Waves of energy penetrate the limestone block, passing through the King’s Chamber and the hollowed-out brown block of granite identical to the sarcophagus within the Kukulcan pyramid. Moving deeper, the beacon activates an alien apparatus hidden well below the Egyptian superstructure, a place where no human has ever been.

In a blink of a nanosecond, the global array is complete, the planet’s atmosphere saturated, sealed within a powerful alien energy grid.

Mick drops to the ground, unconscious.

North American Aerospace Defense Command, NORAD
Colorado

One hundred and seven frightened technicians stare at the large overhead computerized map of northern America, which depicts the real-time trajectories of more than fifteen hundred Russian nuclear and biological missiles. Most personnel weep openly as they huddle in prayer groups, grasping pictures of their loved ones who, unknowingly, are just minutes away from death. Others, too numb to stand, lie on the floor beneath their workstations and wait for the unimaginable to happen.

Commander in Chief General Andre Moreau wipes back tears, struggling to refrain from calling his son and daughter living in Los Angeles. What could I tell them?What could I possibly say? That I love them? That I’m sorry …?

Ninety Seconds to Impact:

A wail rises from the Command Center, the sound of the computerized female voice causing General Moreau’s legs to fail him. He collapses into the seat of his chair.

And then, as if by magic, the missiles suddenly disappear from the giant screen.

INCOMING MISSILES DESTROYED—INCOMING MISSILES DESTROYED—

Screams and cheers. Moreau looks up. Giddy technicians are pointing, yelling, hugging, weeping, as a wave of euphoria spreads throughout the facility.

Moreau struggles to his feet, tears pouring from his eyes, his voice a strained rasp as he calls for a systems analysis.

Two exuberant operators and a senior commander compete tor his attention.

“Systems are all on-line!”

“What happened to the missiles?”

“According to our data, they simply self-destructed.”

“I want confirmation.”

“We’re attempting to confirm with our bases in Florida and San Diego, but a dense wave of electromagnetic interference is jamming all communications.”

“An EMP?” Fear grips Commander Moreau’s intestines. “There shouldn’t be any electromagnetic interference, Major, unless there’s been a nuclear fallout?”

“No, sir, there’s been no fallout. Our ground-based missile warning sites confirm no detonations of any kind. Whatever’s causing this interference is coming from another source.”

“Where? I want to know—”

“Sir, we’re attempting to pinpoint the origin of the interference, but it’s going to take some time. Our satellites don’t seem to be functioning properly.”

“General!” A technician looks up, a baffled expression on his face. “Sir, our missiles were destroyed as well.”

“You mean they self-destructed.”

“No, sir. I mean they were destroyed.”

Raven Rock Underground Command Center
Maryland

2:31 A.M.