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armed, five-man security team was on rounds, covering several construction sites like this one, and scheduled to return within the hour—maybe sooner. It took me close to thirty minutes to get any meaningful information from Moritz. I’d ask a question and he’d refuse to answer it. That was fine—I silently retrieved the answers from his mind anyway—at least to the extent that he mentally was in possession of the right answers to my questions. His range of knowledge, basically, was limited to his particular engineering duties. What I did glean was that an army, in the thousands, had been assembled over the last few years. Composed of scores of men and women—of Germanic origin, mostly, although not entirely. As suspected, U.S. government officials were indeed involved. Who they were, Moritz did not know. What I did learn was that Washington D.C. was not the hub, or central command point, for the operation. That was in Denver. Interestingly, its location was beneath DIA—Denver International Airport.
    I continued with the questioning: “Why? Specifically, what’s the main purpose of … Hydrospan?”
    He shook his head, just like he’d done throughout the long list of questions I’d asked. But reading his mind, the answer to my last question came across clearly … rapid deployment of military assets. When the time was right, the organization he worked for would strike … and One World Government would take charge. The result promised an end to future wars and global suffering; international, ego-driven, geo-politics would come to an end. One thing was certain: the scope of this operation extended all the way up, to the highest levels of the U.S. government. I thought about that. Not knowing how close their full operation was to completion, SIFTR would need to tread carefully. Hell, it might already be too late. Then something else struck me … how could SIFTR—Calloway—not be aware of this?
    There were noises coming from outside the trailer. I held the gun up to Moritz’s temple. “Go to the door and wave … let them know everything is fine. Remember, you’ll have a gun pointed at the back of your head.”
    Moritz stood and went to the open doorway. Stepping onto the platform, he waved. I stayed out of sight, but still delved into his mind and I could see what he was seeing. There were five men—dressed in black combat fatigues and armed with M4 Carbines—standard U.S. Army infantry issue. With its shortened barrel and collapsible stock, I could see how the M4 would be ideal for potential close-quarter combat down here. So who in hell was supplying them with standard Army-issue weapons?
    The security team spread out, slowly inspecting the construction site. Periodically, each man spoke into his shoulder mic, declaring an area clear . Again, Moritz waved and I saw the men head off in the direction of a distant bored-out tunnel.
    Now I had to deal with Moritz. It was most important that my presence here remain undetected. Unfortunately, that meant Moritz had to go. I had one more injection thimble left in my pocket. This one would deliver a lethal compound, triggering an instant heart attack, and be completely undetectable in an autopsy. It had been intended for Gustavo, if it had come to that.
    “They’ll be back very soon,” Moritz said, still looking off in the direction of the tunnel.
    I placed the small device on my forefinger and peeled back the tiny protective plastic sheath from the needle. Reaching over, I placed my hand and fingers around Moritz’s neck. Before he knew what was happening, I heard a breathy humph sound escape from his lips, and his legs gave out. Right there to catch him, I dragged his lifeless body over to a chair in front of the small desk and eased him into it. Tilting his upper body forward across the CAD monitor, I looked at my handiwork. He looked as if he’d died there … a massive heart attack in the midst of a busy day’s work. I placed his right-hand fingers over