Splinter Self

by S L Shelton

  “When?” I asked.

  “Now.”

  “But you haven’t told me why you had Seifert give me a sedati—”

  It felt like my head would explode. Wave upon wave of searing pain crashed down on every sense I possessed, and even a few I didn’t know I had.

  My nerve endings were on fire with information as it streamed and coursed through me. It seemed like the assault went on for hours though honestly, I had no concept of time while the information streamed into my head. For all I knew it was seconds—or months.

  When I opened my eyes next, I was lying in the sand on the dark beach in Cayman Brac. Wolf stood at the water’s edge looking down at me.

  I couldn’t focus on anything except the cascade of information, burning its new home in my skull.

  “The sedative,” Wolf said, standing over me with pity in his eyes. “Well, the thing is you’d be awake if it weren’t for that sedative…and that’s not convenient to me.”

  “Convenient?!” I screamed, writhing in agony, my hands pressed to my head as if that were the only thing keeping my brain from pouring out of my ears.

  “Yeah. You’ve got a lot of work to do, and I don’t have time to babysit…Seifert and I have an Op to run.” He grinned at me. “Besides, you’re the emotional one. I hate long good-byes.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in my new hell.

  **

  WOLF opened his eyes and turned to Seifert. “How long ago did you give me the shot?”

  Seifert looked at his watch then back out the window. “About ten minutes.”

  From their vantage point off the Strada Panoramica Adriatica, a scenic road on the cliffs just north of Pesaro, Italy, overlooking the Adriatic Sea, they watched Loukis’s villa on the next ridge. A shallow, heavily-treed gorge separated them from their target.

  With the vehicle pulled off the road below traffic, they were protected from passersby and casual observation. Their biggest challenge would be getting back to the vehicle with Loukis. If he were to be an unwilling capture, the hike back down the gorge carrying him would severely hamper their escape.

  “How many outside sentries did you count?”

  “Three,” Seifert replied, making a note on a small pad strapped to his thigh. “There were two people moving in the kitchen a little while ago before the lights went out.”

  “That falls in line with what I saw at BeauLac’s estate. If they’re playing it smart, the day shift will be on-site, sleeping.”

  Seifert scoffed through his nose. “Great. So, we have to be quiet until we find them.”

  Wolf nodded. This Op would be best executed with nine men. With ten or more possible guards, one or more targets, only one clean path in, four rough ones, and an unknown level of surveillance, this would have been perfect for two SEAL squads. But very much like using substitutions in a recipe, the ingredients can be replaced to arrive at the desired end product. Wolf’s two-man alternate plan would require more silence on the front-end, and more explosives on the back end, finishing the dish with a blast of heat.

  “Okay. I’m ready,” Seifert said, turning off his night vision and closing the pad.

  “Good. Let’s go get Pietr Loukis.”

  As he got out of the vehicle, Seifert paused and looked at him. “Who am I?”

  Wolf smiled. “Seifert, Majesty, Queen of SEAL team nine.”

  Seifert nodded and grinned. “Just making sure.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it anymore. But you have another syringe just in case.”

  Seifert patted the breast pocket of his tactical vest. “Just in case.”

  As memories and plans slowly filtered across Wolf’s mind, relocating through Scott’s efforts, he kept careful accounting of their new locations. Unlike Wolf’s organized thought process, Scott’s memory flood populated portions of Scott’s brain in random blocks—as any normal human mind would.

  Like watching the progress bar on a system-wide backup, the process was slow, ticking across in small increments. Wolf was careful not to touch those memories in their new locations, fearful that Ambux would identify the connection as foreign and slate them for erasure.

  “Is the EMP fully charged?” Wolf asked as he pulled the side straps tight on his body armor. He wasn’t taking a chance on security cameras like he had with BeauLac.

  Seifert lifted the lid of the small device, carefully, nervously. He looked at the readout on the lid and shook his head. “We lost four percent on the trip here.”

  “That’s fine,” Wolf replied, slipping extra magazines in his ammo pouches. “We’d be okay with an eighty percent charge.”

  Seifert nodded, grumbling something unintelligible as he closed the lid. After latching the cover, he adjusted his own body armor and walked over to Wolf. “Plate me.”

  He turned and Wolf pulled four carbon fiber/alloy hybrid plates from a duffel bag, two wide ones, and two thinner ones. Wolf handed one of the wide plates to Seifert then slid the other into a slot on the back of Seifert’s armor. When the two smaller pieces slid into place, Wolf turned and let Seifert do the same to him.

  “Now, you’re sure about these plates?”

  Wolf nodded for several seconds before answering. “No.”

  “Well, as long as they’re heavy and have no guarantee of working, I guess we’ll be fine.”

  “It’s the best I could do on short notice. I didn’t have a supply of armor-piercing rounds to test them with.”

  Seifert shrugged. “A head shot would make it a moot point anyway.”

  “And there’s that.”

  Seifert pushed hard on the plate to get it in place, then sealed the Velcro at the top of the opening. He gave it a solid punch when he was done. “Okay. All set.”

  Balaclavas were donned and M4’s snapped to their hooks on their weapon straps. As Seifert closed the tailgate of the Mercedes, Wolf stared at him.

  “What?” Seifert asked when he shouldered his pack and saw Wolf watching him.

  Wolf hesitated a second before answering. “There’s a good chance we’ll see Jaggers there.”

  Seifert jutted his chin. “Shit happens.”

  “True, but if there are, you move aside and let me take care of them.”

  “That’s mighty noble of you, but I think I can handle—”

  “No. You can’t,” Wolf snapped. “These guys have reflexes and training like mine. Unless you’ve suddenly developed superpowers and feel comfortable going one on two with someone like me, you’ll move aside and let me handle them.”

  Seifert stared at Wolf for a moment, poised on the edge of speaking. “You’re like them, aren’t you?”

  Wolf shook his head. “No.”

  Seifert rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but Wolf interrupted. “I’m better than they are.”

  Seifert closed his mouth and nodded thoughtfully before stepping away from the truck.

  “…under ideal circumstances,” Wolf muttered after Seifert walked out of earshot.

  They crossed silently over the edge of the secluded parking area and made their way down the wooded ravine. Despite carrying multiple weapons and as much as twenty pounds of explosives each, their movement remained silent—no clicks of straps against rifle stocks, no clinking of ammo in their pouches, and no scuffs of dirt from their boots. Even the night creatures in the trees above seemed oblivious to their passing, pouring out the droning symphony of chirps, clicks, and whistles as they would on any night. If birds, frogs, and crickets suddenly fell silent, it would be because someone else had disturbed them.

  Communicating only with hand signals, they positioned themselves beneath the terrace wall once arriving on the property. The steep hill that led up to the terrace left little room to stand and next to nothing for maneuvering, but Seifert had to get his footing before they could begin. The big SEAL adjusted himself to align with one of the sentries. Wolf held his fingers apart and Seifert moved slightly further, unable to see t
he first guard from his position.

  There they waited until the sentry’s radio cracked to life in a low whisper. “Alpha, Check.”

  Over the radio came the reply. “Check, Alpha.”

  “Bravo, check.”

  And again, the reply from elsewhere on the property, “Check, Bravo.”

  In a moment, all positions had checked in. The radio went silent after that—five active sentries, just like on BeauLac’s estate.

  Seifert raised his hand, signaling five, then pointed at his sentry and swept his finger across his throat, signaling he was ready.

  Wolf nodded and Seifert braced himself, raising his arms in the air. With little more sound than that of a night bug flying through the air, Wolf threw a narrow blade, striking the sentry in the neck. As he fell sideways over the low terrace wall, Seifert caught him on his outstretched hands, then lowered the twitching body to the ground on the other side of the wall. He pressed a gloved hand over the man’s mouth to stop the last of his bubbling breath, stabbing him once more in the throat to speed his demise.

  When the man was still, Seifert gave Wolf the thumbs-up.

  Wolf looked over the wall then back to Seifert, nodding confirmation that they hadn’t been heard. With that, they poured themselves over the terrace wall like black liquid, vanishing in the shadows of the ornamental garden.

  On their bellies they crawled, Seifert to the east around the central fountain in the courtyard, Wolf to the north. When Wolf was close enough to see the second guard’s face in silhouette against the glow of lights in the neighboring town, he tensed to pounce.

  As he slipped a throwing blade from its sheath, the radio cracked to life.

  “Alpha, Check.”

  Over the radio came the reply. “Check, Alpha.”

  “Bravo, check.”

  And again, the reply from elsewhere on the property, “Check, Bravo.”

  “Charlie, check.”

  “Check, Charlie,” came the reply.

  “Delta, check.”

  This would be problematic. The dead sentry was “Delta”. Wolf tensed to pounce with the intent to answer the radio call himself.

  “Delta, check in.”

  As Wolf prepared to strike, blade curled in his fingers, the sentry in front of him turned and peered into the darkness in the direction of the dead sentry. Wolf’s boot dug into the soft sod, about to spring when the radio cracked to life. “Check.”

  Wolf relaxed. Seifert had taken the dead sentry’s radio.

  “Echo, check.”

  The sentry turned his back and clicked the mic on his shoulder.

  “Check, Echo.”

  Wolf started his silent thirty-minute count; the amount of time between radio check-ins. When the guard’s hand fell, Wolf launched forward and sunk the knife upward at the base of his skull, wrapping a gloved hand around the man’s mouth as he lowered him to the ground.

  He slipped the radio from the twitching guard’s vest and unclipped the mic. After tucking it into his vest, he looked across the grounds for Seifert. Wolf spotted him near the driveway.

  He tossed a chunk of mulch from the garden to get his attention. Once he had it, he signaled confirmation on the thirty-minute radio check cycle and pointed out the cameras on the approach to the front of the house. Seifert signaled back that he understood and proceeded around to the front of the villa on his belly.

  Wolf watched as he disappeared around the corner, staying close the ground, nestled in the prickly hedge against the house. He counted silently as he followed, agonizingly slow minutes ticking away in a sundial paced rush to disable the third outside sentry before the next radio check.

  On the corner, Wolf flipped his night vision from starlight to infrared to detect the cameras on that side. Spotting, then mentally mapping his path around them, he watched as Seifert closed in on the lone guard. Seifert had approached to within five feet when the front door opened and someone stepped out. Seifert froze as the other guard turned to see.

  The fresh-faced young woman on the porch lit a cigarette and then waved the other guard over. When he moved, his foot came within half a boot’s width from Seifert’s nose. Wolf tensed, prepared to strike if the guard looked as if he even might look down.

  Seifert looked at Wolf over his shoulder as the guard passed and held his fist tight, signaling Wolf to hold. But Wolf didn’t respond, instead watching the woman. She was either day shift, having not been heard over the radio during check-in, or she was something else. The ‘something else’ worried him.

  The two sentries made it clear by their paranoid avoidance of the cameras and stealthy movements that this was to be a romantic interlude—a hormone driven respite—a coital coffee break. Wolf kept his gaze locked on the woman as the pair walked to a small stone garden shed to the side of the villa.

  Wolf’s internal count for the radio check-ins hit zero, and a moment later, their radios cracked to life.

  “Alpha, Check.”

  “Check, Alpha,” came the reply and the two love birds stopped their forward movement.

  “Bravo, check.”

  “Check, Bravo.”

  The woman turned and looked toward the front of the house, peering into the darkness.

  “Charlie, check.”

  As the male sentry raised his hand to click on his mic, the woman took two determined steps toward Seifert.

  “Check, Charlie,” the man said, and the woman pulled her weapon from its holster.

  Wolf glanced at Seifert and watched him pull his weapon as well. His weapon, unlike the woman’s, was suppressed. If she saw fit to fire first, they would lose any semblance of stealth entry.

  “Delta, check.”

  Seifert wouldn’t be able to respond with the black-clad female soldier nearing him. Wolf had no choice but to answer.

  He squeezed the mic button. “Check.”

  The woman stopped and looked toward Wolf, and worse, ‘Charlie’ now seemed interested in the corner in which Wolf hid. He turned the radio off and withdrew his silenced SIG 226, identical to Seifert’s.

  “Echo, check.”

  As the woman moved, Wolf realized her gait was significantly more precise than that of her male counterpart. There remained little doubt in Wolf’s mind that she was a Jagger.

  She stepped up to the edge of the prickly hedge, pointing her pistol in Wolf’s general vicinity. Wolf aimed at the woman’s head.

  “Echo, check in.”

  Seifert would have to answer—but that’s not what happened.

  In a rush, Seifert leapt to his feet and charged the woman. She spun with an agility and speed that removed any lingering doubt she was a Jagger. To Seifert’s credit, he covered the ground required to reach her before her weapon was leveled at him, then relieved her of that weapon in a brutal hand trap.

  The sentry who had been preparing to boink her lifted his rifle, his moves suddenly seeming hyper-precise as well.

  Are they all Jaggers?

  Wolf stood and took aim at the man across his chest, opening a neat, dark hole in the man’s face as he rushed to aid Seifert.

  Meanwhile, the female had turned the tables on Seifert, turning his hand trap into an arm wrenching reversal. Her hand shot above her head, a knife clutched in her fist, prepared to plunge it in Seifert’s face.

  “Damn it, Echo. Check in,” the radio cracked.

  Before the arc of the female Jagger’s arm could complete its fall, Wolf reached around her and bound her arm in the crook of his own, locking his palm on the back of her neck from behind.

  Seifert jumped up and put his hand over her mouth as Wolf slipped his blade free from its sheath and jabbed it up beneath her ear and into her brain. She spasmed once before falling limp.

  Seifert squeezed the mic with his free hand. “I was takin’ a piss,” he said in a coarse whisper. “Check, Echo.”

  “Roger,” came the reply.

  Seifert breathed out a tense breath. “Thanks.”

  “She’s Jagger,” Wo
lf whispered. “Our sentries aren’t alone here.”

  Seifert nodded.

  After dragging the two bodies into the bushes, they stood on opposite sides of the front door, just outside the glow of infrared lighting from the camera. Wolf pulled the lunch box from his pack and opened the lid. After arming the device, he nodded to Seifert who reached around and unlatched the door. As it opened, Wolf stepped through like he belonged there, his weapon held at his thigh.

  Seeing no one, he gently laid the box on the floor in the front room, then exited. Once he passed through the door, Seifert curled himself away from the door and Wolf hit the remote trigger. For a brief instant, every light inside and outside the house flashed before bursting into fountains of sparks.

  Not waiting for the sparks to subside, they both turned back in the house, rifles raised high. At first, it seemed no one would greet them, then two men, both armed, rounded the corner looking confused. One suppressed shot each from Wolf’s and Seifert’s weapons dropped them where they stood.

  They swept their rifles from side to side seeking additional targets, but found none.

  “This feels wrong,” Seifert said.

  “I agree.”

  They moved quietly from room to room, clearing each as they went. Toward the back of the villa, someone moaned weakly through a gurgling throat. Wolf peered in, tipping his head around the corner then jerking it back. A man lay on the floor in front of a now dead surveillance station. A small fire and smoke left a hazy glow around the equipment as they both turned into the room. The man held his face in his hands, smoldering. The EMP surge had caused some of the equipment to explode in the man’s face.

  Seifert looked at Wolf. “What’s going on? Where’s the resistance?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find Loukis and get out of here.”

  They left the man rolling in his agony, moving back through the main foyer and into the residence. Each room they peered in lay empty, doors open. At the end of the hall, a double-wide door stood slightly ajar. Wolf moved forward and pushed it open with the barrel of his rifle.

  Inside, Pietr Loukis sat, bloodied and limp, hands bound behind him.