by David Archer
“Broken Spring,” Renée said. “I read something about Broken Spring...”
“You read about how the whole town committed suicide, right? Well, after we heard the constable on the radio, I was ordered to take a platoon and fly to Broken Spring to check it out. It took us less than thirty minutes to get there by Chinook, and what we found was a bloodbath. Four hundred and eighty-two people, including men, women and children, had been torn to shreds by that thing, and we followed the trail of destruction it left behind for another day before we caught up to it. When we did, not one of us wanted to try to take it alive, so we hit it with everything we had.” He shook his head. “Damn thing wouldn’t go down, so finally I called in an airstrike. A-10 Warthogs, best low-altitude warplane ever built, came in twenty minutes later and hit it with napalm. Still took the thing fifteen minutes to die, and then we dragged the carcass into a truck and hauled it back. Another team went to Broken Spring and burned everything. When the state police got there, the official story went out that the residents had fallen into some kind of suicide cult, drank the koolaid and set the town on fire, and that was the end of it.”
Noah sat in silence for a few seconds, just looking at the man. “And you’re afraid it will happen again?”
Litchfield raised his eyes to meet Noah’s. “I’m dead certain it will, Agent Wolf. Remember what I said earlier? If some of these things turn up around the world, the world will think we’re being invaded by aliens. People won’t care about national borders and freedoms; all they’ll want is for their governments to band together to beat the invaders, and nothing we say will matter.”
“You’re talking global chaos,” Allison said, “the Kissinger Agenda. Give the whole world a common enemy, and we become a single global state.”
“Yeah,” Litchfield said. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the New World Order.”
TEN
Graves and Smith arrived a couple of hours later and were escorted directly to the Operations Center, where Captain Swaggart was waiting to bring them up to speed. They all gathered in the main office, where desks had been replaced by a conference table and chairs to accommodate all of them.
Allison took charge immediately, and the first order of business was for Litchfield to bring Swaggart and his people up to speed. Doctor Emerson was also sitting in on the meeting, and his face reflected the shock and disgust he was feeling as he learned about Branigan and the experiments with extraterrestrial DNA.
“All right,” Allison said. “I think we can all agree that Mr. Litchfield’s hypothesis about the origin of the compound and the strange things we are seeing is probably correct. What we have to do now is formulate a plan, figure out how to put an end to this thing before it gets any bigger. I’m opening the floor to suggestions.”
“I say we nuke them,” Marco said. “If napalm had that much trouble taking down one of them, and we don’t even know how many of these creatures there might be, a tactical nuke sounds like the best option.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not one we can use,” Allison said. “Remember that we are guests on foreign soil. The government of Argentina may cooperate on the surgical strike, but they’re not going to want us to destroy a large part of their country. Next?”
“What about an airstrike?” Sergeant Graves asked. “Incendiary bombs, like napalm, burn them out.”
“That’s a possibility, though it’s still not one we want to use. That area is heavily forested, and we don’t want to start a conflagration that could wipe out the entire province. Noah? You’re being awfully quiet.”
Noah looked at her for a second, then turned to Litchfield. “Tell me something,” he said. “In all the research your people did with these things, did you identify any particular weapon that works against them? Something that can take one down quickly?”
Litchfield shrugged. “There are a few things, but they aren’t easy to handle. One of them is the .950 caliber JDJ round; 240 grains of powder pushing a 2400 grain bullet at 2100 feet per second. The only problem is that the rifle that fires it weighs a hundred and ten pounds, and it puts out two hundred and seventy-seven foot-pounds of recoil. There aren’t too many people around who can handle a gun like that, and as far as I know, there are only two of them in existence.”
“And we don’t have one, anyway,” Marco said. “What about a shotgun? 12 gauge deer slug, maybe?”
“It might do a little damage, but it won’t stop them. Another possibility is a mini-gun, with a very high rate of fire. The problem there is keeping it aimed at them, because they are very fast. Hit them enough and it can break through the skin, damage some internal organs.”
“I can think of something better,” Noah said. “An M32 Multiple Grenade Launcher with HEAT rounds.”
“Heat rounds?” Renée asked.
“High Explosive Anti-Tank rounds,” Noah replied. “They use a shaped charge to force a jet of liquid metal forward that can pierce armor several inches thick. Hit these things with one of those, and it’ll probably be enough to blast it apart. We can get them right here on base and they each hold six rounds.”
Litchfield looked at him. “Should work, yes. The next problem is how to get close enough to target them. As you’ve seen, no one has managed it yet.”
Noah met his gaze. “We haven’t tried, yet,” he said. “Me, Marco and Jenny. We go in with M32’s loaded with HEAT and take out everything we find.”
Litchfield shook his head. “It can’t be a conflagration,” he said. “If Branigan is there, he has to be brought out. He’s the key to making this technology usable, even his top assistants can’t do anything without him. He’s the only one who understands the process that makes the cocktail work at all.”
“I can understand why your people want him back,” Allison said, “but our priority is to shut that compound down before any more damage gets done. If we can bring him out alive, that’s fine, but if not…” She let her words trail off.
“Director, I have my orders,” Litchfield said. “I have two…”
“Mr. Litchfield, what you have to do is understand this.” She picked up a sheet of paper and passed it over to him. “I took the liberty of contacting the president. While he agrees that your organization is vital to national security, he has authorized me to assume full control of the entire operation. You, Captain Swaggart and his people, you are all under my command. Is that clear?”
Litchfield studied the order that was in front of him, then looked up at her. “Perfectly clear, ma’am,” he said. He passed the order to Swaggart, who glanced at it and shrugged.
“Okay by me,” the captain said. “Just tell us what you want us to do.”
Allison nodded, smiling. “Excellent. First, Captain Swaggart, I am placing Mr. Litchfield under you. His priority is to rescue Doctor Branigan if possible, so that’s what I want you and your people working on. Litchfield will assist you with mission planning and protocols. Noah, I want you to coordinate with them and produce a plan for getting them and your core team into that compound. Your priority is the elimination of any of these hybrids that exist, as well as the people who created them. If you are able to rescue any abducted personnel, you may do so. I want a mission plan as soon as possible, and I want a list of other personnel and equipment you might require. Major Wilson is waiting, and we don’t want to let this go much longer before we shut it down.”
* * *
"How come Smith and Graves don't have to help with this?" Litchfield complained a couple of hours later. He and Swaggart were sitting side-by-side at small tables in what had been a storage room near the back of the building. It was all Allison had been able to give them for an office.
Swaggart sighed as he heard the question for the third time. He looked up at Litchfield, who was looking through the latest intel on the compound, blinking as he turned away from the computer.
"Do you really think they would understand any of this?" he demanded. "You’re trying to find a way to infiltrate a compound that is def
ended by creatures none of us have ever seen before, except you. My people are soldiers, first, and intelligence operatives second. We’ll do what needs to be done, but we’re counting on you to let us know what that is."
He turned back to his computer screen, but Litchfield made a scoffing sound. "I just hope you can pull this off. It’s not going to be a walk in the park, you know."
“Especially with E & E looking over our shoulders,” Swaggart said. He got up out of his chair and walked over to the door, opened it slightly and peered out, then closed it and came back to stand beside Litchfield. “Do you think they have any idea that you’re one of mine?”
Litchfield scoffed again. “If they did, they’d never let the two of us be alone. Jack, we’ve got to figure out some way to get rid of them before this comes to a head. If the truth gets out…”
"Just review that intelligence report and break it down into something the soldiers can understand. If we don’t give them a mission plan, it’s going to make them suspicious." And do it soon, Swaggart thought, before I shoot you myself.
They had been at it for nearly three hours by that point, looking through reports and data and findings, trying to give themselves a sense of what they were going to be dealing with when they made the incursion. Litchfield, who had originally been with MIC before his transfer to OSTP, had found something to complain about every couple of minutes since they began.
Despite appearances, Swaggart and Litchfield had known each other for several years. It was Jack Swaggart, then only a second Lieutenant, who had come up with a plan for inserting a Military Intelligence operative into OSTP. Litchfield had volunteered, and they had created a situation that got him demoted in order to make it appear that he was no longer loyal to his former superiors. His scientific background made him a perfect candidate, and he was hired by OSTP only a month after his discharge. Since then, he had made regular reports to Swaggart about what was going on at Area 51, and Swaggart had been putting the information to good use, even though he considered Litchfield to be a bit of a whiner.
"I don’t see anything in particular that gives me much to go on,” Litchfield said. “Nobody has any real information about what’s going on inside that compound, so how am I supposed to give you the breakdown you want?"
Swaggart sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Just do the best you can, all right? You’re the only one with any experience dealing with things like this. None of the rest of us would really understand what we were looking at." He turned back to his computer again, knowing full well that the questions weren’t going to stop just yet.
"So why aren’t Wolf and his people helping out? They know what’s going on out there."
The captain groaned and leaned back in his chair, then picked up the coffee sitting beside him and took a big swig of it. "I’m sure Director Peterson is keeping them busy. Besides, we're the ones who are supposed to come up with the plan to rescue Doctor Branigan. Now, do me a favor, just shut up and get to work. If I have to listen to you complaining much more, I’m likely to think about strangling you."
Litchfield shot a glare at him, then swallowed what he was about to say and ducked his head, getting back to work. Swaggart watched him a moment longer before moving onto the notes Smith and Graves had made about their time at the forward base, pushing the computer aside. The notes were about the patrols who had gone out and never returned, and Captain Swaggart shook his head as he realized that a total of fifty-six men and women had been lost already, trying to infiltrate that compound.
Slowly, however, he was beginning to understand it. Double checking what he had seen, he sat up straighter, hoping he had just found their first break.
"I think I may have found something,” he said.
Litchfield dropped what he was doing instantly and looked up as Swaggart spoke. The captain glanced at him before reading through the notes once more.
"One of the patrols, the one Jorgensen was leading, actually got within two hundred yards of the compound, by coming in from the north. Body cam footage showed that they were attacked by one of the hybrids and are presumed dead, but analysis of the footage indicates there was only one hybrid present. If we took a team in from that direction, we might be able to handle one of them and get past it. That should satisfy Noah, don’t you think?"
Litchfield snapped his fingers and leafed through the papers he was looking at. “Maybe," he said, apparently finding what he was looking for. "If we can get inside, we can snatch Branigan and extract him quickly, while Noah and his people try to deal with the rest of them. We’ll be safe enough, because we have the repellers, so getting out will be a problem for us." He looked up at Swaggart. “The rest of them probably won’t make it, though. That would eliminate a problem so we don’t have to deal with it afterwards.”
"I agree," Swaggart said, getting to his feet. "Our big problem is Belcher. It would help if we knew how he managed to get all the way back here before he was taken down."
"Hang on," Litchfield said, grabbing the pathologist’s report again. "Doctor Emerson found something to go on, trace materials stuck to the skin of Belcher’s feet and legs. He found bits of fish scales, along with river-bottom mud, bits of asphalt and tire rubber. If he was abducted and used for this program, that means he must have escaped, and he figured out some way to get back here. Fish scales and river mud make me think he made his way to the river just east of that compound, then probably waded along it for some distance before climbing out again and making his way to the forward observation base. The tire rubber, I would bet, came from the tires of an airplane. The only way he could have made it back here would be if he stowed away on one of the cargo flights. I’m betting he climbed into the landing gear bay. When it landed, he would’ve been peppered with bits of that rubber, and that would explain the asphalt as well."
Swaggart nodded, still half-risen. He thought carefully for a moment, and then stood up straight. "You could be right. The only thing that would get me is how cold it gets in those bays. How the hell did he avoid freezing to death on the flight back?"
"It’s another side effect of the cocktail," Litchfield said. "All of the experimental subjects were capable of regulating their body temperature, but it takes a lot of energy. He would have been damn near starving by the time that plane landed."
Swaggart looked at him, then nodded. "That fits," he said, snapping his fingers. "One of the odd reports we got was about somebody stealing a goat from a farm out near the airfield, and then its remains were found yesterday. Something had ripped the poor thing apart and eaten it, but the only tracks around it seemed to be almost human.” He shook his head. “The people in charge out there must have realized he had escaped, and somebody figured out that he made it onto the plane. They undoubtedly sent some of their security people over here to try to intercept them, and they succeeded."
Litchfield nodded. “The other thing we need to be thinking about,” he said, “is the story Gallagher told. His claims that he got a visit from the Men In Black who demanded he help kidnap Danny McRae could lead to those same people. I’m a little surprised, but it stands to reason that they would be using that urban myth to try to enforce control over what they were doing.”
“I agree,” Swaggart said. “We need to learn everything we can about them, as well. I’m going up front, see if maybe Neil can think of a way to track them down.”
The team looked up as he entered, and Noah rose from his chair to meet him. "You come up with something, captain?"
Swaggart nodded. "I think so. Gallagher, when you brought him in for questioning, insisted that he was approached by the Men In Black, right? Belcher’s body was found on the base; I’m betting that those Men In Black are the security force for this operation. A base like this has cameras everywhere, can we scan for somebody who might fit those descriptions?”
Noah merely glanced at Neil, who began typing away on his terminal. Noah and Swaggart walked over to look over his shoulder.
“I’m scanning all of the se
curity video for the last three days, and I’ve set a search key to look for people whose clothing seems to be primarily black. It’ll take a few minutes to run, but…”
A chime sounded and a thumbnail picture appeared on the screen.
“Or maybe not,” Neil said. He clicked on the picture and a sequence of video began to play. It showed a group of six men wearing black business suits, and Neil blinked when he saw that each of them was wearing dark sunglasses. “That definitely looks like the people we are looking for.”
As they watched, the men suddenly turned and hurried in another direction. Neil had to hunt around to find another camera that had caught them, but then they saw Lieutenant Belcher run into an alley, but there was something odd about the way he ran. Only a second later, all six men followed him in, only to turn and hurry away a few seconds later.
“That’s the alley behind the mess hall,” Neil said. “Those are definitely the guys who killed Belcher.”
“Find out where they went from there,” Noah said. “If they’re still on the base, I want to locate them.”
“You got it,” Neil said.
Swaggart shared a grin with Noah. "Looks like he found a lead on the killers. Now, if we could locate the woman who was with Belcher when he checked out of the hotel, we might actually be getting somewhere. Any ideas on that?"
The two of them sat down at Noah’s desk, and were joined a second later by Marco, Jenny and Sarah. They were talking about ways to try to track the woman when they were interrupted.
