by Greig Beck
He edged over the rim … and then exhaled, long and slow. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. Relief flooded his muscles as the oxygen inflated his lungs. Whatever had been inside the huge vessel was gone, or had been dust for over a thousand years.
‘Empty,’ he said.
One of Baykal’s men lifted his M16 to shine the barrel-mounted flashlight into the urn. He craned his neck forward. ‘Almost … I think there’s something down at the bottom.’
The soldier motioned to one of his colleagues, who pushed his own gun up over his shoulder and made a cradle with his hands. Putting his foot into the interlocked fingers, the first man stepped up over the side of the bronze urn and dropped down inside. His boots clanged against the heavy base as he landed.
The two remaining soldiers crowded forward, but Baykal held up his hand. ‘Taluz, keep watch.’
The man nodded, and went to stand at the entrance to the vestibule.
‘What have you got?’ Baykal kept his voice hushed.
The man inside the pot straightened; he was holding something in his hand. He shrugged. ‘Flakes … like scales or fingernails, I think.’
‘Scales? Of what?’ Baykal asked, his voice rising slightly.
The soldier shrugged again, and Baykal motioned with his thumb for him to climb out. ‘Whatever was here has long gone. Let’s get back topside.’
The soldier went to drop the material to the floor, but Baykal stopped him. ‘Bring it with us. I want to take Yanar’s remains too. We still need to find out what the hell killed him.’ He looked around. ‘And everyone else that came down here.’
‘Sir.’ It was Taluz, still in the doorway. He waved Baykal over. ‘You’ve got to see this.’
Baykal followed him out of the chamber and around the corner. Behind a mound of debris and shattered wall tiles, there was another exit – or at least a huge hole smashed through the wall.
Taluz crouched beside it. ‘Looks like someone found another way out.’
Baykal got down beside him and ran his hand around the edge of the hole – new stone. He shook his head. ‘No, not another exit. It looks like someone made their own exit.’
By the look of the gouges and smashed and pulverized debris, something had literally torn a hole through the wall, at great speed.
Baykal cursed. ‘Whatever was trapped in here has got out. And it’s now somewhere in our city.’
CHAPTER 6
Jack ‘The Hammer’ Hammerson sat in his darkened office watching the feed from the VELA satellite. His face was an emotionless mask as his fingers pressed several buttons on a keypad recessed into his desk, causing the image to dive down and enlarge and then clarify the moving figure. The man was tall and bearded with long hair – a typical drifter, like thousands right across the States. Anonymous, invisible – but not to all. Not to Jack Hammerson. He’d been tracking his former Special Ops soldier ever since he’d given the impression of stepping off the side of a mountain in the southern Appalachians a year back.
Alex Hunter, the Arcadian – Hammerson would know him anywhere. He’d been tracking him for months. Many times he’d sent clean-up crews to deal with the damage Alex had inflicted on some person or group determined to interfere with him. Just recently, Hammerson had watched Alex pursued by three men just outside of Omaha. He’d entered an alley, and men had followed. Hammerson had known what the outcome would be even before he’d hijacked an adjacent CCTV feed to watch Arcadian dismantle the men in under seventeen seconds. Community service, Hammerson had thought at the time.
Alex was nearing a phone booth. Hammerson paused for a second, but his hand moved without him even thinking about it. He slid an onscreen bombsite over the phone box and pressed another key – the phone’s number appeared over the box, with two highlighted options: Call or Cancel. He pressed down, and the number flashed green as the call was initiated.
The tall bearded man slowed as the phone rang, and stared at it. Hammerson could have sworn the face behind the beard twisted into a smile.
‘Pick it up,’ Hammerson said.
Alex started walking again, past the phone, then stopped and looked up … almost directly into the lens of a satellite hovering more than 20,000 miles overhead.
Hammerson waited, looking back into the young man’s face. Time seemed to stretch as he remembered the remarkable warrior Captain Alex Hunter had become. Severely wounded in a black ops mission in Chechnya, Alex was expected to live out his existence in some sterile hospital wing, with just the beep and hiss of artificial respirators for company. Hammerson had intervened and personally authorized administration of the experimental Arcadian treatment – and it had worked, sort of. How, was a mystery – a fluke of circumstances; a thousand variables colliding at just the right time to see the man revived. But the Alex Hunter that woke was different – vastly superior in strength and stamina, with senses more acute than any other human being. As unique an individual as he was an enigma to both the US military and the USSTRATCOM Science Division’s Alpha Soldier Research Unit.
Hammerson had told his young soldier that the startling and unnatural changes he was experiencing were ‘gifts’ – but some gifts came with a price. For all the advantageous changes to his physicality, Alex had also been afflicted by psychological tempests – a beast within him. Conditioning had taught him to manage his furies, and sometimes control them, but they were never fully suppressed. Instead, they waited inside him, growing stronger each time, until they burst forth in a rampage of obliteration. Alex Hunter was like a high-powered weapon: a military game-changer, but one that if not handled correctly could destroy those trying to wield it.
Alex strode into the phone booth and lifted the handset. ‘Jack.’
The single word made Colonel Jack Hammerson sit forward in his chair, his mouth momentarily dry. ‘Hello, son,’ he managed, then waited for Alex to speak again.
‘I know you’ve been following me.’ Alex’s voice had an edge to it.
Hammerson shook his head even though he knew Alex couldn’t see it. ‘Not out of malice or intent, just . . . looking out for you.’
‘I don’t need a minder; I don’t need anyone. I’m not safe to be around, remember?’
Hammerson smiled. ‘We’re HAWCs, we’re not supposed to be safe to be around.’ He paused, steeling himself. ‘We want you to come back in.’
The silence that followed felt like it had physical weight. Hammerson knew what he was saying wasn’t wholly true – he needed his soldier to come in from the cold, but he wasn’t ready to bring him back onto the base. Quite simply, Alex Hunter, the Arcadian, was supposed to be dead. Incinerated in a chemical furnace in the bowels of the military’s disposal centers; turned to ash to destroy the lethal bacteria that was overrunning his system. And also to throw off some pretty pissed doctors in the medical division who wanted him back to work out why he’d survived the Arcadian treatment when all other subjects had turned into self-destructive psychopaths. Captain Robert Graham had found out about Alex’s survival, which was another reason to leave him out in the wilderness; but the game had changed. Graham had gone missing, which gave Hammerson an opportunity.
‘I’m tired,’ Alex said, his tone flat and emotionless.
‘You? Hard to believe.’ Hammerson concentrated on the young man’s movements, his body language and facial expressions, his voice, assessing his operational status.
Alex looked over his shoulder, as if concerned about being overheard. ‘Not physically. I get bad dreams still.’
‘We all have them,’ Hammerson said calmly. ‘Can’t outrun them, so best to embrace them, try and understand them, determine which are real and which aren’t. We can help you. We’re ready now.’
‘What about Graham?’
‘Not an issue any more, but there are others still looking for you. You need to keep eyes in the back of your head. Look, Alex, there’s too much to bring you up to speed on now. Let’s discuss it over a coffee. Where can I find you?’
There was more silence, then. ‘Lincoln. But you know that.’
Hammerson smiled. Only about fifty miles or so south-west. He split his screen and called up a street map.
Alex spoke again. ‘I’m close to the Capitol Building – I can wait.’
Hammerson traced some gridlines on the streetscape. ‘No, there’s too much surveillance there. Stay indoors or out of sight – we’ll find you. I can be there in a few hours. Do you need anything?’
‘No, just to talk is fine. I’ll grab something to eat.’ There was a pause. ‘Come alone, Jack,’ Alex said.
‘I only ever bring what I need,’ Hammerson said, and disconnected. He kept the phone in his hand, then dialed again. ‘Reid, suit up. You’re taking a trip with me to Lincoln … to meet an old friend.’
*
Alex reached up to feel his face – he was clean-shaven after carrying a full beard for months. It felt good. He’d rented a room for the shower, then cut away his beard and long hair, and discarded most of his old clothes. He was wearing the last clean shirt he owned; he’d get some new ones later. First he had more pressing needs – his body craved food, again; a side effect of a blistering metabolism. It was eleven ten in the morning – late for breakfast, and early for lunch. He crossed the road to a small red-brick restaurant and sat down in one of the outside tables, close to the wall, sheltered by some potted palms but facing the street.
A tall thin waiter pushed out through the door and stared at Alex with a mix of disdain and concern. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re not open yet.’
Alex pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘That’s okay, I can wait. It says on the wall that you open in twenty minutes.’
The waiter pursed his lips, obviously contemplating whether he was going to allow Alex to sit there, in or out of business hours. Alex smiled again, trying to appear as harmless as was possible for a large stranger with intense eyes.
The waiter rearranged his features to feign sympathy. ‘There’s a nice little café down the road that’s open right now. Why don’t you try there? ’
He went to pull the menu from Alex’s hands, and suddenly Alex was gripping the man’s wrist a little too tightly. He wasn’t even aware he’d moved; the response was automatic, like someone else was controlling him for that split second.
‘Let go … please.’ The waiter’s voice rose in pitch.
Alex fought an overwhelming urge to bring his fingers together and crush down on flesh and bones.
‘Please.’ The man used his other hand to pry at Alex’s fingers. ‘Please!’
Alex blinked, finally hearing him, and let go. ‘Sorry … just tired. I only want something to eat, coffee to start, and then I’m gone.’
The waiter held his hand up in front of his face, recoiling from Alex’s gaze. Alex smiled again, sat back and tried to look relaxed. He knew he could be frighteningly intimidating; hell, his glare made other soldiers take pause. He breathed in and out slowly, easing the anger back into its cage. He didn’t want to become some kind of bogyman that dogs barked at and people crossed the road to avoid.
The waiter looked up and down the street. Alex could tell he was wondering whether he was going to need assistance from the local police – exactly the sort of attention that Alex wanted to avoid. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a roll of notes, peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and laid them on the table.
‘Just a steak, rare, and keep the change.’
The waiter’s eyes darted from the money to Alex, then back to the money.
‘Just a rare one, then I’m gone,’ Alex said again, and slid the notes across the table.
The waiter’s lips pursed for a second before pulling up into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘One rare steak, very good, sir. Would you like fries and salad?’
Alex shook his head. ‘Just the steak, and make it a big one – half a cow.’
The waiter laughed obsequiously, and backed away into the dark interior of the restaurant.
Alex exhaled, sat back and rubbed a hand through his hair. He kept the hand up, examining it as he curled it into a fist. The knuckles popped and stood out, raised and callused. They looked hard enough to break rock – which they could. He dropped his hand, slid down a few inches in his chair and reflected on his coming meeting. He wanted to trust Colonel Jack Hammerson, and for the most part he felt he could. He had saved Hammerson’s life in the Appalachians, and in turn the tough old soldier had had his back more times than Alex could remember. But there was a seed of doubt that urged caution.
Before he’d seen Aimee and the kid, Alex had wanted to disappear; he’d even wished for death. But seeing them had changed everything. They made him want to live again. But as long as he suffered these uncontrollable rages, he was a danger to them. He couldn’t protect them if he was far away, but he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t hurt them if he was close. There had to be an answer. If Hammerson wanted something from him, then he would need to trade for it.
The waiter put a coffee down, and Alex drained it in one. Next came the steak. He looked at it and nodded. ‘Nice.’ The thick and bloody slab of meat hung over the sides of the plate. Alex ate slowly, savoring every bite.
As he chewed, he watched the surrounding area. Half a mile down the road, Antelope Park’s manicured lawns and memorial displays were just visible. The nearest monument was two huge slabs of black polished marble, each seven feet tall, containing hundreds of names of local soldiers lost in Vietnam. Further in, a ghostly platoon of statues, nearly twenty of them, in rain ponchos and helmets, marched eternally as a tribute to those who’d died in the Korean War. Alex stared at the frozen marchers. He too had served, and fallen, but he’d woken and come back, whether he liked it or not. The day would come when he stayed down, but unlike these men, he would be remembered by few.
Alex sensed the approach of the van before it glided into the end of the street. He watched as it pulled in a few blocks down from the cafe. Even though its windows were darkened, he knew the HAWC commander was inside. He also knew he hadn’t come alone.
Alex eased back behind the plants. The van’s front door opened and a solidly built older man stepped out onto the sidewalk. He rolled his sleeves down, placed his hands on his hips and turned slowly to scan the street from all angles. Colonel Jack ‘Hammer’ Hammerson. He put a hand over his eyes as though to shield them from the sun; his thumb was curled and Alex knew he held a scope. He turned slowly, stopping at the cafe building. Even though he doubted Hammerson would spot him, Alex backed further in behind a thick palm.
The van’s side door slid back and the vehicle tilted sideways and down as one of the largest men Alex had ever seen – all shoulders and arms, and slightly older than himself – stepped down. Something about the way the man moved was odd, but Alex immediately knew him: First Lieutenant Sam Reid – Uncle Sam. The name came back to him easily.
He couldn’t make out any unusual bulges or indentations on either man that might have indicated weaponry, but given what he knew of the HAWCs that didn’t mean they weren’t armed with something that could deliver unconsciousness or death instantaneously. Alex shook his head. Now I’m being paranoid, he thought. If Hammerson wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be breathing. He sucked in a deep breath and stood. Time to join the party.
Hammerson stood at ease, his hands behind his back, as Alex approached, but Alex heard his soft aside to his companion: ‘Heads-up.’ Sam Reid moved to stand at Hammerson’s shoulder. Alex could feel their apprehension, but no fear.
He stopped about six feet from them and looked from Jack Hammerson to the large HAWC behind him. ‘Sam Reid.’
Immediately the large man’s face broke into a grin, and he seemed about to step forward and shake Alex’s hand.
‘Stand fast, Reid.’ Hammerson’s eyes were like lasers.
‘I said I’d bring what I need. Sam’s my left arm now … and besides, I couldn’t have kept him away if I tried. You still have friends you know, Alex; people who want to see you, who believe in you … and want you to return to us.’
Hammerson kept his eyes on Alex’s face as he spoke, no doubt searching for anything that might indicate instability. Alex conducted his own examination, reading the older warrior for signs of nerves, discomfort, a drip of perspiration on the forehead, a slight elevation in breathing, heart rate or body temperature – anything that might indicate deception.
‘Not sure what you want or expect, Jack. You handed me over to the Israelis, remember. They tried to kill me.’
Hammerson’s eyes were unwavering. ‘I did, and they took a huge risk taking you in. But they panicked when you ran. Bottom line: they saved you when we couldn’t. You were infected with a lethal necrotizing bacteria – I couldn’t do anything for you here, so gave you into their care. You survived, intact. Everyone else that got infected wasn’t so lucky.’
‘Intact?’ Alex shook his head.
‘That’s right.’ Hammerson took a step forward. ‘I know you lost a lot, and your memory’s been fragmented. But I’m here to tell you that we’re your friends. We can help you rebuild.’
‘Adira said the US medical division wanted to cut me up –’
‘Adira Senesh is gone,’ Hammerson cut in. ‘She caused some pain – to all of us. But she’s home now, safe and sound. Forget her.’
‘My own people wanted to pull me to pieces to see what makes me tick,’ Alex finished. He still had nightmares about being tied down in a sterile white lab on cold stainless steel.
‘I’ll never let that happen, son. Circumstances have changed – one reason we’re here today. I swear, you can trust us.’
