by Louis Scott
“Sorry, sir,” The pilot radioed. “Pushing her at max velocity. Wind hooked us up and almost went vertical.” The dread of almost losing his copter tightened the pilot’s voice.
“Good recovery, just slow it down a bit,” Pike suggested.
“Negative. No time to lollygag. I need you two back at HQ, pronto.” Alex cut into the closed circuit patch.
Pike grimaced at her unrestrained access to even the most remote resources. He wondered if she’d been watching his and Voodoo's antics before placing a strategic call to interrupt their sex.
“You heard the lady,” Voodoo snipped without trying to hide her displeasure.
Pike steadied himself in the webbed seating. His fingers traced along his helmet until he found the mic activation button.
“Okay, I get that we’re in a rush, but can you give us a clue as to what’s going down that has us in such a hurry?”
“What we know so far is that your roomie is on that vessel loaded with bio-chemicals. She’s heading up the Mississippi with her Avagravian comrades.” Jonas’s anxiety was apparent, though he had never shown that emotion before.
“Up the Mississippi River?” Pike shot in surprise.
“Yes, it was the only way to transport their product to its final destination,” Jonas continued.
“Which is what and where?” Pike craned his neck through the tinted cabin windows. They weren’t anywhere near the river, but he knew that’d soon be his destination.
“Negative on both,” Alex said.
Jonas spoke up. “I think it’s the same weapon of mass destruction concoction they tried to use in Norfolk when the president and first lady commissioned that Navy destroyer. They know their best chance for igniting widespread fear is a chemical or biological WMD. Why stop now?” Jonas's intercept seemed to neutralize the friction between Pike and Alex.
“Then it’s probably close to that same lethal fentanyl mixture,” Pike added. “We dealt with it in Russia. The Spetsnaz gassed the Chechen terrorists and the poor hostages in the Moscow theatre.” Pike’s voice drifted.
His throat tightened at the memory of the bloated bodies of the murdered Russian hostages.
“Exposure did make hunting the terrorists who tried to escape much easier though,” he whispered.
Voodoo squeezed Pike’s thigh. He leaned in close. She mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Pike brushed his hand across her cheek.
“We’ll have more decoded diary by the time you arrive,” Alex said. “Voodoo, we’ve already authorized participation with your Sheriff, and made notification to your Task Force commander. You’ll have federal jurisdiction once we get you credentialed at HQ,” Alex assured Voodoo.
“Thanks for the credentials. How’s Lawless feeling?” Voodoo asked.
Pike watched her body’s response. Tension stiffened her arms and shoulders. He wondered just how close she and Lawless once were.
“He’ll heal better than our country if we don’t stop this strike. You kids get some shuteye. See you in less than four hours.” Murmured Jonas
Even Jonas, the warrior, was also beginning to show the signs of stress-related fatigue. His once strong tone was not weak but lacking. They’d all have to dig deep.
Chapter Three
A light thump and the deceleration of whirling blades signaled they’d arrived at the FORCE headquarters just outside of Washington DC. A shadowy figure stood along the far edge of the tarmac. Pike wasn’t able to identify who it was, but the person’s signal to keep heads below the spinning blades was clear. He exited the chopper then reached back, grabbed Voodoo by the wrist, and led her away from the whining turbines.
“Who’s that?” She asked.
“Can’t tell, but he’s wearing a full tactical kit.”
Pike squinted against the night, as the figure slowly came into his focus. He noticed the black hawk helicopter wasn’t killing power.
“I’m guessing our stay here won’t be long,” Pike yelled to Jonas.
The Black Hawk’s rotors re-engaged. They greeted Jonas halfway between the Black Hawk and the office.
“Y’all made good time. I’ll stow gear kits on board while you grab chow and hit the head. Off in fifteen with airborne briefing.” Jonas’s expression was deadpan serious.
“Yeah, whatever, Jonas. Freaking nice to see you again too,” Voodoo’s verbal slap was uncharacteristic.
Mouth turned down, Pike wondered what that was about.
“I’ll get your gear,” Jonas glared at Pike.
There wasn’t anything else to say, Pike felt the sting of blood rushing up his neck—disrespect wasn’t acceptable among FORCE members. Voodoo had just insulted Pike’s second in command, and a very good guy to boot.
Silent as he made his way through the matrix of offices and cubicles, Pike reached for Voodoo’s hand. He wasn’t nearly as gentle in FORCE’s sterile environment. His heart pumped part with embarrassment over her comment to Jonas, and part concentration on what cards the danger deck held.
“Hi, Jill. This is Krystal Laveau reporting for processing.” Pike grinned before he snapped to a salute.
Jill looked away.
Voodoo stared up at him, her eyes steady and vacant at the same time.
Pike cocked his head. “You okay?”
She shook her head, slid a gaze to Jill and came back to him. “Her too?”
Jill looked away.
Before he could react, Voodoo was led away to be photographed, fingerprinted, swabbed for DNA and retinal scanned before being handed a template printed commission identification card. Pike watched as she drew the template close to her face. “Property of…” her lips parted.
After the photo was snapped, she headed back to him, her shoulders back, her head high but something in her stride was off. Too slow. And the way her eyes darted around rather than slowly taking in her surroundings. Fear. That’s what he saw. Would the real Krystal please stand up?
“Ready?” Pike tugged at her triceps.
She eased out of his grip. Jill skated out of the room and banged the door shut on her way out. Pike was in full operational mode. There’d never been a time or place for personal drama during pre-operational preparedness. Only life-saving laser focus, but this would be his first.
Still in the mini-dress from their dinner at the casino’s luxury Pan-Asian restaurant, Voodoo's arms shook at the elbow. Her fists mashed into hips. The fiery Creole attitude fumed as Pike watched her bottom lip shake. Unsure how to handle this situation—he stood back. Soon, he heard boots tapping through the hallways in a rush to board their copters.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we gotta deploy.” Pike said coldly.
“You’re not sure? Where you been, hero?”
“Next to you the entire time. What’d I miss?” He asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why’re you behaving like this? It’s hitting the fan and we got a job to do.”
“Maybe I’m scared,” Voodoo whispered. “Maybe I ain’t the freaking hero, you, or the rest of your mutant American superheroes are. I’m just some stupid deputy from down in the swamps.” Her face contorted with the stress of confession.
“Baby, are you serious? You’re amazing, and FORCE needs you. Alex wouldn’t have authorized just anyone unless she saw something valuable in you,” Pike hugged her. “If you’d rather not come, you’re welcome to wait here until I get back, but you’re not giving yourself the credit you deserve.”
“If you get back,” she huffed. “This stuff’s out of control, and I’m not trained to deal with it. Promise me you’ll help me get through.” Voodoo clutched his arms.
“That’s why we’re here. Because it will get out of control if we don’t make a stand,” Pike moved to the door. “Your call, but I’ve got to go. Someone has to stop Bonny.”
Voodoo slumped slightly, then drew herself up. “You’re right. She was my roommate from hell after all. I’m kinda responsible.” She cracked a grin through an o
therwise terrified expression. She held the door open for him, but he stopped to first kiss her.
He saw the fire in her eyes return.
“Now let’s go kick some terrorists butts,” she said.
“Ready to collect more air miles? Heading to the Home of the Blues—Memphis.” Jonas said as he scratched his head and looked unsure about that fact.
“I’m sorry.” Voodoo mouthed, and raised her right foot into the Black Hawk’s cabin. She grabbed Jonas’s extended arm as rotor wash jostled her. With mutual tugs she leveraged herself in and patted his black-clad bicep. “I’m just a little nervous.”
“You’ll be fine. This is a team, and you’re part of it.”
Jonas was an experienced leader, and knew the range of emotions most people experienced.
Voodoo immediately felt a sense of relief. She strapped the harness and pointed for Pike to sit next to her. The cabin was dim, but pre-flight green and red lights showed her smile had become less frigid. She’d changed into a SWAT-type one-piece coverall, and brand new tactical boots. She tugged the zippered collar up over her neck as if chilled—her body jerked with adrenaline.
Jonas instructed the pilots to head west once the team loaded. Both cargo doors were secured, and interior lights flashed before they flickered off. Jim Graham reached up to toggle overheads on as Jonas leaned forward with his briefing book.
“Sun’ll be up soon, so lets get the details square and then relax. It’s over five hours and weather ain’t pleasant.” Jonas palmed something to Voodoo.
The white plastic package held two pills inside. She stuffed it under her thigh until after the briefing. Her stomach was already knotted from the casino restaurant’s progressive cuisine—probably not the best menu selection before saving the world.
“A few teenagers were daring each other to fly their UAV drones out over the Mississippi River. One got caught in heavy winds and pushed off course a bit. These drones are incredibly hi-tech for civilian use. It returned home once it lost GPS signal with the kid’s handheld. Kid downloaded the HD video to watch their aerial dogfights and he saw it.”
“Saw what?” Jim asked.
“The zombie ship.”
“Oh no, I ain’t screwing with no spooks.” Voodoo's eyes popped open as she waved her hands wildly. “I got no gris-gris to protect us.” She laughed nervously as the others stared in bewilderment.
“We got PPE suits for protection, Voodoo,” Jonas reassured her. “Seems the kid had no idea where the video was shot along the river other than outside Memphis. He’d uploaded it to YouTube with tag lines—ship, wreck, voodoo, zombie, MS River, wolf and sickle. See where I’m going?” Jonas asked. “It shows great video of the deck and the blue hull with bright yellow stacks. It looked moored at a legitimate dock along the river. No reports of mass casualties in the port area,” Jonas added.
“Geez, more bio-chem? You think the zombies are bodies from contamination?” Ellie Graham, Jim’s wife and fellow agent, asked. She looked at Voodoo as the only other female in the copter. “You got a spell to keep us safe, honey?”
“You know my great grandmother, four times removed is Marie Laveau. She might conjure up something from the beyond.” Voodoo smiled nervously.
“The witch?” Jim shrieked.
“She’s my Granny.”
“Right, I’m sorry. I just know the legend.”
“Hey Jim.” Voodoo whispered. “It’s no legend.” She grinned.
Pike chuckled because he saw she was getting back to herself.
“So we back to bio chems?” Pike repeated.
“Not sure,” Jonas said. “Alex took off in a Lear as soon as our techs trolled the video online. She’s going to find the kid and the original footage. There’s an app that shows windage, elevation and exact location. She’ll also head up the HAZMAT response if needed and have the location identified before we hit it,” Jonas continued without referring to his notes. The guy was a machine when it came to details.
“Us, hit it? Doesn’t the Coast Guard or locals handle their jurisdiction?” Voodoo asked.
Pike tapped her on the thigh. “Word’s gotta stay close to the vest—our vests. Every piece of info is so critical, that one leak might jeopardize the mission. We handle as much of the detail as superhumanly possible.”
“Honestly, you’d be lucky to get others to help,” Jim said. “Most ain’t too happy to have us roll into town barking orders. You know how territorial cops get. It’s better left to us—easy in and easy out,” he added.
Voodoo nodded, and then checked the wrapped package that Jonas slipped her—Dramamine.
“Why we thinking this vessel’s connected to the Serpent anyway?” Ellie asked. The Black Hawk pitched into a half roll—a series of green lights turned to flashing yellow and a warning buzzer wailed three shrill blasts. Ellie chuckled at the wild ride—Voodoo downed the pills.
“Sorry, sir,” a pilot said.
“Son, you’re handling this beast the best you can. Weather’s falling apart out west.” Jonas reassured.
“Thank you, sir.” The pilot acknowledged.
“Okay, Intel Section has most of the diary translated,” Jonas continued. “Decoding it won’t take as long since the encryption is similar to that used by the Serpent’s crew. What we knew was suspected by Pike last week about the attempted Rex Mardi Gras parade assassination being a distraction. Well, the assassination of Rex more than the parade, but that’s distracting also.”
Jonas high-fived Pike and bopped Voodoo on the knee. She rolled her eyes.
“The meat of their mission was the cargo ship that entered the mouth of the Mississippi River undetected,” Jim added. “It was flying under another nation’s flag, so the Coasties failed to pick it up. It was scheduled to insert deep enough up river to avoid detection. The mother ship is back in the ocean, and a cutter loaded with a lethal chemical is sailing right through the heart of the United States.”
The helicopter pitched again and rolled with an overcorrection. Jonas snatched a rescue strap and allowed his body to sway with the motion. His grin uneasy as he and Pike shared a glare of concern.
“Where’s it’s final destination?” Voodoo’s words slurred—her head rolled sideways. She tried to relax and felt the effects of the pills. She wanted to absorb each detail, but exhaustion, compounded by the dimenhydrinate was almost too much to fight.
“At this point, we don't have enough of the diary decoded to determine where the ship is headed. Lets say somewhere between New Orleans and Lake Itasca, Minnesota to be safe.”
“Only two thousand three hundred and twenty miles to cover, no problem,” Voodoo laughed that she recalled the river’s length from a junior high school geography class. She dozed off.
Chapter Four
About twelve miles outside of the Memphis city limits, the Black Hawk’s rubber wheels finally reunited with rain-soaked earth. The abandoned shipyard, filled with rusted metal and half-sunken hulls, looked worse than obsolete. Strange place for world destruction—perfect place for world destruction.
Voodoo stretched and felt more alert than she had in days. Jonas’s head was still stuck in the briefing book, and he told FORCE to wait in the craft. In the distance, a trail of water sprayed high into the early morning haze. It was Alex driving an armored vehicle. Once it rolled to a stop, she and Jonas conferred, then he returned to the craft.
“Into the MRAP. Move.” Jonas had on his game face.
“Good morning, team,” Alex said once they were assembled. “This isn’t optimal, but in light of limited time, I think it's the best way to proceed. Jonas’s briefed you all, so zip up the Tyveks. I’ve secured SCBAs for each of you.”
The suspected hazardous material necessitated the use of heavy plastic outer-shell suits to protect them from exposure to chemical agents. The SCBA, or self-contained breathing apparatus would provide them with clean air inside the heavy TYVEK suits, but also limited motion and was tough on feelings of claustrophobia.
&
nbsp; Voodoo rubbed the rain from the back of her neck as she stood to straighten out her gear. She eased back down onto the pile of plastic, and harnessed air tank. She shook out her hands in the cramped quarters and accidentally hit Jim on the butt. She looked apologetically at him.
The carrier made Voodoo feel like she was inside a soup can. The red LED lights created a sinister effect that unsettled her spirit. Plopping onto the narrow bench seat, she remained quiet while nausea roiled in the empty pit of her gut. Unsure what equipment was required or how to wear it, she felt separated from the others—mostly Pike.
“Little help here.” Her pasted-on smile matched the unnatural stillness.
“Gotcha.” Pike said.
“Thanks, Dwight. Thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never, baby. Absolutely never.”
He pretended to kiss her before he pulled the self-contained breathing apparatus’ mask over her face. His hand pressed against the mask’s filter, he told her to suck in—perfect seal—and she was ready to roll.
“We don’t expect to encounter anyone on the vessel, but can’t take chances,” Alex announced. “CDC tells us that the suspected bio-chem should be dormant by now, though I’d rather sweat it out than froth up from the mouth. Either way, your tactical gear carries the atropine combined with Narcan.”
Alex briefed the team as the ship’s rusted and chipped blue hull loomed through the driving rain. Lightning cracks distorted the shape. High winds made it appear adrift.
“Isn’t this kind of a wide open approach? What happened to stealth?” Jim asked through the bubbled facemask. Voodoo nodded—her eyes widening with concern the closer Alex powered the armored personnel carrier to the docked ship.
Pike pressed his palm against the thick plastic decontamination coverall to get her attention. Voodoo jumped, a slight sound of surprise escaped her hood before it was replaced with a sincere smile. Sounds of plastic crinkles echoed in the small area as their arms interlocked.
