The black ops major paused in thought as the car streaked down the highway. "It's only been a few minutes since Sage alerted us that all signals are down," he said, thinking out loud. "Whoever is behind this wouldn't expect us to catch on so quickly, but they'd know we would eventually. Well before we arrived at... wherever. We'd check our phone. Or the car would miss a turn it was supposed to take. Something. And once I learned that we were trapped inside a flying steel prison, I'd be sure to destroy the dark energy generator so they couldn't get their hands on it."

His jaw clenched tight. "And they can't let me do that," he added. "So how would they stop me?"

Boyd's eyes widened as he seized upon the answer to his own question.

"Sage!" he blurted out in a controlled panic. "Scan for the scent of all known knockout gases. Hurry!"

"Detecting Zanamine 4 at two parts per billion," said Sage, who had access to an olfactory sensor embedded in Boyd's shirt that was sensitive enough to put a bloodhound to shame. "But this level is many orders of magnitude below what would be required to incapacitate a human being," she pointed out helpfully.

Of course it was, thought Boyd. Because the AI was detecting just the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the iceberg was no doubt about to make an appearance in violent fashion.

"What does this mean?" said Kelly.

Boyd had begun rooting through his duffel and now removed a small mask, just large enough to fit over a mouth and nose.

"It means we're about to be gassed," he said as calmly as he could, reaching toward her. "Stay still," he added, quickly fitting the mask over her face and ratcheting it tight. "This mask has a substance inside that can mop up toxins, purify air. A substance like activated charcoal, but much more effective. It won't let any Zanamine reach your lungs."

"What about you?" she said, her words now muffled through the mask.

"Don't worry about me. I can—"

A playing-card-sized section on the back of Boyd's headrest exploded with a loud crack, right on cue, followed by the loud hiss of gas leaving a tiny canister that had been embedded there. A thick haze quickly enveloped the car's two inhabitants.

"Stay calm," said Boyd. "Breathe normally. You can speak, but keep the movements of your mouth small, like you're working a ventriloquist's dummy."

"How can you speak?" said Kelly, her words tinny and hard to make out. "And how are you still conscious?"

"I only had the one mask," he replied. "But my blood stream is enhanced with mechanical red blood cells."

So much for keeping EHO secrets, he thought. But if this didn't constitute a need-to-know situation, nothing ever would.

"They're called respirocytes," he continued, "perfected just last year. Essentially, they're spherical nanobots the size of blood cells. They function as tiny pressure tanks that can be stuffed with oxygen and carbon dioxide. Each can store, transport, and release over a hundred times more oxygen than a natural blood cell. I can go almost twenty minutes without taking a breath. None of us breathe while we're speaking, but I've trained myself not to take a breath afterward, either, in this type of emergency circumstance."

"Wow!" said Kelly in awe as the gas continued to collect around them. "Then why do you even carry a mask?" she added, her words continuing to be muffled and hard to decipher. "In case you're next to a damsel when a gas attack happens?"

He shook his head. "Some gases can outlast even my ability to hold my breath," he explained.

"Was this gas supposed to kill us?"

"No. They appear to want us alive. They couldn't risk blowing up the car or crashing us into a building, since this might damage the generator. But they also could have used lethal gas, and didn't."

"But who? And why?"

"Don't know, but they're extremely sophisticated and competent. Almost certainly backed by a major country," he added, still not having taken a single breath.

"Sage," he continued, "access the self-driving system and tell me where these hostiles are taking us. Also, wrestle back control of the car."

"Working," responded his personal AI. "They are taking us to a location twenty-seven miles northwest of our intended destination, on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware. I estimate we'll arrive there in forty-one minutes. As for retaking control of the autopilot, I'm doing everything I can, but after they broke in, they used an encryption to block anyone from following. One that I've never seen before. I'm trying to crack it now, but have no idea if, or when, this might be possible."

"Keep trying," said Boyd. "In the meantime, if I shot out the engine from here, would we survive?"

"Impossible to know, but we are now traveling at seventy miles per hour, so this is certainly a risk. You're wearing advanced body armor and have been genetically altered to heal quickly, so your chances of survival are much better than your companion's."

"Speaking of my companion," said the major, "call her Kelly. And until further notice, interact with her as you would me, including taking orders and sharing classified information. Understood?"

"Understood," repeated Sage.

Boyd reached into a small outer compartment of his gray duffel and removed a case with a ball-bearing-sized plastic ball inside. "Put this in your ear," he said, handing it to Kelly.

She studied it warily, making no move to do as he asked.

"It's harmless, I promise. Once inserted, you can use it to communicate with me and Sage over great distances. Or about a mile if no Wi-Fi or cell signals are available, since both Sage and the comms have a limited radio transmission capability. I can speak to you subvocally, soundlessly. And while you won't be able to do the same, the comm is sensitive enough to pick up a whisper. It's activated when anyone sends a transmission to it. Or you can initiate a call by tapping a finger twice just outside your ear canal. Sensors will pick up the vibrations and turn it on. You turn it off the same way."

"If I put it in my ear," she said, "it'll just roll out again."

"No, it won't," replied Boyd, after pausing briefly to reconstruct her words. She would have made a horrible ventriloquist. "It's very sophisticated. It will travel to your cochlea, open up, and insert itself with sub-millimeter precision. You won't feel a thing."

Kelly winced, but to her credit, she did as he asked without complaint, despite still wearing a snug mask, and despite gas continuing to swirl around her.

"Sage, is it safe to breathe yet?" Boyd asked his AI.

"Negative. But I estimate it will be very soon. I will alert you when it is."

"Thank you," said Boyd as he removed the dark energy generator from his duffel bag and placed it on the floor. He then proceeded to crush it to tiny pieces with the heel of his shoe, destroying it beyond repair, while Kelly looked on in fascination and horror.

"It is now safe for you to breathe," reported Sage.

Boyd nodded and finally took a breath, unhurriedly, even after all this time, instead of having to gasp it in like a desperate swimmer exploding to the surface to fill aching lungs.

Kelly removed her mask and handed it back to him. "Thanks," she said gratefully.

He nodded and returned it to his gray duffel.

"You know," she said, "back in Spokane, I thought you were a little anal to keep your combat gear so close while in friendly territory." She winced in an exaggerated fashion. "But there's a teensy-weensy chance that this assessment may have been a bit... hasty."

Boyd laughed, but only for a moment. They were far from out of the woods. "Sage," he said, "were you receiving data from traffic cams before our signals were blocked?"

"I was."

"Still have this footage stored in temporary memory?"

"I do."

"Search it for any activity that looks suspicious, especially in the vicinity of where we'll be ending up. Also, tell us what you can about the nature of the destination."

"Working," said the AI, and then a moment later added, "request completed. Traffic cams show a pattern of activity suggestive of an ambush. I can give you details of the full analysis, but the bottom line is that several hours ago, four vehicles, each with four men inside, were picked up on cameras entering the general vicinity of this car's destination. There could well be other vehicles doing the same who took routes not covered by a traffic cam. Yet up until a short while ago, when I lost my connections with the cams, there was still no sign that any of these four vehicles had left."

Kelly caught Boyd's eye. "They probably just stopped off at a religious retreat, right?"

"No doubt," he replied wryly. "Or else they're camped out around our arrival point with enough firepower to stop an army." He shrugged. "You know, either way."

The corners of Kelly's mouth turned up into just the hint of a smile.

"My maps show that our destination is within a deep woods," continued the AI, "about fourteen by eighteen miles thick. The car is taking you to a clearing near the center."

"So a place so secluded," said Boyd, "that a war could break out and no one would hear it. Just what I'd expect from this group. They think we're unconscious, but still plan for a possible battle."

Kelly blinked in confusion. "How does Sage know the dimensions of the woods?" she asked. "She can't connect with online mapping programs."

"She has a huge memory and onboard database. Enormous. Think a Wikipedia-sized information base times a thousand, complete with maps. If she is cut off from the internet, EHO made sure she could still serve operatives as a massive storehouse of knowledge."

"Remarkable," said Kelly. "The government must have spent tens of billions of dollars on R&D to perfect this stuff. How much does it cost to even outfit a single EHO agent?"

"You don't want to know," said Boyd with a smile. "Well, you clearly do want to know. But I definitely don't want to tell you."

Kelly returned his smile, but only for a moment. They were both trying to inject levity into the conversation, but neither was much in the mood for laughter.

"Sage, any progress taking back control of the car?" asked Boyd.

"I haven't cracked their firewalls yet, but I'm devoting all of my capabilities to the task."

"Any chance she'll take it back in time?" asked Kelly.

"We can only hope. They expected us to be safely unconscious for the entire trip. I'm pretty sure they know I'm with EHO, and what this might entail. But even if I managed to stay conscious, they can't possibly have imagined that I'd have access to a supercomputer that doesn't require Wi-Fi."

He shook his head gravely. "But even so, they went to the trouble of sealing the autopilot back up so tightly that even Sage is having trouble regaining control. This shows an extraordinary level of competence, caution, and contingency planning."

"They really have you worried, don't they?"

"They're very, very good," said Boyd miserably.

The major stared intently into the green eyes of his companion. "You heard what I asked Sage earlier. I could try to shoot out the engine. Try to stop the car before it plants us on the center of a bull's-eye. But there's a chance that this could also lead to... bad things."

"Like me dying?" she said, swallowing hard.

He nodded solemnly.

"But you think that we should risk it?"

"Yes."

"But why? You said they want us alive."

"They do. For now. But that won't last long. We're looking at capture, followed by torture, followed by death. There's a small chance they'll let you live, for the right inducement. But once they get what they can from me, my fate is sealed. I'm too powerful, and I've witnessed too much. I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve, so there's a good chance we can escape. Even so, I think it's worth the risk of a few slugs in the engine to see if we can't stop this runaway train."

Kelly gritted her teeth and held the straps of her seat belt. "Do it," she said bravely.

Boyd removed a handgun from the bag and screwed a silencer onto its barrel, so he wouldn't make them temporarily deaf.

"You're sure?" he said.

"Not even a little," whispered Kelly, "but do it anyway."

Boyd took aim at a point below the dash that he guessed would hit the engine and fired.

The instant he depressed the trigger a loud metallic clang sounded, and the bullet ricocheted backwards, nearly taking off his head as it embedded itself into the back seat.

"These assholes are really getting on my nerves," he said through clenched teeth, seething. "They must have installed a hardened steel barrier to prevent anyone from shooting the engine from inside the car."

He pointed the gun at his window, but then lowered it again as he thought to examine the glass more closely. "Transparent aluminum," he said after a careful inspection. "Something else I missed," he added in disgust. "I can't even shoot out any of the windows. The preparation behind this Op is extraordinary," he concluded, almost in admiration.

Kelly looked ill. "Does this mean we're forced to go with the 'capture, then torture, then death' option?"

"No it doesn't," insisted Boyd. "I'll find a way to get us out of this. Might as well prove that my enhancements are worth the money."

"You know," said Kelly wearily, "it occurs to me that self-driving rental cars aren't as fun as I initially thought."

Despite everything, Boyd couldn't help but laugh. Nothing impressed him more than a woman who could embrace gallows humor as disaster loomed.

"Sage, I know you're still shut out," he said, "but have you come across any software or hacking signatures that might tell you who's behind this?"

"Affirmative," said the AI. "The telltales are unmistakable. The work bears the signature of the People's Republic of China."

Boyd let out a curse. "It's possible this is a false flag operation," he said to Kelly, "but unlikely. I was already becoming convinced that China was behind this. I was just hoping I was wrong."

"Why were you hoping you were wrong?"

"Because given what I know of their capabilities, this is very much a worst-case scenario."

"Thanks," said Kelly grimly. "I was hoping for more bad news."


Where do I begin to describe my meeting with Heinrich Himmler? Even though it happened many years ago, in some ways it seems like it took place yesterday. In others, like I wasn't even involved, like it happened to someone else.

My memory is excellent, but time, emotion, and maturity tend to distort all things. I only wish I had been allowed to keep a journal of my experiences just after they had happened, to compare my recollections now to my observations then, but alas, this was not to be.

After Gruppenfuhrer Becker and his SS thugs pulled me from my home, Becker made sure he washed his hands of me, relegating me to underlings. Himmler must have ordered him to retrieve me, but judging from his manner, he found this duty demeaning, and adhered only to the letter of his boss's order. He fulfilled his duty by retrieving me and he was gone, off to ply his cruelty and sadism elsewhere.

I was held for several hours before a long drive to Wewelsburg, three hundred miles away. Not that I knew where I was being taken at the time. After I made an inquiry, I was told to shut up and stop asking questions by my charming escorts, who viewed me with contempt. I was a scrawny adolescent who somehow warranted a meeting with Reichsfuhrer Himmler, and I had a feeling they sensed I found them abhorrent, as much as I tried to hide it.

I was torn up inside, and I spent the long drive pulling myself together. My parents were wonderful people, whom I loved and respected, and I had a sick feeling that I would never see them again. Still, this storm had been coming since before I could remember, and I had fared better than many. And I had always known that it was only a matter of time before the Reich would come for me, to press my intellect into furthering their twisted purposes.

We finally arrived at our destination, Wewelsburg Castle, and I was pushed across the moat bridge forcefully, even though I showed no sign that this was necessary. My SS escorts felt the need to show dominance, to make sure I knew who was boss, like primitive apes beating their chests.

The castle was as magnificent as it was horrifying. Large, stark, and looming. A vast, elongated triangle in shape, with three round towers connected by imposing walls. Hitler and Himmler were nothing if not masters of imagery, symbolism, and propaganda, and Himmler's acquisition of the renaissance castle in 1934 was inspired in the Nazi Party's sick and twisted way.

Whatever the case, it was well known that Himmler adored the castle, intending for it to serve as the central site for the cult of the SS. Rumor had it that he dreamed it would one day become "The Center of the World" in the Nazi SS religion.

The head of the SS was also obsessed with archaeological excavations, a critical part of his never-ending quest to distort history to support the racism and delusions of the Nazi party. He soon made Wewelsburg Castle the home base of archaeology in the region. The Ahnenerbe, also known as the Ancestral Heritage Research and Teaching Society, was the SS's propaganda arm, dedicated to spreading mythology to give historical credence to the Nazi's claim of Aryan ancestry and superiority, and this group ensured the castle was well stocked in ancient relics.

Himmler had seen to it that the moat was lowered to make the castle seem more like the one in the mythological legends of King Arthur, who had magically become an Aryan in Himmler's mind. The Reichsfuhrer was obsessed with Arthur and the Holy Grail legend, even to the point of naming one room in the castle the "Grail" room, and another the "King Arthur" room.

Mysticism, occultism, and belief in witchcraft reigned in the Reich, spearheaded by the psychotic men at the top—especially Himmler—whose distorted point of view was so diseased as to be unrecognizable as human. And Wewelsburg Castle was the perfect embodiment of this warped, twisted madness.

How had so many of my fellow citizens been gripped by mysticism and the supernatural? By mass delusion? How had reality become so distorted?

I knew that part of the answer, of course, was that after my country's crushing defeat in the First World War, the collective souls of many of my fellow Germans had been scarred, disfigured beyond recognition, and open to believing almost anything, no matter how insane. It terrified me to realize just how easy it was for mass delusion to overtake large swaths of humanity. That just below the surface of human kindness was a seething pool of unfathomable ruthlessness and cruelty, unequaled in the animal kingdom.

My escorts and I waited outside a room until we were summoned by the man inside. The moment we were, I was shoved through the door into a massive, medieval room and pushed down into an ornate chair that sat in front of an imposing wooden desk.

The floor was a shiny, rose-colored marble, and it was truly beautiful, although I had no time to appreciate my surroundings as I tried to size up the man across from me. He was seated at the desk, and after he and my escorts traded a perfunctory Heil Hitler, he dismissed them with a flourish of his hand.

As they left, I felt my own right arm shoot out and heard myself saying Heil Hitler also, a greeting that had been mandatory for civilians for over a decade. Hitler's efforts to indoctrinate all Germans into becoming obedient drones was insidious and horrific—but also chillingly effective.

In the early years, those who refused to use this greeting were often beaten by the zealous, and by the end of 1934, special courts had been established to punish those who refused to salute. The brainwashing began in kindergarten, where children were already being taught to thrust out their right arms to routinely express their fealty to a ruthless psychopath. Students and teachers would salute each other at the beginning and end of the school day, and between classes.

The combination of punishment for those who didn't comply, and brainwashing of an entire generation of children, was extremely potent, and the salute had soon become part of everyday German life. Postmen used it when delivering letters, and department store clerks did so while greeting customers with a hearty, "Heil Hitler, how may I help you?"

I had railed against this despicable greeting from a very young age, but my father had softened the blow, reminding me that "heil" had more than one meaning, being the imperative of the verb "heilen"—to heal. Like many others, whenever I uttered this nauseating phrase, I was imploring the gods to "heal Hitler!" despite my certainty that the malignancy that filled this tyrant's soul was well beyond the possibility of repair.

But now, more than ever, I knew I had to sublimate my abhorrence of all things Nazi. I had to park every ounce of my contempt and hostility, and of course, intelligence and rationality, at the door. If I ever hoped to strike out against this ignorance and malevolence, it would pay to be on good terms with the man who was arguably the second most powerful in all of Germany, and almost as great a psychopath as his boss.

The man across from me appeared meek and unimposing. Thin, weak-looking, and slightly below average in height, he had the oval face and round glasses of an accountant, with the obligatory Hitler mustache under his nose. He wore his uniform in a prim and officious manner, and at first glance appeared to be completely harmless. At first glance.

But I quickly began to sense the malevolence just under the surface, and I'm convinced that this wasn't simply because of what I already knew about him. Somehow the rage, hatred, and psychosis that was churning and erupting like lava inside his soul couldn't be fully contained. Almost, but not fully.

Himmler was like a pastoral field littered with hidden mines. If one came upon it unaware, one would admire the calm serenity of the pasture and feel perfectly safe, having no idea that a single misstep could turn it into a bloody killing field.

But I knew. I was never so nervous as I was during this meeting. I was dealing with a madman who was completely unpredictable. Docile until he wasn't docile.

And what might trigger the beast? I had no idea, but I had a bad feeling that it would be random, and I'd never see it coming. A compliment could set off a hidden landmine just as surely as an insult.

The general who had visited my home was cruel and malevolent, wearing these attributes on his sleeve. But Himmler could fake normalcy, which I found to be far more chilling than if he were a snarling barbarian.

"It is a great honor to meet you, Reichsfuhrer Himmler," I heard myself say, as bile literally rose in my throat. Perhaps this is why my memories are so clear this many years later, but yet so faint. Because the entire meeting was like an out-of-body experience as I pretended to be the opposite of who I really was.

Himmler stared at me for what felt like forever, as if I were nothing more than an insect pinned under a microscope. "Do you know why I brought you here?" he said finally.

I shook my head. "No, sir."

"Come now," he said, sounding irritated. Had I triggered a mine already? "Surely you must have some idea."

"Only what General Becker told me, Herr Reichsfuhrer. That since I've excelled in certain academic pursuits, you and the Reich have a project that you would like me to focus my energy on."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," said Himmler disarmingly. Not that I was fooled. I wasn't about to lose my focus, or my fear, for an instant. I was locked in a cage with a lion, and my every sense would be heightened until I was out once again.

I was young, slight, and physically unimposing, but I had always compensated for feelings of physical intimidation by counterbalancing feelings of mental maturity and superiority. But I had never felt younger, or smaller, or more helpless than I did then.

"Rather than keeping you in suspense," said Himmler, "I'll give you a brief summary of what you'll be working on now. Then, after further discussion, I can provide more details."

The SS chief paused. "I have a fascination with the supernatural, as you know," he continued. "In fact, I'm in possession of many thousands of books, journals, parchments, and so on, purchased or taken from numerous collections. Many of these are well over a thousand years old, and all pertain to the occult and supernatural. I'm convinced that within these books are important clues to the glorious past of the Aryan race. I have sent archaeological teams around the world in search of artifacts and relics, and to track down yet additional relevant texts. I have followed up on hundreds of leads. Admittedly, most of these have been dead ends."

He paused for effect, and then raised his eyebrows. "Until now."

I found myself both fascinated and confused. Was this yet another of his delusions? Or had he finally uncovered something worthwhile?

Even if he had, I couldn't imagine what it might have to do with me. At sixteen, I was perhaps the leading physicist in the world, even though the Nazis had gone to great lengths to keep my existence a secret. But what I was most certainly not was an archaeologist.

"Recently," continued the head of the SS, "we found an obscure reference that led us to something truly astonishing, thousands of miles from Germany. A find beyond our wildest hopes. An object that proves, conclusively, that ancient, pure-blooded Aryans possessed the power of the gods."

"Ah... that is truly remarkable," I said, sensing that he wanted a response.

"The object is shaped like a cube, about the size of a crystal ball," he continued. "With other shapes inside, either spinning or stationary. It's an object that produces impossibly strong beams of light that streak forth from each vertex, one that throbs with energy. A truly hypnotic object that can harness nearly unlimited power."

"Can you tell me the highest level of power that's been measured so far?" I said, having become convinced that this was nothing more than a test of my thought process—or my gullibility.

He smiled. "None has been measured. The power is somehow constrained within the cube. But the truth of its immensity requires no measurement. When you see the object, you will know in your very being that it represents the ultimate dynamo. You will know that it is an object that only the true Aryans of Atlantis could have possibly produced."

"May I see it now?" I asked.

He frowned. "It isn't here," he replied. "You'll have to travel to where it was found. It's behind enemy lines," he added, "although in a remote location. Far from any human activity."

I nodded. For some reason, I had guessed it had been found in America, but if it was behind enemy lines, this could not be true. The Americans hadn't joined the war until the very end of 1941, so at the time of the meeting there was no certainty that they would join the fray.

But in truth, I didn't believe this bizarre cube he described was anywhere. How convenient for Himmler that the object was so far away that his propaganda could not be confirmed. Just another Nazi fantasy tale.

"Forgive my ignorance, Herr Reichsfuhrer," I said as timidly as I could, "but if the object is a small cube, wouldn't it be easier to bring it to Germany to study?"

"I'm afraid that this has proven to be impossible. In fact, we haven't been able to move it as much as a millimeter, no matter what we've tried. The head scientists on the team estimate that it weighs many millions of pounds."

It took all of my focus not to laugh in Himmler's face, but I knew this would be a fatal error. I had thought this a test. I had thought it propaganda. But now I saw the horrifying truth.

These were nothing but the ravings of a madman. Not mad with power, but literally, clinically mad. The second most powerful man in all of Germany had lost his mind entirely.

And this was the most terrifying realization I had ever had.


The black Lexus sedan, a car now possessed by a demon AI, pulled off the highway and was soon taking more and more obscure roads, leading ever deeper into an endless woods, reducing its speed to a bumpy thirty-five.

Kelly Connolly found the beauty of the lush, multicolored leaves that now surrounded them breathtaking, and cursed the fact that she didn't have the luxury of basking in this splendor.

"Sage, what's our ETA?" asked Boyd.

"Thirty-one minutes."

Kelly was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. She was terrified, fearing for her life, but yet in a strange way, exhilarated. She couldn't help but be enthralled to be around a man so competent and decisive. And so confident, even as he was admitting to uncertainty. Women might claim to want a Clark Kent, but nature had evolved their genes to fall for his more powerful, tights-wearing alter ego instead.

Boyd fell silent for several minutes, alone with his thoughts, and as much as Kelly knew he needed time to think and plan, she couldn't handle the quiet. She needed to distract herself from the coming showdown, when the Lexus finally reached its destination. When the music finally stopped and a deadly round of musical chairs began.

"Tell me more about this supercomputer of yours," she said to her military companion, interrupting his reverie. "And your AI, of course. She seems like a handy tool to have around."

Boyd told her the basics, subvocal communication, the advanced architecture of the computer, and how it was affixed to his thigh.

"So Sage was with you in Spokane," said Kelly. "Which explains why you seemed so knowledgeable, so impressive." She raised her eyebrows. "Because you cheated."

"It's nice to know that you found me so impressive," he said with the hint of a smile.

"Did you miss the part about cheating?"

His smile broadened. "No, I just liked the other part better. And the truth is that I didn't cheat. Not really. Almost all of what I claimed to know, I really did know. Being able to secretly communicate with a supercomputer AI is great if you're in a trivia contest. But it's less and less helpful the more complicated the subject matter. And we were talking about some very complicated things."

The major paused. "In this case," he continued, "having Sage with me was like taking an open-book test back in college. You remember those. Whenever you had a test that was open book, you knew it was going to be brutal. You knew the professor expected you to have mastery of the subject matter and to use your brain, not just find the answer in the book."

Kelly nodded. She had to admit he made a good point.

"My biggest cheat," continued Boyd, "was searching for your dark energy credentials when the subject came up, to learn just how expert you were. I had read a short bio on you before arriving in Spokane, but your background in dark energy research was barely touched upon. So I called up a number of papers you had written on the subject on my smart contact lenses."

"Smart contact lenses?" she repeated. "How smart are we talking?"

"Pretty smart," he said. "Not that they need to be, since they're tied into Sage. But they contain a nearly microscopic onboard computer and an invisible antenna. Sage can see what I see, and can record it all. She can also send 3D images and video to my lenses, which seem to float in front of my face.

"I can view anything you can view on a computer without anyone knowing," continued Boyd. "Videos, schematics, tactical displays." He paused and gestured at his fellow passenger. "Journal articles written by Kelly Connolly," he added pointedly. "Anything."

"How do you control it all?"

"I can order Sage to do it, but it's faster using blink patterns and subtle contractions of ocular muscles. I practiced for over a year, so I can do this without anyone knowing."

"I certainly didn't."

"The lenses also annotate any object or person I see. If I look at a tree and blink in a certain way, Sage will identify the type of tree and display information about it, which will seem to hover beside it. Same goes for a person—assuming Sage is able to get his or her identity. If I'm reading something and I focus on a word or phrase in a certain way, additional information relevant to this word or phrase will appear."

"Like clicking on a hyperlink," said Kelly.

"Exactly."

"Impressive. Anything else?"

"Yes. I can zoom in on distant objects, like having an internal pair of binoculars, and switch to night vision with a blinked command."

"Night vision?" said Kelly incredulously. "In contact lenses?"

"I was just as skeptical," said Boyd. "But our scientists figured out a way to use a single layer of carbon atoms to pick up the full spectrum of light, including infrared and ultraviolet. So they can provide thermal imaging that outdoes bulky night-vision goggles."

"Wow. These lenses of yours seem quite... handy."

"You have no idea. If you think a smartphone is addictive, wait until you've gotten used to the combination of Sage and smart lenses. They become indispensable."

"I don't doubt it," said Kelly. "So how about telling me the rest," she added, locking her gaze onto his. "And if you say that I still don't need to know, I'm going to kill you myself."

"That's tough, but fair," said Boyd in amusement.

The major went on to rapidly describe a litany of enhancements. His undergarments provided greater protection from bullets than a Kevlar vest. Made from flexible sheets of graphene, which were honeycombed arrays of carbon one atom thick, they were a supple material that would instantly stiffen to diamond-like hardness when hit with a bullet or a thrown knife.

His second layer of clothing, which looked like casual civilian wear, was a soft endoskeleton of fabric and carbon fiber, with an electroactive coating. Human muscles exerted their force through controlled expansion and contraction, and this flexible woven material could do the same, expanding and contracting in response to the application of a low voltage, giving it the ability to actuate the same way as muscle fibers. Sage could precisely control where and when current was applied to the material, amplifying Boyd's muscle power whenever the AI sensed that this was required. All in all, with Sage's help, Boyd could almost triple his strength for brief periods.

This didn't make him a Marvel superhero, Kelly knew, but it sure would make rearranging the furniture a lot easier.

The comm embedded in Boyd's ear was superior to the one he had given her, able to pick up and amplify sound well beyond the range of normal human hearing, allowing him to eavesdrop on whispered conversations thirty yards away.

Boyd also disclosed that several implants were embedded in his brain. When electrically stimulated, these implants could amp up his mental and physical acuity to great heights for short periods, leading to superhuman reaction speeds—even without his electroactive body suit. Military experiments had demonstrated the cognitive enhancement potential of transcranial electrical brain stimulation for some time, and the technology had been field tested on Navy SEALS as far back as 2016.

Kelly was absolutely fascinated. The major was a repository of revolutionary techniques and technology. And while the scientific rationale and underpinnings of these enhancements could be found in the scientific literature, few could ever guess that they had actually been perfected.

These technologies were bolstered by genetically engineered modifications that provided EHO operatives with a host of additional advantages, using the immensely powerful CRISPR gene editing system. Enhancement of NMDA glutamate receptors was long known to improve memory formation and long-term potentiation, such that Boyd was able to learn faster and retain more information. Modifications to Boyd's LPR5 gene strengthened his bones. Modifications to his myostatin gene—which had first been shown to result in super-muscular pigs and dogs—resulted in muscles that were stronger and leaner than a non-enhanced human could ever achieve.

Other genetic manipulations conferred superhuman reflexes, and provided a form of super-adrenaline that could heighten the major's performance even more, not just in short bursts, but giving him increased strength, speed, and stamina for extended periods.

Kelly's eyes were wide when he finished the list. Along with Sage, his smart contacts, and his respirocytes, the technology was truly next level. It was now clearer than ever why the military had gone to such great lengths to ensure that only the most ethical of soldiers become EHO agents, since their enhancements made them all but unstoppable.

Boyd had raced through his enhancements very rapidly, providing little detail. But this had served brilliantly to distract her from what they were about to face.

"Anything else?" she said hopefully when he had stopped.

"Probably," he replied as the car took a dirt road that branched off from the narrow paved one it was on. "But we only have nine minutes before we... land. And I need to mentally prepare for what we might face."

He sighed. "Before I do, I want to tell you how sorry I am that you've become involved in this. I signed up for dangerous duty—you didn't. And I need to be honest. I expect to have to use lethal force. We'll be greatly outnumbered, so I can't just knock them down. I have to be sure they can't get up again. I'm a living, breathing treasure trove of game-changing technology, so lethal that our own government only trusts it with a select few. So it's critical that it not fall into anyone else's hands, no matter what it takes."

Kelly already felt queasy, and her stomach suddenly took a turn for the worse. She was fearing for her own life. But she hadn't considered that she might soon be witness to the violent deaths of others, which was something she had never expected to experience. She had seen men slaughtered in movies, but could only imagine how truly horrifying something like this would be in real life. Apparently, she was about to find out.

"I understand," she whispered finally.

"Good," said Boyd. "I need you to expect surprises. Be prepared for anything, at any time. And follow my orders, my lead, without question. Got it?"

She swallowed hard. "Got it," she confirmed.

"Sorry to interfere with your pending preparations, Justin," said Sage's voice over the speaker, "but the signal suppression field around the car has been disengaged. Wi-Fi and communications are now enabled, but only within a five-mile radius, centered on our destination. We still can't reach anything beyond this bubble, nor can any signal reach us."

Kelly shot the major a quizzical glance. "I don't get it," she said. "Why this change?"

"Because they have numerous soldiers within the bubble," said Boyd. "Probably a lot more than the sixteen Sage already identified. And they're taking nothing for granted. If I give them a fight, they want to be able to communicate with each other through their comms. Since we have no allies here, they figure the limited range won't help us."

Boyd shook his head. "But they've made a significant miscalculation."

"How so?"

"I can have Sage control certain drones, which they'll never expect."

"Because they'll never guess you're wearing your own supercomputer."

"Right."

Kelly's eyes narrowed. "What about—"

"I really need a few minutes of thought," interrupted Boyd. "We'll be stopping very soon. When we do, leave your phone in the car, since they can trace it. I'm sure it's been backed up fairly recently, but I'll have Sage place a copy in her memory just in case."

"Uh... thanks," said Kelly. "I guess."

The inside of the Lexus fell silent for five minutes as the car continued its journey over the narrow dirt road. Finally, it arrived at a clearing, about the size of a basketball court, completely devoid of trees. As the rental rolled to a stop in the center, Boyd carefully unzipped his duffel bag.

The major blew out a long breath. "I'm going to protect you, Kelly," he said solemnly, holding her gaze. "I promise."

She nodded, temporarily speechless, as her heart began pumping so powerfully she thought it might explode through her chest.

The locks on all four doors popped open with a sound that seemed deafening, and Kelly almost jumped out of her skin.

Ten men emerged from the woods on all sides and approached the Lexus, each dressed in autumn camouflage, and each pointing a submachine gun at the vehicle.

"Get out of the car with your hands up," shouted a beefy giant of a man, apparently their designated spokesman. "You have three seconds."


Boyd scanned his surroundings with practiced efficiency as a calm settled over him. The calm before the storm.

He was now so proficient at operating his lenses they had become like his own eyes, doing his bidding without any conscious thought. His contacts zoomed in on several of the hostiles' weapons belts to find tranquilizer guns in each case, as expected. The submachine guns were just for show, for intimidation. He already knew they wanted to take him alive and wouldn't use them. But when the shit really did hit the fan, now they'd have to take an extra few seconds to drop the lethal weapons they were holding and grab their non-lethal counterparts instead.

Idiots.

Sage was able to identify six of the men, all known mercenaries. Since all ten were either Caucasian, black, or Hispanic, Boyd had already guessed that they were soldiers of fortune, hired by the Chinese to make sure their American victims didn't know who was really pulling the strings.

The major triggered all of his enhancements to sharpen his thinking and pump up his reaction times, making the wait for Kelly to exit the car seem far longer than it was. Finally, she stepped out of the car, and he moved across the seat and followed behind her, leaving the door ajar. He quickly ushered her away from the open door, stopping just a few feet beyond the hood of the car.

"Sage," he said subvocally, "fly all eight dragonfly drones about an inch above the ground until they reach the nearest tree line. Then spread them out to all compass points and identify any additional hostiles within fifty yards. When this is done, give me a count of protected versus unprotected comms."

"Understood," replied the AI, as dragonfly surveillance drones lifted silently from his unzipped duffel still inside the car and flew unobserved through the lowest part of the open door.

The hostiles continued to converge, pulling the circle in so that now all ten were facing the two new arrivals to their north, knowing that the car was blocking any escape to the south. The soldiers fanned out and stopped about twenty feet away, their submachine guns still pointed squarely at the two newcomers.

The man who had already spoken stared at them in disbelief. He locked his eyes on Justin Boyd. "How are you even conscious?" he asked.

Sage displayed the leader's bio in Boyd's field of vision, just next to the man's face. Boyd smiled arrogantly. "Oh, I'm full of surprises, Master Sergeant Knudson," he said. Then, raising his eyebrows, he added, "Oh, sorry. I know you prefer to be called Dredd. Like the judge, I guess."

"How do you know that?" said the man in dismay.

"I know everything," replied Boyd haughtily, trying to rattle them as much as possible. He waited a moment for this to sink in and then continued. "Look, you guys are in a fight that you didn't choose. I do realize that this is what mercs do," he added, "but this time you're in over your heads."

"Yeah, we've heard all about you," replied the mountain of a man who served as the mercs' leader. "Why do you think there are ten of us? The boss told us to expect you to be the most badass commando we've ever seen. And that if you didn't arrive unconscious, to knock your ass out right away."

Boyd laughed in an overly loud, mocking manner. "You poor shithead," he said in disgust, casting a quick glance at Kelly beside him to gauge her alertness. "You have no idea what you're up against here. So I'm prepared to show you mercy. Walk away with your men right now, and I'll pretend this never happened."

Dredd shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you?" he whispered.

Boyd glared at him with unbridled arrogance but didn't respond.

"The dragonflies have identified ten additional mercenaries in the woods surrounding you," blurted out Sage at three times her normal speaking rate. "Comm signatures indicate the twenty mercenaries identified are from two distinct groups brought together for the occasion. All ten in the woods, and five of those in the clearing, are from one group. All fifteen members of this group use the same make of comms, which are all protected. An additional five mercenaries in the clearing are from a second group, and they are all using unprotected comms."

"Send three of the drones farther afield to look for additional hostiles," ordered Boyd subvocally, "and keep five near the clearing."

While he and Sage communicated at a dizzying speed, Dredd was surveying his immediate surroundings, as if to reassure himself that he was sane, and that he and his force still outnumbered the man holding his hands in the air ten to one.

"We aren't walking away," he said to Boyd. "That's for damn sure. But I do have a counteroffer."

Dredd removed a small bottle from his camouflaged vest. "Catch," he said, chucking the bottle toward the major, who snatched it from the air. "Either take one of these tranquilizer pills voluntarily," he added, trying to sound as menacing as he could, "or we'll paint the Lexus behind you red with your blood."

"Wow, did you rehearse that?" said Boyd mockingly. "Paint the Lexus red with my blood? Really?" He shook his head. "The good news for you is that, despite your cringe-worthy threat, I'm prepared to give you one last chance to live."

He gestured to Kelly beside him, who looked justifiably horrified to be facing so many men and guns, but seemed to be holding up as well as could be expected. "Let my friend drive out of here unmolested," said the major, "and I'll take your pill. And I'll fully cooperate once I awaken."

He paused. "She doesn't know anything," he added. "She's an innocent egghead, totally harmless. So let her go, and I'm yours. Otherwise, I'll have to kill all of you in front of her, which I'm hoping to avoid."

Dredd shook his head. "I'd love to take you up on the offer," he said. "But—funny thing—we were told just this morning that she is our main priority. You're important, but secondary. Likely more dangerous, so we need you to go to sleep first. But, actually, if we had to choose just one of you to capture, it'd be her."

Boyd wavered for the first time, glancing at the woman beside him in disbelief. "Sage, is this true?" he asked silently.

"Master Sergeant Knudson is too far away to get biometric readings, but his microexpressions indicate that he's speaking the truth. With a greater than seventy percent confidence level."

Boyd's eyes narrowed. What in the world? His mind was cranked up to its maximum level of focus and enhancement, but this didn't begin to make any sense to him. Being outnumbered twenty to one didn't trouble him nearly as much as this revelation.

He tilted his neck so he was looking above the heads of all ten submachine-gun-toting soldiers. "Whoever is really running this show," he bellowed to the sky, "why don't you come out from behind the curtain. I know you're there. I get you're too afraid to show yourself, but are you really too afraid to even communicate with me? I have a deal to make, but only with you. This is your chance to keep ten of your hired hands alive."

A hologram materialized about twelve feet ahead of Boyd, hovering at head height. The 3D figure looked like nothing more than a shiny silver soccer ball, enlarged by a factor of three. "All right, Major," said a booming voice coming from the ball. "You want to chat before we knock you out. You have two minutes."

"Impressive English," said Boyd, staring at the ball. "And I like how you're using a geometric hologram rather than showing yourself. I get it. You don't want these men to see your nationality. You don't want them to know that Chinese intelligence is pulling their strings. But I'm afraid I have to let the cat out of the bag."

"That is an unfortunate disclosure, Major," said the voice. "I'll make sure you're tortured in a way that reflects our displeasure."

Boyd turned away from the silver soccer ball and faced the mercenary leader. "What he means by unfortunate disclosure, Dredd and company," he said, "is that since you now know China is in control, he can't let you live. So even if you survive me, which you won't, he'll have to kill you. Not a great spot to be in, is it? So now would be a really good time to walk away."

"Nice try, Major Boyd," said the voice coming from the hologram. "I considered various weapons you might deploy, but I never thought that your mouth might be one of them. Unfortunately for you, these men are exceedingly well paid, and know that you're lying. They aren't going anywhere."

Boyd surveyed the mercs and confirmed that this was true. None of them had moved, nor had they lowered their useless submachine guns an inch. They were too stupid for words.

The voice emanated from the hologram once again. "So how did you and Dr. Connolly manage to stay conscious when the gas canister went off in the car?"

"Gas canister?" said Boyd, feigning confusion. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. Maybe your people put it in the wrong car," he added helpfully.

"I'm beginning to really like you, Major. You're quite entertaining. With any luck you'll cooperate so I can keep you alive."

Boyd glared at the hovering hologram. "Why don't you come out and show yourself?" he said. "I'm guessing you're fairly close by. Although not too close, right? I know you're afraid of being caught up in the carnage."

"Let's just say I'm waiting in the wings. Well situated to observe the proceedings. I have no doubt that as soon as I give the word, you'll be knocked unconscious, just like any other man. But if you are able to put up a fight, however briefly, watching you operate will be quite... instructive."

The voice of the hovering silver ball paused. "But I really don't want any trouble. So you should know that if you were to somehow get past these men, there are ten more mercenaries in the woods. More importantly, if you somehow get by all twenty, I have yet another team waiting even farther back in the wings. A team I brought in from home. One comprised of individuals who are much more your match."

"Your version of EHO?" said Boyd.

"Very good, Major."

"Not very brave, are they?" said Boyd in disgust. "I guess they're trained to let other men do their fighting for them. Do you also teach them to hide behind women and children?"

A laugh issued from the floating hologram. "Not cowardly, Major. Smart. For the prize that you two represent, we can't afford to take any chances. I had planned for this enhanced force to engage you in Spokane, if you made it that far. I didn't want to use them first and show our hand if I could help it. And I didn't expect you to be making the guesses you have as to our origin."

"What do you know about Spokane?" demanded Boyd.

"We've had your Uru facility under surveillance for some time."

Boyd's amped mind jumped to the proper conclusion instantly. "Using the same remote transmission tech you used to take control of my car when all signals were down."

"Correct again. You're as astute as I thought you'd be."

"So why the change of plans?" said Boyd. "What caused you to race your people here, to lurk in the woods of Pennsylvania like cowards?"

"Kelly Connolly caused it," the silver hologram said simply. "We've known who she was, of course, for some time. We know all Uru personnel. A few days ago, the plan was to kill her and capture you. But last night she became the most important person on the entire planet. Someone we're willing to risk being discovered for. Someone whose capture is worth risking a possible war to achieve."

Boyd's eyes narrowed. There was something he was missing. Something enormous. He tossed the bottle of pills toward the wall of soldiers facing him, unceremoniously. "Before the fireworks begin," he said, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me under what delusional rationale this woman has become so important to you."

"Why not? After all, I listened in to your conversation with Harry Salazar earlier. I find it ironic that we maintain extensive surveillance inside your Uru facility—but you don't. It's very sad. We have cameras pointing at your Enigma Room and in a dozen other locations. Those pointing at the cube are blinded, of course, but they can see your people and experiments, and pick up what is being said.

"So imagine our surprise last night," continued the voice, "when we captured Dr. Connolly on video. Captured her walking out of your facility—with the Enigma Cube in her hand. She did this just an hour or so before she left her home to take a flight to Philadelphia. The cube looked solid, and showed up on video, so we weren't sure if it really was your Enigma Cube. But we confirmed it readily enough, when it became clear the cube was missing."

There was a short pause. "And your companion was carrying it effortlessly," added the disembodied voice. "As if it were as light as aluminum. Just before she concealed it inside a purse. Unfortunately, we didn't review this footage, which we had expected to be routine, until after she was in the air. But you can see why we'd very much like to talk to her. Learn how she managed to do this. And why. And where she hid the cube."

"You're out of your mind," spat Boyd.

"Am I?" said the hologram. "Why don't you ask Dr. Connolly if what I'm saying is true."

Boyd glanced at Kelly for the first time in minutes and his breath caught in his throat. She was white as a ghost, and several tears were streaming down her face.

She had taken the cube. Her reaction left no doubt.

Despite himself, Boyd's head was spinning, just when he needed to be at his most focused to escape.

What in the hell was going on?

"When we get out of this," he said out loud to the woman beside him, "you and I need to have a very long talk."


Russia's and China's "Enhanced Human Operations" Terrify the Pentagon

[ Popular Mechanics, Dec 16, 2015 ]

U.S. adversaries are already working on something America is reluctant to: Enhanced Human Operations (EHO). EHOs entail modifying the body and the brain itself, creating what some have called "super soldiers." At a press conference laying out the Defense Department's future research and development strategy on Monday, Deputy Defense Secretary Bob Work warned that America would soon lose its military competitive advantage if it does not pursue such technologies. "Now our adversaries, quite frankly, are pursuing enhanced human operations, and it scares the crap out of us," Work said.

Superpowers aren't just for superheroes anymore. Want some?

[ San Diego Union Tribune, September 14, 2017 ]

. . . the revolutionary CRISPR gene-editing tool can be used, not just to repair biological flaws, but in godlike fashion to engineer improved biological performance.

But there is also a chance that human enhancement will devolve into a Wild West free-for-all. Because the geopolitical stakes are too high. This explains why in 2015 the Pentagon announced it had begun its Enhanced Human Operations program, which is expected to use all the tools described above and probably quite a few that we don't know about. With archrival China undertaking a heavily funded similar program, as well as engaging in unprecedented human genetic engineering, the US government has a primal reason (survival) to shift to anything-goes mode.

Be terrified, be fascinated, be appalled, or be skeptical—but most of all, be ready. If sophisticated human enhancement is crucial to dominating the twenty-first century—as the world's greatest powers have concluded—it's coming.


My mind raced as I considered what the head of the SS had just told me. A small, all-powerful cube that weighed millions of pounds?

It was preposterous, the wild ravings of a lunatic. Still, what choice did I have but to take it seriously? If an armed escapee from an insane asylum asks you to talk to his imaginary friend, you talk to his imaginary friend. The last thing you do is tell him you can't see anyone, and question his sanity.

"So you have a team in place studying this object, this cube," I said to Himmler, pretending to see his invisible friend. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," said the head of the SS. "But before we continue with the cube, I want to have a brief discussion. Get to know you better. I've been told that you're the most brilliant of all of us. I wanted to see this for myself before I finish your briefing and send you off."

"Of course, Herr Reichsfuhrer," I said, more wary than ever.

"Can I assume that you're familiar with World Ice Theory?" he asked me.

"I am," I replied immediately.

"And what is your scientific assessment?"

I struggled to find an acceptable answer. The truth was that World Ice Theory was ludicrous. Nonsensical. A travesty of reality. It made a mockery of science, and it was pure propaganda.

Einstein and other German Jews had revolutionized mankind's understanding of the universe. But in a demonstration of cosmic irony at the Nazis' expense, the very men at the vanguard of the greatest revolution in human thinking ever, men lionized the world over for their genius, were Jewish. Germany could have become the very center of the scientific world, in historic, breathtaking fashion, but its malicious leaders chose instead for it to become a historic center of barbarism.

Meanwhile, Europe and America would reap the fruits of exiled minds like those of Einstein, Leo Szilard, John von Neumann, Edward Teller, and so many others for decades to come.

Even more ironically, Germany had a significant head start in the race to build the atomic bomb, kicking off their secret program, which they dubbed "uranium club," in 1939. The US government only became aware of the German program when Einstein wrote a letter to President Roosevelt, issuing a warning and describing the possible destructive power that could be unleashed by the bomb. If not for the contributions of German Jews to America's Manhattan Project, the Americans never would have succeeded.

But during my meeting with Himmler, America's success was still many years in the future. The salient point was that the Nazis had exiled their greatest minds, believing all Jews to be vermin, including so many physicists who would go on to win the Nobel Prize.

But this created a logical conundrum. If these men were vermin, how could their revolutionary theories be correct?

The answer was that they couldn't be. The Nazis needed a theory of their own, one that discounted Jewish theories and elevated Aryans at the same time. Facts, reality, truth, had nothing to do with it.

Which is where World Ice Theory came in. If I were a fantasy writer, I'd be embarrassed to spread a theory with so little logic behind it, and yet Hitler and Himmler had convinced themselves that it was real, and were intent on convincing the world.

This was suddenly not so surprising to me, given that Himmler had also convinced himself that he had found an all-powerful cube that weighed more than the castle we were now in.

"World Ice Theory is brilliant, Herr Reichsfuhrer," I once again heard myself say.

Never before, and never after, have I been so sickened by my own words. But again, if you find yourself in an insane asylum, feigning insanity isn't such a bad idea. "Absolutely groundbreaking," I added.

"How so?" he asked, studying me intently.

I swallowed hard. "The truth of the theory is intuitively obvious," I replied. "Which is how any great cosmological theory should be judged," I added, testing the limits of my own inventiveness. "Any theory can be made to seem impressive mathematically. I'm good enough at math to know that this is a tool that can be misused to show anything a talented charlatan wants to show. I can write out a mathematical proof that shows one equals two, but that doesn't make it so."

"And Jewish physics?" said Himmler.

"Ridiculous," I said, hating myself. "I've studied the math and logic of it, which are purposely misleading. Not to mention preposterous. World Ice Theory is elegant and intuitive. Jewish physics is exactly the opposite. Are we truly to believe that time itself slows to a crawl at a high enough speed? Or that energy can somehow magically be turned into matter?"

"Why do you believe World Ice Theory makes such intuitive sense?" he asked, challenging me.

My mind had never raced so fast, or scrambled for footing so desperately. Could I find a rational defense for the indefensible in seconds? Or would it become clear that my earlier statement had been nothing more than saying what Himmler wanted to hear, which could well incur his wrath.

"It has a beauty to it," I said, as a rationale that I knew would seem compelling appeared in my head, fully formed, almost magically. "Water is the perfect molecule, upon which all life is based. We are largely made of it, and totally dependent on it. All liquids contract when they freeze—except water. It does the opposite."

I paused. "Because this miracle substance expands when it freezes," I continued, "ice is less dense than water. So it floats instead of sinking. If this wasn't the case, entire rivers and lakes would ultimately become blocks of ice, killing all life within. Instead, ice forms a ceiling, a layer of insulation, to protect life in these bodies of water."

I was riffing now, like a talented fantasy writer or musician might, and I could tell from Himmler's reaction that he was impressed. More than impressed, that he had never heard this line of reasoning before, even from his so-called experts.

"Not only is the idea that the Earth has repeatedly been hit by falling ice-moons a beautiful one," I continued, "but it explains so much. Why there is so much water and ice on our planet. And only an event as cataclysmic as an ice-moon strike could disrupt the almost godlike Nordic race, the pure Aryans of Atlantis, whom you already mentioned. Only an ice-moon strike could destroy their impossibly advanced civilization, and disperse them to all corners of the globe."

Himmler scowled. "Where they've become contaminated by the lesser races," he spat.

I nodded. "Exactly."

"This contamination explains why civilization has never again reached its former heights," he added. "But it will. We will. As soon as we purify the species once again. We will produce many more like you, Otto. True scientists who will return the world to the former glory of Atlantis."

The accountant-shaped madman leaned toward me intently. "Can I assume that you're prepared to give every last ounce of your energy and passion to help this come to pass?"

"Of course, Reichsfuhrer Himmler."

Himmler's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, from serene to absolutely demonic, as the violent rage he was keeping suppressed burst through every pore of his body. "Lie to me again, boy," he said chillingly, "and you'll never walk again."

I found the psychotic intensity of his whispered words far more terrifying than if he had shouted them at me and drenched me in spittle.

Even though I had known he could turn suddenly, I felt like a mouse who had been hypnotized by a snake, not even realizing the reptile had moved until I felt the searing pain of fangs sinking into my neck. And I had foolishly been congratulating myself on my skill at picking my way around landmines.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Herr Reichsfuhrer," I stammered, my throat suddenly dry. "But I don't—"

"Pretend that you have no idea why I accused you of lying and your mother will lose both of her hands."

My eyes widened in horror, and my tongue froze in my mouth. Himmler had just begun to spearhead the machine-gunning and gassing of millions of helpless innocents in a systematic, horrifically efficient slaughter the likes of which the world had never seen. But I didn't need this information to know that he would happily carry out his threat on my mother without a second thought.

"What's the matter, young Otto?" he said icily. "No more clever responses? Did you really think you could tell lie after lie about your true beliefs and I wouldn't know? Do you think me a fool?"

There was no acceptable answer to this, so I remained silent, fighting back the vomit that suddenly threatened to erupt from my throat. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I knew that he would mutilate my mother without a second thought if I didn't find a way to up my game.

"Do you think me unaware that your parents aren't fully loyal to the Third Reich?" he demanded in contempt. "That they had close friendships with a sickening number of Jewish professors? That they were attracted to these Jewish swine like flies to shit? Do you think we wouldn't be keeping tabs on you, a boy who is arguably the most brilliant German to have ever lived? Do you think it was lost on me that you refused to join the Hitler Youth, even after membership became mandatory?"

For just an instant I thought to correct him, but clamped my lips shut. My father had arranged for me to get a special exemption from this brainwashing organization, arguing that the Reich would be better served if I spent all of my time on scientific scholarship. But I was sure that Himmler was well aware of these facts. And also that facts didn't matter to him in the least. In his mind, I should have fought to join the Hitler Youth. I should have walked barefoot across broken glass if this were required. To him, my unwillingness to do so was a terrible transgression.

"Do you think I don't know you've done only minimal reading on World Ice Theory?" continued the madman, still seething. "That, conversely, you've found ways to get a hold of forbidden scientific journals filled with Jewish Physics. Do you think we don't know everything you've read in the past five years?"

I just stared at him, speechless, praying to a god I wasn't sure I believed in to spare my parents any harm due to my miscalculation.

"Just because you're more intelligent than me," he continued slowly, as if he were stabbing me with every word, "doesn't make me an imbecile. I know exactly where you stand. I have an unequal knack for reading people, no matter how duplicitous. And I despise those like you. Aryan, superior—yet stubborn. Soft. Unwilling to face the truth that's staring them in the face. Refusing to believe in a Master Race, even though you could be the finest example of it. Believing that sparing lesser races is compassionate, when it is, in fact, the opposite.

"To truly forge a great civilization," he continued, "one rivaling even Atlantis, requires a purging of the lesser races. You do no favors to the future with false compassion, which will eventually sow the destruction of the world. Yet you have the audacity to feel morally superior to those of us dedicated to preventing this disaster. Those of us willing to do what is needed to elevate civilization to godlike heights, no matter how unpleasant."

There was a long silence in the room, which seemed now to be spinning rapidly around my head. I may have been able to master calculus at the age of six, but I had absolutely no ability to predict where things might go from here.

"So let me tell you what will happen," continued the Reichsfuhrer. "You will be smuggled in to where our team is studying the cube, along with other new personnel. And, as the most brilliant among us, you will learn what makes it tick. Other scientists have so far failed. But you will not. You will find a way to harness its power. To rediscover science lost to the ages. You will find a way to use this knowledge to create a superweapon that will end the war in one fell swoop."

I still didn't trust myself to speak, but my head bobbed up and down, nodding my acquiescence—anything to pacify this madman and get out of the room.

"And you will impress me," continued Himmler. "If reports don't consistently sing your praises, I will mutilate your parents, little by little."

He paused to let this sink in. His general had made a similar threat when he had come to collect me, but Himmler's threat hit home in a far more visceral manner.

"Despite the difficult logistics," he continued, now seemingly calmer, "we have the most advanced scientific equipment in existence on site. We will make sure you have any additional equipment that you find is currently lacking. Whatever you need.

"But rest assured that SS soldiers are there as well, and will be told of your attitude, your lack of loyalty. I handpicked these men, and all are expert at reading deception, like me. You will not be allowed to write down any account of your experiences. No journals or letters home. Scientific writings only. And while my soldiers won't recognize legitimate scientific writings, there are other scientists on the team who will, scientists who are almost your equal.

"In short, we will own you. Your every breath will be at our forbearance. You will do nothing but eat, sleep, work on solving the cube, and read and discuss Nazi ideology."

Saying this, the last of Himmler's demon rage faded away and his face became the serene mask he had worn at first. "My hope is that you will find your way, young Otto," he said pleasantly. "That you will embrace your heritage.

"Despite pretending otherwise, I know that you scoff at World Ice Theory. At the concept of our Atlantean ancestors. But this cube will convince you otherwise. For there is no other explanation for its existence. It had to have been created by Aryan supermen from Atlantis. And when you do come around to realizing this truth, to changing your attitude, I'll be the first to welcome you to your rightful place as chief scientist of the Third Reich."

I nodded, still afraid to speak, and still afraid to tell him I didn't believe a word he had said about his imaginary cube. And even if everything he said were true, of course it didn't prove the existence of Atlantean superscientists. If the cube had been found among a vast field of Atlantean ruins, this would be one thing. But it had not been, or he would have told me so. Which meant that if the Atlanteans had made it, they would have had to move it to its current location.

But how?

The answer was obvious. The only way the small object he had described could weigh so much was if it were made of neutron star matter, which had only recently been hypothesized to exist. The only problem was that absolutely none of this material could be found on Earth, even in the mythical land of Atlantis. The cube had to have been brought here by sentient life that had been born around another star.

So I had bad news for the madman across from me. Even if his preposterous fantasy turned out to be true, the superscientists responsible had not been Aryan. They hadn't even been human.

But I said nothing of this, of course. I simply nodded, counted my blessings that I was still alive and Himmler seemed to be settling down, and continued to pray, despite having always fancied myself an atheist.


Justin Boyd stood in a clearing surrounded by endless trees and a rainbow of leaves, well aware that he had no time to consider the implications of what he had just learned. Or at least what he thought he had learned. The idea that Kelly Connolly had removed the Enigma Cube from the Uru facility was preposterous, even if it weren't impossible.

But why hadn't she objected when accused? And why was she reacting like someone who was guilty as charged?

"As fun as this has been, Major Boyd," said the voice coming from the soccer ball hologram, "the nap I had planned for you to take in the car is long overdue."

Boyd knew that the voice was seconds away from ordering the mercs to shoot him with multiple tranquilizer darts. He needed to find a stall immediately.

"Okay," he said slowly, outwardly calm and unhurried while inwardly churning. "You win. Let me pick up the bottle of pills I threw on the ground, and I'll take one. I won't resist. And I'll even cooperate afterwards. All you have to do is promise to tell me what you learn from your interrogation of Dr. Connolly."

There was a long pause, during which Boyd issued quick instructions to Sage to reposition the five dragonfly drones nearby.

"Agreed," said the voice finally, but Boyd was only vaguely aware of it, as he had already begun having his AI send a communication to Kelly's comm, using his voice. "Sprint for the nearest tree line on my mark," he told her, "but stop five feet short of entering the woods and wait for me. I guarantee that you'll be fine. They need you alive, and I'll be creating a diversion."

He really couldn't make such a guarantee, but worst case, she'd be hit with a tranquilizer dart and knocked unconscious, and he wanted to calm her fears as much as possible. Despite the recent bombshell revelation about her, he had to assume that they were still allies, at least until he learned otherwise,.

"Scratch your leg to confirm you understand," he finished.

Boyd glanced sideways to see Kelly scratching her leg as he walked slowly to the bottle of pills fifteen feet away. Fifteen feet closer to the array of soldiers facing him, which is where he wanted to be.

"Sage," he said subvocally as he walked, "are the dragonfly drones in place and ready to go?"

"Affirmative."

"Three seconds after Kelly begins sprinting for the trees, send a debilitating audio frequency to the five men wearing unprotected comms."

"Understood," said the AI.

Boyd bent over to pick up the bottle of pills. "Kelly go!" he ordered through her comm. "Now, now, now, now!"

To her credit she followed his order without hesitation, abruptly racing toward the tree line with greater speed than he had expected.

All ten mercs dropped their useless submachine guns to the ground and reached for their tranquilizer guns, almost in unison, as he knew they would.

Before any of them could get off a shot, Sage carried out her orders, and five of the mercs screamed in agony as a shrill, penetrating screech issued from their comms, driving into their brains like ice picks and causing blood to leak slowly from their ears. All five fell to the ground, writhing. They clutched at their ears as the devastating, piercing frequency continued unabated, as did their bloodcurdling screams, straight out of a horror film.

The instant Sage's sonic attack hit, Boyd sprinted toward the nearest dropped submachine gun with superhuman speed, and all five remaining mercs trained their tranq guns on him instead of Kelly and began firing. She was the higher priority, but if they didn't stop him, they'd be dead in seconds.

Given Boyd's speed, and the chaos surrounding the men who were firing at him as their comrades continued screeching on the ground, it was unlikely any of them could hit an exposed part of his body with a dart before he reached the gun, but the stakes were too high to take chances.

"Dragonflies now!" he ordered his AI as he ran.

The five remaining mercs dropped to the ground in a panic as the unmistakable sound of machine-gun fire issued from speakers in Boyd's tiny dragonfly drones, which were hovering just a few feet behind them.

As these men whirled around to face the phantom threat, Boyd retrieved a fallen submachine gun and sprayed them with enough rounds to turn them into bloody Swiss cheese. He then immediately pivoted and put the five men hit by Sage's sonic attack out of their misery, becoming a blur of motion. In seconds the clearing had become reddened with gallons of blood, and littered with viscera and brain matter from ten shredded bodies.

Even so, Boyd sprayed the fallen mercenaries one more time, just to be certain, and raced to join Kelly, stopping at the car along the way to retrieve his duffel bag.

"There are ten more mercs in the woods," he told her through her comm as he ran, "like the voice said. So stay put until I join you."

"Hurry!" she whispered, unnecessarily.

Boyd pulled up beside her seconds later. He removed a gun from the duffel, zipped it closed, and handed the bag to Kelly. "Carry this so I can use both hands," he said through his comm. "And stay behind me."

She nodded anxiously and took the bag.

"Sage," he said, temporarily remaining in the clearing, "project a tactical display just to my left, showing my position and the positions of all remaining hostiles in the woods."

A three-dimensional map of the area appeared instantly, showing one green ball, representing him, and ten red ones, representing mercenaries.

"I should caution you," said Sage, "that this display has been out of date for minutes, since you had me reposition all eight dragonfly drones, and the mercs are sure to be on the move."

"Deploy the five drones nearby to reacquire the locations of the mercs, and notify me immediately if any are found within thirty yards of us."

"Understood," said the AI.

Boyd frowned. They couldn't stay unprotected in the clearing any longer, even if this meant venturing into the woods without accurate reconnaissance data.

"Follow me," he whispered to Kelly. He crossed the tree line into the thick woods and began moving at a fast jog. When they were eight yards in and picking up speed, Boyd saw movement to his right out of the corner of one eye. He quickly spun Kelly to the ground, rolled in the opposite direction, and came up firing, his superhuman reaction speed allowing him to do so in the blink of an eye, and he planted a bullet through the forehead of a merc, killing him instantly.

It had all happened so quickly that the merc was dead before Kelly even realized she was now lying on dirt, leaves, and vegetation that had been beneath her feet a moment earlier. She began to lift her head to see what was happening when Boyd's amplified comm caught the sound of a twig breaking to her left, and he wheeled around once more.

"Down!" he shouted at her as he sent several bullets flying over her head, which connected cleanly with their target, putting him down.

Just over a minute had now passed since Kelly had begun her initial sprint, and after being in the woods for a mere eight seconds, two more mercenaries were dead, and additional human blood was pooling on the ground, soon to become fertilizer.

Boyd pulled his female companion up from the ground and made sure she had the large duffel before he continued running through the woods, maintaining a pace that he knew Kelly would just be able to manage. Her heart began to race, and in less than a minute she was gasping for air, while Boyd's oxygen-hoarding respirocytes ensured that his vitals were as relaxed as if he were sound asleep.

"Two soldiers at your seven o'clock!" said Sage, as the dragonflies finally proved useful once again. "They're about thirty yards distant and moving in your direction."

Boyd stopped abruptly and pulled Kelly in position behind a thick tree trunk before venturing forward. He blinked his contacts to ten times magnification and spotted the two mercs before they could see him. Both were dressed in autumn camouflage, as their brethren had been, and Boyd took steady aim with his handgun. He waited until they closed the distance, so fewer trees would be in his way, and his enhanced focus, smart-contact-aided vision, and enhanced musculature allowed him to squeeze off two perfect shots, which somehow threaded between multiple tree trunks before exploding through the heads of his two targets, who were dead before they even had eyes on the black ops major.

Four down, six to go, thought Boyd, as he rejoined Kelly where he had parked her, still hidden by a thick tree trunk.

"Have the drones discovered any additional forces?" he asked Sage silently. "The voice bragged that there were Chinese EHO commandos hanging farther back from the clearing."

"Not yet," said the AI. "I'll alert you the moment this changes. But the drones do have a bead on the six remaining mercenaries, so your tactical map is now accurate."

"Well done," he said to Sage, fully aware that the AI needed no praise, but unable to help himself.

Kelly was shuddering beside him, and her eyes were vacant, shell-shocked.

"These men had lives," she whispered softly, words that Boyd only heard because Sage amplified them. "Families. I know you warned me... but they were shredded. Cut to pieces. So much blood. So horrible."

"I know," Boyd whispered back.

How could she not be near an emotional meltdown, despite his warning? She was a scientist who had never experienced violence, suddenly finding herself in a war zone. In minutes, she had witnessed more horrible deaths than had the majority of seasoned soldiers.

"But you have to get a grip, Kelly," he added as gently as he could. "No one deserves to die like this, but they aren't choirboys. They'd kill you without a second thought. You don't have the luxury of sinking into this quicksand right now."

The light slowly returned to her eyes, and he could see her ratchet up her resolve on the spot. She had realized he was right, and had the strength of will to harden herself to the massacre, at least temporarily.

She turned to him, stared deeply into his eyes, and nodded, knowing enough not to distract him further. She was pacifistic and empathetic by nature, but she was also a survivor, and her spirit and sense of fight were climbing back off the mat, with a vengeance, right before his eyes. She had been to the brink, but he had managed to pull her back, without even resorting to the cliché move of slapping her in the face.

Boyd nodded back firmly and turned his attention once again to the battlefield. "Sage, are you able to transmit a message through the comms of the six remaining mercs?"

"Affirmative."

"Great. Impersonate the voice that came from the hologram in the clearing. Using this voice, I want you to say the following."

The major paused in thought. "To all remaining mercenary forces," he began slowly, "disengage immediately and leave the area. My personal team will handle things from here. You will receive payment for this mission, as promised."

Boyd thought about what he needed to accomplish for a few seconds longer and then continued. "Disable comms immediately after receiving this message. We've learned that Major Boyd can use them to deliver a devastating sonic attack if he gets within a quarter mile of you. He can do so even if your comms are protected, and thus designed to prevent this. I repeat, disengage, leave the area, and disable comms immediately."

"Sending message now," said Sage after Boyd conveyed that he was done. About fifteen seconds later, the AI reported that the message had been delivered.

Boyd waited an additional ten seconds. "Did any of the mercs question the order?" he asked.

"Negative," the AI responded. "And all six have now disabled their comms."

Boyd breathed a sigh of relief. Not only did this indicate compliance with his order, it ensured their real commander could no longer reach them to set them straight, which was the only way his false order to disengage could possibly work.

"Based on footage from the drones," continued Sage, "they all appear to be standing down and leaving the area as instructed."

"Outstanding," said Boyd happily. What he had told Kelly was true. These men would have happily killed them if this had been the order. Still, he had no interest in taking any more lives than were absolutely necessary.

"One of the dragonflies just identified the additional force you were looking for," said Sage. About a mile and a half away. Eight men, all Chinese, and all dressed in brown camouflage. The drone that identified them was detected and shot down seconds after coming upon the group."

Boyd's stomach tightened. Detecting and killing a drone this small and silent was an impressive feat. He had taken out the junior varsity team, but the force that remained was at another level entirely. These men were sure to have some serious enhancements, and some serious skills.

But even so, they had stationed themselves too far away. What could they have been thinking? They couldn't possibly make up a mile and a half on him. He could outdistance them until he got beyond their no-communications bubble, and could then call in reinforcements, even with Kelly slowing him down. He could carry her while he ran if this proved necessary.

"I should also tell you that the entire group is moving quickly in this direction," continued the AI, "riding XJ-27 dirt bikes with advanced noise-canceling technology."

Boyd sighed. So much for outdistancing them.

"Well that really, really sucks," said Kelly out loud, having listened to his exchanges with Sage through her comm, and knowing there were no mercs left in the area to hear her.

"Yeah, it's not... ideal," said Boyd.

"Nice use of understatement," she said, rolling her eyes, which demonstrated more than anything she could have done that she had found a way to distance herself from the carnage and regain her equilibrium.

Kelly blew out a long breath. "But you are going to get us out of this, right?" she continued. "I mean, I abhor violence and all, but you're fricking amazing at what you do. A one-man army." She shook her head. "And I thought you were impressive for knowing about neutron stars," she added wryly.

Boyd sighed. He had shown a side of him that he'd hoped to never have to reveal to anyone, let alone Kelly Connolly.

"So what's an XJ-27 dirt bike?" she asked.

"Perfect for use in the woods. Lightweight, so it won't sink into the ground. Ideal for riding over rough and uneven terrain. A stiff suspension that's great for jumps, and for minimizing otherwise jarring impacts on a rider's spine and bones."

"Perfect," said Kelly sarcastically. "Any way we can make it to safety before they catch up to us?"

Boyd shook his head. "Not a chance in hell," he said gravely.