Codename: Bear: Secret Agent (Codename Universe Book 1)

by Geoffrey C Porter

Bad news? Like Nancy ever had good news.

  "Centurian hit a prison in Central America," she said. "He added over five hundred soldiers to his army."

  "So we're officially outnumbered?"

  "Yes, and drug sales are filling his coffers like never before."

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nancy said, "I have more."

  My mouth kind of dropped open at that point, and I looked deep into her eyes.

  "Your team is going to be transporting Pumpkin Spice by car back to our headquarters in Arizona." She wasn't laughing hysterically or dancing around clapping her hands or anything, so I figured she must be serious.

  "Heavy weapons?" I asked.

  "Pistols… And grenades. Archangel will have a rifle, but it must be stored in his trunk."

  Grenades, at least we're getting grenades. "When do we leave?" I asked.

  "Tomorrow, early. You need to leave before dawn to avoid Miami traffic."

  We decided on two vehicles. My Toyota (which in fact was Chor'Tan made), and Thomas's truck. DogSeven wanted to ride with me. Everybody else piled in with Thomas and Pumpkin Spice. We drove into the afternoon.

  Thomas radioed me, "Next rest area. Fat boy needs to go."

  "Don't call me fat boy!" Pumpkin Spice said.

  We pulled into the rest area. There was a lot of open space, and I wanted to take a walk. Archangel went into the bathroom with fat boy. Zen was getting a snack out of the vending machines. Thomas lit up a joint, but it was in the smoking area, so I didn't say anything. Smoking that shit on the clock was not a good idea. Zen, Thomas, DogSeven, Enigma, and I were sitting at a picnic table, when DogSeven pointed and his mouth started opening and closing like he was trying to speak. We turned and looked.

  My heart stopped. There was a semi-truck blocking our vehicles in, and armed men were walking from behind it in our direction. Scruffy looking armed men, some of which still had prison uniforms on. A couple of them raised guns and fired at us. They were easily three hundred meters away, so they didn't hit anything. We ducked behind the picnic table and tried to flip it over. It was bolted down. Pumpkin Spice and Archangel stepped out of the facilities. Archangel said, "Shit!"

  Pumpkin Spice laughed. The men with guns weren't in a big hurry, but they kept on shooting rounds at us. They'd hit the ground or the picnic table. A couple of them had Squad Automatic Weapons (SAW), and those will shoot 300 meters. I counted how many we faced. Easily 25. DogSeven fired off an entire clip in their direction. He got one hit. Still, it made me feel better. A huge waste of ammo. The grimy men started running at us. Even though they were still too far away, we squeezed off round after round. Enigma screamed, "I'm hit!" I looked, and there was blood on her stomach. The bad guys shot a civilian who was just stepping out of the facilities.

  I said, "Zen!"

  "I got it!" Enigma shouted.

  I holstered my pistol and pulled out my two grenades. I threw the fragmentation grenade as hard as I could at the running men. They obviously had never trained at both running and firing, but their 9mm rounds hurt bad, but didn't punch through our armor. A head shot would do us in though. My grenade went boom, and I tossed the other one as hard as I could. Thomas threw a grenade next. Another civilian got cut down. Thomas shouted, "Where's Pumpkin Spice?"

  He was gone. Archangel said, "Later! He must have ran!"

  Thomas greased the last two men trying to kill us. Enigma said, "I need an ambulance."

  Thomas and Archangel chased after Pumpkin Spice. I went to the car and radioed for the locals. Zen was holding onto Enigma's hand. DogSeven was checking on the wounded civilians. I asked for every ambulance they could spare. Archangel and Thomas returned pushing a sweat covered fat boy in front of them. I snarled. "How did they find us?"

  DogSeven said, "Rat in the Agency."

  Zen took off her jacket and covered Enigma. "Bullshit!"

  "Nobody at the Agency even knew our route," Thomas said. "We're two hundred kilometers north of where we should be, if we were taking the shortest path."

  I slammed the door of my car closed and walked up to fat boy. This man most likely rigged the explosives that killed RedCat. He deserved to know pain and blood, like my friend. I wanted to hit him so bad. Instead, I spoke the words, "He's got a GPS transmitter in his body."

  Fat boy giggled like a school girl.

  Zen pulled a knife. "Let's look for scars and cut it out of him right now."

  Enigma tried to sit up. "That's an idea. I don't like getting shot."

  Pumpkin Spice stopped giggling.

  "There's an Agency building not far from here," Thomas said. "We could be there in two to three hours." Three ambulances pulled up with flashing lights. So did three state troopers. Thomas said, "I'll deal with the troopers."

  He approached them and said something. I couldn't hear. The paramedics advanced with gurneys. Enigma and the other wounded they hauled off. Thomas and the troopers walked towards us. "Let's get that truck moved and get out of here," Thomas said.

  I had been trained to drive big rigs in a class I always thought would be useless. It was off, and the keys were in the ignition. Then I paused. This is a Centurian truck. I popped the hood. There was a wire that had no business being there. I followed it one way to the truck's starter and an integrated circuit of some kind. Tracing it to the back of the truck, I found a case of C-4. If I had tried to start that truck, boom. I disconnected the explosives at the starter and cut the fuse wire. We gave the C-4 to the local bomb squad, then moved the rig out of the way.

  We drove fast after that. One hour and fifty-seven minutes later, we pulled into the Agency garage and collectively let out a held in breath. Pumpkin Spice ended up in a cell. They had quarters for us. We got word that Enigma made it through surgery no problem.

  The technicians said Pumpkin Spice was broadcasting on three separate radio frequencies, and the devices would have to be surgically removed.

  I woke up twice in the night. Each time to a vision of Enigma bleeding out, dying.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I stepped into the hallway in the morning. The others were waiting on me. DogSeven said, "Good morning, sleepyhead!"

  My fists clenched and punched him in the mouth. No, I ignored his childish remark. Zen said, "Breakfast isn't until eight."

  I looked at my watch. Seven. I went to the showers and took a long respite. Stepping back in the hallway, I couldn't help but notice those stinky bastards were still just standing around. Thomas said, "I like to shower after I run."

  "I don't even like showering alone," Zen said.

  "I'd shower with you," DogSeven said with a grin. She did punch him on the mouth and hard enough to send him sprawling onto the floor. He looked like he wanted to run when he got up.

  "Don't do that again," Thomas said. He turned to DogSeven. "If you want to file charges."

  DogSeven shifted his jaw left and right. "No. I said the wrong thing."

  "Damn straight," Zen said.

  Archangel started walking away, down the hallway. "Food."

  We got to the cafeteria. They had a row of freezers with glass doors. Inside were frozen meals. Another wall had a row of microwaves. Thomas stepped up to a door first and pulled out two boxes. "Read the instructions on each one. Grab two meals. One won't be enough."

  "Frozen dinners?" Zen asked.

  "We're lucky they had rooms for us. This is a small facility, with only about ten regular employees. The holding cell Pumpkin Spice is in is the only cell they have."

  "Are we safe here?" DogSeven asked.

  "They have remote controlled machine gun nests on the only entranceways. I think, if Centurian tries for us here, it'll be a slaughter."

  I started looking over the options in the freezer. Chicken pot pie. Beef with noodles and gravy. Frozen fruit. Mixed vegetables. Black beans and rice. The frozen fruit ended up in my right with the black beans and rice in my left. Commandeering two separate microwaves, in went the meals. I
wasn't paying attention to what the others were eating.

  After the food, we went running for an hour. I wanted to shower again, but there were only two male shower stalls. I figured if I joined Zen in the female facility her response would be totally random. Might turn out good, might turn out bad. I was a little horny. It had been days after all.

  In the end, I did get a short shower in, but the hot water ran out before I finished. They didn't have a pool. I went in my room to maybe check up on my classes. Email from Nancy, "Conference room."

  That was on the main floor. I went down two flights of stairs, and there was the gang. Minus Enigma. We went in the auditorium, and a life size 3D image of Nancy appeared.

  She did a quick headcount then spoke. "Enigma claims she is ready to rejoin your troop, but I have insisted on at least a week's rest." I smiled. I liked Enigma. "I don't think you're safe there. Centurian could assault it."

  She paused to let all that sink in. Not safe in an Agency stronghold?

  "Cut the devices out of Pumpkin Spice and move him," Thomas said.

  "That's a problem," she said. "One of the devices is a pacemaker. We have to bring in a specialist to replace it. The second machine is an insulin pump. The final construct is wired directly to his cerebral cortex. We're not sure if we can remove it without killing him."

  "What kind of technology is this?" Zen asked.

  "Razdoran. By our interpretation of Interstellar Law, they're breaking it, but we can't prove they provided the devices, and it could be any number of other alien species. Our Chor'Tan contacts swear they're Razdoran."

  "Give him the truth serum now," I said. "Torture him. Something, but do it now, then kill him."

  "You're so fucking cold," DogSeven said.

  "I truly believe it was his bomb that killed RedCat. Put me in a room with him alone. I'll get answers from him."

  "You'd kill him," Nancy said. "You can kill a man with one or two punches, and Pumpkin Spice isn't in the best of health."

  I turned away from them and whispered, "I was going to use a knife, pliers, and a blowtorch."

  Nancy raised her voice for the first time ever. "Which would likely kill him!"

  "One less turd in the world."

  "Something is wrong with you, Bear," Thomas said.

  "He needs counseling," Nancy said. "Have you been dreaming again, Bear?"

  What had I been saying? What had I been thinking? Losing my humanity, crossed into my mind. Missing my Ussilla. Hell, missing RedCat. "I'm sorry. I said the wrong thing. I shouldn't have even had those thoughts. I said the wrong things."

  "When this mission is up, all of you will be seeing counselors. We've put too much pressure on your troop. You're still students. You haven't even graduated, but on your fourth mission."

  "They're tough bastards," Thomas said. "We can handle it. Now what are we going to do about Pumpkin Spice?"

  A map appeared next to Nancy. "The only facility we have that can hold him is Fort Leavenworth in Kansas. There are two Agency facilities between here and there. Our best guess is to do a high speed run to get him there. Police escort with flashing lights and helicopter support the whole way."

  Archangel said, "Why not fly him there?"

  "Driving him there will be more fun," Zen said.

  "That's a good excuse I guess."

  "We hadn't considered flying him there," Nancy said. "Our nearest airport with a plane we can use is two hundred kilometers. Fort Leavenworth has an airstrip we can land right on."

  "Let's do that," I said.

  "I concur," Thomas said.

  "It'll be a rough two hundred kilometers to the airport," Nancy said, "but likely safer than a three day high speed drive. It's settled then."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We discussed tactics over lunch. We essentially had three options. First, commandeer two police cruisers and drive the whole way with lights going. We could also drive as fast as we could and try and outrun any bad guys. With no sirens or lights this was dangerous over two hundred kilometers. Our third option was to drive close to the speed limit and pray.

  We went to the armory first. Archangel grabbed a seven shot grenade launcher. Thomas and DogSeven picked out submachine guns with 100 round magazines, plus extra magazines that would hook onto their belts. Zen and I replaced the grenades we'd used. We agreed, driving the speed limit at the start, then speeding up, then slowing down, repeat was our best option. We acquired a helicopter for support. This particular airbird had twin 20mm Gatling guns and two racks of ten rockets each.

  We drove and drove. The plan was to not stop for anything. Traffic was light. After two hours, Zen radioed, "We'd better speed up. I need to pee."

  We cranked things up to about 140 kph.

  I think the helicopter was our saving grace. We made it to the airport within another hour and pulled both of our vehicles into the belly of a transport plane. Zen ran to the potty on board. Once in the air, I tried to get some rest.

  Pumpkin Spice seemed interested in talking though. "There is a device tied into my cerebral cortex. It transmits everything I see to a Centurian computer network. We have pictures of all your faces."

  "So you're admitting you know Centurian?" Thomas asked.

  Fat boy let out a low chuckle. "I was lying anyhow. Undo these cuffs. I'll be good."

  "You're lucky you're cuffed around the front. They're not coming off."

  "How about some food then?"

  Zen spoke very calmly and slowly. "We're not giving you food. You had lunch."

  Pumpkin Spice let out a little fake whimper. "Two little cheeseburgers."

  I shouted, "Shut up!"

  "What are you going to do? Gag me?"

  "I brought a gag," Zen said. "I always travel with one."

  DogSeven said, "Hubba hubba."

  The look that came out of Zen's eyes: I'm honestly surprised DogSeven didn't die right on the spot.

  Pumpkin Spice started singing. "La-de-da, La-de-dee, La-de-da."

  "We will gag you," Thomas said.

  I rolled over and tried to shut out the chatter. They quieted down, and I drifted off to sleep. First I dreamed of Mathew's death, then RedCat's. Thankfully, I woke up. Pumpkin Spice was gagged. I couldn't help but smile. Pumpkin Spice was mumbling something, but it came through as gibberish. The others were asleep. I was alone with Pumpkin Spice. My mind began to dance images of death and pain through my vision. Resist it, the Nancy part of my brain whispered.

  I ate a food bar. Apparently, Pumpkin Spice's mumbling was, "I need to pee." Because he peed all over himself before we landed. He was shaking pretty bad, so we took the gag out and fed him. A group of armed soldiers met us at the airstrip and took possession of our prisoner. We didn't even stop for hot food. Instead, taking to the air again.

  We were home in no time. I had a voicemail from a Doctor Heathers. "Please return my call." Is all it said.

  I knew it was more of an order than a request, and I pushed the button. She was maybe thirty years old. Blonde hair and deep, ocean-blue eyes. Her complexion was a perfect shade of tan. She was wearing a white lab coat though which pretty much killed whatever erection I might acquire.

  "Tomorrow morning, I'd like to meet with you," she said.

  "About what?" I asked.

  "I just want to talk."

  Want to inspect my mind. Share my feelings. Need to know what makes me tick.

  "Do I have a choice?" I asked.

  "I'm the only psychiatrist at this facility. If you need to see a different doctor, you'd have to video teleconference."

  "Where's your office? I'll be there after breakfast and after my morning run."

  She shook her head. "You can run in the afternoon. My office is 314. I'll see you after breakfast."

  That night I dreamed of puppies and butterflies. No, I didn't sleep at all. I didn't know anything about psych reviews, but I knew my career was on the line.

  I ate an early breakfast and knocked on her door. It slid out of the
way, and I stepped in. There was a two meter wide bean bag in the center of the room, and Heathers motioned towards it. I hadn't even seen a bean bag that big before, and I was worried it would swallow me in.

  She motioned again and said, "It's very comfortable."

  "I'm sure." I sat though, with my butt just barely on the edge of the monster and my feet firmly planted on the floor.

  "Don't be nervous. Tell me about your dreams."

  I told her about the dreams I have of spring rains and beautiful aliens.

  She interrupted me as I was undressing an Ussilla lookalike. "Tell me about your nightmares."

  "I dream of killing and my friends dying in my arms."

  "Regrettable, but I think therapy will help. Talking about the dreams in a group therapy session or with a professional will help. Do you have any interest in group therapy? Your comrade Enigma attends some."

  Enigma doesn't even like boys. "Running is my favorite form of therapy. Or danger room practice."

  "So you would prefer to discuss things with me or another professional, as opposed to group therapy. These are your only two options."

  I could reach across the desk and rip your head off and shit down your neck, too, as an option. But that wouldn't get me anywhere. "I feel like I have revenge issues."

  "Now we're getting somewhere. The first man you killed, was a friend? Who Centurian corrupted?"

  I leaned back in the giant bean bag chair. "He was a friend," I admitted.

  "That must be difficult to live with."

  "I deal with it. I feel worse about watching Mathew and RedCat die. Being there at their final moment. That wears on me more."

  "They died for the greater good? They died valiantly? Maybe even heroes?"

  I nodded my head a few times. "They died well. Like men."

  Heathers pushed a button. "We're now recording. I need to make a statement for the record."

  I was surprised we weren't recording that whole conversation.

  Heathers spoke again in a loud, clear voice. "In my professional opinion, Bear is fit for duty. He needs to attend periodic therapy sessions, but is otherwise fit. Our sessions are not recorded, and I take no notes. Everything said in our sessions is totally private, and my professional courtesy requires utmost privacy for my patients."