Ridley, too, stood above him, saying, “‘We mortals with immortal minds are only born for sufferings and joys, and one could almost say that the most excellent receive joy through sufferings.’ Beethoven said that.” Ridley knelt down over Pierce, pulling open one of his closed eyes. “You’ll let me know if he was right, won’t you?”
Pierce slipped, willingly, into the abyss.
25
Tristan da Cunha
Edinburgh looked insignificant from the top of the island’s volcano. After hastily setting up camp within the short-treed forest of Tristan da Cunha, Knight and Rook had climbed the steep grade to a point a few hundred feet below the volcano’s crater, leaving Bishop behind to man the camp. They worked their way around the craggy slope to a point that afforded them clear views of both the small town and the much larger Beta Incorporated facility.
Rook peered through a pair of 140x night vision zoom binoculars, taking in the quiet town while Knight checked out the well-lit Beta compound through the lens of his new pride and joy. The XM109 semiautomatic sniper rifle had been waiting for him on the Crescent when they boarded. Though the weapon was officially still in development by the Barrett Firearms Company, Deep Blue had managed to get him the most up-to-date version. It seemed only fair that the Chess Team start using weapons as advanced as their enemies. The XM109 fired 25mm-caliber rounds capable of piercing armor and disabling light vehicles with a single shot. If fired against a flesh-and-blood target, little would remain.
Head shots were a thing of the past with this weapon. Few vehicles short of an M1 Abrams tank could stand up to it. Not even a regenerative capybara.
“See anything interesting?” Rook asked.
“Minimal guards patrolling the outside. I’ve counted seven, armed with some kind of rifle I’ve never seen before.”
Rook shifted his view to the facility and found a guard walking along the outer wall’s catwalk. “Looks like more of the Metal Storms King described. Three barrels.” He lowered the binoculars. “You notice the way that place is built?”
Knight nodded. “Like a prison.”
“Yeah. I first thought the walls were to keep people out, but I’m starting to think they’re for keeping people in. Now why would that be?”
Rook resumed watching the town. He’d watched a few people entering and exiting homes, walking the few streets, and hanging laundry in their backyards, but little else. The only place of constant action was a small well-lit building he’d seen King and Queen enter twenty minutes ago.
“How’s Grandma Knight, these days?” he asked.
Without taking his eye away from the sniper scope, Knight said, “She doesn’t know who I am anymore. Thinks I’m her uncle when I visit.”
“That bad, huh? Sorry, man.”
He shrugged. “That’s life. Old age. You know? There isn’t much I can do besides accept it.”
“Still...she’s all you got left.”
“I’ve got the ladies lining up, man. There will be little Knights running around before you know it.”
“You horny rabbit. I didn’t know you wanted kids.”
“Who doesn’t? You don’t?”
“S’pose it would have to be with the right lady.”
“Got a lady in mind?”
Rook paused, holding his breath. “I’ve got Queen...and King. Exiting the building.”
Knight shifted his view and found them walking toward the dock. Their casual walk told him they hadn’t found trouble. That was good news. But their pace also told him they hadn’t discovered anything to make them walk fast. That was bad news.
They watched King and Queen return to the catamaran. Moments later, King’s voice filled their ears. “Knight, do you copy?”
“I’m here, boss,” he replied.
“The townies are a bust on intel. Most work at the facility doing menial labor. Janitors, food services, things like that. I doubt a single one of them has any inkling as to what’s going on in there. Queen will be going in for a look. What can we expect?”
“Seven guards outside with Metal Storm rifles. The outer wall is taller than it looked in the satellite imagery, but she shouldn’t have a problem getting in.”
“Why’s that?”
“The guards aren’t watching the perimeter. They’re watching the building. King, there is something nasty in there they don’t want getting out.”
“Copy that,” King said. “Just watch her back.”
“You’ve got incoming,” Rook said suddenly. He watched as a lone man snuck his way between buildings and ran across streets with his head ducked down. “Queen better move out.”
“Copy that.”
Rook watched as Queen, now dressed in black leaped from the catamaran and disappeared into the dark, invisible to all but Rook’s night vision binoculars. “She’s clear. You’ve got a single man headed your way. On the dock now. Looks old, maybe. Long beard.”
“An old friend,” King said. “No worries. Out.”
A click signified that King had switched off his radio. Rook watched as the man approached. King climbed onto the dock and reached out his hand for a friendly handshake, but stopped short. “Oh, hell,” Rook said.
Knight took aim with his sniper scope and found King, hands in the air, gun in his face. As Knight turned off his rifle’s safety and took aim on the back of the man’s head, Rook kept both men in view. King glanced up toward the volcano, almost looking directly at them and shook his head slightly. The message was clear.
“King is shaking his head. Hold your fire,” Rook whispered, knowing how close his partner was to reducing the man to a puddle of chum. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
26
Tristan da Cunha
Though the salty sea breeze tickling his nose and rustling the leaves overhead calmed his nerves, Bishop found relaxing impossible. Sitting against a tree at the center of their small makeshift base camp, Bishop’s thoughts were with his teammates. He’d heard the communication between King and the others. He knew the level of danger was ratcheting up. But he also knew that if medical care was required, or a place to hide, the base camp would be it. And for that reason he had to maintain his post, no matter what might occur on the other side of the volcano.
Frustration built as time passed without update. Something about this mission, about the strangeness of the psychotic capybara and intent of Manifold Genetics to sell physical regeneration to their enemies had his instincts shouting for caution. But here they were, charging headlong into the unknown. Well, everyone but him.
A pain lanced up his arms as he squeezed his hands into tight fists, nearly breaking the skin of his palm with his nails. Get a grip, he told himself. With a deep breath, Bishop forced his muscles to relax. He crossed his thick yet limber legs and breathed deep again, focusing on the distant sound of the ocean and the rustling leaves above. The scent of earth filled his nose and the exposed skin of his arms prickled with goose bumps at the cool breeze rolling in from the ocean. Clearing his mind of worry, he focused on his current mission—preparation and defense of the base camp.
The camouflage tents assembled within a stand of bushes would only be seen if someone stumbled upon them. Being nearly invisible and far from any trails, they probably could have left the hidden medical gear, weapons, and communications equipment without fear of discovery, but they had no idea what they would find within the protected walls of Manifold’s dummy corporation. So Bishop would wait until called upon to act, whether it be attack or medical assistance.
His chest sagged as his thoughts cleared and body loosened. The rage dissipated. Breathing deep once more, he sensed a change in the air. It warmed as the breeze shifted direction, rolling down from the volcano. The trees creaked and swayed.
He stood, looking at the sky through the treetops, looking for signs of a storm. But the sky was clear and full of stars. Another deep breath caused him to gag. Something foul clung to the air.
Again, the hair on his arm rose, but not
from the cold this time. He snatched up his silenced 9mm Heckler & Koch USP, determined to defend the camp without exposing his position. Pulling his night vision goggles over his eyes, the forest came into view as the goggles amplified what little light from the moon and stars filtered through the trees. Crouching low, he worked his way toward the volcano’s base. With the air pouring down over the volcano, the rancid odor’s origin had to be somewhere at the base of the incline. Given the strength of the smell, he knew it was close by.
Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he moved, pausing every few steps to listen. After another five minutes of cautious advance, a loud snap stopped him in his tracks. The sound had come from beneath his foot, but was markedly louder than the crunch of a leaf or break of a branch. He lifted his foot and looked down. Something white extended out of the dark leaf litter that had concealed it from view as he approached. He swept the leaves away. A human femur.
Bishop stood, raised the 9mm, and continued. The smell quickly became nauseating. He raised an arm over his mouth and nose as he passed through a bush and entered a clearing surrounded by large trees that covered the area with sweeping branches and leaves that concealed the site, and its contents, from above. But standing at ground level, he could see the bodies.
Some, the ones providing the stench, were perhaps days old. Bloated and deformed, their bodies hardly looked human anymore, and the lack of heads revealed how they had been slain—decapitation. But the sheer number of bodies filling the shallow pit, both human and animal, caused Bishop to step back. Manifold was infinitely more dangerous than they had surmised.
He looked down at the mass grave before him. It could have been the handy work of Hitler or Stalin or any number of sick-minded dictators. Fresh corpses lay atop and twisted limbs with the further decayed, who shared space with skeletons. Even in a time of war, acts like this were considered criminal, but this site belonged to a genetics company working on the secret of human regeneration. He wondered, with growing revulsion, what would have become of the world if Hitler’s S.S. had been impervious to harm. The beaches of Normandy could never have been stormed. The Third Reich could have taken the world. And it seemed the same ruthlessness would be the birthplace of the world’s next military horror. Whoever possessed the technology would rule the battlefield.
Blood fueled by adrenaline surged through Bishop’s veins as a rage unlike any he’d felt before took root in his soul. Manifold had to be stopped. The others had to be warned. But as he turned to head back to camp, the sound of approaching voices mixed with the frenzy of a madman filled the air. Bishop dove behind a tree just as the men entered the clearing. As three men shouted to one another over the mindless screams of a fourth Bishop stole a peek around the base of the tree. What he saw through the green vision provided by his night vision erased his rage and replaced it with something he felt very rarely.
Fear.
27
Tristan da Cunha
“Now just who in the hell are you?” Karn asked, keeping his pistol aimed between King’s eyes. “And drop the phony French accent.”
“How did you know?” King asked, speaking normally, as commanded.
“I didn’t know. Not until I pointed the gun at your head and you didn’t even blink.”
King smiled and looked at the pistol. It was a M1911A1, .45-caliber automatic pistol that took more than its fair share of lives during the Vietnam War. “You’re a veteran. Vietnam.”
Karn squinted at him, then gave the pistol an angry stare. He felt King’s eyes on his face, inspecting the scars just barely visible beneath the man’s thick beard.
“Prisoner of war,” King said, doing nothing to hide his new admiration for the man. “How long?”
Karn shook the gun, his eyes wide. “I’ve got the gun. I’m asking the questions. Now step into the boat and take a seat before someone sees us. And keep your hands where I can see them.”
King did as he was told, sitting at the back of the boat, hands in plain sight. Karn stepped into the boat and sat across from him, well out of sight of anyone who might be looking on from town, or, King noticed, from a perch on the volcano. Smart man.
“Is your lady friend on board?”
King shook his head, no.
The man looked skeptical. “I wouldn’t want to be surprised and squeeze off a round by accident.”
“She’s not here.”
Karn settled down into his seat, relaxing his body, but keeping the gun aimed at King’s chest. “Now, tell me who the hell you’re working for and what you’re doing here?
“I can’t tell you who I work for, but I will tell you why I’m here.”
He shrugged. “Figured as much. So spill the beans.”
“We’re investigating Beta Incorporated.”
“Why?”
King mulled over how much to tell the man. “They may have links to terrorist organizations. Beta Incorporated is a dummy corporation for a genetics company named Manifold.”
“Never heard of ‘em.”
“Few people outside the genetics world have.”
“So why are you here?”
“I just told you.”
The man leaned forward with a grin. “You told me why some U.S. brass sent you here. Don’t feed me a ‘national security’ line, either. I’m a good judge of character, boy, and I can see that weight on your shoulders as clearly as I can see my own dick.”
King noticed that Karn had lowered the weapon, probably unknowingly. He could have easily lunged across the deck and killed the man, but decided against it. The rest of this town was tight-lipped, but Karn, aside from being abrasive, might prove to be more than a simple informant. He’d made the same observation about Karn that Karn had about him. They both carried a weight on their shoulder, and both had something to do with the facility glowing bright on the other side of town. For that reason, King decided to be honest with the man.
“They took a friend of mine. Kidnapped him right from under my nose. Killed a bunch of civies in the process. All of them were under my watch. I’m here to find my friend...my brother...and make them pay for what they did.”
“Your brother?”
“My sister’s fiancé...before she died. He’s family.”
Karn nodded and placed his gun beside him on the bench. The message was clear: they were no longer enemies. “They have my brother, too.”
“They’ve been kidnapping people from town? Why hasn’t anyone complained?”
“They’re slicker than that,” he said. “The population here...it’s small. Ain’t many choices for who you marry. Inbreeding has been a problem. Not for me, mind you. I’m from the mainland. But for the natives, they’re, well, they’re all family if you know what I mean. It’s made for some medical issues over the years. Deformities. Disease. Immune system mumbo jumbo I can’t make sense of. Well, these guys came in and got approval to build that monstrosity of a compound after they offered free medical care to folks who volunteered for their programs. Most in town agreed and signed nondisclosure agreements. I did, too. Seemed like a good thing at the time. A few months back, my brother found a tumor a few inches above his dipstick. Scared the crap out of him. So rather than head to the mainland he signed up as a volunteer. I’ve heard bubkes from him since. They’ve ignored all my calls, and when I showed up at their doorstep, those pipsqueak security kids roughed me up. Tasered me and dumped me back in town.”
“When was that?”
“Last week.”
“They’ve been locked down tight since that plane flew in a few days ago. Then you showed up. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
King stood and headed for the cabin. He paused at the door. “How well do you know the facility?”
“With the fish factory burned down, we all needed work. I helped build the damn thing. If you’re looking for a way in, there’s only one I can think of.”
King opened the door to the cabin and motioned with his head for Karn to follow. “You know, I don’t believe i
n coincidence, either.”
Karn smiled as he stood and stepped toward the cabin. The weight on both men’s shoulders lifted slightly as they recognized the other for an ally with the same goal: rescuing family. When Karn entered the cabin his eyes went wide. He looked at King and with a laugh, said, “I may not believe in coincidence, but I sure as hell believe in God, now.” He rubbed his hand over the cool metal of a M224 60mm lightweight mortar. “Thank you, Jesus.”
28
Tristan da Cunha
When Queen set out from the Mercury she had three plans of attack to gain entrance to the Beta compound. Her first and the most simple plan was to find an unguarded portion of wall and, using a grappling hook, climb and heave herself over. But fifty yards from the wall, her plan was foiled. A puff of gas revealed a crisscrossing maze of laser tripwires that not even a tightly clad Catherine Zeta-Jones could work her way through. If that wasn’t enough, she spotted an array of heat-detecting sensors peering out from the twenty-foot wall like cycloptic guardians. She could have beat the heat sensors using the heat shield folded into a four-inch square inside her cargo pants pocket, but using the shield while working a laser maze would have been impossible without wings. Gen-Y knew what they were doing.
Moving through the darkness, she worked her way around the outer wall, careful to keep a good distance between her and the laser grid. She stopped one hundred yards from the facility’s main entrance. A dirt road led up to the fifteen-foot-tall, barbed-wire-topped gates. Guard towers rose up on either side of the gate and spotlights illuminated the area. She was sure an array of motion detectors and heat sensors would detect her approach anyway. Of course, she could always go the old-fashioned route by paying no heed to the sensors, killing the guards, and blowing the gate with C4, but King wanted the subtle approach for now. And she trusted his judgment. So she continued along the facility’s outer wall, heading toward the base of the volcano, in search of a chink in the security barrier’s armor.
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