Pagan Island, Pacific Ocean

It has been a while since Michael could spend some time alone with his father. There were always so many matters at hand for him to deal with; together with Robert Freeman’s hectic schedule since he was the one who personally went to recruit additional members of their scientific community. Those few moments they had to spend together were always prized.

They were sitting on the small hill, right on the edge of the volcano's caldera, with a cooler beside them and a couple of cold beers in their hands.

“Michael, I want to tell you something,” his father broke the comfortable silence. “The thing is… I am so damn proud of you, son. The things you’ve accomplished, all the people you’ve saved… it is humbling. I was never a man of action, laboratories and offices were the places I was most comfortable in, so when you decided to enlist… I was scared, terrified that I would lose you. But so proud of your convictions… and I never told you that.”

“Dad, you don’t have to—“

“No, let me finish. You see, with all this.” He pointed at the ship. “My heart bursts with the same pride even more. To see your child go so far, accomplish so much… there are no words to accurately describe how I feel. Like so many people on this island, I believe in you and that vision of the future you are trying to build. I’m sorry your grandfather is not alive to see all this, that old codger would get such a kick out of it.”

They couldn't help but share a bittersweet laugh over his grandfather’s memory.

“You are a leader, in every sense of that word, and like all leaders, there will come a time when you start doubting yourself; some of your decisions may cause deaths of the people that entrusted you with their lives. But I want you to know that I will always take your side, no matter what. I guess what I wanted to say is that I love you, and to thank you for being my son.”

At first, Michael couldn’t say anything, his throat closed up and there was supposedly some dust in the air that made his eyes excitedly produce moisture. Eventually, he took a deep breath and managed to say, “I love you too dad.”

They sat there for a while longer, drinking beer and enjoying the shared silence.

***

Michael woke up early the next day, the Sun has not yet risen, and Elizabeth was still sound asleep. In six hours they needed to go and meet with the President of the United States. In consideration of the different time zones, it would be a perfect time to do so when it was night there. The plan was to arrive much sooner than everyone was expecting, a precaution Elizabeth insisted on.

However, that was a long way off, and this morning Tyron scheduled a training exercise; claiming that it was needed. He argued that they were all slowing down a bit, and he wasn’t about to walk into a possible ambush without reevaluating their reflexes, and overall preparedness.

Now, Michael and the others exercised daily; running, weights, martial arts. Still, full-on sparring with each other slipped through the cracks. Tyron, who was an exercise freak, and holder of several black belts, decided that their slacking days were over. So they would meet on a secluded beach few people visited, to see how effective they were.

It was all right at first, they ran for a while and did a few sets of army exercises, to loosen their muscles. Then… the sparring time began.

Michael could feel that Tyron was right, no matter how good they were, there was still some room for improvement. When all was said and done, that it was all a matter of practice. He had a suspicion that soon this would become a morning routine if Tyron had anything to say… and he did.

Of course, Al had the brilliant idea that they should go all out, a real match; just to see where they really are compared to Tyron.

Michael went first; he was far quicker than the big man and managed to deliver a few good hits. That was until Tyron got a hold of him. Suddenly he went flying, and it wasn’t only a few feet, he could see the ground moving underneath him; he thought that this was how birds felt, or Superman. That thought was interrupted when he became reacquainted with the ground again; the landing was not graceful and the mouthful of sand in his mouth was not particularly appetizing. After he spat it out, Michael decided to lay there for a while, it did not hurt that much when he wasn’t moving.

“You okay there Chief?” Tyron yelled.

“Yeah, taking a breather… continue with the exercise,” Michael managed to say.

He could hear Al telling Tyron how he had changed his mind about all this, claiming that he was actually a lover, not a fighter. A few seconds later, a screaming Al flew over Michael, which made him smile. “You’re lightweight,” he said to his friend who was a few feet away. “He managed to throw you further than me… I wonder how far Pete will go.”

Al moaned and murmured something about not picking a fight with a Godzilla ever again.

They couldn’t hear anything for a while until in the distance Tyron’s voice bellowed.

“Stop, and face me like a man!”

Michael lifted his head, enough to see Pete running down the beach as if the hounds of Hell were chasing him; which was not so far from the truth since Tyron was ten feet behind him, trying to catch him. Michael did not see any indication that Pete would stop anytime soon. He laid his head back on the sand and relaxed.

This was a good place as any to take a little nap… exercise could wait.

***

Arizona, USA

Transporter 001

The night had already covered this part of the country when Michael and his team arrived above the meeting place the President specified in his message. It was one of those old prosperous farms inherited from one generation to the other, for more than one hundred and fifty years.

Right now, the entire farm was settling down from the beehive of activity it was during the day, as any working ranch in the world. Although, besides the regular ranch hands, there were plenty of people that did not correctly fit in, no matter how much they tried. There was a certain stiffness in their posture, which screamed to any observer that they did not belong on the ranch. Those were some of the things Michael noticed when they were looking at satellite images Max made during the day.

After the last attack on the President, his security detail was expanded considerably, which was a good thing since the man barely escaped certain death. Even allowing him to come to his in-law's farm was pushing the limits of that strengthened security blanket they created.

Michael didn't even dare to put the transporter close to the house, no matter how hard it was to see. He didn't doubt that every available detection system the US had was looking at this particular location, so why take the chance they would be detected. They were doing the infiltration in the manner they were taught in their training. Moving slowly and observing their surroundings. Some people, on a deeper, primal level, could sense when someone was sneaking up on them. And those new additions to the ranch were alert and prepared to listen to those faint signals their instincts were sending them. That was why it took the team an inordinately long time to sneak close to the house. It was time-consuming, but it was the best way. Their HUDs were constantly updated with unobserved angles and inevitable dead spots in the surveillance.

Chances of being spotted were minuscule, but there were a few laser beams here and there that would alert the watchers if they were interrupted. The suits were mostly invisible, still, those lasers would not like being disturbed. Besides, these people were well aware of their abilities from the recordings they retrieved from the President’s lodge in George Washington and Jefferson National Forest. In any case, Tyron had proclaimed that this mission would be on the job training in infiltration techniques, and nobody wanted to object after the last sparring session. Michael still had a feeling that a few muscles in his back were a little off, despite Max’s assurance that the nanites had repaired all the damage.

Tyron, Pete, and Al were left outside; making sure Michael would have a good exit point if this meeting turned out to be a trap. They were trying to come close to the most guarded man on the planet while trying to avoid his security.

“Al, don't make any mess until I return,” he transmitted over the comms.

“Hey, why are you singling me out, don't you think Pete and Tyron should get the same advice?” Al responded.

Three simultaneous “No,” was the only answer he got in return.

“Fine... I'll behave, but it would have been fun to give one of those stiff Secret agents a wedgie.”

Michael just sighed and proceeded closer to the house. It was not a difficult infiltration with the advantages he possessed. Following one of the agents making the rounds, and moving on the balls of his feet, he entered the house. All the time making sure he was not between any source of light and the eyes of the numerous watchers. Which was made more difficult by many security cameras mounted all over the place.

Max had already scanned the property and knew exactly where the President was right now, in a big office decorated in the traditional Texan style. Michael was thankful that the main house was so sturdily built, not one floorboard creaked under his weight.

It took only five minutes until the perfect opportunity presented itself, a woman bringing in a pot of coffee was entering the office, and Michael used that to slip into the room. It was a stroke of luck that there was no agent in front of that door. Fortunately, no one present looked in his direction, so he carefully positioned himself in one corner, and listened to their conversation. The camouflage system was almost absolute when he was not moving.

The President of the United States was sitting behind the desk and drinking his coffee; with him were two secret service agents that guarded the President on their last encounter.

“Sir, do you really think he will come tomorrow? We have a lot of agents outside.” One of the agents asked.

“I’m sure of it Martin. Mr. Freeman didn't seem like someone who would let a few obstacles stop him.”

“I'm still not comfortable with this meeting, Mister President, he is still an unknown.” The other agent stated.

“Who can we trust Duncan? You know what I suspect, at least I am positive that Michael Freeman means us no ill will,” President Garner responded. “God knows I'm not certain who to trust anymore.”

At that moment, Michael became visible, with the front of his helmet set to transparency.

“It seems that something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” he said to get their attention.

The Agents instinctively went for their guns, and the President almost jumped from his chair.

“Jesus Christ son, you almost gave me a heart attack, I'm not a young buck anymore,” the President uttered, standing up, and motioned for the agents to holster their weapons.

Michael did something others advised him against, he took off his helmet; it was a sign of trust, or foolishness as Elizabeth said when he told her about it.

The President smiled, then walked around the desk to where Michael was standing and offered his hand.

“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow, but I'm glad you came Michael, we have some things to discuss,” he pointed at the chair across his own.

“Mister President,” Michael nodded.

After they sat down, the President continued.

“Let me cut to the chase, and explain why I called you. Ever since the attack, I had this uneasy feeling. There was no way for attackers to know where I was, the list of those with that information was very short. What's more, Hashim Osmani’s death was even more suspicious, we did not even get a chance to question him before he died from a convenient heart attack. But I'm afraid some more sinister things are coming.”

He looked at Michael reproachfully, “You have been making so much trouble lately, and a great number of powerful men want you dead.”

“Mister President, what do you mean?” Michael asked, not allowing his face to betray his thoughts.

“Oh, don't give me that horse baloney, do you know how many analysts were put on the job of connecting the dots concerning recent events. From the Millennial Sports Arena attack to my rescue was a straight line, but then you made that entire ruckus with Abubakar Shekau in Africa, and yes, I know it was you. Now this thing with bounties on criminals, again there is no other likely suspect. The justice department is making a stinking hell, it was not approved by them, so it is naturally illegal, and they are right if you look through the eyes of the written law.”

“Sir, it was never my intention to cause trouble, or any socio-political upheavals, I’m only doing what I think is right,” Michael said.

“What is right can take a heavy toll on some people, and have dire repercussions. You have made so many enemies in such a short time, I'm surprised the Guinness World Records people are not giving you a call, to provide you with official recognition.” President Garner closed his eyes.

“As I said, ever since the attack something has been bugging me, but it’s more than that. I do not want to sound paranoid… but I do not feel so safe anymore. Martin found some electronic bugs in my office, and that was after the official team did the sweep and said everything was clean.”

He pointed at two agents. “These two are the only ones I trust explicitly, the rest… I'm not sure about. What’s more, there have been a few meetings that I should have been informed about, and I was not. A while ago, Vice President Cain came to me with the request that some… preventive measures should be taken in case you decide to turn on us.” He lifted his hand defensively after seeing Michael’s eyebrows go up. “I never thought you would, but he was insistent and I agreed in theory, nothing offensive. It seems that particular decision is coming to bite me in the ass. The meetings were on a high level involving other world powers, and I’ve been kept out of the loop. As the President of the United States of America that should have never happened, but it did. Michael, all these meetings were about you.”

Suddenly, Michael had a bad feeling about the things the President was saying. “Do you know what they talked about?”

The president nodded. “Some, not all, even finding about the entire thing was a stroke of luck. One of those at the meetings was an old friend of mine, and he was the one who informed me. They know that you’re somehow connected to the Genesis Corporation, that’s one of the reasons the pharmaceutical and health insurance lobbies want your head on a platter too. A few of the world powers are concerned about the technologies displayed and want them for themselves. Companies that stand to lose billions, owing to your medical philanthropy, are also prepared to finance your removal from the world stage. Some of those participants would never sit at the same table if it were not for the shared interest. There was also some talk about you possessing weapons of mass destruction, accusing you for that meteorite impact in Africa, which I don’t even want to ask you about.” The President said, massaging his temples.

Not one muscle on Michael’s face gave away his inner turmoil.

“Michael, I don’t know how you do the things you do, but the reason I got elected to this office is that I always followed my gut, and it’s telling me that the Vice President is up to no good. I do not have any hard evidence, just a lot of little things; that may be influenced by my personal dislike for the man. Nevertheless, the pressure on the international stage is rising, and it is simply a matter of time before things go critical. That is the main reason I called you, to warn you about what is happening. I still owe you a great debt for what you did… so be prepared.”

Michael nodded, “thank you, sir, I appreciate it.” He then stood up from the chair and offered his hand to the President. “If there comes a time that I can help you, contact me as you did now.”

“Take care, Michael.” The President shook his hand.

After putting on his helmet and turning on his camouflage, he exited the room and backtracked his steps. Twenty minutes later, he and the rest of the team were back in the air.

***

Transporter 001

Destination: Pagan Island

Michael had an uneasy feeling about all this, and a knot of anxiety was forming in his gut.

“Max, how were we not aware of all this?”

“I’m checking all the background information and I can see some breadcrumbs, but it would seem they went analog on us. Without using any tech that has a connection to the net, I am quite blind. Without President Garner’s info, I would still be in the dark about sudden vacations some very powerful people in the world were taking together. All in all, I don’t like this one bit.” The AI responded.

“Yeah, me either… How long before the ship can be launched?”

“If we only concentrate on space worthiness… at least a few weeks, and that is only if we put many secondary systems on pause and focus on essentials. The shell is done but the drives are still not finished; maybe it was a mistake to make the ship so big, but I was working under the assumption that we had more time.”

“Well, they still don’t know where we are, but I don’t know how long that will last,” Michael said. “Make the drives top priority, push everything that can be done in space down the queue. I have this feeling like a noose is closing around our necks, and as soon as we have the option to leave, the better.”

The rest of the trip to the island was somber and quiet; the team listened to his conversation with the President and knew what was at stake. Michael could sense dark clouds on the horizon and hoped they would not be caught in the storm that was coming.