Lauren eases back on the Amphibian’s throttle and turns toward shore, allowing the two-man boat to settle in the swells.

She stands in the open cockpit and stretches, her buttocks numb. She has been following the Florida coastline for three hours. Exhausted, cold, and sore, she has been questioning her own sanity for most of the trip.

Glancing down at the control panel, she quickly verifies her position on the LED computer screen.

The old Cape Canaveral lighthouse is a half mile north. Just ahead is the immense building she had seen from the NASA causeway only days earlier.

Days? Seems more like years. Okay, if you’re really going to do this, then do it…

She accelerates behind a cresting wave and rides it into the beach, activating the amphibious switch.

As the jet ski rolls forward onto the sand, three tires rotate into position beneath the chassis, instantly converting the seacraft back into a landrover.

Lauren parks the triwheeled dune buggy on dry sand, her eyes focused on the forty-foot-high perimeter fence which runs parallel to the shoreline.

WARNING: ELECTRIFIED FENCE. NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.

She tosses a seashell fragment.

Zapp!

Okay, Einstein, now what?

A flash of headlights causes her to duck. She watches as a white stretch limousine parks in front of the main entrance.

Lauren sits back, rubbing her head, trying to fathom the sudden sensation of déjà vu.

Grand Master Chong, Dominique, Jacob, and Immanuel stand before the two-way observation panel, watching the occupants in the next room.

Seated at the head of a simulated oak conference table is President John Zwawa. On his left is Alyssa Popov, on his right, a Hispanic member of GOLDEN FLEECE.

‘Danny Diaz,’ Jacob mutters, ‘Dave Mohr’s right-hand man. Looks like the bastard sold us out.’

A disheveled Dr. Mohr enters the conference room, followed by the most stunning woman Immanuel Gabriel has ever seen. She is young, about his age, but carries herself in a more worldly way. Mocha tan skin. High cheekbones, accentuated by long, wavy ebony hair, which rolls down her taut, muscular back to her flawless waistline. Her lips are full and luscious, her dark, wrap around sunglasses adding an air of mystique. She saunters around the room in her own little world, her bone-colored silk pajama-style outfit threatening to fall away.

Manny watches her circle, his eyes wide. ‘Who is that?’

Jacob stares at the woman as if seeing a ghost. ‘Trouble.’

Dave Mohr’s voice emanates from speakers within their sound-proof office. ‘Mrs. Mabus, honestly, I’m not really sure what you’re after. After all, we’ve been attempting to reverse engineer the starship for more than a decade now, and—’

‘Please, Dr. Mohr, let’s not begin our tenure together with lies.’ Her voice, so soothing, yet not one to be trifled with. ‘Daniel?’