Harold is sound asleep when he is awoken by an urgent ringing. His wife grumbles next to him on the bed. Harold grabs the phone off the bed stand and rushes into his wife’s large closet and closes the door firmly shut behind him. “Yes, what is it, John?” Harold growled sleepily.

“Sir, I feel you should be informed that Dr. William Burns had been found dead in his burnt down home. Preliminary scans determined that the fire was not natural and that his death may have been inflicted. Even more so, sir, there is a hidden laboratory beneath the grounds. Our track team is having a go at the security code, but it’s going to be a few hours. We’re having a hard-enough time keeping the local press and police forces away. Do we have permission to use higher forces?” John asked.

Harold’s mind races to an uneasy conclusion. “Yes, you have authority to pull on our contacts in the bureau. See to that it gets cracked within the next hour, John,” Harold sternly replied as a sick feeling crept into his stomach with the knowledge of just what the project being worked on was.

“Yes, sir,” John dutifully replied before terminating the call.

Harold's hands reach unconsciously to touch to his lips while in deep thought only halting a mere hair away, pausing to glance uneasily at the phone in his hand. The phone suddenly rings showing the Caller ID of Giselle. Harold swiftly answers as Giselle says, “I’m being shadowed, Harold. We have about a minute or less.”

Harold swiftly utters the words, “What did you find out?”

“The Senator isn’t who he seems to be. He’s too perfect, he doesn’t even have any vices! But if I go back far enough, the senator is subtlety different, but only noticeable because I spoke to anyone who ever knew him. It’s almost as though he’s been replaced,” Giselle hissed out of breath as the sound of footsteps and running can be heard over the phone.

Harold frowns and says, “Impossible, genetics and every other check, confirms it is him. Without a doubt, Senator Ricks simply must have changed, grown up for better lack of words. And besides, human cloning, isn’t possible, yet.”

“Look, I am telling you what I know, Harold. But all I know, that I haven’t felt this much fear since Hong Kong,” Giselle hissed as she glances behind her, certain she is being closely shadowed. “Thirty seconds Harold!”

“Is there any proof?” Harold swiftly replied.

“Nothing, but my gut feelings Harold and they’ve never failed me before. However, what I can say, is that the senator is far too interested in project CYPHER and a project called ADAM, which is above my pay grade,” Giselle breathlessly said.

Harold stiffens at the mention of ADAM with his worst fears being realized, but before he can reply, Gisele breathlessly whispers, “Our time is up, Harold. If I’m still alive by this time tomorrow, I will contact you our usual way via payment.”

The call ends as Harold feels a feeling of worry for this oldest of friends. Harold closes his eyes and lets out a faint sound, before with trembling hands dialing a most familiar caller. The phone only rings once before being picked up. “Yes?” Atlas said.

Harold opens his mouth, but a faint croak emerges from his throat. Harold composes himself and reaches for the closet door handle. Suddenly, a trickle of fear and uneasy trickle down his neck. His hand halts as he retreats further into the closet and listens intently. The house is silent, he can’t even hear his wife’s soft snores.

Harold trembles and softly whispers, “Sir, they’re here for me.”

“Get out of there, Harold!” Atlas sternly ordered.

“I’m afraid, it’s too late sir. It’s been a real pleasure serving you,” Harold said as a rally of gun shots pierce through the door and into Harold. The shooting sounds are heard over the phone, before the call drops.

Atlas painfully clenches the phone in his hand as he closes his eyes tiredly. A soft dining sound is heard as a number had been forwarded to him via Harold’s account just before his death. Atlas recognizes the number as one of Harold’s handlers. Atlas dials the number as a male voice says, “Hello, this a private number, who is this?”

Atlas coldly says, “I am Harold’s boss and Harold is dead. What did you speak to him about?”

John instantly pales understanding exactly who was on the other end of the line. “Sir, I had merely informed Harold, that Dr. Williams Burns was found dead in his burnt down house. His death was not accidental, but even more importantly, if you just wait a minute, I will believe I can inform you what the contents of the hidden laboratory are, sir,” John steadily said.

“Fine, be quick about it,” Atlas snapped as he impatiently waits. However, a pit forms in his stomach with the knowledge of knowing what exactly the good doctor was working on.

John can be heard yelling, “Hurry up and open the door!”

A sort of clunking sound is heard as the door opens and John points for the tunnel to be cleared. The minutes trickled by as Atlas waits for a response. John finally speaks into the phone and says, “Sir, are you still there?”

“Apparently,” Atlas flatly replied.

John hastily speaks up, “From the looks of it, Dr. Burns was working on electronics, but more specifically a project called ADAM.”

Atlas eyes widen with suspicion and dread. “Thank you, John. Report any more findings straight to this number,” Atlas curtly said, before terminating the call. Atlas rubs his tired eyes as his face tightens with a mix of emotions. Harold was right, after all, he should have listened. But that did not mean, Senator Ricks was a traitor, just greedy and dangerous.

Atlas unhappily reaches into his pocket for stomach medicine and swallows the tablets without water. Atlas leans back into his chair and closes his tired eyes. It was going to be alright. They would have enough time to prepare. It would be alright. Chanting that mantra in his mind, Atlas falls into an uneasy fitful sleep seeing the faces of all those sacrificed for their safety. But most especially that of a young smiling girl, his daughter, Victoria, who face slowly blurs until only her eyes are left. Her accusing light blue beryl colored eyes glare at him from the amidst the endless dreams.

*

Center for Near Earth Objects picks something via the telescopes and space radar. One of the scientist’s glances at the night shift supervisor and says, “Sir, there seems to be unexplained spatial energy movements.”

“More than likely solar energy concentration, but keep an eye on it,” the older astronomer replied.

“Yes, sir,” the younger scientist said, before returning to his search of finding an unnamed plant or find an unknown asteroid or maybe even a new comet.