Second and even more unexpected was the fact that Tyler finally remembered just where he'd seen that man before: Mimosa Grove.

"I...I do not know what to say," President Metachenko muttered, his deep, husky voice cracking like a teenage boy. "Even though you come a long way in such urgent manner, I cannot seem to think this is anything but joke."

The Russian President glanced next to him, completely understanding the reason why his top aide stared at the picture of Comet Clement with a look of pure shock. If Metachenko was alone or did not feel the need to show strength and conviction, he might have cried. Or at least drank himself into a stupor, which he made a mental note to do later.

"And if America truly needs help with space station, as you say, Russia will certainly agree to request."

"I assure you, President Metachenko. I would never take so much time to come all the way to Russia to play a joke on you, especially one I would not consider funny," Marshall explained.

Metachenko again picked up his own picture of deep space and shook his head, perplexed that this small dot had the power to destroy the Earth one day.

"I will consult my space agency and find out best way to deflect comet away from our planet," Metachenko said.

Marshall had explained the differences between attempting to destroy the comet and attempting to deflect it, but he had made no prior mention of Neil Peterson or the deep-space probe.

"That will not be necessary," Marshall said. "Our research has indicated that if a ship was launched right now to deflect the comet, it would still be too late."

"What do you mean too late? You tell me there is few years before comet hits Earth, no?"

"Yes, sir. About six and a half years. But in order to deflect a comet, you must detonate a nuclear explosion away from the comet," Marshall said. The Russians did not seem to understand Marshall's explanation. Marshall picked up a water bottle and crumpled a piece of paper. "Pretend this is the comet," Marshall said, holding up the paper. "And this is the bomb. In order to deflect the comet from its path, you must detonate the bomb behind the comet, or to the side, depending how you want to push it. Once the bomb is in place and it explodes, we hope the shock waves will slowly begin to nudge the comet off its original path."

"Yes, I understand this part," Metachenko said. "But why not send something to space now for deflection?"

"Because deflection is an incredibly slow process," Marshall said. "Because the comet is so massive, the shock waves produced by the bomb will only divert the comet a very small amount. Over the course of many years, this small push will make the comet travel farther and farther off its path. If your country sent a rocket this very day, it would not reach the comet for at least a few years. By the time a bomb was detonated, there would not be enough time for the comet to move off its course."

Metachenko finally began to understand. His aide asked Metachenko a question in Russian. Marshall could tell that his Russian counterpart had to further explain to the man, who slowly nodded in understanding. The aide then said one last thing, something that Metachenko had not apparently considered.

"Jirov makes good point," Metachenko said. "If one nuclear weapon does not have power to push comet right now, why not send up two or three or ten? Surely enough bombs could make big enough push for comet."

"This was something we also considered, President Metachenko," Marshall said. "But remember, the goal here is to deflect the comet, not destroy it. If more than one nuclear weapon were detonated in the comet's general vicinity, the shock waves would be too much for the comet to handle. Instead of being pushed, the comet would begin breaking up. And destroying the comet would produce millions of smaller comets to Earth, which would prove just as devastating as if we left it fully intact."

"So you are saying all hope is lost?" Metachenko asked. Marshall saw the look of despair that every member of the 'Inner Circle' had worn upon learning of the comet's existence.

"No, sir. Three years ago, we sent a probe to space carrying a nuclear weapon," Marshall said. The Russian's face suddenly filled with hope again.

"Did it work?" Metachenko asked.

"The probe has not yet reached the comet. In fact, it is not scheduled to intercept the comet for...how much time is left James?"

"About a year and a half," he quickly replied.

"About a year and a half," Marshall repeated.

"But I thought you Americans disband space agency three years ago after incident with..." President Metachenko stopped mid-sentence, his mind coming to a realization. "The probe. The probe that you say exploded three years ago, that was probe you sent?"

Marshall smiled, as somebody finally discovered his trickery after so many years.

"Yes, sir."

"And you shut down NASA so nobody would discover probe still intact," Metachenko said, impressed with the American's successful deception. "But how could you fool your men into thinking it explode? Didn't NASA need proof of such things?"

Marshall turned to James Armour.

"I took care of that part," Armour replied. "I uploaded software into the NASA computer system that allowed me to control the information that mission control received from the probe. We also had a little help from an astronaut aboard the probe."

"You sent a man aboard this ship?" Metachenko asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"How could you keep that secret from public?"

"The same way your country used to send cosmonauts on board without the public finding out," Armour said.

Metachenko blushed when he thought about the lengths his country had gone when involved in the space race with the Americans in the 1960s and 1970s.

"You knew about that?"

The two Americans nodded.

"But surely your man in space will not survive such dangerous journey," Metachenko replied.

Marshall explained the entire situation, sadly noting that Neil Peterson's mission objectives did not include a journey home.

"This space station, it is insurance policy in case probe fails?"

"Yes, sir," Marshall said. "We must hope for the best from Neil Peterson but we must also plan for the worst. After all, the mission we've sent him on is very dangerous, one that has no precedent on which to gauge the likelihood of success. Even this deflection plan is based purely on theory. If the worst happens, we hope to be prepared to continue humankind. But that is why help from your country is so important to us, so important to completing the space station."

Jirov again spoke to his boss.

"This comet, you've known about it for long time?" Metachenko asked.

Marshall could see where this line of questioning was headed and wondered if the Russian would finally be insulted. With all of the information he already told them, though, Marshall realized the question was actually more of a statement, one that he could not deny even if he wanted.

"Yes, for the past five years," he answered truthfully.

"Why you not inform us sooner? Why you wait until you need something to tell about comet?" Metachenko inquired.

The Russian President, whose emotional expressions were usually easy to read, now asked his toughest question totally stone-faced. One of Marshall's greatest strengths was his ability to read his opponents, but Metachenko was not making that easy to do.

"I wanted to tell you about it a long time ago," the American President answered, wondering if the Russian could see the bead of sweat Marshall felt on his forehead.

"So why didn't you? Russia could do much work over time of five years to help prepare for comet," Metachenko said.

"With all due respect, sir, we felt we had the situation under control," Marshall said. "And there was never a good time for me to come to Russia and tell you about the comet in person. Planning for the biggest disaster the world has ever known, as well as trying to run America as normally as possible, has taken up an abundance of my time. I had to wait for the perfect opportunity to visit you to avoid any speculation from the press."

This answer seemed to appease the Russian a bit, his exterior again softening.

"You Americans give too much freedom to press," Metachenko said. "I do not understand how you get much done with them always poking around."

Although freedom of the press was one of the greatest American virtues, Marshall found himself agreeing with the Russian at this moment. Dealing with the comet situation would have been much easier if there was not the constant worry of a media leak.

"I'll admit, the press does complicate matters a bit. But I want you to know that I always planned to tell Russia, especially considering the good relations that you and I have formed over the years," Marshall said. "Hopefully, you can begin to create plans of your own and our two countries can work together to help one another with saving lives."

"What happens if your astronaut is successful in mission?" Metachenko asked.

"Then I tell the world the truth," Marshall said. "People will be upset with me but I hope to make them understand."

Although I know they won't. In fact, they'll probably ask for my head on a silver platter, Marshall thought. If Peterson successfully diverted the comet, the position Marshall would find himself in would be quite dichotomous. On one hand, he'd be a hero for saving the world from certain doom. But on the other hand, he'd be a villain for keeping this comet a secret. He doubted people would understand his reasoning for not telling them of potential mortal danger.

"And what of space station?" Metachenko asked.

"By the time our astronaut reaches the comet, we hope to have initial stages of ground construction completed," Marshall said. "So much money has already been sunk into this project that we are beyond the point of no return. So even if the comet is deflected, we will continue with the space station construction. Completing it will be impressive, whether it helps save humankind or not."

Metachenko nodded and turned away from the Americans to converse with his top aide. They spoke animatedly for a few minutes before turning back to Marshall.

"Okay. What kind of help you need? And what will we get from deal?"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

June 19, 2013 Just hang on back there. We're almost home.

As Earl Ackerman's truck slowly drove along his bumpy dirt road, he constantly checked his rear view mirror to make sure the stacks of cinder block weren't shifting too much. The fifty-mile ride from the home improvement store had gone better than Earl hoped, the paved roads providing a smooth ride and an even level for the cinder blocks, even when the mountain roads began to steadily incline. But as soon as Earl turned onto his dirt driveway, he watched the blocks begin to shift around after every bump. By the time his cabin was in sight, Earl thought he was home free, at least until he hit the biggest pothole and many of the blocks spilled over to the ground. At least they would be easy enough to pick up later.

Earl parked next to his house, where piles of wood and bags of cement were already stacked. If Earl had any neighbors, or anybody who ever passed by his house, they might get the impression that he was building something big. The best part about living out in the middle of nowhere was no questioning gazes, no silly questions by nosy people. Out here, he could do whatever he pleased.

It took two exhausting hours to unload the cinder blocks but by the time he was done, all of the building materials he needed to complete his shelter were ready. He stared at the piles of material for a few moments, essentially looking at all of the money he'd saved up over the past few years. The teacher's salary he made did not afford him a luxurious lifestyle but it was enough to buy everything he needed to assure his survival. If only it allowed him to hire somebody to build the actual room...

Come on, Earl. How would you explain the need for an underground room to a contractor?

After catching his breath and rubbing his tired muscles, Earl set back to work. He pushed the empty wheelbarrow down his driveway, stopping by the dozen cinder blocks that littered the ground near the large pothole. He heaved the heavy blocks into the barrow, cursing himself for not taking the short amount of time needed to fix the small crater in his driveway.

With the fallen cinder blocks now secured, Earl carefully pushed the load toward his house, noting how much heavier and more awkward the blocks were than dirt. Transporting the blocks down the ramp to his basement was particularly difficult. While trying to slowly guide the wheelbarrow down the ramp, Earl lost the battle with gravity, as the handles were ripped from his hands. The cinder blocks went crashing into the side of his golf cart, nearly pushing over the entire motorized machine.

I'll have to remember to clear this area during the next load.

Cursing to himself for not thinking of this before, Earl slowly cleaned the mess, stacking the blocks on the back of the golf cart. Once completed, he drove the golf cart through the gaping hole that led down to the empty hole in the earth that would soon be his future shelter.

Damn, these blocks must weigh twice as much as the dirt, Earl thought to himself. The cart barely traveled above a crawl. He had the pedal to the floor but still didn't think the golf cart was moving more than a few miles per hour. The slow speed was probably for the best, though, especially considering how narrow the path was. Many times, Earl had mistakenly steered the cart off the side of the wooden path. Subsequently, he'd struggled to get enough traction from the dirt ground to drive the cart back onto the path. If that happened with the cinder blocks loaded in the back, Earl wasn't sure he would ever get back onto the path.

The longer drive gave Earl the chance to rest. Digging this tunnel had been backbreaking work, but having to transport stacks of heavy building material and then build the shelter was going to take even more energy than usual. But as long as he worked as hard as possible, Earl figured to have the room finished within a few years.

Years before the comet hits, he thought proudly to himself, realizing that his past few years of hard work would eventually be rewarded. From there, I can enjoy the rest of my time living on the surface before the comet hits. Maybe I can even recruit some people to live down here with me. Possibly a beautiful woman in desperate need for a place to stay when the comet hits...

When Earl started digging the tunnel a few years back, he never expected to complete his shelter with so much time to spare. He could buy a bigger generator, one that would allow him to set up all kinds of electronic gadgets. Televisions, refrigerators, coffee machines, anything he wanted.

Or maybe the 'Inner Circle' would actually accept him back into their secret group. There was no doubt in Earl's mind that he'd rather be on the space station than in his own shelter. But even if not given a spot aboard the outer space shelter, he would gladly try to help the 'Inner Circle' plan for the end of the world. Sure, gaining acceptance back into the group was a long shot but the possibility was certainly there. He wasn't going to expect to hear from the 'Inner Circle,' but he also would not be surprised if somebody from the group showed up at his doorstep one day. For now, he would concentrate on the future he was making for himself.

And what about after he could go back to the surface, after years of weather-related turmoil that the comet was surely to cause? Maybe he would dig another tunnel, build another shelter where he could stockpile everything he needed to survive an undeveloped, wild Earth. He could build an underground garage, buy some kind of all-terrain sport utility vehicle that would let him eventually travel and see the Earth the way it had looked millions of years ago. Surely it would not take long for Mother Nature to retake control of the world, bury the cities and rubble under greenery. The comet strike would be a truly horrific event for mankind but it would bring an end to pollution, an end to everything man-made, a new beginning for the planet. Earl planned to be there to witness it all.

Assuming this shelter holds up once the comet hits, he thought glumly to himself, as the golf cart pulled to a stop at the end of the tunnel. In the days following his successful mission to speak with Mansfield, Earl was fueled with an inner passion to continue working on his shelter. Knowing that his assumptions about the comet were still actual fact, Earl felt much more confident that his underground project would have a chance to serve its purpose. Freshly invigorated to complete the task at hand, Earl worked around the clock for almost a week, stopping only to eat, sleep and relieve his bladder. His hard work paid off, though, especially now that he began laying cinder blocks to form the shelter's walls.

This is it. The most important pitch of the entire game, Colin McKay thought. There were two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning. Colin was one run ahead but there was a man on first base. All he had to do was get this one more out and he would be the baseball champion. He reviewed his selection of different pitches, deciding to go with a fastball for the first pitch. He pressed A.

"Strike one," he said aloud, as the batter swung too late. He won't be expecting another fastball. He pressed A again and was equally delighted to see his opponent swing late again. "Strike two."

His heart pumping and hands sweating, Colin was surprised to find himself getting so into this game, especially considering he had never played a video game in his life. But when he looked next to him at his best friend, the bespectacled John Fare, he realized he could not let his nerdy opponent beat him at baseball, even if it wasn't real baseball.

Okay, he swung behind two fastballs. He'll probably be expecting me to throw a third one. He'll swing way too early and miss this changeup. He pressed B, and watched in horror as the digital batter belted the pitch 500 feet into deep center field.

"Dammit," Colin said, throwing the video game controller.

"In your face," John yelled in delight, throwing his hands victoriously into the air. "I told you that you weren't a baseball God, no matter how good you play during gym class."

"That game's not even fair," Colin said. "How could you possibly beat me at baseball? I mean, in real life, you throw like a girl."

"It's a good thing this isn't real life then," John said, playfully punching Colin in the arm. Because John was still such a skinny, weak kid, he didn't think he would hurt his much bigger friend, even if he'd hit him harder than a playful tap. That was why it was so surprising when Colin winced in pain and grabbed his arm, as if a professional boxer had punched him.

"Are you okay?" John asked. A part of him wondered if Colin was joking around. John did not think Colin could fake such a pained expression, though.

"I just wasn't expecting that," Colin said through gritted teeth. He rolled up the sleeve on his arm, revealing a huge, multicolored bruise that covered nearly his entire upper arm. John knew his punch hadn't caused that mark but was pretty sure he did know how it happened.

"Your dad's been hitting you again, hasn't he?" John asked, suddenly becoming very serious.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business," Colin shot back. He rubbed his arm gently, trying to do anything to make the pain subside. "Besides, it was my fault. I forgot to put the milk back in the refrigerator. I shouldn't have let it sit out all day and get spoiled."

"He shouldn't hit you for any reason," John insisted. "Do you want me to tell my dad about it? Maybe he could help you."

"Just forget about it, okay? My dad's been good recently. This was the first time he's hit me in a while. And like I said, I deserved it," Colin said, anger apparent in his voice.

John knew he would not convince his friend otherwise and continuing this conversation would only make Colin madder.

"I thought bruises were supposed to be black and blue," John said, staring at Colin's banged-up arm. Colin chuckled.

"You apparently haven't had many bruises in your life," he replied.

"One time, when I fell off my bike I bruised my shin," John said. "But it wasn't that bad. It was pretty small and it went away after a day. But I don't remember it looking anything like that."

"Well, take it from me, I know all about bruises. They turn all different colors. Red, yellow, greenish, just about everything."