The memory was indeed there thanks to the briefing reports from the Mossad. She looked back at the now-relaxed Farbeaux.
“The terrorist cell that was uncovered here and in the mountains?”
“Terrorist cell?” Henri gave her a bemused chuckle and then looked at Anya full on as he removed his sunglasses. “You’re one of them now, and you’ll soon learn that most American cover-ups start with a grain of truth and expand from there. Terrorists, yes, by all means they were indeed that.”
“One thing you should know about me, Colonel, I do not have your sense of humor.”
“Really?” he said as he leaned back against the bulkhead of the compartment and replaced his sunglasses. He smiled again as the large helicopter settled onto the sand-covered roadway where once upon a time giant C-130 Hercules cargo planes had set down to disgorge its cargo of 101st Airborne troops for the defense of the American desert. “Well, my dear, possibly being the future Mrs. Everett, you better develop that sense of humor.” His smile left his face as the wheels of the Black Hawk set down on the sand-covered roadway behind the large and abandoned Texaco station. Farbeaux finally sat up and looked at her seriously. “This is the town where the first shots of the war you just survived and your boyfriend did not were fired. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? I mean being brought to the place where it all started, for me, for you,” he said as he saw the face of Jack Collins on the inside of his eyelids, “and for many others.”
“Well, we’re not alone,” Anya said as the whine of the Black Hawk turbines started to dwindle to nothing as the air force crew chief opened the sliding door and hopped out.
Farbeaux assisted Anya from the helicopter and then saw that there were three more UH-60s sitting in a neat circle in the old parking lot of the Texaco station, which had seen far better days.
“This way,” the crew chief said, indicating the broken and smashed diner across the street.
Henri smiled as he recalled the first time he had been there and met the owner of the small eatery. He recalled her name: Julie Dawes. From what he understood the old man, Gus Tilley, had made the woman’s and her son’s lives quite comfortable after the finding of the Lost Dutchman gold mine. He shook his head as he took in the dilapidated diner. He lost his smile when he remembered the men he had lost in the town and below it in tunnels made by a being from another world as it sought to exterminate men from this planet — the opening shots of the war between mankind and the Grays.
As the filthy glass door of the diner was held open for them by the Black Hawk’s crew chief, Henri immediately saw the three armed men just inside. The security was part of the Group. Henri could always tell because Collins trained his men to blend in. The three just sat around in civilian clothes and watched the grouping of six people waiting at tables that had been placed together.
“Colonel Farbeaux, Anya, have a seat, we’ll be starting in a moment.”
Henri smiled at Virginia Pollock. He swore the lady had more grace to her than most women of royal blood would have coursing through their veins. In his estimation the assistant director of this very strange agency was just plain elegant and deserved to be treated that way.
“It is good to see you again, Dr. Pollock,” Farbeaux said as he went to her and kissed her hand. She smiled and then glanced over at a very perturbed Master Chief Jenks, who was puffing heavily on his cigar, which Virginia had told him not to light.
“Wait one goddamn minute,” Jenks said as he stood from the table he and Virginia had been sitting at. Virginia rolled her eyes when she realized the master chief was about to fly into a jealous rage. She batted her eyes, thinking that he did feel something for her after all. “You’re that son of a bitch Frenchy colonel that sank my freakin’ boat!” he said with wide eyes.
Henri realized who the brutish little man was and that he had been near him the entire time down in Antarctica and never put the face to the name — until now.
“Well, the famous Master Chief Jenks. Haven’t seen you since—”
“You know goddamn well when the last time was, Froggy: when you blew up and sank my boat down in that backward-ass lagoon in the Amazon.”
“That’s enough, we can talk about our colorful pasts another time. Sit down, please.”
All faces with the exception of Virginia Pollock’s turned at the sound of the voice. Niles Compton stood at the swinging doors that used to front the kitchen of the Broken Cactus Bar and Grill. He placed his briefcase down on a covered table and then allowed Gunnery Sergeant Rodriguez to help him settle into the chair. Then Rodriguez and the other three security men went about the small area that used to be full of small cocktail tables, placing large monitors and computer links that had their power lines running over to the Texaco station where a small generator had been set up. There was only one of the original three pool tables left and that was being used by a tray full of Styrofoam cups and steaming coffee. Small sandwiches were also laid next to the service. All eyes were on the shattered features of the director of Department 5656.
“We will begin shortly. It seems our security director has something to work out with his people.”
Henri smiled as he sat down next to Anya and then infuriated the master chief when he winked at him. As for the chief, he had decided that as soon as he was able and thought he could get away with it he was going to eat frog legs for dinner. He would kill the Frenchman for destroying his boat, USS Teacher. Farbeaux’s smile grew when he heard the raised voices coming from the kitchen.
“Mr. Director, I’m so happy that things in security continue to go on as smooth as a French woman’s”—he looked at Anya, Virginia, and then with a dip of his head in deference to the women and to the quiet kid in the wheelchair in the corner—“a French baby’s bottom.”
The comment was accompanied by a smashing of metal onto the old, stained, and broken checkerboard tile of the kitchen.
The old rack of dusty utensils flew to the tiled floor near the repaired hole that was once created by what the Group had come to know as the Destroyer. It had since been filled in with concrete as had all the other hidden tunnels underneath the town. The outline of the repaired hole kept Sarah’s attention as she endured the anger of Jack Collins. Captain Jason Ryan was close to being insubordinate to the colonel. The two were almost nose to nose and even Charlie was pushed aside when the two security men clashed.
“I asked you point-blank if your assault and infiltration team was ready, you said yes.”
Ryan didn’t back away an inch from Collins. Sarah and Charlie Ellenshaw could only watch the two friends come close to blows. She had never seen Jack act like this with his people. Will Mendenhall stood in the far corner with his arms crossed over his chest. Sarah could see that he was torn between coming to Jason’s defense as he always did, and seeing Jack’s obvious point of view. Will understood the difference, being he was fully trained on tactical assault whereas Jason wasn’t fully up to date. He could see the reasoning behind the colonel’s anger.
“You,” he said as his finger hit Charlie Ellenshaw in the chest.
“Ow,” the cryptozoologist said, but to his credit, Mendenhall and the other two noticed Charlie bravely held his ground just as Jason had done.
“I know you’re hurting, Doc. You don’t lose personnel like Pete and Matchstick, Gus and Dr. Gilliam, and then just go about your everyday life like normal. You have to learn that in the business we have chosen — a business we have voluntarily chosen — you lose people, Doc, and they are always friends. Always!” Jack emphasized the point with his nose only inches from Charlie’s.