Searching for the Enemies

by R. J. GREEN

  “Anyone home,” said Agent Hill, in the backdrop.

  “In the living room!” said Jack, signaling Agent Hill and McKoy, who tumbled in with their weapon still drawn.

  Mullson returned his gun to the holster, and stared at the couple. There was something odd about the way they sat with their eyes wide open and their bodies stiff and lifeless like zombies. Their skin had begun to turn slightly purple. Mrs. Jeft’s once rosy cheeks looked paled. “What happened?” said Agent McKoy, shoving the .45 in her holster.

  “Something is not right,” said Jack, his gun pointed to the floor as he shuffled closer to Mullson.

  “Everything seems fine to me,” Agent Hill echoed, just to oppose Jack. To prove his point he passed Mullson and went and tapped the Jefts on their shoulders, gently. He jumped as Mr. and Mrs. Jeft's heads separated from their bodies and hit the floor with a thud.

  CHAPTER 9

  The sun took a quick break behind a stretch of clouds, but that didn’t make a difference to the campers below who had the luxury of dense vegetation that offered protection from the deadly rays. Rapid busts from a M16A2 that echoed from the midst of the woods had soldiers dodging behind trees, some tucking away in foxholes. M60 machine guns rumbled to life, followed by the booming of grenades. A thunderous squeal that erupted long after a plane left a nearby airbase had them scanning the sky. Only a trail of smoke scattered by the wind was visible. It was a raucous scene simulating a war as troops engaged in a day of training at one of the New Jersey facilities.

  On the outskirts of the camp, further away from the training area, Wrath had been crunching among some shrubs, a sniper rifle on the ground laid arms length away. Wearing battle uniforms he blended in perfectly with the other soldiers he spotted. Still peeping through the binoculars he focused on a small wooden cabin concealed by twigs, a splash of green and brown paint gave it a sense of naturalness. A jeep was parked approximately fifty feet away from the cabin, the driver kept checking his timepiece as he stood waiting.

  Several soldiers with live rounds in their magazines stood guarding the perimeter.

  Two priests, one with a textbook tucked away under his arm, exited the cabin. Two soldiers escorted them towards the jeep; the driver hopped in and picked up a walkie-talkie. Inside the cabin, sunlight penetrating through leaves and branches barely lit the ten-by-ten space that had a reek of tobacco and kerosene cluttering the air. A lantern hung from a post supporting the roof, a walkie-talkie and an opened attaché case containing money rested on a small table located at the center, two cots were folded and placed in one corner opposite the entrance, a M203 leaned against one of the cots.

  A bulky white fellow in his early fifties eyed the money and with a wicked grin he snatched a pile. Years of combat had left no dent on one of the toughest marines on the planet. Captain Austin prided himself with producing some of the finest men money cannot buy. Well, the church had offered him a generous donation for finding and returning an old text book they’d been seeking. He’d begun to wonder what made them so sure about that particular book, Dark Secrets. Only if he could read the ancient script handwritten with ink across every other page.

  “The root of all evil,” he said, sniffing the money. “Yet smells so good.”

  “Sir,” a male voice crackled over the walkie-talkie as the sounds of a vehicle rumbled to life. “It's time.”

  Austin advanced toward the door; he paused and listened as two shots rang out in the backdrop. To him they sounded more like live rounds. His instinct told him something was wrong, and he followed it and peeped through a small hole. He blinked twice and spotted a M203 aiming at his niche.

  The jeep stood idling after its driver had bullets explode in each of his eyes. The soldiers who were guarding the priests never got a chance to react as their bodies got riddled, the priests scrambled away, but it was too late. They’d come to protect the future of humankind, to prevent the book from evil, all hopes faded as their life departed, and the old textbook lying in a puddle of blood read: Dark Secrets.

  With his size-thirteen boot braced against Wrath’s back restraining him to the ground, Engulf squeezed the trigger of a M203 grenade launcher he blasted without mercy. He stood tall in a black combat uniform, the one he chose for his gang that they embraced with pride. Engulf had rallied the army of darkness and wanted Wrath to be second in command; this test was supposed to prove his commitment.

  “Afraid to kill, are we?” he jeered Wrath who fought hopelessly to be set free. Engulf pointed the M203 at the cabin and watched as it exploded, after pressing his index against the trigger of the grenade launcher.

  Soldiers returned fire. Three AH-64 Apache Helicopters came and hovered above the camp, they fired at the man in the black suit.

  Engulf grabbed the sniper rifle and darted into some bushes for coverage; Wrath followed closely. The three Apaches searched the perimeter for intruders who had demolished their pride, the ranks they’d fought so long to protect, and their reputation as the elite of the military. The enemies needed to be defeated and at all means they planned to annihilate them, as soon as they figured where they lurked. The two officers aboard Apache #1 scanned from left to right, their hearts raced as they fired at movement they thought was unusual. What resembled a giant bullet punctured the window and went straight through the ears of the pilot, whose death was greeted without the slightest warning. Apache #1 swerved out of control and tumbled from the sky. A crashing boom followed after it hit a tree and burst into flames, shattering into pieces. From the two remaining helicopters, bullets reigning from 30-millimeter M230 Chain Gun under the aircraft's forward fuselage treaded everything in their path.

  The Black Stealth appeared out of thin air, prowling ahead, and came towards the two Apaches that suddenly shift backward, slowly, with the AGM-114 Hellfire and Hydra 70 rocket mounted on stub-wing pylons armed and aimed at the stealth. The officers abroad the Apaches sweated profusely as the strange war-machines edged away at their position.

  For what and who they faced had neither heart nor compassion, they knew nothing about: love, order, peace, prosperity. Their souls hardened by the will to serve their master who lurked among humankind, blending in with civilizations, and preying upon any weakness to further undermine the system. Silent Kill wouldn’t harm them, at least, not intentionally.

  Pilots aboard the Apaches had never confronted anything like the Black Stealth whose defensive system reacted according to what they tossed at it — the hellfire and hydra 70 rockets did not penetrate the recently discovered alloyed Indestructium enclosing the Stealth framework. There was speculation about the military using alien technology salvaged during a crash landing somewhere in Arizona to construct a super plane, but the government denied such an allegation and instead credited the American chemist and artist Masta Recka for his insightful thoughts that led to the creation of Indestructium.

  The two Apaches tried with all their might, and now they waited for the final judgment, after the opponent had proven to be quicker and swifter. The Black Stealth rocketed two missiles towards the choppers — they swung in all directions, making a series of sharp turns, but the missiles kept taunting them, at times adjusting speed to remain thirty feet away from the targets.

  Without parachutes on, and the fact there were stones and other blunt objects piled hundreds of feet below, soldiers aboard the Apaches jumped out when they spotted a gush of smoke as the missiles made the final move. Plummeting from the sky the choppers’ blades ripped away branches from the tops of trees. Upon hitting the ground they continued to plowed dirt, stones, shrubs and trees, human remains. All this happened in a chaotic order until finally, BOOM, the earth shook as fragments of metals and other objects got hurled in all directions, fire and smoke choked the atmosphere with toxic fumes rocketing above the surface. The missiles paused in midair and returned to their original position under the Stealth, without exploding.

  Wrath dodged behind trees, one after the other as the Stealth shattered them with
small precision rockets about the size of a giant bullet damaging only the intended target. Wrath managed to dig himself from a pile of rubble and limped further into the woods where he escaped.

  Inside the Stealth, Assassins #1 and #2 were in total control. Silent Kill was not onboard. There were splatters of blood on the seats and windows.

  The two Assassins and Engulf communicated using their telepathic power. “Sir, sir!” Assassin #2 echoed in Engulf’s head. “I'm okay,” Engulf assured them. “What about the others?” Assassin #2 continued.

  “Congratulations guys,” said Engulf. “I need you to.”

  “Go ahead sir,” Assassin #2 encouraged Engulf, after waiting for a few seconds. “Get rid of Trevor Mullson,” Engulf mind infuriated, “And his family tree.” “Thought he was useless?” Assassin #1’s mind blurted.

  “Not according to the prophecy,” Engulf warned.

  “What about your father?” Assassin #1’s mind raced. “That traitor,” Engulf reminded them. “Just do as I said.”

  The Stealth resting in the skyline above the woodland finally zoomed into the clouds. Engulf headed further into the woods.

  Inside Bunker X, Military officials continued to monitor the main radar control unit, long after the three dots they were tracking disappeared from the screen.

  The captain ran his hand across his head and sighed. “Sir,” he said to the Commander. “I am deeply sorry.”

  “We worked so hard,” said the Commander, walking in circle. His face got redder as the clock ticked away. “Yet this is the reward. Gentleman. What am I going to tell the President of the United States?”

  “It's hard to believe Silent Kill betrayed us,” the Captain pointed out to the Commander who seemed dazed.

  Outside the Jeft’s house, Crime Scene Unit blocked off the perimeter; neighbors drawn by flashing lights came and inquired about what had happened. Inside, Mullson and his comrades scanned every inch of the house, hoping to find some clues, anything that will give them a bit of hope to stop the senseless killing. The FBI put out a field alert for a possible serial killer haunting the Tri-state area. With no lead, and frustration pounding, all Mullson and his team could do was wait for a break. Killers always make mistakes, and they prayed for sooner than later.

  Mullson punched a few keys on his cell phone and listened to the dial tones.

  Inside a room where the lights had been dimmed, a person facing away and wearing a pair of latex gloves plunged a pair of scissors into a human stomach. The phone rang. “I’m in the middle of a feast,” a man whispered, after retrieving the phone he forced against his shoulder and ear.

  “This is not the time to fool around,” Detective Mullson voice echoed.

  “All work and no play makes Mullson a dull boy,” the man continued while using one hand to yank out the heart as he dissected a body. He turned and almost fell; the clumsy scientist ripped open a bag and removed Jeft's head. “The cause of death, headless. Weapon, still unknown.”

  “Make room for the parents,” said Mullson, his voice sounding distressed.

  “Kidding. Are you?” said the scientist, with a grin across his face. “Someone called, mentioned some sort of alpha cobra.”

  “Please hang up or dial again,” a computerized voice interrupted.

  “Hello,” the Scientist shouted into the phone, and realized Mullson had hung up.

  Detective Mullson, Jack, Agent Hill and McKoy rushed out of the Jeft house and headed towards their cars. The crime scene was still under investigation and a senior officer from New Jersey PD was left in charge. Agent Hill mumbled something to him then tailed Mullson and Jack who had almost reached their rides. “Where are we going?” Hill asked Mullson who jumped into his Porsche and cranked the engine without saying a word. The paleness in Mullson’s usually intense eyes and the way his body trembled as if panic was rushing through his veins had Agent Hill and McKoy follow without further question. They sped along a dirt road, until further ahead they spotted a group of men wearing black combat uniforms. As they got closer they realized the men were armed with futuristic weapons, standing by three Jeeps parked at the side of the dirt trail, looking out.

  The detectives got more than edgy when they couldn’t identify the black uniform worn by the suspicious group; the only affiliations came to their minds — the Black Panther movement that died years back, maybe a private security firm, a swat team nobody recalled deploying.

  With a compact Rocket Launcher placed on one shoulder, a man hurried towards the center of the road and aimed.

  Mullson, who was on his way to check Captain Austin, swung the steering; his car skidded, avoiding the rocket that rumbled ahead. The heat from the ruckus scorched his body; with a narrow escape he continued to slam on the accelerator, closing the gap while keeping his head low as bullets whined by.

  Jack spotted the explosion and ran his BMW into a bump that sent his car flipping through the air. The BMW landed on its four wheels as it left the explosion behind. Jack pressed his foot against the pedal and continued forward. The FBI sedan stopped short of the explosion. Mullson and Jack accelerated toward the three Jeeps. The gangbanger fired at them with deadly intent.

  Jack and Mullson pulled out their Glocks 34 and returned fire, but all in vain. They suddenly stopped their cars and both picked up a bushmaster from a hidden component below their passenger seats. In a matter of seconds the men were overpowered, after Mullson and Jack pressed their fingers against the trigger, and emptied their thirty round clips. Jack and Mullson, brandishing Remington ACR Assault Rifles, stood over the group of dead men. Agent Hill and McKoy joined them.

  “Was all this killing necessary?” said Agent Hill, with a grin across his face. He felt relieved and checked his clothes for any sign of bullet holes.

  By the time Mullson and his team got to the camp, it was only to find the place torched, bloody, body parts scattered; they searched the surrounding area over and over, yet no survivors turned up.

  “It's too late!” said Detective Mullson, spinning in a circle as he grasped his head.

  They began to put away their weapons, but Jack was not so convinced. He sniffed his way to the burned down rubble where the cabin once stood and emptied a round from his bushmaster.

  “Come out with your hands up!” he shouted. Agent Hill glanced at him.

  “Is he always this crazy?” he asked Mullson.

  Mullson turned to face Hill who hurriedly wiped the grin off his face. “Not Jack,” said Mullson.

  Nobody knew much about Jack — the man who always seemed to be in the right place for the right kill. He could sense his enemies from miles away, as if he knew their thoughts, families, friends, finances. Jack loves chaos and over the years dragged his partner into his circle. Well, he had no choice but to keep Mullson closer than his enemies, after his psychic ability failed to penetrate Mullson’s cranium.

  “Final warning!” Jack bellowed.

  “Okay,” a man voice erupted from the rubbles. “Don't shoot!”

  Agent McKoy ran over and stood next to Jack, she found his instinct more than extraordinary, and began to like him even more, a lot more. His bad-boy approach had her weak in the knees. Damn, she admitted to herself.

  They pointed weapons at the rubble that ruffled as a trap door on the floor of the destroyed cabin shoved open. A man wearing a raggedy battle uniform emerged.

  “Captain Austin!” said Detective Mullson, running over to greet him.

  “Mullson!” said Captain Austin, as they shook hands.

  Mullson signaled the rest of his team to join him. “What is going on?” he asked Austin. Captain Austin glanced at Jack.

  “Your buddy’s nose is sharper than a bloodhound,” he told Mullson.

  “Think this is an inside job?” Mullson asked Austin, avoiding the Jack critique.

  “My Seals would never betray me,” Captain Austin blurted.

  “Are you saying they’d nothing to do with this?” said Mullson, using a hand to wipe away the
sweat gathered on his forehead. He’d already made up his mind, from the look of things it seemed to be an outside job, but he just wanted an opinion.

  Captain Austin gazed into Mullson’s piercing eyes, before turning away and scanning the area. The sight of his men lying around had his heart double paced as the hot blood rushed throughout his veins; only if he could catch those bastards who tormented his soul. He clenched his fist and bit down on his lip. Austin will not stop till he gets those perpetrators, he promised himself.

  “You were my very best soldier,” he said to Mullson. He pointed towards bodies scattered on the ground. “As well as the rest of these guys.”

  All sorts of crazy ideas had begun to plague Agent McKoy mind: first she’d try to figure out possible suspects, organization, only if Jack and Mullson had left one of those fellows alive. Well, a little too dicey she agreed. “Who’s bold enough to risk going to war with the Navy Seals?” she asked.

  “Unless there’s something more important than life the good captain is not telling us about,” said Agent Hill, he’d been holding his tongue for way too long now.

  Jack stared into the woods in the direction Wrath and Engulf had disappeared. For some strange reason he figured the war had begun and there was not much humankind could do to stop the domination of the fallen, not much he could do to save his long lost son whose ego now threatened the family order.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hidden among a patch of overgrown shrubs, a large one-story warehouse sat on the outskirt of a small town — its zinc roof corroded, cracks in the walls resembling dendrites could be spotted all over, doorposts had begun to rot away, and windows that were not shattered had dust plastered all over. A path carved through nearby woods leading to the back of the building was filled with boot marks, freshly printed.