Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2)

by L. M. Vila

  “I,” the General stammered.

  The weight of this information was just too much for him at this moment.

  “I do not think I will capable of this task. I have no experience leading our people.”

  “You will not be alone General Suh,” smiled President Park. “We will be working with you, guiding you along the correct path. We will help establish your government, create a new voting system, and most importantly, help you inspire the people to have faith in your nation once more.”

  There was a moment of reflection. The General paused and took a deep breath. He looked within himself and remembered why he served. His intentions were always to become a great servant of their Leader but the Leader's duty was to serve the people so by proxy, he too was a servant of the people. He spent years establishing an army and preparing his men for wars to defend the home of his people. Now, with no one left to fight, he can shift his efforts to serving the people where they need it the most.

  This was a good deal and what was right for their people. Kim Jong-un's and his son’s reign was not the rose colored memory he had thought. In actuality, it was terrible. People starved, lived in fear, and bent to the will of just one man who was elected by birth, not by choice. This was the reason why the General defected in the first place. His loyalty to the army was strong but aided by both duty and fear. The time was right to build a new legacy for his people and the General was more than happy to lead the charge.

  General Suh took a long look at President Park and President Marshall. For the first time since he's entered this country, his lips pursed up and formed a small smile as he said the historic words that will forever change the world.

  “Where do I sign?”

  March 27th, 2013 3:57PM

  1286 4th St SE

  Washington, D.C.

  Bullets ripped through the delicate molecules of the surrounding air. They crackled and snapped as they mangled through the sound barrier. The soldiers pressed their weapons and locked them against their shoulders as they drilled hundreds of rounds of ammunition at their targets.

  Michael stayed close behind and slightly crouched near the Paladin just as instructed with continuous hot slabs of lead constantly whizzing around their position. The firing had gone one for nearly six seconds and not a single shot has penetrated or even nicked their flesh. Something was definitely amiss.

  The firing stopped for a brief moment while a few of soldiers began changing magazines. Within seconds, the barrage continued at full force. Michael stood up and looked towards their aggressors. They were well within the lethal range of those weapons and with thirty rounds in the magazine, more than one should have hit. This was not possible.

  They approached and were well within a thirty food radius of their attackers. Michael continued to follow as his Paladin escort walked through the hail of bullets completely unscathed. At this range, it was unfathomable that they weren't being hit. Michael stared down the sights of several AK-47s as they popped off rounds in rapid succession and yet, each bullet seemed to whiz past or disappear out of thin air as if they were firing blanks.

  Davis looked no worse for wear. Fear did not embrace his expression. It didn't even seem to be invited to this bold endeavor when it should have had a front row seat. Michael had no idea how the Paladin was pulling this off but he wasn't about to question it. Not with the advantage well in their favor.

  “Keep firing!” The Colonel shouted.

  His men had already been through three magazines a piece and yet they had nothing to show for it. Desperation soon set in. He could see trepidation engulfing his units’ morale.

  Lee roared as he kicked open the door, locked the holy man between the metal linings of his sights, and popped off several rounds. He should have watched the bullets tear through their clothes, skin, and organs. They should have collapsed on the ground in writhing agony begging for what remains of their life as blood poured out of their wounds like a broken fire hydrant. Their deaths would be quick and just; yet, the only thing he saw were his carefully aimed shots curve past the targets and decorate the walls of the abandoned building across the street.

  This was a lie. It had to be. Lee took a breath, focused his aim and fired once more. The results were the same. Bullets that should have traveled straight through decimate his intended target fled elsewhere. Lee continued to fire. Each shot carefully aimed and still continued to miss. His desperation grew stronger as he began to pant with each pull of the trigger. A full magazine's worth of ammunition had been expended and not a single bullet had struck the target.

  “Hit them with the cannon!” Ordered the Colonel.

  Sweat began to pour form his brow as their efforts continually proved to be futile.

  Thunderous pops filled the halls of the warehouse as the heavy weapons team began to unload on the two men approaching their position. Hails of shells began to rain down on the floor littering their area with brass casing. The targets were nearly four times the size of their sights and yet none of their shots had come close. Mountains of asphalt shot up and caked the air in dust as their shots penetrated the open ground.

  The Colonel switched his focused towards his squad and noticed the tremendous amount of stress they were enduring. This was not in their training. Guns fired rounds. Rounds penetrated targets. Targets died. If you take the second part out of the equation then you're stuck with an incomplete. The problem was, this isn't math. Those two should have been turned to shreds by now and the Colonel couldn't figure out why. Perhaps it was time to pull out their big gun.

  “Fire the rocket!” The Colonel shouted.

  His desperation was now clearly abundant.

  Two soldiers ceased firing and ducked behind the sandbags. They procured a black case labeled RPG-7 and opened it to reveal a dirty green missile launcher and two extra rockets. This was another gift that came along for the ride back in their homeland. Their Russian allies were gracious hosts. The box featured the standard RPG-7 launcher and two rounds of PG-7V rockets. These were supposed to be used to deter and silence any large vehicles or vans from entering their perimeter but as of right now, nothing they had was working so by the Colonel's orders, they readied their last resort.

  The firing continued as both soldiers returned to their post above the sandbags and aimed the rocket at the target. Their bullets may have missed but nothing could escape the blast of one of these grenades. The silver cross was locked dead center in his optical sight. His finger rose up from the handle and wrapped around the trigger. The soldier took a breath as he was trained and after a slow exhale, squeezed his finger as hard as he could.

  Dust exploded in a tremendous cloud of flames as the RPG flew straight towards the Paladin. At this distance, death was certain. Michael's instincts began moving his body without any commands. Apparently Davis could sense this in his companion. He threw out his arm out just moments before the rocket arrived. This was his signal to the FBI agent that there was nothing to be worried about.

  The grenade barreled towards the Paladin's chest and whizzed violently as it immediately shot upwards just inches away from striking his chest. It twisted and spun wildly in the air as if being strangled by some kind of supernatural force.

  Firing ceased. The soldiers slowly lowered their guns and watched their ace in the whole dance in the air. All eyes were on the traveling projectile that laughed in the face of physics and logic altogether.

  Seconds later, the deceased rocket came crashing to the ground. The shell bounced on the ground with a lifeless thud and slowly rolled towards the planted feet of the young Paladin. He looked down at the explosive device and smiled. Their souls revealed that surrendering was not an option. As much as Davis would like to present it to them, he would have to defer to another method of dealing with them.

  “They're all yours Michael,” Davis stated. “Remember, these men can still be saved so please exercise some restraint.”

  The FBI agent was still attempting to rationalize everything he h
as seen and experienced. By all intents and purposes, they should be dead. Testament was already mysterious enough as is but if they had access to special kinds of technology or even worse, something that science is not ready to explain. This display only fueled Michael's apprehension of current ally and made him wonder just what lengths they would go to fulfill their goals. This current display of power would prove to test Michael's enhanced abilities to their limits. If he didn't possess the power to take down one of them, dealing with their army would be out of the question. This is something to be discussed and analyzed at a later date. Right now, the mission took precedence.

  Michael reached into his coat and snapped out two stun grenades. The pins barely hit the ground before they landed behind the sandbags with simultaneous tosses. Light exploded in a mountain of bright chaos. The soldiers screamed in agony as they desperately pleaded for the pain to end. This was the FBI agent's chance. The effects would only last a few seconds which was more than enough time for the child of Project Mabus to take them down.

  The FBI agent rocketed forward and dove into the fray. He unleashed a precise and devastating volley of attacks that took the air out of their lungs and consciousness from their minds. He ripped into them with his fists, crashing his knuckles into their soft flesh and sending them into levels of agony they never even dreamed of. Bone crushed bone but unlike his opponent's, Michael's skeleton had been genetically enhanced and has the tensile strength and density of solid steel.

  Soldiers dropped almost simultaneously. They tried desperately to cling to a consciousness that was violently stolen from them. Ribs had been broken, heads were rattled, and bodies piled up one after another. It only took Michael four and a half seconds to dispatch most of the doctor's defense line save for one lone soldier that seemed to be regaining his bearings quicker than calculated.

  The last soldier wailed a horrific battle cry as he swung his AK-47 towards the FBI agent and held down the trigger as if his life depended on it. Michael had anticipated this attack and caught the weapon by the barrel. Rounds continued to pour out of the steel tube as remained motionless in the FBI agent's vice like grip. Screams flowed through the burning lungs of the remaining soldier as he desperately tried to force the barrel to move but no matter how hard he tried it was futile.

  The air soon became quiet after the entire magazine was exhausted of bullets. Michael could feel the heat from the barrel trying to burn his flesh. The pain didn't even register. He took that same hand and smashed it against the soldier's skull. Each finger dug into the soft tissue of his scalp and the heated palm of his hand burned into the soldier's forehead like a brand. His violent screams continued but switched from desperation into agony. Michael lifted the soldier up with one hand as his final target began flailing around desperately trying to silence the pain that had enveloped him.

  All things whether they be good or bad must come to an end. Michael had grown tired of his breath. With one mighty swing he slammed the solder into the brick wall beside him creating a small skull sized crevice in its wake. The screams instantly stopped. He flopped to the ground and collapsed onto himself at the whim of gravity.

  Michael surveyed the damage. Not a single soldier remained in fighting shape nor would they even after waking up. He made sure to smash their fingers and break bones in their arms rendering their combat prowess useless. And to think the FBI agent had Davis to thank for opening up this opportunity.

  Despite the gratitude he owed to the Paladin, Michael was still skeptical. His diversion plan would have produced similar if not the same results. It was as if Davis wanted to show Michael a display of power. Whether it was for a favor or a mark of intimidation remained to be seen.

  The doctor slowly began to rise from behind his desk. The effects from the stun grenade had not spared him despite his distance and completely caught him off guard while sending him reeling. He peered back at the seen his eyes had not been privileged to witness. Carnage was the first word that came to mind. Bodies of his proud soldiers had been battered, beaten, and otherwise decimated in the span of a few seconds.

  Confusion began to set in over his growing desperation. The last report the Colonel gave while he was still conscious was that two men were about to make contact with this base of operations. That statement must have been grossly underestimated. It would have taken an army to breach their defenses, something the government shouldn’t have or wouldn’t have access to given the circumstances of the day’s events. This didn’t make sense at all but a few things may be cleared up as two foreign targets began to set foot into the doctor’s territory.

  The first looked more like a priest than a soldier. He was draped in a large white coat with a giant outline of a cross in shining silver. Upon further inspection, the suit appeared to be stitched together in sections or plates as if it were a piece of armor. That wasn’t any ordinary piece of attire, especially for a supposed member of the clergy.

  Shin looked over to the next one and one glance at their face sent a dagger through his heart. The raven black hair and glasses were a dead giveaway. The doctor squatted back down and began tapping away at his keyboard and mouse. A few seconds later he found the piece of information he needed to confirm his suspicions. An email from his late employer Yegor Semyon sent on the day of his tragic demise. It contained no subject or text. The only thing that came across was a picture that was a dead giveaway for the second man in question.

  Despite their parting of the ways, Shin was their best chemical engineer and still maintained a good relationship with the General. After all, he was the one that formulated the flu vaccine for children that created Yegor’s empire. This message was meant as a warning. Somehow, the General knew the reason why Shin had left the company and continued to offer him information anyways. That was just like the former General, he always had a backup plan for any potential problem that may arise. There was only one issue here. Doctor Shin didn’t possess his late employer’s intellect about the target in question. All he had was a name and unless saying it three times would make him disappear, Shin had a tragic disadvantage.

  A loud and constant beeping sound stole the doctor’s attention. That was the sign he had been waiting so long for. Within a fraction of a second, the tables had been instantly turned. No longer did he cower behind his table. Shin walked proudly carrying the microphone in his hand and approached the window with a bravado and esteem that could not be matched.

  “You’re too late Special Agent Michael Madison,” the doctor stated, “It will all be over before you know it.”

  March 27th, 2013 4:00PM

  The Oval Office

  Washington, D.C.

  Rhythmic beats occurring in one second intervals captured everyone’s attention. General Suh noticed his subordinate fidgeting with his watch and trying to silence it as best as he could so as not to appear rude. Or so he hoped.

  “My apologies,” sighed Suh. “It is time for Bahn to take his medication.”

  “Well by all means Mr. Bahn,” the President replied giving him the universal gesture to take care of anything he needs.

  Bahn slowly stood up and approached the refreshment table. The clacking of his metal crutches though loud did not seem to dissuade the conversation from continuing.

  The General continued to look over the terms of the treaty making sure to note anything that struck him out as important or worth questioning. If he was going to take his new role seriously, it would be in his best interest to learn from two of his newest supporters.

  “When will the new integration initiatives begin?” Suh asked.

  “We’ve been planning this for weeks General,” answered President Park. “Our logistics teams have worked hard developing a distribution network that will allow us to provide your citizens with all of the information and equipment they will need.”

  “How did you do all of that?” The General inquired.

  “That was easy,” the President replied. “We’ve been providing relief items: food, cloth
ing, shelter since the end of the campaign. Our teams have been studying your population, monitoring what works and what hasn’t, and creating full-fledged plans to achieve each of our initiatives in a timely and cost effective manner. This isn’t something we had drafted overnight General Suh, we’ve been working one this since the moment our campaign ended.”

  The General was at a loss of words. All of the efforts from both America and their former rivals South Korea have been carefully thought out and planned. This wasn’t some hostile takeover. Both sides had showed honest and genuine concern for their people’s well-being. If it was good enough for what everyone calls the greatest nation on earth, then the General would love nothing more than to bring a bit of that happiness to his people.

  “I am grateful for your assistance,” Suh replied.

  He looked over towards President Park with sincerity.

  “And yours as well.”

  “We’re working hard to build a better a better world,” the President stated. “And we’re very happy to welcome you to it today,” he finished with a smile.

  “We’ve all been looking forward to this for a very long time,” said Park.

  The General nodded.

  “I agree. And I am looking forward to the time when –”

  “Enough,” Bahn hissed as he returned.

  The General’s subordinate refused to take his seat and just stood over Suh with an unfriendly expression painted on his face.

  “Be quiet,” General Suh whispered with as much authority as he could muster without raising his voice.