“No,” said the bearded one. “I saw maybe ten or twelve. Could be more.”
“We’re penned in,” Teller said.
“There’s an escape tunnel. Behind the bookcase,” Peron interjected. “We can leave through that.”
Teller nodded then keyed up the radio again. “Negative, Delta Six. Gorilla could be huge. We have an out. Copy.”
“Copy team leader. Confirm extraction point.”
“Peron where does the exit—”
Peron was already standing and shifting toward the rear of the room.
“No, get down!” Teller yelled.
The tinkling of broken glass and the thud of the bullet hitting Peron in the chest was separated by microseconds. He crumpled to the floor, blood spreading through his white shirt and pooling around his shoulder.
“Fuck!” Teller yelled, crawling toward the Director. He pressed a hand over the wound, which made Peron yell out in pain. With his free hand, Jonathan activated the radio. “Delta Six we have a sniper, South side. Confirm shoot to kill. Take that fucker out!”
The voice over the radio confirmed the order, but Teller wasn’t listening. He inched closer to Peron’s face, whilst maintaining pressure on the wound. “Tell me. Tell me where you keep the stash. I know you have it.”
Peron coughed and gurgled blood as he tried to answer. “I told you, I can’t help you.”
“Seriously? Even now? You’re gonna die, Peron. Just tell me.”
The Director shook his head in short uncomfortable jerks. “No,” he coughed. “You don’t understand. We don’t ha—have it. We sol—sold it. For oil.”
Jonathan’s stomach knotted. “Sold what?”
“Everything we had accumulated after the w—war.” Peron hacked again, forcing more blood through his nose and the gaping wound in his chest. “They came to u—us, asking.”
“Sir we have to move,” Hicks said.
“Sold it for oil? To who?” Jonathan pressed.
“Th—the Ir—anians. After Alpha Base was... set up. They t-took it all.” Peron wheezed a final exhale then lay still, staring off into space.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Teller yelled.
The gun fire grew louder. Jonathan surmised the guerrillas must have made it to the upper floors.
“Sir?” pressed Higgs.
“Team leader, sniper is down. Repeat sniper is down. Copy.”
“Ok we go. Stay away from the windows. Keep down.”
The secret escape route was exactly where Peron said it would be. Dragging the book case away from the wall revealed a metal door and a keypad. The moustached guard punched in a number and the door popped open. Teller and his men were ushered inside.
“Go,” said the moustached man. “Take the stairs down into the tunnel. It will lead out to Plaza de Mayo. There is no code to exit.”
“Delta Six. Extraction point Plaza de Mayo. Copy,” Teller said into the radio.
“Copy good, team leader. On our way.”
Before Teller could ask any more questions, the door was slammed in his face. Standing in the dimly lit stairwell, Jonathan regained his composure, took the vanguard—Glock in hand—and made his way down.
The tunnel wasn’t long and soon Teller and his men were confronted by another stairwell. He stared up, following its length to a simple metallic ladder, bolted to the damp wall, that led up to a large panel in the ceiling. If the panel led directly out into the open, they would likely get their head taken off by a sniper.
Teller brought the radio up. “Delta Six, we are at the extraction point. Seems to be a plate in the floor. Location within Plaza de Mayo unknown. Do you have eyes on?”
Only static.
“Shit. Must be too much metal between us and them.” Teller stared at the panel again. “Guess we go up.”
“Let me sir,” said Hicks.
Teller nodded and held his breath hoping his teammate wouldn’t take a bullet to the eye the minute he cracked the exit plate.
Hicks climbed the stairs, followed by Teller and finally Higgs. Together they ascended the ladder until Hicks reached the panel in the ceiling. It was locked with a thick steel bar attached to a wheel. Hicks holstered his weapon and grabbed the wheel. A quick jerk and it squealed loose. With a full 180 degree turn of the wheel, the bar slid away. Hicks pulled his Glock, pressed his shoulder into the heavy metal panel and shoved it until the gap was big enough for him to peer out.
“What do you see?” whispered Teller.
“Crosses,” Hicks called down. “White crosses. It’s brought us up in the middle of a damn cemetery.”
“Classy,” Teller said. “Is it clear?”
“A few civilians but looks clear.”
Teller sucked in a breath and let it go slowly. “Let’s go.”
Hicks shoved the plate hard with his shoulder until it flipped back onto the grass. Quickly, he scrambled out and took a defensive position, scanning the perimeter. Teller and Higgs followed. The sun was bright, temporarily blinding Jonathan. He imagined that in those few seconds he’d be gunned down. But as the world came back into focus, he was relieved to be without bullet holes.
Out in the open, they were met by the gasps and horrified faces of a smattering of civilians. Teller took stock of their surroundings and realized they had emerged from an actual grave, complete with its own white cross. To the onlookers the dead had risen—with Glocks.
“Sorry folks,” he said. “State business.” He then keyed up his radio. “Delta Six, confirm the cemetery as extraction point. Get us the hell out of here.”
“Copy good, team leader. Two minutes out.”
“Now what?” Higgs said.
Teller sighed. “Now I need to talk to the President. Someone needs to have a chat with the Iranians.”
CHAPTER SIX
Location: Vietnamese border, Laos.
KJ and his crew marched through Laos’ forest of thick bamboo and lush ferns. The group made their journey in silence, eagerly watching for the next wonderful animal to emerge from the greenery; Stump-tailed Macaques, Asian Antelope, Silver Pheasants, or perhaps Lao leaf monkeys. A gathering of marigold butterflies fluttered past. Though he had never been in Laos before, KJ felt at home. Much like his father had in such places, at least according to his mother.
KJ munched on another helping of kao tom—purple rice and peanuts wrapped in banana palm – a snack Igor and Leo had obtained from a village a few kilometers back. Though more than eighty languages were spoken in Laos, a variation of mandarin was spoken by descendants who migrated to Laos from Sichuan and Guangdong provinces. The monk brothers’ time in the Buddhist monastery had been useful for more than skills in martial arts; they were able to barter for food.
Leo and Igor paused again at a post, laid a little pile of rice and moved on. Even their Huahuqui gave a slight bow of respect before following their human companions.
Catherine and KJ lagged at the back, K’awin waddling between them.
“What are they doing?” Catherine asked.
Not wanting to question whether Catherine had forgiven him for the parachute incident, he duly answered: “It’s a spirit post. They’re leaving an offering to ensure we have a safe journey.”
“You really are a boy genius, aren’t you?” Catherine said. “It’s a shame you’re so damn pig headed.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
“Check it out!” Nikolaj called back. “Anyone feeling hot?”
Catherine and KJ caught up and pushed through a particularly dense patch of gnarled liana knots, adorned with white and orange orchids, to reveal a cascading spring water that had collected into pools. Nikolaj, Merry, and Lex were already stripping down and splashing into the cool water, their four-legged symbiotes chirruping in delight at relief from the heat.
“You coming in?” Catherine asked, slipping the pack from her shoulders.
“I don’t think so,” KJ replied, his brow knitted.
Catherine laughed. “Since when is Kelly Graham Ju
nior shy? What’s up? You put on a few pounds?”
“Fuck off,” KJ snapped back. “It’s not that. It’s just ...”
K’awin looked up at KJ and gave her saddest, wide-eyed expression, padding on the spot.
KJ peered down at her desperate face. “I’m not trying to be awkward, I’m just, it’s just—”
A massive splash threw so much water out it nearly drowned KJ where he stood. Irritated and drenched, he turned to see Igor and Leo standing shirtless and waist deep in the pool with enormous childish grins on their faces. KJ sighed and flicked his head at the water. “Go on then.”
K’awin didn’t need to be told twice. She bounded in and crashed beneath the surface. KJ’s heart warmed as he felt her joy. In fact, for a moment, he felt all of them happy. He smiled to himself and decided he might as well join them, given he was drenched anyway. He dropped his pack and wriggled free of his shirt and boots—hopping around on one foot as one simply wouldn’t come off. Finally standing only in his shorts, KJ prepared to dive in.
Something whipped past his ear and twanged as it struck a bamboo stalk.
KJ hit the earth with a thud, covering his head. “What the fuck?”
The Huahuqui disappeared under the pool’s surface.
“Don’t move,” whispered Catherine. “We’ve got company.”
KJ slowly raised his head enough to see.
Standing among the ferns and banana fronds were the weathered faces of presumably Laotian locals. A few held long bows, arrows notched, but most clasped old, heavy-looking machine guns. Their modern clothing, sportswear, and beaten up sneakers were juxtaposed to the raw nature of the forest.
“I think we were dipping our giblets in their drinking water,” KJ whispered through still lips, like a ventriloquist.
Why are you whispering, idiot? Just project. Nikolaj’s voice penetrated KJ’s mind.
Oh yeah, forgot.
What do, Merry started.
We do? Lex finished.
We treat them with respect, and try to communicate, Nikolaj offered.
We don’t have time for this shit, KJ interjected. K’awin!
KJ’s Huahuqui exploded from the pool and landed on all fours. A blue miasma formed around her and KJ, their eyes becoming iridescent topaz.
The Laotians reeled and fired their weapons in all directions.
KJ hit the ground, again, bracing for the white-hot pain of lead ripping through his body. But nothing came. He slowly opened his eyes to see Merry, Lex, Kroshka, and Kiska standing on the bank of the spring. Munitions arced off an invisible barrier in front of the women—a transparent dome of telekinetic energy. Their parlor trick usually reserved for beating him at dodgeball. He’d hoped it would work on bullets too.
“Thank fuck for that.” KJ huffed, climbing to his feet.
“How are they doing that?” Catherine shouted, while scrambling to her camera gear, apparently unafraid of the onslaught of firepower and completely unaware she was wearing only her very wet and near-transparent undergarments.
“I wish I knew,” KJ said. “Never been able to figure out how they do that. But I know how I do this.” He clenched his fists, connected his mind to K’awin, and forced his way into the men’s psyche, compelling them to halt their onslaught.
The Laotians continued to jabber among themselves but were unable to fire their weapons.
“Put the guns down,” KJ commanded.
“I don’t think they speak English, Junior,” Nikolaj said.
“You gonna make annoying comments or help us, ass face?” KJ fired back without breaking his concentration.
Igor and Leo emerged from the pool, water streaming over their dark-skinned muscles. The monk brothers silently called their Huahuqui, who appeared from the pool, and took a place by the side of their fellow Stratum. The blue miasma intensified, engulfing them all—except Nikolaj.
The Laotians’ guns clacked and clattered to the earth.
“Okay boys, you’re up,” KJ said. His command wasn’t directed at anyone, but Igor and Leo acknowledged it was for them and stepped forward.
Igor was the first to speak. His baritone voice demanded respect, yet the calmness with which he spoke provided a strange comfort. Leo’s timber was equally deep and wise. The two monks spoke together with fluidity, sharing pieces of whatever story they were spinning. KJ had absolutely no idea what they were saying.
One of the Laotian men replied. His impressive demeanor suggested a leadership role. He fired words at the monks, and they replied calmly back. All the while, KJ concentrated on not letting the potential attackers pick up their arsenal.
Click. Click. Click. Catherine shuffled from one spot to the next, taking picture after picture.
“Hey you mind? I’m concentrating here,” KJ said, his gaze fixed on the Laotians.
“You’re here to rescue Svetlana. I’m here to document it,” Catherine said, clicking another four shots in a row.
A few of the Laotian men kept mumbling the same words over and over in the background, their eyes wide and gazes fixed on the Huahuqui.
“What the hell are they saying?” KJ asked.
Igor suddenly turned to KJ. “Phaya Naga. You may stop,” he said. “They shall not harm us.”
KJ glanced at the men, then his Stratum. Reluctantly he lessened his control, the blue radiance fading until it eventually disappeared. Merry and Lex fell to the ground, exhausted from the concentration. KJ ran and dropped to his knees beside them.
“You okay?” KJ asked.
Merry and Lex, out of breath, nodded.
“Not quite the same,” Lex said.
“As dodgeball,” Merry finished.
KJ gave a weak smile, then turned back to the monk brothers.
The Laotians took a few paces forward, staring at the Huahuqui and whispering among themselves.
“What’s Phaya Naga?” Catherine asked as she knelt closer to the Laotians to take a better shot.
“River dragon,” Leo replied, then took a step back. The glow in his eyes subsided and his body relaxed.
“In China, but also bleeding into Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia there is a common theme: dragons who are wise and knowing and connected to the creation of things,” KJ offered. “In this area, it’s Phaya Naga. Divine demi-creatures, which possess supernatural powers.”
“These people must be Lao Theung. Maabris,” Nikolaj said. “The oldest of the peoples in Laos. They still very much believe in spirits and the netherworld. The Huahuqui must seem like living proof of their beliefs.”
“Bravo, fuckstick. You just repeated what I said. You’re officially useless.” KJ rolled his eyes and strolled over to Merry and Lex to ensure they were okay. “So, what now?” he asked, looking up at Igor.
“They take us to their village, and we may eat and drink before continuing our journey,” Igor replied.
“Great,” Catherine said. “This is gonna make an amazing story.”
KJ grinned at her.
“What’s your problem?” Catherine snapped.
“You might wanna put on some clothes there, Jungle Jane.” KJ laughed. “And, Hello Kitty? Really?”
Catherine blushed and twisted to see the Japanese cartoon cat on the seat of her underwear. “I didn’t think I’d be showing them to anyone—”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” KJ smirked and sauntered off in the direction the Laotians were walking.
Location: CIA Headquarters, Langley, Washington, USA
Teller sat in a familiar clean room inside Langley, waiting for his meeting with the Karachi Station Chief who was in town for a few days. Jonathan hoped the CIA would allow him to speak with their asset in Tehran who might know something about what was bought from the Argentinians.
While NSA and the CIA were meant to be on the same side, there was a chasm of mistrust between them. In his opinion, the NSA were much more concerned with protection of US citizens than meddling in the political affairs of other countries for financial gain. The CI
A on the other hand was a different story. No other agency in the history of the world had interfered with the affairs of other countries—with disastrous results. The death of Teller’s grandfather, a former spook, was testament to that. Jonathan found himself musing on George Teller more and more in the past few days; perhaps brought on by the pending end of the world. But in his gut, Teller knew his fear was more about dying while on the job, away from his family—just another KIA, a body never to be found. Never able to say goodbye. Teller shook off the cold crawling its way across his skin. Concentrate on the task at hand, he thought.
Mike Weinberg bowled into the office. A tall man with shrewd grey eyes and a broad chest, he was known as the Drone. Cold and emotionless like the pilotless death dealers he controlled, the Karachi Station Chief had conducted more strikes and killed more enemies in the region than any CIA operative on record. Collateral damage was a calculated factor, and he was infamous for using a specific equation to determine if the percentage of civilian causalities was acceptable—though only he knew the details of the computation.
“Mike,” Teller said, offering a hand.
“Mr. Teller,” Weinberg said, shaking Jonathan’s hand. “Shall we?”
Teller sat back down in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I know you’re only here for a few days, so I’m gonna get down to brass tacks. I need to speak with your asset in Tehran.”
Mike’s expression didn’t move. “As I told you on the phone, I need to know more. Iran is not exactly a place I want to be opening up for no good reason. As you can appreciate, they’re pretty unfriendly.”
Teller almost laughed. “Iran is still pissed about the CIA ousting their democratically appointed leader in 1953. All over a spat with the British about control of oil production.”
Weinberg sniffed once and ran his tongue over his teeth, indicating his indifference.
“I’m here on the President’s orders,” Teller said. “I need info out of Iran, urgently. They may have something we need.”
Weinberg remained stony.
Jonathan eyed the man. “You’re aware of the orbs, the ones that seemed to allow a greater connection with the Huahuqui and humans, right?”
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