Collin Shelby is a member of UMBRA, a mercenary subcontracting organization that functions in extreme sanction situations for the DIA, CIA, and NSA and maintains liaisons with senior FBI personnel. Formerly labeled the ‘Talent Pool,’ the shadow organization’s primary cover is the prevention of terrorist activities.

Shelby has no idea why he has been ordered to assassinate Lauren Beckmeyer, nor does he care. A harsh by-product of the new global Internet and unified monetary system is that terrorist organizations can now recruit young and old, male and female from any nation and every walk of life. Last month’s biological attack at the 9-11 Memorial killed more than sixty civilians. If the death of one confused college student can prevent more bloodshed …

E-MAIL RECORDS AND HARD DRIVE DOCUMENTS HAVE BEEN DELETED.

Shelby detaches the remote link and looks around.

Inches beneath the soles of his boots, hidden below the lab’s gridlike paneled floor, is a terrified Lauren Beckmeyer. She is scrunched up in a tight crawl space containing computer cables and circuitry, her bleeding palm wedged firmly in her mouth, preventing her from wheezing out loud.

The guard touches the comm link on his forearm. ‘It’s Shelby. She’s gone.’

‘Did you erase Gabeheart’s records?’

‘Yes, sir. Where do you want me?’

‘We’ve got her dormitory covered. Join Bates at her fiancé’s place.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The guard looks around one last time, then leaves.

Lauren remains hidden, her pulse pounding in her ears.

32

NOVEMBER 23, 2033: HANGAR 13, KENNEDY SPACE
CENTER, CAPE CANAVERAL, FLORIDA

Wednesday Dawn

The sound of a brook, running beneath the wooden structure.

A bird chirps somewhere in the garden.

Immanuel Gabriel opens his eyes, surprised to find a slight Asian man in an orange monk’s robe standing in the entry of the open shoji.

‘Ni hao.’ The man grins.

‘Knee who?’

‘I said, “good morning.” Did I startle you?’

‘Everything startles me these days. Guess you’re looking for my brother?’

‘Bu shi.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say bullshit?’

‘Bu shi means, “that is not right.” I am here to meet you and escort you to your brother. I was observing you as you slept. Your soul is not at peace.’

‘No bu shi.’ Immanuel stands, offering the Asian his hand. ‘Samuel Agler.’

‘Chong Xiong.’

He shakes the Tibetan monk’s hand, registering the power behind the smaller man’s grip. ‘I take it you’re one of my brother’s teachers.’

Chong grins. ‘There is a robe in the bathroom. Please get dressed and follow me, your brother is waiting.’

Immanuel heads for the bathroom, his stomach grumbling. Get dressed and follow me … who’s this guy think he is? He tugs the shoji shut behind him, urinates, washes his face, then gets dressed in the white kung fu clothing.

Exiting the bathroom, he heads straight for the kitchen. ‘Hey, Mr. Chong, you want some breakfast?’

‘We will not eat at this time.’ Chong points outside. ‘Please.’

‘But I’m hungry.’