Helix, Episode 3
Page 1
Helix: Episode 3 (Interceptor)
Nathan M Farrugia
Anomaly Press
Contents
About Helix: Episode 3 (Interceptor)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Special offers
About Helix: Episode 4 (Anomaly)
By Nathan M. Farrugia
About the Author
Credits
About Helix: Episode 3 (Interceptor)
Sophia was once the Fifth Column’s most dangerous weapon.
Now she’s their greatest threat.
* * *
Intercepting Fifth Column operatives before they can complete their deadly missions, Sophia is deprogramming them and turning them against their masters. But a powerful, new type of operative tips the balance against her, and she barely escapes with her life.
* * *
The rules of engagement have changed, and Sophia is forced onto a collision course with the one person who will save her or kill her—Olesya.
* * *
They've crossed paths once before. This time, only one will walk away.
* * *
This is the third episode in the action-packed Helix technothriller series by ex Australian recon soldier Nathan M. Farrugia. If you like conspiracy, espionage and edge-of-your-seat suspense, then you’ll love this thrilling cross between Jason Bourne and Dark Angel.
Chapter One
Berlin, Germany
26 April 1945
Denton drove his knife between the SS-Sonderkommando’s clavicle and scapula, cutting the subclavian artery. With his hand over the soldier’s mouth and the blade still in his neck, Denton lowered him softly to the attic floor. The soldier’s heart stopped pumping blood and Denton withdrew his knife.
The old building was mostly intact, but someone had intentionally torn a hole in the brick wall, connecting the attic of this building with the next. Stepping carefully over the body, Denton leapt through the hole and caught the next SS-Sonderkommando by surprise. The soldier aimed his rifle at Denton’s chest, but Denton stepped around it and ran his knife across the Sonderkommando’s throat. He hooked the knife behind the neck, spinning the Nazi by his elbow. Blood sprayed and the soldier slumped. Denton grasped the rifle so it didn’t clatter to the floor, and placed it carefully on the body.
A sliver of moonlight lit the dusty attic. Denton used the faint light to locate Colonel Wolfram Sievers in the shadows. The former administrator of the Ahnenerbe institute stood at the other end of the attic, surveying the mortar-torn street below through a tiny, dirty window. He wore his black beard trimmed and his hair precisely combed with Brylcreem. Under his overcoat, he was impeccably dressed.
Denton checked the darker corners of the attic, then leveled his suppressed Tokarev pistol at Sievers. The man didn’t reach for his own weapon, but he watched Denton with dark, glistening eyes.
‘Lieutenant Denton,’ Sievers said. ‘I was starting to think you would miss your opportunity.’
‘Then you know why I’m here.’
‘You must have worn every uniform in this war by now,’ Sievers said. ‘Do you have a favorite?’
‘Hugo Boss does a good Nazi,’ Denton said. ‘But I wouldn’t waste your breath with small talk.’
‘You’re impulsive yet adaptable,’ Sievers said. ‘Perhaps this is how you have survived so long in this war, where other spies might have perished.’
Denton kept his aim on the bearded man. ‘Call me lucky. If you knew I was coming, why are you still here?’
‘We have a lot in common, I thought we might talk,’ Sievers said.
Denton shook his head. ‘We already have all your research.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Suspicion.’
‘I would be gravely concerned were you not,’ Sievers said.
There was a moment’s silence, quickly followed by the distant crack of gunfire. Soviet forces were breaching the city.
‘I presume you came here under ... less than official circumstances.’
‘My entire job is less than official,’ Denton said. ‘That’s the whole point.’
‘Likewise, the offer your superiors made me. I’m on your side,’ Sievers said, his voice a pitch higher. ‘How do you say, in cahoots? My work is now yours.’ He reached slowly inside his coat.
Denton’s trigger finger flexed.
Sievers turned his lapel out so Denton could see him reaching for a small, slender tin. He crouched and opened the tin on the floorboards, then stepped back. Inside, a large stainless steel and glass syringe. The liquid inside the syringe burned with the colors of molten lava.
‘You already know what this is,’ Sievers said. ‘And you’ll need it, if you intend to live long enough to find what you’re really looking for.’
Denton took a step toward him. ‘You’re using my people to get what you want.’
For the first time, Sievers smiled. White teeth flashed between his black beard. ‘And you are doing precisely the same.’
Footsteps creaked from the adjacent attic. Denton aimed his pistol, ready to fire on the SS soldiers. But they weren’t SS at all. They aimed their own submachine guns through the hole at Denton.
‘Lower your weapon!’ the SAS commander ordered, first in German, then in English.
Despite their Soviet overcoats, he recognized their British accents. First SAS.
Denton lowered his pistol. ‘It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend you don’t recognize me.’
The soldiers relaxed, then crawled through the hole to join Denton and Sievers. First SAS were here to escort Sievers from Berlin, and Denton had accomplished little except get in the way. Sievers walked toward them, empty-handed, and they encircled him.
‘Leave the tin, it’s for our friend here,’ Sievers said to the soldiers, before turning to Denton. ‘Perhaps we can continue our conversation in a new world. If you live long enough.’
‘You can count on that,’ Denton said.
Sievers almost smiled, then the soldiers ushered him through the hole in the wall. The SAS commander took a moment to double-check Sievers had left nothing behind.
‘Weren’t expecting you on this outing, sir,’ he said.
Denton stared at the syringe. ‘Neither was I.’
Chapter Two
Kiev, Ukraine
Today
Denton entered the parliamentary session hall, now being used as the battalion headquarters. The hall was lit from above by a large, multi-colored glass dome and a crystal chandelier shaped like a sunflower. Denton walked the aisle of wooden stalls, his soft leather shoes striking the floorboards and catching the attention of the men at the front stall: the newly appointed general, Vitali Sych, and four buzz-cut associates. Fortunately, Denton had brought four operatives of his own, dressed to match in fitted suits.
The general and his men appeared to be holding their own official session, and they did so while dressed in forest green combat uniforms that smelt of sweat and tobacco. Purity flags hung from the wall behind them, charcoal with a white dove under a single red diamond. There was an open space where the aisles converged at the front stall, which Vitali had fashioned into his new meeting area. It was cluttered with desks, papers, office chairs and ashtrays.
Vitali sat between two desks, watching Denton and his operatives approach.
‘I must say it’s a pleasure to meet you in person,’ Denton said in English, his words echoing through the hall.
‘Who are you?’ Vitali asked. ‘We are not expecting visitors.’
‘I’m not your usual liaison.’ Denton gestured to their desks. ‘Is this where you talk? What’s wrong with your office?’
‘I like open space.’ Vitali stood and adjusted his belt. There was an AK-74 rifle resting against his desk, within arm’s reach. ‘Why are you here? Is there problem?’
‘The weapons you have requested,’ Denton said, taking an educated guess.
Denton could see Ukrainian words inside Vitali’s head but he couldn’t understand them. Some people ‘saw’ their words in their head, some ‘heard’ them, while others felt them or processed them abstractly. Depending on what kind of person he was dealing with, Denton could tune into a non-English speaker’s thoughts and interpret them. But it didn’t work on everyone. If only there were pseudogenes to activate a universal translator in his head.
All he could see and understand in Vitali’s head were images of soldiers in white combat armor marching through columns of fire and smoke.
‘The soldiers you have requested,’ Denton corrected himself quickly. ‘We have made arrangements.’
‘How many?’ Vitali watched Denton with tiny eyes. His face was large and soft as dough.
He reminded Denton of a pufferfish.
Denton took a chair and wheeled it to Vitali’s desk. Ignoring the buzz-cut men in uniform, he sat before Vitali. His own operatives took up positions and surrounded the uniformed men.
‘How many do you need?’ Denton asked.
‘Five thousand,’ Vitali said. ‘We want special forces only.’ Slowly, but not subtly, he thrust his chest outward—along with his stomach, regrettably.
The pufferfish inflates.
‘I can give you six hundred paratroopers from Italy to train your newly formed Purity Guard,’ Denton said. ‘We would prefer you engage your enemy with your own soldiers though. As a matter of policy.’
Vitali shook his head. ‘There are not enough of us to stop the deviants and aberrations. We need more men—pure men—to join us as we take back Europe.’
‘We cannot directly engage with your enemy. It would not be appropriate,’ Denton said.
Vitali’s nostrils enlarged. ‘How can this not be appropriate?’
Good, Denton thought. He had him in the right place and the right emotional state. It hadn’t taken much.
‘We have given you a great deal,’ Denton said. ‘Power over your government. Funding, equipment, intelligence, and most importantly—opportunity. And yet we are behind schedule.’ He leaned forward. ‘Let me make this clear: you are underperforming.’
‘I am not an idiot,’ Vitali said. ‘And we are not underperforming.’
Denton leaned back in his chair. ‘You should know that my general is not pleased with your failure thus far.’
‘I have talked with your general many times,’ Vitali said, finally sitting behind his desk again. ‘He is very happy with our campaign against the aberrations.’
Sievers’ face flashed through Vitali’s mind. Denton’s heart rate quickened. He was close.
Sixty years and Sievers is still alive.
‘Was happy,’ Denton said. ‘In your last meeting, what did you speak of?’
Vitali swallowed. ‘The Fifth Column’s commitment to Purity in Europe. In our country. And our historic mission to recover our nation. Glory to Purity!’
The four men in fatigues echoed Vitali. ‘Glory to Purity!’
Denton cleared his throat. ‘My superior’s last visit, a few weeks ago…’
‘Two weeks ago,’ Vitali said.
‘That’s right,’ Denton said. ‘He traveled all the way here, I’m sure he was tired and short-tempered.’
Vitali nodded. In his mind, Denton saw the city of Prague. Now he had Sievers’ semi-permanent location. That would be helpful.
‘When he returned, he told me about your next strategy,’ Denton said.
Vitali blinked, but said nothing.
Denton frowned. ‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘Of course.’ Vitali reached for the metal briefcase on the table and pushed it toward Denton. ‘Tell your general we want only soldiers. We have no interest in your filthy needles.’
Denton didn’t need to look inside the briefcase, he caught a glimpse in Vitali’s mind of the syringes filled with milk-colored liquid. ‘Why don’t they interest you?’
Vitali snorted. ‘You cannot make someone pure. They are dogs, you can only put dogs down.’ He pointed to the crates stacked against the far wall, behind the rear stalls. ‘The rest of your shipment is over there.’
In Vitali’s mind, Denton saw images of prisoners—executed instead of injected with syringes. Denton stood and reached for the briefcase. The visions of violence faded. Vitali put his hand back, holding the briefcase there.
‘You are not Fifth Column.’ Vitali reached for the rifle behind his desk. His men raised theirs. ‘You are Russian spies!’
Denton kicked the desk forward, pinning the bulging general between his desk and the wall. Around Denton, his own operatives aimed their Czech submachine guns—Scorpion EVOs with attached suppressors—and peppered Vitali’s four associates with subsonic rounds. They collapsed in tatters, face-down on desks and floorboards.
Between the two desks, Vitali tried to free his AK-74, but the curved magazine hooked under the desk. Denton drew his own USP pistol and aimed at his face.
‘You know,’ Denton said, ‘the Purity Party in the United States is very different to your people. They’re forgiving and evangelical, but here it’s all doom and gloom. I just find it really boring.’ He turned to his operatives. ‘Tie him up.’
Denton stepped back and let a pair of his operatives drag the desk out and disarm Vitali. Using duct tape, they wrapped him to his own chair, his hands behind his back.
‘Tape his mouth,’ Denton said. ‘You look very dashing in your suits, by the way,’ he said to his team. ‘We should do this more often.’
The operatives said nothing. One pair took defensive positions while the other covered the hall entrance. Denton walked around the desk and sat on the edge, staring down at Vitali.
‘You need to look to your American Purity pals and stay on brand,’ Denton said, rubbing a fingerprint off the black nitride finish of his pistol. ‘They just want to be pure. And yes, slaughter all the deviants and aberrations. But you get my point.’
Vitali remained motionless.
Denton leaned over him. ‘Oh, but you’ll never be pure, will you?’
Vitali said something, muffled behind the duct tape. Denton enjoyed that.
‘You’re very, very filthy,’ Denton said. ‘You look like a pufferfish. Don’t you think? In Japan, they’re called fugu. You have the eyes of a fugu.’ He pressed the barrel of his USP into the general’s nose, forcing it upward so it looked like a snout. ‘You have the mind of a fugu.’
Vitali struggled to breathe.
Denton shook his head. ‘No. You’re not a fugu. You’re something quite … I wouldn’t use the word “remarkable” because you’re not. You might be a hired mercenary or a professional killer. You might be an overweight, overcompensated general with no real skill to speak of. Yet you are quick to take up arms with no regret or remorse to inhibit your performance. You’re a jackal.’
Vitali mumbled something through the duct tape. Denton saw the violent image in Vitali’s mind and struck him across the ear with his pistol grip. Not too hard though, he wanted the general to be conscious. Just in a bit of pain. Pain was good. Besides, he had what he’d come here for. He had Sievers’ location and, as a bonus, this suitcase with some interesting samples he will most certainly have tested. Who knows, they might be useful. And now he could at least enjoy himself for a short, controlled moment.
&nbs
p; ‘You’re the bottom of the food chain,’ Denton said. ‘You feed off the scraps. You slaughter people in their homes. Yes, we all enjoy a bit of bloodletting from time to time. It gets the blood pumping—yours, and theirs. But you, you live and breathe it. You roll in it. There is nothing more to you than violence. I find that very boring.’
Vitali breathed slowly now. His eye twitched.
‘And yet, you cannot even succeed at that,’ Denton said.
The general looked up at Denton, then his operatives. There was fear in his tiny pufferfish eyes. Denton liked that. He enjoyed the satisfying curve from predator to sashimi.
‘When some people are fired, they clear out their desks and maybe steal a stapler.’ Denton laughed. ‘I already had a stapler, so I stole these operatives.’
Vitali’s gaze moved from one operative to another with wide, bloodshot eyes.
‘I’m not a Russian spy. And I’m not Fifth Column anymore.’ Denton leaned in close to the general’s ear—swollen and red from the pistol whip—and pressed the barrel to his temple. ‘I’m much worse.’
Vitali whined, his plea muffled through the tape.
‘You don’t mind if I destroy your brain, do you?’ Denton asked. ‘It’s not like you’re using it.’
Denton squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Three
Las Vegas, United States
Jay drove through the fence.
With the car radio pumping, he crashed into the casino plaza and took a panel of metal fence with him. He kept going, accelerating over the bridge.
Jay drove through a string of marines and a pair of men in suits. They saw him at the last moment and dived into the canal. At the other end of the bridge, Nasira, Damien and Aviary were on the ground, twitching and turning. There was a heat ray dish aimed at them.
Guess they made a portable version.