“Do you see what we’re giving you?” Morgan asked. He must have meant whatever was in the floating crates.

  “We are paying for the crates in our precious blood,” Ibrahim said. “Your crates merely mean we can attempt the great deed.”

  Morgan grumbled under his breath, finally nodding. “All right, pack them up fast then. I can’t wait here long. I don’t want to give this prick any more time to spout off, either.”

  Ibrahim snapped his fingers and pointed at several of his men. They unveiled a small crane, the kind a man would use to take an engine block out of his car. Some pulled the ropes until the floats bumped against the dhow’s hull. With the crane, they began to hoist the crates into the dhow. Once the crates were in place, men threw netted catches of fish over them.

  “What’s in those?” Steele asked. “From the way you’ve been talking, I’m guessing nuclear devices.”

  “He knows too much,” Morgan said.

  “It does not matter,” Ibrahim said. “He shall be with us for the entire journey, except at the very end. That will be his choice.”

  “I don’t understand,” Morgan said. “You’re going to let him go?”

  “Do you believe in Allah?” Ibrahim asked.

  Morgan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t answer. In a way, that was all the answer any of them needed. Thus, Morgan put the mask on and breathing tube in. He splashed backward over the side, swimming back to the UDV.

  I should be riding that, John thought.

  As Morgan took the UDV down, Officer Alvarez stepped closer. It shocked Steele that Alvarez was staying. The man had already shed his wetsuit and fins.

  “You’re coming with us?” Steele asked.

  “Praise be to Allah, I am,” Alvarez said, without mockery or sarcasm.

  “You’re a true believer?” Steele asked.

  “He is,” Ibrahim said. “You will watch the prisoner for me.”

  “You bet I will,” Alvarez said.

  “I don’t get this,” Steele said to Alvarez. “You don’t like me? Is this personal?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Alvarez said. “But if you try anything,” the special ops operative produced a sharp knife, “I’ll thrust this through your ribs. You’ll die with a blade in your heart. What do you think of that?”

  “It isn’t the way I plan to go,” Steele said. “I’ll do what you say.”

  “You bet you will,” Alvarez said. “I can guarantee that.” He looked to Ibrahim.

  “Yes, I agree,” Ibrahim said. “Now, we must be off. It is time we get these crates to the home base so we can begin the glorious mission for Allah.”

  -13-

  At the beginning, Steele didn’t have much to do except sit around with Alvarez watching him. Someone started the outboard motor and turned the dhow around, heading north to Iran, no doubt.

  “What if we’re intercepted?” Steele asked Alvarez later.

  “We won’t be,” Alvarez said. “This is a holy mission under Allah’s protection.”

  “You know this is a suicide mission, don’t you?”

  “That depends on what you mean by suicide,” Alvarez said.

  “You care to enlighten me about that?”

  Alvarez eyed him as if debating internally. Finally, he came to a decision. “After you die, what happens to the soul? Is it extinguished, or does it move on?”

  The question startled Steele. He hadn’t expected that from Alvarez. It took him a moment to process the thoughts behind the question. He finally nodded as things began to make sense. “I get it. You’re telling me you’re going to Paradise, where 72 virgins are waiting for you?”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  Again, the question startled Steele. He considered it from several angles until he studied Alvarez. How should he answer that? It came to Steele. “There’s nothing wrong with it—if it’s true.”

  “It’s true,” Alvarez said flatly.

  Alvarez was a fanatic like the others. This didn’t seem like a sham, pretense, or make-believe. These men were dead serious about all this.

  Steele looked around at the watery horizons. The Persian Gulf besieged them from all sides. He turned to face the earnest Alvarez. Had Captain Morgan known his elite underwater man was a practicing Muslim? Did he want to antagonize Alvarez? Steele figured he did, but not directly, not out in the open.

  “You know that the Vikings believed that if they died with a weapon in hand while fighting, then Odin’s Valkyries would come on their winged horses and take them to Valhalla. There, the selected warriors would fight all day and then party all night. Those that had been slain during the day would be reconstituted afterward to start it all over again.”

  Alvarez scowled. “What does that have to do with anything? Are you mocking my beliefs?”

  “Not at all,” Steele said. “I just find it interesting that there’s this universal idea that there is more after this life. The Vikings believed it, and they were some of the most bloodthirsty, cruel warriors this world has ever seen. But they sure believed in an afterlife, even if it was a riotous one. Maybe that’s the same type of afterlife AC/DC sings about in ‘Highway to Hell,’ where all their friends will be there to party with them.”

  “You mock me,” Alvarez said, glaring. “I’ll tell Ibrahim, and he’ll let me put you out of your misery.”

  “But I’m not in misery,” Steele said. “You’re talking to me about the afterlife. We’re having a conversation about it. I’m using my rational mind to think about what you’ve suggested.”

  “What have I suggested?” Alvarez spat.

  “That there’s life after death,” Steele said. “Do you think the aliens believe that?”

  “I don’t care what the aliens believe. They’re not of this world. So what does it matter what they think?”

  Steele shrugged. “It would be interesting to know, though. I wonder if Dr. Huber has any thoughts on that. I mean, he found stone tablets in an ancient temple deep underwater. Those were the most ancient ruins on Earth.”

  “You’re changing the subject,” Alvarez said.

  “I’m not. I’m wondering. I may soon be passing from this life to the next. Is there a Valhalla where I’ll battle all day, being reconstituted at night until a giant worm swallows the Earth? Are virgins really waiting for good Muslims? If I believed in Allah, would I go to Paradise and have riotous intercourse with these ever-young maidens? I suppose they won’t be virgins for long. Or is there a Christian heaven? That’s what I believe, as that’s what the Bible talks about. Isn’t it interesting that when you study man throughout the ages, there’s this universal notion of life after death? The Egyptians believed in it. So did the Aztecs.”

  “Atheists don’t believe in it,” Alvarez said.

  “No,” Steele said, “atheists do not believe in that. They have a different idea altogether, that this is it, and once one dies, that’s it.”

  “If that’s it, life is incredibly short and utterly meaningless,” Alvarez said.

  “That’s a matter of opinion. Some atheists must believe there is meaning to life. Just what that would be, I don’t know. But if you’re talking philosophically about ultimate thoughts and modes…” Steele shrugged. “I don’t think I’m going to die just yet.”

  “Are you serious?” Alvarez said. “You’re going on the raid to Delhi. You will help me carry munitions, just like you did on the Moon.”

  “I see,” Steele said. “By munitions, you mean nuclear devices.”

  At that moment, Ibrahim stepped closer and clouted Alvarez on the side of the head, knocking him down.

  “Quiet, you fool,” Ibrahim said with heat. “What if a patrol intercepts us and this fool tells him what you said?”

  Alvarez climbed to his feet, rubbing the side of his head.

  Several of the crew circled him, drawing heavy pistols.

  Alvarez looked at them, then at Ibrahim. The big underwater expert dropped his gaze, bowing his head. “Sorry. My mistake. The infidel makes my blood boil.”

  “Why is this?” Ibrahim asked. “There are many infidels, but you chose to hate him more than others.”

  “I’d rather not say why,” Alvarez muttered.

  Ibrahim considered that. “So be it. But one more blunder like that, and you’ll be fish food. He will take your part in the assault.”

  “I already thought he was going down with us,” Alvarez said.

  Ibrahim’s features became strangely still. “You dare to question me? Is this how you agreed to obey the dictates of the JFP?”

  “No,” Alvarez said. “I will listen. I won’t make the same mistake twice. I will watch him like a hawk. If he causes trouble, I will kill him.”

  “No,” Ibrahim said. “You will only kill him if I give the word.”

  Alvarez nodded.

  Ibrahim became thoughtful. “I heard something of what you two spoke about. It is an interesting topic, but the Prophet Muhammad has shown us the way of Allah. The Quran tells us all we need to know on this matter. Therefore, this is the end of the debate. I will not allow heresy or mockery on my ship. Do you understand, Lieutenant Steele?”

  “I do,” Steele said.

  “Good,” Ibrahim said. “We have much to do before we meet our destiny. Let us not spoil it with your split blood and dead carcass. You must act the part of Aziz, yes?”

  “Yes,” Steele said, determined to avoid that fate with everything in him.

  -14-

  Whenever Steele looked around, he found Alvarez staring at him. He had no idea what the elite diver had against him, but it was clear there was something.

  “Did you ever attend the Leningrad School for Troubled Boys?” Steele asked when they reached an inlet.

  “No,” Alvarez said. “You will not guess the reason for my animus. In truth, it doesn’t matter, but I won’t tell you because I see it troubles you. I do not even want to talk to you. You make me…” Alvarez leaned to the side and spat over the railing. “Do not try anything underhanded.”

  “I haven’t so far. What makes you think I’m going to now?”

  “I know you,” Alvarez said with spite. “You think you’re the great commando that led the raid on the Moon—and that was a grand feat. But we’re going to do something greater. It will rid the Solar System of the aliens because we will bring Allah’s blessing upon all of us.”

  Steele decided not to debate the issue, especially not with a boatload of fanatical Muslim warriors listening. Instead, he kept his eyes and ears open. He ate what they ate, trying to consume as much as he could to keep up his strength. He did push-ups, sit-ups, stretches, and ran in place at times. He was staying ready. Ready for what? Steele wondered. How can I escape their watch?

  Did Charles XII ever give up hope? The answer was a resounding no. Even when he was in a wooden house surrounded by the Ottoman Turks and they demanded his surrender, King Charles had fought on with his literal handful of soldiers. The Turks captured him, but later he talked his way out of captivity. On horseback with one servant, Charles rode across the back end of Europe from Ottoman lands to the nearest Swedish-owned territory. He rode so hard and fast that he could not pull his boots off, for his legs had swelled too much for that. Soldiers had to cut the boots off.

  Charles XII never gave up hope and always relentlessly attacked if he could. He had been one of the most aggressive commanders in history, often attacking with minuscule forces, often against forces two to one, three to one, and even four to one. The marvelous thing was he had won many of those engagements.

  John Steele wasn’t about to give up hope. That mindset proved critical, helping him retain a focused mind. He watched everything that was happening around him. His mind was like a sponge, soaking up one detail after another.

  For instance, the crates held advanced small arms and some type of special underwater suits with jet-propelled packs. More ominous, he spied obvious nuclear devices, heavy equipment two men could move.

  Once on dry land, Ibrahim divided and repackaged the contents of the crates, loading them onto ancient, rust-bucket Toyota trucks. Steele found himself in a truck bed with Alvarez and several others. They sped over bumpy roads to a train station. Everyone and everything from the dhow boarded the train.

  Ibrahim cuffed Steele wrist to wrist with Alvarez, using police handcuffs for that. Alvarez wore a World Government military police uniform. Ibrahim and his men wore WG infantry uniforms. They must have forged passes. No train official gave them any trouble.

  This train wasn’t like the magnetic ones in many parts of the world; it was an old-style train, like those in America in the 1980s. Several diesel locomotives pulled an insane number of train cars. At each stop, more people boarded while a few trickled off.

  There weren’t as many rail lines in the world due to the nuclear war in 2050 and the devastating impacts of the Iapetus railgun. The world was reeling from that. Regions like this were struggling to maintain an industrial-level civilization.

  The train chugged slowly across mountains and deserts, climbing as they moved into former Pakistan.

  Steele slept, did isometric exercises, went to the bathroom, and thought about Alexander the Great. The Macedonian had conquered this part of the world with his phalanx and cavalry, carving out one of the largest empires in history.

  Alexander was an extraordinary conqueror, achieving military miracles with a small number of soldiers.

  Those days still exist, Steele thought to himself. His own dad had achieved two great military feats. Steele thought then of Dawnstar and Cody and Bonnie. He longed to see them again.

  That night, as the train continued its slow journey, he dreamed of his wife and kids. He woke up with a terrible pang of sorrow weighing upon him. The feeling he would never see his family again was pure agony. The thought was so intensely painful that he shifted in his seat.

  Alvarez snapped up. They sat in a row on a train packed with people, curtains drawn in front of the windows. Alvarez fumbled in the dim light until he pointed a gun at Steele’s face.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Steele said. “Did I wake you?”

  “Do you think that’s funny?” Alvarez hissed.

  “No. I think there’s something wrong with you, though.”

  Alvarez jammed the gun against Steele’s right cheek. “I’m going to blow your head off. What do you think of that?”

  “That you’re jeopardizing the mission,” Steele said as calmly as he could. “That people are looking at you funny. Do you like acting the part of a fool and an emotional imbecile?”

  “Shut up,” Alvarez hissed, although he put the gun away. Afterward, he glared at Steele and jerked his arm, forcing Steele to move his cuffed wrist.

  Steele relaxed and soon so did Alvarez. Steele wanted to be like Charles XII, but he didn’t see how he could escape. The jihadists watched him too closely, and Alvarez had a vindictive reason for wanting to kill or hurt him. None of it made any sense.

  Steele forced himself to think positively. Did such a thing change a situation? No. But Steele didn’t worry about that. Instead, he concentrated on Charles XII, thinking back to passages he’d read about the Berserker, Knight Errant King of Sweden. Had Charles been insane perhaps, as some historians suggested? Certainly, Charles hadn’t been normal.

  Steele strove to summon the same fire that had driven Charles XII.

  As the train clacked along in the dark, Steele remembered a story he’d heard about one of his ancestors. The man had fought in Russia during the Napoleonic disaster in 1812. The ancestor had fought through where his comrades perished. Steele latched onto the idea. I have that fire. Did something ignite deep in his soul because of that? Maybe. He felt ruthless determination and destiny. Yes, he had a destiny behind a bomb plot against Director Drusus.

  Dear God of the cross, please give me hope and courage so I can fight my way back to my family.

  That was all Steele prayed. He had to believe something; either that or nothing was there. Did the jihadists have greater incentive because they believed in Allah? Was Allah real? How could Jehovah God and Allah both be real?

  Steele shook his head. He wasn’t going to wrestle that or come up with an answer tonight. Instead, he knew how he believed. He was also going to believe that he had hope. Yes. He was going to pretend that there was a method to escape. He was going to believe that there would come one moment where he could act.

  There in the rail car, Steele began to prime himself to act at that moment. He was not going to let himself be mentally defeated. If he were to be defeated, it would be with a bullet-riddled body, an assault rifle in his hands, dealing death to those who opposed him. He was going to fight to the very last moment that he was capable of fighting.

  He side-eyed a softly snoring Alvarez. If he had to kill Alvarez and Ibrahim to reach OS Aphrodite, he would do it. Part of him didn’t believe he’d reach home, but he brutally suppressed that part. I’ll pretend to believe until I actually do.

  Surprisingly, a certain comfort filled him because he knew he wasn’t finished yet. He knew that even though they were heading into the sprawling subcontinent of India, at some point in the next 24 hours, he would make his bid for freedom. He was going to—how could he get back up into space?

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Steele told himself. Then the lean lieutenant closed his eyes and tried to get the sleep his body so desperately needed.

  -15-

  The great peace initiative, pushed by Director Livia Drusus, finally came to fruition. Someone who looked remarkably like her was present at the Greenland Complex on this fateful morning.

  Workers had erected large buildings and sleeping huts. Many ships encircled what had once been the Eastern Settlement of the Viking town. Back then, at its height, 4,000 individuals had lived here. Now, 20,000 or more were at the Greenland Conference. The long landing strip was busy all morning as planes from around the world landed, disgorging passengers, and then moved to the large parkway.

  There were security agents from different power blocs and corporations everywhere. The most impressive were Maria Chavez’s security teams. She landed to a rousing band, walking down a ramp as holovid cameras and cell phones took endless pictures.