Armageddon - By James Patterson Page 0,9

your help, Daniel. Like my guys told you, the IOU is a top secret covert unit operating within the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Our mission is to seek out and establish working relations with any and all friendly extraterrestrials residing in the United States of America.”

“And the unfriendlies?” I asked, knowing there were a jillion more of those here on Earth than peace-loving planet-hoppers like me.

“The unfriendlies,” said Judge, “we seek out and, whenever possible, terminate.”

I gestured toward the agent who had been holding his double-barreled vaporizer backward. “Really? How’s that been working out for you?”

My question made Agent Judge wince.

“Not very well, Daniel. Not without the expert assistance of Protectors such as your father, your mother, and, now, you.”

“Look,” I said. “Why should I help you guys?”

“Because Number 2 is planning something big. What it is exactly… well, frankly, we don’t know.”

Because the IOU hadn’t been able to infiltrate the demon’s underground pep rally, like I had. I knew exactly what Number 2 had up his sleeve: the destruction of cities and towns all across the globe, coupled with the enslavement of the entire human population—all seven billion of ’em.

Judge tugged a simple silver chain out from under his shirt.

“I wanted to show you this, Daniel.”

“What is it?” I asked. “A Saint Jude medal? Because Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes, and if you ask me…”

I shut up when I saw what Agent Judge held in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked.

“Your father gave it to me.”

It was a silver elephant pendant, an emblem of Alpar Nokian homeworld solidarity. My mother and father both received them when they graduated from the Academy and accepted positions in the Interplanetary Protectorship. One of my earliest memories: I’m in my crib. My mother is singing me a lullaby. The silver elephant pendant dangles from her necklace.

Little-known factoid: Elephants were brought to Earth about three million years ago. From my planet. They were Alpar Nok’s gift to Terra Firma. So, if you’re taking notes, jot this down: Elephants are aliens, too. Friendly aliens.

Agent Judge gripped the silver pachyderm tightly in his fist.

“Earth has never needed assistance from the Interplanetary Protectorship more. And you’re the best Alien Hunter to ever come out of Alpar Nok.”

I blushed when Agent Judge said that. Turning bright red at the drop of a compliment? It’s one of my most well-developed alien skills.

“Really?” I said. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Your father. He took me aside one day and said, ‘Martin, keep an eye on Daniel. One day, my son will make all of Alpar Nok proud. He will grow up to become an Alien Hunter’s Alien Hunter.’ ”

Now my ears had gone to code purple, and of course my heart was lodged in my throat because I was thinking about how my father never really got to see what kind of kid I turned out to be.

How he would never know what sort of man I might become.

“But I’m only a teenager, sir,” I mumbled.

Agent Judge winked at me. “Well, for the sake of the planet and all humanity, let’s hope you grow up real fast. Come on, Daniel. We need to leave here ASAP. I’m afraid the time for fun and games is over. We need to deal with Number 2.”

Agent Judge turned and headed down the Splash Water Falls exit ramp. His crew of hazmat guys followed after him. I hesitated.

“So, where exactly are we all going?” I called out.

“Kentucky. You need to meet Xanthos.”

“O-kay. And who, if you don’t mind me asking, is Xanthos?”

“Your father’s spiritual advisor. He lives with me at my horse farm.”

Chapter 12

THEY CALL IT Kentucky Bluegrass, but I have never seen rolling pastures so green.

We were making our final approach for a landing at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, home of the 101st Airborne. The lush ground below looked like the world’s best-kept golf course.

Special Agent Judge and I had flown from Georgia to Kentucky in an unmarked government jet even though I could’ve just teleported. Agent Judge, on the other hand? Not so much.

As we were cleared for landing, the FBI special agent once again apologized for his “overzealous subordinates.”

“A lot of those guys in the hazmat suits are rookies, Daniel,” he explained. “IOU is in a total rebuilding mode. Six months ago, eighty percent of my team was wiped out during an unfortunate encounter with a four-sided killing machine.”

“Attila,” I said.

“Come again?”

“My nickname for Number 33, the cubist Varladrian warrior your team bumped up against. But don’t worry—he won’t be