by Michael Todd
“Their commander,” Wallace continued, “was Frances Stoudt, the spy who previously had the run of our base when she was hired by us as a private contractor. That would explain why the enemy force was so well-informed. She knew to unplug my suit, and her men disassembled it and either destroyed it or may have tried to smuggle it out.”
“Frankie? I thought she was killed after the Chimera hunt,” Gunnar marveled.
“No,” Wallace stated, “she was killed this morning.” He swallowed and the muscles along his jawbone tightened. “She refused to reveal who she was working for.”
“I have intel on that matter,” the director replied.
The sergeant was sure he did. The man always seemed to have intel.
“I hate to break it to you, Wallace,” the Director went on, “but Dr. Lin—Chris—may be involved. We have reason to believe he’s working against us.”
“Any information you possess on that subject would be useful,” he responded. A quiet, unobtrusive study of his commander revealed that the man was in a low-level state of shock. He’d masked it well under his usual veneer of composure and self-confidence, but he had obviously never expected to see Wallace alive.
As if he’d noticed the scrutiny, Hall’s broad face eased into a good-natured smile. “In any event, well done, Sergeant, and congratulations on making it through. I knew I could count on you as you always, always seem to get the job done.”
“Thanks.”
“You need to heal up,” Hall continued. “Because when you’ve rested and are medically cleared for duty again, I have another mission for you.”
There was awkward silence as everyone looked back and forth between the softly-smiling director and the starving, battered, bloodied, and broken sergeant. To the surprise of all present, Wallace pushed himself forward from his stretcher and landed on his knees on the ground. Glassner tried to intervene, but he held up a hand and the medic stopped.
“Whatever,” the sergeant said to Hall. “You.” He rose awkwardly to a hunched position. “Say.” Veins and sweat on his neck and forehead indicated his agony and immense strain. “Boss.”
He stood.
Epilogue
Two men sat at a small table in an alley outside a little bistro in Marseilles. The table had been chosen to afford them privacy but not draw suspicion.
Marcus looked at his beer. He’d not been able to drink during the entire miserable operation in the Americans’ little bio-lab-gone-wrong, that sweltering jungle hellhole with its mutated plants and animals. Now, the Chinaman had graciously bought him a halfway-decent ale. It was good to be back in Europe, even though he’d never much liked the French. He would drink in a moment.
Dr. Lin had ordered the same beverage for himself and he sipped gingerly at it as befitted a mere scientist. He set the glass down. “So,” he began, “tell me what happened.”
The merc was technically in charge of the mission now, since Frankie was dead along with everyone else, save a single straggler from some village in central Algeria. Marcus had put a bullet in the man’s brain. For such a stupid individual, he knew too much and they couldn’t have loose ends floating around. While the mission had mostly been a failure, there was still one thing Marcus could do right to claim his pay. He intended to do it momentarily.
“We had an unexpected skirmish with the American troops, and they came back with reinforcements,” Marcus said. His companion glanced at him and seemed to suppress a smile. The merc scowled with irritation as he immediately remembered the way people sometimes laughed at his high voice and Danish accent. That was perhaps one reason why he enjoyed his work. It was hard for such people to laugh when they choked on their own blood. He had discovered this from experience. “We were overwhelmed and scattered. I retreated so that you could be informed and we could set up another mission. We have good intel now on how to capture Kemp.” Most of this was bullshit, of course.
“The intel I received on your activities,” Chris said, “is that you didn’t even try to capture Kemp. Instead, you used your time to slaughter a platoon of U.S. troops. My friends. Was that what I hired you to do?” He slammed his glass down on the table and spilled some of the drink, then glared at the mercenary.
Marcus met his stare and tried to look innocent and confused. “The Americans attacked us,” he said, “and Frankie was incompetent as a commander.”
“You were not supposed to kill anyone.” The scientist, Marcus saw, struggled to not yell at him. “Especially not my own countrymen. The whole purpose of what I’m trying to do here is to save people. There’s stuff in that place—valuable stuff—that could be used to heal the sick, repair the injured, feed the hungry… We’re talking revolutionary breakthroughs in medicine and agriculture. Frankie willfully took my words out of context, and you guys went along with it. Instead of focusing on capturing one woman—even after I gave you the enhanced herbicide you requested—you decided to declare war on the United States Army. What the hell were you thinking?”
The mercenary raised his glass and took a long swig of beer. What he really thought was that he was tired of listening to this nerdy little test-tube jockey ramble on about idealistic science shit. He was glad that he’d never have to listen to him again. Dr. Lin had, infuriatingly, kept the recipe for the super weed-killer to himself, although at least they’d gotten a nice-sized sample of it. Valuable stuff, as Lin himself had just said. That was the true objective of the mission. And since Marcus’s actual employer had now received the sample, they no longer needed the scientist.
“You said yourself, Doctor,” he pointed out, “that your former employers in the U.S. government were cruel and short-sighted. When dealing with such people, progress requires the shedding of blood.” He drew the suppressed pistol he’d kept hidden beneath his jacket and aimed it at Dr. Lin’s face. “As you will find out.”
Chris frowned briefly but leaned back in his chair and smiled.
Marcus’s hand went numb and slumped on the table to displace an ashtray and land on a beer-soaked napkin. He tried to pull the trigger regardless, but his hand had somehow ceased to function. Pain rose from his stomach and flowed through him. He tried to speak but only a faint gasping sound emerged.
“I realized,” Lin said, “that Frankie was two-timing me. It wasn’t a surprise because that’s what someone like her does. It’s her nature. Some of the shit I saw and heard was awfully suspicious but I needed to be sure. And now that I am sure, I’m glad that you guys had a pleasant chat with my friend, Sergeant Erik Wallace. I bet he showed you all a good time.”
The other man slumped forward and his vision went fuzzy and dim.
“I knew the recipe for the weed-killer was the only thing keeping me alive,” Chris went on. “But I’m done making that crap, anyway. I hope to turn the place into a panacea but I know, better than most people, how lethal the Zoo can be.” He pushed his chair back, stood, and stepped closer to his companion. “Only two or three drops from the right Zoo plant in a drink, for example…”
Marcus’s head hit the table, and his left arm fell limply by his side where it swung for a moment before stiffness set in.
Chris leaned closer to the now-dead mercenary. “I’ll complete the mission myself without your help. I will find Kemp and save her, and with her, save the world. And if a few murderous douchebags get in the way…well, like you said, progress requires the shedding of blood.” There was no actual blood that Chris could see, but the end result was close enough.
He straightened, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strode into the alley. No one had seen anything, so he felt confident enough to simply walk away. He had work to do. Things were badly screwed up but he might still be able to set everything right.
Nobody’s Fool
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Author Notes - Micha
el Anderle
February 3, 2019
THANK YOU for not only reading this story but these Author Notes as well.
(I think I’ve been good with always opening with “thank you.” If not, I need to edit the other Author Notes!)
RANDOM (sometimes) THOUGHTS?
It is Superbowl Sunday here in Las Vegas, THE location to be when betting in the United States on football.
My wife Judith and I are going to join author Jonathan Brazee and his wife Kiwi to kick back and enjoy the afternoon.
Sort of.
First, they are the new and (very, very) proud parents of twin girls who are now almost 2 weeks old. They are first-time parents, and it is cute—especially since Jonathan is an older first-time dad, and he acts like he is a much younger guy.
You know, cute as a button photographs and mentioning what is going on? I’m getting a taste of what it is like to be a grandparent (may that not happen for many years, guys, if you are reading this), and it is pretty cool.
You get to enjoy all of the fun with none of the diapers.
We are going to grab some food on the way over to their house, where the Kiwi and Judith will do God knows what while Jonathan and I talk books and publishing and watch the commercials.
I’m sure there will be football on the tv as well, so I’ll “see” the game.
Because, if I didn’t watch Superbowls when I read a lot, why would I watch them now that I’m writing a lot?
Ok, it’s a social thing. I get that. I’m a naturally shy person who stuck his nose in books and still does. But, I’ve matured in life, and I go out for Superbowl Sunday.
Now I’m all grown up.
AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS
One of the interesting (at least to me) aspects of my life is the ability to work from anywhere and at any time. In the future, I hope to re-read my own Author Notes and remember my life as a diary entry.
Las Vegas Nv. I’m sitting at my glass desk, which has a map of the world screen-printed on it. It’s located a couple of FEET away from the wall.
Why?
Because we got flooded out a month ago, and stuff still isn’t being fixed, and won’t be until all of the insurance gets handled.
For some reason, I didn’t snap to the situation that another person (above me) was responsible for the flood, but NOT responsible for having people come fix it.
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HOW TO MARKET FOR BOOKS YOU LOVE
Review them so others have your thoughts, and tell friends and the dogs of your enemies (because who wants to talk to enemies?)… Enough said ;-)
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
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Other Zoo Books
BIRTH OF HEAVY METAL
He Was Not Prepared (1)
She Is His Witness (2)
Backstabbing Little Assets (3)
APOCALYPSE PAUSED
Fight for Life and Death (1)
Get Rich or Die Trying (2)
Big Assed Global Kegger (3)
Ambassadors and Scorpions (4)
Nightmares From Hell (5)
SOLDIERS OF FAME AND FORTUNE
Nobody’s Fool (1)
Nobody Lives Forever (2)
Nobody Drinks That Much (3)
Nobody Remembers But Us (4)
Ghost Walking (5)
Ghost Talking (6)
Ghost Brawling (7)
Ghost Stalking (8)
Books written as Michael Anderle
For a complete list of books by Michael Anderle, please visit:
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