"Right," Mendez said and went back to the counter.

Newland stood and opened the door behind him. Inside was a desk with a computer monitor on it and a man behind it. The man looked up as the sergeant looked in.

"Europa's down. I think we better close the gate until she comes back up."

The desk sergeant safed the weapon under the desk and disarmed the tranquilizing darts embedded in the false front of the wooden desk and computer while Newland was in front of it. Then he picked up his phone and hit a button. The lone number connected him to the duty officer in the complex. Newland saw a funny look cross his features.

"What is it?"

The sergeant hung up the phone and looked up. "Phone's down, too."

"Shit, this isn't right," Newland said, and turned back for the back room and the store beyond. "Hit the alarm, let someone know we're down."

The desk sergeant hit a large black switch under the lip of the desk, but nothing happened. There should have been a steady blinking from a small LED placed in the button. The sergeant then rearmed the dart defense, but there was nothing there, either.

"Goddamn it!" he said as he removed the Ingram submachine gun from its clip under the desk, then he reached out to a small calculator-sized control board and hit the elevator emergency cutoff. Again, there was nothing. "Damn it, now anyone can just waltz into the shop and get into the complex." He started for the front of the store.

Mendez had just come around from behind the desk when he saw the two patrons. He smiled, knowing the nine-millimeter Beretta was tucked comfortably into his waistband. He was just about to greet the two men when Newland, followed by the desk sergeant, broke from the back room. He gave them a look that asked, What in the hell is wrong?

As Mendez turned back to the customers, he saw that the exact same nine-millimeter weapon as the one he had was staring him right in the face. The only difference was that this one had a foot-long silencer attached.

"Buddy, this is one place you don't want to rob," were the only words he could think of to say.

"Mendez, we're closing down. Case Blue ... you hear me? Case Blue--"

The tranquilizer dart caught Newland in the throat. Unlike in the movies, the drug wasn't instantaneous, and the impact of the dart hurt the sergeant like a kick in the neck.

"Hey, what the--"

Mendez was shot and drugged next. The man with the nine-millimeter covered the second man while he placed another dart into the breech of his handgun.

The desk sergeant came around the corner near the display of CDs and caught sight of Mendez's feet as he lay sprawled in the next aisle over. He quickly aimed the Ingram at the man with the silenced weapon. He started to pull the trigger when a fired dart bounced off the machine gun, almost knocking it from his hands. He adjusted his aim quickly and tried to fire at the man who had shot at him.

The man with the silencer had no choice; he cursed his bad luck and fired one round into the desk sergeant's head, blowing his brains all over a rack of sunglasses.

The second man quickly ran over to the front door and opened it. As he waited, twenty men quickly moved in from an abandoned store to the right, and another ten from the alley next to the pawnshop. They entered the store with purpose, following the first two men into the back.

The taking of the Event Group Complex had begun.

Sitting across the way in a rented van, Colonel Henri Farbeaux watched in stunned disbelief at the taking of gate 2. He raised his field glasses and watched as thirty-two heavily armed and hooded men entered the store and disappeared into the back. He was confused and amazed that he was witnessing a breach of Group security such as what was happening at that moment.

Farbeaux saw an opportunity. He wouldn't need the tracking device on the seat beside him, nor the tracer he had infected the black sergeant with.

He removed his own weapon and clicked the safety off. He opened the van's rear doors and slowly walked across the street, fully intending to follow the assault element inside. Even if this was a drill of some sort, he would take advantage.

For the colonel--in case this was a real assault--having someone else kill Collins was not going to do. For the loss of his beloved wife and his own esteem, no one but he had the right to kill Jack Collins and his men.

No, the security personnel of the Group were his.

Farbeaux slowly removed the hidden gun and held it at his side as he calmly moved inside the pawnshop, following the assault element.

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX,

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

There were only six logistics men and women working the underground loading dock on level 3 at that early hour of the morning. They had little to do since the security alert had been called, shutting down all shipping to the complex. Now all six were inventorying material that was to be shipped in the next few days after being released to the National Archives and the Smithsonian. When they heard the sound of the monorail heading their way, they paid it no mind, as they thought it was gate-2 security coming home after their shift.

The loadmaster, an air force sergeant, looked at his watch and took a double take.

"This isn't right," he said, looking up from his watch at the approaching tram. It was now on its last two hundred feet of centerline rail as it straightened out from its dive into the earth from Las Vegas, ten miles away. "There's no scheduled security change, and there's no one allowed to arrive through gate two during the lockdown."

"So, maybe one of the guys is sick or something. You worry way too much, Sarge," said one of the men as he checked off the weight of a large crate.

"Then why didn't Europa notify us?" he asked as he gestured for a female specialist to check the computer for a missed command.

"She's down, Sergeant," the woman said as she exited the small booth on the massive loading dock. She tossed an M-16 to the sergeant and another to the man next to him, who dropped his clipboard in his effort to catch the weapon. She herself drew a nine-millimeter from a holster at her side.

The sergeant took station next to the large crate, and the others followed suit as the sound of the approaching tram slowed, then picked up speed again. They saw the glow of the monorail's glassed-in interior as it sped to a stop at the loading dock. It was empty. All seven cars and their plastic seating were void of any passengers. Still, the air force sergeant approached cautiously with his weapon at the ready. He chanced a look into the darkened tunnel beyond, but could only see the fluorescent blue and green track lighting fading away in the distance.

"Specialist, illuminate the tunnel, now!"

The female specialist ran to the controller's shack and hit the switch that would turn on the overheads lining the massive tunnel's ceiling. Nothing happened.

"We have a problem here, Sarge. Europa may have killed this panel when she went down."

"Damn!" he said, just as a dart slammed into his chest and then another into his cheek.

Small sounds echoed off the concrete walls of the monorail tunnel as twenty darts streaked toward their targets, embedding themselves in the five remaining personnel on the dock. The female specialist had the fortitude to remain on her feet and slam her hand into the intruder alarm as she fell forward. Again, there was nothing.