A Message From Pluto

The morning rays seeped through the parted curtains and illuminated the once dark room, waking him up. He groaned loudly and turned away from the light, hoping to get back to sleep and catch up on the hours he had missed. He had always complained to his wife about drawing the curtains when he wanted a good night sleep. Now sleep will be elusive, from past experience. So he decided to get out of bed and wash up. He will have another word with his wife about those damn curtains. General McGinn was not the regular man on the street. A national hero who had served his country in different capacities. He led the army in the annihilation of the terrifying terrorist group that was slowly gaining a foothold into the country. After service in many different capacities, domestic and abroad, he retired, a few months after returning from the Mexican front where he again led the army to destroy the drug cartels that worked the US-Mexican border. Now he was on what the president described as perp

The meeting was scheduled for six in an inconspicuous house on the outskirts of Jefferson, a small town in Texas. The choice of San Antonio Museum was informed by its serenity, a good kitchen and a large parking space that was screened from the street. It was supposed to be low profile without infringing on the tastes of the attendees. Nobody knew when it would be over. On the third and top floor of the building, McGinn sat quietly at a table, sipping a drink without really tasting it. He was that worried but he would never admit it to anyone. He had called the Chief of Staff immediately after the phone call and relayed the message to him. In his opinion, the men who had worked with him in Zamora may be anywhere now. And he wanted their files, a condition he knew could not be granted even him. So the vice president was attending to sanction the agreement. The"third eye" as the caller had named it was now considered a national treasure. Upon closer inspection by antique and gem de

Gordon adjusted the scarf around his neck, lifted his head and gathered the thick cardigan to himself. The taxi he had boarded was speeding up a dusty path with deciduous trees on both sides of the road. It was a quiet day with no other vehicles in sight and just a few pedestrians going about their businesses. He had been sent to bring Jordan and was given two days to find him. So he got to work. He flew to Washington and met up with a man the people who knew Jordan called his friend. He worked alone, and had contact with very few. Tyler Caldin was now relegated to a desk job at headquarters, much to his chagrin. After the intervention of the US in what was the Libyan Takeover and the disarmament of the warring militia factions, an exercise Caldin had been entrusted to lead an elite group of top covert operative. There was an incident that till today begged for an explanation. A Libyan who was an informant of the right-wing Fajr Libya Militia was found dead in a delivery truck ca

She sat up in bed, her hands hugging her knees, a small smile touching her lips. She felt a little confused by the way things were going with Jordan. She was not worried, just confused, not believing she was doing what she was doing. Jordan had swept her off her feet without even trying and she loved it. It felt right to be with him, a feeling that she was fulfilling a higher purpose. Something greater than herself and Jordan. But it felt good. Something within her told her there was a catch, that it was unethical in the Company, as they fondly referred to the military. The problem was, she really did not care. She was in this position, with these stream of thoughts for God knows how long until she decided to check on Jordan. He had gone out and left a note, to get groceries at the grocery store. So she reached for her phone just as it rang, momentarily startling her. It was her brother Clyde. Frowning slightly, she answered the call. " Clyde, why are you calling me now?" She