Behold Darkness (Wolves of the Apocalypse Book 1)

by LC Champlin

  “You’re crazy!”

  “There’s no honor among thieves. When your plan to steal the data and desert the Istiqaamah fell through with the destruction of my chopper, you made Plan B.”

  Birk rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “What was I supposed to do? Jump off the roof? You’d like that.”

  “Go on, Mr. Serebus,” Cheel moderated.

  “Thank you, sir. You decided to use us as scapegoats to save your skin from the terrorists if they captured you.”

  “How would you be scapegoats?” Birk spread his hands in bewilderment.

  “You even—and I must congratulate you on the craftsmanship of this detail—faked retrieving the data in the lab.”

  “I didn’t fake—”

  “Silence!” Cheel held up a hand.

  “It was a drive, but not the real one,” Nathan elaborated. “You knew perfectly well that the cameras were monitored. Let the Istiqaamah take us. You already had the data. You planned to ‘misplace’ it. If any of us escaped, you’d claim that person carried it. If nobody escaped, including you, you would say one of us took the data and knew where it was. You didn’t care if we were tortured for the information.”

  Birk glared up at his accuser. “Just how the hell would all this have benefited me?”

  “How wouldn’t it?” Move in for the kill. “Your friends here would’ve released you when they learned the data wasn’t to be had. When you’re free, you sell the real data to the highest bidder. It was a huge chance to take, but you’re just greedy and deluded enough to believe it would work.” Nathan jabbed a finger at Birk. “I’d wager you even gave yourself up to the terrorists in hopes they’d forget your escape attempt.”

  Another sneer from Birk. The bastard would regret his pride. “It’s all speculation, and last I checked, you were the last one with the data. You probably switched drives and hid the real one somewhere along the way, like you’re accusing me of doing. While very interesting, this is a fairytale you hope will end with you living happily ever after.” He fluttered his fingers at the last line.

  “Captain Ali.” Nathan turned to the leader’s bitch. “You searched my person and gear. No flash drives? Especially none with files related to Doorway Pharmaceuticals?”

  “No.”

  “Then, Doctor”—Nathan’s grin grew with the surge of power his leverage delivered—“I suppose I just happened across the drive and a computer, then somehow had the time to create these files.”

  “Your friend, Conrad or whatever his name is, obviously gave it to you so you could try to slander me.”

  “Do you want to know about Albin Conrad?” Nathan stood to his full height and glared down at the worm. “He shot me in the chest.” He stabbed a finger at the carrier’s bullet hole. “That was after announcing his intent to take over my company. Here’s a bit of news you might be interested in: he doesn’t give a damn if hostages die. He considers it a win-win. They die, I carry more blame. They live, they testify against me.”

  Chapter 81

  Workaround

  Radioactive – Imagine Dragons

  The service door closed. A moment later the cage rattled as the reporter began her ascent.

  From the third floor loading/storage area, Albin flashed the LED beam down the lift shaft. Below, the newshound moved with a rock climber’s concentration, making good time. “You mastered the climb, I see, Ms. Behrmann.”

  “I have a lot of hidden talents,” she grunted as she swung out of the cage beside him. “And call me Josephine.”

  “As you wish, Ms. Josephine.”

  “Why did he go back? Couldn’t he have escaped after faking his death? Even if they knew he was alive—”

  “His motives are his own.” Under normal circumstances, Mr. Serebus performed value judgments with a master’s insight. His recent actions, however, called his judgment into question.

  “Meaning you don’t know either.”

  Albin turned, flicking the light onto her. “In a few minutes we face men who will kill us if we fail to kill them first.”

  Sober, she listened without her customary retorts. “I understand.”

  “The objective is to reach the stairs to the roof without encountering anyone. When we reach it, we must time our efforts perfectly.”

  She nodded. “If we act too soon, the terrorists will know something’s wrong when their snipers don’t report in.”

  “Precisely.”

  She slid the AKM around to her chest and gave him a smile. “Let’s go. There are two routes to the stairs. A direct shot past the elevator, and a longer one past the offices.”

  “Either way carries its risks: The shorter route is closest but exposed. The office route provides cover, but a terrorist may emerge from one of the rooms. We shall evaluate once outside.”

  “Come,” she preempted his order as she moved to the door.

  “I am on point.” He edged ahead of her. “Watch our rear.”

  “No arguments here.” Finally.

  “Mind where you point your weapon.”

  He opened the door two centimeters, then slipped out, Behrmann on his heels. They turned right, padded down the hall.

  At the intersection, he pressed himself against the wall and risked a look down the shortcut hall. The stair door lay at the terminus.

  He motioned for her to follow as he swung into the hall. Knees bent, pistol up, he moved out at a quick walk.

  Two meters past the hall on the left, which led to the elevator, footsteps sounded ahead. Albin motioned for a retreat as he backed toward the hall. They took cover, but the steps grew louder: the terrorist approached.

  Turning, Albin found the reporter already checking the hall’s other corner. That path led back to square one, the loading bay. He joined her as she ducked down the passage and past the elevator.

  When the terrorist passed, Albin proceeded down the concourse. The next intersection held the most danger. Taking a deep breath, he put his back to the wall at the intersection and peeked out.

  Then they darted across, up to the service door. A swipe of the keycard granted access. He yanked the door open, ducked through—and came face to face with a terrorist in a shemagh.

  ++++++++++++

  “He didn’t do a very successful job of killing you,” Birk retorted.

  “Maybe not with a bullet, but he’s hoping the fact that this data is fake”—Nathan pointed to the USB drive—“will induce the gentlemen here to do his work for him. But let’s carry on to your dealings with him. Conrad agreed to throw me under the bus, then you two would run away together once the Istiqaamah released you. He would have my company, you would have the data. You would use Arete Tech’s contacts to find the highest bidder and give him a generous percentage. Then both of you ride off into your respective sunsets, richer for the betrayal. Does that about sum up the situation?”

  “Goddamned lunatic!” Birk shot to his feet. “Your pal stole that drive from me after I worked for it. I wouldn’t have a damn thing to do with him!”

  “Face it.” Nathan folded his arms. “He’s abandoned you, just like he turned on me.”

  “You missed your calling; you ought to write fiction, because you’re a master at it.”

  “Enough.” Cheel raised a hand. “How do you propose we rectify this situation, Doctor?”

  “Me?” The researcher pointed to himself in disbelief. “I don’t have the files, I swear, but”—he sighed—“I can attempt to retrieve them again. I’ll have to use a different access point.”

  Cheel clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin. “Do so, Doctor. Mr. Serebus has proved himself useful. You, on the other hand, leave much to be desired.”

  Birk straightened from his slouch. “There are fail-safes on the computers.”

  “Perhaps I can find a workaround.” Nathan ran a thumb along his goatee as he smiled. “I’m no stranger to computers.”

  Cheel stepped in, his demea
nor chill. “If with your combined efforts you cannot retrieve the data within the next fifteen minutes”—he looked from Nathan to Birk—“I will personally terminate your contracts. Captain Ali, escort these gentlemen to where the good doctor intends to fulfill his end of the agreement.”

  Chapter 82

  Big, Bad Wolf

  Natural Born Killer – Avenged Sevenfold

  Reflex snapped the butt of the Beretta’s grip into the terrorist’s right temple. The weapon crunched bone like an eggshell and spun the man’s head past the limits of its rotation.

  Staggering against the stairwell wall, the hostile attempted to remain conscious while swinging his rifle online. Albin stepped past the weapon, kicking the inside of the left knee on the way. Now behind the foe, Albin hammered the pistol butt into the junction of the skull and first cervical vertebra.

  Albin shoved the Beretta into his waistband before yanking the AKM from beneath the enemy. Weapon on the terrorist, he rolled the body over with his foot. The rifle rose, then descended to crush the man’s trachea.

  With the weapon in one hand, Albin released the assailant’s plate-carrier fasteners. He set the rifle down long enough to shrug out of the backpack and into the armor. Then he recovered the rucksack.

  Retrieving the AK, he checked the magazine—full—before turning to Behrmann. “Come.”

  Pale, her back against the door, she looked from him to the terrorist and back again. Perhaps the encounter would prepare her for the ordeal to come.

  “Yeah,” she managed.

  With Mr. Serebus delivering false data, the terrorist leader would be redoubling his efforts to secure the real files. His men would begin preparing for the evacuation. The confusion should prevent them from taking too much notice of one comrade who failed to report in.

  Upon reaching the door, Albin paused. Calm breathing, relaxed muscles. Thus prepared, he spared his left hand from the rifle to crack the door. Any guards outside would think one of their own approached. He pushed it open half a meter, risked a look, and stepped out.

  ++++++++++++

  With Birk in the lead, the procession started up the stairs. At last Nathan had Birk pinned. No way would the greedy bastard run without the data. Either he had hid it somewhere in the building, or he carried it on his person. Where? It didn’t matter; Birk would hand it to him in the next fifteen minutes.

  At the third floor, a guard greeted them with a nod. How convenient the servers lived on this level. Birk knew he faced little danger from Nathan as long as he stayed in the heart of the anemone.

  They trekked down halls, then halted before a wide door. Metal under the white paint, it guarded resources. Doorway Pharm obviously never foresaw a raid on the building, otherwise they would’ve done a better job of disguising their treasures.

  “I believe you have my card,” Birk sneered at Nathan, making a grand gesture toward the key reader.

  “Someone needed to keep it safe.” Green light.

  Birk shoved past him, entering a room of sheer beauty and wonder. The guards’ lights played over two twenty-foot rows of supercomputer hardware: seven-foot-tall, two-foot-wide towers housed not servers but processors. A CPU-GPU supercomputer. Though half the size of the BlueGene/Q or Frontier supercomputers, who could say what processing power it boasted?

  The machines waited, golems dead and dark until the right man spoke the right words. Surge protectors / battery-backup boxes beeped in protest to the loss of power.

  Nathan double-timed to the rear of the room as Birk disappeared around the left tower bank. Behind, Ali exchanged words with one of the grunts, then exited. Evidently the captain had bigger fish to skin alive.

  At the end of the row, an access keyboard and monitor projected from a steel arm. Birk milled in front of the setup, rubbing his watch band and grimacing.

  “What are you waiting for?” Nathan snapped. His phone’s voice recorder still ran. Damning evidence came in many forms.

  The weasel stiffened, distaste contorting his features as Nathan halted beside him. “This is ridiculous. Stop whatever game you think you’re playing and hand over the files from Miss Congeniality before they break our legs.”

  “The Mafia breaks legs, Doctor. These people cut off heads.”

  “I”—Birk jabbed a thumb at his own chest—“am not the person who’s about to get us killed slowly. You and your bitches—”

  He gasped as Nathan lunged, caught him by the shirt front, and slammed him against the nearest tower. Birk’s feet dangled five inches off the ground.

  “Dr. Birk, you really are a slow learner where your mouth is concerned. Stop stalling and get to work.” Nathan released his prey despite the hunter instinct that made his muscles ache for reparations.

  Anger and defiance, but not fear, made Birk snarl. “Don’t touch me. I thought you wanted my help? What happened to your interest in neural regrowth?”

  Walk-away tactic time. “I’m more interested in survival—mine and humanity’s. If that means outing you, so be it.”

  With a pout on his face worthy of a toddler, Birk straightened his shirt. “I’ve been working with these people for weeks, then you show up and think you can get cozy with them in an hour? You even killed some of them!”

  Nathan stepped closer, a foot from Birk, shoulders back and with a cold smile on his lips. “What exactly was your plan after giving them the data? After you show them what they want, you’re nothing but a liability. Then you made it worse for yourself by running.”

  “I would have helped their scientists.” More defiance.

  “How?” Spit it out!

  With a harrumph, Birk crossed his arms and looked away. “It’s a moot point. If you’d just handed over my drive instead of throwing me to the wolves—”

  “The wolves you’ve been working with for weeks?”

  “No—” Birk blanched. “I mean, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He shook his head as if dispelling an evil thought.

  “Let me guess.” Nathan rested a hand on the steel arm that held the monitor and began drumming his fingers as he spoke. “They promised you just needed to retrieve the files and hand them over. But then it all went wrong.”

  “This is all overkill,” Birk whispered. “Trained killers? Overkill.”

  “The same overkill that prompted you to bring a revolver, and your coworkers to wear your bullets?” The pièce de résistance.

  “They—” Birk choked himself off. The emergency lights didn’t do anyone favors, but his face looked whiter than the floor tiles. “Connor shouldn’t have gotten greedy. He really shouldn’t have pulled a gun on me.”

  Who . . . ? The security guard. “You out-drew him?” Nathan stared in disbelief.

  “I—” Defiance, then deflation. “I pushed a chair at him and . . . took his gun when he tripped.”

  “And your colleague? Did she get greedy too?”

  Birk reddened as if Nathan had slapped him. “All she had to do was put her finger on the lock.”—Shaking his head—“She was already wounded. What did she care about ethics?”

  “You panicked and shot her.” Nathan grinned at the accusation. “Whatever is on that drive is bonus material you couldn’t access by yourself, but you didn’t want to leave without it. Greedy.”

  “I am the greedy one?” Birk barked a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. You risked your friends’ lives to get it too!”

  “What did they die for, Doctor?” Nathan leaned in. “Do you even know?” Would Birk’s pride take the bait? “You just wanted a quick payoff.”

  Birk mustered his composure. “They don’t know what they’ve let loose—”

  “But you do?” Though Nathan’s skin prickled with excitement, he limited his reaction to leaning a shoulder against the nearest tower.

  “They’ll pay me to help them stop those zombie things once they see those files.” Birk grinned, verging on mania.

  “The government will pay you to
o! Once they find out Doorway is behind all this, the Feds will be sweating blood to find people who can decipher the files.” How could Birk overlook that outcome? Badir indeed.

  Birk’s assurance crumbled under a wave of defeat. “People, yes. But not me.” Head shake. “Never me.”

  “Always the bridesmaid?” With a grunt of amazement, Nathan shoved a hand through his hair. “You sold bio-weapons to terrorists because you were tired of being undervalued?”

  This snapped Birk back into defiance. “I didn’t think Cheel could hurt anybody with it!”

  “Then what—”

  “I thought he’d just sell it. But then I figured out what it was for. Why do you think I ran?” Hands up in frustration. “I mean, really, how was I supposed to know earlier? How the hell were they going to kill people with neural and myelin sheath regeneration through neurotrophic factors and CRISPR-interference-enhanced techniques?”

  “CRISPR,” Nathan growled. A recent news article had mentioned the technology. “Genetic cutting and pasting?”

  “You’ve heard of it. Oh, I am impressed! It’s only been in use since 2007. Don’t tell me you’ve also heard of MP3 players and YouTube!”

  Nathan put a hand on Birk’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile. “You gave terrorists cutting-edge technology that can modify genomes, and you couldn’t see how that would be weaponized? Look up a YouTube video on biological warfare when you get a moment.”

  “Anyway.” Birk gulped. “I don’t see how to salvage it now.”

  “Yes, yes,” Nathan waved away the whining. “Shut up and get the files. Time’s a-wasting for you to bypass the vaunted fail-safes. Remember, the terrorists don’t trust you anymore—”

  “Thanks to you!”

  “After you hand over the data, you’re of no use to them, so you may as well be of some use to me and the rest of humanity. I’ll give you a private moment now. Don’t log out.”