My Ride is a Bitch (The Kurtherian Gambit Book 13) (6 page)

Anne put her hand on his neck and started petting him, “Momma, he’s so soft!” Then, Sheila gasped when Anne reached around and held on to Ashur’s neck in a big hug, “Thank you for coming to save me, Ashur.”

Ashur chuffed to her, “Oh, sorry.” She let up a bit on her hug.

“This is the dog that was with Bethany Anne?” Mason asked. The sweetness of this dog was at odds with the decisive animal Mason’s memory was telling him was a hunter-killer. His memories were getting foggier and foggier on the details.

“Yes, this is Ashur. He joined a, uh ... disagreement between Bethany Anne and a few others in South America a few years ago and has been with her ever since. If there was ever a more spoiled dog in this solar system, I don’t know who it is.”

“No, he isn’t spoiled, he is treated well,” Sheila said, “I’ve seen teacup dogs that are spoiled brats. Ashur here deserves everything he gets.”

Ashur chuffed in response.

“It’s almost like he is answering us,” Sheila said.

“He is,” Anne’s muffled voice came from Ashur’s back, “He tells me you are right, he does earn it.”

The two parents chuckled at Anne’s imagination and looked to see Barnabas hadn’t joined in their humor, “What?” He asked as the two parents stopped their laughter, “According to Bethany Anne, he does communicate. We just have to be willing to listen.” He shrugged and grinned at them, “I’m not saying she is right or wrong, but I haven’t understood him yet, myself.”

Ashur chuffed, and Anne giggled, “Ashur said that’s because you are an old-fart with a brain as malu…malubable,” Ashur chuffed again, “mal-u-a-bull as a rock.”

“Mason,” Sheila whispered, “I don’t think Anne knew the word ‘malleable.'”

“Uh, I’m certain it must have come up in a science class…I’m sure it had to,” he stammered.

The dog chuffed again, and Anne released him, turning to her parents, but leaving a hand on his neck, “Can I go with Ashur? He says there is a workout area that I can throw him stuff to fetch? Please?” Anne’s blue eyes opened as wide as she could manage.

“Um, is it safe?” Sheila turned to Barnabas, not knowing what to expect at the moment.
 

He smiled and reached into a shirt pocket. He put a small tablet on the table and slid it across, “ArchAngel?”
 

The little tablet lit up, and the five of them could hear a voice come out of the tablet, “Yes, Barnabas?”

“Is there anyone using the workout room near the forward cafeteria?” he asked.

“No.”

“Would you please show the video of the room?”

The little tablet showed a large room, soft padding on the floor and multiple workout items along the walls.

“If you give permission, then I imagine we'll see the two of them show up on the screen in about twenty seconds after they leave the table. You can ask ArchAngel to pipe your voice into the room, and they can come back when we are finished ourselves?”

Sheila looked over at her daughter and squeezed Mason’s hand as she answered, “Ok, you can go.”

Her mom’s permission wasn’t complete before Anne was out of the seat and running behind Ashur who had taken off out of the cafeteria. Ashur waited at the entrance for the little girl to catch up and the two disappeared out of the room.

Barnabas watched the anxiousness around Sheila’s eyes relax when she saw her daughter and Ashur show up on the tablet. Sure enough, Anne picked up what looked like a tennis ball and threw it, Ashur taking off after the ball and Sheila and Mason could hear her giggle and call to his name.
 

“I still don’t know if I believe the dog was talking, but they are playing,” Sheila said while watching her daughter interact.

“How do you have gravity up here?” Mason asked, turning his head from the tablet video.

“TQB implementation of Kurtherian Technology,” Barnabas answered. “Not Vril, certainly. That energy effort, I’m told, is several orders of magnitude less efficient.”

“How…um, how do you know about Vril?” Mason stammered out.

“Well, I didn’t know much although ADAM gave me an update. However, I just decided to ask someone who might have a better understanding, and he did.”

“Who is this?” Mason, his scientific nature taking over.

“The Yollin scientist, Royleen,” Barnabas answered, a tiny smile playing around the edges of his lips. Sheila watched as this man was reeling in her husband like a fish after a lure, baiting him with little tidbits of information.

“What’s a Yollin scientist? Is this one of TQB’s companies?” Mason asked.

“Mason Jayden, you know about Vril, you are part of a group that answers to MJ-12, with technology not even the highest officials in your country’s government know about, and yet you can’t differentiate between one set of aliens and another?”

Mason’s mouth finally opened, and like a fish, it gasped for a moment or two before answering, “Vril wasn’t ever proven as a viable energy source.”

“No, because Thule Gesellschaft Maria Orsitsch of Zagreb didn’t handle the information given her correctly. However, the communication did work with the Aldebaran aliens that had settled in Sumeria thousands of years ago. So, the Thule UFO’s and the later Nazi UFO’s your group have hidden are based on technology from the dawn of our technological birth. This,” Barnabas waved about the room, “Is advanced, very advanced, compared to Aldebaran, or, at least this is what I’m led to believe.”

“How do you know so much about our work?” Mason asked, “The President isn’t even supposed to know.”

“Oh, he doesn’t, I can assure you,” Barnabas agreed, “Although he suspects much as do many of the leaders who have been on this ship. We are tracking down the group who attacked you. The three we fought were mercenaries and the ones who hired them used untraceable connections. Well, untraceable so far," he clarified.

“You think you will be able to find them?” Sheila interrupted, “those men aren’t going to be able to get off due to having the right lawyers?”

Barnabas turned to Sheila, “My lady, those people have already been judged. They will not be dodging their punishment. I assure you.”

“Good,” Sheila said, squeezing Mason’s hand.

Mason looked at Barnabas, his mind thinking over his words. He caught Barnabas’s eye, “Ever?”

Barnabas looked straight into Mason Jayden’s eyes, and unflinchingly said, “Those men are permanently banished, they will not be able to bother your family, or any other human, again.”

Mason nodded his understanding. They had kidnapped his wife and put explosives around his daughter. His desire to flip the switch and watch them fry in an electric chair was not ever going to happen. However, he wouldn’t lose any sleep over their apparent deaths, either.

Mason considered his next words very carefully before speaking, “I need to talk to the Queen, there are three more families that are likely going to be in jeopardy.”

West Wing Deep Underground Command Center (DUCC) Washington D.C., USA

The President nodded to the two men, both military but only one in uniform. The other gentleman, retired, was sitting, uncomfortably, in a three-piece suit.

Passing strange, that.

“Gentleman,” he said as he sat down, “why do I suspect I’m about to receive a history lesson?”

Jimmy, the President’s behind-the-scenes military liaison, spoke first, “Because you know I don’t bring people here unnecessarily, Mr. President. Henry Wells is stronger on military history than almost any other individual I know. That history covers both what is in the books and what has never made it to print. He is even stronger on history than he is uncomfortable in his business clothes.”

“Annoying,” Henry commented grumpily, “Suits are for young men trying to get the eyes of the ladies or the power brokers here in DC. I’ve been married for forty years, and she likes me just fine in shorts and tall, white socks.”

The other two men smiled as they both applied mental erasers to the visual that flashed in their brains. The risk you took when you asked someone that did not play in your same arena, was that sometimes you had to accept different types of behavior. When you needed the best, and the best was strange, you took what you could get.

Even if it made you want to drink afterward.

“So,” Jimmy said, after closing his eyes and unsuccessfully shaking the memory away, “There is a plan by the military to go to Antarctica and look into rumored technology.”

“Why would there be alien technology in the ice?” the President asked, “Did it happen so long ago the ice was gone?”

“No,” Henry took up the conversation, “This is actually something that started during WWII.”

“Nazi?” the President guessed.

“Yes sir, but not exactly what you think,” Henry admitted, “unless you know much about the Thule Society?” The President shook his head.
 

“Ok, then I’m going to have to give you a little bit of a history lesson, is that ok?” Another nod came from the President.

“There is a significant amount of misinformation regarding whether Hitler was an occultist or not. Most of this has to do with the head of the Nazi SS coming from the Aryan Pool Society and quite an occultist himself. Furthermore, there are rumors that Nazi Germany started a base in Antarctica during 1938. When you add the Thule and those that believed in communicating with aliens to the mix, it becomes quite far-fetched, until you realize two interesting pieces of information.”

The President nodded, "Go on, I can see where one of these is going to play out.”

"Indeed, we now know that there are aliens, so the claim that people were communicating with aliens is not so crazy anymore. The second is Operation High Jump in 1947.”

"High Jump? I vaguely remember something about this. It had to do with a Navy expedition to stop the Russians?" the President asked.

“Yes, that was the explanation given for it,” Henry agreed, “However, in this case, the rumors about the real experience are closer to the truth than the lie we told. The lie was frankly more believable, too.”
 

“How so?”

"The official title of the operation, which was organized by Rear Admiral Richard E Byrd, was 'the United States Navy Antarctic Developments Program.’ It lasted from 1946 to 1947 and was led by Rear Admiral Richard Crimson. It started in August 1946 and ended in late February 1947. Task Force 68 had 4,700 men, 13 ships, and 33 aircraft. The stated goal was to establish the Antarctic research base called Little America IV.”

Now that he was in teaching mode, Henry didn't look uncomfortable in his suit anymore. He did not even look like he remembered how he was dressed.

"Almost all of the deaths and the lost ships have been blamed on the inclement weather in Antarctica. However, there are a lot of fictionalized versions where Task Force 68 encountered superior technology. Mostly from Nazis who had been building an Antarctic base in Swabenland. The truth, not recorded anywhere, is that the Task Force was attacked, but not by flying saucers. Rather by people using some sort of highly advanced weapons. Our planes and helicopters down there couldn’t provide any effective air cover. The attackers seemed completely impervious to the cold that was debilitating our men.”

“So, they did not have a bunch of flying saucers running around blowing up all of the ships?" The President asked.

"No," Henry laughed, "However, I do have information that proves those from Antarctica did arrive in Washington DC to have a conversation in July 1952, using what we believe were flying saucers to travel. If you go back to the newspapers at the time, it was a big story. However, their leader is, or was, a pacifist by the name of Maria Orsitsch. Within fifteen years, the government had no communications with that group any longer.”

“We didn’t try to go down there, again?” the President asked.

“No, we had captured a few examples of Nazi technology of our own, and the Thule leaders didn’t want to provide any alien technological insights to a belligerent country such as the US. Because of the scientists we pulled out of Nazi Germany during Operation Paperclip, the US was making some pretty heady advances. If they want to visit, they will. If we go knocking without an invitation, we will be met with the same result as last time, or so we were told.”

“Ok, so what has changed?”

“When all of this alien stuff came up, someone remembered that we had a small project which sent out a coded message every month to Antarctica. Every month since 1967 we have received a reply. It became routine, boring if you will, and I’m surprised it even continued. However, sometimes you always do something because it has always been done, and this was the same. Two weeks ago, a researcher found the small group responsible for sending this message and documenting the results.” Henry shrugged.

“And?” The President urged.

“Four years ago, the return replies stopped,” Henry answered.

QBS ArchAngel over Tokyo, Japan

“Two meetings, two locations,” Bethany Anne muttered as she and John were walking briskly down one of the long corridors in the ArchAngel.

John grinned from behind her, “What was that again, my Queen?”

She looked over her shoulder, “Is
my Queen
your version of
BA
for today?”

“No?” John answered, “Maybe? Perhaps I’m trying it on for size to see how it fits you. I mean, you can’t exactly get mad at me, you admitted to the whole world that you are a Queen.”

“Yes,” she turned back around, “I did. It needed to be done to get others used to the idea we aren’t part of any country. It might prove to be a speed bump in the future.”

“Oh? How so.”

“It will be us against them,” she admitted. “So, even if that happens, it will still prove to everyone we are separate from all countries. However, our disagreements are likely to get a lot bloodier.”

“Well, if it would help, instead of calling you my Queen, I could go for TW?”

Bethany Anne’s left hand popped up over her shoulder, flipping off her guard.

—

The ten chosen business leaders sat quietly around the table. Bobcat, William, and Marcus had entered, and there had been some introductions, but everyone was waiting for the big arrival.