Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 35

Five Days, Fifteen Hours, Forty Minutes

Arthur Pendley shook himself awake from a fitful nap. He knew he needed to catch up on so much missed sleep these last few days, but the excitement of the moment – the culmination of years of planning every detail to his personal missives – kept his from truly falling into a deep, needed slumber. He brought one hand up, brushing it across his eyes, and craned his neck, hearing the vertebrae in his neck pop. A welcome 'snap' of relief sent shivers down his spine. Certainly, the limo wasn't his first choice for a catnap, but the vehicle – parked on the edge of Anacostia Park – was the safest alternative at this point: he trusted he was being followed, and he wasn't about to lead the Secret Service back to Heston Tower. No. That wouldn't be a prudent move. That would spell certain doom far too soon.

Would he get away with this? He didn't know. He stopped second-guessing his agenda years ago. In fact, he was surprised that he was allowed to divert so much of the United States' appropriations to his personal project. The reality was that the government funded far too much waste, and, eventually, some insipid bean counter at the General Accounting Office would probably uncover his scheme. At this point, however, it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was finished with embezzling from Uncle Sam. His weapon was complete. His hideout was the stuff of science fiction. But ... it was his, and he refused to endanger it by leading them back to it.

Tired, he glanced down at his watch. Roughly, two hours remained for the White House and the President to grant him his first demand – control of FEMA – and then he would continue to squeeze more and more out of them until he had operational control of the world's only remaining superpower. The things he could do then? Even he couldn't imagine all of them.

His Blackberry hummed from the holster on his waist. Easily, he tugged it and brought it up to his face in the darkness of the limo. He activated the lit screen and opened the email.

W.H. HAS SAT. PHOTOS THRU FORMER SOVIET GOVT, he read. BACKSTEP PERPS ON SITE. INVESTIGATING THREAT TO USE OF EXPOSED TEMPORAL ENERGY. ADVISE AT YOUR CONVENIENCE.

He smiled. He knew it would be a matter of time before the President started pulling in key strategists from across the government's payroll, but Campbell had to given credit: the response was much quicker than Pendley ever believed the U.S. could mobilize. Maybe these fifty free states were worth defending, after all.

Deleting the email, he switched functions to the wireless telephone, calling up his phone list and dialing his military contact. He listened patiently as the phone rang three times and then someone answered.

"Chamberlin," the voice said curtly.

"The light is green, colonel," Pendley told him.

"Sir?"

"You heard me," the senator insisted. "I've given you what you so often have desired ... the chance to take your place in American history. Don't think you're going to fail me, colonel. I picked you specifically for this assignment because I'm well aware of your – shall we say – capabilities. Where is your team?"

"They're in place, sir."

"Then, make haste. You know what needs to be done."

"Of course ... but, as you suspected," the colonel began, "the White House made a move to protect the Mallathorn."

"That is a contingency of absolutely no consequence for which I believe you're far more than adequately prepared."

"Yes ... and no."

"Colonel?"

"From what I've been told, there are representatives of BackStep with the alien now."

Confused, the senator sat forward. "BackStep?" he asked.

"BackStep?"

"That's correct."

"Colonel, I'm of the understanding that the BackStep Team is currently advising Chief of Staff Ethan Stoddard, but you're telling me that they're at the Pentagon speaking with the Mallathorn. What could they possibly want with the alien?"

"Sir, it gets a ... a bit more confusing."

"Yes?"

"I've been told that ... I've been told that Frank Parker is in private chambers with the Mallathorn."

A flush of cold washed over Arthur Pendley, and it was the type of chill he had long despised: the threat of total, complete, utter, miscalculated surprise.

"Colonel ... did you say 'Frank Parker'?"

"Yes, sir."

The senator shook his head. "That's impossible."

"I know, sir."

"I don't think you do," the man stated quickly. "Frank Parker is dead. He has been for a few years now. You and I both know that he died on September 11th. I'm not going to sit here and listen to sheer nonsense, not when the goal of our achievements is so close at hand. There is no possible way that he could be ..."

"Senator," the colonel interrupted, "I'm providing you with the precise information that has been given to me. Now, I've been told that the BackStep Team was recalled from Nevada. I've been told that they touched down in the capital earlier today. I've been told that Talmadge and several of his colleagues are trying to obtain some vital intel from Craig Donovan who apparently has been working on some leads in conjunction with the D.C. police. I've been told that Nathan Ramsey and Dr. Isaac Mentnor were called to the White House. Also, as I've said, I've been told that Frank Parker was ordered – with specific instructions from the Mallathorn himself – to report to the Pentagon." The man cleared his throat. "Sir, I'm not telling you that I've seen Frank Parker. I'm only passing along what I've been told."

Pendley took a deep breath. He knew Frank Parker, not personally but through his profession. He knew the man was a wild card. The first successful chrononaut could not be trusted to complete a mission – not so far as the senator was concerned – but the man had far too many heroic impulses to suddenly become a variable once again in the middle of this whole affair. Pendley pulled his lips taut against his teeth as he exhaled in disgust.

"Then," he finally announced, "assume the rumor of Frank Parker's resurrection is little more than false presumption, and – as I'm telling you, colonel – the light is green. You and your men are already in position ... unless I dramatically overestimated your command abilities."

"We are in position, senator."

"Then storm the facility," the man ordered. "I want you to take it by force – which I know from your personal service record you're quite capable of exhibiting – and do what's necessary."

"The Mallathorn?"

"You and I both know that the President will never authorize the use of deadly force against that nuisance," Pendley deduced. "Colonel, I want you to kill that ... thing ... kill it yourself. If it means using your own two hands to strangle it, then make it so."

"Understood, sir."

Pendley relaxed in his seat. "Report back to me once you've taken care of it."

"Of course ... but what about Parker?"

Pendley turned his head slightly to glance out the rear window of the limo. There, down the street, was a parked sedan that undoubtedly contained Secret Service agents who were dispatched from the White House to follow him. He wasn't about to lead them anywhere. Not until he had the chance to put his operation into full play.

"If he is alive, colonel, then think of it as an added benefit for you and I," the man said. "Kill Parker, along with the Mallathorn. As a matter of fact, kill every meddling member of the BackStep Team that you encounter. I want you perfectly clear on this, colonel. Every single member of the Mallathorn's support staff and any member of the human race who've come into contact with that thing ... I want all of dead."

END of Chapter 35