The War Room

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Why he has an enormous map of such an obscure location in Nevada is fairly mind-blowing.  But within moments he retrieves it, and sprawls it over the large table.

"First let me say that if there is even one percent truth in what you are telling me," he barks, "you would be the last soldier on Earth I would trust on an important mission like this.  You are ill-equipped, untrained, inept, and virtually worthless."

"Thanks dad," I reply.

"Have you considered just hiring a mover?"

"That sectional couch came from Ikea.  Only the most brilliant minds on Earth and Koreans can reassemble it."

He ignores my answer, poring over the map with a fingertip.  "Her signal is coming from ... "

... his finger thumps the map.  "Here."

"There's nothing there," I note.

"See?" he replies.  "Worthless.  Coordinate those last two brain cells!  The only reason you think there's nothing there is because the government wants you to think there's nothing there."

"Eh ..."

"There's nothing on Google Maps either, which proves it," he says.  Sighing deeply, he rises, pushing his helmet up an inch with his finger.  "Son, what we have here is a full-blown conspiracy."

"Obviously."

"So what the hell happened to your eyebrows?"