“Actually, McKay might,” Jake said. “There’s a woman named Davina DeMirci who runs a nightclub out in Los Angeles that caters to supernaturals. She’s not a medical examiner, but if anyone can tell us what these things are, it would be her.”
Before Jes could ask how the woman knew so much about supernatural creatures, Misty’s cell phone rang. Picking it up from where it rested on her lap, she glanced at the screen.
“It’s McKay,” she said, thumbing the button and answering it. After a quick conversation, she hung up and grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table, handing it to Forrest. “There’s something on BBC he wants us to see. He didn’t say what, but whatever it is, it’s serious.”
While Forrest flipped through the channels looking for the right one, Misty quickly got McKay on Skype. Behind his glasses, his eyes were red and tired looking, and his usual neatly tied tie was loose, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Crap, their boss looked wiped out. That was saying a lot since McKay operated on little to no sleep on a regular basis.
“Do you have BBC on yet?” he asked without preamble.
Jes wanted to ask what was so important on TV but forced herself to wait patiently while Forrest figured out which channel was BBC. When he finally did, Jes gaped at what she saw. Around the room, everyone else looked equally stunned.
Standing behind a big podium with large projector screens to either side of them, were the three men Darby had murdered, only they looked a lot less dead than they had yesterday.
“What the hell?” Caleb murmured softly, eyes locked on the TV.
Jes stared as Ryo Arsenault, the South American billionaire, stepped up to the cluster of microphones on the podium. The crowd of eager journalists in front of the men immediately began to quiet down, the cacophony of noise diminishing until there was nothing left but the occasional rapid-fire clicking of cameras.
“For those who do not know me, my name is Ryo Arsenault, and this is Lais Khan and Laurent Marconi,” the man said in a rich, deep voice. “As I’m sure most of you are aware, yesterday afternoon, the Lanesborough Hotel was attacked by a group of unidentified terrorists. Many people were injured in the attack, and unfortunately, some were killed. What has not been released to the public is that the three of us were kidnapped. If we had not escaped our captors earlier this morning, we would all almost certainly be dead by now.”
Cameras clicked away even louder, and reporters shoved their handheld recorders a little bit closer. Jes could almost feel the anticipation building in the room. This guy had the group of reporters eating out of his hands.
“The target of yesterday’s attack at the Lanesborough was a special meeting of the Bilderberg Society, an organization that these other men and I are proud to be associated with. While there were several topics on our agenda yesterday, there was only one project that would provoke these anarchists to such extreme action: the ACE program.”
As he spoke, the projector screens to either side lit up. The one on the left depicted a long-range view of a huge rocket standing on a launch platform, while the one on the right displayed what appeared to be some kind of satellite.
“Our planet is running out of fresh water in those parts of the world least able to manage it—the Middle East, India, North Africa, and Central Asia.” Arsenault motioned toward the image to the right of the screen. “This is the Aquifer Climate Experiment satellite. The ACE was developed by the Bilderberg Society in conjunction with NASA and the University of California, Irvine. When placed into a low earth orbit and connected with others like it, ACE will allow us to locate new water sources at depths never before possible. This technology will help us save billions of people around the globe.”
As if they had practiced the speech a dozen times, Arsenault immediately moved away from the microphones to be replaced by Lais Khan. “The three of us attended the meeting at the Lanesborough to finalize plans for the launch of the first ACE satellite at the end of the month. That is the reason we were the ones kidnapped and selected to be executed by people who care little whether people in these parts of the world live or die—people who thrive on misery and death.”
“But we will not be deterred from our efforts,” Laurent Marconi stepped forward to say. “If anything, this attack has convinced us that we are moving too slowly. That is why we’re going to accelerate our plans and accomplish something never attempted before—the launch and delivery of three satellites into orbit all at the same time.”
The screen on the right changed, showing a lush green landscape with multiple large buildings positioned at well-spaced distances from each other.
“This is the Guiana Space Centre outside of Kourou in French Guiana, South America,” Arsenault said. “Three ACE satellites are on their way there as we speak, where they will be mounted onto three Ariane 5 rockets and prepared for immediate launch in three days.”
The press seemed to realize how huge this whole thing was and eagerly asked their questions all at once.
“Why are you rushing the launch?”
“Is it possible to do something like this so quickly?”
“Why launch three satellites at once?”
“Do you expect another attack?”
But rather than answer any of their questions, Arsenault continued. “The space center will be supported with the most extensive security forces available. Nothing and no one will be allowed to stop these launches. We will not be swayed from our course. Not by threats. Not by actions.”
And with that, the news conference ended as all three men walked off the stage. Right before the men disappeared through a side door, a familiar face was briefly visible standing in the shadows waiting for them.
“Did you see that? There, just inside that door.” Jes pointed at the man just before he disappeared. “What the hell is Arran Darby doing there?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Caleb grumbled. “How about the part where three dead guys just gave a press conference?”
“I’m with Caleb on this one,” McKay said, drawing their attention back to the computer screen. “Jake, would you and Jes care to explain to me how three men you said you personally watched Arran Darby execute were live on television a few seconds ago?”
Jake shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I watched those men die. Darby shot them in the head.”
Jes shuddered at the image Jake’s words provoked. “There was no way they faked it. Blood was everywhere. Jake and I both saw it.”
