards. ‘Come on, we gotta move.’
Hand in hand, they race down the beach.
‘No, this way!’ Lauren pulls him toward the water.
He spots the Amphibian, then looks back, as one of the security guards activates his taser.
No! Ignoring his brother’s warning, he slips into the nexus – time slowing to an excruciating crawl.
Behind him, pushing through clear gelatin-like fourth-dimensional waves, is the taser’s sizzling violet circle of energy. Expanding rapidly across the beachhead, the paralyzing loop of lightning reaches for them – as Jacob grabs Lauren around her waist and leaps into the Amphibian’s cockpit.
I can taste you, cousin. Why do you run? What is it you fear?
Gunning the engine, he converts the jeep into a boat, then activates the craft’s autopilot, pressing the setting for Miami – as the wave of energy slams into them from behind, zapping them into unconsciousness.
34
Friday Morning
Captain Robert Wilkins, Operational Commander of the Weather Net-Atlantic Force, stares at the real-time satellite image of Super-Cane Kenneth being projected on the control room’s large monitor. The Category-6 storm has become an absolute freak of nature, its clearly defined eye sixty nautical miles northeast of Eleuthera Island, its swirling vortex already engulfing the Bahamas, punishing the hastily abandoned islands with winds in excess of 195 miles an hour.
Wilkins is as frustrated as he is worried. The delivery of the MPK gas mix to the Port of Miami was not only late, it was light, with barely enough of the pressurized cryogenic nitrogen to fill half the fleet’s converted vertical silos. Category-6 super-canes mandate a minimum of eight fully loaded vessels. Wilkins has barely six, and Kenneth is no ordinary superstorm.
Executive Officer David Sutera approaches, handing him a printout. ‘Skipper, we just received this latest GMT.’
SUPER -CANE KENNETH 1100 GMT FRIDAY 11/25/33
LOCATION: 26.1 N 75.8 W
MAX. WIND: 197 MPH
GUSTING: 208 MPH
MOVING: WAT 16 MPH
PRESSURE: 941 MB
PREDICTED U.S. LANDFALL: SATURDAY 11/26/33 09:20 HRS
DESTINATION: MIAMI
‘Christ, it’s picked up speed.’
‘A mandatory evacuation order was just issued. Key West north to West Palm Beach.’
‘Conn, sonar, skipper, we’re in the eye.’
‘Very well. Officer of the Deck, bring us about, make your course two-seven-zero, steady at four knots.’
‘Aye, sir, coming about. Making my course two-seven-zero, steady at four knots.’
‘Bring us to periscope depth.’
‘Aye, sir, coming up to periscope depth. Steady at sixty feet.’