Pulse

by Jeremy Robinson

  George ducked into the tunnel, pulling the satchel behind him. King followed on his hands and knees, pushing the artifact with his hands, leaving the lantern behind. He would return for it after getting the heavy son-of-a-bitch artifact out of the hole. He squinted as Pierce climbed out, letting the sun blaze down. With a final heave he pushed the object out and followed close behind. But when he emerged from the hole and looked at Pierce, his face was twisted with an awkward discomfort King had seen on so many faces before—right before—he shot them.

  King spun, following Pierce’s gaze and came face-to-face with the muzzle of a triple-barreled handgun he’d only seen in demonstrations, the Metal Storm O’Dwyer VLe. Its electronic firing system used no moving parts and didn’t require a clip or magazine. Bullets were stacked inside the barrel, separated by propellant. Some Metal Storm weapons using more than three barrels launched projectiles at speeds of up to one million rounds per second. They were the future of battlefield weaponry, but King had never heard of them being utilized in actual combat. Last he heard the technology was still in the R&D phase in Australia, but that did little to comfort him. The handgun lined up with his skull could fire three rounds in under a second without recoil until after the third bullet left the muzzle. His head would be obliterated. Of course, the first round would do the job on its own. The second two just added insult to injury.

  7

  Peru

  Seth Lloyd had never been fond of James Bond, Mission Impossible, or even Nancy Drew, but as he snuck through the dimly lit, electronic-smelling Manifold Gamma computer lab, he wished he’d paid attention and taken notes on how to be a super sleuth. In the confines of a computer system, he could enter and exit at will, hacking networks, opening backdoors, and dismantling firewalls with ease. But the real walls, doors, and security cameras, not to mention the guards watching them, twisted his stomach and had him running to the bathroom before attempting this final act as a Manifold employee.

  Seth sat down at his assigned computer, a twenty-four-inch iMac with all the trimmings running Linux, trying to look as normal as possible. He carried a coffee, now cold after his trips to the bathroom, a clipboard full of notes, and wore his funniest T-shirt, that read: There are ten different kinds of people in the world: those who know binary and those who don’t. He doubted any guard watching would be smart enough to figure out the joke, but he hoped they’d spend enough time on it so as not to notice his computer screen or see the thumb drive he’d inserted into the USB port behind his cup of coffee.

  He set to work on the keyboard and found his fingers too shaky to type at the speed he required. Needing to calm down, he turned on his iPod, scrolled down through the list of downloaded tunes, selected “My Hero” by the Foo Fighters, and placed the small earphones in his ears. He returned to the keyboard bolstered by the song’s lyrics and heavy beat.

  After opening the diagnostic tools he typically used in the lab to make sure the network was up and functioning glitch free, he opened his own personal software from the thumb drive. The small program ran behind the diagnostic window, allowing him to work without worrying about his program being seen on-screen, but it also meant that he had to work blind. He’d memorized the keystrokes, commands, and timing over the past week, since he’d broke into Manifold’s database for fun. He’d done it like this, working secretly behind his diagnostic program, which did most of the work for him.

  His fun had been short-lived when he uncovered a list of Manifold clients behind an ultra-secure firewall. The list included numerous terror organizations and violent regimes. Several were on the waiting list for something called Project Lerna, so he dug deeper while his subconscious told him to run. As a computer tech and network wizard, he never knew what the geneticists he worked alongside were doing. He knew it was high tech, like everything Manifold did, but he would never have guessed it involved rapid human regeneration. He’d been fairly anarchist throughout most of his twenty-three years of life, even as a child, but this flew in the face of decency. The technology would clearly be used to suppress people worldwide, and that spoke to his inner rebellious core and started his act of corporate treachery in motion.

  He first attempted to hack into the system from the outside, which would have negated the need for his own personal Mission Impossible, but the firewall held its ground against every trick in the book. The only way past it was to connect, physically, behind the firewall. And the only place to do that was here, in the computer lab, which had been created for the sole purpose of maintaining the internal network protected by the firewall.

  Without seeing it, Seth set the first data transfer in motion, downloading nearly two gigabytes of information to his thumb drive. He began counting down the two minutes it would take for the data to transfer.

  When a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped and nearly fell back in his chair. Standing above him was David Lawson, second in command of Gen-Y security and head of the Manifold Gamma security force when Reinhart wasn’t present. He’d always been nice enough, but he had seen Lawson during training sessions and knew what the twenty-one-year-old was capable of. He pulled the iPod earphones out and put on his best smile.

  “Damn, man, you scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry,” Lawson said with a grin. “You’re not scheduled to run a diagnostic until next week. Had to come see what was up. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, right. I was downloading some files last night and noticed the transfer rate lagging a bit. Wanted to make sure we didn’t have a problem.”

  “What’d you get?” Lawson asked, growing excited. Seth provided most of the young security guards with a supply of video games. They had training and high-tech gadgets, but had very little to actually do. Most were starved for action and the games he provided were as good as it got most of the time.

  “Call of Duty Six Beta,” he said, hoping Lawson wasn’t up on his video games enough to see through the lie.

  “Beta? Sweet. Can I get it from you when you’re done in here?”

  Seth’s ass twitched as his nerves began to chew at his insides. “Never finished downloading,” he said quickly. “Too slow. Once I find the problem I’ll start it back up and should have it for you tomorrow.”

  “Awesome,” Lawson said. “I’ll let you get back to work then.” He turned and headed for the door, then stopped and said, “Just sign the check-in sheet when you leave so there’s a record of you being here. I don’t want to get canned because you forgot to sign in.”

  Seth gave a thumbs-up and looked back at the screen. The two minutes were long since up, so he clicked the “Safely Remove Hardware” button and pulled out the thumb drive, quickly replacing it with a second. His father, a carpenter, had always said, “Measure twice, cut once.” He’d seen the logic behind the saying and had incorporated it into most of his life. If something could be doubled quickly, he did it, just in case something happened to the first. He worked over the keys and set the transfer in motion.

  Two more minutes and he’d be home free.

  After walking through three hundred feet of intersecting hallways Lawson entered the red-lit security suite and sat in one of the two leather chairs, giving him a view of the nearly one hundred security monitors.

  “What’s going on?” asked Simon Norfolk, a slender young man with a crew cut. He sat back in the chair with his feet on the countertop.

  “Move your damn feet,” Lawson said, swatting at his partner’s legs.

  “There isn’t a security camera in here,” Norfolk said. “Calm down.”

  “You’re getting crap all over the counter. You want to be responsible when this stuff stops working because some idiot got dirt in the system?”

  Norfolk took his feet off the counter and wiped away the dirt that had fallen from his deep-treaded black boots. “Happy now?” When Lawson didn’t reply, Norfolk smacked his arm. “So what the hell is king geek doing in the computer lab?”

  “Noticed the download speed was slow last night so
he’s running a diagnostic on the network.” Lawson looked at the image of Seth sitting in the computer lab. He squinted and watched as Seth’s fingers flew over the keyboard. He was typing in commands, but the diagnostic software wasn’t responding. “That’s weird.”

  Lawson moved the image from the small monitor in front of him to the forty-inch screen at the center of the massive display. “Is it just me or is the diagnostic software finished?”

  “Looks that way,” Norfolk said.

  “Then why is he still typing?”

  “Better yet, what the hell is that?” Norfolk pointed to the side of the coffee cup where a small portion of the thumb drive could be seen, plugged into the USB port.

  “Son of a bitch,” Lawson yelled as he leaped from his chair and pounded out of the security suite with Norfolk hot on his heels. They covered the distance to the computer lab in twenty seconds, but when they barreled through the door, Seth was nowhere to be seen. His still-spinning chair revealed he had just left, and fast.

  “Sound a general alarm,” Lawson said, sending Norfolk on his way.

  Then he charged through the computer lab, drew his nonlethal stun gun, and headed through the far exit. He shouted angrily, “Seth!”

  Seth heard his name roll down the hall like a tsunami. He rounded the corner, panicked and confused. He had never planned to escape on foot. He had never planned to get caught. But now it was one or the other. Looking back over his shoulder, he failed to notice the woman in front of him and crashed into her, sending them both to the floor.

  Seth picked himself up quickly, nearly vomited with fear when he saw the Gen-Y security uniform, and then sighed with relief when he saw the woman wearing it—Anna Beck. Despite her girl-next-door good looks, which normally put him on guard, she was one of the few people at Manifold he considered a true friend, and regardless of her employment by Gen-Y, decided to trust her.

  “Seth,” Beck said, “what’s going on?”

  He thrust one of the thumb drives into her soft hand. “Look at it,” he said. “But don’t tell them about it.”

  “Tell who?” she asked.

  “Seth!” Lawson’s voice carried up the hallway.

  Seth’s eyes went wide. “Them. Please, just do it.”

  She looked at the thumb drive, nodded and said, “Okay. Just tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can—oof.”

  He punched her as hard as he could, sending her to the floor, gasping for air. “Sorry,” he said, then ran toward the stairwell that would take him to the exit and the jungle beyond.

  A moment later, Lawson rounded the corner. “Where is he?”

  After sucking in a breath and standing without help from her compatriot, she told the truth. “Outside. We’ll never find him.” She leaned against the wall and slid the thumb drive into her pocket. As she watched Lawson run to the stairwell she wondered what could be important enough to cause an average guy like Seth to risk his life. It wasn’t Lawson that would kill him—only non-lethals were allowed to be used on Manifold employees. It was the jungle that would do him in. Seth hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in the jungle and had avoided every training session Gen-Y had offered Manifold employees. He’d be lucky to survive the next few hours.

  8

  Nazca, Peru

  King stared at his reflection in the chrome goggles of the masked man pointing one of the world’s most lethal handguns at his head. He was happy to see his face didn’t reflect any of the surprise he felt at finding himself caught completely off guard.

  He quickly counted five men, all dressed, head to toe, in black, liquid-cooled suits—nicer than anything the U.S. military provided. Their eyes hid behind reflective goggles that blocked sun and dust; the remainder of their faces were covered by metal masks that supplied clean air and water to each man. He recognized the suit technology. It was similar to a prototype he had tested, that had yet to receive final approval—funding—for field use.

  “Jack Sigler, callsign, King,” said the man holding a pistol to King’s head. His voice sounded electronically distorted, like a more metallic Darth Vader. “You’re a day early.”

  King really had to work hard at hiding his surprise now. His call sign as a Delta operative was classified information. Not even Pierce knew he was Delta. Only his team and a handful of government officials had access to his information.

  “I would have baked cookies if I knew we were having company,” he said. He scanned the area quickly, ignoring the gun hovering in front of his face. Three of the dark-clad men were putting the kneeling excavation crew into zip-tie handcuffs. He fought the urge to curse when he saw the driver, Atahualpa, helping them. No wonder he was so nervous when I drew my gun, he thought, he thought I was on to him.

  A fourth man held a Metal Storm handgun on Pierce and McCabe. Two pulls of the trigger would tear them apart. The artifact-laden satchel lay on the ground between them.

  King’s mind sprinted through his options. The gun still tucked into his belt buckle held enough rounds to kill all five men if his shots were accurate—and he had no doubt they would be—but by the time he’d killed the man next to him, three bullets would no doubt be fired into Pierce or McCabe. With taking action on the back burner, he decided to pursue the next best strategy: information gathering. “What do you want?”

  The man’s trigger finger twitched ever so slightly.

  “They’re after the artifact,” McCabe shouted, kicking sand at the man guarding her and Pierce. She’d stood up to enough brooding men in her life to not back down because of a threat.

  “Settle down, lady,” the guard said, taking aim at her head.

  “Go to hell,” she said. Pierce took her arms and held her still as she tried to rush the man.

  King admired her fight in the face of overwhelming odds, but knew it would get her killed. The situation had to be resolved quickly, even if it meant letting these guys get away. “Just take what you came for and go.”

  The man standing over him knelt down and, with a low growl, said, “I intend to.” He stood and stiffened his aim at King’s head. “Take Dr. Pierce. Leave the others to roast. And shoot the bitch.”

  “No!” King shouted. For a fraction of a second he moved forward, out of the tunnel, but his instincts told him to duck back inside. Had he ignored his instincts the three bullets fired from above would have struck his head instead of the tunnel wall.

  Drawing his Sig Sauer, he moved back to the entrance. He’d start dropping bodies as soon as one crossed his path. But the only thing he saw through the tunnel exit was a grenade. It bounced to a stop two feet inside the four-foot tunnel, pin pulled and about to explode. He dove away from the tunnel, covered his ears opened his mouth and pressed himself against the cave wall and two mummified corpses.

  Three rapid-fire gunshots echoed through the tunnel just a moment before the grenade exploded, sending a plume of dust and a wave of pressure into the small chamber. The force smashed King’s head against the hard-packed earth, knocking him unconscious.

  9

  Nazca, Peru

  Pierce stared down at the limp body of Molly McCabe. Blood pooled around her, spreading out onto the hard-packed sand and pebbles like a mudslide through a suburban neighborhood. In the day’s heat, the blood would be dried within the hour, a permanent stain on the desert marking the passing of a woman he had come to respect and enjoy. He fell to his knees next to her body and checked her pulse. He knew there wouldn’t be one, but it was all he could think to do.

  “Dr. Pierce,” said one of the masked men as he picked up the satchel containing the artifact. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

  He looked at the man through his tears. He longed for McCabe’s spirit and strength, but the sight of the strange-looking pistol still in the guard’s hand combined with the three holes in McCabe’s chest deflated any thoughts of heroism. He wasn’t King...and King was... He stood up.

  King represented what little family he had left. His parents were dead, his br
other a drug addict, and King, the man who had nearly been his brother-in-law, had always been there for him.

  The man in charge took aim at Pierce, recognizing the look of a man about to do something foolish. “Hold on, Pierce,” he said, and then turned to the man who shot McCabe. “Fix her up.”

  The man knelt down next to McCabe and tore open the top of her shirt. He wiped the area over her heart, where the three bullets had torn through skin and bone, with a white cloth that smelled strongly of alcohol. The man discarded the now bloody rag, took a small pack from his pocket and removed a red liquid-filled syringe. As the man took aim over her heart, Pierce moved to stop him, but he was knocked to his knees and put in a submission hold by one of the other guards who’d finished zip-tying the crew.

  “Watch,” the guard said, holding Pierce’s head just feet from McCabe’s dead body.

  After five seconds, the holes in McCabe’s chest shrunk and closed. Pierce stopped struggling and watched in silence, waiting to see what would happen next. A small undulation beneath the skin of her neck caught his eye. She had a pulse. Then he noticed her chest rising and falling. McCabe was alive.

  “You brought her back to life?” he asked as he looked at the man in charge. “How is that possible?”

  “Regeneration,” the man said. “You know all about that, don’t you, Doc?”

  He looked at the artifact hanging from the man’s shoulder. Hydra.

  “She’ll be fine,” the man said, lowering his gun. “Now please, come with us.”

  Pierce nodded slowly. He knew in the end he had no choice, and they did save McCabe. He looked at the now damaged stone, its inscription ruined by the explosion. Regret tore at his insides. King had been his oldest friend, as close to family as you could get without sharing a blood relative. It made him sick to think it, but he hoped the grenade had killed King. Being stuck alive under that rock...he’d seen the faces of those men, roasted alive. No one deserved that fate. “Sorry, Jack,” he said as he allowed the men to bind him in zip-tie handcuffs.