by Evan Currie
“Fact. Masters’s SEAL team was destroyed by some kind of giant squid. His account agrees with his teammate’s, and even the Chinese national swore the same thing when we recovered him. And what they’ve said has been backed up by later encounters with similar creatures. Yes, his research isn’t exactly conventional, but these are the sorts of things we’re here to discuss, gentlemen,” Karson said firmly. “Masters has also read works on exobiology, genetic mutations, and paleobiology. This is a man who’s looking for answers, and he’s been looking for them for at least five years longer than we have.”
“We have resources he can’t even imagine. Anything he’s learned, we can find in seconds.” Cullen snorted derisively.
“True, but we would still need five years to build up that kind of knowledge,” Karson said in return. “Sirs, please, I’m not suggesting that we throw out everything we’ve done. What I’m saying is that it’s time to start thinking outside the box, at least until we can determine how big the damn box is. Masters was no fool — he’s cast a wide net, and I say we go ask him if he’s caught anything in it.”
The gathered men grumbled quietly, but went silent when the president leaned forward.
“You think this will get us anywhere, Admiral?”
“I don’t think we can afford to ignore the possibility that it might, Mr. President.”
The president nodded. “Very well. Go see your Mr. Masters.”
“Sir?”
“It’s your idea, Karson. Run with it.”
SUITELAND, MARYLAND
OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE
“Problems?”
The question had probably been an attempt at levity, but Samuel Karson growled unintelligibly at the speaker as he slumped in the chair behind his desk, staring at the far wall.
“I take it that it went well, then.”
His eyes rolled over to where his secretary was standing, stabbing at her with all the lethal energy he could muster. Immune as always, she just smiled pleasantly and handed him his correspondence and phone messages.
“You’d better clear my schedule for the next week at least, Jane,” he said with a weary sigh. “And book me a flight to Montana.”
Jane gave him a strange look, but didn’t comment beyond giving him a simple nod as she made a note on her pad. “Anything else?”
“Bring me everything we have on former Lieutenant Harold Masters from the Teams,” he said. “And I mean everything. Not the edited file I already have.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“Thank you. That’ll be all.”
The woman slid silently from his office, vanishing into the outer rooms to do what she did so well, and Karson found himself wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He’d wanted Masters to be consulted, of course, but he hadn’t expected to be assigned to do it himself. He was both too junior for the scope he suspected this project might take, and too senior for the immediate job that needed to be done.
Not that it mattered, not now that the president himself had asked him to do it.
There were things in the files that he hadn’t mentioned at the meeting, things about Hawk Masters that worried him. The man had been one of the bright stars of the navy before the Fitzgerald incident, a rising star by all accounts, the sort of man who had the physical stamina to survive BUD/S, the US Navy’s SEAL training course, and the mental chops to do just about anything in the world that he wanted.
After the incident, though, he seemed to have suffered a breakdown as far as Karson could tell. The man had dived into occultism and mystic nonsense like he was looking for religion. If that was what he’d been seeking, though, he didn’t seem to have found it. Karson was wondering what it would be like to meet the man face to face for the first time.
A navy sailor who’d seen too much? A broken soul, like many of the other “survivors” of similar incidents, including several from the Fitzgerald itself? Or something else entirely?
Admiral Sam Karson was betting on something else.
WASHINGTON, DC, AREA
PRIVATE HOME
“Enter.”
The door opened slowly; the old wood was heavier than it looked, but the hinges were equal to their task, and the person beyond had to wait for the gap to be large enough to grant him access. He stepped in carefully, eyes moving around the room with no small amount of fear.
He had been here before, and it rarely worked out well in his opinion.
It was an opinion that he kept to himself, however, along with any other words that may have come to mind.
“Welcome, Brother. I assume you bring me news?”
He nodded, taking off his navy cap and slipping it under his arm. “I do, Matriarch.”
“Well then, tell me what you know,” the old woman ordered him from where she sat by a slowly burning fire.
He tried to ignore the heat as best he could. It was Washington, DC, for the Line’s sake, and while it wasn’t summer anymore the heat was still oppressive. Outwardly, all the admiral of the US Navy did was bow slightly before opening his mouth.
“The government continues to try and make sense of the attacks.”
“A futile gesture,” the old woman said, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t understand what you can’t see. And you can’t see what you don’t believe.”
“The president has given Admiral Karson a directive to recruit a man by the name of Masters. He was a survivor of an attack ten years ago.”
“Huh,” the woman said, sounding slightly surprised, maybe even impressed. “Few survivors are of much use, and those who are would seem insane. It won’t go anywhere.”
“As you say.”
“Still,” she said, trailing off in thought. “Send a shadow team to follow and observe.”
“And if this Masters seems to know something?”
“Kill him,” the woman said casually. “The government is too stupid to be left bumbling around in the real world. Remind them that they are best left dealing with their fantasies.”
The admiral nodded. “As you say, Matriarch.”
The woman watched him back out, the unspoken dismissal thick in the air. When the door closed, she straightened and half turned.
“Do we know of this Mr. Masters?”
A man appeared from an alcove, tall and thin with graying hair and piercing blue eyes.
“He has not appeared on any upper-level reports. I will request an archive search,” the man said calmly.
“I don’t like it, Percy,” the woman admitted tiredly. “Too many factions, too many unknowns. It’s spiraling out of our control.”
“Perhaps,” came the reply. “I doubt, however, that it ever was in our control.”
“If it wasn’t, then we must take control now,” she responded hotly. “And soon. There’s too much at stake. We will control the veil, or see it destroyed. Ensure that our people in the government know that we will brook no interference from the United States or any other group. They are to use any means necessary to ensure that.”
“Whatever you say, Matriarch,” the man said.
As he faded back from the room, the old woman turned back to the fire and stared pensively into the crackling flames.
SOUTHWESTERN MONTANA
THREE DAYS LATER
There were no power lines running to the ranch-style home. No signs of civilization at all, in fact, beyond the small wind farm that was set a thousand feet to the north. The home was compact, built low into the land for shelter from the wind, and it blended into the natural landscape until it was all but invisible.
Karson noted that there was clear range on all sides of the building. It was over a few hundred feet to the closest trees, and nothing within that distance was more than a few inches in height. The land sloped down from the house on all sides, providing perfect visibility, and he could see that lights were inset in the grounds.
In short, the land around the house was an immaculately tailored kill zone.
A man doesn’t build
a place like this without being paranoid, insane, both…or rightfully wary for his life.
Karson didn’t know which it was in this case, and wouldn’t even guess at it until he’d met Masters. He pulled his rental to a stop at the end of the drive, beside a beat-up Ford Expedition, and killed the engine. He stepped out onto the packed gravel and looked around for a moment before letting the car door shut and making his way toward the house.
He knocked a few times, then rang the bell, but there was no response. Karson sighed, stepped back, and looked around. A sound caught his attention, a rhythmic thud that took him a moment to recognize. He moved toward it, walking around the side of the house, where he found a man, his back to the drive, splitting wood with a heavy splitter’s maul. Karson paused well out of reach and cleared his throat in order to catch the man’s attention.
“Don’t want any, got no use for any, couldn’t afford it if I did.”
It took the admiral a moment to piece together what that meant.
“I’m not selling anything, Lieutenant.”
The man stopped, letting the maul fall to one side before slowly turning to look at Karson. “I ain’t been a lieutenant for almost ten years now.”
“That’s one of the things I’m here to talk to you about.”
Harold Masters took a deep breath, then slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think I care, sir. Captain? Admiral?”
“Vice Admiral Karson. ONI.”
“Naval Intelligence,” Masters snorted. “As if military intelligence wasn’t enough of an oxymoron.”
“I’m here to talk about the Fitzgerald incident.”
“I’ve got nothing more to say about that, Admiral. I told the initial investigators every damn thing I knew. To be honest, I’ve probably forgotten stuff you already have in your files…and I certainly haven’t remembered anything new.”
“Maybe we’re the ones with new information, son.”
“I’m not your son, I’m not your sailor, and I don’t give a good goddamn what you’ve found out since that night.”
Karson winced as Masters turned back to the woodpile and set up another chunk to be split.
“There have been other attacks.”
The heavy maul thudded into the hardwood, sending two chunks flying in opposite directions.
Karson tried again. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Masters answered, setting up another chunk of wood.
“You don’t have any thoughts on that?” Karson pressed.
Masters pointed to the west. “You see those mountains, Admiral?”
“Of course I do.”
“They’re between me and the only open water for a thousand miles. Why do you think I live in Montana, Admiral?” Masters said, hefting the maul again.
Karson felt his lips pull back, exposing teeth. “From your file, I didn’t take you for a coward, Masters.”
This time the maul struck the edge of the wood, sending the whole chunk spinning off as the broad head dug into the ground. Masters left it quivering in place and spun around, jabbing a finger at Karson.
“You know what? Screw you, sir,” he snarled. “After that night all I wanted was a team and a strike mandate to hunt that goddamn thing down. You know what I got? My security clearance was burned so bad that I couldn’t find work to save my soul!”
Karson held his ground as the younger man finally looked him in the face. Masters stepped over some random chunks of wood, coming to stand next to him.
“Hell, I couldn’t even get in with StillWater for Christ’s sake! Do you know how bad your reputation has to be burned for those mercenary assholes to turn down a trained SEAL?!”
Karson winced, but didn’t respond as Masters seemed to be winding down.
“Look, I’m through, okay? I’ve got nothing you want to hear,” Masters told him, slumping slightly as he turned away again. “Go back to DC. Send my old report up the chain. There’s more in there than you really want to know anyway.”
Sam Karson wasn’t noted for being slow on the uptake, and he took careful note of what had just been said without being said.
He has been working on something on the sly. What does he know?
“What I want to know is the truth.”
Masters laughed, not turning back to him. “It’s like that man in the movie said, Admiral. You can’t handle the truth.”
Karson let out a chuckle, but shook his head. “What I can and can’t handle has very little to do with the execution of my duties.”
“Everyone says that, but damn few mean it.”
Karson sighed. “What can I say to convince you, Lieutenant?”
“Honestly, sir, I can’t think of a damn thing. Just leave me in peace,” Masters told him with finality.
Karson nodded, drawing a card from his pocket. He scribbled his hotel and room number on the back and set it down on a stump, putting a hand-sized rock on top of it to hold it against the wind.
“You change your mind, I’ll be in the area for a couple days.”
Masters just grunted in response, not bothering to turn around as the admiral left.
After he heard the car pull out of the drive, Hawk Masters turned to the stump and plucked the card out from under the stone. He casually drove the maul into a large stump and left it there as he walked around the front of his house and went inside.
He headed immediately for the den, taking a seat in front of the computer there, and opened up a browser window. Calling up the available information on Samuel Karson took only a few seconds, and he leaned back as he pondered the situation.
He opened up the VOIP software on his system, turned on the encryption package, and sat back as he fit the earpiece in place.
“Call Rankin,” he ordered, then waited for an answer.
A few seconds later he had one.
“An admiral just stopped by my place, man,” he said, already wincing in anticipation of his friend’s response.
He wasn’t disappointed. He calmed Rankin down after his explosion, then spoke again. “I know, but he sounds serious. I’m not sure I want to get involved again either. The question is, do we take the easy road…or the hard road?”
Masters laughed bitterly when his old friend answered, but he knew he couldn’t argue.
“Yeah, man. I know. The only easy day was yesterday. I’ll sound him out and get back to you. Keep well.”
Masters rose up, tossing the earpiece to the desk, and shook his head. He suspected that this wouldn’t be the last time he wondered if he were completely insane. The lord above knew that it wasn’t the first.
* * *
That night, at the hotel bar, Masters found the admiral nursing a drink and sat down on the stool next to him.
“Change your mind?”
Masters shook his head. “No, I still don’t think you’re ready for this.”
“I was right, then — you’ve been conducting your own investigation.”
It wasn’t a question, and Masters didn’t bother to interpret it as one.
“What did you learn?”
“More than I ever wanted to know,” Hawk Masters said tiredly. “More than you want to know.”
“Ever since I took this job I’ve been learning things I didn’t want to know, Lieutenant,” Karson said quietly. “It’s the nature of the beast. You learn to sleep with it.”
“I sleep in an armored safe room, Admiral, with three guns within reach and a security system so advanced that the Secret Service couldn’t get to me,” Masters told him. “I wouldn’t wish this information on my worst enemy, and there’s only one reason I’m even thinking about telling you.”
“And that is?” Karson asked, processing the man’s words. Masters didn’t seem to be paranoid enough if what he said was true.
“I want a shot at the thing that killed my men. If I do it alone, I’ll die alone. I figure that you might be able to give me a shot at taking that stinking thing with me.”
“Lieutenant, if you can g
ive me a hint about what this thing is and where we can find it, I’ll have a task force on it before the night is out.”
“Oh no, Admiral. It’s not that easy,” Masters said with a tired smile. “Learn to crawl before you try and run a thirty-second mile.”
Masters rose up, dropping some bills on the counter. “Drinks on me. Come by my place in the morning, and I’ll show you a few things. If you don’t think I’m completely loony when we’re done, we’ll see about learning to walk.”
Admiral Karson half turned to watch the former navy man walk out of the hotel bar and frowned as he tried to piece together the puzzle that was Hawk Masters.
* * *
Hawk Masters stared at the wall in his house as he considered the situation, trying to see his way through the fog. It all came down to what the government wanted, really. No, it came down to what they were willing to accept.
Telling them everything was out. No way he was going to do that.
It wouldn’t be a practical response, even if it was what he wanted.
He was still trying to map a way through the fogged future when the bell rang and his time was up. He sighed and rose from his chair, walked out to the entryway, and checked who was there. It was just a reflex action, but he confirmed the admiral’s presence before even approaching the door.
“Come in,” he said after opening it, nodding to the older man. He gestured behind him. “Down that hall, door right at the end.”
Karson just nodded, stepping past him and into the house. He noted that he door clicked shut on an automatic lock, and looked questioningly at his host.
“I take security seriously.”
Without another word, Karson nodded and let Masters guide him down the hall and into a room that seemed to be set up as a small conference room. Karson cocked an eyebrow questioningly, but didn’t comment as he set his briefcase down on the long table.
“Doubles as a poker table,” Masters said, knocking on the hardwood. “Felt underneath.”
“I see.” The admiral quirked a smile, then popped his case open. “Why don’t we start with what you’ve been doing for the past ten years.”
