by Nick Thacker
He put the gun down.
“Now,” Crawford said. “Garza is on his way to get his men. They will return, and they will kill you.”
Reggie sneered.
“I’ve given them the order to kill you all, and they’re quite good at following orders. So we have less than a minute, I would guess, before he tells his men that you and Dr. Lindgren are up here with the rest of us.”
“What’s the point, Crawford?”
“The point is that you all could have been part of something grand — a vision for the future that the board and I have developed over the course of years. Something the world has never seen.”
“Growing back human limbs?” Reggie asked. “You’re years away from production. There’s nothing here but torture chambers and tanks full of your little science experiments.”
Crawford seemed offended, but he recovered and smiled once again. Then, reaching out with his other hand, he unbuttoned the shirtsleeve on the arm that was holding Julie and pulled it up.
Reggie couldn’t help himself. He took a step forward, trying to get a better view.
The arm was gray, oddly bulbous and strange-looking. The hand around Julie’s neck seemed normal, but the arm itself looked like something that had washed up on a beach after months of floating dead at sea.
“What the…”
“That’s right,” Crawford said. “I was patient 31-0. The same medication that has been helping those subjects down in the lab maintain their emotionless state has been coursing through my veins for weeks now.”
Crawford looked at his arm, examining it like a coroner would examine a cadaver. Clinical, emotionless.
“You — you’re one of them?” Dr. Lindgren asked.
“Let Julie go,” Reggie said.
Crawford ignored Reggie.
“The picture in your office,” Ben muttered. “It was you.”
“I had my arm amputated at age eight,” he said. “It’s the reason I founded OceanTech. Paradisum has always been a dream of mine. I truly wanted to build something spectacular; a modern-day Disney. A medical breakthrough that would change the world.”
“Disney didn’t kidnap tribes of natives and rip their arms off,” Reggie said.
“Greatness comes at a cost, Gareth.”
Suddenly Julie pulled herself upward, using Crawford’s arm as a support. She twisted and threw her legs over and around the man’s head, pulling him down to his knees. She maintained the fluid motion, ending up on the ground behind him, his own arm pulled tight to his chest as she held it.
It was a brilliantly executed move, one he had taught her, and Reggie was both proud and surprised.
She jumped backwards, pushing herself away from the man. Crawford struggled to get up, but one of his legs rolled off the edge of the pier and fell into the water. He reacted quickly and the crocodiles missed him by inches.
Reggie sprang into action. Crawford was laying on the pier, facedown, about to push himself up. Julie was safely away from the action, and Ben was out of range.
He fired two shots, both into the man’s back.
Crawford coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, then he rolled over onto his back. His breathing was staggered, uneven. He had a fury and confusion in his eyes as he stared up at Reggie.
“I — I can’t… it wasn’t done,” he finally said. “I wasn’t done.”
The CSO team, plus Dr. Sarah Lindgren, gathered around the dying man.
“You are done,” Reggie said. “All of this is done. Everything here will be gone. We will make sure of it.”
A bullet zinged past, impacting in a cloud of white dust with the concrete pier. The sound of two more gunshots followed, both rounds landing in the water nearby.
“Time to go, Reggie,” Ben said. “Finish this.”
Reggie nodded once, then fired a final shot. He lifted the weapon up and aimed it at the group of advancing Ravenshadow men making their way toward them over the bridge.
Too far for an accurate shot from either side.
And he knew they needed to keep it that way.
The sound of the helicopter made it to the forefront of Reggie’s mind, and he looked over his shoulder. It was there on the helipad, waiting. A line of three people was running toward it, covering their heads.
I guess they know about the fighting, he thought.
Another sound reached his ears. Motors, higher-pitched than the chopper, and closer.
Boats.
He saw three of them arcing out around the waters between the central and second rings, appearing from somewhere on the other side of the hotel. He knew it was Ravenshadow, as the men on each were armed, all but the drivers staring down their sights at them.
A door opened at the base of the hotel, the spot they’d entered only a day before. Two huge palm trees floated up on either side of the doors, a thatch-roofed bar standing sentinel right next to the doors.
A six-man team of Ravenshadow men spilled out from the doors.
Time to go.
It was a straight shot to the helicopter, but it would be a tight fit inside. He wasn’t sure if the chopper would have enough fuel to power through having all of them aboard, but it didn’t matter now.
Ben saw it, too. “To the helicopter!” he yelled, running with Julie’s hand in his.
Reggie waited for him to pass, then pushed Sarah along behind them. “Get inside! I’ll cover you from here as best I can!”
The group ran back over the pier, toward the advancing teams of men and boats, then took a hard left toward the bridge that connected the second and third rings. They ran full-tilt over the bridge, aiming for the spot where the helicopter was loading the last of the group of investors and park guests inside.
Reggie turned and fired at one of of the boats, which had pulled up alongside the bridge just inside the second ring. He missed, but it bought them a few extra seconds as the soldiers all ducked for cover.
Julie reached the chopper first, nearly diving inside. The chopper lifted off, but she began yelling something Reggie couldn’t hear. Ben made it, then Sarah. He caught a glimpse of one of the investors inside, a fat man wearing a suit, a shocked expression on his face.
He ran harder, ignoring the onslaught from behind him at the moment. He dove at the chopper’s skid, grabbed it with one hand, and felt the aircraft lifting up from the pad. His feet left the ground, and Ben and Julie reached out to help him aboard.
Bullets pinged at the paneling around him. They’re seriously firing at us? he thought. Either they didn’t realized the chopper was filled with innocent civilians, or — more likely — The Hawk had ordered the attack.
He pulled himself up and into the belly of the chopper, then climbed over people to get to the pilot. He was alone in the cockpit, and Reggie could tell he was struggling with the controls.
“They’re shooting at us!” the pilot yelled.
“They’re shooting at me,” he said. “Just get up as fast as we can, and get us out of range.”
The pilot nodded, but Reggie could see him checking the instrument panel. “We’re over capacity,” he yelled. “Not sure we can make it to —“
“Just get us up,” Reggie said. “Then land on whatever can hold us. Forget about getting all the way to your destination.”
The pilot nodded again, then muttered something under his breath.
He turned to the group of scared investors sitting in the chopper’s cabin seats facing each other in two rows, his own team scattered about on the floor between their legs.
Julie’s eyes were closed and she was leaning on Ben’s knees. He caught Sarah’s gaze. She was smiling at him, breathing heavily.
He turned to the fat man he had nearly stepped on when entering the helicopter. The man looked beyond angry.
“You want to tell me what this is about?” he barked. It was nearly impossible to hear him over the sound of the straining chopper.
“Not really,” Reggie said. “But I do know that your investment here isn
’t going to pan out.”
He squeezed into the space between the fat man’s gut and the woman in the chair next to him. Her face was white with fear, but she moved over a few inches to allow him more room. It was uncomfortable, too tight and he could feel the man’s fat leeching out of his own space and into Reggie’s, and it was hot.
But we aren’t getting shot at, he realized.
He leaned his head back against the hard, metal wall panel that separated the cockpit from the cabin, and fell asleep, smiling.
59
THE FLIGHT TO THE BAHAMAS was a smooth, half-hour flight. Most of it was uneventful, with the exception of when the pilot ordered them to discard the civilians’ luggage into the sea. The fat man and another man in the group of investors rose to argue, but Reggie’s subcompact machine gun and Ben’s glare sat them right back down.
Finally under the weight limit, the pilot was able to get them moving well. They landed at Grand Bahamas’ West End Airport, right on the tarmac of the single runway, as there was no helicopter pad. The small cluster of five buildings, surrounded on all sides by palm trees, was the entirety of the ‘airport.’ A lone employee ran out to greet them, surprised by their sudden appearance on his runway although the pilot had attempted to hail his UNICOM frequency numerous times.
Reggie jumped out first, offered help to the investors, and finally helped Ben, Julie, and Dr. Lindgren off the chopper.
He turned to greet the pilot and shake his hand as he exited the cockpit, and finally Reggie turned and followed the procession into the first of the buildings next to the runway.
There the employee offered them warm sodas and cold beer. There was a water jug upended in a pouring station in the small lobby, but it looked as though it had been there since the airport’s facilities had been installed.
Reggie, Sarah, and Ben opted for a beer, and Julie grabbed a soda. The investors sat in folding chairs against the wall, Reggie’s weapon still providing all the motivation they needed to stay in one place. Until he was sure they were innocent, he wasn’t about to let them leave.
“What now?” Ben asked.
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“For me,” a voice said.
They turned, and Reggie saw the framed silhouette of a large body in the doorway. Tall and muscular, short-cropped hair, it could have been any Marine or Army grunt he’d served with.
But it was no Marine.
“Mrs. E,” Reggie said. “Welcome.”
“Glad I caught you,” the woman said in her thick accent. She looked around the room, her eyes falling on each of the investors and glaring at them individually as if she had already decided they were guilty. “I was getting tired of sitting around working on my husband’s research projects.” She smiled, shaking each of their hands. Dr. Sarah Lindgren was introduced to their benefactor, one of the founding members and representatives of the CSO.
“You got here fast,” Ben said. “You must have been nearby.”
She nodded. “I have been in The Bahamas since yesterday, anticipating a retrieval operation, although I am glad to see you all made it out safely. We were monitoring the UNICOM and ATC channels. I heard your pilot trying to hail the West End airport, announcing a ‘heavy load incoming.’ Matched up the coordinates and decided it was impossible for a chopper to make it that far from the mainland. It had to be you.”
“And it was. Thanks for coming, E,” Reggie said. “What’s going to happen to Paradisum? And OceanTech?”
“We are preparing a statement that will be delivered to the United Nations, as well as all countries the company has a footprint in. Four in total that we have found, though I suspect there are many more. I am sure these people behind you will be more than happy to help with that. And Paradisum is in the process of being requisitioned by the Bahamian authorities, and some US Coast Guard personnel will be there by tomorrow morning to clear out any remaining staff and escort the Ravenshadow teams from the premises.”
“If they’re even still there,” Reggie muttered.
“We predict that they will be long gone.” Mrs. E sighed. “You might be giving yourself a tough time, Gareth, in that you failed to bring in Vicente Garza, but your team succeeded in discovering a major medical and pharmaceutical coverup. That will not go unnoticed.”
Reggie hung his head. “Still — I feel like we were too late. Make a note that there is a group of people, captives, on the lower level beneath the second ring of Paradisum. They’ll need to be treated and examined, but I want to know that they’ll get back to wherever they came from, safely.”
She nodded. “Of course. And Mr. E is interested in debriefing as soon as you are ready.”
Reggie sighed. “Right. I figured he would be. Listen, E, we could use some shut-eye.” He held up his half-empty beer. “And about four more of these.”
She smiled. “I told him the debrief would take place no earlier than tomorrow, but only on one condition.
Reggie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“I told him you would need a week here afterward to rest and catch up. All expenses paid, courtesy of the Civilian Special Operations.”
“And?”
“He agreed. He is working on your accommodations as we speak.”
“Great,” Reggie said. “I can stand a few more days in The Bahamas, I guess.”
He looked over at Ben and Julie. Ben’s arm was over his fiancee’s shoulder, and she was leaning heavily on him. He stood straight, completely stoic and silent.
“I’m sure they could use a vacation from their vacation, as well,” he added.
Ben nodded, and Julie smiled.
“My husband has a room for you two,” she said. “And one for you, Gareth. Two rooms total, but we can make it three if you would like. We were not sure if you would be staying or not, Dr. Lindgren. But we are happy to extend our offer to you as well.”
She grinned, then winked at Reggie. “I’d be happy to stay. But two rooms is fine.”
The Aryan Agenda
Prologue
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IT IS LIKE THE PESACH, he thought. Passover. A symbol, yes, but at the same time a very real reflection of the Lord’s power.
Stephan wheeled the heavy cart through the hallways as he recited the verse in his head.
‘For the Lord will pass through to smite the Egyptians; and when he seeth the blood upon the lintel, and on the two side posts, the Lord will pass over the door, and will not suffer the Destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you.’
Stephan turned left, shifting his weight so he could pull the cart to a stop with his left hand and simultaneously swipe the access door with the card in his right. He heard the beep and the click, then saw the green light appear above the mechanism.
Tonight was like the Pesach, and Stephan himself was going to play the distinguished role of the Destroyer.
He continued reciting, this time from another section of the book of Exodus: ‘And it came to pass at midnight that the Lord struck all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh who sat on his throne to the firstborn of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all the firstborn of livestock. So Pharaoh rose in the night, he, all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was not a house where there was not one dead.’
He walked through, pushing the cart in front of him once again, now in the main hall. He put the card back into his pocket and pressed his uniform flat with his now-free hand.
He made the sign of the cross with his right hand, taking a moment to appreciate the significance of this event. This is my Passover, he said silently to himself. My Pesach.
And it was only his Pesach — his employer was not as devoutly religious as he; his employer thought of religion the way most secular people tho
ught of it: as an unnecessary distraction to everyday life.
But to Stephan, religion was the everyday life — everything else was the distraction.
He had been groomed for this work, taken in by the Church long ago and churned through a system of fraternal orders that eventually found him as a student of the Ancient Way. It was a fraternity within the Church, but the belief system the Ancient Way shared could not have been more different from the Church’s.
That he had found the Ancient Way and his employer was a stroke of luck — or, as he liked to think, of God’s hand guiding him along the pathways of his life. He had risen through the ranks of the Ancient Way and discovered that his employer was looking for men just like him — men ready to take their fate into their own hands — and while his employer was not an advocate of his religious beliefs, it was clear their purposes and goals were remarkably aligned.
The cart had a squeaky front wheel, but he managed to get it turned so that the squeak was unnoticeable. There were still people milling about, as the gala hadn’t started yet, and he didn’t want to earn any unwanted attention. He felt vulnerable enough as it was, wearing the uniform of a guard he’d left dead in the access hallway.
The halls of the Athens National Museum of Archeology were dark, kept that way by design, to corral its visitors through the network of exhibits and rooms in a constant stream. Small ambient fixtures spread warm, yellowish glows down onto paintings, glass cases and the bright LED uplighting inside them held priceless artifacts from Greek history. Amber tracklighting illuminated the path ahead. No other light, natural or otherwise, reached Stephan’s eyes.
He liked the dark. It was comfortable to him, a way to hide. He’d never been much for socialization, and the dimly lit museum seemed to be mocking him.
Try to hide, the museum said, I know you’re here. And what you’re about to do.
He swallowed a heavy lump that had risen in the back of his throat.
