by Evan Currie
Superhuman :
Semper Fi
Evan Currie
ALSO BY EVAN CURRIE
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Copyright Info
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2018 Evan Currie
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
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About the Author: Evan Currie is a Canadian author of science fiction and fantasy novels whose work has been translated into multiple languages and sold around the world. Best known for his military science fiction series Odyssey One and On Silver Wings, Evan has also dabbled in far flung space fantasy like Heirs of Empire and steampunk-ish alt-history, among other worlds.
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Prologue
Harrun Kahbib rose tiredly from where he had woken, a chill soaking into his bones that both confused and honestly terrified him a little. He looked around, trying to remember what he could from before he had blacked out, or after.
The ISIS fighter had been in the Iraqi desert the last he remembered, but his memory was assaulted by flashes of terror and scenes unlike anything he’d ever experienced… and he had seen some of the worst of war in his days. Men, women, and children dying of trauma or, worse, of starvation as they wasted away, those were old nightmares for Harrun, almost old friends in a dark and twisted way.
He knew that he was doomed to hell for the things he had done, no matter what the Mullah’s of the Islamic State said. No God would condone the things he had seen, let alone had done, but he hoped that his sacrifice would one day mean something better for those who came after.
Now, however, he had fresh new nightmares living in his skull, mere flashes of tortures that could only have been cut from the very cloth of hell itself and he did not understand.
Around him the hustle and bustle of the city finally caught his focus, and Harrun looked around intently to try and determine where he was. He had been near Qa’im the last he remembered, but there was no city this size anywhere in that region, and certainly not one as chilly as he currently felt.
He stumbled out of the alley, leaning on the side of a building as he clutched at his head and looked around at the mass of people and nearly stumbled into the path of several.
“Hey buddy, watch it will ya, I’m walking here.”
Harrun leaned back out of the way of the man who’d addressed him, confused beyond belief. He didn’t know much English, but he was aware of enough to make out the intent of the words, though the man didn’t seem particularly irritated as he continued on past. More just reflexively speaking as he moved around Harrun and continued on his way.
Groaning from behind him caused Harrun to half turn and realize that he wasn’t alone.
“Where are we?” Ioseph Burrun grumbled as he too stumbled out of the shade of the building, shivering slightly before he stepped into the sun.
“I am not… certain,” Harrun said slowly, eyes sweeping up the street and then down, and finally looking up to the skyline. “By allah the merciful, it is not possible.”
“What is it, Harrun?” Ioseph asked, eyes following his comrade’s gaze as he stared up at one of the most recognizable buildings in the world.
A symbol of the great satan itself, the Empire State Building stood there not more than a kilometer from their position, mocking them in its utter impossibility.
*****
The call that came in via dispatch hadn’t raised much of a flag for Sergeant Ahmed Kurrush. He got half a dozen calls a day just like it, directed to him because of his heritage. Two men shouting in a ‘foreign sounding’ language described as Islamic… despite there not being any such language… generally meant someone misunderstood what they were hearing and could mean anything from Arabic to Hebrew and damn near anything in between.
He hit the squawk on his patrol car’s siren as he approached the reported area and spotted the men in question.
Well, at least they’re not Sikhs this time, He thought dryly as he pulled the car over to the side and examined the pair carefully as they started from the sound and appearance of the police car. The sheer number of people who mistook Sikhs for Arabs was disheartening, both for himself and for the Sikhs he inevitably had to deal with. On the plus side, Ahmed had learned quite a bit of Indian languages, from Punjabi to Urdu and a number in between.
The pair was certainly from the middle east, however, he could tell that at a glance. The odd part was how they were dressed, however, in tattered clothing that was a mix of almost rags and military tactical gear that looked like surplus from the former Soviet armories, if not the modern day Russian army.
He clenched the steering wheel slightly tighter, knuckles whitening as he realized that they looked a lot like the sort of men he’d fought against on his last tour with the US Army. Ahmed slipped the car into park and reached for his radio.
“Dispatch, Car Four Oh Niner arriving on scene,” He said, “Two suspects, middle eastern descent. Both agitated, not happy to see me. I’m going to talk to them.”
“Roger Four Oh Niner,” Dispatch responded, “Do you need backup?”
Ahmed almost said no without thinking about it, but a chill down his spine made him reconsider.
“Yeah,” He said as he popped the door of the car, “Roll backup to my location.”
He figured he was probably overreacting, but the terror alert had been upped to red in their morning brief and he knew from a few friends who were still ‘in’ that the military was similarly on a heightened response.
“Roger Car Four oh Niner, backup rolling to your location. Be careful.”
Ahmed squawked back confirmation but didn’t say anything as he slammed the car door shut and walked around the front of the cruiser and put a smile on his face.
“Can I help you?” He asked, opening with English automatically.
His ears pricked up when the pair shot rapid fire Arabic back and forth, almost too fast for him to follow. He was fluent, but they were using a Syrian dialect he wasn’t as comfortable with. The pair were scared, though, he picked that up,
and didn’t seem to know where they were.
Bizarre. Must have been some night out.
Ahmed switched to Arabic, holding a hand out, “Are you ok? Do you need help?”
The pair shut up like he’d slapped them, staring at him with unadulterated fear, not something he was entirely unused to sadly. Many immigrants from the region, and others with similar political issues, held no love or trust for uniforms. Police weren’t friends to the average person in many areas of the world, and some people saw every uniform as a military one.
Ahmed sighed, using his ‘de-escalation’ voice, ironically close to his ‘scared children are listening’ voice, “Could I see your ID, please, and do you have anyone I can call to come help you?”
The pair exchanged glances and something didn’t sit well with the police officer. He’d seen every look under the sky, but what he saw in the eyes of the pair in front of him wasn’t coming from a couple scared immigrants or refugees. It wasn’t even the look he saw on petty criminals when they were cornered.
It was something harder, something he’d last seen in Iraq.
Ahmed turned slightly side on to the pair, shifting his holster out of their line of sight, and slowly dropped his right hand to his belt, his palm settling onto the grip of his nine millimeter.
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” He said again in Arabic.
The two men remained silent, their eyes skirting around as they shifted postures, and he knew they were looking to run. Ahmed flipped the snap off his holster with one finger, the others curling around the grip automatically.
“There’s no reason to be afraid,” He said, still keeping his tone calm as he tried to defuse the situation before it could turn into something ugly. As best he could tell neither of the men were armed, so as long as they were talking and not trying anything funny, he’d be willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. “I just need to see some ID, and then I can let you call someone to come get you, alright?”
The two didn’t calm down as he’d hoped, but rather continued to get more and more agitated as he began whispering back and forth in that rapid-fire Arabic dialect, low enough and fast enough that Ahmed was having no luck following the discussion.
The chirp of another squad car hitting its siren momentarily as it slowed to a stop behind him came as a relief. He didn’t turn away from the two men, however, even as a pair of doors slammed behind him.
“Hey Sarge, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Ahmed said without looking behind him, “Pair of subjects, highly agitated, look like they slept in the alley. Not interested in listening or calming down.”
“I can see that,” Lieutenant Griffon said as he stepped up beside Ahmed, frowning slightly. “Jackie, check down the alley, would you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Can you understand them?” Griffon asked under his breath as the younger cop edged around and headed down to check the alley they were all in front of.
“Barely, if at all,” Ahmed said with a shake of his head. “It’s a Syrian dialect, and they have pretty bad accents. Think back woods Cajun, word choice and all.”
“Ouch, just what we need, Syrian rednecks.”
Ahmed winced slightly at that, not that it was inaccurate but more in worry that the pair they were trying to talk down might overhear it and get pissy about the comparison. Of course it was unlikely they knew exactly what a ‘redneck’ was, given their apparently limited language skills.
He and the Lieutenant continued to try and establish some communication with the pair, slowly edging closer to the agitated duo, until a shout caught all their attentions.
“Lieutenant! You’d better come see this!”
Ahmed and Griffon half turned, looking toward the Alley briefly before returning their focus to the pair who were also looking over at the young patrolwoman who was stumbling out of the alley, pale as death.
“What is it?” Griffon demanded, eyes now locked on the pair while he walked over to the alley.
The only answer he got right away from the young officer was the sound of her wretching and spattering the concrete with her breakfast. Ahmed didn’t know what she’d seen, but he tightened his hand fully around the grip of his pistol and pulled just enough to break the friction fit while he tried to split his attention between the alley and the pair of, now suspects.
Griffon’s voice, swearing vehemently a moment later was enough for Ahmed to pull his service weapon entirely into his hand, keeping it aimed down as he gave up any attempt at low profile.
“Do not move, stay right where you are” He ordered in Arabic, one hand held out to the pair as he shifted sideway enough to look down the alley and catch a glimpse of the Lieutenant, switching to English for his next words, “Griffon? What is it?”
“There’s body parts back here, Sarge,” Griffon spat, “I see a couple arms, a foot, some poor fucks head… he looks middle eastern too. Jesus, find out what they know, I’m calling this in.”
“Right,” Ahemed glared at the pair, again switching languages, “No more of this. I need your names and identification, and whatever you know about the body parts in the alley.”
The two looked at each other, clearly alarmed as their eyes focused on the gun on his hand.
“Body parts?” One asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t play games with me,” Ahmed snapped, “You two, neither of you, belong here. I can see that a thousand miles away. There is no coincidence that there are body parts, including someone’s head, in the alley you are arguing in front of. It will go easier on you if you tell me what you know.”
“Wo know nothing about body parts!” One of them objected strenuously, “We woke up here, we don’t even know how…”
“Be silent Ioseph!” The other snapped.
Ahmed frowned, “You woke up here? Where were you the last you remember?”
The two exchanged glances, but neither was willing to speak.
Ahmed sighed, irritated, “Fine. I’m taking you into custody until we figure this out. Back up. Back up! Sit down against the wall, spread your legs out, keep your hands in sight!”
Behind him he could hear Griffon calling for more backup, as well as giving the details of what they’d found over the radio. Ahmed had something of a bad feeling that this was going to be the start of a truly long day.
The only thing that was keeping his pistol in its holster was the fact that the two were clearly unarmed. Hell, they were barely dressed, and they seemed as confused as anyone about how they got where the were.
The pair were still arguing with each other as they followed his orders, and Ahmed listened to every word, his only confusion with the situation continuing to grow.
As he listened more, he just got progressively more lost.
What are they talking about?
If the duo were to be believed, they’d have to have been kidnapped from Iraq of all places, then smuggled unknowingly into the US. That should be impossible, but the fact that they were whispering it in his hearing was enough for him to have them held while their ID was tracked down if nothing else.
More cars were arriving, dismembered corpses tended to attract attention after all. Sirens, lights, along with all the accompanying tagalongs were rapidly turning the street into a circus, but Ahmed just sidled a little closer to the pair so he could hear what they were saying as they slumped against the side of the building.
They’re talking about the Islamic State. Haven’t heard as much about them lately, but weren’t they in the news over the last couple days?
Ahmed had a vested interest in keeping an eye on what extremists who pretended to be Islamic were up to. The Islamic State had been quieter over the last few years, though still quite active in Syria due to the civil war that continued to rage, as well as making headway into Africa where the news didn’t care as much when people died. Still, the group had lost a lot of the bravado of its heyday.
In fact, as he thought about
it, the latest news was about Islamic State members going missing from various areas across the middle east. It had been a footnote in the news, no one really cared about missing terrorists, but now he had two guys speaking Arabic and talking about not knowing how they got in the country.
Ahmed shifted away from them and waved over the Lieutenant.
“What is it, Sarge?” Griffon asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he walked over.
“I think these two might be ISIS, Lieutenant.” Ahmed whispered.
“In New York?” Griffon asked, skepticism dripping from his tone. “You mean sympathizers?”
“No, I think they’re from Syria.”
“No way they got in the country, not legally… hell, not through most of the illegal methods for that matter,” Griffon shook his head.
“Didn’t say they did. They don’t seem to know how they got in,” Ahmed replied, “which is confusing as hell, I’ll admit, but they’re talking about Islamic State like they’re members.”
Griffon nodded slowly, “Ok, we’ve got body parts from at least three people back there, and you say they’re talking about a terrorist group like that, we’ll hold them until we ID them at least. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s nothing good.”
Ahmed snorted, “Not many good things start with dismembered body parts, Lieutenant.”
Griffon snorted, “That’s an understatement, Sarge.”
While the two were talking, more officers showed up with cars arriving from all directions. A coroner’s van was pulling in as the pair of unknown began arguing more heatedly with every new arrival. Ahmed let them fight, more interested in hearing what they had to say… he was also recording every word at this point, than he was in keeping them from making a scene.
They’re probably just looneys, Ahmed thought grimly, but he couldn’t quite shake the thought of ‘what if they weren’t’?
So focused was he on listening that he hadn’t noticed one of the black unmarked cars that pulled up, driver and passenger climbing out as a coroner walked past them with baggies full of body parts.
