What is going on in that compound? I know that space station is more than just the scientific achievement the President keeps talking about. If only there was a way I could get a ticket on board that craft the day the comet strikes. Assuming they finish on time...

The truth was, nobody seemed to know how far along McNalley & Jones had progressed with construction. If the 'Inner Circle' has kept the comet a secret, I guess keeping the building of the space station a secret can't be that hard. I need to stop worrying about that anyway, there's no way I'm getting a ticket. I have to take care of my own destiny.

Earl closed his eyes again. He felt the comforting hand of sleep slowly envelop his mind when he heard a voice quietly saying a name in the distance. On the television, the anchorwoman spoke about President Marshall. Earl hated to interrupt the process of falling asleep when he was so close to drifting off but he forced his tired eyes open. On screen, he saw footage of President Marshall walking up the steps of Air Force One, followed by a man who the anchorwoman did not identify. Earl had no problem recognizing that James Armour was following onto the plane.

What are those two doing together?

Ignoring his sore muscles, Earl sat up quickly and fumbled with the remote before turning up the volume.

"Marshall left for Moscow earlier today and there has been widespread speculation concerning the previously unscheduled trip. His Chief of Staff explained earlier," the anchorwoman said as the screen switched from the footage of the airplane to a press conference. Peter Mansfield, a man who made Earl shudder even when he saw him on television, spoke to a room of reporters.

"Yes, the trip was thrown together at the last moment," Mansfield said, apparently very calm. Earl recognized a look in the man's eye, a slight squint of his eyelids that he'd only seen when the Chief of Staff was angry. What is he hiding that he's mad about? "But no, there is nothing unusual about the trip. Russian President Metachenko merely requested a meeting with President Marshall for an update on the space station. President Marshall believes that giving this update only strengthens the American attempt to share information with our Russian friends, especially considering Russia is an expert on the topic of building space stations."

There's something else he isn't saying, Earl knew.

A room full of shouting reporters simultaneously fired questions at Mansfield.

"Is it true that there have been major problems with the space station and the President is begging Russia for help?" the most persistent reporter asked.

"There is absolutely no truth to that rumor," Mansfield denied. His denial did not convince Earl.

Footage of the news conference ended and was again replaced by the anchorwoman.

"In related news, the President's unplanned trip has changed the outlook of the annual Maria Aston Cancer Research fund-raiser. The President was supposed to attend this fund-raiser, which has raised over ten million dollars for cancer research over the past five years. American oil industrialist Paul Aston has hosted this event at his estate every year since his wife, Maria, was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the President's absence, the man we just saw moments ago, his Chief of Staff Peter Mansfield, will be the guest of honor."

Once Earl heard this announcement, he turned off the television and stood up from the couch, his mind already beginning to analyze this recent news. Earl had a feeling there was more to the President's trip to Russia than being told, but the second news story interested him even more.

I know where I can find Peter Mansfield in a public place, he thought. This could be my ticket for getting information from the 'Inner Circle.'

Gaining a private audience with any of the three group members was impossible for a normal citizen; finding a way to 'run into them' somewhere was nearly as hopeless. But this benefit would be semi-public, an event where Earl might have a chance to speak with Mansfield, if only for a few minutes. Finding a way into the benefit would be difficult but not as difficult as finding a way to speak to the President of the United States.

His mind now completely awake, Earl's body felt reinvigorated and he figured he could get in at least another hour of work. After all, Earl recently realized that his mind thought most clearly while his body was hard at work. And figuring out how to get into this benefit would require his clearest thinking.

Unlike that damn letter, he thought to himself as he drove the golf cart through the underground tunnel. That definitely ended up a mistake.

The letter he'd written to the President had gone unanswered and he began to wonder if the 'Inner Circle' ever got it. Maybe his discreet innuendoes went unrecognized and the letter had gotten lost among the thousands of others the President was sure to receive on a daily basis. Or maybe they did get the letter and were just ignoring him.

Can't ignore me if I corner one of them in public, he thought.

Throughout Earl's years of digging, the end of the tunnel had always been a dirt wall, the place where he'd last stopped digging. But instead of digging into the wall to make the tunnel longer, Earl had begun to dig up. His comet nightmare made him realize two important things. First, he had to talk to the 'Inner Circle' and find out if the original projections of the comet strike were still accurate. Secondly, he had to start construction on his underground room. Earl had known all along that building this room would be the difficult part of the operation. For the past year, he knew he should have ended the tunnel and started room construction. The nightmare only confirmed that thought.

At the end of the tunnel, he began to slam his shovel straight up; he would soon need to set up ladders. This work was by far the most difficult. Standing on tall ladders would make the digging even more dangerous. The fear of a dirt avalanche was always present but Earl prevented this as best he could by constantly bracing his work areas with wooden beams. This process was also very time consuming. Sadly, Earl realized it would be impossible to build a room of comparable size to the one in his dream.

As complicated as his room-digging venture had become, Earl had quickly grown used to the process and could work without having to think much about what he was doing. So as he continuously slammed his shovel up and a downpour of dirt showered him, Earl formulated his plan for infiltrating the cancer benefit.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

June 16, 2013-1 year, 5 months, 9 days until Interception...

1:00:02... 1:00:01... 1:00:00...59:59...59:58...59:57...

The timer on the nuclear device again counted backward, ticking past the one-hour mark. As opposed to the first time he'd set the timer on the nuke, Neil Peterson now barely paid attention to the descending time. Neil eventually grew accustomed to the timer counting down, taking for granted that setting it could lead to his untimely death. But he decided to worry about that later.

Neil floated lazily in the main room of the probe, lost among the cloud of torn-out pages that still hovered around him. A few months back, he'd actually cleaned the room, grabbing all of the pages, stacking them together and putting them back in their appropriate drawer. But after only a few hours of emptiness, Neil realized that the floating pages actually gave the area his own personal touch. When empty, all that he felt was the cold harshness of technology. So even though he created no more than a cluttered mess, it was still Neil's mess, his contribution to the room's decor, and he soon re-released the paper back into the room.

As Neil floated among the cloud, he grabbed random pages and began to read. The first page he came across was a very familiar one, one he immediately recognized as being from an anthology of famous American poetry. This particular page contained the first half of Edgar Allen Poe's famous poem, 'The Raven.' Neil began to read: 'Once upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore...' He released the piece of paper back into the cloud and began to speak out loud, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"While I nodded, Nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As if someone gently rapping, Rapping on my chamber door," he continued from memory, tapping on the wall of the probe in the process. "Tis some visitor I muttered, tapping at my chamber door, Only this and nothing more."

Neil grabbed another random page, this time coming across a page from the book 'War and Peace.' He read the first few lines of this as well before releasing it back into the cloud. Although he did not know the exact words of the text, he knew enough of the story and what happened next that he talked for nearly ten minutes, filling in gaps from what he knew occurred in this part of the novel. For most of the next hour, Neil continued grabbing random pages and filling in the blanks, sometimes verbatim, most of the time paraphrasing.

After reaching into the cloud and pulling out the booklet containing all of the nuclear device codes, Neil remembered that the timer was currently in a countdown. He floated over to the control panel, and looking through the glass, saw the timer on the bomb at 5:02.

"Good thing I came across you and not some more Poe," Neil said, laughing giddily as he flipped through the booklet, looking for the right code. Having become familiar with the booklet since he discovered it, Neil knew exactly where to find the code he was looking for. It only took a few seconds before he had the deactivation code for this particular sequence.

"4-3-0-8-0-8-0-2-8-0," he read aloud. "4-3-0-8-0-8-0-2-8-0."

He recited the sequence a few dozen times, attempting to commit the code to memory as best he could. When he finally felt comfortable that he memorized it, Neil closed the booklet and glanced over at the timer, noting that 2:02 remained.

"Let's see how good the memory really is."

Neil tossed the booklet into the air and watched it quickly disappear in the cloud of pages. He turned to the numeric control panel and began to type in numbers.

"4..3..0..8..0..8..2..0..8..and 0," he said, slowly typing in the number. He read the code a few times, until he was fully confident that he had it right. "Here goes."

Neil pushed enter and looked at the timer. 1:37..1:36..1:35 "What the..."

He cleared the code and began typing again.

"4...3...0...8...0...8...2...0...8...0."

He pushed enter again, and watched the timer continue counting back. Again, he cleared the code but this time he could see that his hand was beginning to shake. He typed in the same code several more times, doubting his memory more and more with every number he pushed.

"Come on. Work, you son of a..."

Still, the timer continued counting backward. Perspiration began to spot Neil's forehead and when he shook his head, he saw a tiny droplet of sweat hang in the air. He unsuccessfully tried the code one last time before accepting the fact that his memory wasn't as good as he thought.

45...44...43...

Neil pushed off against the side of the probe and shot through the cloud of pages, knowing that he had little time to spare. He emerged from the cloud seconds later, already flipping through the book as he reached the control panel, giving the timer a quick glance.

19...18...

It did not take Neil long to find the code. Even though his fingers shook uncontrollably, he typed in the exact numbers he read from the book.

4-3-0-8-0-8-0-2-8-0.

6...5...4...

He looked at the code and suddenly realized what his mistake had been. I screwed up the zero and the two, how stupid can I possibly be. Neil pushed enter with two seconds remaining and watched the timer shut off.

"You wuss," he said to himself. "You still had two seconds to spare."

Neil flipped through the booklet again until he found another activation code he wanted. He typed in the number and saw the timer count back from the two-minute mark. He looked back at the booklet and recited the deactivation code a few times. This time, Neil tore the page containing this code's deactivation code out of the booklet and threw it into the cloud of other pages. He did not attempt to suppress his laughter as the page disappeared among the others.

1:11...1:10...1:09...

Hmmm, now what was that code to turn this thing off?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

June 16, 2013 President Marshall and James Armour walked through the halls of the Kremlin, surrounded by various Secret Service agents and members of the Russian President's security force. Four years had passed since Marshall was here last, since his first major accomplishment as President indirectly led to the discovery of Comet Clement. The first time Marshall walked these halls, he'd been excited to make a deal with the Russian President, excited to prove to the American people that he could be a good leader.

Funny how things have changed so much, Marshall thought to himself. Now, his reputation no longer mattered to him, the job of saving humanity his sole concern.

James Armour looked all around, admiring the elegance with which the interior decorators immersed the hallways. Movies and television always portrayed Russian buildings as colorless and dismal but reality was completely different here. Armour thought about how Russia had always been considered the major enemy of the United States when he was growing up and even during his earlier years as an astronaut. He never would have expected to visit the Kremlin, especially not to ask for Russia's assistance. But the shape of world affairs had changed dramatically throughout his lifetime.

"You're sure this is the right move, sir?" Armour whispered so only President Marshall could hear.

"No," Marshall answered honestly, doing nothing to instill confidence in Armour. "But this is how it must be."

The two men were led into a large conference room, where at least a dozen high-ranking Russian officials were seated around an oval table. The President noticed that most of the men were garbed in military uniforms and he assumed many were associated with the Russian Space Agency. Upon seeing Marshall and Armour enter the room, every man stood. At the head of the table was Russian President Aleksandr Metachenko, who rushed forward when the two Americans entered.

"President Marshall, I hope you have good flight," Metachenko said, his iron grip crushing Marshall's hand. Although Metachenko looked like a kindly old grandfather-type, Marshall remembered that the man's handshake was tight as a vice.

"Long but very good. Thank you," Marshall said in return. "I would like to thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."

"I am happy to be helping any way I can," Metachenko said.

"President Metachenko, let me introduce you to my Secretary of Defense," Marshall said, turning to Armour. The Russian President had not taken notice of Armour when the two men walked in but now the Russian leader's eyes lit up when he looked closely at the man behind Marshall.

"Jimmy Armour," Metachenko said before Marshall could even introduce him. Again, Metachenko's vice-like handshake gripped his American guest. This time, Armour's grip was able to match it.

"I'm very honored to meet you, sir," Armour said in his best diplomatic attempt. The Russian President stared at Armour the way a schoolgirl might look at her favorite rock star.

"No, Mr. Armour. I am the one to be honored," Metachenko said, continuing to pump Armour's hand. "You are great man. We in Russia were very jealous of what you accomplish in space years ago. Our own space program could have used a cosmonaut like you."

"Thank you," Armour said, truly surprised at the warmth of Metachenko's welcome. These Russians aren't so bad after all.

After exchanging handshakes with some of the other Russian officials around the table, Marshall and Armour were shown to two seats at the head of the table opposite Metachenko.

"So, President Marshall. You are here to discuss your country's space station, yes?" Metachenko asked directly, getting straight to business.

Marshall felt a dozen sets of eyes on him. He was in the unexpected position of being exposed to a larger audience than he'd hoped.

"President Metachenko, I know you have gathered a group today for my presence but I would like to respectfully ask for a private audience with only you," Marshall said. "I have some very important matters that I'd like you to hear only."

"Yes, of course," Metachenko replied. The Russian President uttered a few words in his native tongue. Marshall wished that he could have spoken the language to offer his own apologies. While the Russian President's mastery of English boded well for him, it was certainly disadvantageous for Marshall that he could not speak a word of Russian. All of the Russian officials stood and walked out of the room except for the man sitting to the right of Metachenko. When the four men were alone, the Russian President explained Nicolai Jirov was his most trusted advisor and could hear anything the President himself would hear.

"First of all," Marshall began, "you are correct. I have come here today to discuss the American space station."

Metachenko smiled, pleased that his intelligence officers had guessed the reason for the American President's visit.

"Yes, I and rest of world follow closely about space station," Metachenko said. "I wish your government did not keep building process such secret. We in Russia are left to be wondering how much construction you have complete. But judging from proposal what you are trying to accomplish, this space station would be truly spectacular if you could finish job. I must tell you, from what my space agency tell me, building what you propose will be nearly impossible. Please don't take that as insult, rather as cynicism from a country who knows a thing or two about this."

"I certainly understand your doubt," Marshall said. "And I appreciate any thoughts you might have on it. The United States respects the fact that Russia has had the most experience and most success with space stations. MIR is certainly an example that every future space station will be modeled after. But I have come here today seeking not just input but also manpower, and if needed, supply help from your country."

Marshall spoke bluntly, seeing no reason to dance around the reason for his visit. This straightforwardness surprised the Russian President and for the first time in meetings between the two superpower leaders, Marshall could see that he'd made his counterpart speechless.

"President Marshall, I am surprise by request," Metachenko said, pausing for a few moments while he formulated an answer to the request. "But considering my country's... fragile economic state, assisting United States in building space station, especially one to put my country's past achievements to shame, this cannot possibly be top priority."

"I see," Marshall replied, feigning disappointment. He'd figured his Russian equal would respond in this way.

"Besides, from what I am told by my space experts, the U.S. would only have chance of success if proposed construction period was closer to 20 years, not 10 as your country has planned," Metachenko said, attempting to further justify his reason for denying Marshall's request.

"I believe trust is very important between our two countries," Marshall said. "And to show how much trust I have in you, I will tell you something about the space station that is highly confidential. With the exception of a few people in my Cabinet and the company hired to build the space station, nobody else knows what I'm about to say. We have told the public that the projected date of completion is 10 years from now. But the number we are shooting for is actually closer to six and a half years. In fact, it must be done in six and a half years."

Metachenko's right hand man spoke something quickly to his President in Russian.

"Yes, Nicolai. You did understand him," Metachenko said, disbelief clearly evident in his voice. "President Marshall, I might not understand American way to be joking. But clearly you must realize I do not find this funny."

"Humor wasn't my intention," Marshall said calmly, even as an angry tone began to appear in Metachenko's voice.

"I just tell you my experts say station will take 20 years to complete. And then you tell me it must be done in 7 years?"

"More precisely, six and a half."

"I must be confused because to be insulting my intelligence does nothing to gain my country's assistance," Metachenko said. "I am sorry but I do not know what you try to accomplish today."

Taking the lead from his boss, Nicolai Jirov again spoke in Russian, imitating Metachenko's angry tone of voice. This time, the Russian President's reply to the top aide also came in his native language.

"May I please explain my reasoning for telling you the timeline?" Marshall asked. He hoped Metachenko would appreciate the show of respect.

"I think for your best interest, you must explain."

"Again, what I'm about to tell you should go a long way in proving my trustworthiness," Marshall said. "I can see that there is much doubt in your mind that the space station can be built in such a short amount of time. But there is a strong chance it must be built in six and a half years to continue the existence of humankind."