The Chimera Vector

by Nathan M. Farrugia

  ‘Are you OK?’ Damien said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jay said. ‘Must’ve gotten too close.’

  He followed Damien carefully into the conference room. It had a high ceiling with six domed lights. It was like the Knights of the Round Table in here: everything was expensive oak and fancy black and white marble-tiled floors. It reminded him of a chess table. Two Blue Beret bodyguards lay in dark pools of their own blood, one on their immediate right, the other near the third man, who sat comfortably at the table with a glass of wine and a laptop. A pistol lay on the marble between the man and Jay’s trio.

  Damien closed the double doors behind them and secured them with two pairs of plasticuffs, which should stop anything short of a battering ram.

  Denton aimed his rifle at the man at the table. ‘Where are they?’

  The man lowered the glass of red from his mouth. ‘I know why you’ve come, Denton, but I’m sorry to say your sojourn may be in vain.’

  He moved the bottle so he could study his new guests. Jay peered closer at the bottle: Château Margaux. He moved forward so he was standing beside Denton.

  ‘Who is he?’ he asked.

  ‘The only six-star general in existence,’ Denton said. ‘Commander-in-Chief of the Fifth Column. And he was supposed to be in company.’

  The General laughed. ‘Do you really think I would be entertaining guests at this . . . volatile location? Especially men such as the Benefactors.’ He sipped his wine. ‘All in one place. That would be far too dangerous given the current circumstances.’

  Jay walked down the steps to the round table and raised his rifle at the General. ‘Here’s the deal. You tell us the truth and we’ll be on our way.’

  The General’s eyes, set in a lined, exhausted face, lingered on him. ‘I don’t deal in truth, young man. And I certainly don’t make deals with toy soldiers.’

  ‘But you deal in reality,’ Damien said, coming to stand beside Jay. ‘Reality is what you say it is, right?’

  The General’s lips grew taut. ‘If you like.’

  Jay shook his head. ‘There’s not a chance in hell you’ll be able to keep Project GATE secret. Not forever.’

  ‘And why is that?’ The General grinned, a fissure in his otherwise granite expression. ‘We developed the first atomic bomb in complete secrecy. Hundreds of thousands of employees, dozens of facilities, the equivalent of tens of billions of dollars. For Christ’s sake, son, if we can keep that a secret we can keep anything a secret.’

  ‘You miserable son of a bitch,’ Jay said. He felt anger boiling inside him, but didn’t want to give the General the satisfaction of seeing it. ‘What gives you the right?’

  The General exhaled. ‘We don’t need the right. We don’t need anything.’ He looked over at Denton, still standing near the double doors. ‘Not the brightest operative, is he?’

  Jay felt his fist close over. ‘I’m not an operative. That ship has sailed.’

  ‘No,’ the General said. ‘At this rate, you’ll likely be a dead one.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Jay said.

  ‘I speak from experience,’ the General said. ‘People like us run the world not just by chance but because we’re the only ones capable of doing it. We know your flaws. We know you better than you know yourselves. Our sense of honor compels us to take command, to guide the weak through times as dark as these. And our sense of humor compels us to enjoy it.’ He started to laugh.

  Jay leaned over the round table. He could smell the man’s cloying cologne. ‘The times are dark because you made them dark,’ he said.

  He turned to Denton, who seemed to be enjoying the show too much to say anything. ‘Aside from putting this sick bastard out of his misery, why did you really bring us here?’ Jay asked. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘You wanted to know about your past.’ Denton walked down the steps towards the table. ‘Perhaps you’d like to show the young man the debrief of his first operation?’

  The General didn’t say a word. He exhaled slowly, with disappointment, then pulled up the debrief on his laptop.

  Denton leveled his rifle at the General. ‘I want to see every keystroke.’

  The General sighed and turned the laptop screen so Denton could look over his shoulder at a twenty-feet distance. Once he was done, he shoved the laptop across the table. Denton picked it up and returned to Jay and Damien, placing the laptop before them. The screen displayed a list of files—records from Project GATE.

  Jay recognized them as a complete list of his operations. This’ll be interesting, he thought. He scrolled down to the first operation and opened it.

  OPERATIVE 0134: JAY CARDOSO

  OPERATION PACIFICADOR

  DATE: 1995–12–29

  TARGET/S: ASSASSINATION JESUINO CARDOSO; MARCELA CARDOSO

  OPERATION NOTES: FRAME ASSASSINATION TO APPEAR AS BOPE RAID

  EQUIPMENT: x1 IMBEL 9X19 PARABELLUM DESIGNATED M973

  OUTCOME: SUCCESSFUL. OPERATIVE 0134 PROMOTED FROM RECRUIT TO OPERATIVE STATUS

  Jay could feel his fingers shaking. His chest trembled as he breathed. He wanted to take that bottle of wine and punch the end of it through the General’s windpipe. He didn’t know how long he could suppress the urge to drive the cartilage from the General’s nose right into that twisted brain of his.

  Instead of shooting the General in the face, he retreated, sat down on the cold marble floor, head between his legs, fingernails digging into his scalp.

  ‘Is this some sort of sick joke?’ he said.

  ‘Every operative’s first operation is to kill their parents,’ the General said. ‘It’s the only reliable way to test your programming.’

  Jay forced himself to stand. He locked gazes with the General.

  The General turned to Denton. ‘And why are you here? Surely not just to put these grunts out of their misery.’

  ‘You’re a liability, General,’ Denton said. ‘And you’re getting sloppy. Two years ago, I would never have caught you here with so few soldiers to ensure your security. Of course, you’re probably going to tell me you wanted me to make it this far so you could entrap me.’

  ‘So you say.’ The General leaned back in his chair, hands clasped.

  ‘And that probably would’ve worked too. But I’m not the only one gunning for you, General.’ Denton smiled. ‘Cecilia McLoughlin has plans for you also.’

  The General appeared mildly surprised. ‘So she’s alive. Interesting.’

  ‘Cecilia and I don’t agree on much,’ Denton said. ‘But what we do agree on is that your decisions are irrational and your tactics are far from subtle. You’ve had me create as many terrorist groups as there are terrorist acts; you’ve ordered me to kill bin Laden four times. I’m pretty sure no one believed the last one. You’re desperate, dysfunctional and you need to be removed.’

  ‘The Benefactors will not look kindly upon your transgression,’ the General said.

  ‘What about me?’ Jay squeezed the trigger on his M4 carbine and blew the General’s brains across the marble floor.

  ‘Job well done, Jay,’ Denton said. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Like I’ve been hit by a truck.’

  ‘That’s the truth for you.’

  Denton pulled out a knife, walked over to the General’s body and cut off a finger.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jay said.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Denton said.

  Damien looked up from his own records on the laptop. ‘So that’s it then? You brought us here to show us how we killed our own parents.’

  ‘You wanted the truth,’ Denton said. ‘I owed you that much.’

  ‘You owe us nothing,’ Jay said.

  Denton pocketed the severed finger and walked up the steps towards the double doors.

  ‘Where the fuck are you going?’ Jay realized he was shouting.

  Denton paused at the doors. ‘If you boys want to stay alive, I suggest you hurry along.’

  Chapter Fifty-One

&
nbsp; Benito had been stowed inside a Chinook with Nasira, to be shipped to God knows where for God knew what. The last he saw of Sophia was a hood and earmuffs being thrown on her as she was hauled into the back of a separate helicopter. Smoke choked his nostrils. He couldn’t see because of the blindfold, but it sounded like he was in the middle of a war zone.

  He felt warm blood slide down his neck. It smelled coppery. Someone collapsed on top of him, knocking his blindfold off one eye. One of the Blue Berets. He reached for the man’s weapon, a compact little submachine gun. He didn’t know how to use it but he held it tight for now.

  He pulled away from the dead soldier. The Chinook was on its side. Its tail had destroyed a section of chain-link fence that was mounted in concrete barriers. Benito saw movement on the left edge of his vision. He lined up the submachine gun to fire, then recognized Nasira staggering towards him.

  She unsheathed a knife from the fallen Blue Beret and severed her plasticuffs, then moved to cut his, noticing that he was holding the submachine gun. At precisely the same moment, he noticed something as well. Off to his right. Someone else with a submachine gun. Adrenaline gushed through him. He pointed his weapon and punched the trigger. It bucked in his hand, kicking rounds high into the Chinook’s spine.

  Nasira pushed his weapon down. He peered through cloudy vision. A body convulsed on the sidewalk outside, stomach glistening. Black fatigues, helmet. Blurs of people rushed past the body, screaming and yelling.

  He turned to Nasira, offering her the submachine gun. Clearly, she’d do better with it than he would. She took it carefully, motioned for him to stay low as she moved outside.

  Benito dropped down just as a round cracked over his shoulder. It sounded like someone was attacking him with a whip. At least he wasn’t deaf.

  They were in the middle of a war zone. Soldiers in pale blue helmets shuffled together in bursts of movement while men and women threw rocks and bottles at the soldiers. What the hell was going on?

  Nasira got his attention, pointed for him to follow her along the Chinook and between a crashed helicopter and crumpled gates. He did exactly as he was told, his legs jittery and his heart thumping in his ears. Out on the street, protesters were fighting police officers. He looked up at the shiny buildings that reached into the sky and realized the Chinook had brought them to New York of all places. That explained the extended flight time.

  ‘Where’s Sophia?’ he yelled at Nasira.

  ‘Back! Back!’ she shouted, pulling him in beside the toppled Chinook.

  The soldiers in blue helmets had retreated further, pushed back by protesters. He could see some of the civilians were armed with pistols. They were firing them at the soldiers. One of the protesters was lying on the ground holding his stomach. A pool of blood gathered around him. Benito wanted to throw up. But Nasira pushed him through a gap in the protesters and between some white Land Cruisers and a tank-like vehicle.

  Benito heard helicopter blades and looked up. Four of them.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he said.

  Nasira opened the driver’s door to a Land Cruiser and hauled herself inside. ‘Get in.’

  ***

  Damien stepped into Security Control. A silent army of computer screens flashed angrily at him over crumpled bodies. He looked down to see sixteen operators lying curled into themselves on the gray PVC floor. He checked a pulse. Nothing.

  Denton pushed past him, a mix of sweat and blood covering his bare arms. He was still carrying the General’s finger, which he’d used to gain access to the Security Control room. ‘They weren’t shot,’ he said.

  He stopped at a workstation, his attention flickering between the fifteen-foot wide screen and Damien. ‘You look like a stunned mullet,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling off?’

  Damien noticed Denton slip his UFO-shaped grenade into his hip pocket. He made a point to keep an eye on that grenade.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Except for the fact I volunteered to kill my parents, thanks to your programming. Everything’s good.’

  Denton looked as if he was about to roll his eyes but couldn’t be bothered. ‘You can keep blaming everyone else for what happened,’ he said. ‘Or you can take responsibility and actually do something.’

  Damien squared off against him. ‘Why should I take responsibility? It’s not my responsibility to take.’ He kept his voice low. ‘Don’t try to manipulate me. We’re done here.’

  Denton didn’t even blink. ‘I’m just trying to help you.’

  ‘Here’s hoping we don’t cross paths again,’ Damien said.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ Jay said.

  He was pointing to a large screen tiled with live camera feeds. There was one part of the level that had caught his attention. Damien noticed it too. Among all the dead bodies, someone was still alive.

  ‘There! Again!’ Jay thrust a finger towards it, but as soon as he did, another feed replaced it.

  With a few keystrokes, Denton brought the feed back for him, making it full-screen. ‘This one?’

  Jay nodded, but didn’t say a word.

  Damien stepped closer to check it out. It looked like some sort of solitary confinement chamber. Inside, there was a restroom and a bench with a finger-thin mattress. Sitting against the wall was a young woman in gray pajamas with a black hood over her head. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She was alive. Barely. There was a fresh dressing wrapped tightly over her left shoulder.

  Denton shrugged. ‘I guess Sophia wasn’t so lucky.’

  Jay sneezed, almost blasting Damien’s eardrums.

  Denton glared at him. ‘That is not normal.’

  ‘That cell,’ Damien said. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘High-level containment.’ Denton leaned against a body slumped over an office chair. ‘It’s a short-term prison, mostly for interrogations.’

  ‘You mean torture,’ Damien said.

  ‘No, we outsource that.’ Denton pulled an old tooth from his mouth. ‘Hey, look at that. New tooth.’

  ‘How do I get to that cell?’ Damien asked.

  Sophia was now crawling to her knees.

  Denton seized Damien’s shoulder. His grip almost made Damien shiver. ‘You can’t. Use your head, Damien. It’s a trap.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Jay said. ‘You just don’t want us to rescue her.’

  ‘No,’ Denton said. ‘You don’t get to where I am without developing an incredible sense of self-preservation. And a fuck-load of paranoia.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’m going to get her,’ Damien said. ‘You can do what you like.’

  Denton stood in front of him. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. It has to be some kind of trap.’

  ‘What if Denton’s right?’ Jay said. ‘Not trying to play Devil’s advocate or anything.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Denton said.

  ‘I have,’ Damien said.

  Denton spoke through clenched teeth. ‘She doesn’t care about you, Damien.’

  ‘You’re not exactly the world’s biggest expert on caring!’ Damien walked past him, for the door. ‘I’ll find my own way there. Jay?’

  ‘Sophia was using you, Jay. To get what she wanted,’ Denton said. ‘What did she ever do to help you?’

  Damien paused in the doorway, waiting for Jay’s response.

  ‘She saved Damien’s life,’ he said.

  ‘Fine.’ Denton wagged the severed finger as though it were his own. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take you there.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Jay hadn’t said a word since leaving Security Control. Damien was a few paces ahead, following Denton, with his damp singlet and sweat-beaded arms, across the polished concrete floor of the strangely donut-shaped corridor. He was starting to realize how unfulfilling it was to know the truth about his past. It didn’t fill any magic gap. It seemed like nothing could fill that gap now. Nasira was right. This changed nothing. He would be empty forever.

  He stumbled; shot a hand out against a cell door, leaned against
it. He’d killed Nasira. She’d let him live, helped him stay alive, and he’d just killed her. It wasn’t poetic or heartbreaking or devastating or any of that shit. He’d fucked up and she’d wound up dead.

  Peering through the tiny square window in the cell door, Jay saw a prisoner curled up on his bed. He wasn’t breathing. They were all dead here too.

  Jay pulled away. He looked ahead to find Denton had drawn to a halt. He ran to catch up.

  They were standing before a cell door made of extremely thick metal. It reminded him of the blast doors at the Desecheo Island facility. Denton pressed the pad of the General’s severed finger against the fingerprint scanner on the control panel mounted on the door.

  ‘What a pleasant surprise,’ a woman said.

  Jay turned to find Cecilia McLoughlin standing fifty feet behind him, at the west end of the donut-shaped corridor. On either side of her, a dozen armed Elohim adorned with pale blue UN helmets. They advanced towards Jay’s trio; aimed their PEP rifles at Denton.

  ‘We’re not loyal to the Fifth Column any longer,’ Damien said.

  McLoughlin shrugged. ‘That’s inconsequential.’

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Jay asked.

  ‘Security personnel are dead. And I bypassed the electronic security using the same computer virus I gave you for Desecheo Island.’

  ‘You came to rescue Sophia?’ Damien said.

  McLoughlin smiled. ‘Actually, I’m the reason she’s here to begin with.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Damien said. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘Ring a ring o’roses, a pocketful of posies,’ McLoughlin said. ‘A-tishoo, a-tishoo—’

  ‘We all fall down,’ Denton said.

  Jay looked at Denton. ‘What does that mean?’

  The ceiling lights cast shards of darkness over Denton’s face. ‘It’s a nursery rhyme. I believe it’s a reference to the Black Death.’

  ‘Most probably,’ McLoughlin said. ‘One of the most devastating pandemics in human history. Wiped out around 75 million. Which, at the time, was about half the population of Europe.’