Expedition (The Locus Series Book 2)

by Ralph Kern

  “I guess not,” Grayson muttered before following.

  He was really starting to get the impression that the security chief would be immovable. The only reason he was out here now was in a probably vain hope he’d get access to the fleet so he could do what he needed to do.

  But fate had unexpectedly given him another card to play. One which might just get this dour man on side.

  “The ambush,” Grayson breathed—he wasn’t out of shape but he sure as hell wasn’t at his physical peak. Even now that he had quit the smokes. “The one in the Vortex.”

  “What about it?” Jack had adopted a strange loping jog, swatting and slicing with his machete at an errant bush, each contact making a firm “Thwack”.

  “What do you know about the man who set it up?” Grayson ducked under a branch and barreled on, keeping pace with Jack.

  “A little bit.” Jack didn’t look back. “They told me he wouldn’t get away with it. That there was nowhere he could run where we wouldn’t find him. And they did.”

  Grayson pushed through a bush, barely slowing. “His name was Al Bashari. He was the leader of an ISIL Remnant faction that had somehow not been obliterated between us, the Ruskies, and Assad. They used to call him the Cleaver. The Cleaver of the Vortex. Apparently, it used to be his favorite way of administering justice in Mosul.”

  Jack slowed, glancing at Grayson before resuming his pace. “How do you know that? His name didn’t make it into the papers.”

  “Because I was the one who they sent to find him and put a bullet in him.”

  Jack skidded to a halt. Grayson almost smashed into him as the Marine turned to face him. “They told me they’d sent Special Forces in to arrest him. It went wrong and he ended up dead.”

  “It didn’t go wrong, Jack. There was never any arrest attempt.” Grayson looked at Jack intently. He needed him to believe what he was saying. “Tier One operators were dispatched to go get his scalp in response to your ambush. A Marine unit—a US military unit—cannot be attacked without retribution. It’d set a bad precedent.”

  Grayson recalled his finger squeezing the trigger. Knowing what he was doing was right. That a bad person would be gone forever from this world. Life was a hell of a lot simpler back then. At home. In the Vortex.

  “We couldn’t use a drone strike because of the risk of collateral and besides, PSYOPS said a bullet would be more impactive—more personal. It’d show them we could pick them off with impunity. So, they sent us in for a surgical hit. I was the shooter.”

  “If you’re lying—”

  “Adil Al Bashari. Forty-seven years old.” Grayson gestured in the direction they were traveling. Jack took the hint and turned and continued through the forest. “He was a minor lieutenant under Bin Laden in Al Qaeda. He was operating in Iraq after the second Gulf War where he got the name of the Cleaver. Following the formation of ISIL, he realized Al Qaeda wasn’t quite extreme enough for his personal brand of misguided bullshit so he switched his flag and rose through the ranks to a cell commander. You tell me, am I lying?”

  “That was him,” Jack confirmed quietly.

  “If it’s any consolation. I redecorated the shitty apartment where he was shacked up in a nice hue of claret.”

  Jack silently pushed on. Grayson could see his shoulders were tight, and the blows of his machete had a fierce intensity to them.

  “Why?” Jack cried out in sudden anger, slicing at the branches harder with each blow. “If you were military... how could you do what you did against us, against the Ignatius? Against that kid, Grissom. Why would you do it?”

  “I’ve been here a long time, Jack. In this new world, there were new rules. I was good at what I did, one of the best. My training made sure of that.”

  “Training?” Jack spat. “Bullshit. Grissom got in your way and you disposed of him like he was nothing. You can’t train that. You’re a fucking psychopath.”

  “I wasn’t chosen for my job for my empathic nature,” Grayson replied curtly. He knew that he could do things which were inconceivable to others. That’s why he’d been chosen for the SOG. Hell, it was part of the selection criteria—scoring highly on the psychopathy personality inventory for boldness and meanness, and low for disinhibition. “It’s a bad world out there, Jack. People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

  But something’s changed, hasn’t it? Grayson admitted to himself. Since coming here. Since meeting Kristen. Since James and since the Locus.

  “Look, Jack—”

  “Shit!” Jack stumbled as he sliced at a bush and tripped in his agitated distraction. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  His left foot was wedged under the branch; the prosthetic stood upright even as he’d gone over. The stump and the metal cup were joined by a strand of material. Jack pushed himself up on his hands in the dirt. Grayson grabbed the prosthetic, squatted down and proffered it to Jack. “You need a hand with that.”

  Glaring, Jack paused for a second before grabbing the leg from Grayson. With practiced ease, he began strapping it back on.

  “You know there’s no forgiveness. Not from now until the day you die,” Jack said as he finished fixing the leg back into place, staring at Grayson with a fierce intensity. “You’re not just a bastard. You’re a traitor.”

  “I don’t want your forgiveness. I just want what’s right by my family,” Grayson said. “They’re why I did what I did.”

  “What’s right?” Jack stood and grabbed the machete from where it had stuck, point first into the ground where he’d dropped it. For a moment, Grayson thought Jack would come at him, before he visibly deflated. “We don’t have time to deal with this now. Let’s move before nightfall.”

  ***

  Reynolds sat in his chair, trying to let the rapid pounding of his heart subside. He was too bloody old for this. He was petrified for Laurie, and now he had the fact Grayson may be on to them thrown at him, too.

  Thinking furiously, he worked through actions and consequences. He needed more information. Just as importantly, he needed more options.

  Picking up his cell phone, he scrolled through his contact list and dialed a number.

  “Hello, Heather.”

  “Admiral, I was about to call you.” Slater’s voice had an odd, tight timbre.

  “What’s the matter? Have you heard news?” Suddenly Grayson, the Locus, Wakefield, all those deaths they’d caused didn’t matter anymore. Only one person in the world did. Laurie.

  Please let her be okay.

  “Yes.” Slater said. “They’ve located the crash site and made contact with the survivors. They’re out of radio range so the helo had to circle back. The rescue party are proceeding on the ground to recover them as we speak.”

  Survivors? Reynolds felt a rush of blood to his head. By extension, the word survivors implied that there were also fatalities. He felt himself grow lightheaded as he opened his mouth to speak, little more than a croak coming out.

  “No, Admiral Reynolds. No.” Slater said rapidly, in a reassuring tone. “Laurie is fine.”

  “Oh thank god,” Reynolds managed to say. “Then who? Who didn’t made it, Heather?”

  The phone was silent for an eternity. “Perry, Admiral. He’s gone. And Laurie’s scientist, Doctor Tsang.”

  Reynolds squeezed the bridge of his nose. Not Perry Donovan. Why him? There were other, far more deserving people to meet their end. And he’d just been speaking to one of them. “I’m so sorry, Heather.”

  “So am I.” Slater’s voice caught. “Jack and his team—”

  “Including Grayson?” Reynolds suddenly recalled the other reason for his call.

  “Including Grayson, are going to get the rest back. They should be returning soon.”

  “About Grayson—”

  “You’re not going to pick apart my decision to allow him on the rescue mission as well are you? Frankly, I’ve had enough of that from Liam.”

  “I th
ink it needs to be spoken about.” The words tumbled out. He hated himself for thinking of such pedestrian concerns as covering his arse when Laurie was in jeopardy, but... “He’s a criminal and, as we learned, a traitor. We can’t trust a single thing he says. He’s a risk to that mission and—”

  “Admiral,” she interjected. “He’s not going to be a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The less you know the better. Now, with your permission, Admiral, I have a full plate at this end. Not least that I’ve lost a friend and my executive officer, which means my workload just doubled.”

  “Yes,” Reynolds said quietly. “Yes of course, by all means.”

  Reynolds hung up the phone and placed it gently back on his desk.

  The less I know the better? One didn’t have to have the brains of a rocket scientist to interpret that kind of double talk. Slater had taken unilateral action.

  He looked down at his hand, lying on the top of the desk. The knuckles were white, and trembled as if he were freezing cold.

  His brain whirled through causes and effects. Action, kill Grayson, consequence, war again with the pirates. A war they would undoubtedly win, but would cost hundreds of lives. Innocent lives. People like Donovan and Doctor Tsang.

  But if Grayson were to have an accident as he bravely attempted to rescue the survivors of a downed helicopter... then he would become no longer a symbol of antagonism, but that of unification.

  Maybe that would work.

  He felt his conscience tugging at him. Again. Before his involvement with Wakefield, in all of his years as a naval officer, he’d never been party to the cold-blooded murder of someone. Yes, he’d killed in battle, but that was different. It hadn’t stopped him from sleeping at night.

  But this? This just might.

  He shook his head. No, Grayson was himself a murderer. This wasn’t just covering his own arse. It was justice being served.

  Maybe if he kept telling that to himself he would believe it.

  ***

  One foot in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right. The stump of his leg was chafing in the punishment of the last mile of hard marching. But that was nothing compared to the turmoil within.

  His thoughts slammed from concern over Laurie to the still-raw recollections of that day, months ago, when he’d had a part of his body violently removed. He could still feel that searing pain. Still recall when he’d first woke in Queen Elizabeth Hospital in England. Just before he’d been transferred home. Looking down, seeing the terrifying flatness of the sheet covering where a leg should have been. Being told by a doctor, who looked at him with pity in his eyes, that something bad had happened. Something that would change his life.

  Then on his return to the US, the brutal suggestion by his former fiancée that she didn’t want him anymore. That she’d found someone new. Yeah, right. He’d seen her look at the sheet, where his leg had been.

  He still found himself gritting his teeth in random surges of rage at the loss, demanding to know from God or fate, why him?

  He’d been in combat before that day, where people had been hurt bad. Never had he thought that moment would come to him. Never had he thought he was going to be one of those poor bastards stretchered off the battlefield missing chunks while the rest of the squad looking on. He’d been there, staring and feeling that pity that his comrades’ lives had been wrecked, feeling a guilty relief it hadn’t been him.

  Then it had been him. The one who the rest of the squad would have looked at like that.

  And the person who’d gained him a modicum of justice was a fucking traitor. What the hell was he supposed to say? “Thanks, man. I owe you one?”

  Screw that.

  He took another swipe at a branch, transferring all his rage into the blow.

  Focus. His mission was to recover the woman he loved. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by this. Not now.

  Another slash, thwack.

  And then, once that was in the bag, his mission was to deal with the traitor.

  Slash, thwack.

  Chapter Thirty-Four – The Present

  Jack gave a final slash, and the four of them jogged into a small clearing. Dark earth covered the ground and a curtain of green foliage surrounded them.

  From all around them came the clicks and whistles of unseen creatures. Jack and his two officers unslung their rifles and swept them left and right as they moved through the clearing. Above them, the mountain rose into the sky, looming over them.

  From beneath Grayson’s feet came a slight tremor. It didn’t feel like an earthquake, more a constant vibration permeating through the ground setting his teeth on edge. He’d never been near a volcano about to erupt, and he’d never heard this phenomenon described before either.

  A flurry of leaves in the foliage was met with a trio of weapons pointing at the source.

  “What the hell are these things?” a nervous officer murmured, his rifle trained with trembling hands. Grayson winced. They needed to be made of sterner stuff in this world.

  Grayson brought a finger to his lips before raising a fist in the air. Jack nodded, understanding the hand sign. So, fortunately, did the other as they dropped to their knees and took cover positions. Obviously, Jack had been spending the time training them where he could.

  Slowly, he approached the source, a dense clump of foliage. Right about now, he’d have given a king’s ransom for a weapon. Still, considering the nervous looking Atlantica crew, it might not have been a great idea if they thought he was getting cute. Especially if they knew what he’d managed to secrete a flare gun from the Airbus’s survival kit in his pocket while the others were distracted.

  Gingerly, he moved a leaf-clad branch to one side. He didn’t want to be a threat to whatever was in there but they damn well needed to know what they were facing.

  A bulbous chitinous head poked rapidly out. Grayson fought every instinct not to recoil in horror. Its mandibles clicked together and it gave a whistle, then a strange whooping noise. It launched itself out of the forest and thudded down to the soil a couple of yards away from Grayson’s legs, revealing itself in its full, disturbing entirety.

  It was the length of a good-sized German Shepherd. Long leathery wings folded back onto its body. From what Grayson could see as it cantered its head toward him and gave another whoop, it seemed spindly, not nearly as massive as it first appeared.

  Slowly, he approached it again, to be met by another whoop. He stopped. Then edged forward again, only to be met by another whoop and it backed off in a skitter.

  “You making friends?” Jack’s voice was a whisper.

  Grayson turned to Jack who was sighting along his rifle at the creature.

  “What does that noise sound like to you?”

  “Like it doesn’t like you very much,” Jack hissed back. “Which I can sympathize with.”

  “No.” Grayson sucked his teeth and edged forward.

  Another whoop.

  They came with increasing regularity as he closed. Then as he backed off again, they reduced in frequency. The noise sounded familiar, like a scaled-up bat’s cries.

  “It’s sonar,” Grayson murmured. “This thing’s using echolocation for distancing.”

  “That’s fascinating, but if it’s not going to eat you, let’s go.”

  The man had a point. Grayson nodded his agreement and backed away. From beneath his feet, the vibration grew into a rumbling grinding. The creature inclined its head to the air and its mandibles chattered. From all around a siren-like howl emerged. The rustle turned into an all-pervasive cacophony of calls and whoops. The creature launched itself into the air and flittered skyward through the trees. A second later, a vertical torrent of its kin erupted from all around, turning the sky dark.

  The noise from above was piercing as thousands of the creatures swirled around in the sky. Grayson had been wrong about the starling analogy. These things were in swarms which made those flocks seem stark in comparison.
/>   “Come on. Let’s double time!” Jack shouted through the racket.

  “Agreed,” Grayson called back. “I think this is our cue to haul ass.”

  At a jog they started forward, leaning into the abrupt base of the mountain as it rose in gradient while above them the roiling dark cloud of creatures cast a shadow over them.

  ***

  Vibrations coursed through the hull. Mack gave a low moan of pain as they transferred through her body to her arm.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Laurie tried to sooth the injured pilot. Night had fallen early outside, or so it seemed. There had been a rush of activity from the swarming creatures outside, then the light seeping through the foliage had cut off. “They’ll be here soon.”

  Laurie had the gun gripped hard in her hand, for whatever good it would do. It must have contained, what a dozen bullets? Maybe a few more? There looked to be thousands if not millions of the bloody things out there. Yet the small weapon provided some measure of reassurance from the noise outside.

  She gave a start as something banged insistently on the hatch. She raised the weapon and pointed it. Her hands were trembling. She had never fired a gun in her life. The blade on the front of the weapon refused to stay lined up with the slot on the rear sights. But, she told herself, at least it was at close range and she couldn’t miss. Could she?

  “Laurie. It’s me.”

  “Oh god!” Laurie gave a sobbing laugh as she heard Jack’s voice outside. “The door, it’s damaged. You’ll have to come in through the cockpit.”

  A minute later came the noise of grunting, and Jack squeezed in through the shattered window and landed on the deck. Laurie grabbed him, hugging him tight. “You’re here. Thank god you’re here.”

  “I know.” Jack planted a kiss on the top of her head before pulling her off him. “How’s Mack?”

  “She’s here.”

  Jack awkwardly knelt next to Mack and ran his fingers over her arm, exploring the damage. “How you feeling?”

  Through her pain, Mack spared him a sidelong glare. “How the hell do you think I’m feeling?”