by Bob Mayer
“Aren’t you supposed to be guiding?” Gates asked in reply.
Angelique smiled. “The Father seems to feel he knows the way better than me. Perhaps he does. I’ve told you my past. What darkness is in yours?”
“There didn’t seem to be much darkness in your past,” Gates noted. “Just some blank spots early on. You’ve never killed anyone, have you?”
Angelique was surprised by the question. “I’ve never had to.”
“You also never chose to,” Gates said. “I’m sure you’ve been in plenty of tense situations where all it would have taken is an itchy finger and a lot of blood would have flowed.”
“There were always other ways to resolve the situation,” Angelique said.
“No.” Gates was adamant. “You made the other ways happen. There’s something about you. You don’t belong on this team. The Wrath of God. Everyone else on the team is…was, a killer in one-way or another. Even the good doctor. I can see him letting patients die in the name of his faith and going against his own sworn code as a doctor.”
“So what is your darkness?”
Gates kept his eyes shifting from DiSalvo to the jungle around them as he spoke. “I went to West Point, served into the Infantry for many years, and then wrangled a scholarship into the seminary. It wasn’t easy to do as a West Point graduate and an Infantry officer, both being more desirable traits in the Army than being a man of God.
“A good friend, a classmate of mine went to medical school. It’s why I can feel the strange vibe off Lee as a doctor. He told me about doctors like Lee. Anyway, my friend had a son. His son enlisted as soon as he turned eighteen, against the desires of his parents. By then I was serving with Special Forces as the chaplain for one of the Groups. My friend asked me to keep an eye on his son, so I wrangled the kid an assignment at the same base camp I was stationed at in the ‘Stan.
“I talked to the boy whenever I could. I thought he was a pretty good kid.” Gates gave a bitter laugh. “I worried about him. There wasn’t too much action at the time, but an IED could happen any place, any time. Plus there was some weird shit going on. Someone was sniping women and kids. The Afghans said it was an American. We said it was the Taliban. Hell, for all anyone knew it could have been some nut case in the Afghan army. They were turning on Americans, on their own, as much as they were fighting the so-called enemy.
“Then one day this nut-job killed a woman and the baby she was carrying in her arms. One shot that went through the baby’s head and the woman’s heart. Everyone was going ape-shit. Anti-sniper teams were sent out. Security was tightened. Predator drones were overhead all the time.”
DiSalvo held up his fist and Gates and Angelique sunk to one knee, weapons at the ready. Whatever had caused the priest’s alert mustn’t have been a threat, because with a glare over his shoulder, DiSalvo gave the signal to move on.
Gates continued his story as they continued their journey. “My friend’s son came to me. And he told me he’d killed all those people. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, he told me.”
“He came to you for absolution and for forgiveness,” Angelique said.
“You think there’s forgiveness for murder? For killing?”
“I believe one can be forgiven for anything if they truly repent,” Angelique said. “If they truly change.”
“You think people can change?”
“You did,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
“You were a soldier, an infantryman, then you became a chaplain, then you became a Special Forces soldier. Didn’t you change?”
“No. I was the same asshole in all those jobs,” Gates said. “He didn’t come to me for forgiveness. He came because he had to tell someone what a great shot that last kill...kills, had been. And he knew with my background I could appreciate the difficulty of it. Lining up the baby’s head, the woman’s heart. And getting away with it, while everyone was on alert. How he’d waited three days watching this woman with her kid until it was all just right and he pulled the trigger.
“I could see it in his eyes. The pure joy of the kill.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Angelique said.
“I didn’t say it was.” Gates paused, looking to the left toward the river. It was getting narrower. “How far to the Devil’s Fork?”
“Not far,” Angelique said. “A kilometer.”
“The problem,” Gates said, “is that you can’t know what’s in anybody’s heart. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I saw this kid’s eyes before. They didn’t tell me anything. After, yeah, easy. I couldn’t do it anymore. Sit across from these young kids sent to that hellhole, given a gun, told be nice, and only shoot the people we tell you to shoot, when we tell you to shoot. Kill by the rules.
“So I swapped out my cross for the crossed arrows. Didn’t even have to move my bunk. I needed to be out there with them. See them in the real world, not the make believe world of the chapel. Stop the next smiling face from killing the wrong person. I look deeper into their eyes now. I look for the lie behind the smile. DiSalvo—” Gates nodded toward their self-elected point man—“he doesn’t even bother to hide it. Lee. His eyes don’t lie. They’re dead. I don’t think his conscience was ever alive.
“Guys who smile in combat scare me. They’re like dogs who never growl or bark. They just bite.”
“Did getting closer to them help?” Angelique asked.
“Good question,” Gates said. “The guys on my team called me Sherlock, the way I watched everything.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Gates said.
Angelique hissed, catching DiSalvo’s attention. She held one fist in the air, the universal hand and arm signal for ‘freeze.’
Gates tried to see what had caused the reaction, but picked up nothing. Nothing tangible. But now he got it, too. That feeling along the hairs on the back of his neck.
Sixth sense. When one of the five senses actually was picking up a real threat, but the brain wasn’t consciously processing it, while the subconscious was screaming a warning.
Getting on their bellies, DiSalvo and Lee low-crawled back to their position.
“What is it?” DiSalvo hissed.
“The fork is just ahead,” Angelique whispered. “And so are men. I can smell them.”
“Headhunters?” DiSalvo asked as he hefted his MP-5, confident of his civilized firepower, forgetting that the head on the stake had probably carried the equivalent.
“If it were the Jivaro I wouldn’t have smelled them,” Angelique said. “White men. From civilization.”
She turned her head, so that her mouth was close to Gates’ ear. “What happened to the kid?”
“I killed him.”
Space, Earth Orbit
Satellite four had been easy. So had number five. Six was proving to be a problem. Forster pressed the tip of the electronic screwdriver into the slot. Bracing against his anchor line, he pulled the trigger. The tip spun, stripping metal. There must have been moisture on the screw when it was put in on Earth, and now ice locked it in place.
Forster removed his finger. He glanced at the readout on his wrist computer. He didn’t have time for this. He spun the MMU and aimed the strongest jet at the slot. He fired a sustained burst, his anchor line straining against the thrust.
It worked. He got the panel off, modified the satellite and then jetted back to his spacecraft. As he sealed himself in, he checked his levels. There would be enough oxygen. Barely. Fuel would be tight on the MMU. He’d have to get very close for number seven.
He looked at the time. It was going to be tight.
Over the top of the planet, another nuclear blast went off near Wormwood.
Abbottabad, Pakistan
Captain Martinez could feel the vibration through the massive steel door. The Pakistanis were trying to drill their way into the vault they had designed to be resistant to drilling. That didn’t concern him much. What worried h
im was when someone figured out that he hadn’t come in the front door.
His worry was confirmed when he heard the distant crack of a claymore mine echo out of the airshaft. They were coming.
Martinez checked his watch. If the Pakistanis got in here within an hour, they might be able to get their nuclear warheads to the delivery platforms before the Intruder arrived. While Martinez had no idea whether the Intruder was indeed Wormwood, a comet, an alien spaceship, or a bad nightmare he was experiencing; he knew he could not allow that to happen.
As a second claymore went off, Martinez picked up the battery powered drill and walked over to the first warhead.
Atlanta
The Head of the Brotherhood stared out over Atlanta, and found solace in the lack of activity. He didn’t imagine many people were sleeping, not with the burning orb looming so close to the northern horizon, growing larger by the minute. Reports were coming in constantly. All over the world churches were bursting with both the faithful and the rapidly converted.
There were few atheists in foxholes, and the same rang true in the face of Armageddon. Many of those who didn’t race to suddenly reclaim their faith were committing suicide. Killing themselves, and often their families, in the face of what they viewed as certain death. Many people were streaming out of cities, heading to the countryside as if it held some refuge from what was coming. The hedonists were reveling in drugs, alcohol, sex, and whatever perverted pleasures they felt they had to grasp in their final hours.
They all needed to be saved.
The Head, seated in front of a computer, clicked on the mouse. “Father Sergut. How fare you?”
Sergut, flanked by Abaku, appeared on screen. Behind them, the control room of the Very Large Array was deserted. “We are certain of our numbers,” Sergut said. “It will take a little bit of time to rearrange the array.” The Russian shrugged. “If I had known of Brother Abaku’s program, I would have been better prepared. I’ve had to redirect separate antenna in different directions to cover the Seeds, taking into account the planet’s rotation.”
“But you will execute the program in time.” It was not a question.
“The Great Commission will be completed,” Abaku said. “As long as all the satellites are converted to Seeds.”
“Good,” the Head said. “The Lord will bless you.”
“Brother,” Sergut said. “Might I ask you something?”
“Yes?”
“What will you be doing?”
The Head blinked, as if the question made no sense. “I will be praying, Brother Sergut. Although God does not need my prayers, he will most certainly find them welcome.”
“Ah.” Sergut nodded. “Yes. That is good.”
The Head cut the circuit.
New York City
“We have to accept failure,” Brunswick said. “Even if all had worked according to plan, it’s obvious from the data the deflection would have failed. Every facility reports zero deviation of the Intruder from its original trajectory. Sixteen nuclear weapons, the ultimate power mankind has developed, and nothing happened. What will four or six or ten more do?”
Thornton stood. “We escape.”
Brunswick and Pierce both looked at him in confusion.
“’Escape?’” Brunswick repeated.
Thornton put on his coat. “The planet. The end. I’ve got an experimental airframe waiting for us at LaGuardia. One that can go up to the highest altitude inside an Airbus Three Eighty. It’s got an upper door that can open up the entire length of the aircraft. Destroys the aerodynamic nature of the platform, of course, but it only takes twelve seconds for the second craft inside, the TH-Four, to deploy. The its rocket boosted to achieve orbit.” The words were pouring out of him. “It can hold twenty-two people and has considerable supplies. We’ll dock with the Space Station. We can live there.” Thornton smiled. “And before you argue, understand I’ve prepared more. Always more. I’ve got twenty-six resupply satellites in orbit that can be accessed. We can live on the Space Station for ten years. We’ll let this pass. Come back. Settle the planet. Start over.”
“A garden of Eden,” Pierce said.
“A new life,” Thornton said. He was at the door. “Are you coming? I’ve prepared for both of you. My helicopter is waiting on the roof.”
Pierce looked over at Brunswick. “I’m staying.”
Brunswick walked over to Thornton and stuck out his hand. “I wish you all the best. But I’m going to command the Final Option. I’m exercising our command protocol interdiction. It’s kept the world from World War Three since the Cuban Missile Crisis when Kennedy ceded to his generals and authorized launch and we stopped it. We stopped him, we stopped Khrushchev, and we stopped Putin. We’ll stop the Intruder by finally launching everything.”
The two men shook hands and Thornton was gone.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Pierce asked.
Brunswick shrugged. “He’ll make it to space. Perhaps. His TH-Four was never tested except in computer simulations. He thought he had time. We all thought we had time.”
The Mato Grasso
“They’ve got the river and the trail covered,” Gates reported. “Nine men. Perfect set up.”
“We’ll go around,” DiSalvo said.
Angelique shook her head. “You can move in the Mato Grasso via the river or animal trails. Through the jungle? No. We’ll never come out.” She looked up. “Not in time.”
“Then we kill them,” DiSalvo said. “Captain, you take—“
“No.” Gates sat cross-legged, his weapon across his lap.
“That is an order,” DiSalvo said. “We must—“
“No.” Gates repeated. He stood up, wearily, as if he carried a burden heavier than the lives of the men waiting in ambush or his own. He let the MP-5 drop to the ground, forgotten.
“They’re mercs. Paid to kill. They won’t die for cause.” Gates pointed up at the Intruder. “That’s got to have them spooked. It’s got everyone spooked.”
Lee frowned. “What are you proposing?”
“We talk,” Gates said. He walked forward along the path, hands raised to his shoulders.
DiSalvo looked at Angelique. “What have you done to him?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. He is finding his heart.”
Gates yelled: “You can shoot me, wipe us out, but you think it’s going to make any difference? You have any idea what’s going on? You can see that thing in the sky.”
He halted, right on the edge of the kill zone. He knew where it was because it was where he would have put it. Cover both path and river. Smart.
There was no sound from the jungle or anything else for a bit.
The voice came from the right front, where the center of the ambush would be. “So tell me, mate, what the bloody hell is going on?”
“I’ve got no clue,” Gates said. “But we’re going up-river to try to find some answers. Want to come with us?”
There was no answer.
Gates spoke. “We’re going up there to find Judas. Yeah, that Judas. He’s got something to do with this thing.” He pointed up. “Kill us here, and you might get your money, although, you know as well as I do, you can’t trust those rich bastards. But looks like money might not be worth much soon.”
“There’s bloody headhunters around here,” the voice said.
“Yeah,” Gates said. “Saw your mate. But I think they’re protecting the man we’re going to see. So even if you let us go, our heads might end up on a stake, too. Yours might, too. But we’re going. You want to shoot us, feel free. Probably save us a lot of trouble.”
Gate signaled for the others to follow. Angelique immediately got to her feet and walked up the trail. Lee looked at DiSalvo. The muscle on the side of the Jesuit’s face twitched, and then he pointed to the right of Lee, tapping the grenades on his own combat vest. Lee nodded.
The doctor crawled into the jungle.
Gates was in the kill zone. He looked over his shoulder an
d felt an inappropriate wave of relief that Angelique was following him. They’d kill him. Of that he had no doubt. They were mercenaries after all and they’d been paid to kill him. But watching her walk up the trail, he knew they wouldn’t kill her. No man with a soul would. She was dirty, hair butchered, dressed in filthy fatigues, but she was luminous. It was not sexual. It was Presence.
Lee pulled the pin on the grenade, three more lined up, ready to throw into the kill line.
He pulled back his arm, ready to throw.
But he couldn’t.
The images of all those bodies lying in hospital beds, their brains dead, their bodies kept alive by machines, flooded his mind. He’d kept them alive because he’d believed in their souls, but without the machines they’d have died.
The concept froze his muscles. But it shouldn’t have. He had control. But God--
The grenade went off.
Gates whirled. Angelique raised her arms, hands empty. DiSalvo came staggering along the trail, dazed, covered in blood.
“Lee,” DiSalvo said. “He—“ the priest just shook his head. The blood wasn’t his. It was Lee’s. There wasn’t much left of the doctor.
Gates looked to left. He was surprised the mercenaries hadn’t fired. There was no sound, and he realized they were leaving, running as fast as they could. Where to, probably even they didn’t know. But they were men of action and they were taking action.
“Come on,” Gates said, taking DiSalvo’s elbow with his hand. Angelique went on the other side.
They continued above the Devil’s Fork.
Abbottabad, Pakistan
Captain Martinez went to work, one warhead at a time, taking off a single maintenance plate on each one. They were all exactly the same model, which made his job that much easier. It took twelve minutes to remove all the plates.
In that time, three more claymores went off, which meant the Pakistanis were very close. And that they were moving forward without sending men to defuse the bombs first. They were pushing forward and taking the casualties to clear the mines. Much like boys and men had been sent out to clear the minefields with their bodies and lives during the Iran-Iraq War. A war between Muslims; the result of disagreements among the various sects. Much like the Catholics and Protestants. Christians and Muslims from the Crusades forward.
