The Armageddon Directive Read online

  Mars Attacks:

  The Armageddon Directive

  Dayton Ward

  Based on the Mars Attacks trading card series created by Topps

  CONTENTS

  Parental Advisory

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Parental Advisory

  Mars Attacks: The Armageddon Directive is intended for mature readers.

  It contains harsh language, violence, and adult situations that may be inappropriate for younger readers.

  Parental discretion is advised.

  Dedication

  For the fans:

  Ack Ack Ack!

  Ack Ack Acka Ack Ack

  Chapter 1

  August 1965

  Nate Tanner listened to the air conditioner’s labored whining, wondering when it would just give up and drop from the window. Despite the unit’s best efforts, and even with the door open, the cramped office was still warm and uncomfortable. The papers scattered across the pair of battered, gunmetal gray desks and tacked to the walls were curled from the humidity, and the air stank of bad coffee, cigarettes, and sweaty feet.

  I’m being punished, Tanner decided. That’s what this is.

  The only nice thing about his current surroundings was the blonde sitting behind one of the desks. Though her clothes, a khaki shirt and matching pants, appeared soiled, she was the picture of poise and calm sitting at the center of a debris field of overflowing boxes, folders, books, and papers stacked on the furniture and the floor. Whereas the August Kansas City afternoon humidity was inflicting wrinkles, rumples, and other havoc on the nondescript dark suits worn by Tanner and his partner, Special Agent Charlie Bryant, the lady seemed unfazed by her office’s generally uninviting atmosphere. Her hair was held back and out of her face by a white headband, and she wore no makeup. She looked as though she would have no problem getting her hands dirty or doing whatever was needed to accomplish a task.

  Tanner rather liked that.

  “Good evening, Miss Sutherland,” said Bryant. As the senior agent, it was his job to take the lead in these sorts of interviews. After introducing himself and Tanner, and showing the lady their bureau credentials, he added, “We understand that you’re the one in charge here. We’d like to discuss the photographs you’ve been publishing in your magazine, and others you’ve been sending to us.”

  Earlier in the day, Tanner and Bryant and been briefed by their immediate supervisor, Special Agent Wayne Cushman, about Aliens Among Us, a tabloid that was one of a dozen magazines produced by a small publisher with offices in downtown Kansas City. Under ordinary circumstances, the bureau wouldn’t have cared about the magazine or its contents, which consisted of blurry photographs of indistinct objects described as “unidentified flying objects” along with stories of alleged encounters with such craft and the extraterrestrial beings that flew them. Tanner himself had never cared for such tripe, believing it to be nothing more than fodder for comic books or Saturday matinee movies. He’d been stunned to learn from Agent Cushman that the US Air Force actually devoted personnel and resources to investigating such claims, doing so under the auspices of an official, ongoing program known as “Project Blue Book,” which had been active in one form or another for almost twenty years. There also existed something of a cult following with respect to UFOs—including people like those who published Aliens Among Us—and some government agencies had begun to take an interest in the activities of such groups.

  In the case of Danielle Sutherland, she’d been sending photographs to the FBI’s Kansas City field office for the past several weeks, beginning with a set of grainy images of what she had described as a mysterious flying object hovering over the Richards-Gebaur Air Force Base. Tanner found it odd—and unlikely—that such activity would have escaped the attention of both the military and the government. After all, the base was home to, among other things, a massive building that housed whatever sorts of classified shenanigans the air force was involved in. Cushman was still trying to find out what those activities might entail, but naturally everything was wrapped in a cocoon of secrecy.

  Sensing his cue, Tanner added, “Miss Sutherland, we’d like you to come with us to our office. We’ve got some questions about the photos you took around Richards-Gebaur.”

  Placing her hands on her hips, Sutherland tilted her head and eyed the agents with obvious doubt. “About time you started taking notice. I’ve been sending those to you boys for months now.” She carried herself with a confidence that seemed out of place in this run-down hovel of an office. Tanner liked that about her, too.

  Keep your mind on your job, pal.

  “We’re not interested in the flying saucers,” said Bryant, who seemed to have regained his composure. “However, you’ve been sneaking around a United States military base. There are some people who’d call that spying.”

  Sutherland’s expression hardened, and she held up a hand. “Now wait just a damned minute. I’m no spy. Do spies typically send you photos and other information you can use to prosecute them?” Once more, she regarded Bryant. “And while you might not care about the flying saucers, to me it all looks pretty suspicious. That’s why I’ve been trying to get your attention, but if you’re going to start accusing me of treason, then we’ve got a real problem.”

  “Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Miss Sutherland. I’m sure we can work this all out.” Bryant gestured around the demilitarized zone of paper and other detritus that was the office. “To do that, we’re going to need to examine your files.”

  “Sure thing.” Sutherland paused, eyeing both agents with disdain. “Got a warrant?”

  “We can get one, but we’d rather not do that,” said Tanner, trying to defuse what was fast becoming an unproductive, even hostile meeting for all three of them. Resisting the urge to wipe sweat from his brow, he held up his hands. “Look, Miss Sutherland, you’ve already demonstrated a willingness to work with us by sending your photos of unidentified craft, but you snooping in and around the base is a very serious matter. We’re hoping that with your help, we can resolve this issue to everyone’s satisfaction. You obviously have material you want us to see, so why not collect at least some of that and bring it with you?”

  “So you’re not arresting me?” she asked.

  Before Bryant could say something that might further derail the conversation, Tanner replied, “No, that’s not why we’re here, though I have to be honest and tell you that you’ve made some people nervous.” He held out his hands. “Basically, we’re asking you to help us sort it all out.”

  Sutherland said nothing for a moment, then released a small sigh. “All right, I can do that.” She blew out the rest of her breath. “My father served in the Pacific during the war, and did another tour in Korea. I love my country, gentlemen, and I have nothing to hide, but if I decide you’re trying to railroad me, I’ll be calling my lawyer.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” replied Tanner. He indicated his partner with a nod. “Agent Bryant and I are both Korea vets, so we get it. I did time with the marines, and he had it easy on a navy ship.”

  “Hey,”
said Bryant.

  The remarks had the desired effect as Tanner saw Sutherland’s expression soften. “Okay, then.” Looking over her shoulder to her desk, she said, “It’ll take me a few minutes to gather everything I need.”

  Sutherland used her phone to summon someone to her office, and the three of them waited a moment before there was a knock on her door. It opened to admit a short, slightly overweight man who was doing his best to sweat through his dingy white dress shirt. Even with his collar unbuttoned and tie loosened, the man’s face was flushed, and Tanner thought his head might actually pop off at the neck. His eyes shifted to Sutherland, then to Tanner and Bryant, and his anxiety was obvious.

  “What’s up, Danny?” he asked.

  Waving him into the office, Sutherland said, “This is Phil Morehouse. He’s my best writer and the one who usually helps me when we go out on assignment. He knows my files as well as I do, so he can help me pull this stuff together.” She looked at Morehouse. “Get me everything we’ve got on R-G.”

  Morehouse eyed Tanner and Bryant. “You’re sure?”

  “Yep, I’m sure.” She looked at the agents. “We’re all friends here. Right, boys?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “Look, it’s getting late in the day, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up and change clothes before we go.” She gestured to herself. “I’ve been in these clothes since five this morning.”

  I wouldn’t mind doing that, myself. Tanner had been in his own suit since well before daybreak, and he was more than ready for a shower and a cold beer. Even being able to loosen his tie and open his shirt collar would be a godsend, but the bureau’s dress code prohibited such extravagances while on duty.

  “Not a problem,” said Bryant. “We can follow you to your home. We’ll even buy you dinner.” He smiled. “It’s the least we can do.”

  “I like my steak rare, then.” Sutherland gestured to a door on the room’s opposite side. “And I live here. I rent this entire floor. Give me a couple of minutes.”

  She disappeared through the door, beyond which Tanner caught sight of a couch, a coffee table, and a recliner positioned around a large console television. Then the door closed, leaving him and Bryant alone with Morehouse.

  “Nice job, keep things civil,” said Bryant, offering Tanner an approving nod.

  “Thanks,” Tanner replied before turning his attention to Morehouse. He’d recognized the man’s name from mimeographed copies of articles from Aliens Among Us that had been included in Cushman’s briefing packets. “You worked here long, Mr. Morehouse?”

  The other man nodded as he stood over the desk that sat opposite Sutherland’s and began sifting through files, papers, and photographs. “About six years. I was one of the first people Danny hired, and worked my way up from there. Never had a better boss. She’s tough as nails and doesn’t take shit from anybody.”

  “I noticed,” replied Bryant. With his hands in his pockets, he nodded toward the desk. “So, have you ever seen anything?”

  Morehouse nodded. “Oh, yeah. How much time you got?” He motioned to a trio of metal file cabinets lining the wall behind Sutherland’s desk. “Between the pictures we’ve taken and the ones sent to us by people all around the country, I could tell you stories for days.”

  “Maybe you and Miss Sutherland can regale us with those tales.”

  The voice came from behind them, and Tanner and Bryant turned to see a man standing in the open doorway to Sutherland’s office. Tall and lean, he wore the uniform of an air force officer complete with a major’s insignia and an assortment of ribbons and other accessories, only some of which Tanner recognized. A black name tag over the man’s right breast pocket read “WALKER.” Where the hell had he come from? Tanner hadn’t heard anyone in the hallway. Was this guy part ghost or what?

  “Can we help you?” asked Bryant.

  Clearing his throat, the man replied, “I’m Major Stephen Walker, from Richards-Gebaur base. I have an appointment with Miss Sutherland.”

  There was just enough of a pause between the first and second sentences to give Tanner the impression that the man was unprepared and perhaps even unhappy to encounter anyone at the office besides Sutherland and maybe her employees.

  Something doesn’t smell right.

  “You’ll have to get in line, Major,” said Bryant. “She’s coming with us.”

  Walker straightened his posture. “It’s a matter of national security.”

  “It always is.” Bryant produced his credentials. “I’m afraid we get her first. We’ll be happy to notify your commanding officer of our investigation, and you and he are welcome to join us at our offices. If you’ve got information about Miss Sutherland’s activities, maybe you could share that with us. We could work together and probably save everyone a bit of time.”

  His eyes narrowing, Walker said, “My superiors aren’t going to accept that.”

  “Ours are a pain in the ass, too.” Tanner turned toward Morehouse, intending to ask how much longer the man would need to gather Sutherland’s information, and noted the other man’s ashen expression. His eyes were wide and as he looked past Tanner to Walker his jaw went slack.

  What the hell’s the matter with . . . ?

  “Gun!”

  Chapter 2

  Tanner flinched at Bryant’s shouted warning an instant before the crack of a pistol shot echoed in the room. A large, red hole appeared in the middle of Morehouse’s forehead as blood, bone, and gray matter sprayed the wall behind him. Already dead, the man collapsed over the chair behind him and toppled to the floor.

  “Watch it, Nate!”

  Something whipped past Tanner’s ear and he ducked, reaching inside his jacket for the Colt .45 semi-automatic he carried in the holster beneath his left arm. Spinning around and raising the weapon, he was in time to see Walker running for the hallway. The man held his own .45, which he was aiming back into the office as he ducked near the door. Another shot roared through the room and Tanner heard the slug drill into the wall behind him. In the hallway he could see Walker shifting his position and taking aim.

  “Look out, Charlie!”

  Brandishing his .38 revolver, Bryant sidestepped to his right and tried to get a bead on their assailant. He walked right into path of the bullet Walker had just fired, and Tanner heard his groan of shock and pain as the round tore through his chest and exploded out of his back. The agent’s body jerked to a halt, and Walker took that opportunity to put another bullet through Bryant’s right eye. More blood and bone exploded from the back of the agent’s head as he pitched backward, dropping with a heavy thud to the floor.

  “Charlie! No!”

  Move your ass!

  Tanner knew he was a sitting duck, as the cramped office provided no meaningful cover. Tearing his eyes from the body of his fallen partner and without really aiming, he fired his .45 toward the door, pulling the trigger over and over. The pistol bucked with each shot as he lunged across the office toward the entrance to Danny Sutherland’s apartment. He hit the door with his left shoulder, felt the wood crack as the hinges popped, and fell along with the entire door into the adjoining room. He slammed into the floor, the impact forcing the air from his lungs while his muscles and bones protested the violent landing.

  “Stay down!”

  Four rapid gunshots followed Sutherland’s command, their reports cracking in Tanner’s ears. Something behind him cried out in pain, the shriek accented by odd gurgling sounds and what Tanner thought might be the hiss of escaping air. He rolled onto his back and aimed his .45 through the open doorway in time to see Major Walker staggering away from the entry and toward the office’s main door. Tanner fired once before the pistol’s slide locked open, the weapon’s last round now expended. Somewhere in the room beyond he heard something heavy fall to the floor.

  “Cover me!” he snapped, rolling
to one side and fumbling for the extra magazine held in his shoulder holster beneath his right arm. He looked over and noted for the first time that Danielle Sutherland was wielding a small semi-automatic pistol, a Walther PP or PPK, and handling the weapon like a seasoned professional. He also noticed that she was dressed only in her undergarments. A white brassiere and matching bikini-style briefs only served to highlight her tanned skin.

  Want to keep your mind on the here and now, slick?

  Slamming home the fresh magazine and chambering its first round, Tanner pushed himself to his feet and advanced into the office, holding the .45 in a double-handed grip and letting its muzzle lead the way. Major Walker lay face-up on the floor leading into the hallway, open eyes staring at the ceiling. Tanner noted the tight quartet of holes in the center of the man’s chest, each of which was surrounded by a dark circle that stained his uniform jacket.

  “Nice shooting,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at where Sutherland had stepped into the office, still in her underwear and with her Walther aimed at the major’s unmoving body.

  “Thanks.” Stepping around Walker’s feet, Sutherland kicked away the pistol that had fallen from the major’s hand. “My father taught me when I was a kid.” When she gasped, Tanner looked up to see that her gaze had fallen on the body of Phil Morehouse, now crumpled in a lifeless heap near the wall behind the desk opposite her own. “Oh god. Phil.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Tanner said, doing his best to avoid looking at where Charlie Bryant’s corpse lay on the floor. “He recognized this guy. Do you know him?” He had to repeat the question before Sutherland blinked several times, forcing herself to pay attention to him.

  “What?”

  Tanner gestured to Walker. “Morehouse knew this guy. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.” Satisfied that the major was dead, he holstered his .45 and knelt beside the body.