The Guardians and the Dominion had fought for two thousand years in secrecy.
Genetically engineered soldiers from different quadrants of the Universe are locked in a fight they must not lose.
Tom Mumford, the newly elected President of the United States, had a secret, one he could not share with anyone. He knew of the secret struggle being waged by the Guardians and the Dominion. He had to decide which side to back. This decision would have wide-ranging implications for America but also for the rest of humankind. Mumford's own government had high-ranking "assets" that were working to undermine his country. Confronted with a crisis not of his own making, he knew the fate of humanity hung in the balance.
As their President wrestled with his demons, FBI Special Agent Jesse Smalling and her partner Liz Washington were about to blow the lid off the entire conspiracy. Their efforts had brought them to the attention of the Dominion and placed their lives in danger. The Guardians knew only too well that there were other, even more sinister forces at play, and the outcome, along with their own fate, was not all that was at stake.
The Guardians and the Dominion had fought for two thousand years in secrecy.
Genetically engineered soldiers from different quadrants of the Universe are locked in a fight they must not lose.
Tom Mumford, the newly elected President of the United States, had a secret, one he could not share with anyone. He knew of the secret struggle being waged by the Guardians and the Dominion. He had to decide which side to back. This decision would have wide-ranging implications for America but also for the rest of humankind. Mumford's own government had high-ranking "assets" that were working to undermine his country. Confronted with a crisis not of his own making, he knew the fate of humanity hung in the balance.
As their President wrestled with his demons, FBI Special Agent Jesse Smalling and her partner Liz Washington were about to blow the lid off the entire conspiracy. Their efforts had brought them to the attention of the Dominion and placed their lives in danger. The Guardians knew only too well that there were other, even more sinister forces at play, and the outcome, along with their own fate, was not all that was at stake.
Special Agent Jesse Smalling sat in her government issue, non-descript car, fuming at her partner. She had agreed to pick him up this morning because his home, just off Highway 6 north of Interstate 10, was on the way to their appointment. She had arrived outside his modest home 10 minutes early at 6:20 a.m., and it was now 6:40 a.m., and he was still not ready to leave. Jesse had joined the Bureau right out of college with a degree in psychology and a four-year law degree for good measure. She wanted to do something meaningful as well as exciting with her life. Joining the FBI was her dream, and she had pursued it with uncommon vigor.
Jesse had enjoyed the training; it was challenging, but nothing she couldn’t handle until she started her firearms training. Shooting was something she thought she would be good at, and it transpired that she actually wasn’t, much to her dismay. She wore her handgun out, practicing at every opportunity, and she became proficient, but that was as good as she was ever going to be. In the wake of the notorious Miami shootout in April of this year, when 8 FBI Agents had shot it out with two bank robbers in Dade County, Florida, the FBI’s gun culture had become even more pronounced. This fact, coupled with the FBI’s ‘good-old-boys club,’ had seen her dispatched to a desk in the FBI station in SE Texas to work on white-collar crime. The SAC (Special Agent in Charge) was a decent guy and tried hard. He was an old-school agent who had the trust of his team. Jesse was one of only two women in her unit. Since her arrival seven months ago, she had been asked to fetch coffee numerous times, arrange working lunches, and was generally treated like a secretary or personal assistant.
Jesse Smalling had grown up and gone to high school in Pinole, California, and absolutely nothing could have been any more different than Houston with its boom or bust economy, the plethora of refineries and chemical plants, congested freeways, and intolerable heat. Stepping out of her air-conditioned condo at 5:30 this morning was like stepping into a steam room. Her crisp, white blouse now felt like she had slept in it, and she was grateful for having cut her hair so short it needed no effort at all, especially in this climate. She tooted the horn again. Jesse could care less if it pissed off Brad’s neighbors. He was a total and utter dick anyway, and their relationship, if it could be called such, was hanging by a thread. Despite her best efforts, he persisted in treating her with “Southern courtesy,” like she might break if not handled properly.
He was lazy and indifferent at his work, frequently dumped his workload on her when he left at 5 p.m., saying things like, “Got a basketball game to go to with the eldest. You got no family or kids, Ms. Jesse. Be a hon and finish this up, would you?” He was always fixin’ to do this and fixin’ to do that, but between the two ‘fixins,’ he fixed nothing and did little. She laid on the horn again, and finally, he made his appearance, stepping out of his front door, eating a piece of toast, and toting his briefcase and the largest coffee mug Jesse had ever seen. Ever. He opened the rear door of the Crown Vic and threw his suite jacket in along with his briefcase.
“What’s with the horn, Ms. Jesse?”
She ground her teeth and replied, “We are 15 mins late. Their offices are up at the airport, and it’ll take an hour in this traffic.”
Special Agent Bradley H. Donahue Jr. had stepped round to the driver’s side and opened the door.
“Seriously?” said Jesse, looking hard at him.
“I know where I’m going, hon, and I am senior agent here,” he said, indicating she hop right out, with his annoying smirk.
Fifteen minutes later, despite Brad’s intimate knowledge of the highways and byways, they were stuck in traffic, making little or no progress. They were on their way to question the CFO and COO of a reasonably large and seemingly very profitable oil field equipment supplier whose HQ was just off JFK Blvd south of Houston’s big airport, Houston Intercontinental or IAH. Jesse had been tracking some large cash disbursements from overseas, and B&J Oilfield Equipment, Inc. had caught her eye. Millions of dollars had flowed into their overseas bank accounts, purporting to be payments for equipment supplied to a contractor. The problem was she could find no manifests showing any equipment delivered to said contractor. Without asking Brad, she had called B&J’s main number, and her call was answered by a bright, cheerful woman called Brenda, who had promised Mr. Patterson [CFO] would call her back.
Two days passed, and she called again. Brenda answered, bright and cheerful as ever.
“He never called y’all back? That’s so unlike him. I tell you what, Hon,” Brenda went on. “I’ll put you on their respective calendars for Friday morning at 7:30 a.m. We like to keep the FBI happy. Can I tell them what it’s all about?”
Jesse controlled her anger and impatience and replied.
“It’s Special Agent Smalling, not hon. You can tell them we’ll be there on Friday to go over their overseas transactions and shipments.”
Jesse could hear scribbling at the other end and waited patiently.
“OK, Agent Smalling, see you then,” the tone a lot less friendly, and she was gone without even a goodbye.
Jessy smiled to herself and called Brad.
As a senior agent, Brad was pissed to learn they had an appointment so early and “on a Friday too.” Brad got over it, and here they were at the appointed hour at the correct address. The agents walked into the ordinary, glass-covered building and went to the concierge.
“What floor is B&J on, Sir?” said Jesse, showing her credentials.
“They are on floor five; the elevator is to your left, agents.”
They rode up to level five in silence, and as the doors opened, they stepped into the foyer. To their right was a plain brown door that said ‘B&J Oilfield Equipment, Inc.’ Jesse opened the door, and it opened easily as she stepped in, followed closely by Brad. It was immediately apparent that the office suite was totally empty and devoid of people. The two agents went back down to the concierge to ask when B&J had left.
“I had no idea they were not here,” said the concierge, clearly bemused. “I mean, Ms. Brenda came down the day before yesterday to collect mail and pick up the Journal. I thought they were still there. Now you mention it, I have seen nobody since Wednesday.”
The two agents looked at one another.
“Do you have mail for them today?” asked Jesse. There was none, so the two agents left as they had come in. A little confused, but also really, really curious.
Across the street, in the parking lot of The Hyatt Hotel, two sets of eyes watched them leave.
“Two suits, white shirts and ties, Government car, and packing. My guess is FBI,” said one of them.
“You will get no argument from me,” said the other one before adding, “let’s call it in.”
***
The two agents returned to their regional office in Houston to inform the SAC that their visit was a total bust. Lee Rhinehart, the Special Agent in Charge, was an old FBI hand who’d known Hoover. His cropped, steel grey hair betrayed his advanced years, along with a deeply lined, tanned face. He could smell a pile at five miles and knew Jesse Smalling was onto something. Had to be her; Brad Jr. was a total waste of space and could not have found his Peter with both hands even if his fly were open. Agent Smalling, however, had the makings of a decent agent. She worked hard, was smart, and had a good nose for things that didn’t fit or look right. Drugs were pouring into SE Texas. The DEA tried hard, and he respected most of the guys who worked over there, but they were out-manned, out-spent, and out-gunned by the rising tide of cartels and drug kingpins in Mexico and points south. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear they had someone in their ranks betraying their operations, but he just figured they were snakebit. They needed help, and he intended to donate some.
“Smalling, Donohue,” he yelled, “in here, now.”
The two agents scuttled into his office but did not sit down as they’d not been told to. Smalling looked expectant; Donohue scared shitless. He smiled inwardly as he knew Bradley simply hated working Fridays or weekends.
“If I was a scumbag drug dealer and had to dump my office front because the FBI was sniffing around my operation, where would I decamp to, and what loose ends would I have to tidy up?” he asked rhetorically. “You two are onto something, something big enough they want to run and hide. You’ve got 24 hrs before all traces of this group of human refuse disappear forever. If it were me in your shoes, I’d burn the midnight oil and figure this out. Keep me 100% apprised, and nothing moves without my say-so.” He shooed them away and out of his office, wondering how long Jr. would hang around.
Lee Rhinehart would not have been at all surprised to see Jr. leaving around 6 p.m.
“We’re getting nowhere,” said Brad, standing up and reaching for his suit coat. “I’m out of here and suggest you do the same. This is a dead end.”
Jesse looked up, annoyed and struggling not to show it.
“We have only just started, Brad; how can you possibly determine that at this juncture?”
The recrimination in her voice was plain to hear, but Brad Jr was unmoved.
“If I were you, I’d leave. Nobody will thank you for working late, and you aren’t going to find diddly squat anyhow, so TGIF, and I’ll see you Monday.”
Agent Smalling looked at the door as it closed and said quietly to herself, “Prick!”
Around 9 p.m., Jesse went out for Chinese food, which she brought back to her desk. By 11 p.m., she was about to throw in the towel and accept that her partner just might have been correct when she found something insignificant, almost innocuous, in a tax filing from B&J in 1982. It was a warehouse in Galveston where they had taken depreciation in their tax filing. It showed up nowhere else, and she had not seen the place on any tax filing since. Almost like it vanished into thin air. She pulled up Galveston County’s tax records for 1983, 84, and 85 on the microfiche to see if the property had been sold. No record of that either.
“Just suppose these guys still owned this place?” she said out loud to herself. “What if they were down there now destroying records and burying all traces of their existence?”
Galveston was an hour away. What the heck, she’d take a drive down there and look-see. It was her Friday night; she was a grown-up, and she could do as she pleased.
***
Jesse hated the semi-tropical, fucked up mish-mash that passed for weather in SE Texas. It was just past midnight on I-45 South, and the rain was coming down so hard that her wipers could barely keep up at full speed. In Texas, you could go to work in the morning, and it would be warm and humid. Come home that evening, and it would be mid-forty’s and blowing cold air from the mid-continent, so it felt freezing. Locals called these rainstorms ‘gully washers,’ which was not far from the truth. The bayous that were ubiquitous in Houston filled up fast when it was raining six inches an hour. Just last month, passing under old Hwy 90, she had almost driven into standing water nearly four feet deep. She was just about to call it quits; her condo was sounding awful good right now when the rain stopped as if God himself had turned the tap off. Five miles further on, it was a starlit night. You would never know that just five miles north of here, they were experiencing a Noah’s Ark event.
“Yep,” she said out loud, “the weather here is fucked up as it gets.”
Jesse crossed over on to the Island just after 1:15 a.m. Saturday morning. She thought about calling Rhinehart, but if she did that, she’d have to explain why Bradley was not with her. Her partner was a lazy slob and, in her mind, the very epitome of what an Agent should not be. However, you did not grass your partner out in the FBI, and she had no intention of throwing him under the bus. She crossed The Strand and drove over the railroad tracks into the old port. Galveston was an interesting place, she thought. Once the center of commerce for much of the USA, it was now an unusual and, some would say, eclectic mix of old and new. There were hippies, poor folk, and rich white people with fancy cars and boats they had no idea how to sail. Mix in the cruise industry, tourists, a large immigrant population, and the ever-present threat of hurricanes, and you end up with modern Galveston, a unique and interesting city.
The port was dark at this hour, and she had to drive around a fair amount before she found the street where B&J’s warehouse was located. She was now having serious misgivings about this whole thing, but she’d come this far; why not go have a peek? As she approached the warehouse, she turned off her lights and parked the Crown Vic at the side of the street. Before turning off the engine, she rolled down the windows. She immediately smelled the sea, and for once, the air seemed fresh, if not exactly cool. She allowed her eyes to become accustomed to the light and settled in to watch the building located some 300 yards away on the other side of the street. The only other vehicle was a white panel van about 20 yards ahead of her car. It was parked right in front of a small business, and she guessed the owner left it there at night and went home in his or her own car.
On this occasion, Agent Smalling was wrong. The panel van was not owned by the business owner, and there were two people sitting in the van, also surveilling the warehouse.
“We have a Crown Vic just rolled up behind us. Damn, I think it’s the FBI lady we saw this morning,” said one of them in a quiet whisper.
“Call it in and request re-enforcements. Something big must be happening if even the FBI has noticed it,” said the other person scathingly.
The two watchers chuckled before the first one picked up the mic to make his call. Four miles away, a large mobile home towing a double stack, enclosed trailer was parked illegally on the sea wall.
“Lima 1, what’s going on, you two?” said a woman, answering Lima 2’s call.
“The FBI Lady is back,” said Lima 2. “She appears to be on her own, though.”
Lima 1, whose name was MaidaKai, thought for a moment or two before replying.
“Sit tight; I am on my way.”
MaidaKai had been on Tera 101 for 52 years and was highly experienced, as was her team. They had lost one of theirs in WW2 in the South Pacific, but the other two members of her team, BrodaCai, and DuraCai, had been with her almost from the start. Lima 4, MendenKai Wan, was back at the safehouse in Houston, staying on top of the enemy there. Lima 4 had only been with them since 1984 and was still considered to be the new one. Lima team had been tracking two enemy soldiers for four months, and the trail had led them here. MaidaKai believed that tonight they would close the door on them both. This FBI agent was an issue she did not need. Over the years, their organization had been singularly unsuccessful in getting assets into the FBI. There was no particular reason; it just was what it was. Stepping out of the RV, she locked the door, went to the back of the double stacker, and entered a code, which, in turn, lowered the back door ramp. On the lower deck were two identical Ford SHO’s. On the upper deck were four motorcycles, all black BMW GTs, their favorite choice for transport. She jumped into an SHO and set off for the port, the ramp closing automatically behind her.
Jesse had been watching the warehouse for nearly an hour, but nothing untoward had occurred. No trucks, no signs of life at all. She was considering what to do now. Jesse did not really know what she had been expecting and had driven down here on a whim. Time to go home. She thought with little conviction. She sat there thinking for a moment and then made her decision. Opening the door, she stepped out onto the quiet street and headed for the warehouse.
In the panel van, Lima 3 spoke quietly into his comms array.
“Our Fibbie is on the move. She is headed for the warehouse.”
MaidaKai was nearly there and replied, “Keep an eye on her, but do nothing yet, copy?”
Three clicks indicated her team had understood and would remain in situ.
Jesse had technically never been a field agent, but she had received training, so in theory, she knew what to do and how to protect herself and remain within the law. However, all her training was predicated on the fact that she had the might of the FBI behind her as well as a partner, neither of which she had this night. She approached the warehouse cautiously, noting the fact that although the building appeared dark from where she had been in her car, there were actually lights on at the back of the warehouse and cars parked in the concrete apron at the rear of the building. Furthermore, she could hear voices raised in anger, and there was a door ajar where the voices were coming from. Jesse approached the door silently and stood there to listen to what was going on inside.
A man was talking or rather shouting.
“…you are all over-reacting. This is total bullshit; I could have handled the situation if you’d given me a chance. I’m not shipping myself and my family to Ecuador just because you are frightened of your own shadows.”
Another calmer voice answered.
“You agreed to this when you signed on, Ron. If we attracted any interest from law enforcement, we shut down, retool, and come back as a different entity. It isn’t something you can renegotiate now. You know the fuckers we’re dealing with? They’ll cut your nuts off and mail them to your wife. Just go along with it, Ron; you have been made a rich man because of these guys and the business we have conducted. Tough it out for a year or two. We can come back in a different city under new names and start-up again.”
Before the man called Ron could answer, there was the sound of a vehicle pulling into the parking area. Jesse slid further into the shadows. So far, she had no probable cause to enter, so she stood by and waited. She had a phone mounted in the car, but it was of no use to her there. Somebody needed to invent a mobile phone, one you could carry on your person, she thought absently.
A door opened, and she could hear two sets of footsteps entering the warehouse from the apron area.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” said a calm, assured female voice.
There was something about the tone and tenor of that voice that Jesse could not place and did not like. At all.
“Why are you not ready to leave? We left explicit instructions for you to all be here, packed, and ready to go. The boat is fueled and waiting for you. Explain yourselves.”
This was a male voice, and it sounded like a clone of the female one. Calm, assured, confident, and almost smug.
The man called Ron spoke up now. “I’m not going; there’s no need. Y’all are jumping at shadows. I’m heading home to my family, and if the FBI does come calling, I’m saying nothing.”
Footsteps followed by what sounded like a silenced firearm, followed by a woman screaming. Then, another male voice raised high in fear.
“What the fuck did you do that for?”
This was followed by two more silenced shots, and all hell seemed to be breaking loose in there. Jesse reached for her Glock and was about to step forward when a strong arm pulled her backward into the shadows, and before she knew what the hell was going on, she found herself looking at the business end of her own firearm.
“Be very quiet, young lady,” said an authoritative female voice. “I am not your enemy, but if you step into that room, you will die, and we do not want that for you, Agent Smalling.”
Jesse had never stared down the barrel of a loaded weapon before, especially not her own. She was just about to speak when two men stepped forward, dressed in black fatigues the same as the female.
“Get in there and take those two bastards out. And keep the bloody noise down whilst you are at it,” said Lima 1. “I’ll keep Agent Smalling company out here and will back you up momentarily. Now go!”
The two silent men slid through the door noiselessly, and all went quiet. The woman reached behind her back, retrieved her cuffs, and handed them to her.
“Put those on,” she said firmly. “If you argue, I will knock you senseless, and then I will put them on for you, your call?”
Jesse did as she was told and then said, “You know who I am and what I represent. There are more agents on the way; this will go badly for you.”
The damn woman was not really listening. Jesse was about to say more when she heard raised voices followed by an exchange of silenced handguns, then silence. The two men reappeared and gave the thumbs-up sign.
“Did you get them both?” said Lima 1.
Neither man said a word, but both nodded silently. Jesse started to speak, but the woman said quickly with absolute authority.
“Shut up. You can speak later, but right now, you need to remain there and remain quiet. Are we clear?”
Jesse was not exactly in a position to argue, so she did as she was told.
“Put the bodies in the panel van and go to Pier 13A. The boat is called the Kool Kat ll, and they are expecting company, so be prepared. The crew numbers three. They are innocents and are not to be harmed. Once you have subdued them, load the bodies and take them offshore. Make sure they disappear for good. I will take care of Agent Smalling myself,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner.
Jesse’s mind was swirling, full of dread. Was this how it was all to end? She thought. Shot to death in a dark alley in Galveston.
The woman looked at her now the men had left.
“I know you are scared and will not believe me, but I am not going to hurt you unless you act out. Now, please stand up and come with me. I will remove the cuffs, but if you give me any trouble, I’ll kick your cute little ass into next week. Clear?”
She took the cuffs and, without using a key, removed them both, which was a pretty neat trick, thought Jesse. The woman led her to a black Ford,
“Get in,” she ordered.
The car looked pretty normal from the street, but once she sat down, she looked around and recognized little. This was not a typical Ford interior; she had never seen equipment like this. She looked at the woman as she sat down in the driver’s seat.
“Who the fuck are you guys?
The Ooracai, a brilliant, willowy species, embarked on a journey of exploration, delving into the realms of art, philosophy, and culture. Valuing their intellectual prowess, the Ooracai’s innate curiosity drew them to explore their world, their universe, their own existence, and the possibility of life beyond their red sun. Yet, their tranquil existence came to a screeching halt as a sickness ravaged the cohabitants of their shared world. And in the wake of despair, thundered the drums of war.
Thomas Mumford, a devoted family man and struggling entrepreneur, finds himself thrust into the epicenter of an ancient conflict when a mysterious stranger offers him salvation. As Mumford grapples with the intricate web of political intrigue, he is burdened with safeguarding a two-thousand-year-old secret and must make a harrowing choice amidst a war whose complexities elude his grasp. His decision will not only shape the destiny of humanity but may also seal the fates of other worlds.
The author, D. Jay Kay, constructs an intricate world brimming with depth, where the tensions between alien civilizations entangled in perpetual warfare secretly spill onto Earth's doorstep. From the alien landscapes to Earth's diverse continents, Kay’s storytelling immerse readers in into this believable world. Though the pacing occasionally meanders, Kay deftly balances intrigue, ensuring readers remain captivated throughout the narrative.
Interweaving past and present, A Guardian’s Tale introduces a diverse array of complex characters. One of my favorite things about this story is delving into their motivations and histories. Whether human or extraterrestrial, each character has a certain complexity about them that makes the reader want to learn more. However, when you add in the separate timelines and large cast of characters, getting lost in the “who’s who” of characters can create a slight drawback to the reading experience. Some of the established characters, despite their initial importance, seem to fade into the background prematurely, only to reappear briefly towards the story's conclusion. Larger casts tend to take away from the deeper dives into each individual character, so there are some small misses here and there, but not enough to take away from the overall feel of the story.
Overall, I really enjoyed this story. A Guardian’s Tale Volume 1, offers a captivating tale that will fascinate readers who relish intricate world-building and epic sagas. As the first installation of an anticipated trilogy, this volume lays the groundwork for a saga with great potential. The journey has only just begun.