Free The God Complex: A Thriller by Murray McDonald Page A

far more advanced communication equipment. None has communicated beyond the atmosphere of the planet we hope will be our future.
     
    Despite that, our mission remains as originally intended. If the previous missions have failed, our mission will already be lost. We can only hope that for all our sakes, it is a communication problem and nothing more sinister.
     
    We, like those before us, mourn our loved ones as we disappear into the night sky but it is for them and our descendants that we must go forward and build a future for us all.

Chapter 14
     
     
    Cash checked his cell. Twenty-three missed calls, all from the office.
    “Twenty missed calls ,” said Rigs, appearing silently by his side in the hotel lobby, checking his own cell.
    Cash led the way out to the car. “Let’s go before there are any more.” Rigs eyed the patrol car Sanders had loaned them. “Something a bit less conspicuous perhaps?” he suggested.
    “I think it’s perfect .” Cash jumped in and hit the police lights.
    Rigs ’ look of disapproval flickered and disappeared as the strobe lights cried out to his inner child. “Cool!” he said jumping in. While Cash drove, Rigs prepared the weapons. The Surenos were about to wish that real cops were coming to call on them.
    Cash’s phone buzzed again, followed by Rigs’ .
    “We need to call in at some point ,” said Rigs.
    “You already did ,” Cash reminded him.
    Rigs looked at him . “You know I’m not very good with those calls,” he said without a hint of irony.
    Cash nodded . “What did you tell them?”
    “ ‘Cancel the President’s trip, something’s happened’.”
    “What did you tell them had happened ?”
    “Just that, ‘something’.”
    “You called in and said six words ?” asked Cash, shaking his head. Sometimes he wished Riggs could be a little more talkative.
    “I know,” said Rigs proudly . “That’s good for me.”
    “ Yes it is,” agreed Cash, biting his tongue. “After the Surenos, we’ll call in.”

***
Office of the National Security Advisor
White House
Washington
     
    “Son of a bitch!” shouted Travis Davies, Director of the CIA, slamming down the NSA’s handset for what seemed the hundredth time.
    “Not answering ?” asked Vince Walters, the National Security Adviser. Travis shook his head. He had been trying to call ‘his boys’ since the call came in about Hubble 2’s demise. Initially, their phones had been uncontactable but they had started ringing out an hour earlier. He knew they were alive. The report in front of him was a transcript of Rigs’ call an hour earlier, precise to the point of uselessness. The man barely uttered a word other than to Cash, with whom he seemed to converse normally. Travis had grown tired of the speculation from the psychologists as to what was wrong with Rigs. He didn’t care; as long as Cash kept him in line and the two did what they did best, he was happy.
    “You gave your boys the red line number ?!” screamed the Secret Service Director bursting into the office.
    Travis looked around at his Secret Service colleague, Paula Suarez. She was very sexy when she was angry.
    “Jesus, you’ll make me come in my good suit,” he smiled wickedly.
    “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Paula screeched.
    “Please, don’t,” he winced, much to Vince’s amusement.
    “Did you or didn’t you?” she shouted, her face reddening.
    “I don’t recall.”
    “So it’s a coincidence that a local cop in Santa Cruz prank-called the President at the UN?!”
    “ Is that what that was?” he asked, laughing. They had both seen the feed of the President answering the call during the introduction at the UN.
    “ It’s not funny,” she chastised. “ Idiots !” She left, slamming the door behind her.
    “Did you?” asked Vince.
    “Did I what?” asked Travis, pointing towards where Paula had stood.
    “ The number? Did you give them the number?”
    “Maybe, in case of an emergency.”
    “Shit ,” said Vince.