Chapter One

July


As the sun inched its way up through the horizon, the vapors formed twisting, swirling formations rising from the surface of the pavement making up the highway that led to Bakersfield. Already seventy degrees before six in the morning, the day crew was finally arriving. Jack Trenton's body ached from a night time of shoveling tar into ditches, and the sweat seemed to leave his body almost as fast as he could take in the water to replenish it.

Wiping his forehead as he laid the shovel down momentarily, the lead man yelled to Jack and the three other men standing close by, "let's wrap it up boys. Days a-here, and it's time for the owls to rest."

"Shoo," Jack sighed with exhaustion.

"It only gets better, Jack," Jose, a fellow crew member stated.

"Well, I always said it would be nice to have a job where I could get some fresh air," Jack replied as the putrid smell of burning tar blew in the direction of the two men. "Well...then again..."

"How's the family doing anyway, Jack?"

"They're doing fine, Jose. They're with her parents. I just wish..."

"I know. You'll see them in a few days. Don't worry."

"I just sent the mortgage company the keys to the house. I couldn't swing it."

"It's the only way, man. It's either your kids or the house. I may not work the most glamorous job...you know, aerospace like you did, or anything else, but no matter what, family's first. That's what my dad taught me," Jose paused noting the blank look in Jack's eyes. "Still ain't enough, is it? You know when we were union, things were different. Now they throw you what you get, and you better take it. This recession's gone on too long."

Jose finished his thought, but not before Jack had walked away in a tired daze toward his car parked near some utility trucks about one hundred yards away.

*****

Irving Keith left through the front doors of the corporate offices and waited momentarily. In moments, the tires on a Fleetwood screeched as it sped around the corner, and stopped quickly in front of Irving. As the window rolled down automatically, a familiar voice said, "Let's go."

Irving opened the door to be greeted by Abe, waiting impatiently inside.

"What's the rush, Abe?" Irving questioned.

Abe pushed his foot down on the pedal just as Irving shut the door, allowing the tires to lose traction once again, for just a fraction of a second, then catch. The noise surprised Irving, as he became more concerned.

"Our Mr. Trenton has flown the coop, Irv," Abe said, as he pulled out of the complex in a rush.

"What?!"

"You were supposed to be tracking our boys, Irving. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know...I"

"Damn it, Irving!" Abe slammed his fist down on the steering wheel as he now exceeded the speed limit by an ever increasing amount. Abe turned toward Irving extending his finger out and poking it into Irving's chest. At the same time he was dodging the cars in front of him, putting the fear of God into Irving, "Let me tell you something...you screw this project up, and..."

"I won't screw up Abe. Take it easy...Jesus!" Irving cried out as the Fleetwood crossed the double yellow lines, clipping off the side view mirror of an oncoming car as it barely avoided Abe's car.

Not even responding to the incident and still traveling in the oncoming lane, Abe continued, "You'll go down. If anything you do jeopardizes this project...you will go down. Do you understand?"

"Yeah...Jeez...yes!...Christ, I understand, Abraham. Get over, please!"

Easing the car over to the right of the yellow lines, Abraham seemed to take on almost an entirely new personality. As if the curtain had been raised on a play and it was time to fall into character.

"Don't worry Irv...we'll find him. We just have to look in the right places," Abe stated reassuringly."

"Ye...yeah," Irving stuttered, "I...that's what I-I was trying to say. Nothing to worry about. Okay?"

Abe said nothing, except for periodic muttering to himself as he followed a penciled-in line he had placed previously on the map. After a few turns into an unfamiliar neighborhood, Abe started reading address numbers off the fronts of houses. Irving noticed a house down the street, but was hoping that any other house would be the one Abe was looking for. But as Abraham slowly pulled up to the English Tudor-style home, noticing the sold sticker placed across the real estate sign, Irving knew it had to be.

Parking the car in front of the house, Abe sat there saying nothing as Irving's heart started beating double time. He had no idea, based on his past experience with Abraham, how he would react. He had gone way over his head with the project. Backing out now may only get him black-balled, even possibly killed. He had no idea how many board members were involved. Really, nobody did, except for Abraham who was in charge of heading up Aero_One. It was the only way to keep it underground. That was why he was assigned to UniTech. It was Abe's talent search that led him to discover Jack Trenton. It was Jack that everything revolved around. His finely tuned talent, and his revolutionary discoveries in statistical probabilities, would lay the ground work for the revitalization of the aerospace industry.

Irving had no idea what to expect from Abe until he finally turned to him and said, "Find him Irving."

No explanation was necessary. Irving knew everything depended on him now. Getting out of the car, Irving approached the house as Abe sat patiently. In moments of ringing the door bell, Abe could see the new owners were being more than cooperative with him.

The clouds were thickening in the distance as the sun was slowly fading from the sky. Irving was making his way across the lawn as the first cloud burst came, prompting Irving to pick up his pace towards the car. Slamming the door behind him, he took a breath, then said, "he was foreclosed on."

"Shit!"

"No wait...wait. They knew the owners. In fact, Trenton had contacted them disclosing the fact that he was turning over the house to the bank and that they could probably get a good deal through them. They were previous friends, though this information was never disclosed to the bank...He's living in Bakersfield. They also said he may be on the road with a crew and..."

Abe looked curiously at Irving, "huh?"

"He's working on highways...nights."

*****

The weather had finally cleared on the way out to Bakersfield and knowing what or what not to expect from Jack Trenton, would make all the difference in the world. The majority of the talent had now been recruited, but nothing guaranteed that Jack would agree to join Aero_One as the others had. The key was to limit how much each knew about the entire project. The key was to find the lucky or unlucky souls during their more desperate times. Abraham engineered this possibility with a more exact tolerance than the finest architect. He was a bastard, yet still instrumental in the design. And so having checked in with Susan Trenton's parents, Abraham and Irving were redirected to Sondra's school where Jack after only three months of entering her into school, after moving out to Bakersfield, was directed by the Monsignor to remove her from class until all promised funds were received.

Walking past Jack's Blazer in St. Jude's parking lot, Abraham looked back noticing the half torn off sticker on the front bumper that now only read "Uni" before the rest of the name and the employee parking registration number was removed.

"Here he comes," Abraham said, stopping Irving in his tracks as they watched Jack and his daughter walking across the parking lot. "Wait here."

Irving looked surprised, but Abraham was cunning enough that he needed no assistance from an amateur that may jeopardize the recruiting of another of Abraham Peterson's creations. As he walked towards Jack, Irving couldn't help but to think about how bullheaded he had heard Jack Trenton to be. A strong man not only physically, but temperamentally as well. It may take several attempts perhaps even waiting another few months would have even been better. Sondra could be seen with tears running down her cheeks, as Abraham stopped Jack in the lot. It didn't seem fair. They were just pawns in a corporate game.

"There will be casualties, Irving," Gabriel Norman stated as he came up from behind Irving.

"Oh, Gabe..."

"Hi, Irv. It doesn't seem fair. But look at them. His daughter will be able to finish here and go to a fine college...If he accepts, of course. "I..."

From across the parking lot, shouting could be heard coming from Jack in the distance. Jack signaled his daughter to go to his truck, as Jack continued to yell at Abraham. Remaining calm and collected, he received Jack's anticipated frustrations. In a minute though, Jack had turned around as he stood in front of Abraham, rubbing his hand up his face and through his hair. Abraham signaled to Gabriel, as he walked back towards Irving. Irving looked, but didn't understand at first as Gabriel past Abe, walking directly up to Jack and placing his hand on the back of his left shoulder. Jack quickly swatted it away as he turned around. Gabriel reacted, looking back at Abraham questionably. Abraham simply nodded.

"Wait here," Jack stated to Gabriel.

"You'll need this, won't you?" Gabriel asked, as he held out a sum of money.

"Yeah," Jack said, appearing ashamed at first, as he towered over Gabriel. He inevitably took the money, though.

Gabriel swallowed hard.

Placing his head down in disgust, he said again, "Just wait."

Gabriel nodded as he watched Jack walk over to his daughter, then lead her back into the school. The Monsignor greeted them at the door and after a few minutes, Jack returned alone.

Six weeks Later

The ebullient array of fireworks illuminated the Statue of Liberty breaking through the darkness like an exploding star. The flash as they burst was as white and brilliant as the eyes would tolerate, outlining a series of meticulously placed white flares, spelling out the ever defendable word, "Freedom". A super imposed hologram of a missile soaring into the night climbed diagonally across the vivid display and "Isn't it worth defending?" was in large bold print along the bottom of the screen, with "UniTech" in fine print directly below that.

"You see that Karen?" Larry said, grabbing his keys on the coffee table.

"What's that, honey?"

"UniTech's commercial."

"Larry have you seen my car keys?" Karen asked, ignoring Larry's question and more concerned about being late for work. "Oh here they are. Larry, could you shut that off?"

Grabbing the remote, Larry turned the television off then proceeded to leave after Karen for work, without giving it another thought. The sun was above the horizon at this time of the year, and being too close to Friday work was the farthest thing from their minds, though reality would surely remind them. Kissing goodbye, Larry and Karen went their separate ways for the day.

*****

"Jack," Abraham said, waiting for acknowledgement from him.

Jack kept his back towards Abraham, as he worked with the modelling of his statistical invention.

"Listen- Jack, it's done..."

"I know," Jack muttered.

"Good job..."

"Fuck you."

Abraham grimaced slightly, as if laughing at the fact that other people could not stomach death as easily as he. As Abe looked beyond Jack, the computer screen displayed a blur of numbers formulating probabilities, as thousands of scenarios were being generated per millisecond. Frustrated with the programmers in UniTech, and unable to find external sources that could equal the technical knowledge he possessed, outside of his phenomenal statistical talents, Jack took it on himself to write the program that would set the ground work for the Uranus project. It was only a beta program, not expected to even move beyond phase-one. Hypothetically a nine phase program, with approximately twelve years per phase, the program written less than two years ago by Jack's predecessor and Systronics, Inc., allowed for the data sampling of chemicals from the probe with micro precision, but not without limited processing capabilities. Generating hundreds of thousands of comparisons from data received via the probe, to other known chemicals through a multitude of data testing, arriving at every detail right down to the subatomic particle, was more than theory now, it was reality. The Uranus project was only just a precursor for the Morango project that would allow for a probe to travel into the next galaxy. Jack had made the next step possible that easily would have taken a generation to complete.

Having rewritten the program from the core up, it became less hardware and memory intensive, by a process he had patented under UniTech's name called Simoulasis. In less than three months, the hardware requirements were substantially reduced, allowing for high speed generation through dual minicomputers. Phase nine of the Uranus project was completed in less than two years.

In the same sense...the same modelling logic was applied for Aero_One. Abraham had been planning the diabolical scheme since the late eighties, though never would have imagined reaching the point where he was today. Neither the computer power, nor the technology existed at that time, nor did it exist up until the incorporation of Simoulasis. Jack's invention would allow for the random generation of scenarios based off of political movements and shifts in military strategies. Simply working with probability scenarios, using the past history from a master data repository containing information from the beginning of man's history to the latest technological breakthrough, Jack simply applied the same logic through data disbursement and let the computer map out patterns in human behavior.

Political targets were impossible to sample generate, only their closest advisors knew exactly where they would be at all times, however, probabilities of political confrontations, given the right place, and time in history, would increase the potential for arms demand. Once the location was decided, then Abe would display the final scatter graph that would allow for the mapping of geographic targets.

In other words, the land area was a target, rather than the people within, only the unlucky souls that occupied that area would be the victims. UniTech's own satellite was used in the latest strike. Once contacted, all the assassins had to do was wait for what appeared to be dignitaries in the area, given the period within a four hour strike time frame and location, and then hit their target.

"Go home, son. It's been a long night." Abe turned away from Jack with no further acknowledgement from him.

The disgust, in what he had carried out was beyond contempt. The lack of humanity, no one would ever know. The logistics once the orders were carried out were outside his realm. Once the code was transmitted to the satellite, there was no going back. That was Gabriel's area. Ex-CIA, he seemed, ironically, more human than Abraham, considering his background. Trained in covert activities, most of his work was concentrated in the South and Central American regions. His connections were strong, but more importantly, in many cases the individuals were oblivious even to him. Through the advent of technology that had reached the darkest jungles of the Amazon through satellite transmissions, a kill could be ordered, and distributed to any local death squad in the region. Funds, once the kill was confirmed, would eventually be channeled down through several businesses, in the south. No one would need to know or even speak to each other, though business was run with no more problem than a corner pharmaceutical. It was effective and very deadly.

*****

In shortly under twenty minutes, Larry was within a block of UniTech. The grounds, seen from Larry's car, were well kept exhibiting a deep rich green lawn that reached out beyond any common usage other than aesthetics. Trees that would normally not be found in the California area were transplanted from a northern region of the country and made to fit into the surroundings that presented a welcoming atmosphere for UniTech.

Quickly pulling out his badge that would ordinarily be attached to his shirt, if he had thought about it...the guard waved him through. Cursing himself for not leaving earlier, parking spaces were scarce and he would probably spend the next five minutes just trying to locate one. Every day was the same routine for Larry, promising himself to leave earlier, so that making it within minutes of his 8:30 a.m. starting time would not be such a stressful event. Suddenly, a familiar face caught Larry unaware. Blaring his horn, to the point of obnoxiousness, and almost broad siding another late arrival scrambling to find parking space, Larry sped up to catch him.

Rolling down his window he cried out, "Jack!" Once again laying on his horn, but Jack did not respond. It almost seemed as if he was ignoring him.

Larry found a parking spot at that same instant, and quickly pulled in. Grabbing his briefcase and almost leaving his car before remembering to grab his tie, Larry jumped out, in pursuit. "Jack! Jack!"

There was no getting away from Larry's call halfway across the parking lot. He had been spotted. It was only inevitable. There were several ways to handle this. He had already gone over the scenarios in his head a hundred times. This was only a temporary rehire. No, this was a new special project...top secret. No, I mustn't attract suspicion...

"Jack, what are you running from me for?" Larry said as he caught up with Jack's fast paced walk.

"What? Oh, Larry, how are you doing? I didn't hear you."

"Fine. I'm doing fine. Well, hell...how are you doing? Christ..." Larry said, noticing Jack's badge. "You’re working here again? That's great-" he paused. "I don't get it? Why aren't you..."

"Jack!" A man shouted to him, getting out of his car.

Jack immediately recognized him and waved. "Listen, Larry, it was really good seeing you again," Jack closed, walking away from him towards the man calling.

"No, wait...Jack, wait...well, welcome back anyway," Larry said, more to himself than anyone else as Jack was more concerned about the man calling him, than continuing the current conversation.

Larry stood there looking perplexed, but eventually shrugged it off. Making it within minutes to his cubicle, Larry's pile was not getting any smaller, in fact it consistently remained the same level almost as a sign that there was always work to be done.

*****

"What!" The President shouted, from his estate room in the White House.

The First Lady startled by the sudden outburst, mumbled some words to herself perhaps continued from a dream that she was experiencing at the time, before suddenly awakening. The President looked over at his wife while still getting the full story from his advisor, but concerned that he had also startled his wife. "Son-of-a-bitch, Maxwell, why?...Alright, alright, I'm on my way...No, don't. Not yet. Once we've received all the facts, then...well give me five goddamn minutes then, Max to figure something out! Alright...okay, goodbye."

The President placed his head down on his left hand, rubbing his forehead. The phone must have rung, without waking the First Lady, because the lights were on and her husband hadn't even had time to put his bathrobe on before walking over to the coffee table to answer the phone.

"What is it?" The first lady asked in a concerned tone.

"Tim Rutherford was killed...murdered."

"Oh Jesus," she uttered, before covering her mouth, as her eyes began to tear.

"Rebels, just outside Lima. He was down there unannounced to anyone other than the CIA director who had gotten him down there safely."

The President was distraught, but was fighting for the emotional strength it would take once the media was informed. Perhaps they had been. Nevertheless, it would be best to come from the President first, at least very soon after, to acknowledge that the White House was on top of it.

*****

"Congressman Williams...Congressman! Wait!" Greg Caravelle shouted, as he ran through the hoard of Representatives flooding out of the double doors into the Rotunda of the Capitol Building.

Jeff Williams heard his name being shouted across the jubilant crowd of hungry lunch goers, even less the direction in which the call had originated, but was not oblivious to the fact that some lobbyist was probably chasing him down again. He had kept his nose fairly clean during his tenure...not one to stick his head out in order to present any legislative action that would likely create much debate. He followed the grain of the party for the most part. It was not uncommon for lobbyists to avoid him lest they waste their time. So why was this individual pursuing him? It could be the media, though he had not spoken publicly in a week. There was nothing they could throw back in his face, was there? Having already publicly decided to step down after the end of his term, he wanted desperately to leave quietly, and smoothly. Three terms and six years was long enough, and retirement looked better everyday.

"Mr. Williams!" Greg persisted.

"Oh shit," Jeff said to himself, knowing he could not move fast enough out the front doors of the building, without avoiding a solicitation. Giving in to the inevitable, Jeff turned around in frustration, but not without managing to etch out the political smile that he had learned so well over the years.

"Hi, Mr. Williams."

"Greg, my boy. How are you doing?"

"Good...good, thanks Mr. Williams," Greg answered, wondering how anyone could turn on the charm so quickly. "If I didn't know you better Mr. Williams, I would have thought you were trying to avoid me."

The Illinois congressman caught wind of Greg's comment as he walked by and gave out a snicker to Jeffrey. Jeffrey returned a crooked smile.

"Listen, had I known it was you son I would have stopped right away. Call me Jeff for the last time. Would you?"

"Sure Jeff."

"Your still supporting the Dairies of Tomorrow, right?"

"Ah..."

"You know, my time is short Greg, I told you I support their efforts wholeheartedly, but they've just asked for to damn much money over the years. The people, don't..."

"I'm not working for them anymore, sir. I'm with an organization called 'For a Better Tomorrow'."

"Go on," Jeff stated questionably.

"Well, we believe that..."

"'We believe'...listen to you. You've been with them for how long?"

"Three weeks, Jeff."

"You just started with them and you’re already saying 'we believe'," Jeff laughed with a tone of sarcasm. "Do me a favor, I'm hungry and I'll give you ten more seconds to tell me what you’re soliciting, then no matter what I'm cutting you off. Now what are you selling?"

"Defense," Greg sputtered out under the pressure of questioning. Greg was shaken by the congressman's sudden abruptness. He had been told to avoid that word at all costs. It was as politically incorrect as the times had allowed for. The budgets were ever tightening, and the nation was moving away from the subject with increasing speed. Not that the subject was dropped entirely, but only talked about behind closed doors. Dollars were sparse, and terms were just to damn short to sway a congressman's following in a direction that most of the country was moving away from. Oh God why did I say that word...

Jeff's eyes lit up, then beginning to walk away, he dropped his charm as quickly as it had been turned on.

"No...wait Jeff...Mr. Williams," Greg reacted to the unexpected departure.

"Aerospace is dead, Greg," Jeff continued to walk away.

"But what about Tim Rutherford?"

"An isolated occurrence," his voice began to fade in the distance.

"Why are you leaving the House anyway, Congressman?"

Jeff continued through the double doors leading to the outside, then down the steps at a quick enough pace to allude anyone following him. Lunch sounded pretty good then, and several vendors had made it a point to be in the vicinity when the House was due to adjourn. Not taking any chances, Jeff proceeded down a block to a favorite spot where he could normally clear his head for an hour, while enjoying a lunch. The same hot dog stand he had frequented for two years was waiting patiently for a hungry congressmen or anyone else who happened by.

"Two please," Jeff said, as he thought of how wonderful it would be to finally settle his gurgling stomach. Slapping on the relish and wasting no time reaching for the mustard, the hot dogs were well prepared. "A Coke too, please."

"That will be three twenty five," the apron clad vendor requested.

"Thanks," Jeff said handing him the money.

"I'll take one of those too, please," a familiar voice said from behind.

Jeff turned to see Greg had followed him, from the Capitol Building.

"Here, I already got you one."

Greg looked at the Congressman curiously.

"You’re a persistent son-of-a-bitch, just like your father was Greg," Jeff said as he handed him a hot dog.

"Thanks," Greg said, not knowing whether to take that as a compliment, remembering his dad had made as many friends as enemies through his turbulent career as a lobbyist.

"Listen, I don't know what happened down there, but I sure as hell didn't want to talk about it where I could be overheard. This Lima, thing...who in their right mind would take out an American diplomat, particularly the President's own foreign relations advisor?"

"I don't know."

"Damn defense industry sure doesn't waste anytime. You know the last thing I want to do right now is bring up something as controversial as new appropriations for defense...but, my advice to you is let it lie for a while. I always thought we were screwing ourselves by putting our arms down. This is completely off the record though, Greg," Jeff said as he wiped mustard from his check with a napkin, only to re-smudge the same area with his next bite.

"I knew how you felt. I caught your speech in Long Beach, denouncing the cutting of funds to the Southern California bases."

"I must have slipped that day."

"I was inspired."

Jeff paused, reminiscent of his stronger days. He felt more like a leader, back then, standing for what he believed to be right. He felt himself as the people were moved by his words, that day in Long Beach. But of course, those days were gone.

"Let me see which way the tide goes on this Greg. I'm not sticking my neck out for anyone. Do you understand?"

Jeff walked away from him, but somehow something felt different about his tone, though Greg did not know why. For some reason Greg felt better, as he took the last bite of his hot dog.

*****

"I think we need to talk, Abe," Gabriel's voice came over the speaker phone in Abraham's office as he gazed out into the night from his office window.

"Okay, here I am," Abraham said, biting his bottom lip.

"No, I mean meet."

"This is close enough, Gabriel."

"Damn it, Abraham. You can't let everything rely on one man. It's just not safe enough."

"He's the only one who knows the system..."

"Then have him teach it to someone else, damn it! You're so goddamn anxious to see this plan through to the end you’re not building an adequate enough foundation."

"You don't know..."

"No, you don't know! It's my goddamn background that gives me the right to know, what I'm talking about! You depend on just one guy, you’re fucked!"

Abraham paused momentarily, then said, "all right."

"Listen, it's not that this guy isn't good, he's fantastic at what he does. I don't know, there's something there...I can't explain it...I just wouldn't bet the bank on him. You know what I mean."

"I can't say he won't be project administrator, Gabe- but...I'll look into it."

*****

The hills outside of Ansbach, Germany were enchanting in August, notwithstanding the odor of manure that brought life to the hills, in their glorious colors. The farmland engulfed the small town, spanning outward in every direction. It was a snapshot of beauty that periodically captured the essence of western European life, representative of pictures worthy of wall mounting or descriptive floral illustrations found in magazines. Even within the small town, the country was etched in the faces of the adults and children that ran through the cobblestone streets, shadowing the way things have always been for hundreds of years, despite the wars that so encompassed Germany's past.

A periodic American uniform was a frequent reminder of past history lessons, and for some, still representative of hope for a better future. Jim Wells was awestruck by the beauty, having first arrived in Ansbach after driving more than one hundred clicks southeast from Frankfurt several years ago. And, even still, was reminded periodically of the magnificence the change of seasons brought. But winters lasted too long for the native born Californian, and had the job not relocated him to this distant home away from home, he never would have decided to even visit, let alone a life style change unless he receive any kind of income at all. But as life's page had turned for him, he never regretted the transfer, and the solitude, that the area permitted for his work.

Given access to an old portion of an Army base, he set up camp, so to speak, with a local high tech German firm. The concept of subcontracting was not at all a new concept to Cornex Aerosystems, but the beta stage program for what Jim Wells was heading up, would set the stage for a German/American subsidiary, giving way to a strategic advantage, and possibly new markets yet untapped.

Logistically, it placed Cornex that much closer to the new Russia, yet reasons that allowed for sales within NATO forces only, were disclosed. Eventually, Cornex Aerospace board members had decided that piece by piece, Russia would break-off into free states, like a sugar cube dissolving, becoming one with the world. The Germans were supposedly informed, through obvious connections of their own, that deals...arms deals may be possible inside a five year window. Individually as these states separated from Russia, the need to build an adequate defense strategy would undoubtedly arise.

Taking advantage of the short summer, Jim Wells did something he hadn't allotted himself the time to do during his tenure in Ansbach...he was taking a day off with his son. The sky was a deep rich blue that was as rare as a sandy beach for the rain burdened country, and showed little sign that clouds had ever frequented the skies. So beautiful was it that a field trip was less a thought than an action.

"Are you ready, Sam?" Jim Wells called up to his son from the foyer.

"I'm just making sure he'll be warm, Jim," Linda yelled from Sam's bedroom.

"It's going to be eighty degrees out, and she's rapping him up like a damn polar bear," Jim mumbled, anxious to leave the house.

"I heard that," Linda declared.

"Here I come Daddy," Sam ran down the stairs of their little rental villa in mid-city Ansbach."

"Do you have your lunches packed?"

"I'm going to buy a couple Wienerschnitzels when we get there, okay?" Jim held the door open for Sam as he dashed outside.

Linda walked down slower than Sam, who was already standing by the waiting cab. "Please..."

"I know, keep him warm. He'll be fine."

"Be careful," she said.

He kissed her on the lips, as he pushed the screen door open enough to leave through the entryway, then turning to her he again reassured, "Don't worry."

Linda waved goodbye from the front porch, listening as the phone rang inside the house. Hesitant to answer it until Jim and Sam were out of site, the caller would undoubtedly try again later. Too persistent was the caller though, that after twelve to fifteen rings, Linda gave in to the caller's tenaciousness and went inside to answer it.

Once inside the Mercedes, Jim looked at the cab driver and said with excitement, "Zum Bahnhof, bitte."

Still taken by the fact that years before, driving in a cab meant a ride that simulated a rough ocean voyage in an oversized American car, that usually looked as if it was approaching its final year of life. The concept that cab drivers were well dressed, well mannered and driving Mercedes was still somewhat of an enigma. It was a cheap thrill, but one which Jim didn't fight, as he smirked to himself on the way to the train station.

The bahnhof was less than ten minutes away, and within minutes Jim was getting two tickets to Nuremberg punched out of a free standing machine just thirty feet from where he would catch the train with his son.

Life seemed too simple to be right, and yet here he was after ten months, and sixty hour weeks...a day to himself was finally evident. Just then, Jim's pager sounded its ever illustrious call. Sam was busy reading the rail maps posted next to the ticket machine, and there were still several minutes before the next train was scheduled to arrive.

"Sam," Jim called to his son.

"Yeah, Dad, I heard."

"I'll just be a minute."

"Okay."

*****

The highlighted bar was an indication that a match existed in the query sort originated from Abraham's computer. Abraham, still digging for more information on his prospective hire, mumbled to himself, as if racing against a time frame only he was familiar with and showing signs of a personality that desired the world yesterday.

JIM WELLS [Project Leader, Star Leap].......CANCELLED! CURRENT ASSIGNMENT.......[TOP SECRET] PROLIFERATION OF JOINT GERMAN/AMERICAN ARMS CONTRACTS. Base...ANSBACH, GERMANY. DEVELOPMENT OF STRATEGIC ADVANTAGE SCENARIO.......CONTINUATION OF MATHEMATICAL GENERATIONS, THROUGH PROBABILITY DISTRIBUTIONS OF LIKELY WARTIME STRATEGIC ADVANTAGES USED DURING PRE-HITLER REIGN. WORK NEVER COMPLETED. 1962...KATTERBACH, AIRFIELD...DISCOVERY OF WORK MADE IN UNDERGROUND HANGER. STORED FILES IN WATERSEALED VAULT. REMAINING INVENTORY....700 WATER DAMAGED FIGHTERS. AREA REFLOODED AND SEALED.

Star Leap...Cornex's mirror image to Morango. They should have been awarded the contract. Jim Wells just didn't know what political strings to pull.

"Mr. Peterson," Cynthia's voice called over the intercom phone, "I found Jim Wells. He's waiting on line two."

"I can't..." he muttered as he plugged down on the computer keys, harder and harder. "God damn it!"

From outside of his office as Cynthia waited to hear Mr. Peterson's response to her call, something hit the door and shattered inside Abraham's office, followed by a incoherent shout of rage.

"Oh my," Cynthia gasped, looking over at the other startled secretaries.

Now standing over his computer, breathing rapidly almost to the point of hyperventilation, the rage inside him was nearly uncontrollable. His eyes were bloodshot from his lengthy struggle to find dirt that would pull-in the top man from Cornex's European operations. Given access to their data repository, using Gabriel's password, led Abraham to Jim Wells.

Making every attempt to get hold of his emotions, Abraham took a deep breath, then picked up on line two. "Mr. Wells, this is Abraham Peterson, of UniTech. How are you today?"

From nearly halfway around the world Jim Wells drew a blank, and wondered how this stranger had gotten hold of his pager number. "Do I know you?"

"Not yet," Abraham laughed. "Let's just say we have a mutual friend."

Jim Wells had little patience for games people played, let alone letting them cut into his day off with his son. "Let's not, and cut through the bullshit, Mr. Peterson. Now who the hell are you? For the last time, before I hang up."

Looking over at Sam who was waiting patiently for the train, this better have been work related or an emergency in Ansbach. He swore to himself that he would hang his point of contact in the States for giving his pager number out.

At this time, Cynthia opened Abraham's office door slightly, just enough to poke her head through, to make sure everything was okay. Abraham at that instant looked up and whispered with his hand over the mouth piece. "Where did you get Mr. Wells' number from?"

Cynthia whispered back to Abraham, "his wife." She looked behind the door, noticing a coffee cup broken in several pieces, and Abraham whispering to her. "Clean that up!"

"Listen Jim...may I call you Jim?" Abraham asked, over the phone.

"No you may not."

"Listen, take it easy, please. I received your number from your wife. She thought it was important that you speak to me."

"Aha..." Jim muttered, as he could no longer hold Mr. Peterson solely responsible for this intrusion. "I'm listening..."

"I have a job offer for you..."

"I'm already employed. Thank you very much."

"Wait...Mr. Wells, please. Listen I'm pretty familiar with your talents," Abraham continued, as he stalled for time in order to read the information about Jim Wells on his computer screen. "That is to say, with your work on Star Leap...Mr. Wells, we have room in our organization for you."

"You say you work for UniTech?"

"I'm a director, Mr. Wells...Jim, your mission in Ansbach will be cancelled."

"What the hell do you know about Ansbach?"

"You poured your whole life into Star Leap, didn't you?"

"Listen you jerk...!"

"It says here, Mr. Wells, you were borderlining a nervous break-down..." Abraham paused, as there was now silence on the other end of the line. "It also said you threatened to leave Cornex Aerosystems, unless they gave you a project that would allow you full autonomy. But even though you were given the environment to recuperate, Mr. Wells, you couldn't stop exercising that fantastic talent of yours."

"You bastard...What is your tie with my project? How much have you been told?"

"Star Leap should have won the contract, shouldn't it, Mr. Wells? But if you lose your chance of incorporating breaking methodologies of pre-Hitler statistical tools into workable applications of today...My God, that is a life's achievement."

"You..."

"Before you say anything, Mr. Wells..." Abraham stopped, momentarily, while Cynthia signalled from the door. Placing his hand over the mouth piece, Abraham asked Cynthia, "Is that Mr. Norman?"

"He just left a message, that's all," Cynthia acknowledged."

"What?"

"Wells' is cancelled."

Abraham smiled.

A day at the Nuremberg zoo, and a tour of an old city that once held the trials for atrocities to mankind within its walls, offered first hand history lessons to Sam that day. Things tended to stick better in one's consciousness, when seen first-hand, even by a young boy. The sun was fading though, and the conversation prior to leading out of Ansbach with a stranger from UniTech was never really forgotten. Though as the reality slowly sank, his face could not hide his concerns as he left the famous train depot outside the city's wall. Sam noticing became worried about his dad.

Seeing Sam staring in concern at him, he could only afford a feeble smile in return. Jim was able to forget for most of the day, but had a feeling that the conversation he ended with a brief 'goodbye' may end up costing him more than what it was worth. It was a long ride back to Ansbach, but not wasting anytime, Jim commanded the cab driver to go directly to the Army base. Arriving just before 7:00p.m., Jim was met at the front door to what was once an old army barrack.

"Jesus Jim...Where the hell have you been all day? I've been trying to page you," Peter Jorgenson questioned, holding a faxed order in his hand.

"I turned my pager off for the day," Jim took the orders from Peter reading as quick as his eyes would allow, only to have his fears confirmed. "Son-of-a-bitch..."

Jim dashed past Peter still standing in the doorway, leaving his son with Peter. Within minutes, he was shouting at the top brass, stateside, only to become more frustrated during his brief discussion.

"Some asshole calls me at the train station, in Ansbach only to...from UniTech, no less, to let me know that...yes I know..."

Sam watched with a lack of understanding, as Peter could only listen to what had only been repeated to him earlier. No one had any knowledge of why the Ansbach project had been scrubbed, but the orders were clear to pack up the equipment and return stateside within three days. No further information was provided.

Slamming the phone down, Jim dashed up to Sam, "come on."

Peter still looking perplexed by the turn of events, stumbled to say, "...wait, what's going on."

"Don't pack it up yet...I'll take care of it," Jim looked at Peter with apparent worry in his eyes. It did not take a psychologist to figure out that Jim was not letting on to more than he was divulging, yet, his assurance was enough to place Peter at ease for the time being.