The Nightmare Unleashed

by J. J. Carlson

  Daron coughed and rubbed his sternum. He glowered at Janson, then at San as he got to his feet and walked away.

  13

  The Palace, Siberia

  Emily played the footage in reverse and watched as two pulverized skulls returned to normal between Jarrod’s fingers. “Who were they?” she murmured.

  “No one of consequence,” Dmitri said, shrugging. “Drug addicts from a London borough. The police found three children at the address Hawkins spoke of. It seems the parents were allowing men to have sex with the children for money. The parents also gave drugs to the children so they could service more customers.”

  Dmitri snarled. “The youngest child was two years old. These people deserved worse punishment than they received.”

  “Perhaps,” Emily said, her face illuminated in pink light as the projection replayed the video.

  Dmitri took a step forward so he could look into her eyes. “What is bothering you, Emily? Surely not the loss of this filth.”

  She sighed. She wanted to tell him about the prophecy, but she couldn’t. To do so would feel like acknowledging the dire words as inescapable. For so long, she had wished for a way to predict the future. Then Borya spoke his first cryptic words as the Oracle, and she wanted nothing more than to erase them from her memory.

  “It’s nothing,” she said finally. “I’m just worried about our assets in the region.”

  Resting a hand on her shoulder, Dmitri said, “Our agents in the UK have been relocated to the mainland, and the automatons have arrived in London. There is no reason to fear.”

  Emily shook her head. “It’s not far enough. I want everyone in Western Europe moved to Kremnica, Warsaw, or Budapest. We’ll keep them there until we receive news from London. If the automatons fail, I want everyone to regroup in Moscow.”

  “That would be thousands of people,” Dmitri said. His tone was instructive, not questioning.

  “I know,” she said. “Thousands of people I can’t risk falling into Jarrod’s hands. If he interrogates someone who knows where the Palace is…” She shook her head. “Well, we just can’t let that happen.”

  “I agree, but we have placed neural implants in…” He paused to think. “Ninety-two percent of our agents, I believe.”

  “And I’m grateful for it, but Jarrod might be able to extract information from an agent before we know he or she is compromised. The only guarantee is to put hundreds of miles between our people and Jarrod.”

  Dmitri took a deep breath. “Then it will be done.” He stood in silence for nearly a minute, watching Jarrod crush the life out of the drug-addicts over and over in a continuous loop. He cleared his throat and added, “I promise, I will not underestimate this beast, and I will obey your wishes.”

  Emily glanced up at him and smiled. “Thank you. You are a loyal general and a true friend.”

  Dmitri brushed his thumb against her forehead, tucking back a lock of her hair. “Loyalty is the least I can give to the woman Borya has loved for so long.” His smiling eyes slowly settled beneath their heavy hoods. “How is my old friend, by the way?”

  Emily glanced in the direction of the Throne Room and smiled, as if she could see Borya through the walls. “He is doing better. He can speak again, and we successfully connected him to a single Server.” She blushed like a schoolgirl. “And, if you can believe it, he’s smarter than ever.”

  “Really?” Dmitri’s eyebrows shot up. “Is he…well enough to visit with an old bear like me?”

  “I think you’ll be surprised by how well he is.”

  Dmitri shook his head, confused.

  “You’ll see,” she said, leading him out of the office. “And don’t worry, it’s a good thing.”

  He followed her up the stone stairs, then brushed past her to pull the door open.

  “Thank you,” she said as she walked into the Throne Room.

  Dmitri followed her inside and paused, respectfully waiting to be acknowledged. He looked to Borya’s bed at the opposite end of the room and had to grip the wall to keep from fainting. Borya was waving him forward.

  Awestruck, Dmitri crept along the red carpet. He was halfway across the room before he realized his mouth was hanging open.

  Borya chuckled and spoke in Russian. “You have lowered your standards, my friend, if you think a man waving his arm is impressive.”

  Dmitri blinked his wide eyes and spoke in his native tongue. “I…how? How is this possible?”

  Not wanting to sully the mood, Emily answered in crisp, lightly accented Russian. “The machines in his body are gradually repairing his nerves.” She beamed with pride. “And Borya’s connection with the server has allowed him to redirect the machines at will. They were only programmed to restore his voice, but he has used them to do much more.”

  Dmitri shook his head. “Forgive me, Empress, I still do not understand.” He glanced at Borya. “But it makes me happy to see you moving.”

  “This is only the beginning,” Borya said. “One day soon, I will even walk again.”

  Dmitri squeezed his friend’s bicep and grinned. “Then, I will show you around the gym, no?”

  “Perhaps,” Borya said. A twinkle passed through his eyes. “Anything is possible now.”

  Leaning to his right, Dmitri examined the black conduit leading to Borya’s brain. “How does it feel, to be connected to a computer?”

  “It is everything I dreamed of and more.”

  Dmitri cast a worried glance at Emily. “It’s not hurting him like before, is it?”

  Borya answered for her. “It does not hurt, my friend. And I remember nothing from yesterday. Do not trouble yourself.”

  “Good,” Dmitri said. “I am glad.”

  Borya gestured at the black tube. “I asked for this. All of it. And I am glad I did. I feel as if the entire world is within my reach. I can recall every word written by Dostoevski, Tolstoy, Marx, Nietzsche, and Plato. I can speak every documented language and view the earth through the lens of a satellite.” His eyes brimmed with tears, as if he was, in that moment, staring down at the earth. “I am the richest man in history, but not because of what I own. It is because of what I know. Wisdom truly is the greatest treasure.”

  Dmitri gave a soft chuckle. “I am glad this power has been given to you. You alone are worthy of it.”

  The sentiment in Borya’s eyes disappeared, replaced by pure confidence. The change was so drastic, so complete, that Dmitri took a step back.

  “My mind was not ready to connect to the entire network, but it will be. Emily was wise to join me to one server. I have used its computing power to reprogram the nanobots and modify my brain. In twenty-four hours, I will be ready to accept a second Server. A day beyond that, and I will be ready for a third.” He paused as he searched Dmitri’s eyes. “Don’t you see? In less than three weeks, my abilities will be limitless. Even now, every device within the Palace walls obeys my very thoughts.”

  Borya closed his eyes, and the overhead lights dimmed. The holographic monitor at the end of his bed sprang to life, casting Borya and Emily in an eerie sapphire glow.

  “And that is only the beginning,” Borya said. “If I willed it, New York, Tokyo, and Paris could spend eternity in darkness.”

  The projection showed footage from three traffic cameras. Tokyo’s bright billboards were dull in midday light, while Paris and New York were illuminated only with street lamps. Borya smiled, and the lights went out in all three cities.

  “I could do this to half the world,” Borya explained, “if I thought it served the greater good.” His smile faded, and the lights began to reappear in the traffic cameras.

  The projection blinked, then displayed an active runway at an airport in Hong Kong. A Boeing 747 came into view, its wheels extended and its flaps down in preparation for landing. The massive aircraft teetered in mid-air, and the ailerons shot up. The 747 began to plummet.

  Dmitri flinched as the projection flashed orange. He watched the smoldering wreckage out of the
corner of his eye and said, “Was…was that real?”

  Borya didn’t answer him directly. “Do you see now? Do you see what Katharos can accomplish without risking a single soldier? Rejoice, my friend, for the hour of victory approaches.”

  Dmitri smiled and nodded, though his skin had paled. “A true soldier dreams of the day when he will no longer have to fight. This is a day worth celebrating.” He patted Borya’s arm. “Rest well, my friend. I must get back to my office.”

  Dmitri descended the steps and began following the red carpet out, and Borya called out, “Stop!”

  Dmitri swallowed, then glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  Borya’s eyes bounced around in his head as if he was in a waking dream. “Something is coming.”

  “Where?” Emily asked, taking a step forward. “Here?”

  “No. Not here. In…London. There are intruders at our Command Post.”

  Emily smiled and glanced at Dmitri. “The moment we’ve been waiting for.” She nodded toward the exit. “Get to the Operations Center and put the bio-automaton pilots on high-alert. It’s time to end this.”

  14

  2 Miles Southeast of London, England

  The remote guidance system was crude, but effective. Eugene watched over Ford’s shoulder as the operative piloted Jarrod’s vehicular bomb along a narrow road. A tiny handheld screen, like those found on portable DVD players, displayed the live feed from a camera mounted to the front of the truck. The entire system functioned off a pair of short-range radios, which meant it couldn’t be hacked by satellites in orbit. By the time Katharos knew what was coming, it would be too late.

  Eugene glanced at a map, then back at the screen. “Take the next left. There should be a gate near the perimeter, but the truck should have no trouble getting through.”

  Ford nodded and eased off the joystick to allow the truck to decelerate. He guided the truck around a turn, then pulled the joystick all the way back. In the distance, the truck’s diesel engine whistled with exertion.

  “This is too easy,” Ford remarked. “I don’t like it.”

  “Yeah, you’d think they would be shooting at the truck by now, or at least sending out guards to investigate.”

  A massive home with three separate garages came into view. Ford crashed through an iron gate, then let off the throttle. “This isn’t right. Are we sure this is the right place?”

  “This is the exact location Daron gave us. And he made it seem like it would be heavily defended.”

  Ford steered the truck in a half-circle until the house’s front door was in full view of the camera. He brought the truck to a stop and shrugged his shoulders. “Now what do we do?”

  “Beats me. I didn’t even expect to make it through the front gate before they lit that truck up like Christmas.”

  Ford exhaled. “Well, I don’t feel like knocking. Maybe we should just blow the payload and start our exfil.”

  “Hold on,” Eugene said, holding up a hand. “Let’s wait to see if anyone comes out. If some guys with guns try to mess with the truck, we’ll know we’re in the right place. If not, maybe we should move the truck to a safe distance and investigate.”

  Ford chewed his lip for a moment, then sat down on a patch of grass. “Ten minutes. But I say we leave the truck where it is and sweep around the other side. Then, if we need to retreat, we can use it as a distraction.”

  “I don’t know…we have no way of knowing what kind of cocktail Jarrod whipped up, or how big the boom will be.”

  “I’d still prefer to have it on target. If we go down, at least we can take them with us.”

  Eugene sighed. “You’re probably right.” He scraped away a clump of wet leaves and sat next to Ford. “I really wish Jarrod would have showed up. He’d probably just walk up to the end of the driveway, sniff the air like a hound, and say, ‘Yep, there’s twenty bad guys in there. One of them’s wearing a green shirt, and another one’s mad because his motorcycle won’t start.’”

  Ford shot him a sideways glance. “You’re an idiot.”

  “But a well-trained idiot, you have to give me that.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Eugene crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, you have no personality. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  Eugene huffed, irritated that he couldn’t annoy his partner. “Be honest, did Wagner extract your fun genes while you were in Hillcrest?”

  “No.”

  “So, it’s hereditary? Jeez, I’d hate to meet your parents.”

  Ford stared unblinking at the screen. After several long moments, he said, “It was the CIA.”

  “The CIA turned you into a muscle-headed jerk?”

  Ford scowled. “No. At least, not intentionally.”

  Eugene waited for his stoic companion to elaborate. When he received no response, he leaned forward so that his face was directly in front of the remote display.

  Ford shoved Eugene away with one hand and grunted in exasperation. “I was part of the CIA’s Special Operations Group. They trained me as a covert sniper, taught me how to shoot any weapon you could think of. That way, I could travel all over the world, secure a weapon off the black-market, and take down a target. There was never any way to trace my actions back to the U.S. government.”

  Eugene frowned. “On your own, or with a team?”

  “Sometimes I travelled with support assets. Usually, I went alone and met up with mercenaries on the CIA’s payroll. They would help me get into position and watch my back while I took the shot.”

  “Sounds like a good way to make some interesting friends.”

  Ford fell silent. His breathing slowed, and he fiddled with the edges of the remote guidance system. “They were never my friends. I used them, every single time. If a firefight started, I left them to die. If I thought I was about to get caught, I would shoot someone in the leg to give myself time to escape.”

  There was another long moment of silence, but this time Eugene let it pass without interruption.

  “I got really good at following orders,” Ford said, “and really bad at staying in relationships. I believed what I was doing was right—I was eliminating some very bad men—but I had to close myself off to deal with the guilt. For years, the only person worthy of my protection was me.”

  Eugene thought back to his own time in the Marines, and the men he fought alongside. He would have died for any one of them, and they would have done the same for him. He didn’t complete a single objective on his own—his brothers were always right there with him. Even on a recon mission, or hiding in a sniper position, he traveled with at least one other Marine. He couldn’t imagine how much harder it all would have been if he was alone.

  “I’m sorry you went through that,” Eugene murmured. “I’ll try not to call you a jerk anymore.”

  Ford snorted, breaking the tense quiet. “It’s alright. I am a jerk. But now you know why.” He broke his focus on the screen for a split second to cast a glance at Eugene. “And in my experience, jerks survive longer than idiots.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Eugene extended his hand and added, “Ten bucks says you get killed before I do.”

  Ford rolled his eyes, then shook Eugene’s hand. “You’re on.”

  Another minute passed without conversation, and both men stared at the screen like it was a campfire. Then, something dark passed the camera.

  “What was that?” Eugene asked, pointing.

  Ford shook his head. “Don’t know. It was moving too fast.

  “You think it was Jarrod?”

  “I doubt it. He’s not stupid enough to spend time near a homemade bomb when someone else has their finger on the trigger.”

  “Then who was—” Eugene cut himself off and recoiled as a hideous face appeared on screen. It was massive, misshapen, and covered with black wires. The eyes were round holes, like wide-angle cameras, and the nose had been replaced with an intricate sensor array.

  “Is that…” For
d started to say.

  “Blow it,” Eugene said. “Now.”

  15

  The Palace, Central Siberia

  “Get me a status report,” Emily barked.

  A female technician on the third tier of the bowl-shaped Operations Center spoke first. “Engineering says it was a tannerite booster on a radio detonator. Whoever was driving the truck should be somewhere within a two-kilometer radius.”

  “Is the second bio-automaton still online?”

  Ross, the man remotely piloting the second cyborg, spoke up. “Yep. I was inside when it went off. I’m moving out through the north exit.”

  “Stay where you are,” Emily said. She watched the display above Ross’s head to make sure he stopped the cyborg, then she pointed at a man on the second tier. “Are there any infrared signatures in the area?”

  “Negative, Empress.”

  She frowned. Where the hell is he?

  The woman on the third tier spoke again, her voice calm and direct. “I pulled telemetry data from the perimeter sensors. I have a location for the remote device narrowed down to three square meters.”

  “Feed it to Ross,” Emily said. “And Ross, don’t move until I give you the signal.”

  “Understood,” Ross said.

  Emily slid her hands across an array of dials embedded in a polished lectern. She brought up satellite imagery and thermal camera feeds, searching for signs of Jarrod Hawkins. Before she could decide what to do next, a voice came through the Operation Center’s overhead speakers.

  “The primary target is not in the area, proceed to the secondary target and acquire a captive.”

  Ross smiled, “As you command, Emperor.”

  “And Ross, do not kill anyone.”

  Ross waited a beat, then responded, “Yes, Emperor.”

  Emily watched the display as the seven-foot-tall cyborg marched through the forest. Despite her respect for Borya, she felt strangely hesitant to give him command of the mission. Her hand floated over a pair of dials. No, she thought, it’s time to let the Emperor resume power. She let her hand rest on the lectern and took a deep, calming breath. She told herself that it didn’t matter who was in charge; the only thing that mattered was results.