He entered the cargo bay and cycled through. As soon as he got into the lower level of the crew compartment, one of the shuttle crew was there to help him remove his suit. He stripped down to his underwear as the crew went about its business preparing to conclude the flight.

As he zipped up his flight suit, the collar flipped up for a second, revealing a small pin in the shape of an elongated cross. He quickly covered the pin up, then went to his seat as the shuttle maneuvered for reentry orbit.

Behind the shuttle, the antennas and dishes of MIL-STAR 4 looked over the planet.

The windshield was streaked with mud, the wipers pushing aside as much of it as they could. Dalton had taken the road down from Rollins Pass much too fast, almost skidding off twice. His reckless driving hadn’t stopped on the Peak to Peak Highway or the other roads on the way to Fort Carson as he outraced his headlights. Instead of getting on I-25, he took the more dangerous roads in the foothills until he arrived at the post.

He was almost disappointed to have made it. There had been times when the grimy windshield, winding mountain road, and excessive speed, combined with tears blinding his eyes, should have sent him flying off into the darkness to crash hundreds of feet below in a mangle of flesh, blood, and metal. But each time the Jeep veered toward oblivion, there was a sense of Marie guiding him, causing him to jerk his hand and skid back on the road.

He pulled into the driveway of his quarters and turned off the engine, sitting alone in the dark, listening to the ticking noises of the engine cooling. The small house was dark, not even the light on the porch on. He felt his chest constrict. That had been Marie’s ritual every evening. As soon as the sun began to set behind Cheyenne Mountain, she turned on the porch light, then the living room light next to the front window. And when Dalton drove home from work, the glow would be there to welcome him. It had been that way in all the quarters on all the army posts they’d lived on through his career.

There were no more tears to bring forth. His eyes were red and bloodshot. He leaned his head back. The garden. He’d have to spray it to keep the deer from eating Marie’s flowers. It had been one of the biggest sources of irritation when they’d moved in seven years ago. The deer ate everything and it had taken Marie two years to come up with a solution to keep them away-eggs mixed with water, sprayed all over the yard. Another ritual she had performed every evening before they went to bed.

There were no more rituals. The jagged reality of that was finally settling into Dalton ’s chest like a cold fist surrounding his heart and squeezing tight.

Headlights coming down the street cut into his despair. His quarters were the last on a cul-de-sac, so someone driving on the street this late was unusual. The car turned in behind his Jeep, silhouetting him in his seat.

Dalton always kept his pistol in a clip holster attached to the inner side of the seat when driving. He removed it and slid it into the holster in the small of his back as he got out, shielding his eyes against the glare with his left hand.

The headlights went out and he could hear a door opening. He blinked, eyes adjusting. A man in uniform was all he could make out at first.

“Sergeant Major Dalton?” The voice was deep, one used to command.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been waiting for you. I was just down the street all evening.” The figure came forward, a hand extended in greeting. “General Eichen.”

Dalton stiffened and began to salute.

“At ease,” Eichen said, waving a half-salute in the dark. “We need to talk.”

Dalton had never heard of Eichen but in the moonlight he could just make out the three black stars sewn on the general’s fatigue collar. A lieutenant general approaching in the dark-all Dalton could assume was that this strange visit had something to do with Psychic Warrior and the mission he had accomplished in Russia.

“This way, sir.” Dalton led him to the house and opened the door.

“Leave the lights off,” Eichen said as Dalton reached for the switch.

Surprised, Dalton did as Eichen asked. Eichen went over to the chair next to the front window and turned it so that it angled between the room and window, then he sat down. Dalton sat on the couch and waited.

“I work for INSCOM,” Eichen began.

Dalton knew the acronym. Intelligence Support Command.

“Technically speaking at least,” Eichen continued. “In reality I work directly for a special branch of the National Security Council. Which works directly for the President. It’s a very small group that goes by the code name Nexus.”

Dalton was now certain this had to have something to do with the mission into Russia. The government had tried to keep the events under wraps, but all the world knew that a nuclear weapon had detonated in Moscow. However, the existence of Russia Special Department Eight (SD-8)-their equivalent of Bright Gate-and of Feteror/Chyort, the Russian avatar, was something the Russian government was keeping highly classified, a decision the present American administration had agreed with wholeheartedly. The nuclear explosion was being blamed on dissident right-wing terrorists, which also allowed the Russian president to crack down on his rivals, another thing which the administration agreed with.

“Did you know that the President was not aware of the existence of Bright Gate and the Psychic Warrior program up until five days ago?” Eichen asked.

Dalton stiffened. “No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Did you know that the President did not sanction the Psychic Warrior mission to stop the Russian Mafia from trying to steal the nuclear weapons?”

Dalton felt a twinge of pain in his back from an old wound. “Sir, we were told we had authorization from the National Command Authority to conduct the mission.”

Eichen’s hand fluttered in the dark. “Don’t worry, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m informing you of the facts. Hell, if the President had known of Psychic Warrior and the pending interception of those nukes by the Russian Mafia, I’m sure he would have authorized the mission. The problem is that someone did authorize the mission without his sanction. Someone’s been running Bright Gate without his knowledge. The real problem is, Sergeant Major, who the hell is behind Bright Gate?”

Dalton was at a loss. He’d had his orders and he’d done as they indicated. The entire operation at Bright Gate had appeared to be legitimate. The orders and calls his battalion commander had received from the Pentagon sending Dalton and the team to the secret base to train as Psychic Warriors had also seemed quite valid. Before leaving for Russia, he’d been assured he had National Command Authority sanction for the mission.

“Sir, we were training in 10th Group on the precursor to Psychic Warrior, in a program called Trojan Warrior, two years ago. How can something have been hidden that long? Or not come to someone’s attention?”

“I’m sure the orders were legitimate in that they came down the chain of command,” Eichen said. “But where they started in the chain of command is another issue. This has been going on a lot longer than two years.

“Let me give you what little background we do know.

Bright Gate was the brainchild of a scientist named Professor Souris. She worked at a facility called the High-Energy Research and Technology Facility-HERTF is what those who work there call it-located on Kirtland Air Force Base. That we did know about. It was built to test directed-energy weapons, particle beam technology, and radio and microwave frequency potentials for combat.

“I’ve been there. The facility is located in a canyon in the Manzano Mountains. The walls were built four feet thick to contain some of the results of what they are working on. We budgeted twenty million dollars to build the place and quite a bit to keep it running. And then we staffed it with the brightest minds we could find, Souris among them.