The Cerberus Protocol (Hellstalkers Science Fiction Horror Series)

by Joseph Nassise

  Chapter Eight

  As expected, the hearing went downhill from there. Three hours after it started, Captain Memphis Stone, U.S. Army, found himself suddenly Memphis Stone, civilian. He was required to relinquish his firearm and military ID and was then escorted off the base by the same pair of MPs who had been present throughout the hearing. Memphis suspected it was the fastest discharge in the history of the U.S. military; he wasn’t even allowed to gather his things. His personal effects would be sent on to an address of his choosing at a later date, he was told.

  Trent’s words from earlier that day echoed back at him.

  “They have one purpose and one purpose only; protecting the image of the U.S. military.”

  Well, that had certainly proven to be true, now hadn’t it? As far as they were concerned, creatures like those Memphis claimed to have encountered couldn’t possibly exist, ergo Memphis was either lying, delusionary, or some combination of the two. The video-tapes didn’t show anything. The vacuum chamber had supposedly been empty. If they kept him around he was certain to continue digging under rocks best left unturned and asking inconvenient questions about the incident, which could make some important people rather uncomfortable. Getting rid of him had probably been the easiest solution.

  The MPs dropped him off at the bus station two miles from the base. He stood there, amidst the bustle and flow of humanity all around him, and wondered just what the hell he was going to do.

  He was in friggin’ Geneva, Switzerland, of all places, with only the clothes on his back and less than a hundred bucks in his pocket. The career he’d just devoted that last ten years of his life to had just washed down the drain because he had too much integrity to lie about what had happened, which was damned ironic when you stopped to think about it since it was the Army who had taught him integrity in the first place.

  The train station was mobbed. There were just as many people flooding into the city in the wake of the incident at CERN as there were people trying to get out. Word had it that there were mobs of people camped out around the perimeter at the CERN site, all trying to get information about The Event, as the media was calling it. It had been almost three weeks since the “accident,” as they were calling it, but the fervor surrounding it still ran at a high.

  Memphis looked around at all the people trying to get into the city and shook his head. If they only knew about the - what the hell was he supposed to call them anyway? Demons? Devils? Aliens? — he and his men had faced, people wouldn’t be so quick to surround the place. Especially if they knew the damn things were still down there, somewhere, just waiting to get out.

  That was the thing that scared him the most, actually. The idea that the investigative team that had gone in after he had been pulled clear had missed the damned creatures because the creatures had already found a way of escaping the complex.

  The idea of things like that roaming the countryside did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves.

  If they were out there, somebody would have run into them by now, he told himself, with what little conviction he had left. Figure out what to do about your current situation and then you can deal with the big, bad beasties.

  Memphis reached into his pocket, looking for a few bucks to buy a cup of coffee, and came out with Trent’s card in his hand.

  He stared at it.

  I’m here to tell you that there are others out there, people like you and me, who recognize the threat that we are facing.

  Trent’s voice again.

  The image of the three-headed dog on the front of the card seemed to snarl in defiance.

  Guardian of the gates of hell…

  Without giving himself time to think too much about it, he pulled out his cell phone, flipped the card over, and dialed the number on the back.

  It rang once, twice, and then Trent answered it.

  “I thought you might be calling,” he said, when Memphis identified himself.

  “Is that job offer still open?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, because I want to take you up on it.”

  Trent chuckled. “Look to your left, son.”

  Memphis saw a man in a dark suit standing a few yards away, a makeshift sign in his hands. Written on the sign was Memphis’s name.

  “Phil will take you to the airport where there’s a plane waiting for you. Once you get here we’re going to have to get started right away, so if there’s anything you want to do — grab a drink, get laid — you’d better do it before getting on that plane. We’re already behind the eight ball on this and can’t afford to waste a single minute. I’ll see you soon.”

  Feeling like a cog in a machine that was rapidly spinning out of control, Memphis hung up the phone and went over to the man with the sign, wondering just what he was getting himself into.

  *** ***

  Some time later Memphis found himself climbing down from a helicopter onto the grounds of a seaside estate nestled on the edge of rocky cliffs in northern Maine, not far from the Canadian border.

  To his right, and far below, the gray waters of the north Atlantic slammed into the base of the cliffs with incredible force, their spray washing dozens of feet into the air. To his right, an old but well-kept mansion rose over the property.

  Standing there on the grass in front of the house, waiting for him, was Darius Trent.

  “Glad you changed your mind, Captain. I need men like you. Come on, I’ll show you our little hideaway from the world.”

  Trent led him across the lawn and into the mansion. Expecting the charm and ambience of an old New England mansion, Memphis was surprised to discover that the place was nothing more than a collection of empty rooms. Trent led him through foyer and down the hall to what at first glance looked like a blank wall but was in actuality a cleverly designed elevator.

  At his startled look, Trent said, “All the real work goes on under your feet; this is just a facade to keep away the curious. We have eight levels below ground and can house a dedicated staff of one hundred individuals. Our facility includes state-of-the-art research centers, weapons design and testing facilities, even a containment area for use in the eventuality that we manage to capture one of these creatures for study and later dissection. And that’s just the beginning.”

  The elevator deposited them on the sixth level. If he hadn’t known he was a good hundred feet underground, Memphis never would have guessed; the corridor they emerged into looked like any other office building he been in at some point in his life, though this one was a little more upscale than most with dark wood paneling on the walls and marble tile underfoot. Trent led him down the hall and into a conference room, where he indicated that Memphis should take a seat at a conference table that was empty save for a stack of manilla folders.

  Memphis complied, and Trent settled into a chair directly across from him.

  “All right, you got me here,” Memphis said. “How about telling me what this is all about?”

  Trent nodded. “I’d say at this point you deserve some answers so let’s see what we can do about delivering them. The Cerberus Project, and the protocol for which it was named, was a government disaster plan created by President Truman, with the help of General Eisenhower and some hand-picked members of his inner circle, in the wake of a Nazi attempt to use occult practices to strengthen their chances to win the war.”

  “Occult practices?” Memphis asked. “Seriously?”

  “You’ve heard of the Ahnenerbe, yes?”

  Memphis nodded. It was a German think tank originally created to investigate the anthropological and cultural history of the Aryan race. “Himmler’s group, right?”

  “Himmler, Wirth, Darre, the usual suspects. Their stated aim was to discover the birthplace of the Aryan race, but in the process they, along with their allies in the Thule Society, delved into a number of esoteric areas, thaumaturgy being one of them.”

  Memphis had no idea what the hell thaumaturgy was and said so.

  Trent grunt
ed. “Better word for it would be sorcery, of the blood and dark magick kind. At any rate, just before the Allied invasion of Sicily in the summer of ’43, Truman received word that the Ahnenerbe had come into possession of certain documents that divulged the specific steps one needed to take to summon a demon from Hell itself. Himmler being Himmler, the decision was made to try and summon the creature with the hope that it could be forced to fight alongside the Axis powers and turn the tide of the war back in their favor.”

  If he hadn’t seen something that could very well be labeled a demon stalking the corridors of the CERN complex, Memphis never would have believed it. But now…

  He was seriously starting to feel as if he’s stepped through the looking glass and was living in something that looked and smelled and seemed like the real world but decidedly was not. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  “So what happened?”

  Trent smiled, though there was no humor in his smile. “We sent in a team to try and stop them. It very nearly wasn’t enough.”

  “The unit parachuted into Malta on July 23rd, 1943 and found the Nazis’ ritual well underway. A portal had been opened between this world and somewhere else, though to this day no one is really sure just where. As the captain in charge of the unit watched, a great clawed hand poked its way through the rift into our reality. In seconds, the creature began trying to pull the rest of its body through.”

  Trent got a far-off look in his eyes, as if remembering that day, though Memphis knew he wasn’t anywhere near old enough to have been there. After a moment the former major shook his head as if to clear it and went on with his story.

  “In the end our guys managed to disrupt the ceremony enough that the summoning wasn’t completed and the rift was shut down before further damage could be done. The information the team seized at the site was brought back to the U.S. and studied by a think tank of our own. Terrified that Hitler might try the same stunt a second time, Truman had Eisenhower draw up a set of contingency plans that could be put into place if the situation ever repeated itself.”

  Memphis was starting to think he knew where this was going.

  Trent went on. “Thankfully, the Italian Campaign proved to be successful and it wasn’t long before the Allies were marching on Berlin. To everyone’s relief, the Ahnenerbe was effectively disbanded around the same time that Hitler committed suicide. The plans for the Cerberus Project were mothballed as unnecessary. Until now, that is.”

  “All right, let me get this straight,” Memphis said, holding up his hands in a slow-it-down gesture. “You think that what happened at CERN had something to do with this rift that the Nazis created over sixty years ago?”

  “I don’t think. I know,” Trent replied and Memphis almost believed him just on the basis of the conviction in his voice. “Science has come a long way since 1943. We understand far more than we did at that time about parallel universes, multi-dimensional figures, and string theory in general than we did back then. Call them demons, call them aliens, call them your aunt Sally for all I care, but they’re out there and if you’re not careful one of these days they’re going to sit right up under your nose and take a bite, a big one too, out of that hide of yours.”

  “This organization was founded on the basis of those old protocols and I fully intend to put them to use. Evidence shows that the Large Hadron Collider test opened up a rift very similar to the one that was opened during World War II. Except that this time something came through.”

  Several somethings, Memphis thought and shivered.

  “If your headquarters is any indication, you’ve certainly got the funding to handle a task of this magnitude. Whose budget are we drawing off of? Defense? DARPA? NSA?”

  Trent shook his head. “We’re completely private, though we have the blessings of the White House, and the deniability that goes along with that, to handle the task as we see fit. My orders are to deal with the incursion, if that is indeed what it is, and not worry about the cost.”

  Memphis whistled. That wasn’t a statement he heard very often in government service.

  “So how many men are on the team and what kind of equipment can we expect to be using?”

  “Now that’s what I like about you, Memphis,” Trent said with a smile. “You’re not afraid to ask the tough questions. As for how many men are on the assault team, that’s simple. Counting you and me, two.”

  Memphis stared at him. “Come again?”

  Trent’s smile never wavered. “Two, I said.” He held up first one finger, then another. “One, two. But since I have no intention of going into the field, I guess, technically, that really means just one.”

  “I see,” said Memphis.

  Trent picked up the folders and set them down in front of his newest recruit. “Your recent encounter with the Hadron Experiment anomaLous Lifeforms, HELL for short, as the research staff has taken to calling them, is just one reason I chose you for this job, Memphis. I think you have the ability to build and lead the team we need to get the job done. If I didn’t, I never would have brought you on board.”

  He passed the folders to Memphis. “These dossiers contain information on some of the most effective former special operations and intelligence operators on the planet. As your first duty as commander of HELLstalker One, I want you to convince them to join the team.”

  Things just keep getting better and better, Memphis thought, as he opened the first folder and started to read.

  Chapter Nine

  Stone’s KLM flight to Amsterdam passed without incident, but the connecting jaunt into Stuttgart, Germany was anything but peaceful. Torrential winds and a heavy downpour buffeted the flight as it made its way into the seventh largest airport in Germany. Memphis exhaled in a rush as the wheels finally gripped the slick tarmac and the pilot brought the plane to a skidding halt farther up the runway.

  Memphis glanced out of the window and saw several Blackhawk helicopters being rolled into a massive hangar. From what he’d read on the way over, he knew that the U.S. Army still had a chopper wing operating out of the airport. It was small, and the helicopters were routinely farmed out to the Stuttgart Police Department, but it made him feel a bit better seeing some of his old comrades - even if they had no idea who he was or why he was in Stuttgart in the first place.

  He grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment and strode off the plane, feeling much better when the terminal blossomed in front of him. He grabbed a quick bite at the nearest pub, downed a Warsteiner dunkel that tasted as good as he remembered, and then wandered down to the rental car agency.

  The woman working the counter smiled as he approached. "Guten tag."

  Memphis smiled. "How are you?"

  She switched to English without skipping a beat. "Very well, sir. You have a reservation with us?"

  Memphis gave her the details and she punched the computer keyboard with practiced efficiency. After a moment, she handed him the keys and pointed outside to a large parking area. "I hope you’ll enjoy the car."

  Memphis nodded. "I’m sure I will." He started to walk away and then stopped. "What’s the best way to Calw?" He pronounced it as "Kalp," hoping she’d appreciate his attempt at how the locals pronounced the name.

  The counter attendant cocked an eyebrow. "Not too many people want directions to Calw."

  "Well, I’m something of a history buff. I understand there are some fantastic sights in the town itself."

  She nodded. “Right out of the airport, you can catch the 8 and take it west for about five kilometers. Head south on the 81 until you see signs for Dagersheim. Get off and take the 464 until you see the route marker for L1183. Eventually, that will lead you to the 295 and that will run you right into Calw."

  Memphis blinked. "Those are some detailed directions."

  "They should be," said the counter woman. "I grew up near Calw." She smiled once more. "Have a good day, Herr Stone."

  Memphis walked out and found a black BMW 328 waiting for him. He dumped his gear in the
passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. It purred to life and he eased out onto the highway.

  Memphis wasn’t much interested in history at all. But Calw, despite having been founded around 1075, was also the home to German special operations. And that was where he was headed.

  In the wake of the massacre of Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics in 1972, the West German government had formed a special unit called Grenzschutzgruppe-9, or GSG-9, to deal with terrorist incidents at home and abroad. But in 1996, after the reunification of Germany, the government decided it needed a better unit, modeled along the lines of Britain’s Special Air Service and the U.S. Delta Force in order to deal with the burgeoning threat of global terrorism.

  Kommandospezialkrafte, or KSK, was therefore created and housed at a remote campus in the northern part of the Black Forest outside of Calw. It was here that Memphis hoped to find his first recruit.

  But he couldn’t simply drive onto the base. There was no way they’d let him in - especially since he’d been all but court-martialed just a few days ago.

  Memphis patted the gear bag resting next to him. Inside, the dossier he’d reviewed on the flight over rested along with all the particulars he needed to know about his target.

  What was the saying, Memphis wondered. Make them come to you?

  Exactly.

  It took him forty minutes to find his way to the outskirts of Calw. The directions the counter woman had given him were spot on and Memphis marveled at her efficiency. He’d have to thank her when he brought the car back.

  Hopefully with Ulf along for the ride.

  Outside of Calw, Memphis spotted the concrete expanse and pulled over to the side of the road, cracking his window as he did so. The air felt cool against his face as he watched a handful of teens racing all over the skate park, working death-defying aerials on their boards.

  Memphis shook his head. When he’d been younger, skateboarding hadn’t nearly been as popular as it was now. Memphis wasn’t sure he could have handled all the tricks anyway.