Otto Richter scribbled equations into a notebook at a furious pace, as if he were possessed by a berserker demon. He was in hot pursuit of a sudden inspiration—that superfluidity could be used to model exotic matter, which in turn could lead to a mathematical bridge between general relativity and quantum mechanics.

A remarkable insight that might have come from the mind of Albert Einstein on his very best day, but beyond astonishing coming as it did from the mind of a wiry sixteen-year-old boy, still awaiting his growth spurt, who couldn't have weighed more than a hundred twenty pounds dripping wet.

Otto urged himself to write even faster, annoyed at having to delay his thoughts in order to record them, but was unable to coax any additional speed from his right hand as it flew over the page.

Three sharp raps on the door dislodged Otto's consciousness from the nearly transcendent plane it had been on, and he returned to the real world with a violent thud. He scowled at the audacity of this abrupt interruption, which had ripped his mind from a Nobel-prize worthy inspiration and had reinserted it into the mundane.

Or perhaps these raps at the door were not so mundane.

They had been sharp, decisive—demanding even. Not the knocks of a friend or colleague, but the knocks of someone who was impatient and used to being obeyed.

A chill ran up Otto's spine, for no reason he could pinpoint, and he glanced at his parents, who had been reading by the fireplace, to learn if this visit was expected. From the mystified, worried looks on their faces, it was anything but.

Otto pushed his chair back from his desk and rose to answer the door, but his father, Hans, shook his head and strode past him. The elder Richter turned the handle on the door, and it was immediately shoved open from outside, slamming painfully into his body and driving him backward as if he were weightless.

Four men stood before the threshold, three of them with machine guns slung around their necks, and they rushed inside, uninvited, as though they owned the place. As if the Richter family were the trespassers. All four wore impossibly crisp uniforms and bright red armbands containing a white circle with a black swastika inside—essentially a wearable Nazi flag.

Otto had studied the swastika symbol in school, and many others, as the Nazi party seemed to be obsessed with symbolism. One of their only obsessions that wasn't deadly—at least, not directly. The same couldn't be said of their obsession with power, conquest, and genocide.

In 1923, Hitler and his Nazi Party had attempted to seize Munich and use this city as a base of operations for a coup against Germany's Weimar Republic. The attempt had failed, and Hitler had been wounded in the process. Still, this bold action had brought him to the attention of the German nation and the world, as did his three-week trial.

Hitler was found guilty of treason and sentenced to five years in Landsberg Prison, but he only served nine months. And while he was incarcerated, he came to realize that his newfound celebrity gave him the means to obtain power after all—but this time legally. He wasted no time vigorously spreading Nazi propaganda, beginning with the work he had penned in prison, Mein Kampf—My Struggle—which included his description of the symbolism of the Nazi flag.

The hakenkreuz, or hooked cross, had been a popular symbol throughout history, but Hitler preferred the Sanskrit term, swastika, meaning "well-being," and described this symbol in his book as signifying the "struggle for the victory of Aryan mankind."

So much for symbolizing well-being.

The four intruders to the Richters' loving home exuded nothing but menace and cruelty, sneering at the panicked looks on the faces of Otto and his parents. His mother attempted to stifle a gasp, but couldn't, and his father looked to be paralyzed, as if he had turned a corner and found himself facing a pack of rabid wolves.

Otto knew that his father would have preferred the wolves.

The three men sporting swastika armbands and carrying machine guns could intimidate anyone, but they weren't nearly as troubling as the man who had led them inside. Based on the insignias on his uniform, this man was exceedingly high in rank, a gruppenfuhrer, the equivalent of a major general, and he wasn't with the German army. That would have been a blessing.

Instead, the pairs of stylized lightning bolts affixed to his lapels made it clear that he was near the very top of perhaps the cruelest, most ruthless organization mankind had ever known, the Schutzstaffel, which literally translated into The Protection Squadron, an absurd misnomer more generally abbreviated simply as the SS.

The SS was the ultimate paramilitary force, responsible for security, surveillance, terror, and ultimately, genocide. A malevolent collection of psychopaths and bullies who would go on to run all of the Reich's concentration and extermination camps, and who were responsible for the detection of actual or potential enemies of the Nazi state.

And the man in front of him wasn't just a member of the psychopathic SS, his rank suggested that he reported to Heinrich Himmler himself, who was rumored to be the personification of pure evil.

Otto suddenly found it hard to breathe. The Richter family had zero Jewish blood, but many years earlier, most of his parents' closest friends at the university, where Hans Richter taught higher mathematics, had been Jewish. Hans had known enough not to protest too loudly when they had been relieved of their positions, along with all other Jewish professors, and had fled into the diaspora.

Hans Richter knew that his Jewish friends had been lucky to get out of Germany, and he only wished that he could follow. But as much as he wanted to, his wife had too many close relatives in Berlin, and she had persuaded him to remain at his post and do what he could to safely and subtly undermine Nazi propaganda, minimal though this effort might be.

Otto wondered if his father's attempts to influence key university personnel had been less subtle than the elder Richter had thought, and had been responsible for this nightmarish visit. But he quickly thought better of it. Even if these activities had attracted the notice of the SS, his father would have never attracted the personal attention of a general.

The sick feeling in the pit of Otto's stomach intensified as he realized that they must be here for him.

All of these thoughts, musings, and analysis flashed across Otto's unparalleled mind in seconds—his speed of thought just as extraordinary as its quality.

"How can I help you, Herr Gruppenfuhrer?" croaked his father. His mouth had become so parched, and his throat so constricted in fear, the words barely made it past his lips.

"My name is Magnus Becker," said the general, "and I'm here to collect your son."

Hans Richter's eyes widened in alarm and he opened his mouth to protest, or demand clarification, but he bit his tongue. They were at this man's mercy, which was sure to be exceedingly limited, so discretion was the better part of valor. "Apologies for my ignorance, General Becker," he began, choosing his words with great care and fighting to keep the outrage from his voice, "but I would be grateful if you could explain."

"I should think the explanation is obvious," said Becker in contempt. "Your son has come to the attention of the esteemed leader of the SS, Heinrich Himmler. I'm told that little Otto was fluent in four languages, speaking them all without accent, by the age of four. That he taught himself calculus by the age of six. That at his current age of sixteen, he has already made several groundbreaking contributions to the field of mathematical physics."

"That is correct, Herr Gruppenfuhrer," said Hans. "But experts in the Nazi Party thought it best for him to continue his studies at home, believing him to be too young for the university environment. In short, General, they believe it best not to dislodge the goose that lays the golden eggs from its nest. Not when it's being so productive."

"I'm afraid that policy has come to an end," said Becker. "The Reich needs his services."

"Is there no way for him to render services from our home?" pleaded Hans.

Once again, the general glared at the elder Richter in contempt. "Your son is the perfect example of the superiority of the Aryan race. It's high time he was properly deployed. Because of your age, and because you are needed to train the next generation of mathematicians, you've been given a pass in the current conflict." His lip curled up into a sneer. "But surely, Herr Richter, you didn't think your family could shirk all contributions to the war effort indefinitely?"

"That was never our intent, Herr Gruppenfuhrer," said Hans Richter quickly. "Our loyalty to the Third Reich is absolute," he added, a lie that Otto knew to be truly extraordinary in its magnitude.

The general scowled. "I've heard rumors to the contrary."

Otto's father shrank back, but he was too afraid to even reply.

Otto had been sure that Hitler and his band of irrational psychopaths would quickly lose the war, but their very ferocity, their audacity, had the opposite effect, and it now wasn't hard to imagine Nazi ideology spreading over much of the globe.

Hitler's domain already included Austria, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Norway, Yugoslavia, Greece, Belgium, and France, and at times the German army appeared unstoppable. Germany's Blitzkrieg, which translated to Lightning War, had proven successful beyond all expectations, as huge concentrations of tanks, planes, and artillery raced ahead at speeds previously unheard of in war. These forces quickly punched holes in enemy defenses, like an irresistible battering ram, allowing tank divisions to penetrate and operate freely behind enemy lines, sowing shock and chaos, while thousands of German bombers kept the slow, entrenched enemy from resupply or redeployment.

Worse, the Nazis turned the blitzkrieg soldiers into an army of supermen, plying them liberally with crystal meth—speed—in pill form, shipping thirty-five million tablets to their three million troops. This drug allowed soldiers to advance for days without sleep, dulled their sense of empathy, made them feel euphoric and invincible, and turned them into aggressive, reckless killing machines.

And now, apparently, it was Otto's turn to be violated in whatever fashion the Third Reich saw fit, all in furtherance of mindless conquest.

Elsa Richter maintained a strong bearing, but a single tear escaped from her right eye and rolled down her cheek, beyond her control. "How long will you need our son?" she whispered.

"Until we don't!" barked the general. "My patience is growing thin. I want him packed and ready in five minutes."

"Wouldn't he perform better if we went with him?" said his mother, desperately trying to avoid the unavoidable.

The general issued a cruel snort, not even bothering to answer.

"Can you at least tell us where he'll be going?" she asked as several more tears began running down her face.

Becker shook his head in disgust. "Enough!" he barked. "No more questions. I can't tell you where he'll be, or what he'll be doing. Only that he'll be part of a team of scientists, working on an important, top-secret project, and will be treated well. You'll have no further contact with him until he is finished, whenever that might be. He won't be writing any letters, nor will he be receiving any."

"What if I refuse to participate?" asked Otto, blinking back tears of his own.

The general stared at him in disbelief, stunned that the boy had the audacity to speak. "You're obviously not as bright as I've been led to believe," he spat. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Not only will you participate, you'll excel. If you don't live up to expectations, there will be consequences."

"Even if I try my best," said Otto, "I can't guarantee results. No one can."

An icy smile spread slowly across the general's face. "Let me put it this way," he said. "The project you'll be on will have the full attention of the Fuhrer himself, along with Reichsfuhrer Himmler. If you perform as expected, if you distinguish yourself, great honor will accrue to you and your family, and the rewards will be significant."

"And if I fail?" asked Otto.

Becker's disingenuous smile disappeared, to be replaced by a scowl. "Failure will not be tolerated. Even success will not be good enough, unless we judge you to be giving it your all. In short, we expect you to dazzle us. If not, I'll have no other choice but to explore the rumors I spoke of earlier. The ones suggesting your father is committing crimes against the state, however delicate he thinks he's being."

Otto glanced at his father, who shot him a defiant nod, too quickly and subtly for the SS general to see. A sharp nod that spoke volumes. A nod that gave him permission to use far less than his full brilliance on the project. A nod that told him that if the project was designed to help further the Nazis' cause—which it surely must be—his parents would rather die than see him provide any missing pieces of the puzzle.

Otto turned his gaze back to Becker. "In that case, Herr Gruppenfuhrer," the boy whispered, "I'll make sure that you're dazzled."

But as he stared further into the eyes of evil, tears began streaming quietly down his cheeks.

"Stop your blubbering this instant!" demanded the general, spittle flying from his mouth. "You're embarrassing yourself and the Reich," he continued, enraged, "and it's a disgusting display! You're weak, pathetic—soft! Our boys are dying on the battlefield, and you're here curled into a fetal position because you won't see your mommy for a while. You make me sick!"

The general stared at Otto Richter in utter contempt, and his tone changed from fire to ice. "If your goal is to dazzle," he said slowly, biting off each word as if it were acid, "know that you're off to a very bad start."


Enigma (noun): A person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

[ The outskirts of Spokane, Washington, 2027 ]

Dr. Kelly Connolly stood by the entrance to a small, single-story factory building and watched as a civilian SUV arrived at a guard gate and the driver stopped to show credentials. The fence around the facility was laughably benign, unable to deter even a modestly capable ten-year-old. No rolls of wicked razor wire crowning every inch of its perimeter, and no deadly levels of electricity coursing through its metal veins.

The gatehouse was also the very picture of innocence, as was the attendant. There wasn't a hint of weaponry or military presence, and there were no spikes embedded in the pavement that could be automatically lifted to shred the sturdiest of tires as easily as a pin could pop a child's balloon.

But, like the faux factory itself, built at the edge of a vast woods, the perimeter was a deception, and far more secure than it seemed. In fact, the site was ringed with enough hidden firepower and other deterrents to ward off a small attacking army. Not that any of it would ever need to be used. Military installations raised eyebrows, piqued curiosity, drew attention. Small factories, appearing to be only minimally secure, on the other hand, drew nothing but yawns.

Kelly sighed. "I don't suppose there's any way I can get out of this," she said to the lanky, balding man beside her.

Dr. Harry Salazar looked amused. "Trust me, Kelly," he said, "you'll enjoy this visit more than you think."

"That would almost have to be true," she replied wryly.

She and Harry Salazar, vaunted director of Project Uru, had gotten along famously since she had joined his team seven months earlier. Which in this instance was more of a curse than a blessing.

She was a department head, yes, but only one of six. And yet she alone had been assigned the duty to join Salazar as a Walmart greeter, to welcome Major Justin Boyd, a high-ranking black-operations officer, and give him a guided tour.

Kelly knew full well why she was now with her boss playing hostess while the other department heads were allowed to duck this odious duty. The director of Uru liked being around her more than the others. It was as simple as that. Salazar had confided in her that he found her to be the most polished of the departmental heads when it came to both social graces and personality.

She was also female, and while Salazar would never admit it, she suspected he was playing to the major's more primal instincts, hoping that if he were the typical military hard-ass, he would be less so in her presence. Or better yet, find her attractive. And while she didn't cause auto accidents when she strolled along streets full of male drivers, this latter hope wasn't out of the question. Her smooth skin, large emerald eyes, girl-next-door beauty, and athletic body never failed to attract male attention.

"Trust me, Kelly," repeated Salazar, as the corners of his mouth turned up into a knowing smile. "You're going to be pleasantly surprised."

"What don't I know about this?"

"You have very low expectations for this visit. I get that. You haven't dealt with anyone in the military before, have you?"

Kelly shook her head. "This would be the first."

"I figured," said Salazar. "Scientists tend to think that anyone able to rise through the ranks of the military almost has to be a small-minded, war-mongering hard-ass. But some are very good men and women. Intelligent. Compassionate even. Really."

Kelly sighed again. "I know I'm stereotyping," she said. "But while he might not be a bloodthirsty barbarian, there's no way he's a pacifist, either. Which is why you don't see a lot of Amish generals," she added with a grin.

Salazar laughed. "True, but let me tell you more about the major. You've never met his boss, Colonel Tom Osborne, either," he said, referring to the man in charge of all of America's black sites. "But he's also impressive. Not at all the power-hungry hawk you might imagine."

"You mean other than being responsible for every secret program in America designed to develop the next generation of WMD?"

"Right," said Salazar, in amusement. "Other than that. But let me get to the punchline. This major we'll be meeting—Boyd—is a member of a black ops program right out of the comics. Supersoldiers. Enhanced human fighters, souped-up in any way genetic engineering and technology will allow. Captain America wannabees." He grinned and gestured at Kelly. "Go ahead, say it. I'll wait."

"And that's supposed to make me feel more comfortable?" she asked, right on cue.

"In an ironic way, yes. This program is called EHO, for Enhanced Human Operations. And the military took a long, sober look at what they were doing. If you're determined to enhance a soldier, you'd better be sure the men and women you recruit to be your Frankensteins, your unstoppable killing machines, all have a heart of gold and the morality of a saint. They figured enhancement would amplify a person's underlying characteristics. Enhance someone with even a hint of villainy at their core, and you get a super villain. Enhance someone with heroism at their core, on the other hand..." he added, nodding at Kelly to finish.

"And you get a superhero," she said dutifully. "Really, Harry? You do know this is the real world."

"Lines between what's real and what's science fiction are blurring more every year. But the bottom line is that the military put a lot of thought into their EHO recruiting effort. They began with very good people. For this Boyd to have made the cut, he couldn't have been a typical military grunt. Osborne, himself, is a very good man, and he tells me that Justin Boyd has distinguished himself, even in this rarified group. Apparently, he's exceedingly bright, moral, decisive, and heroic. He's only thirty-two, but already seen as someone with limitless potential."

Kelly was about to ask Salazar a question, but the man in question had made it through the gate, parked his rental SUV, and was rapidly approaching.

Boyd was dressed in casual civilian clothing, and lugging a gray civilian duffel bag, a sizable version that was stuffed to the gills. He was on the handsome side, although physically unimposing, looking to be of average height, weight, and strength. His demeanor was friendly but businesslike, commanding, but not bombastic.

"Welcome to Project Uru, Major," said Salazar, shaking the man's hand.

"Director Harry Salazar, I presume?" said Justin Boyd.

"Yes, and this is Dr. Kelly Connolly," he added as Kelly shook his hand. "But everyone here goes by their first names."

"Understood," said Boyd.

"Kelly has been with us now for seven months, and is doing some fine work."

"Is she your second-in-command?"

"I don't really have a second-in-command, Major. She's one of six department heads. But she's very good at explaining science, so I thought she'd be an asset today."

"Excellent. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to learning all about your program, Director," said the major.

Salazar nodded and ushered the small group inside the factory, which was an empty building whose sole purpose was to house and hide a number of small, self-driving shuttle buses and the mouth of a thirty-foot-wide tunnel. The shuttles took scientists to and from Project Uru's main base of operations, a sophisticated, multistory research facility eight miles inside the dense woods that abutted the factory, and buried half a mile beneath it.

Salazar gestured for their guest to take a seat in one of the shuttles, and he and Kelly Connolly sat across from him. "Feel free to leave your duffel bag here, if you'd like," the director offered.

"Thanks, but I'll keep it with me. It contains a lot of specialty items I used to carry with me in various vests and compartments on commando operations. The stuff in here saved my life several times, so I tend to keep it close."

"Even though you aren't on a dangerous mission?" said Kelly.

"Old habits die hard," he replied simply.

Salazar ordered the vehicle's AI to begin the short journey, and the all-electric vehicle immediately complied, soundlessly entering the smooth, concrete tunnel. The small shuttle picked up speed until reaching its plodding cruising rate of twenty miles per hour. The tunnel was well lighted and bore a continuous but mild declination all the way to the Uru facility.

"So how much do you know about Project Uru?" asked the director pleasantly.

The major shot his two hosts a sheepish smile. "Absolutely nothing," he admitted. "All I know is that it's called Uru, and that you've chosen to base it in a part of the country where it rains or drizzles about half the time."

Salazar smiled. "Actually, you're thinking of the western parts of the state—like Seattle. Spokane is considerably drier."

"Then I guess I know even less than absolutely nothing."

Kelly laughed. Perhaps her boss was right about this guy. Charming, humble, self-deprecating even.

Or was this just an act? A guy this bright and accomplished, who knew nothing about their program, would at least Google the city he was headed to. Had he purposely made this error to put them at ease with his humility and aw-shucks charm? If so, she wasn't sure if this made her think less of him, or more.

Salazar studied the major carefully. "I'm surprised to hear that you're so uninformed about us," he said. "I've been sending monthly reports to Colonel Osborne since this program began. Is there a reason you chose not to even skim through them?"

"It wasn't my choice, Director... Harry," said Boyd. "As you know, the colonel is planning to retire, and he wants me to take over. So I've been coming up to speed on all black ops activities under our purview, and made a list of black sites I planned to visit. Colonel Osborne insisted that I save this one for last, and that I go in absolutely cold. Believe me, I wanted to read your reports. But the colonel said they couldn't possibly do your project justice. That I really needed to see this for myself."

"He's not wrong," said Salazar soberly.

"Do you always visit these sites by yourself?" asked Kelly. "And wear civilian clothing? I'd expect the future head of black ops to travel with more of a military entourage."

"Uniforms and military entourages attract unwanted attention," replied the major. "But I do pay extra for self-driving rental cars," he added with a smile. "You know, so I can pretend I have a chauffeur."

Kelly laughed, finding it difficult not to like this man. "I don't mean to be too forward," she said, "but Harry just told me you're in a top-secret program called EHO. Which would make you the ultimate combat soldier."

Boyd sighed. "The better the skills and capabilities, the less need to use them, right? I've had to at times, but only when the mission was just, and lives were on the line."

"Still, why would Colonel Osborne want to tap you for an admin position?" pressed Kelly. "Kind of boring, I would think."

"Not at all. Having the chance to oversee black sites like yours, scientific sites, is anything but boring. The work being done at these sites is mind-blowing, and vitally important. Radar, computers, GPS, and the internet all came out of the military. I've had to engage in violence on occasion, but because I've witnessed the horrors of it, I plan to support tech programs that can be used to prevent violence, rather than creating more of it."

"I see," said Kelly, surprised to receive such a well-reasoned and articulate answer. This guy couldn't possibly be for real, could he? She thought of the old adage, when something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

So was Justin Boyd just a smooth politician, in addition to his other skills? His answer had seemed a bit canned—like a stump speech. On the other hand, why would he need to win them over? The head of black ops wasn't an elected position, and Boyd was already slated to take the reins, even if it were.

"Getting back to Uru," said Boyd, "I haven't read your reports, Harry, but I have heard rumors." He raised his eyebrows. "There are lots of them. But if I had to guess which one was true—if any—I'd tend to guess it's the one that involves extraterrestrials."

"Really?" said Harry Salazar. "And why would you guess that?"

"Because there have been so many UFO sightings over the past few decades. And the colonel's behavior when it comes to your group is very odd. The rumor that rings true to me is that you're in possession of some kind of... alien artifact."

The hint of a smile came over the director's face. "Then you've chosen the right rumor, Major," he said. "But while artifact is as good a term as any, the truth is it's much more than a mere artifact. Since you haven't read my reports, I can give you the key take-home message in two sentences."

The director of Project Uru leaned closer to his guest. "My group is in possession of a piece of extraterrestrial technology. I believe this technology is so advanced, so astonishing, that if we could unlock its mysteries, we'd reveal scientific insights that are as far beyond our current capabilities as ours are beyond those of the Neanderthal."

The major's eyes widened. "Now that's what I call a take-home message."


The shuttle continued moving through the tunnel at a snail's pace, inching its way toward the greatest find in human history.

"Unfortunately," continued Salazar with a frown, "we've made exactly zero progress unlocking its mysteries."

"So you have the ultimate treasure chest," said the future head of black ops, "but can't find a way to open it."

"Not from lack of effort," said Salazar. "And we will find a way. I promise you. But let me start at the beginning. As I said, it isn't really an artifact, not in an archaeological sense. Artifacts are historical remnants of a culture. This appears to be an active, working bit of alien technology they seem to have inadvertently left behind here on Earth."

"And by they, you mean...?"

"I have no idea. You have access to more secret information than I do, Major, so maybe you can tell me."

"When it comes to possible alien visitors, I don't know much more than the public does. Namely, that there have been a rash of UFO sightings, which have become so persistent and compelling it's impossible not to acknowledge something is going on that we don't understand. And alien visitation is the obvious answer, even for a public with no knowledge of... well, of whatever it is that you're hiding here."

Kelly nodded in agreement. Almost every day, military pilots and other trained observers around the world were having close encounters with objects that seemed to defy the laws of physics. As far back as 2018 the US government had finally come clean, admitting it maintained a secret program to research and investigate UFOs, and released several videos of UFO encounters to the public. In addition, the Defense Intelligence Agency had briefed Congress that it was sponsoring extensive research into warp drives, wormholes, and other means of interstellar travel, to better understand how alien visitors might have gotten to Earth, and the advanced weaponry they might have brought with them.

"So I'm not at all surprised that Earth is being visited," continued the major. "No one who's been paying attention would be. I'm just thrilled to learn that the aliens finally left tangible evidence behind."

"Finally?" said Kelly. "I always assumed the UFO Exploration Group had found evidence a long time ago."

"I'm afraid not," replied Boyd.

"And they don't even know that we have, do they?"

Boyd shook his head. "My understanding is that the Secretary of Defense has chosen to keep this project the most closely guarded secret in the entire country." He gestured to the Uru director. "But please, continue."

"Thank you," said Salazar. "The alien object in question was discovered inside a large cabin on private property. The very property we're now traveling under. We believe that both the cabin and the artifact within had been abandoned for some time. Almost three years ago, two hikers, Bethany Cummings and Terry McNally, got so hopelessly lost in these woods they began to panic. When they came across this cabin, which was padlocked, they used a sturdy tree branch as a lever to break in, hoping for a phone, a fire, or some food."

"And that's when they found the object," said Kelly, relating the obvious punchline.

"It was glowing so brightly," continued Salazar, "that it was impossible for them to miss. You'll see it for yourself in just a few minutes. It's cubic in shape, and only the size of a softball, but it's truly otherworldly. Eerie, really. It exudes so much pent-up power that it's totally mind-blowing. Glorious and menacing, both—at the same time."

Boyd listened in rapt attention.

"The two women did make it back out of the woods, of course," continued Salazar. "When they did, they contacted NASA to report the object they had stumbled across. NASA checked it out, and it wasn't long before it became the most classified find in history and put under the auspices of black ops."

"Who owned the cabin?" asked Boyd.

"A dead end, I'm afraid," said Salazar. "There was literally no record that it even existed, and the owner of the land couldn't be found. It was marked as private property, but whoever bought the land concealed the purchase well."

The small shuttle bus slowed to a crawl and stopped inside another large parking area, joining three other shuttles currently available for the return trip.

Harry Salazar and Kelly Connolly ushered the future head of black ops through the main entrance to the Uru research facility in silence. Inside, it was bright and spacious. So much so that if not for a lack of windows, it could easily have been an expensive corporate research facility in a science park on the surface. Over the past ten years, excavation machinery had undergone revolutionary improvements in cost, speed, and efficiency, making elaborate subterranean structures surprisingly achievable.

"Let me take you right to the center of the maze," said Salazar, "to see the beast. A tour of the rest of the facility can wait."

The major nodded. "I couldn't agree more."

"We aren't planning any tests today," added the director, "so we'll be able to see the object up close and personal."

He ushered Boyd and Kelly through a long corridor that led directly to the center of the facility. They passed through a pair of twenty-five-ton blast doors and entered a spacious room that resembled a hockey rink in several ways, although square instead of rectangular, and lacking any ice. The ceiling was fifteen feet high, with the entire space ringed with transparent, floor-to-ceiling windows, like the protective glass that surrounded a rink.

Instead of stands appearing beyond the glass, there were a series of rooms filled with elaborate instrumentation, computers, or serving as viewing galleries, none of which were elevated. The floor and ceiling appeared to be made of the same material as the windows that surrounded them, although not fully transparent.

And at the precise center of the room, resting on the floor, sat the alien object, tiny but mighty, making its presence known by sending out thick beams of brilliant light from every vertex, each beam so blindingly bright it could be easily seen in a well-lighted room.

"How close can we get to it?" asked Major Boyd.

"As close as we want," replied the director.

They approached the gleaming, pulsating, otherworldly object, which the major could now see was cubic in shape, as he had been told. He crouched down to get a better view.

The object had an outer shell of edges linked together to form an open, cubical cage, about the size of a softball, as Salazar had said, or, more aptly, a large Rubik's Cube. It didn't have a color, but it shined with such unearthly brightness it seemed almost to be made of pure light. Within this outer cage was cradled a smaller solid... shape, which seemed to change continuously. Now a cube. Now a tetrahedron. Now one of an eclectic array of geometric shapes, some of which resembled 3D snowflakes. Now an impossible shape that was indescribable and unsettling to even observe.

As if this wasn't trippy enough, the human mind flipped back and forth between seeing the shape inside as being perfectly motionless, or as spinning at incredible speed, like an optical illusion image that could be visualized in two different ways, but not both at once.

The cube pulsated with energy, which the human mind sensed as being immense, limitless, and its rhythmic throbbing made the cube seem alive, as if it had a beating heart.

The major was mesmerized, as was anyone who had ever seen it. It was almost perfectly hypnotic, drawing him in with its unearthly power. Yet, like everyone else, he was unable to study it for more than ten to fifteen seconds without looking away.

He rose and turned toward the director, breaking its spell. "It's breathtaking," he said. "And frightening."

Salazar nodded. "It has to be seen in person to be believed."

"Speaking of that, how am I able to see it?"

Kelly grinned. "I know," she said enthusiastically. "From a distance, the light is blinding. If you're close to it and give it a tangential glance, it's just as bright. But if you look directly at it, you can see it clearly, despite enough illumination beaming out of it to put a lighthouse out of business. That's yet another aspect of it we haven't begun to figure out."

The major bent to study the object for a second time and then stood, less than a minute later. "Absolutely extraordinary," he said simply, as he and his two hosts formed a circle with their backs to the blinding light. "Colonel Osborne definitely saved the best for last. And he was right. Your reports couldn't have possibly done this justice."

"No doubt," agreed Salazar. "And when he said that you have to see this in person, that wasn't just a figure of speech. You actually have to see this in person. An attempted photograph or video of the cube captures nothing but light. And even if this object could be videoed, no video could possibly get across what it does to the mind, the feeling of immense power it somehow projects."

"We call it the Enigma Cube," said Kelly. "For obvious reasons. And we call this containment chamber we're in the Enigma Room."

"This room is in the precise center of the facility," said Salazar. "The floors, ceiling, and windows surrounding us are all a foot thick, and made of the highest-grade transparent aluminum available."

Boyd nodded, impressed. Transparent aluminum was a revolutionary alloy that had first been created in 2016 by researchers at Oxford, although the concept had been introduced twenty years earlier in a Star Trek movie. It was much lighter than glass, and far stronger.

"The facility itself," continued Salazar, "is encased in a massive block of concrete, three feet thick. And this block is topped by over a thousand feet of natural rock, mostly granite."

The major nodded thoughtfully. "That's quite a protective cocoon you've created," he said. "Your Enigma Cube will survive here, even if the world goes nuclear."

Salazar winced. "The survival of the cube isn't really our goal," he said. "Our goal is to ensure that the world will survive, even if the Enigma Cube goes nuclear."

Boyd swallowed hard. "Any reason to believe it might?"

"Not any overt reason, Major, but you've seen it. Any doubt that it could unleash world-destroying amounts of power if we riled it up somehow?"

"None," admitted Boyd.

"We have reason to believe it can tap into a nearly limitless power source," continued Salazar. "It's been blasting out light and performing its mind-bending transformational choreography now for three years. Probably a lot longer than that before we got hold of it. Its intensity hasn't diminished one iota, and we haven't exactly been plugging it in or changing any batteries. We've done some calculations, and we believe the energy needed to power the rotations of the inner object, as well as its kaleidoscopic shape changes, is massive. Yet the thing's power seems inexhaustible."

The director of Project Uru blew out a long breath. "So while we have no reason to believe it's volatile, we can't afford to be wrong."

"And even if the Enigma Cube isn't meant to be malevolent in any way," added Kelly Connolly, "we could destroy ourselves out of sheer ignorance. Bring a primitive man into our time, and he might thrive inside one of our homes. Until the day he shoves his finger into an electrical outlet out of curiosity."

"Good call, then," said Boyd. "I applaud your caution. But why build it here? Why not inside a mountain? Or a location even more remote than this one?"

"We didn't have a choice," said Salazar.

"Why not?"

"The cabin it was found in is a half mile above us," explained the director. "And I mean precisely above us. We bought the land for miles around it, and then bored a two-foot diameter hole inside the cabin going about half a mile down. The cube came along for the ride. And then we built this facility around where the cube ended up."

The major blinked in confusion. "So you essentially lowered the cube a half mile, without moving it horizontally."

"Correct," said the director.

"Why? Were you worried that horizontal movement might somehow trigger it?"

Salazar sighed. "Not at all," he replied. "We were unable to move it horizontally. Along with the Enigma Cube's other seemingly impossible characteristics, it's basically an immovable object."

He paused to let this sink in.

"The cube only weighs about forty thousand pounds," he continued, and then shook his head with a lopsided smile, realizing just how ridiculous this must sound. "Perhaps the word only isn't the best choice," he added, "since no material on Earth forged into a cube of this size could possibly weigh this much. And yet, somehow, it resists lateral movement as if it weighs tens of millions of pounds—maybe more. We have no idea how. All we know is that before we lowered the cube and built this facility, we tried everything we could think of to displace it laterally, without success. We even dismantled the cabin, tried to move it with a two-hundred-ton bulldozer the size of a house, and then rebuilt the original structure."

"So even the gargantuan dozer failed?" said Boyd in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Salazar raised his eyebrows. "Didn't budge it so much as a nanometer," he replied somberly.

The major grinned like a giddy schoolboy. "I have to say that I'm really, really beginning to like this thing," he whispered.


Commander Shen Ning kicked his legs high as he finished the third mile of his five-mile run, driving up a steep incline to reach the top of the hill that afforded the most panoramic view of Mount Spokane in the entire county.

Not that he would allow himself to enjoy the view. Or the splendor of the Spokane River and Selkirk Mountains. Or any of the vanilla tranquility that the area offered, for that matter.

He wasn't here to sightsee. He was here on an assignment that brought with it more visibility to the rarified upper echelon of China's government and military than any other assignment ever could. Working out of a private, secluded home that he had chosen to be their base in Spokane.

It had all begun less than a year earlier. Chinese physicists had come up with a device they hoped could detect disturbances in the curvature of spacetime throughout the cosmos. While their new sensor failed to detect anything in space, it did detect the faintest of signals coming from Spokane, Washington.

At first the physicists were convinced it was a glitch. But Chinese military intelligence decreed that it was worth investigating further. What were the Americans up to this time?

After some brilliant intelligence work, the Chinese intel community discovered that the Americans had set up a black ops facility outside of Spokane, Washington, manned by scientists studying a mysterious alien object of immense power and even more immense promise. One that had triggered this new sensor, and one that had quickly drawn the personal attention of the president of China himself.

And Shen Ning had been selected to be the key operative on the ground, to provide intel on this all-important discovery. It had been the greatest day of his life, a demonstration that his distinguished service had attracted even more attention than he had known.

He had met with China's paramount leader, Shi Yu, himself, who had told him that getting solid intelligence on the precise goings-on within the Spokane facility was among the highest priorities of any mission in China's magnificent history. Its importance could not be overstated.

Shen knew exactly why China's leaders were so obsessed with Spokane. They had long made it clear that they intended for China to dominate the globe, if not through military campaigns of global conquest, then through every other means available.

And when it came to exerting power, to achieving the greatest global reach, technology was everything. Whoever controlled breakthrough technologies controlled the world. It was as simple as that. And the object at Spokane represented the ultimate concentration of super-advanced technology. If the Americans had a eureka moment, China was determined to be looking over their shoulder when it happened.

The mission was so important that Shen had been authorized to make use of a prototype surveillance device of astonishing complexity. A bug that masqueraded as an actual bug. A fly drone constructed to look exactly like a small housefly, which could fly short distances and attach itself to pants and shirts and shoes.

The drone used active camouflage that put a chameleon to shame, and possessed both video and audio capabilities, miraculous in such a tiny package. Most importantly, it made use of breakthrough transmission technology that couldn't be detected by conventional means, so it was immune to security sweeps.

The Achilles' heel of this tiny fake housefly was its thirst for juice. Its many features, and especially its novel transmission method, required significant power, and its power source needed to be minuscule. The current prototypes were powered by light, but this had proven inadequate. If these devices ran out of power and ceased to be mobile, they would inevitably be discovered, and reverse engineered.

So it was lucky that the very location China most wanted to surveil was the one location that was perfectly suited to this novel technology. The object the Americans were calling the Enigma Cube gave off enough light to keep a fly drone drowning in power. So much, in fact, that the drones could be confidently shuttled to darker parts of the facility temporarily, and then shuttled back to the vicinity of the cube for recharging, without fear that the source would ever dry up.

Shen had landed these tiny flies on several scientists on the Spokane team, who had acted as clueless mules, shuttling them inside. So far none had been detected.

With this completed, he had begun the recruitment of an army of in-country mercenaries who, for the right price, wouldn't ask any questions or shirk from any mission, no matter how bloody. A network with offshoots in a variety of geographic locations within the States, so they could become China's own version of colonial minutemen, able to arrive anywhere on the continent in short order.

Shen had seen to it that this network was established, while making sure it couldn't be traced back to China. Since he spoke unaccented English, this hadn't been a problem. And he had completed this assignment in record time, working through an American intermediary to identify and vet the best mercenary networks. An intermediary whom Shen had killed the moment his task was complete, to eliminate all loose ends.

"Commander Shen," said the voice of his colleague, Li Jin, through the tiny comm embedded in his cochlea, "I recommend that you return to home base immediately."

"Report," he barked back, breathing hard as he continued running.

"We have Priority One activity at the target site," she replied. "Harry Salazar and Kelly Connolly are meeting with a Major Justin Boyd and giving him a tour of the facility. The major arrived alone, in civilian clothing."

She paused for effect. "And based on their conversation, Commander, this visitor is slated to become the head of American black ops."

Shen slowed to a stop. Vigorous exercise could wait. Nothing of interest had happened in four months, but they had just hit the mother lode. Short of learning that the Americans had made progress with the cube, this was as good as it got.

"How long have they been meeting?" he asked.

"Just over nineteen minutes. I can pipe the audio through to you now while you make your way back to base."

"That's not necessary. I'll be back soon, and I want to watch the video and audio together."

"Understood, Commander."

"How much longer do you think the meeting will last?"

"I can't be sure, of course, but I'd estimate at least an hour. They don't seem to be in a hurry, and have engaged in any number of digressions."

"Good. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The commander began running again, now eager to get back to the large private home that served as his base of operations as quickly as possible. He would need to contact Beijing and get satellites assigned to watch this Major Justin Boyd when he left the Spokane facility.

Despite the major's civilian clothing, Shen Ning had no doubt that the man would head immediately to nearby Fairchild Air Force Base, and from there hop a military jet to his next destination, possibly his home base.

Chinese satellites could track the plane in flight and an AI could guess its likely destination with a high degree of accuracy after viewing its course. Assuming there were mercenaries relatively close to where the jet was expected to land, Shen could have them take over surveillance. Ever so discreetly.

Chinese intelligence could also hack into American traffic cameras, and he would authorize this as well, pulling out all stops to track the major to his lair.

The cube had been a complete bust so far, and Shen Ning was convinced this wouldn't change.

But that no longer mattered. Because he now had a tiger by the tail—one by the name of Justin Boyd—and he didn't intend to let it go.


Justin Boyd stared off into space inside the Enigma Room—or more accurately, stared off at the viewing galleries ringing the room—ignoring the ever-present alien cube pulsing away with pure light and energy behind him, taunting humanity with its secrets.

"The cube is astonishing," he said finally. "More than astonishing. There are no words."

"We're lucky it was finally rediscovered," said Salazar. "Since it's immovable, someone must have originally found it in the woods and built the cabin around it. One with no windows, so its light wouldn't attract attention. Whoever built the cabin kept it tightly locked up."

"Why not just bury it?" asked Boyd.

"That's not clear," replied Kelly. "But there was mostly granite under where it was found, so this might have been easier said than done. Besides, if you have a one-of-a-kind painting by Salvador Dali, you don't bury it, you admire it. And the Enigma Cube makes the most masterful of Dali paintings seem commonplace."

"No doubt," said Boyd.

"So now you know why Harry named this group Project Uru."

"Actually, I've never heard the term. I promised Colonel Osborne I wouldn't look it up. He said it might be a spoiler."

"Interesting," said Kelly. "So you must not be much of a Marvel fan."

"I wouldn't say that," replied Boyd. "I've probably seen about half the movies. And all the Captain America ones, since he was arguably the fictional father of Enhanced Human Operations."

"I see. Well, it turns out that Uru is the name of a metal. The metal that Thor's hammer is made from."

"Of course," said Boyd, his eyes sparkling in delight. "Because his hammer is also a small, immovable object. One that wields tremendous power."

"Exactly," said Kelly. "Immovable—unless you happen to be Thor."

"In that case, Uru is a great name. But wouldn't Thor's hammer have been even better?"

"There comes a time when a name is just too silly," said Salazar. "And too on the nose."

"The other important thing you need to know about Uru metal," said Kelly, "just to further the metaphor, is that it can only be produced by a forge powered by the heart of a dying star. One run by Dwarves."

"Well, yeah," said the major with a grin, "everyone knows that Dwarves make the best weapons."

His smile vanished, and he became serious once again. "But I see why you think this is so interesting," he added. "Because the only way the cube could weigh even forty thousand pounds is if it contains a sprinkling of neutron star matter, right? Which can only be found at the heart of a dying star."

Kelly's eyes narrowed, and she couldn't help but be impressed. "I thought I was going to have to explain that to you."

"Like I said, I dabble in science."

"I guess so," said Kelly. "What else do you know about neutron stars?"

"The basics," replied Boyd. "They begin as stars much bigger than Sol. Then they die, and their outer cores explode in a violent supernova. The inner core that's left behind collapses in on itself under the irresistible pull of gravity."

"Nicely put," said Kelly. "For extra credit, the force of gravity is always this strong at the core of a star. So why don't they all collapse?"

"I'd answer," said the major with a playful glint in his eye, "but I don't want to ruin my reputation as a badass."

"If there's a world where a badass, souped-up killing machine can't also be a closet science geek," said Kelly, "I don't want to live in it."

Boyd laughed. "Well, when you put it that way..." he said by way of surrender. "Okay, Kelly, here goes. Healthy stars are powered by nuclear reactions in their cores. And these produce enough outward pressure to counteract the inward force of gravity. But once the star runs out of hydrogen fuel, it's basically screwed—which I assume is the correct scientific term for it," he added wryly.

"Exactly right," said Kelly. "The collapse squeezes a core that was bigger than our sun down to a ball with about a twelve-mile diameter."

The major arched an eyebrow. "Which is some seriously dense and heavy matter," he said. "And I believe that if an even bigger star goes through this process, the collapse can't be stopped, leading to a black hole."

Salazar shot Kelly a smug, I-told-you-so look, knowing the major was surpassing her wildest expectations, as he had predicted might be the case. But she was too focused on Boyd to catch it.

"Impressive," she said to the major. "Aren't you full of surprises."

"You have no idea," said Boyd.

Kelly studied him for several long seconds. "Getting back to the cube," she said finally, "you guessed that it was made with a sprinkling of neutron star matter. Why just a sprinkling?"

"If the entire cube were made of it, the thing would weigh as much as a mountain range."

"Outstanding, Major," said Salazar. "Right in every particular. A single teaspoonful of neutron star matter would weigh a billion tons."

"So how would one go about acquiring this matter?" asked Boyd.

"It's pretty simple, really," said Kelly. "Just drive your starship to the nearest neutron star. Send a probe down to the surface, one that can withstand gravity billions of times greater than we have on Earth and temperatures of a million degrees. And one that can somehow scrape a few bits of material from the most tightly compacted matter in the universe. Then you'd just have to retrieve the probe, which is impossible, contain the neutron star matter within a cube, which is impossible, and power the entire thing, which is also impossible."

She shrugged. "Piece of cake."

Boyd whistled and turned to Salazar. "So your claim that this tech is as far above our level as we are above the Neanderthals isn't just hyperbole."

"If anything," replied Salazar, "it might be an understatement."

Boyd turned to study the cube one more time and was instantly captivated by its appearance, mesmerized by the pull of its throbbing energy field, which somehow triggered a primal feeling of awe and unease in a human brain.

He turned back to his hosts. "What powers it?" he asked. "Seems to me that it would almost have to be zero-point energy."

Kelly Connolly shook her head in disbelief. He might be ruining his reputation as a badass at that. "How would you know that?" she asked.

"There's a zero-point energy research group under our auspices."

"I see," said Kelly thoughtfully. "Which means you might know more about zero-point energy than we do."

"Not a chance," said Boyd. "I haven't had time to read more than a one-paragraph summary. I only know it's supposed to be nearly infinite, and pervade all of space."

"Is this zero-point energy group making any progress?" asked Salazar.

"Almost none. It's considered the longest of our long-shot projects. But still well worth the effort and investment. I don't need to tell you that success would revolutionize civilization, like fire, the wheel, or electricity."

"Very true," said Salazar. "Most scientists believe tapping it is impossible."

"But we don't," said Kelly, "because we have the cube, and this is just one of the miracles it packs into a tiny package. It's a real showoff. We're like human scientists a thousand years ago stumbling upon a cell phone. They'd be blown away by its stunning array of capabilities, and all of them would seem like magic. The equivalent of a tiny supercomputer for a brain. The ability to use electricity as a power source. The ability to take and play back photos and video. To communicate across great distances. To understand spoken words. To access billions of pages of information. And so on."

"So for these aliens," said Salazar, "tapping zero-point energy is likely as mundane as tapping electricity is for us."

"And is this energy source really limitless?" asked Boyd.

"Pretty much," replied Kelly. "Quantum-field theory tells us that even in the completely empty vacuum of space there is a seething froth of activity, as virtual particles pop into and out of existence, creating energy. This is called the zero-point field, and its existence has been proven experimentally. And the energy of the void, zero-point energy, exists everywhere. In the coldest reaches of interstellar space and in the empty spaces between atoms of your body. The exact amount of energy available is controversial, but it's immense by any measure. An early paper published by NASA estimated that there's enough energy in a cubic centimeter of empty vacuum to boil away all of Earth's oceans."

The major paused in thought. "So to recap," he said, "you believe this cube contains neutron star matter and is powered by zero-point energy."

"That's right," said the Uru director.

"Is there anything else about it that you've figured out?"

"Not a thing," replied Salazar miserably. "But again, that's not from lack of effort."

"What have you tried?" asked Boyd.

The Uru director sighed. "It'd be faster to tell you what we haven't tried," he replied with a frown.


Harry Salazar turned to the cube and shook his head, as if it were a strong-willed, defiant teenager whom he loved and hated at the same time. As if the maddening, magnificent object was being uncooperative out of simple spite, and nothing more.

"I can give you an executive summary right now," said the Uru director to his guest. "If you want the nitty-gritty details, they're all in my reports."

"Fair enough," said the major.

"We've been focused on determining the cube's composition," said Salazar. "Or affecting its behavior or output. Both have proven impossible. Whatever it's made from, it's resistant to our efforts to find out.

"We tried to take a small sample of it, both of the outer cage and whatever it is that lies inside. There's a force field we can't breach keeping the inside from being examined, and the outer cage—which we can at least touch—is as impenetrable as the cube is immovable. We haven't been able to scrape off a single atom to study. Our most powerful microscopes have failed to show us anything."

"More than that," he continued, "we can't affect the material in any way. We've thrown every kind of radiation known to science at it. Laser beams of incomprehensible ferocity. But no energy can affect it, excite it, or drain it.

"We've hit it with acid. Tried diamond drills. Even used a scaled-down particle accelerator to hit it with matter traveling at ludicrous speeds. We applied a magnetic field that would pull a paper clip from your pocket at fifty yards. We acquired a microscopic amount of anti-matter, stored in a magnetic field, and unleashed it, with no effect. We tried dousing it with fire, and heating it to tens of thousands of degrees. We tried extreme levels of electricity. We tried freezing it with liquid nitrogen." Salazar shook his head in frustration. "But you can pour liquid nitrogen over the thing all day long without lowering its temperature one iota."

"Your experiments sound pretty... comprehensive," said Boyd.

"Just the tip of the iceberg, Major," responded the Uru director. "We've tried acetone, vinegar, alcohol, along with an exhaustive list of other organic chemicals, simple and complex alike. And we've even tried the ridiculous. Absurd long past the point of embarrassment. Like barbeque sauce. I'm not kidding. Who knows what might be this thing's kryptonite."

Boyd nodded slowly, deep in thought. "What about dark energy?" he asked. "Have you ever hit it with that?"

"As far as I know," said Salazar, "dark energy is impossible to generate. At least for human science. And we don't have sensitive enough sensors to detect it if we did."

"We have a black site research group dedicated to its study," said the major. "They think they've made a breakthrough when it comes to generating small amounts of it, at least on theoretical grounds. They're working on better detection methods, so they can determine if they've been successful, or if they're deluding themselves."

Kelly frowned. "I hate to say it, but my guess is that they are deluding themselves. I'm an expert in this field, and it's almost a certainty." She paused. "This is your anti-gravity group, correct? And I assume they believe that dark energy is a form of anti-gravity?"

"Don't you?" asked the major.

"Not really. The universe is flying outward, and we've discovered that this expansion is accelerating. Science can't account for it. Given the mass of the universe, it should be decelerating, or even starting to slowly collapse inward. Some mysterious force has to be responsible, one previously unaccounted for. Since no one has seen it, measured it directly, or has any idea what it is, it's been dubbed dark energy." She rolled her eyes. "Might as well call it 'we have no fricking clue.'"

"Yeah," said Boyd with a grin, "but the term dark energy does seem to roll off the tongue slightly better."

"I'm sure they don't have what they think they do," said Kelly emphatically. "My reasoning is too technical to share, but trust me on this."

Boyd shrugged. "Even if you are right, why not give it a try? What have we got to lose? If you're throwing barbecue sauce on the damn thing, why not this?"

"Because barbecue sauce is at least real," said Kelly. "This isn't. Trust me. It's a giant waste of time and effort. And you can get barbecue sauce at the local store. I assume it would take some doing to take a top-secret prototype device out of their labs and bring it here."

"This is true. But it'll give me an excuse to get to know the members of this team a little better. So I'm happy to get the device and bring it here myself."

"Thank you," said Harry Salazar. "If you're willing, we're eager to give it a shot. It can't fail any harder than anything else has."

"Another of our groups is finalizing work on a laser a thousand times more powerful than anything that has come before," said the major. "In a few months, we should try this too."

"Fantastic," said the Uru director. "Thanks. We can use all of the help we can get."

"Yes, thanks," echoed Kelly Connolly, but her tone was far less enthusiastic.

Boyd turned to face her. "You know," he said, "since you are such a dark energy expert, and also a skeptic, I'd like for you to join me when I retrieve the device. I can set up a meeting with scientists there and have them give you a tour. Uru is too secret for them, but you have security clearance to spare in the opposite direction. I can introduce you as someone I'm considering as a potential outside consultant." He shrugged. "Your reasoning is too technical for me, but it won't be for them. Maybe you can convince them of your views."

"When would you want to do this?"

"How about next Tuesday. Early in the morning. They're located at a place called Haycock Township, Pennsylvania, so the flight will be fairly long. But scientific cross-pollination is good for all involved. We can meet with them for three or four hours and then fly the device here."

"I think that's a great idea," said Salazar.

Kelly sighed. "Well, if both of you think it's a worthwhile trip," she said, not looking at all happy about it, "then how can I refuse?"


A holographic image of the Minister of Chinese intelligence, Yang Delan, appeared before Commander Shen Ning in his basement operations center, so realistic that it almost appeared as if he were standing in the room, despite being thousands of miles distant. Yang was trim and handsome in his impeccably crisp uniform, with eyes that shined with a fierce intelligence and a deep familiarity with command.

"I received your priority-one-urgent footage, Commander Shen," he began.

"I am pleased, Minister Yang. I would be happy to play it now and walk you through it."

Yang shook his head. "No need. I was meeting with President Yu when the message came through, and we viewed it together. We found it self-explanatory. And a remarkable development. Well done, Commander."

"Thank you, Minister Yang, you do me a great honor."

"The footage is the perfect storm of intel. We get the identity of the future head of American black operations, which by itself is huge. But even better, he just happens to be an American EHO commando. The first we've ever identified. And our intel on this program is lacking. Finally, we also get wind of a possible breakthrough development in dark energy generation."

Yang paused. "I understand that you invoked my command codes to commandeer a satellite to help track this Major Boyd after he left the Spokane black site."

"Respectfully, Minister Yang, I believed that such emergency powers were warranted in this case. I humbly offer my sincerest apologies if I overstepped."

"Not at all, Commander, you did well. Can I assume that you still have this major in your sights?"

Shen swallowed hard. Losing him would be a career-limiting mistake. "We do," he replied. "I've deployed every resource available, even those typically above my level, like satellites and hacking American street cams. I've augmented this with extensive human assets."

"Good," said the minister simply. "Make sure you don't lose him."

"I won't. I'm well aware that if we can keep him in our sights, the intel he'll lead us to will be of enormous value."

"I'm afraid that following him around will not be the plan."

"What then?"

"I recommended to President Yu that we capture this major instead. He agreed."

"This is an extraordinary measure, Minister. Can I respectfully ask why you would want to take this step? The risk is very high. And we will lose an unprecedented opportunity to unravel American black operations."

"I said capture, not kill, Commander. A proper interrogation might give us more intelligence on American black sites than we could have gotten by an extended surveillance. And yes, I'm aware that he is likely conditioned against truth drugs and will be very tough to crack. Tough, but maybe not impossible."

He sighed. "I'm also aware of the risk. But look at what we gain by taking him alive. Even if he won't talk, he can't help but give us critical intelligence. We can probe every millimeter of his body, inside and out, and study his DNA. Learn what makes him tick. Catalog every last physical, technological, and genetic enhancement he carries. This will allow us to improve our own enhanced soldier program, and to develop methods to counter theirs. This is an unparalleled opportunity for us. He embodies a treasure trove of intelligence that he can't conceal."

The head of Chinese intelligence straightened his uniform. "And then there is the matter of dark energy," he continued. "The plan would be to capture him right after he takes possession of the generator. As he's preparing to bring it to Spokane to test on the cube. We can directly detect dark energy very weakly but can't produce it. America can produce it but not detect it. The ability to do both represents a giant step forward, and will allow our anti-gravity group to leapfrog theirs. Short of solving the cube, which we believe is increasingly unlikely, anti-gravity represents the ultimate technological breakthrough. I can enumerate all the reasons why at another time."

"I understand," said Shen. "But while we could kill this major fairly readily, capturing him will be another story. Especially since we need to isolate him so there are no witnesses who can point to China. We don't know what surprise enhancements he might have. And we'll have a narrow window to act, from the time he collects the generator until the time he delivers it to the Uru group. And he'll be with Dr. Kelly Connolly the entire time."

"Well, if it simplifies the job," said Yang, "there's no need to keep her alive. We already know what's going on inside Uru. Just be sure to destroy her remains."

"Thank you for that, Minister Yang. But the logistics will still be a nightmare."

Yang actually smiled. "I'm well aware, Commander. Which is why I'm glad you're in charge. You will have whatever resources you need, and I will leave this operation entirely in your capable hands. This includes your choice of prototype methods and technologies."

A slow smile crossed Shen's face. China had a number of impressive toys coming out of its secret labs that had yet to be used in the field. Held back until their use was absolutely necessary. Why chance revealing advanced technology when conventional technology would suffice?

"I will also rush a team of our own enhanced commandos there," continued the minister, "who will be at your disposal. In this way, we match strength against strength, with our side having both the element of surprise and superior numbers."

Shen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "An inspired plan, Minister, and I am grateful for your confidence in me. But I should respectfully point out that I just set up a network of mercenaries here so our more... high profile operations can never be traced back to China. Our enhanced soldiers, on the other hand, are native Chinese. If they fail, or even if they succeed without perfect stealth, the op gets traced back to us. The tensions between our two countries are already high. Imagine the fallout from this."

"You make a valid point, Commander. So I'll send the team, but start by seeing if your mercenaries can do the job."

"I will do so, Minister. But I fear that even the most elite of my mercenary force will be no match for Major Boyd. Unless the limited knowledge we have of the EHO program is substantially exaggerated."

"One on one, this is undoubtedly true. But can he defeat ten men? Twenty? Especially if they're supported by advanced tech that has never been used in the field before."

"It's impossible to say. And impossible to even plan precisely. Because we'll be up against unknown capabilities."

"All plans of this type face the unknown, Commander," said Yang, his tone making it clear he had lost his patience. "Deal with it. Plan for every possibility. Introduce multiple redundancies."

"I will, Minister. I will not let China down."

"See to it that you don't," said Yang grimly.


 "When it comes to the existence of UFOs, we've reached a tipping point. The burden of proof used to be on the believers to prove that UFOs are real. Now the burden of proof has shifted to the government and military to prove that they're not real. Because the evidence is overwhelming." —Michio Kaku, professor of theoretical physics, City College of New York

Major Justin Boyd and Dr. Kelly Connolly exited a quaint red farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania and returned to Boyd's rental car, a black Lexus sedan, parked on a gravel lot outside.

"Annie," said the major as he took the driver's seat, addressing the car's limited AI, "retract the steering wheel and take us to McGuire Air Force Base."

McGuire, also known as Joint Base McGuire—Dix—Lakehurst, was located eighteen miles from Trenton, New Jersey, and was the only base in America that included units from all five armed forces branches.

"Beginning trip now," said the pleasant female voice of the car through the speakers as Boyd placed his ever-present gray duffel bag between him and his fellow passenger. At the same time, the steering wheel began to retract slowly into the dashboard and the seat slid back, maximizing the roominess of the compartment.

Boyd was consistent in naming his self-driving rental cars Annie, and in setting the voice to pleasant and female. He had long reserved the name Sage for his personal AI, also feminine, who was vastly superior to any electronic assistant that would be commercially available for a very long time.

"Annie, estimate trip duration," ordered the major.

"We should arrive in approximately seventy-two minutes," replied the car helpfully.

It was the beginning of autumn, and the numerous trees surrounding the property were thick with leaves that had turned a wide array of spectacular colors.

Boyd turned to his companion. "I've arranged for us to return to Uru in a fighter jet," he said happily. "You're going to love it."

"You are kidding, right?"

He laughed. "Yes, I'm kidding. But you should have seen the look on your face."

"What plane are we taking back to Uru?"

"I'm afraid it will only be a simple, boring transport," he said with a sigh. "With no ability to generate G-forces that make you feel like your entire body is being crushed."

"As much as I hate to miss out on all that fun," said Kelly, fighting back a smile, "I guess it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

She had insisted on taking a commercial red-eye to Philadelphia International, where Boyd had picked her up in the rental at the crack of dawn that morning. Even so, they would be flying military back to Uru. Boyd's duffel, packed with high-tech military gear, weapons, and medical supplies, would never make it through screening, and he wasn't about to put the dark energy generator, about the size of a mass-market paperback, through TSA screening.

After he had met her at the airport, they had driven for eighty minutes, passing dense, multicolored woods for as far as the eye could see most of the way, and Kelly had repeatedly commented on the surprisingly vast expanses of woodlands in the area and the breathtakingly beautiful fall pageantry they displayed.

When they had begun the drive, Boyd had urged her to call him Justin when he wasn't acting in an official capacity. She had found this awkward at first, but was beginning to get the hang of it.

The anti-gravity group's headquarters was completely buried underground, as were most secret sites now that tunneling and excavation had become so cheap and efficient. In the case of the anti-gravity group, the facility was twenty yards below a farm in Haycock Township, Pennsylvania, a site carefully chosen for its proximity to Princeton and its Institute for Advanced Study, only an hour's drive away across the Delaware River and into New Jersey.

The tour and meetings had begun at 7:30 in the morning and had concluded three hours later. Due to the red-eye Kelly had taken, and the three-hour time difference between Spokane and Pennsylvania, they had finished their day here before Kelly would have normally even awakened for her day at Uru. Boyd suspected she was exhausted, but she hadn't shown it or complained.

He studied the woman who was seat-belted in beside him. He found her an enigma. Not a capital-E enigma, like the cube, but interesting and unpredictable in her own right. She had seemed intent on killing his idea of bringing the dark energy generator to Spokane to test on the cube. She had insisted that the anti-gravity group was delusional in thinking they had produced such a generator in the first place.

Yet during her tour of the Haycock facility and subsequent in-depth conversation with the lead scientists there, she had failed to challenge their thinking at all. Why so adamant in Spokane and so compliant here?

"So what did you think of the anti-gravity people?" he asked her as the car picked up speed.

"An exceptional group."

"They thought the same about you. I am surprised, though. I invited you here so you could try to persuade them to your point of view. Remember? So why didn't you engage?"

She sighed. "I realized I had been wrong."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I've been wrong before, you know. Once when I was a little girl. Once about four years ago. And today." She arched an eyebrow. "So three times in total," she finished with a grin.

"Are you sure you don't mean four times?" said Boyd impishly. "Because you were wrong about me, weren't you? Admit it. I could tell from your body language that you expected me to be a total dick." He paused. "And I was only a three-quarters dick."

She laughed. "All right, Major—Justin—you got me. I have to admit, I got you a quarter-dick wrong."

"I'm glad you're a big enough woman to admit that."

"Of course."

"But back to the dark energy generator," said the major. "Are you saying that you're now totally convinced that the anti-gravity group's suppositions are completely right?"

"I am."

"Sage," he said subvocally to his personal supercomputer AI, "is she telling the truth?"

EHO had perfected a subvocal system that allowed its commandos to hold private conversations with their onboard AIs in a crowd, without anyone being the wiser. Boyd was now expert in making tiny movements of the muscles of his mouth and throat, which were amplified by minuscule sensors and sent on to Sage, who deciphered them with perfect accuracy.

Her reply came to him through a tiny comm that had been surgically implanted in his inner ear, which couldn't be seen or heard by anyone else, no matter how close they were standing. All in all, his practiced ability to subvocalize in conjunction with his custom comm made his communications with Sage seem telepathic.

"Yes, her statement is true," replied Sage, "at a confidence level of eighty-two percent."

Interesting, he thought. Sage wasn't a perfect lie detector, but she could access advanced sensors hidden in his clothing that could measure the heart rate and respiration of anyone in sufficiently close proximity to him. The AI also had access to visual input from Boyd's smart contact lenses that could measure the microexpressions of anyone he was watching. A complex algorithm crunched the data these sources provided and produced a verdict as to the veracity of any statement, one that was usually quite accurate.

"I notice that you never glance at the road ahead when we're in self-driving mode," said Kelly. "You trust the AI autopilot that much?"

"I do."

"I can see why you like self-driving cars. If you're able to really trust them, you can work, watch a movie, or sightsee while on long drives."

"The middle console even retracts if you want, so you can lie across the entire front seat to sleep," he said. He ordered the autopilot to retract the console to show her, as the extra room wouldn't hurt in any event. "Not that I've ever gone that far," he added.

Kelly smiled. "Yeah, I get that. It just doesn't seem adult to be sleeping across the seats of a car. But next time I need a rental, I think I'll give a self-driving model a try."

"There aren't many rentals available, and they cost several times as much. But you know," he added raising his eyebrows, "for the busy enhanced soldier on the go, they're very convenient."

"Very," she agreed. "And speaking of Enhanced Human Operations, Justin, how, exactly, are you, ah... enhanced? I mean, you've already admitted that your dick is only... well, only three-quarters."

Boyd laughed out loud. "Wow! You know full well I meant my behavior was three-quarters dickish. Not my... anything else. It was meant to be a self-deprecating joke," he added in amusement, "but not that self-deprecating." His smile remained as he considered her playful, sophomoric banter, which had been entirely unexpected.

"Sorry," she said, wincing. "I couldn't resist. I hope I didn't cross a line."

"Not at all."

"Good. But, really, I am curious to know what you have going on under the hood. You know, enhancement-wise."

"I wish I could tell you," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't."

"You know I have the highest security clearance there is."

"I do. But this is still on a need-to-know basis."

Boyd couldn't help but like this Dr. Connolly, warts and all. She was brilliant, but straightforward. Confident, even arrogant at times, but mostly down-to-earth and unassuming. She was still only thirty, just a few years younger than him. And the fact that she was quite pleasant to look at was also a nice bonus.

He hadn't allowed himself emotional entanglements, but he was naturally attracted to women who were smart and assertive, with a good sense of humor, and Kelly Connolly seemed to possess all of these qualities.

And something more, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what this something more might be. All he knew was that she had surprised him on several occasions, which was both rare and appreciated.

"What about your background?" she pressed. "Is that a need-to-know secret, also? How did you end up in the military?"

"Good question," he said, deciding there was no reason not to tell her. "The truth is I had absolutely no interest in it. None. So I didn't find them. They found me."

"How?"

"EHO was initiated when I was a junior in high school, although the first enhancements didn't happen until several years later. It was founded by Colonel Tom Osborne, the current head of black ops. Have you had the chance to meet him?"

"Not yet."

"That's a shame, because he's an exceptional human being. Smart, modest, and incorruptible."

"I've heard good things," said Kelly.

"Anyway," continued Boyd, "when he started the group up, he was looking for what he called extraordinary recruits. His words, not mine."

"And how did that put you on his radar?"

"I grew up an only child in Nebraska, and, well... with all due modesty, I guess I was both the number one athlete and the number one student in the region. Did well on standardized tests, was the captain of my school's basketball and soccer teams—with the soccer team winning the state championships twice. That sort of thing."

"With all due modesty?" she chided him with a wry smile.

"You asked," he replied good-naturedly. "Anyway, Osborne was looking for exceptional recruits for EHO, and he wanted them young. Just out of high school. He sought raw potential, which he could shape. So he had a team scour the country, looking at IQ tests, SATs, college essays, sports, academics, and citizenship. Apparently, they identified me as one of thousands of promising candidates."

"And then whittled these candidates down."

"Yes. I was given an array of extra tests, which I was told were for a special college scholarship I was likely to get. They put me through more mazes than a lab rat. These included extensive tests of personality, personal philosophy, morality, ethics, decision-making, and so on.

"Then, after I made it through their initial cuts, Osborne and his team began to surveil me, although I had no idea I was being watched, and wasn't told until years later. Every once in a while they would stage events to see how I'd react. Giving me the chance to be cowardly or heroic. Upright or greedy."

"So you passed their Good Samaritan and heroism field tests as well."

"Apparently," he said. "The thing of it was that Osborne wasn't looking for soldiers. He wanted young men and women who were comfortable in their own skin, had good athleticism, and in fact, wanted anything but a life in the military. He and his team began with the entire population of seventeen-year-olds in America, and ended by recruiting just fourteen of these when we graduated high school."

"So how did Osborne get you to join if you had no interest in the military?"

"He made me an offer I couldn't refuse," replied Boyd. "I was very much into tech, and the tech he described was pretty jaw-dropping. He promised to train me and enhance me. He disclosed top-secret intelligence, demonstrating the wide array of threats the average man was blissfully unaware of. Threats that people like me, properly trained and enhanced, would be in an ideal position to counter."

He paused, remembering. "He convinced me he only wanted me to use the skills and tech he would give me for good, not evil. That I could help protect the world. Change it. And I would be a guinea pig. Eventually, the enhancements that worked the best would be released to the public. Like GPS and the internet were.

"Finally, he assured me I would be in total control of my own destiny. He insisted that I could, and should, refuse any assignments that I didn't believe in. He appealed to my ego, my pride, and gave me a chance to lead a very unique and special life."

"Ever regret joining up?"

Boyd shook his head. "Not really, no. Everything Osborne told me turned out to be accurate. And I have been able to make a difference. In ways, and in magnitude, that only a few will ever know. And now I'm hanging up my combat spurs to make sure that black ops stays focused and accountable.

"Well, I'm mostly hanging up my spurs," he corrected. "My training, tech, and skills are too valuable to never use again. So, if the emergency is great enough, I might go back into the field for a rare mission or two."

"But only if you agree that the mission is worthy, right?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

Boyd wondered if he had told her too much, but decided he didn't care. He hadn't shared his origin story with anyone else for a long time—mostly because there were precious few authorized to even know he was in EHO—and it felt good. There was too much secrecy in his life, and too little sharing.

They drove in silence for some time as Kelly digested what he had said. She turned to him to ask another question when her phone chimed. It was her boss in Spokane. She kept it on audio-only and raised it to her ear.

"Kelly, it's me," blurted out Salazar, sounding panicked. "Is the major there with you?"

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Is Major Boyd there with you?" he repeated urgently.

"Yes."

"Put me on speaker so I can talk to you both," he said, sounding worse with every word he uttered.

Seconds later a one-foot-tall holographic version of Dr. Harry Salazar was floating in the air near the center of the windshield. Boyd had instructed Annie to project him there, since holograms were permitted in cars that were operating in full self-driving mode.

The look on Salazar's projected face said it all. He was shocked. Horrified. As if the world were coming to an end. "I'm glad you're already sitting down," he began, visibly fighting to hold himself together.

"Spit it out, Harry," said Kelly. "What is going on? You're white as a ghost."

"I got in less than a half hour ago," he said, "just before eight. After some preliminary work, I went to the Enigma Room to prepare for your arrival. So everything would be ready for our experiment tomorrow morning. I wanted the major to be able to get the dark energy generator back to Haycock as soon as possible."

He paused, looking as if his head might explode.

"Go on," urged Kelly.

"I don't really know how to tell you this," continued Salazar. "I can't believe what I'm about to say—or even that it's real. But it's about the Enigma Cube. It seems to be ...."

He paused again, as if desperately not wanting to continue. Finally, he blew out a long breath. "Well, I'll just say it. The Enigma Cube seems to be... gone."

Kelly shrank back in confusion. "What do you mean, gone?" she demanded. "That isn't funny, Harry."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he shouted, almost hysterically. "Do you think I would make this up? The cube is immovable. We all know that. Yet it's gone. As if it was never here."

"That's impossible," she said.

"Apparently not," replied Salazar, looking decidedly ill.


As the Lexus rental car raced along the highway on a self-guided journey to McGuire Air Force Base, Justin Boyd's mouth hung open. He continued to stare at the holographic image of Dr. Harry Salazar in dismay, reeling.

And if he was reeling from news of the cube's disappearance, Salazar was coming apart at the seams.

And for good reason, Boyd knew. Salazar was not only in charge of the Enigma Cube, but solving it was his passion. It was a riddle that consumed his every waking moment. And Salazar had vowed, to himself and to others, that he would eventually find a way to unlock its secrets.

But now it had shown that it had more secrets than anyone had even known, in mind-blowing fashion.

Just like that, it was gone. An object that represented absolute proof of alien visitation. An object that was a demonstration of godlike technology. The most important artifact ever found.

And now, the most important artifact ever lost.

Lost by Dr. Harry Salazar, who was now visibly shaking.

"Slow down, Harry," said the major as calmly as he could, noting that Kelly had become speechless, wrestling with news that she wasn't able to emotionally accept. "Let's take this one step at a time."

"One step at a time!" barked Salazar, still nearly hysterical. "There is only one step! I entered the Enigma Room and it wasn't there. Simple as that. No brilliant light, no mind-blowing little cube. Nothing in its place. No sign of anything in the room being otherwise disturbed. Hell, no sign of anything else in the entire facility being disturbed."

"As you know, Harry," said the major, "I have a dedicated supercomputer AI that I've named Sage. I'm going to put her on speaker."

"What do you mean dedicated?" said Kelly. "Isn't she just a supercomputer you access through the web?"

"No," said Boyd. "I've been issued a personal computer that I carry with me. So there's no time lag when I communicate with her, and no wireless connection needed that can go wrong. This also allows her to constantly perform deep scans of my surroundings for mics and listening devices, and alert me if any are found."

"So you have a supercomputer in your duffel bag?" said Kelly.

"Not exactly," said the major. "I'll explain later."

Boyd couldn't blame her for her incorrect assumption. Who could possibly guess that a twenty-million-dollar prototype supercomputer, Sage's home, was affixed to his upper leg by what appeared to be a four-by-two-inch bandage. The computer was bendable enough to contour to the curve of Boyd's thigh, and was constructed of carbon nanotubes, allowing its architecture to be built in three dimensions. This dramatically increased both its processing power and memory, while substantially decreasing its size and need for power.

The bandages that EHO had developed to conceal these computers were miraculous in their own right. The adhesive bond was unbreakable, and the material it was made from was all but impenetrable. The material allowed air to flow through, but its pores would slam shut in the presence of any moisture, including sweat, and it was absolutely waterproof. If the bandage was about to be seen by an enemy, the AI could release a small amount of blood-red dye onto its surface, allaying any suspicions as to its true purpose.

The supercomputer was hundreds of times more powerful than the best available smartphone, and significantly smaller. In fact, the majority of the area under the bandage wasn't even computer, but batteries, antennas, and a wide array of sensors.

It could either be charged electrically, or it could draw power from the heat and motion of Boyd's leg. Together, this ensured it could stay powered for a full two weeks, provided normal usage.

"Sage," called out the major after she was tied into the car's speaker, "were there any reports of UFO sightings in or around Spokane last night?"

"Nice," said Kelly, genuinely impressed. "You're thinking the only way it could be gone is if the alien owners returned to retrieve it."

Boyd nodded. "Exactly."

"Checking all civilian and commercial communications," reported Sage for all to hear. "Tying into Nessie now," she added, referring to the NSA's supercomputer AI, which had access to every call, text, and email in the country. "Not a single indication of a sighting," she finished immediately.

"Expand the search, then," said Boyd. "Check for sightings within a five-hundred-mile radius of the Uru site."

"No UFO sightings reported," came the quick reply. "Not for at least a week."

Boyd frowned deeply. It had been worth a try. "Harry," he said, "tell me what Uru surveillance cameras showed."

"The outside cameras showed nothing at all unusual. No unauthorized vehicles anywhere near the site. No UFOs. For that matter, no jets, cars, or even skateboards. No unauthorized entrances or exits to or from the facility. Nothing but the usual comings and goings of Uru personnel. No locks were breached. The whole thing is insane."

"What about the cameras inside the facility?" said Boyd.

"There are no cameras inside," whispered Salazar in disgust. "If this were a standard facility, we'd have dozens of them pointed at the Enigma Cube. But in this case, we didn't see the point of it, as all cameras get blinded by the light."

Boyd cursed to himself. Of course there were no cameras inside. Wouldn't want to make this too easy, he thought sarcastically. "We went through vault doors to reach the Enigma Room," he said. "How many people know the combination for these doors?"

"If you remember," said the tiny hologram floating in the air, "the doors were open when we got there. There is no combination. They're basically blast doors, there to protect the world from the cube. Not to protect the cube from theft. We never imagined we needed security. After all, an entire army couldn't steal the thing. It's a fricking immovable object."

"I think you got your tense wrong," said Boyd in frustration. "It was a fricking immovable object. That seems to no longer be the case."

Salazar blew out a long breath. "My people have been taking readings since just before I called," he said. "But so far, everything looks normal. Perfectly normal. No unusual energy signatures of any kind. We've confirmed the cube didn't turn itself invisible. If it somehow surged in power and punched a hole in the fabric of spacetime, or managed to teleport out of here, there was no local energy surge."

There was silence in the car for almost a full minute as everyone racked their brains for additional ideas, but none were forthcoming.

"Look... Harry," said the major, "I'll make sure we get to the bottom of this. The planned experiment is off, of course, but I'm still coming there with Kelly. We have to understand what just happened. No priority could possibly be higher. Call me immediately with any updates," he added unnecessarily.

He and Kelly rode in silence for several minutes after the call had ended, alone with their thoughts.

"Justin, all electronic connections are down," said Sage's feminine voice through the car speaker, startling both passengers who had all but forgotten she was still tied in.

"Your AI calls you by your first name?" said Kelly.

Boyd ignored her. "What do you mean, all electronic connections are down?" he said, his voice showing signs of strain.

"Wi-Fi, phone, military bands—all electromagnetic signals are being blocked."

"That's odd," said Kelly.

"More than odd," said Boyd urgently. "Wi-Fi and cell phones are too reliable nowadays, and we're in the middle of Pennsylvania, not on the Moon. Can't just be a coincidence. My instincts tell me this is the beginning of an attack. And if Sage hadn't volunteered this information, we wouldn't have had any idea that signals were being blocked until we tried to use our phones again."

Kelly didn't look convinced.

"The timing suggests that this is related to the dark energy generator," added Boyd.

"Look, Justin," she said, "don't you think you might be overreacting a bit? Why would anyone even want the generator? Its effect is so minuscule that we can't be certain it's even doing anything. And how would anyone even know we had one? Or who we are? Or where we are?"

"I have no idea. What I do know is that this is happening now, right after our visit to the Haycock site. And as I just said, I don't believe in coincidences."

Kelly frowned, deep in thought. "If all remote signaling is down," she continued, "then how are we still on autopilot? I thought the system needed to communicate with traffic cams, other cars, and so on. Shouldn't Annie either be pulling us off to the side of the road so you can take manual control, or at least warning us that all Wi-Fi is down?"

"Excellent point," said Boyd. Had someone hacked the self-driving feature, which was supposed to be unhackable? "Annie," he called out, "cancel our destination. Slow to thirty miles per hour and then take the next off-ramp."

There was no reply, and the car's speed didn't slow. If anything, it continued a very gradual acceleration, and was now traveling at sixty-five.

Boyd's eyes widened in alarm. What were they up against here? Whoever had done this must have attached a signal-jamming device to the Lexus, so that when the hostiles triggered it remotely, a cloud of no reception would hover over them as they moved. And these same hostiles seem to have hacked an unhackable autopilot.

His alarm grew as he realized something else. If this were true, they would need to be controlling Annie remotely—and this shouldn't be possible given that all incoming and outgoing signals were being blocked. Which meant that they had to be using a revolutionary method of remote signal transmission, one currently unknown to the US military.

The sophistication of the operation was off-the-charts high, which narrowed down the list of suspects to rogue elements within the US itself, or to China, Israel, Japan, Russia, and maybe a dozen other major powers.

They also must have known who Boyd was and where he would be. They knew of his habit of renting self-driving cars, and must have prepared this Op well in advance. It was beyond impressive.

Boyd tried to unlock the car's doors and windows but couldn't get them to respond, and the manual override refused to return control of the car to him as it was designed to do.

Kelly Connolly whitened as the reality of what was happening finally sank in. They were trapped inside a streaking vehicle that was delivering them to a destination of someone else's choosing. "Can you get us out of this?" she asked anxiously.

"Absolutely," he said with confidence, but this was false bravado for Kelly's benefit. The truth was that they were up against the very best, a team who wouldn't leave anything to chance.

The truth was that Justin Boyd had no idea what might come next, or the odds that they'd survive it.