The General was comfortably tucked in to his bed, having reached the end of another long day jammed with meetings and conferences. He was alone, a life dedicated to climbing through the ranks of the military having robbed him of his chance to settle in and start a family.
That was okay, because Richard Tomlinson was a different sort of man; dedicated, determined and driven to a fault. Loneliness never bothered him, and he didn't care much for kids to begin with. Snot and spit up turned his stomach worse than dismembered bodies and the horrors of war, so things had worked out well for him, all in all.
Even comfortably tucked in is a bit of an oxymoron when it comes to his particular take on sleeping. Despite his advancing age, the General wasn't comfortable unless he was at his desk working. The Army had tried to nudge him into retirement several times, but he was determined to work right through the moment of his death.
His station assignment kept him going 24/7, which he loved. When the sun went down and he started to feel the effects of fatigue, he slipped his thick frame into a ribbed tank top and pair of jogging pants; acceptable attire to race out into the night if a situation demanding his immediate attention arose. The ringer of the old rotary-dial corded phone at his bedside was turned to its loudest setting, just in case someone might call. He generally hoped that someone would, because an hour spent asleep was an hour wasted, so far as he was concerned.
As often happened when projects of great significance were on the table, it rang on this night. He woke up and had his wits about him instantly, despite the fact that his clock read three AM. He was never the type to sleep heavily. Switching the lamp on his nightstand, he reached for the notepad and pen he kept there as he answered.
"Tomlinson here." He started.
"Rich -- It's Butler." The Ambassador announced. "I'm sorry to wake you."
"I wasn't sleeping." The General returned. "What's going on?"
"We've got a real problem." Butler continued, sounding panicked. "They're here, General... I don't know how they're doing it, but they're everywhere."
"What do you mean they're everywhere?" Tomlinson asked. "More than the ones who destroyed the decoy?"
The General had spent hours on the phone when word came in about the demise of his red herring. The armored tractor he sent out with the Eighteenth Mechanized Infantry had been ambushed in transit. That handful of bad guys they had suspected were hiding out somewhere nearby had made themselves known, bringing the convoy to a halt by stopping six tractor-trailers in front of the decoy, right in the middle of the interstate.
Tomlinson had gotten the call from the commander on the ground for direction when it happened. No one had expected the showdown to take place in broad daylight in such a public setting; the General couldn't give the order to attack trucks with tanks and assault rifles right in the heart of Louisiana.
The insurgents wasted no time in jumping out of their rigs and fighting their way through the truck's defenses in brutal hand-to-hand action. They were heavily outnumbered, but somehow managed to overpower the infantry (who were under orders to restrain the use of their weapons) and break open the decoy trailer.
When they found that Polyphemus wasn't inside, they were understandably frustrated. Their actions as a result cost thirty-six good men their lives, not to mention several million dollars worth of equipment and vehicles.
If there was any upside for Tomlinson in working on the sorts of projects that were his bread and butter, it was the fact that there was very little paperwork to be done. A typical General would be looking at weeks of reporting and accounting after an incident of that nature, but all he had to do was fill out a form detailing the names of the dead, the serial numbers of the vehicles lost and apply a stamp bearing his name and operational designation. No one asked any questions about what happened or why -- they knew better than to dig into his business... his was a realm in which no politician dared to tread.
"Yes, Rich." Butler responded. "Many more."
"That's impossible, everything we have says they're weeks out at best."
"Physically they are, but they're doing something -- something that we've never seen before."
"Well spit it out, Ambassador, we're not getting any younger!"
"I don't even know how to explain it, sir, it's almost like they're --" He paused. "Hijacking people."
"Hijacking people? Conrad, what the hell are you talking about?
"They seem to have found a way to -- to reach out from beyond and take control of people. Reports have been coming in from all over the country of regular folks showing up in places they shouldn't be and asking questions about things they shouldn't even know exist. Some of them have even turned up at The Cape, Rich! What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
"Slow down Ambassador, I'm not following you at all. What kind of people are we talking about?"
"Regular people, Rich, like the guy that lives next door to you. I got a call from an operative in Texas who said that an old friend of his walked into the Sheriff's station asking them to run reports on a bunch of license plates. He said this guy owned the neighborhood grocery store and had never set foot in the department in his life, yet there he was asking for information on what turned out to be ten semi-trailers."
"Were they trailers that got loaded out of Oceanside?"
"I don't know, I don't have the manifests to compare them against."
"Aren't you being a little oversensitive, Conrad? How do you know this guy wasn't just looking to write letters about reckless truck drivers he'd seen on the road?"
"There was more, Sir -- the sheriff said the man's eyes were purple!"
"Well what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, but it's obviously not normal! I've gotten reports of purple-eyed people from coast to coast! One of them was an engineer actually working on the launch pad at The Cape! The foreman noticed and sent him home, thinking he was sick. The guy all but threw a punch at him in protest until he finally had to be escorted out of the facility by police!"
"Look, I don't know what this all means -- but if it is our friends acting up, we could have a serious problem on our hands. How sure are you that these reports are credible threats to our operation?"
"It's them, General -- I'm sure it is... I'd bet everything on it."
"Shit." Tomlinson barked. "Meet me at the office in an hour, Ambassador -- we've got to track down the payload and secure it immediately."
"Can you get there in thirty minutes?"
The General groaned. "I guess, but I'm not gonna be dressed quite right."
"You can be naked for all I care, sir; we've got to come up with another plan -- quickly! We can't afford to waste another second."