The Bermuda Connection (A Nick Randall Novel Book 2)

by Robert Rapoza

  Keung impatiently pushed his way past Rob and appeared by Randall’s side. “What are you doing and why are you focusing on this room?”

  “Because he’s looking for his friend,” a voice said from directly behind them.

  The two rear guards spun on their heels, guns at the ready, but collapsed onto the floor as gunfire ripped through them. The remaining Dragon team members raised their weapons as well, spraying bullets into the air to engage their assailants. Keung grabbed his own side arm and moved around to the far side of the cylinder for protection, while Randall and Rob ducked for cover as well.

  Randall seized the opportunity. “Come on!” Randall grabbed Rob by the arm, making his way to a hallway on the right.

  “What the hell just happened?” Rob protested.

  “It’s Dumond! He must have followed us here!”

  “I thought he was dead! That guy keeps turning up like a bad penny!”

  The two dashed down the corridor as bullets tore through the air around them. Shattered glass and metal fragments showered down around them as they ran through the passageways. The sparks created by the gunfire resembled fireflies dancing around them as they sprinted. Randall reached an intersection of the building, paused for a moment, and resumed his mad dash to the left.

  “Where are we going?” Rob asked.

  “The holding area where Jamie should be. We’re almost there.”

  The two came to a flight of stairs and Randall sped without pause down a level and emerged onto a well-lit hallway. It extended twenty feet, terminating at a polished metal door, inset into a wall that was otherwise completely devoid of almost any other noticeable features.

  “What now?”

  Randall approached the wall and noted a small depression outlined by a thin blue line. He placed his finger on the spot and pushed. A section of the metal wall silently opened upward, revealing a surgical room. The two slipped inside, the door closing behind them.

  The room was bathed in pure white light, which emanated from the walls so brightly that it caused them to squint. His hand shielding his eyes, Randall examined the room as he approached the first of the five metal cylinders. Touching the first one, his hand registered extreme cold. Reflexes caused him to pull his hand back. He then rubbed the glass to clear the frost and peered inside. It was empty. He did the same with the three next cylinders, finding them empty as well. The last cylinder was adjacent to a series of six-foot ledges protruding from the wall. One of the ledges contained what appeared to be neatly arranged surgical instruments and a single vial with clear liquid.

  Randall wiped the frost away from the glass of the fifth cylinder. This time it wasn’t empty.

  “She’s here! Help me find the controls!”

  The two searched the outside of the cylinder, found a blue outlined depression similar to the door switch. Randall pressed it. The top of the container separated from the bottom, opening like scissor blades, causing a hiss of cold air to spill from the chamber.

  Jamie lay like a lifeless corpse on a narrow pedestal. Her eyes were closed and her skin was cool to the touch.

  “Help me get her out,” Randall said.

  The two men lifted her from the cylinder, gently placing her on the nearest shelf. A sticky residue remained on their fingers from touching Jamie. Randall bent down to listen for signs that she was breathing. He felt a faint breath of warm air touch his ears. Buoyed by this, he felt for a pulse. At first, he couldn’t detect a heartbeat, but finally found a weak throb.

  “She’s alive, but barely,” Randall said, removing his coat and placing it over Jamie’s body, which was covered in a light, shimmery, skin-tight material.

  “We need something else to warm her,” Randall said, taking her hand and clasping it in his own. “Come on kiddo, wake up so we can get you out of here.”

  “Nick,” Rob said, tugging at Randall’s elbow.

  Randall turned to look at his friend, whose face relayed his concern. He followed Rob’s eyes and found himself face to face with two men. Dressed in the same clothing as Jamie, they simply stood there, watching them. The men were unarmed, but there was something strange about them that Randall couldn’t immediately identify. Then it struck him. They were completely devoid of any hair. Bald heads, no eyebrows, no stubble. Their skin was completely smooth, almost as if made of plastic.

  Randall watched as Rob dropped to the floor, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Randall turned from his friend, his gaze coming to rest on the strangers. He stepped in front of Jamie, placing himself directly between her and the men.

  “I’m not letting you take her,” Randall said.

  The faintest of smiles crossed the lips of one of the men as he stared directly at Randall. As he did, Randall felt an odd tingling sensation in his extremities, which spread up his legs, chest, and arms. His body suddenly felt heavy and his mind hazy, as if he had been drugged.

  Fighting off the feeling of fatigue, Randall steadied himself, taking a step toward the man. “You’re one of them aren’t you? You both are. You kidnapped Jamie and brought her back here to your base to experiment on her.”

  The men looked at each other, then turned to face Randall again.

  Randall’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve developed an antidote against your powers. Your ability to control us is over.”

  Randall detected a feeling of interest on the part of the beings. “Why are you here and what are you doing to my friend?”

  No response.

  “Whatever your purpose, my government knows you’re here now, so you’re secret it out.”

  The beings shared a glance, then looked at Randall again. He could sense their confusion.

  “My God. Someone knows what you’re doing. Who’s helping you and why?”

  Their expressions became serious. Both beings held up their arms. Randall suddenly felt as if lead weights had been hung around his neck, arms, and legs. His balance became unsteady. Randall braced himself against the table holding Jamie, struggling to resist them. John’s compound was clearly helping him, but wasn’t entirely effective.

  The room suddenly rocked, dust particles dropping from the ceiling. Distracted, the beings dropped their arms.

  “The Chinese are attacking you,” Randall said.

  Randall sensed great annoyance from the beings, who focused their full mental energy against him. This time, he felt not only weakness, but outright pain. He sensed that they no longer wanted to subdue him. They wanted to kill him.

  Randall struggled to remain upright. His body ached and his mind burned. The beings closed in for the kill. Randall fell to the floor, writhing in pain. He gripped his head, which felt like it would explode. Screaming in agony, he closed his eyes, ready for death. He heard two distinct popping sounds and assumed he was about to die.

  He didn’t. The pain suddenly stopped.

  Randall lay on the floor of the lab, unsure of what had happened. His body spent, he slowly opened his eyes and saw the beings lying on the ground. They weren’t moving. He forced himself to focus his eyes and look around the room. Seeing the silhouette of a man standing over him, Randall’s eyes started at the man’s feet and worked their way to his face. His vision was still blurry and he couldn’t make out the face, but he recognized the voice immediately.

  “Fortunate for me I happened along when I did. I wouldn’t have wanted those things to have all of the fun of killing you.”

  Dumond had returned.

  Chapter Fifty

  Randall’s mind raced as he stared into the eyes of his nemesis. He rose to his feet. Dumond had saved him from the beings, but it was clear that his intentions weren’t noble. The crazed industrialist strode purposefully into the room, his pistol pointed directly at Randall. Oddly though, he moved to the far side of the room and sat on one of the ledges protruding from the wall. Randall watched in amazement as Dumond unlaced his boots with one hand while keeping his gun trained on him with the other. The industrialist slid his boots off and set them nea
tly to one side. Next, he removed his jacket, one sleeve at a time, careful not to break eye contact with Randall throughout the process. He neatly stacked his jacket and gloves on the ledge and walked over to Randall in stockinged feet, gun still pointed at his chest. Dumond stopped several feet in front of Randall and directly next to Rob, who still lay unconscious on the floor.

  “Turn around,” Dumond said.

  “And if I don’t?” Randall asked.

  Dumond turned his weapon to Rob. “Then I kill your friend.”

  Realizing he had no choice, Randall turned to face Jamie. He was rewarded with a sharp blow to the back of his head. Randall tumbled to the ground, dazed. Sprawled on the floor, he turned to face his enemy. To his amazement, Dumond set his gun down on the ground.

  “Get up.”

  Randall complied, rising to his feet.

  “Not feeling so well? Let me see if I can help.”

  Dumond unleashed a brutal kick to Randall’s abdomen, causing him to double over in intense pain. Already weakened by the blow to the back of his head, Randall struggled for a breath of air. Dumond watched in amusement for a moment, then bent over and grabbed Randall by the shirt collar and forced him upright, propping him against the wall. He slapped the professor’s face, grasped it with his free hand, and shook.

  “Wake up!”

  Randall complied, opening his eyes, his chest heaving to capture a breath. Dumond spun him away from the wall.

  “Did I ever tell you about my affinity for Muay Thai? It’s also known as The Art of Eight Limbs because it’s characterized by the combined use of fists, elbows, knees, and shins. The punch techniques in Muay Thai originally involved landing the blow with the heel of the palm, like this.”

  Dumond struck Randall in the chest with his hand, driving him back several feet before he toppled to the ground. Intense pain radiated from Randall’s ribs where Dumond had landed his blow. Randall rolled on the ground in pain, clutching his aching torso. Dumond slowly walked over to him and lifted him once again and placed him against the wall to continue his cruel lesson.

  “But blows to the body are actually discouraged as they leave the attacker’s head open to counter strikes. It’s actually better to use your elbow for an attack because it can cause damage more quickly or be used to gain a tactical advantage over your opponent.”

  Dumond swung his elbow from the side, striking Randall above his left eye, opening a gash in his eyebrow that released a cascade of blood.

  “For example, the technique I just employed causes the opponent’s vision to become obscured, thereby impeding his ability to utilize effective counter measures.”

  Randall struggled to raise a hand to his injured eye, but Dumond swatted it away with ease. He spun Randall again and released him into the center of the room. Randall swayed on his feet, like a punch drunk boxer. He fought to stay upright, the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

  “Personally, my favorite move is one you’ve probably seen in movies. Do you like martial arts films? I’ve loved them since I was a child. In fact, it’s part of the reason I so enjoyed learning this wonderful sport. My favorite move is the roundhouse kick. The attacker gains his power from the rotation of his hips, like this.”

  Dumond lifted his body from the ground, spinning in a clockwise fashion and landing the kick to the side of Randall’s head. The professor tumbled sideways, struck the side of the open containment unit, and fell to the ground like a rag doll. He lay motionless for some time, blood trickling from a new gash on the side of his head. Slowly and with great effort he began to move. His head throbbed with each heartbeat and his ribs felt like they were broken. Randall tried to prop himself up on his bruised elbows, his arms shaking against the strain of holding up his injured body. He collapsed to the floor.

  Dumond smiled as he watched Randall groan in pain. He was impressed with how well the professor had absorbed the punishment, but was ready to finish him once and for all.

  “You’ve cost me dearly, Dr. Randall—money, power, my best mercenaries—but do you know what I really hate about you? You adore your children and place their well-being above your own. Worse still, they love you back. Do you know what my father was like? He was an abusive drunk. He beat my mother and me nearly to death, but guess what: he made me strong, and I eventually killed him. Now I’m going to do the same to you.”

  An evil grin spread across Dumond’s face like a crooked river forming after a heavy rain. He walked over to Randall, towering over his injured body.

  “Goodbye, Dr. Randall.”

  “Hey asshole, you forgot something.”

  Startled, Dumond spun to face the voice behind him.

  It was Rob. Catching Dumond off guard, he plowed into him like a free safety laying into a receiver who had foolishly ventured into his territory. He drove Dumond backward and into the containment pod, then hit the blue button on the side of the unit, causing the container to close. Dumond pounded on the glass as it began to frost over.

  Rob walked over to his friend and knelt beside him.

  “Nick, are you okay? Talk to me, buddy.”

  Randall lay face down on the floor, his body aching in a thousand places. The throbbing pain in his head was tremendous and he was unable to do much more than roll over on his side.

  “You saved my life. Thank you.”

  “Thank God you’re all right. Can I help you up?”

  “Give me a few minutes. Go check on Jamie.”

  Rob arrived by Jamie’s side. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but her eyes were still closed. Rob gently lifted her hand in his and then placed his other hand on her shoulder.

  “Jamie, can you hear me? It’s Rob and Nick, we’re here with you.”

  Jamie’s eyes fluttered open. She tilted her head in the direction of Rob’s voice and looked at him groggily.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” she said, offering a weak smile.

  Rob smiled back down at her.

  Randall managed to get himself to his feet and stumbled over by his friend. “Hey kiddo, it’s great to see you awake again.”

  A tear rolled down Jamie’s cheek as she looked at the two men.

  “I thought I was going to die. When they put me into that tube, I knew they weren’t going to let me go. I could have…”

  “We never would have let that happen. As long as we’re around, you’re safe. Do you think you can walk? We need to get out of here, fast,” Randall replied, brushing away her tear.

  As he did so, the room rocked violently. Rob looked up toward the ceiling as the lights swayed back and forth.

  “You’re hurt,” Jamie said, lifting a hand to Randall’s face. “What happened to you?”

  “I ran into Dumond. He roughed me up a bit, but Rob took care of him.”

  The room rocked again, this time causing bits of dust to fall from the ceiling.

  “What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

  “The Red Dragons know something happened to the general and his men. They’re attacking the base,” Randall replied. “Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  Jamie swung her legs over the side of the table and gingerly touched the floor while Randall and Rob braced her from the side. The added weight of holding Jamie caused Randall to wince in pain.

  “Are you okay?” Jamie asked.

  “Yeah, just a bit sore,” Randall lied. The pain in his head was only upstaged by the intense jabbing feeling coming from his ribs, which he was certain were either broken or severely bruised.

  Jamie regained her balance, clutching at the jacket Randall had placed around her for warmth.

  “What about shoes?” Rob asked, looking down at Jamie’s feet, which were covered with something that resembled an enclosed slipper.

  Randall walked over to Dumond’s clothes and brought them to Jamie.

  “Here, you can use these. They’re a bit big, but they’ll work,” he said, handing her his shoes and pants. Randall donned Dumond’s jacket.r />
  “We need to take this,” she said, picking up the vial sitting on the table. “The creatures used it to keep me under control. I think it’s made of whatever substance they secrete for their mind-control powers.”

  Randall took the vial and shoved it into his zippered pocket. He then led the three out of the lab, back up the stairs, and into the ice tunnel. As they approached the entrance, they could hear the sounds of a raging battle as the Chinese continued to attack the base. They skulked to the entrance, peering out for a look.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The Red Dragons were launching an attack using their heavy weapons. Randall saw several tanks maneuvering into position and firing shells into the mountainside while helicopters zigzagged through the sky firing rocket pods into the icy cliffs. Infantrymen had taken defensive positions behind rocky outcrops and were launching rocket propelled grenades and mortar fire at the base. The main focus of the attack seemed to be on the top of the plateau, which would have served as the top of the facility.

  Spent munition casings and metal fragments littered the once pristine white and blue landscape. Upturned ice and rocks were scattered about in chaotic fashion as dark splotches stained the icy field. Despite the bedlam, the battle seemed to be one-sided. Only the Red Dragons were engaged.

  Randall also noticed that soldiers were guarding the base of the long incline they had used to access the tunnel. By his count, there were eight positioned at the bottom of the icy ramp. He surmised that they were the remnants of the platoon that had entered the ship with the general. He also realized that getting by them would be next to impossible. Randall withdrew into the ice tunnel.

  “What’s going on out there?” Rob asked.

  Randall slumped against a rocky ledge for support, pressing the sleeve of his jacket against the cut above his eye to stem the bleeding. “It’s mayhem. The Red Dragons are attacking with everything they have and making a big mess. It doesn’t seem like there’s any response from the other side. At least not yet. I’m not sure how we’re going to get past them.”