The Nightmare Unleashed

by J. J. Carlson

  Daron glanced at the man covered in tattoos. “Kacen, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

  The man nodded and stepped forward. “Kacen Brown. Former SEAL out of Virginia Beach. OIF, OEF, and OIR vet.” He nodded at Daron to communicate that he was finished.

  “Brown will be Echo, and the team’s secondary sniper.” Daron held an open palm toward the one remaining operative in the room, a woman with olive skin and a puckered scar on her forehead. “Nicole.”

  The woman nodded, then spoke with a trace of an accent. “Nicole Hersch. I served in the Israeli Defense Forces for five years, then with Mossad as an explosives expert for six.”

  “She’ll be the team Foxtrot. Though it should go without saying, she will also be carrying and placing demolitions.” Daron placed his hands on his hips. “Are there any questions?”

  Eli raised his hand. “Are we rolling with any support staff?”

  Daron hesitated. “No.”

  Janson didn’t let him off the hook. “But?”

  Daron took a deep breath and met her gaze. “You have to understand, he volunteered.”

  “Who?”

  “Agent Ford. He will be accompanying you as Alpha Two.”

  Janson shook her head. “He can’t. He needs surgery.”

  “That’s where he is right now,” Daron said. “If you don’t want him on the team, that’s your call, but you’ll have to talk to him when he wakes up.”

  Janson thought for a moment, then nodded. “I will.” She leaned over the diagram on the table and added, “What’s our infil?”

  Daron cleared his throat. “You and your equipment will travel by military airlift—a C-5 that leaves Dover Air Force Base tomorrow morning. You will stop to refuel at Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, then continue on to Luhansk in East Ukraine. From there, you will be loaded onto an AN-12 cargo plane and smuggled across the border into Russia.”

  “What do you mean, smuggled?” Trent asked.

  Daron nodded at Yuri, and the medic spoke up. “I was born in Ukraine. My mother was Ukrainian, and my father was Russian. He served in the Russian Air Force for many years, then moved to Ukraine and started a private airfreight business.” Yuri shrugged. “Not all of his business is legitimate, at least, not in the eyes of the Russians. He smuggles supplies out of Russia to give to Ukrainians, and he gets away with it because he still has friends in the Russian Air Force. He won’t be happy about bringing explosives on his aircraft, but I’m sure he will do it when we explain what is at stake.”

  “Wait,” Janson balked, “he doesn’t even know we’re coming?”

  “He can’t,” Daron grunted. “If we try to communicate with him, Katharos will execute him before you get across the Atlantic.”

  In a low voice, Yuri added, “We’ll be putting my father in enough risk as it is. I’m not going to make a phone call.”

  Janson’s face slackened. “What’s the next step after Luhansk?”

  “From Luhansk, you will fly straight into Siberia, refueling in-flight along the way. Your flight plan will take you to a city called Krasnoyarsk, but you’ll experience ‘navigation problems’ along the way. Yuri’s father will divert approximately two hundred miles north and let you out for a HALO parachute insertion before returning to Krasnoyarsk.”

  Eli raised his hand again and, when Daron acknowledged him, said, “Does the Katharos base have air defenses?”

  “The Katharos base has extensive defenses, but your drop zone is well beyond the range of their surface-to-air missiles. You’ll land fifteen miles south of the objective and hike in from there. We’ll cover the rest of the base defenses in a moment. Are there any other questions regarding your insertion?”

  Receiving silence in return, Daron continued. “The ‘Palace,’ as our source has referred to it, is well-defended, with layers of security covering a vast area around the central access point. There are radar towers that will detect anything but modern stealth aircraft.” He paused. “You will not be flying in a stealth aircraft, so they will know you’re coming.”

  “What if we made the drop zone farther out?” Nicole asked. “Could we approach without being detected?”

  “To some extent, yes,” Daron said. “But you would be forced to travel at least one hundred miles on foot, and we don’t have that much time.” He pointed at a cross-hatched section that encircled the middle of the diagram. “Additionally, there are motion sensors that form an invisible fence two miles away from the main access shaft. At some point, they will know exactly where you are, and I believe you have a better chance of making it through the defenses if you move quickly.”

  “Hold up,” Eli said. “What do you mean, ‘access shaft?’”

  Daron closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry—I should have briefed you on that before. The Palace is located almost entirely below-ground.”

  A collective groan rippled through the room.

  Nicole was the only operative unaffected by the news. She shrugged and said, “Underground structures aren’t so bad. Once we retrieve Carver, we can use explosives to collapse the tunnels behind us. But we will need to bring demolitions with a lower relative explosiveness than our usual cutting charges.”

  “I’m sorry…what?” Yuri asked.

  “Traditional explosives,” Trent explained. “Like dynamite. They won’t cut through steel like SEMTEX, but they can make a big mess in an enclosed space.”

  Daron nodded, then locked eyes with Janson. “Can you carry the additional weight?”

  Janson nodded.

  “Very well. Alpha One will tote the additional charges to a cache inside the perimeter defenses. When the time is right, Delta and Foxtrot will use the extra charges to turn the Palace into a tomb.”

  He took a deep breath. “But first, you need to get to the front door, and it isn’t going to be easy. The outermost perimeter is a minefield, meant to stop vehicles. You should be able to avoid the mines, but you’ll need to bring sniffers. Charlie and Echo, those will be in your loadouts.”

  Eli and Kacen nodded.

  “Once you’re past the minefield, you’ll enter the motion detection grid.” Daron’s face turned grim. “The motion detectors will trigger automated mortars. According to our source, the mortar tubes are guarded against ground assault, so your only option is to run your ass off and dig in when you can.”

  Hersh mumbled, “Ben zona,” and though no one understood the words, they all commiserated with the tone.

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat it,” Daron said, “it’s going to be hell out there. You’ll need to split into pairs and use automated drones to confuse the targeting system. Get somewhere safe and hunker down, because any movement will bring a mortar shell down on your head. I recommend staying within the forest to the east—the trees will confuse the sensors and mask your movements. Somewhat.”

  “If we can’t stop the mortars, how do we continue the attack?” Kacen asked.

  “Our only option is to go for the eyes—the targeting sensors. You and Eli will move into a position where you can take out the inner defenses.”

  “Which are?” Janson asked.

  Daron stared at the diagram for a long moment. “Machine guns and an experimental railgun. That’s why it’s so important for you to take out the cameras. I’ll have more detailed schematics drawn up for you to memorize while you’re in the air.”

  Eli said, “What about the motion sensors, can the inner defenses use those for targeting?”

  “It’s possible. But from what I understand, the motion detectors are meant for area defense, to be used with mortars or rockets. Up close, they won’t be able to precisely guide the inner guns. Move quickly and erratically, and you should be able to make it to the pillboxes.”

  “Pillboxes?” Yuri asked.

  Daron nodded. “Concrete bunkers with openings for the machine guns. They are currently disguised to look like old wooden buildings, but it’s likely the camouflage will come down when you are cl
ose enough for their security team to engage. Once you get past the automated systems, expect a human response.”

  “How many?” Kacen asked.

  “According to our source, the security team in the Palace is minimal. They rely mostly on their automated weapons to deter intruders. But you can expect ten to twenty armed security members to respond at the surface. Below ground, anyone is a potential combatant. Our source estimates the Palace staff to be around eighty people, though they are untrained and probably won’t offer much resistance.”

  Janson stared at Daron, a pit forming in her stomach as she waited for him to mention the final obstacle. Instead, he turned the diagram over and began describing the layout of the Palace’s underground tunnels and rooms.

  When he had finished, he began detailing the plans for Exfil. Janson listen to every word he said, but she still held onto the nagging dread at the back of her mind.

  “That concludes the mission briefing,” Daron said. “I’ll have packets created for each of you, and you can study them while you are en route to the target. Are there any parting questions before I head back upstairs?”

  When no one else spoke, Janson said, “The machine. How do we stop the machine?”

  Daron didn’t meet her eyes, and he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he grumbled, “Now you all know what you’re up against. I’m thankful for every one of you that goes, but I won’t hold it against you if you back out.”

  “Daron,” Janson growled. “What about the cyborg?”

  Daron looked around and saw concern on the face of every operative. “I wish I had an answer. I wish there was a weakness we could exploit. All I can tell you is, they are not indestructible. And if any group of people on the planet can take one of those things down, it’s the people standing right in front of me.”

  Daron’s voice lowered to a choked whisper. “I have to go. I’m needed upstairs.” With that, he pushed past the team and left the room.

  The tension in the air thickened with every second until, finally, Trent broke the silence. “Yep. We’re all dead.”

  21

  The Palace, Central Siberia

  Eugene’s consciousness returned in drug-addled waves—rushing forward to blurry awareness, then fading into a sea of blackness. His thoughts tumbled in his mind, lacking foundation or continuity. He didn’t know where he was, or where he had been when the darkness set in. As the distant light returned, he tried to move his limbs, but his body gave no response. There was no pain and there was no sense of weight. His consciousness seemed to float in the ether, unbridled by the laws of physics. His last thought before being dragged back into the void was, “I’d better not be dead.”

  Minutes, or perhaps hours later, Eugene awoke. This time, he felt his eyelids struggling under their own weight and the stabbing pain in his left temple. Distorted shapes and colors danced through his vision, and he tried to rub his eyes. Something was pinning his wrists down, so he closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop spinning. Not dead, he thought. There’s no way Heaven hurts this much.

  When he opened his eyes again, a long strip of red stood against a slate background. It was the red carpet—in the Throne Room. The recollection sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. Ignoring his headache, he glanced sharply around the room, searching for threats. Satin draperies and Terracotta soldiers came into focus, then the elevated throne.

  “Welcome back,” said a voice, coarse with age. “It seems your mind is as resilient as your body.”

  Eugene blinked. Steel bindings held his wrists and ankles to a chair. His shoulders rested inches away from the walls of a plexiglass box—a miniature, transparent prison cell. His clothes had been stripped off and replaced with black, skin-tight fabric that was polka-dotted with silver electrodes. Plastic tubes led to IVs in his wrists, and an endoscopic feeding line pumped food directly into his stomach. Spying the catheter between his legs, he winced and turned his head, then glimpsed something even more disturbing—a globe filled with shimmering black liquid perched on a pedestal a few feet away. A conduit led from the base of the globe to a box on the wall, and a plastic tube ran from the box to the back of Eugene’s head.

  “That really isn’t necessary,” Eugene said, his voice thick. “I’m not a cyborg, so I don’t need motor oil to—”

  “You’re wondering what the dark substance is,” Borya interrupted. “Do not worry, you will find out when the time is right.”

  Eugene rolled his eyes. “Okay…and what are we supposed to do until then? Do you want to play twenty questions or—”

  Borya interrupted again. “You’ve been restrained because you dared to lay hands upon my Empress. The glass is also for her protection; so that you may not use your words as weapons.”

  Eugene frowned. “It’s soundproof? Does that mean you can’t hear me, you wrinkled sack of diapers?”

  “I can hear you,” Borya said, showing no signs that he had been stung by the insult. “I am aware of everything that happens within my Palace.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything. And my presence in the world beyond grows every day.”

  “Sure,” Eugene said, shrugging as much as the restraints would allow, “that’s cool, I guess. I’ve got an app on my phone that I can use to turn off the lights in my house.”

  Borya stared at him like a father struggling to teach his son how to tie his shoes. After a long moment, he closed his eyes and laid his head on the throne’s backrest.

  “Wait,” Eugene said, “is it time to explain what the black goo is yet?”

  Borya spoke without opening his eyes. “Such wasted potential. Soon, you will become greater—more than human and capable of—”

  “How about now?”

  “Capable of understanding how—”

  “Now?”

  Borya fell silent, his lips held together in a tight line.

  “Borya?” Eugene asked.

  Borya gave no response.

  “Borya?” Eugene tapped the glass with his forehead. “Borya?”

  Silence.

  “Borya? I have a different question. I swear it’s not about the black stuff.”

  The supreme leader of Katharos opened one eye.

  “What were the dinosaurs like?”

  Suddenly, the white noise of the room outside Eugene’s prison cut out, and the air became as still and silent and as an endless cave.

  “Hey!” Eugene shouted. “Does this mean you can’t hear me anymore?”

  Borya gave no response.

  “Aware of everything that happens in the Palace, my foot.” Eugene cranked his wrist and held up his middle finger. When the gesture still drew no reaction from the old man, Eugene sighed. He resigned himself to reconnoitering. Leaning back as far as he could, he studied the black globe, and noticed there were actually two plastic tubes leading away from its base. The second tube, unlike the first, was filled with the dark substance, and it led along the wall to a stainless-steel container near Borya’s throne. Other black tubes, bound to bundles of insulated wires, connected a port on the wall to the top of the throne.

  No, Eugene thought, not to his throne, to him. He frowned, wondering what purpose the cables and tubes served, then remembered the technology was probably over his head, anyway. After scanning the rest of the room for a few minutes, he decided he had learned all he could from his current vantage point. The only thing left to do was wait, something he was well prepared for thanks to his time in the Marines. Compared to Scout Sniper training, this glass prison was like a day at the spa.

  He closed his eyes and took slow, calming breaths. Using techniques he’d learned for progressive relaxation, he found himself feeling more and more comfortable in the chair. When thoughts drifted into his head, he let them float past. Moments blurred together, and seconds turned into minutes. Then, as he felt himself drifting into an easy sleep, the Throne Room doors opened.

  Though Borya had let slip that Emily was still alive, Eugene still felt a
sting of disappointment at the sight of her. The only mark she bore from his attack was a fresh bruise that encircled the base of her neck. But there was something different about the way she walked. Her confidence had been knocked down a few rungs; she took smaller steps and kept to the far side of the red carpet. Though she avoided eye contact with him, Eugene fixed his face into a Cheshire grin in the hope that she might glance in his direction. As he watched, she stopped at the foot of Borya’s bed and seemed to grow more agitated with every passing second. She wrung her hands together, crossed and uncrossed her arms, and fiddled with the folding knife in her pocket.

  Eugene wanted to believe he had been the cause of her anxiety, but he eventually dismissed the idea. This woman was a cold-blooded killer, a traitor, and governess of a terrorist organization. Nothing he could have done would shake her like this. There was something else, and in that moment, he would have traded his left arm to find out what it was.

  Emily stole a glance at Eugene, then wrinkled her nose at the sight of his grinning face. Idiot, she thought. Turning back toward Borya, she said, “You’re sure he can’t hear us.”

  “Nor can we hear him,” Borya said, “until I will it to be so.” His eyes brimmed with compassion. “What is troubling you, my love?”

  “It’s Jarrod,” Emily admitted, lowering her head.

  “But there have been no reports of his activity. We cut off his sources of intelligence, and there have been no attacks since. I’ve been monitoring traffic cameras, satellites, cell phones, emails, and the media. He is simply waiting like a spider for his prey to stumble into his web. You have nothing to fear.”

  “It’s the quiet that’s bothering me,” Emily said. “Usually, he hunts down petty criminals at random when he isn’t killing our people.”

  “He was silent for weeks after leaving Kinshasa.”