Apex

by Ryan W. Aslesen

  “What makes you think these two are on that island?” Flint asked.

  Max gave them the island’s history in a nutshell, followed by a recap of what they’d learned over the last few days.

  “Quite a coverup,” Otto said. “I can see Wilde crawling into bed with these Foreseers. They’re probably funding his research.”

  “What’s the deal with these creatures?” Swift asked. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

  “Leseur,” Max said.

  Leseur explained his one closeup beast encounter, as well as the ubiquitous three-toed tracks covering the island.

  Swift laughed, a rumbling guffaw worthy of Jabba the Hutt. “Gonna call bullshit on that one, Frenchy. You saw a monitor lizard, end of story. Next.”

  “You don’t know what the fuck he saw.” Heat pulled out her phone and brought up an encyclopedia app.

  “Yeah, but I know there aren’t any mini T-rexes running around anywhere on this planet. I think my late father, the herpetologist, would have heard about them.”

  “I swear this is the truth!” Leseur said.

  “Uh-huh... and once again we’ll see in a few hours who’s bullshitting. Not that I need that kind of time.”

  “Monitor lizard, eh?” Heat showed Swift a photo of a monitor from the app. “I count five toes, not three. They don’t walk upright and aren’t even native to the New World. I guess your father—you know, the herpetologist—forgot to tell you that.”

  “They’ve been introduced outside their native range.” Swift waved a beefy hand in dismissal. “Don’t try to school me about reptiles, honey; I studied at the foot of the master. What Frenchy said is so fucking absurd even I don’t want to argue about it.”

  “You wait, you will see.” Leseur pointed a finger at the solid wall of asshole.

  Heat believed his outrageous claims, and even Max hadn’t ruled out the possibility. But she saw a lot of skepticism as she looked around. Duke might have laughed had he not been in a briefing. Flint looked impassive, but she picked up the dismissive look in his eyes. Otto at least seemed neutral on the giant lizard subject. He knows not to put anything past Gideon Wilde. To Heat the lizards were proof positive that Wilde was creating genetic horrors on the island.

  “This hunting humans thing, Max,” Flint said. “I’m having a hard time believing that as well. This all sounds like a bit of a stretch.”

  “He’s seen it.” Max pointed to Leseur. “And if the Brotherhood of Foreseers is what they’re rumored to be, would you put it past them?”

  Flint laughed softly, nervously. “I’m not certain I believe in the Brotherhood of Foreseers.”

  “Come on, you were in the Agency way too long to rule that out.”

  “Yes, I get it, the elites are very cliquey and ruthless. But I don’t buy that they’re paying Wilde or some secret society for the privilege of hunting people.”

  “How do you explain the missing locals then?” Heat asked. “According to my research there has been a rash of missing persons from various places throughout the Caribbean over the last year or so.”

  Flint shrugged. “I have no idea. A lot of people come to the Caribbean to disappear. And finding them isn’t my problem. From the sound of things, the French authorities are whom we have to worry about, not Gideon Wilde.”

  “They’re covering for him. How hard is that to get?”

  “Are they? Because last I heard he was wanted in France and damn near everywhere else in the world.”

  This guy’s heart isn’t in the game. She had the feeling that Flint would be happier if Max called off the mission, half a million dollars be damned.

  “He could easily be there, Flint,” Otto said. “You are aware that governments sometimes say one thing and then do another?”

  “I thought that was their official policy,” Duke said, this time to brief laughter.

  “It certainly is here,” Max said. “Based on the intel we have gathered, there’s not a doubt in my mind that our objectives are on that island.”

  “All I see is a big kidney bean,” Swift said. “You got any better intel than that?”

  Max called Leseur to the board and had him point out the estimated locations and types of buildings he’d seen, along with the airstrip in the interior of the island. A line of blue indicated the rough location of the fence section he’d worked on, which unfortunately was on the far side of the island. Heat figured they would swim in on the prevailing current and arrive a good distance from where he had once worked.

  “That’s a big help,” Swift said, shaking his block head.

  “I wish I could offer something more,” Duke said. “I flew in low toward the south shore, but a black chopper lifted off from the center of the island and came straight for me. I thought we were gonna collide. Next I knew I had the French air force babbling in my ear threatening to shoot me down if I came any closer.”

  “So how the hell are we doing this?” Swift asked.

  Max directed their attention to the mission timeline. “Scuba insertion, Duke’s gonna drop us about four miles out,” Max said. “They might have boat patrols, but we have the new moon working in our favor. We’ll land here at approximately 0100 hours—” he pointed to a narrow section of beach “—then proceed up this larger hill far enough to get a good recon so we can plan our attack. We’ll hit the concrete building by the airstrip first. Hopefully that’s the lab and both of our objectives will be present.”

  “What are our rules of engagement?” Flint asked.

  “Identify your targets. We will engage anyone that has a weapon and poses a threat. However, we don’t have a ton of firepower. Be as stealthy as possible and avoid any prolonged engagements.”

  “Just trying to keep things clear, Max. This mission is about as muddy as they come.”

  “Agreed. Other than the objectives it’s pretty vague. They’ve done a great job of covering this up, but if we can infiltrate undetected and stay that way, we can pull this off. We’ve all done similar ops with less intel. Hope you boys ate your Wheaties and brought your A games because it’s time to suit up. There’s ammo and munitions on a skid at the back of the hangar, along with your scuba gear. Leseur, you have a whole kit back there—boots, combat suit, comm gear, new rifle, the works. Any other questions?”

  Heat expected yet another snide comment from Swift, yet no one spoke.

  “Then get to it. Time hack and comm check in one hour. We dust off at 2300. Make it happen.”

  The team stood and grabbed the gear they’d brought, then started toward the rear of the hangar. Heat checked her watch: 9:10. Plenty of time to familiarize myself with the scuba gear. She’d only been diving a couple of times, but they would be swimming just below the surface, so she didn’t think it would be a problem. She took a few steps toward the rear of the hangar and stopped.

  There were only five sets of scuba gear laid out.

  “We need to talk,” Max said from behind her.

  She rounded on him. “Yeah, no fucking shit we do!”

  “I’m gonna go finish the pre-flight inspection,” Duke said. “Please excuse me.” He fled in a hurry.

  “So you figured you’d just dissemble me out of the picture, is that it? All this time you weren’t planning to take me at all.”

  “That’s not true. I decided this afternoon not to take you.”

  “Well thanks for the warning, prick. And here I thought you were one of the good ones. What the fuck was I thinking?”

  “You’re gonna get your story, but I can’t risk bringing you along. You have no idea—”

  “Yeah yeah, spare me your bullshit, Max.”

  “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. You should probably—”

  To her shock, he actually looked apologetic. Don’t fall for that! Stupid bitch, he’s already fooled you long enough. “Get going now? Run al
ong like a good little girl and watch the skies for daddy to come home? Know what? Why don’t you fly off into the sunset and go fuck yourself with a corkscrew.” Shaking with rage, she stared him down.

  “You’ll thank me for this. We may not all come back.”

  “What a tragedy. Just go do what you have to do.”

  She turned her back on him and left, got in the car and took off, tires spitting gravel in her wake. Only when she was well away did the tears come. “Stop it!” She slammed a fist down on the dashboard, wiped the tears away. This wasn’t the first time she’d been judged wanting by men and subsequently left behind. I didn’t give up then and I won’t start now. He can keep me off his chopper, but he won’t keep me off that island!

  “Nobody locks me out.” She floored the accelerator and raced for the condo, a plan already forming in her head.

  11

  Max sat next to the chopper’s open side door and watched an endless sea of black tinged with silver unroll a mere fifty feet beneath him. The new moon might keep a secret, but the million stars lighting the sky like Times Square conspired to snitch on them. They would be submerged for most of their infiltration, since enemy troops wearing NVGs or using thermal would be able to spot them on the surface in a heartbeat. Light and noise discipline were crucial, with no room for fuck-ups whatsoever. The chopper would hover in the drop zone for only a few seconds but would likely draw attention nonetheless. He expected to encounter patrol craft on the swim in. Even if they performed a perfect infiltration, it might all be for naught. For all he knew, Wilde might have sonar beacons on the ocean floor and heat sensors on the shore. From chopper to shore they would have to move constantly and stealthily, then disappear into the jungle before any land patrols arrived.

  “Five minutes,” Duke announced through the headset.

  “Roger that,” Max replied.

  He held up five fingers to the team, who sat on the floor in the chopper’s vast cargo hold. They roused themselves and began donning their scuba gear. Each man wore a full pack on his back and a scuba tank/rebreather apparatus on his chest. They had on digital jungle camo fatigues, had streaked their faces with grease paint, and all reflective surfaces on their gear had been darkened with black paint or electrical tape. All gear susceptible to water damage had been packed into plastic vacuum bags in their backpacks, the air sucked out so as not to affect anyone’s buoyancy.

  Max, Otto and Leseur all carried HK416 rifles equipped with reflex sights and M203 grenade launchers mounted beneath the barrel. He’d procured a Beretta M9 pistol for Leseur, and Otto had brought his own Sig Sauer chambered with .357 magnum rounds. Flint, a skilled sniper, practiced his trade with an M40A3 bolt-action rifle, but also carried a UMP40 submachine gun. Max likewise carried a UMP40 for backup and close quarters, along with a Glock 21 and two combat knives: a Ka-Bar on his belt and a smaller Boker in a boot sheath. Swift, an old reliable grunt, preferred equally reliable and time-tested weapons: a short-barreled M60E3 machinegun, along with a pair of Uzis that he was known to wield proficiently two at a time, and a Model 1911 sidearm. He also packed a breaching kit and two blocks of prewired C-4 for demolition. Save for Flint’s rifle, all of the weapons were equipped with silencers. In addition to their main weapons, each man had been issued several high-explosive frag and smoke grenades. Max had practically begged Ruddick for white phosphorus grenades; alas, none were to be found.

  Their weapons were not waterproofed, for they might need them even before making landfall. Ammunition was air tight the majority of the time, but it only took one leaky round to jam a rifle, yet another reason Max disliked scuba insertions. No better choices. An inflatable was out of the question, and any sort of air drop over the island would have gotten them blasted out of the sky or left dangling from parachutes in the jungle canopy.

  And she wonders why she couldn’t come along. Max certainly didn’t, yet still he felt guilty over the whole ordeal. You should have been straight with her from the beginning. But how could he have told her that he had no intention of bringing her along? She might well have abandoned him and gone her own way. She might do it still. Pray she has better sense.

  Looking out the door, he saw the black silhouette of the island taking shape against the silver sea to the southeast. “Thanks for the lift, Duke. Catch you on the flip side.”

  “Roger, Max, good luck down there.”

  Max took off the headset, put on his scuba mask, and joined the others near the back of the bird. They would deploy from the Mi-38 helicopter, a Russian-built civilian make, via the rear cargo ramp. Everyone checked over the gear of the man next to him, and vice versa, as Duke positioned over the drop point. Leseur had the regulator winding knob tightened down. Max spun it all the way out so he wouldn’t bust a lung trying to pull air. The Legionnaire seemed familiar enough with the weapons and equipment he had been issued. Still Max wondered how adept Leseur would be in the water. Helping his men out was one thing, babysitting them quite another. If he doesn’t know what he’s in for, he will soon enough.

  They donned their fins last as the cargo ramp descended in a maelstrom of spray kicked up by the rotors. Feeling as though he were standing in a car wash, Max took a couple of flopping steps forward in his fins. Holding his mask tight to his face with one hand while clutching the rebreather with his other arm, he jumped from the chopper into the sea about fifteen feet below. Immediately the air pockets in his pack conspired to pull him back to the surface despite the weight of his gear, so he swam downward to stay submerged as the bubbles worked their way out. He could still hear the chopper’s thumping rotors, punctuated every couple of seconds by the dull splash of a teammate diving into the water. The intensity of the rotors then increased as Duke throttled up the chopper and bugged out, leaving them to their mission.

  Max resurfaced on a placid ocean. The tepid water, well over seventy degrees, eliminated the need for wetsuits. Swift treaded water next to him. Otto and Flint bobbed nearby, and Leseur finally surfaced between them waving his arm. What the fuck is this? Max swam the few feet to Leseur, who had apparently lost one of his fins during the jump. Great.

  “Grab on,” Max whispered. He turned his back to Leseur, who latched onto his backpack. So much for not babysitting. But Leseur would never keep up with only one fin. At least he’s not likely to wander off.

  Swift spit out his mouthpiece. “We through fucking around yet?”

  Say it a little louder. “After us. Stay tight, stay silent. Your brothers’ keeper. Let’s go.”

  They had little choice but to keep their brothers close, otherwise they would easily become separated in the inky ocean depths. Each man carried a chem light in his cargo pocket to use as a beacon in case he became separated from the group, but they understood that cracking it into illumination meant giving away their presence.

  Max tracked their location and direction with a handheld, waterproof GPS unit he’d liberated from the CIA at the end of his last mission in North Korea. It had helped deliver him from the hostile shores of that country as surely as it would guide him to Wilde’s island. But for the light from the screen when he pressed the illumination button, they swam in near-pitch blackness.

  They had been in the water perhaps ten minutes when something buzzed over them and continued out to sea. Leseur tensed, tried to stop, but Max swam on and dragged him along. Patrol boat, just an inflatable. Probably headed toward the drop zone. The rebreathers produced no air bubbles to betray their position. When the sound of the outboard dissipated, he checked the GPS screen again, then swam on with an uneasy feeling. We couldn’t have been dropped far enough away to avoid detection entirely. But the French or the Foreseers or Wilde’s men—whoever the hell manned the inflatable craft—were still just chasing noises. Stay deep. With the current behind us we’ll be there in no time.

  They had been swimming for about an hour when the ocean floor rose up to meet them at a depth of fifteen feet. Bone
white coral and sand, beige in the low-light conditions, spread before them in a gradual upward slope. The beach lay about half a kilometer further according to the GPS, and they had about ten minutes of air left in their tanks. Perfect.

  They swam on, but a familiar buzzing stopped Max soon enough. He grabbed for coral, felt Leseur do the same and hoped that everyone else would take the hint. The buzzing grew louder as a boat quickly approached running parallel to the coast. He figured it would blow right over them as the last one had, but his apprehension rose when the pitch of the motor slackened. Not good. And it only got worse. The water brightened on the surface about thirty feet in front of him as a searchlight danced over the low swells. Leseur seemed to be trying to dig into the coral. Max tried waving a hand gently up and down, imploring him to relax, but he continued to panic.

  The boat crept closer, the spotlight sweeping the waters before it. The two minutes it took the boat to pass to their rear seemed more like two days. Fortunately, Max’s cool proved infectious, for Leseur calmed enough not to give away their position. Only when the boat had truly moved on did Max continue the journey.

  Best hurry. They were about out of air.

  Max silently broke the surface in five feet of water, revealing the top of his head to eye level, and scanned the beachhead. Once confident it was clear, he moved inland as the rest of the team emerged from the murky water and followed.

  A splash and a frantic inhale of air came from his rear when Otto surfaced, his tank empty. Loud enough.

  They removed their fins in the shallows and attached them to their belts, then emerged silently from the low, lapping waves onto the sliver of beach, weapons pointed at the jungle tree line ten yards away. Max sprinted across the beach, uncomfortably aware of how he stood out on the light sand. Swift and the rest of the team ran a few steps behind him. They slowed upon reaching the scrub undergrowth between beach and jungle. After twenty feet of shrubs the trees took over, growing tall and thick, with some trunks several feet in diameter.