The Nightmare Unleashed

by J. J. Carlson

  “Get down!” the man in the sunglasses hissed. “Get on the floor and cover yourself with that tarp. It isn’t there for decoration.”

  “Oh, okay,” Yuri said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “And don’t talk. I’m sticking my neck out as a favor to Daron, but I don’t feel like getting killed today.”

  Yuri’s face burned with resentment. He was about to risk his life attacking a terrorist stronghold this spook didn’t even know about. He thought about how he might berate the CIA agent, then took a deep breath and squeezed in behind the seats. Covering himself with the tarp, he lay completely still and waited for the all-clear.

  The CIA man brought the vehicle to a stop, then said something in Ukrainian. Moments later, Yuri heard the electric motor of a gate, and the truck rolled forward. Yuri closed his eyes and pictured the route from the airport to his father’s home. Then he frowned as he realized the agent was taking the “long way” home. The ride should have taken just fifteen minutes, but the man in the sunglasses didn’t stop for nearly an hour.

  It came as a relief when the CIA agent leaned into the back seat and lifted the tarp.

  “We’re here,” the man grumbled. “Get out.”

  Yuri fumbled for the door handle, pulled it, and lifted himself out of the cramped space. When he got to his feet, he realized he was nowhere near his father’s house. He started to protest, but the CIA man punched the accelerator and drove off.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Yuri said to himself. He turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings. Charred skeletons of wood-framed homes lined both sides of the street—the remnants of Russian attacks. Farther down the block, he spied a brick building with a fresh coat of green paint. He smiled as he caught the scent of fresh Deruny—potato pancakes—on the air. The people of Ukraine were hardy; years of defending themselves against the great bear to the north had not broken their spirits. Yuri had fled the country with his mother when he was a teenager, but he was still proud of his heritage, and he always cheered for the Ukrainians whenever troops invaded their borders. At the present, Luhansk seemed to be in relative peace. There were no sounds of artillery, no fires pouring black smoke into the streets.

  Lowering his head, he strode toward the green building. Though his stomach pleaded for food, he didn’t stop. He simply glanced through the windows to see if his father was inside. The bars on either side of the restaurant were packed with people having breakfast, but his father wasn’t among them. Rounding the corner, he picked up his pace. He wanted to run the remaining six blocks, but he kept his cool. The citizens of Luhansk were familiar with the signs of war, and he didn’t want to frighten any potential onlookers. Let them enjoy their peace, he thought.

  There were signs of past conflict everywhere—bullet holes in abandoned cars, roofs collapsed by mortars, hastily constructed barricades that still defended against Russian ghosts—but there were also images of hopeful reconstruction. Homes that were structurally sound boasted new windows, and some even had flowers planted in the front yard. Yuri wondered if, in time, the people of Ukraine would return to their homes, and the city would come alive again. Perhaps it was too much to hope for.

  As Yuri rounded the last corner, the gray fog that had settled over him suddenly burned away. The tire swing still hanging in the yard, the storm drain he and the other children used to play in when it rained, the maple he used to climb—they were mementos of a happy childhood. He didn’t regret leaving—there was a good chance he and his mother would have been killed if they didn’t—but he wished things could have been different. He could have had a normal life, grown up, gone to college, and raised a family. Instead, he had been embittered by the Russian aggression and joined the American military in hopes that he would one day return and fight back. He trained hard and eventually earned the right to call himself an Eighteen-Delta, an Army Special Forces medic. His opportunity for revenge arrived when he was in his mid-twenties, and his Unit deployed to Ukraine to assist in the fight against the Russians.

  Because he spoke both Ukrainian and Russian, Yuri’s tour in Ukraine was extended, and he was assigned to other Special Forces teams that rotated in. In total, he spent twenty-one months in combat. He watched teammates die, succumbing to wounds he could not treat. He watched Russians bleed to death from gunshot wounds he inflicted. By the time he returned to his mother in the United States, he was a changed man. He realized that there was nothing noble about war. Humans killing other humans, regardless of the circumstances, was a tragedy. When his term of enlistment expired, he separated from the army and went to college, which was paid for by his GI bill. He was eventually certified as a Physician’s Assistant and spent three years treating patients in an emergency room before Daron Keeler recruited him to work at Hillcrest. That was five months ago, and he had done nothing but train with a team of shooters since. He was ready to step back onto the battlefield, though he had a feeling his first mission with the Hillcrest security team would be worse than anything he had seen in the Army.

  Banishing the sense of foreboding, Yuri knocked on the front door of his father’s house. After a long pause, he knocked again. Finally, he heard approaching footsteps, and the locks being withdrawn. His father, a tall, gaunt man with bushy gray hair and joyful eyes, stood in the doorway.

  “Yuri, my son,” he said, speaking Ukrainian and pulling the younger Sokolov into a warm hug, “you should have called.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” Yuri said, feeling a twinge of guilt.

  Aleksandr Sokolov squeezed tighter, then pulled away. He held his son by the shoulders. “An old man could never ask for a better surprise. But knowing you are coming gives me something to look forward to.” He thought for a moment, then beckoned for Yuri to follow him inside. “It does not matter. I am glad you are here. Come, and I will make you coffee.”

  Yuri followed his father down a narrow hallway with hardwood floors, then entered a spacious kitchen.

  “Sit,” Aleksandr said, “you must tell me everything.”

  Yuri settled into a cushioned chair with vinyl upholstery. He propped his elbows on the table and watched his father fill a kettle with water and place it on the stove.

  “You look like a brick chimney, son. What have you been up to?”

  Yuri smiled. “It’s my new job. They make sure we exercise at least ten hours per week.”

  Aleksandr’s jaw dropped. “Ten hours? And they are feeding you well?”

  “Very well. Although Borscht is never on the menu.”

  Yuri’s father grinned. “The American’s don’t know what good food is. Would you like some?”

  Yuri nodded. “Very much.”

  Aleksandr shuffled across the room and withdrew a glass bowl from the refrigerator. “It will take me a few minutes to heat it up, unless you’d like it cold.”

  “Cold is just fine,” Yuri said, extending his hands. He took the bowl, then a spoon from his father. “Thank you, Tato.”

  Aleksandr grinned. “Of course. Good food and good coffee are the best medicine after a long journey.” He folded his hands in his lap and let his son eat for a few minutes before speaking again. “Your mother…she did not come with you this time?”

  Yuri wiped the cold soup from his lips and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tato, she could not come along. In fact, she does not even know I’m here.”

  Aleksandr knitted his brow, waiting for further explanation.

  “It’s because…” Yuri stopped and glanced around the room. “Papa, do you have a phone in the room?”

  “The only phone I have is the one I use to call you. It is upstairs in the bedroom. Do you need it?”

  “No. Do you have any computers, or anything that connects to the internet?”

  Aleksandr chuckled. “My only computer is at the airport, and we haven’t had internet in this part of town for years.”

  Yuri nodded and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Mama does not know I’m here because no one knows I am here. P
apa, I need your help.”

  The perpetual joy in Aleksandr’s eyes grew tepid with concern. “Anything, I will do anything for you, son.”

  Yuri took a deep breath and began to describe the global terrorist network known as “Katharos.” He told his father everything, from the secret experiments inside Hillcrest to Emily Roberts’s betrayal. After several minutes, he stood and helped make the coffee, then returned to his seat.

  “The news talked about an army of terrorists attacking the Pentagon,” Yuri said, “but none of that was true. Everyone that died that day was killed by a single machine.”

  Aleksandr leaned back in his chair, dumbstruck.

  “Katharos is better organized and more dangerous than any terrorist group in history,” Yuri went on. “They have agents all over the world, and they use cyber warfare to keep them hidden. Even the Americans are helpless to stop them on their own soil.”

  Swallowing, Aleksandr said, “But what does this have to do with me? I am just a pilot.”

  Yuri reached across the table and held his father’s hand. “You can take me and my team somewhere no one else can.” He took a deep breath. “Tato, we have found the head of the serpent in the Siberian wilderness.”

  “Then why not send bombers, or the army, or…”

  “We cannot. If Katharos finds out we are coming, they will use computers to stop any attack before it starts. They will rewrite orders, make bombers fall out of the sky, or steal nuclear missile codes. Nothing is beyond their reach, Tato.”

  “Then…what can your team hope to do?”

  Yuri nodded gravely. “If you can take us to their headquarters, we will trap and kill their leaders.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  Yuri hesitated. “Seven, including me.”

  “Seven! Son, this is suicide. If what you have told me about these terrorists is true, you will be marching to your deaths.”

  Straightening his back, Yuri said, “We have the best soldiers in the world. Brave, powerful, and determined. And the terrorists do not know we are coming, because they believe the location of their fortress is a secret. We will stop them, Father.”

  Aleksandr chewed on his nails, as he always did when under stress. “You are my only living child, Yuri. I can’t let you do this.”

  “Nor can you stop me. If you do not help us, we will find another way, and it will be far more dangerous.” He locked eyes with his father. “If we do not stop Katharos, they will hold the entire world in their hands. Imagine, Father, if the entire world suffers as Luhansk has suffered. There will be nowhere safe for me, nowhere safe for Mama. And all the good you have done smuggling supplies into Ukraine will have been for nothing.”

  Aleksandr’s mouth worked for a moment, forming silent words. Then, a fiery determination sparked to life within his eyes. He stood and placed his hands on Yuri’s shoulders. “I am proud to call you my son. I will help you and your friends.”

  Yuri rose and embraced his father in a lingering hug. Choking back emotion, he whispered in his ear. “Thank you, Tato.”

  25

  Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Audrey crossed one leg over the other and sipped a cup of hot chocolate in the corner of the breakroom. She pretended to read an outdated magazine while her eyes scanned everyone that came and went. She had already chosen her prey; she just needed to wait for him to arrive. And then get him alone.

  At least eight men and two women frequented the breakroom and, upon seeing her, they cast curious glances in her direction. As far as she could tell, they had no idea she had once been a prisoner. Most of them were friendly, and a few of the men had even sat down to chat with her.

  To say the casual conversations were enlightening would be an understatement. She had learned exactly how the security system at Hillcrest worked. The steel doors would open for the guards because they had radio frequency identification chips embedded in their right shoulders. The chips even gave access to the elevator, her gateway to freedom. The problem was, the elevator also used facial recognition software, and the guards couldn’t go above ground without permission from someone in the Operations Center. Someone like Daron, or a man the guards lovingly referred to as “CJ.”

  With careful flirtation and gentle hands, Audrey had even managed to steal a Ka-Bar, a seven-inch knife, from one of the guards. The blade had been honed to a razor’s edge and would serve her purposes nicely.

  A familiar voice echoed in the hallway outside the breakroom—Audrey’s cue to set her plan in motion. She tugged at the collar of her shirt to expose another inch of cleavage, then made sure the knife was hidden in her waistband. Daron Keeler passed through the door, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Following a few steps behind Daron, CJ glanced in Audrey’s direction and smiled. She smiled back and waved, then quickly looked away when Daron took notice.

  “Try not to interact with that one,” Daron said. “She might look pretty on the outside, but she’s nothing but rotting meat and spider shit on the inside.”

  “You say the nicest things,” Audrey called out.

  Daron ignored her. He poured two cups of coffee, handed one to CJ, then sat at a table near the exit. CJ joined him, and they discussed everything from employee scheduling to bathroom supplies to the latest professional baseball game. Daron spoke in a tone Audrey wasn’t accustomed to, and he even laughed once in a while.

  They’re friends, Audrey thought. Even better.

  She had been grooming CJ ever since she’d arrived at Hillcrest. CJ, it seemed, liked to escape the operations center and hang out with the guards. He spent almost all of his free time on Sub-Level Two, where the guards had their living quarters. He was among the privileged few that knew Audrey was formerly a member of Katharos, and he’d brought Audrey her meals three times a day. At first, he just set the food on her table and left, but she had turned on the charm and appealed to his protective nature. She wore her bruises from Daron’s “enhanced interrogations” like badges of courage. Eventually, she managed to give CJ the impression that she was a heroine, a self-appointed spy who had joined the cause against Katharos. She told him about the missions Janson, Eugene, and Ford had undertaken based on the information she provided. And slowly, CJ began to believe that she was as much a part of the team as anyone else.

  Audrey smiled. It didn’t hurt that CJ was a lonely man. He did his best to fit in, but he would never be “one of the guys.” He spent too much time in front of a computer and too much time underground. Through a careful, coy line of questioning, Audrey learned that he had not been with a woman in more than two years. Audrey commiserated with him and claimed that she was in the middle of a similar dry-spell. To CJ, she was the perfect catch—a beautiful, lonely woman that was interested in him for his brains. And she was available. It would be easy for them to sneak off to her room, or anywhere else in the compound, which she had suggested to him more than once.

  CJ hadn’t been able to hide his lust, but he hadn’t given in to her advances. Not yet. He was still too leery of her past, or what Daron might say. But none of that mattered to Audrey. She would get what she wanted one way or another.

  Across the room, Daron claimed that he had to get back to work and excused himself. CJ waved goodbye and stood to refresh his coffee. Instead of returning to his seat, he joined Audrey at the back of the room.

  Audrey uncrossed her legs and moved her chair closer to his. “So. Have you reconsidered my offer?” Her eyes flashed toward his crotch, and his face turned bright red.

  “I…can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “And it’s not just because you’re pretty. You’re a genuinely good person. You’re smart, friendly, and braver than I’ll ever be.” He stared down at the almond-colored liquid in his mug. “I feel like you deserve a second chance, and I’m sorry that Daron hasn’t given it to you.”

  Audrey had mastered the ability of making herself blush at a young age. She consciously app
lied the skill to make her cheeks rosy, then said, “You’re a sweet guy. I can’t believe you’re still single.”

  CJ shrugged. “It’s hard to find the time for relationships when you work down here. And I work more hours than anyone on the staff, except for maybe Daron.”

  “You poor thing.” Audrey walked her fingers up his chair and rested her arm on his shoulder. “I just wish there was a way I could help you relax.”

  CJ fidgeted in his chair and wiped the sweat from his brow. “There…might be a way…but we would have to be quick.”

  Audrey bit her lip and placed her free hand on his thigh. “After all this time being cooped up alone, I can definitely do quick.” She stood and took him by the hand, then led him out of the room. She checked the hallway to make sure it was clear, then ran giggling to her room. CJ followed and darted in behind her.

  She could tell that he was ready. His eyes were dull and he was breathing heavily. She pushed him onto her bed, then straddled his waist and kissed him.

  He moaned with desire as she probed his mouth with her tongue. He closed his eyes as she unbuckled his belt with one hand. She bit his neck playfully, and he lifted his chin to invite her in for more.

  The tickling nibbles stopped, and pain shot across his neck. He opened his eyes and pushed her away. He tried to say, “Not so hard,” but the words came out as a gasping hiss.

  Something had gone terribly wrong. Audrey’s face was covered in blood, to the point that it dripped onto her shirt. CJ blinked and realized the blood was coming from him, spraying from his neck in pulsing spurts. He clutched at his throat with both hands, his eyes wide with terror.

  Then Audrey raised the knife above her head and plunged it into his heart.

  26

  Audrey pushed away CJ’s hands, which were reaching out in a final, desperate attempt to stop her. She waited, counting the seconds until his body stopped spasming, then dug the knife into his shoulder. CJ didn’t react—the last trace of life had gone out of him. His twitching lips and fingers were merely the result of random sparking impulses within his brain. She cut deep into the deltoid muscle, then separated a bloody filet and stuffed it into her pocket.