"The chain of events that led to my father's death included a small role by the government but it would be ludicrous of me to place blame on anyone for causing an accident. Fate works in mysterious ways.

"After cutting my company's contracts with the Navy, I took fate into my own hands. Instead of continuing our normal line of business and allowing Ainsworth Industries to be gradually squeezed out of existence, I went for my dream by trying something new."

Matthews continued flipping through the folder after Tyler stopped talking. Finally, the admiral closed the folder again and slammed it on the table, causing Tyler to flinch.

"I don't believe you," the admiral said simply.

"I don't care what you believe, everything I've told you is true. What reason would I have to-"

Admiral Matthews stood up quickly, knocking his chair backward and nearly tipping over the table. His folder fell to the floor and spilled its contents. Tyler glanced down at a picture of his vessel, but the admiral quickly crossed the room and got right in his face.

"I...don't...believe...you," he said slowly, emphasizing each word he spoke. Tyler blinked as the admiral's saliva sprayed across his face but he dare not wipe it away. Admiral Matthews remained just inches from him, barely moving even as Tyler leaned back.

After a few long seconds, Matthews' face softened and he backed away. He scooped up the contents of the folder, picked up his chair and sat back down, propping his feet on the rickety table.

"Why do you think I'm lying?" Tyler asked. He'd wanted to sound strong and demanding but his voice cracked, taking away any authority.

"I thought you were an all-business kind of guy but I'll play along if it makes you happy," Admiral Matthews said. "First, you complained that the Navy contract was being cut and you didn't want to take the chance of the government squeezing your company out of existence."

"Are you going to say that didn't happen, that the Navy didn't cut back on their deal?" Tyler asked. "I have the numbers to prove it."

"The government was forced to cut back military contracts with every company they do business with," the admiral said. "As a matter of fact, the President's military downsizing operation was done in such an even manner so that no company would be crippled from the aftereffects. You couldn't rationally believe that the government only singled out Ainsworth Industries."

"How can you assume to know my company's financial outcome caused by these cuts?" Tyler asked. "Don't you think the timing of the whole situation was ironic? I blast the government and soon after my deals are slashed. The perception to my employees was that Ainsworth Industries would become a failure with my father's untimely passing. Whether the government meant to or not, it forced my hand in the matter. So instead of gradually waiting to go broke, I took a giant leap in a new, exciting direction."

"You didn't want to wait to go broke?" Matthews asked.

"No, I refused to steer my company in that direction," Tyler answered.

"Strange that you would say that," the admiral began. "You certainly decided an interesting course of action if your goal was to not go broke. According to our calculations, you will be completely broke by the end of this month."

Tyler felt like the admiral had smashed his hand through his chest, grabbed his heart and squeezed it.

How could he know that? Nobody knows that, not a single person in this world except for me.

"What do you mean?" Tyler asked in a vain attempt at denial.

"Again, you disappoint me with the games," Matthews said. "I know that Ainsworth Industries will be completely broke by the end of the month. I know that you have already halted construction on the seacraft due to a lack of funds. I know that you've sold your late father's mansion and liquidated the assets of his entire estate. And I know you've cashed in your entire inheritance, nearly half a billion dollars, just to keep this project going."

"Lies, all lies," Tyler whispered.

"I also know that you live in the craft," the Admiral said. "But there are a few things I don't know. You do not live alone in the craft, a man named Nigel Huffington also lives there. But what I don't know is who exactly this Nigel Huffington is. He does not show up in any American records, nor in any records in Britain, France, Ireland or anywhere else in Europe. Who is this Huffington character and what role does he play in your scheme?"

"Nigel is an investor," Tyler said, the answer practiced many times. "His advice and expertise have proven invaluable to me."

"What country is he from? What interests does he have in the completion of your boat?"

"I do not know where he comes from and I do not know his interests," Tyler answered defiantly.

"Fair enough. If you refuse to answer, I can only assume that Huffington is in this country illegally and his intentions are harmful to America. Perhaps he is a terrorist and perhaps you are aiding his cause."

"A terrorist? That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Or does it make perfect sense? You have the ability, the supplies and the know-how to construct a massive underwater vehicle far superior in size and sophistication than any submarine ever built. We must assume that Huffington, a possible terrorist, has the capability to acquire nuclear weaponry."

Tyler laughed at the admiral's last thought but Matthews continued with his theory.

"I have no idea of Huffington's motives or political ideals so I can only assume that he shares your hatred of America. The two of you together, along with a vessel such as the one you're building, can only be construed as a major threat to this country."

The scenario Admiral Matthews described was familiar to Tyler: it was the same plot he'd seen in every bad action movie he ever watched.

"If that's the best you can come up with, I don't think any director in Hollywood will be awarding you points for creativity," Tyler responded with a wry smile.

"If you think this is a joke, Mr. Ainsworth, you are sadly mistaken," the admiral said. "This country does not take treason lightly and I refuse to release you so you and your terrorist partner can accumulate enough money to complete your vessel-of-death."

The admiral's icy glare finally got through to Tyler. He began to realize he had a serious problem on his hands.

"I swear to you, I am not a terrorist and neither is Nigel. My vessel has not been designed to store or fire any sort of weaponry, especially not nuclear weaponry. It is an underwater cruise ship, the first of its kind, made for those wealthy enough to enjoy its one-of-a-kind experience," Tyler said without any of his normal smugness.

"Nobody would be stupid enough to destroy their company and sink their entire fortune into the idea of starting an underwater cruise line. You've kept a tight lid on this vessel, so tight that your big secret could only mean one thing: you have something to hide. And your lack of honesty and cooperation today will be duly noted in your file. Your vessel will be destroyed, your secret will be released to the public and you will be hung after you're found guilty of treason. And believe me, I will make sure you're found guilty," Admiral Matthews warned.

The admiral stood from the table and walked to the door, which he loudly banged twice. One of the guards opened it.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else you'd like to tell me before I leave you for good?" he asked.

Tyler recognized the tactics Admiral Matthews used to induce a confession. Tyler's father used similar hardball tactics, just as ruthlessly, in the business world. But whether or not the admiral meant every threat he made, Tyler realized it was time to stop taking chances and use the one card he had left.

And the card was nothing short of an ace of spades.

"I do actually have a secret you might be interested to know," Tyler said. "Actually, this secret should produce some sense of finality to this entire situation."

"I'm in no mood for more games, Mr. Ainsworth."

"Believe me, Admiral. This is no game," Tyler said.

Admiral Matthews nodded at the bodyguard waiting outside. The guard closed the door and left the two men alone. The admiral walked back over to his chair.

"Go ahead."

"I'm sure you'll be quite surprised to find out the information I have attained. I preface this by saying that my informant must remain anonymous," Tyler said. "But I know something that I shouldn't know, or at least something that the government doesn't want anyone to know."

Tyler paused to let this sink into Admiral Matthews' mind. While his intention had been to increase the admiral's level of intrigue, Tyler succeeded only in causing more annoyance.

"I said no games, Mr. Ainsworth. Spit it out."

"One word: Clement."

Tyler studied the admiral's face closely, eagerly waiting for a look of shock. The admiral, however, remained as stone-faced as ever, not flinching a single bit upon hearing that Tyler knew about the comet. This certainly was not the reaction Tyler hoped for but he should've known the admiral would act nave.

"Clement? What does that mean?"

"It means that I know the big secret," Tyler said. "And I refused to sit back and do nothing while the government hid the true reason for building the space station. With the resources I have available, I'll create and build my own defense against Clement."

Tyler did not know how he could explain himself and the underwater vessel situation any more clearly. Yet the utterly confused look on the admiral's face convinced Tyler that he was not playing dumb at all.

Admiral Matthews began to laugh. The shrill laughter seemed uncharacteristic coming from the admiral, as if the old man had never laughed a day in his life.

He knows I have him right where I want him, Tyler thought. The self-satisfied smile returned to Tyler's face, anticipating the concession of defeat from the admiral at any moment.

"And here I thought I was dealing with an intelligent diabolical genius putting together one of the most elaborate plots ever to attack the United States," the admiral said. "But from your earth-shattering secret, I realize that maybe you're a complete lunatic. Your gibberish means nothing to me. The word Clement means nothing to me. All that matters to me is that you admit the seacraft is being developed as a secret weapon and that you tell me about Nigel Huffington and his involvement."

"Are you telling me you know nothing of Clement?" Tyler asked.

Tyler already knew the answer to his question, especially after hearing the admiral continue his weapon theory. Admiral Matthews would not have continued this charade if he'd been informed of Comet Clement. Although the admiral seemed to be a very powerful man, he apparently did not have such an important job to be told of the world's biggest secret.

"All I know is that the safety and security of America will not be jeopardized by a madman such as yourself," Admiral Matthews said.

Tyler did not know who initiated the investigation into his project, but he was fairly certain the chain of information reached high up the ladder of government influence. Tyler was only certain of three specific people in the government who knew of Comet Clement and hoped the admiral's report would quickly make it to one of them. He just had to make sure the admiral would pass along the message that he needed.

"Admiral Matthews, I would like to say that I greatly respect your important status. I'm surprised that you ascertained so much information about me and my vessel; I thought I'd kept it secret. And you're also correct in seeing through my lie about the vessel serving as an underwater cruise line, though I assure you this lie is not totally false. There is indeed a much greater purpose that my ship will serve. But unfortunately, I cannot allow you to learn what I know."

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Admiral Matthews yelled, seething at Tyler's apparent lack of respect.

"Admiral, I will answer no more questions from you at this moment. You can keep me here for as long as you like but I will not tell you anything more. You tell either Secretary of Defense James Armour, White House Chief of Staff Peter Mansfield or President George Marshall that I know about Clement."

"I will not go to my superiors with this nonsense," Matthews yelled.

"I don't want you to go to your superiors," Tyler responded firmly. "You must go to one of the three men I have mentioned and tell them I said 'Clement.' Then, and only then, will I further discuss my underwater vessel and its purpose."

Without another word, the admiral pounded on the door. The guard promptly opened it and the admiral walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Tyler knew it would take time for the admiral to deliver the message through the proper channels but there was no other way this situation could be handled. He would have to sit back, be patient and wait for three of the most important men in the country to learn that their secret had not been kept as tightly as they assumed.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE NIGHT OF MAY 16, 2015.

Wesley Maddox stood outside the entrance of a small auditorium at the Cape Canaveral NASSA headquarters. One mile away, a space shuttle not used for seven years sat perched, awaiting its launch the next day. Having just come from a walkthrough of the shuttle launch site, Maddox was filled with a mixture of excitement and tension. Tomorrow would not just be the first launch of space construction workers, it would also be Maddox's first time in space. And while he endured extensive training for his time in space, no amount of preparation would make him any less nervous.

"You are scared for tomorrow, yes?" asked the man standing next to Maddox.

Slava Kovalchuk, the Russian assigned to train the workers, proved indispensable to Maddox the last few years. It wasn't until Kovalchuk arrived that the proper training techniques were taught. As vital as the Russian's help had already been, Maddox knew it was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Scared is not the right word, Slava," Maddox explained. "More like nervous about what will happen."

"Not worry, boss. I help you to make all good with construction in space."

Kovalchuk would accompany Maddox throughout the construction process, serving as his second-in-command though the Russian was the one with all the experience. Kovalchuk never made Maddox feel inferior for having a lack of knowledge; the Russian had no interest being in charge. He was the perfect man to go into battle with and Maddox hoped his presence would help avert any catastrophes the next few years.

"I know, Slava. But the men inside don't sound quite as nervous as I feel right now," Maddox said. The two men could hear a crowd laughing and joking inside the auditorium.

The fifty trained construction workers waited on the other side of the door for Maddox's final briefing. After the meeting, the majority of these men would catch flights to different parts of the country. Besides Cape Canaveral, two other shuttles at different launch sites were ready for the next day's liftoff. The remaining two shuttles were still undergoing intense inspections and would lift off within the next few weeks.

"Believe me, they all very nervous now," Kovalchuk assured the project leader. "I go to space many times, and my men, too. Always scared night before liftoff. But my men do not want show fear and your men do not want show fear, too. This is why they laugh. This is why they joke. They hide what they feel; is best for everyone."

Maddox glanced at his watch.

"I better get my talk over with," the project leader said. "Our guest speakers should be arriving shortly."

Kovalchuk followed Wesley Maddox into the room. Upon seeing the two men in charge, the fifty soon-to-be space construction workers immediately quieted. Kovalchuk sat in the first row and gave Maddox a friendly nod as he stopped behind a small lectern.

"This is it," Maddox began. "This will be our last official meeting as a group before our real work begins. I want to start by saying I truly appreciate the hard work you've all put in. If the training you've accomplished is any indication of the type of work you'll do in space, this station should be built in no time at all."

The compliment elicited clapping and cheering from half the men in the room. Maddox did not focus on any particular person applauding but knew the louder group was the Americans, which comprised half the crew.

"With that said, we will now go over the specific plan of action one last time. The fifty of you have been separated and trained in five different ten-man teams. These will remain your teams over the course of construction, no matter how long that might take. Of the five teams, three will be in space at all times. A new team will launch in their shuttle once a week to relieve another team; this way, no single team will work in space for longer than three weeks at a time. Each worker will have two weeks off for every three worked. This will help make sure that exhaustion doesn't lead to sloppy work."

Maddox and Slava had numerous disagreements about the length of time the men could work in space, as the Russian argued for longer than the proposed three weeks. The standards of labor were obviously different between the two countries but Maddox refused to overwork his men and increase the chances of an accident.

"In fact, the only people overworked during this process will be Slava and me. Also starting tomorrow, the two of us will take up the command base in one of the actual space station pieces. The biggest of the Four Corners, the future control post, will be Slava's and my home for an undetermined amount of time. That time lasts until construction is complete or any unforeseen circumstance takes place. Since the rest of you will make camp in your respective space shuttles, that leaves Slava and me as the only two people living in any of the space station pieces that you'll be working on. So do me a favor, try not to mess anything up, at least not on our corner."

"We're not making any promises," a particularly ugly American worker named Frankie Barnes shouted from the front row. This elicited laughter from all of the men, including the Russians.

"If something happens to me, I'll be sure your pay gets docked," Maddox said. "But in all seriousness, I have no reservations about placing my life in any of your hands. You've all worked hard in training and you've all performed admirably. Now it's time to put that training to good use.

"As you know, the Four Corners were successfully launched into space last week. We've just received a report from NASSA, who has tracked the progress of the space station pieces since the launch. All four pieces are very close to each other as planned and have reached the same orbit around Earth. This means our mission is officially a go.

"Teams 1, 2 and 3 will launch tomorrow as planned, along with materials and construction supplies for the north corridor. Construction will be a lengthy process but this is the first step in something truly-"

Maddox noticed a person out of the corner of his eye. He glanced toward the entrance door, now slightly open. The man standing there was one of the special guests here to speak to the workers. Maddox smiled.

"Truly amazing," Maddox finished. "I'm sure you're all tired of listening to me blab so I'll now turn this over to a few other people who've come a long way to wish you luck."

The men turned in their seats and looked at the door. Most of the workers, with the exception of a few Russians, were shocked to see the President of the United States stroll through the door. The men stood from their seats and began to clap. Moments later, the rest of the Russians stood and began to applauded when another man, this one recognizable by all, also entered the room. The ovation received by James Armour was louder than the one for the President. For the second time in his life, Armour was touched by the recognition he received from the Russians.

Armour waved but stayed near the doorway, allowing President Marshall to garner most of the attention. The President signaled for the men to cease their applause.

"Please, please. Your applause is not necessary," Marshall said as the noise died down. "Tonight, I don't want you to think of me as the President. I'm just another man, no different than any of you. In fact, if anyone deserves recognition, it is each and every one of you."

President Marshall clapped his hands, the sound of his lone applause echoing throughout the room. He looked from one set of proud eyes to another, ensuring that he made eye contact with every person in the room.

"Now please, sit down. If I put you to sleep with what I have to say, I don't want you falling over and hurting yourselves the night before launch," President Marshall said.