“Actually you have until after breakfast tomorrow. By the end of today you will have been given more than enough information to make the decision. If you elect to leave, you will be sent to a Seal Team and that will be the end of it. You will resume your military duties and no record of this encounter will ever show up in your file.”
“I understand. What is it that I need to know in order to make the decision?”
For the next hour, the man filled in missing pieces of a huge puzzle. Not enough of the bits and pieces to get the total picture but he could get the drift of the overall goal of the Strike–1 Team. It was certainly an eye opener. Where did all of this information come from he wondered?
Nuclear weapons held by the Russian mafia for sale to the highest bidder, Pakistan’s northwest frontier providence efforts to systematically kill the Muhajir tribes living along the border and the establishment of a drug route from North Korea to Australia were among the issues noted. It was the charge of the Strike-1 team to go as directed to eradicate the problems. Eradicate in this case meant the total elimination of the problem by any means thought necessary by the team members.
There would be no trial of any Strike-1 member, no congressional hearings and how information was gathered was not restricted to the rules of the Geneva Convention. Each action team of the Strike–1 Force would consist of as many members as deemed necessary to assure that the mission was accomplished successfully. Often two or three missions would be underway simultaneously.
When Miller left the room, he had a great deal to think about. At the end of the evening they all met as a group in a large lounge and the current members answered as many of their questions as they could without breaching security.
Miller found it easy to fit in with these men and he was sure that this was the right path for him. Now all he had to do was prove to them that he belonged.
The craft vibrated and started to lift slightly on one side and then flopped back down as the other side tried to lift. It looked like a quarter that had been spinning and was slowing down. It wobbled around the huge hanger but it would go no higher. No matter how minutely he moved the controls, the craft would simply not gather enough force to lift off. After several minutes of trying, he shut the thing down. It rotated to a stop and dropped to the hanger floor.
“It’s the propulsion system. It isn’t right.”
“Very keen observation. What the hell do you think I have been telling you for the past year?”
“I was merely confirming your diagnosis. No need to get shitty with me.”
Ignoring the remark, he said, “I think the propulsion design is right but I think it has something to do with either how the core is milled or the way it fits in the containment vessel. If we are getting an air gap someplace that may be the cause. It would cause a weakening in that area of the anti-gravity field. Sort of like trapped air in a pump. It might cause it to fluctuate under pressure and the result is what we are seeing.”
The other scientist placed his hand on his short beard, stroking it while running his colleague's reasoning through his head. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and held them in place with his finger.
“You may be right. To get the effect we are looking for the core material would have to fit in the reactor vessel with no imperfections. If we could mate the core to the vessel perfectly, we may be able to control the craft.”
“It’s more than just mating them. They have to essentially be a one unit. The core must be milled to exact tolerances to have a consistently strong field in all segments of the grid,” the other said.
“My God. You’re exactly right. We need to start over and develop a model that has perfect symmetry and alignment. Then we can decide the best way to direct the energy flow with the nozzles. I think you’ve hit a breakthrough,” he said and slapped his fellow scientist on the back.
“Now all we have to do is figure out how to achieve that small detail.”
Nine levels below the main level where the two scientists worked on the flying disk, another team of scientists were at work on an entirely different project. These people had badges that said:
ULTRA TOP SECRET
LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE
The select few working almost 1000 feet below the surface were engaged in a project that only a handful knew existed. The badges were not even correct. They were actually working on level ten but no one but them and General Devin even knew the level existed. Officially only nine levels existed so they had badges that implied that they worked on Level-9.
