“What the hell’s going on over there, Red?”
“There’s something you don’t know about, Rick.”
“No shit! You tell that son-of a bitch Spencer if he harms a hair on Laura Higgins’s head I’ll kill him with my bare hands. You hear me, Red?”
There was a long pause on the line. “I hear you, Rick,” Robeson said, his voice now a mere whisper. “But we’re way past that now.”
“Oh, Christ,” Jennings said, the truth hitting him between the eyes like a sledge hammer. “You’re going after them, aren’t you? You plan on killing them all. I should have seen this from the beginning.”
“Those brats are the least of my worries now,” Robeson said.
“You’re in this up to your armpits, aren’t you?”
“Ever wonder what I did before I came on the force, Rick?”
“I knew you worked in Washington...Jesus, you worked for those bastards, didn’t you? You were involved in all that. You were part of the cover up. That’s why you became chief. The higher ups chose you. They wanted you here to keep an eye on things.”
“You’re finally getting a clue, Jennings.”
“What was so important that you had to bury it forever? What was so fucking important that people had to be murdered?”
“Rick, this is so far over my head I get dizzy when I look up. This is about something no one can ever speak about.”
“You covered up Jack Higgins’s murder because he got too close to it, because he got too close to you. Oh my God, Red, you didn’t kill him, did you? Tell me you didn’t kill Jack Higgins.”
“None of that matters now, Rick, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll back all the way off and run for your life.”
Jennings froze speechless. He remembered the warning calls he’d been receiving—back all the way off—and knew now who’d been making them.
“Time for talk is over,” Robeson said coldly.
“Oh, Christ, Red.”
“Listen, Rick, I told you, there’s a lot you don’t understand. There’s things you’ll never understand. Things you’ll never be allowed to know. I’ve got to go now.”
“Don’t hang up on me, Red.”
Too late. Robeson was gone.
Jennings called the station and told the sergeant on duty to have a helicopter waiting at the airport. Next he called Persephone Wilder. She answered on the third ring. He asked if she would like to take a chopper ride.
“What’s going on, Rick?”
Jennings gave her a brief rundown.
“My God,” she said. “This is getting weirder by the minute.”
“Bet your ass it is.” Jennings heard a whooshing sound on the line. “Where are you?”
“I’m on the road,” Wilder told him. “Just coming into Portland. Where do you want me to meet you?”
“At the airport. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
The moment he hung up, his phone went off.
“Jennings, this is Wolf.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been giving it some thought and decided there’s something you need to know.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“Let’s just say I want Laura back as much as you do.”
“Okay, I’m listening. Are you sure about this, Wolf?” Jennings asked when Wolf had finished.
“As sure as I can be. Memory’s a funny thing.”
Jennings heaved a massive sigh. “Yeah, tell me about it. Listen. This changes things.”
“How so?”
“It’s getting harder to tell friends from enemies.”
“What’s the old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“I got it. You still want to go over there alone, Wolf?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Still don’t trust me, huh?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, then there’s something you need to know.” Wolf listened.
Chapter 108
Like a black ghost the Bell 429 Helicopter—the government’s latest in whisper-quiet technology—materialized out of the darkness and settled gently and quietly onto the tarmac at the end of the five thousand foot runway.
The airfield, which was completely surrounded by electrified chain-link fence topped with razor wire, sat atop a flat blueberry plain two hundred yards above the gutted Saint Francis orphanage. The flat-top island had been a perfect location for the small Second World War era military airport. It was nothing elaborate but highly functional, with a couple of small hangers, a maintenance shed, a refueling station and a small office building. They’d kept it purposely low-key. It was the perfect place for a secret CIA-run operation.
As the chopper’s blades began to wind down Spencer eased out of the pilot seat and removed his flight helmet. He stepped out through the open doorway onto the tarmac followed by Robeson and half a dozen security forces, all armed and decked out in SWAT gear. The security forces quickly fanned out, forming a protective circle around the chopper door where two technicians—one short, the other tall—exited carrying a large suitcase about the size of a footlocker.
“Be careful,” Spencer warned. “She’s a delicate little baby.”
“Don’t worry, Boss Man,” replied Tall Tech. “Everything’s under control.”
Spencer nodded as the two men headed for the door of the nearest building, the security forces shielding them as they went.
Chapter 109
Wolf pulled the car over to the curb near the mall in South Portland, his mind reeling. He sat for a few moments breathing deeply, formulating his plan, unable to believe he’d made it this far without getting popped. The city was crawling with cops.
Getting out of the car, he dropped Laura’s phone in his pocket and carefully tucked her automatic in his belt which he covered over with the tail of his shirt.
He hailed a cab and instructed the driver take him to the Portland waterfront. Fifteen minutes later he stepped out onto Commercial Street. The district was filled with young people all dressed like it was Halloween. Darkly attired goths were whooping it up, moving in and out of bars, restaurants, souvenir shops, tattoo parlors. Halloween was just two days away, he knew, but it didn’t matter to most of these kids. Every day was Halloween to them. He’d gotten used to all the craziness since getting out of jail. It was as if something was leaching across the land—or perhaps the water—changing things, changing people. He stared across the dark water toward Apocalypse Island and heaved a deep sigh. Live music blasted from one of the Old Port clubs and he briefly wondered what his band and the Cavern Club had done since he hadn’t shown up for work. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant now. He needed to concentrate. He needed to find a way across the water.
He jogged across Commercial Street away from all the bustling activity and down toward the waterfront. Here there were piers and docks and fish processing plants and floating restaurants. Ocean-going vessels of every stripe were berthed here, from private yachts to working fishing boats to small skiffs with attached outboard motors. It was late evening, and other than the restaurants, there wasn’t much activity on the docks themselves. He jogged up and down the wooden platforms looking for signs of life. He was seriously thinking of stealing a skiff when he spotted a light on in one of the boat cabins.
He sprinted down the gangplank, his urgent footfalls drawing the owner out on deck.
“Something I can help you with?” asked the man.
“I need to get to Apocalypse Island,” Wolf said.
The fisherman stared skeptically at him. “Ferry doesn’t run until 6 am.”
“Has to be tonight,” Wolf said.
“Wind’s picking up,” the man replied. “No time to be on the water.
“I can pay you.”
Wolf saw greed light up the man’s eyes.
“How much money you got?”
Wolf reached in his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and started counting. “Hundred and forty three dollars. That’s everything.”
“Well, better get going then before weather sets in.” The boat captain held out his hand. Wolf put the cash in it. The man pocketed the money, jumped out onto the dock and began untying lines. Wolf pitched in and five minutes later they were motoring slowly through the harbor. “Name’s Johnson,” said the captain. “Skip Johnson.”
“Nice to meet you, Skip” Wolf replied. “Name’s Wolf.”
Johnson stared expressionless at Wolf for a long moment before extending his hand. Wolf took it. By the time they reached open water six foot swells were pounding the boat and rain was pelting the windshield. It had been unseasonably cold in recent days, and now a warm front was making its way through the area kicking off some late season thunderstorms. In the distance, above the clouds, silent chains of lightening exploded like bursts of ordinance, their momentary shocks of brilliance illuminating the black ocean around them and the wooded islands ahead. Apocalypse stood out in the stroboscopic brilliance like a dark blight on the water.
Inside the dry boat cabin Johnson watched his instruments, using them to navigate by. “What’s over on Apocalypse?” he casually asked.
“Unfinished business,” Wolf replied.
The captain gave a slow, knowing nod but did not ask any more questions. A helicopter droned overhead.
Thirty minutes later they were docking at Apocalypse Island’s main pier. By now the rain was falling in wind-driven sheets.
“Thanks for the ride,” Wolf said.
“Ain’t you gonna need a lift back to the mainland?” Johnson asked.
“Don’t think I could afford it,” Wolf said.
Skip Johnson smiled a little sheepishly. “Oh, I think that’d be covered with what you already gave me.”
“Thanks,” Wolf said, “but I might be a while.”
“You in trouble?” Johnson asked.
Wolf hauled in a deep lungful of air, sighed it out. “Let’s just say there might be trouble waiting for me here.”
“This island seems to breed trouble,” Johnson said sadly. “Always has. What’s your trouble with it?”
“Someone took a friend of mine against her will. I aim to get her back.”
“What makes you think they came here?”
Wolf shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
Johnson nodded in understanding. “Well, probably gonna hang tight a spell anyway. Least till the bad weather passes.” And as if in response to his statement, thunder clapped loudly overhead before rolling across the sky like a cosmic bowling ball. “Yup, believe some heavy shit is about to descend upon us.”
“You might be right about that,” Wolf said.
“Got some fire power below deck if you need it,” Johnson said.
“Very kind of you,” Wolf said and meant it. “But I think I’m covered.” He pulled his shirt aside revealing the automatic.
“If you get in trouble there’s a feller lives over on the seaward side of the island, might be of some help.”
“Yeah, who?”
“Name’s Tanis Richey. He’s a friend of mine, along with some other residents hereabouts.”
Wolf stood for a long moment in thought. The name Tanis Richey seemed to stir something in his memory. Then the spark was gone. “Who is he?”
“Used to be the king of this here island paradise,” Skip Johnson said with a touch of irony in his voice. It was as if the idea of Apocalypse Island ever being a paradise was a colossal joke. “Least he was til the gov’ment built that airstrip up on the hill and made everything so secret.”
“Tell me something, Skip, how did Apocalypse Island get its name?”
Johnson frowned. “That’s a good one,” he said. “Way back in the olden days the natives were superstitious. They thought there was something down there.” He pointed at the hillside.
“You mean beneath the ground?” Wolf asked.
“Yep. A hole in the earth where demons lived. Some believed it was a hole that went straight down into hell. There’s an old island prophecy that says some day demons will rise from that hole and infest the earth. When the first Christian settlers came here they heard the stories and at first dismissed them. Then things began to happen.”
“What things?”
“Deformed babies and psychic children, and murders and mutilations and all manner of sacrilegious stuff. Not to mention ghost sightings and every other kind of weirdness you can imagine. So they named it Apocalypse. Apocalypse doesn’t actually mean the end of everything, you now. The bible talks about ‘the lifting of the veil’, which loosely translates into ‘the rising’ or ‘the coming of something horrific’. They always expected something to rise up, but so far it hasn’t. Good thing, I guess.”
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Wolf said.
“Grew up here,” Skip Johnson said. “Hard not to take notice when you live with it most of your life. The legend also says if you go near that hole you’ll be imbued with supernatural powers.” Johnson gave a dismissive shrug. “Anyways, the folks who lived here just accepted it, basically because they didn’t have a choice. They got used to the weirdness. Some say it’s even spread to the mainland, and if you ask me it’s true. Things just haven’t been right over there for a long time. All these kids running around in dark costumes thinking they’re vampires and demons and stuff, and painting filth on their bodies, and now these terrible murders, well...” Skip Johnson’s voice trailed off as he stared across the water toward he mainland.
“You think this island has something to do with all that?”
“The government didn’t set up shop here for nothing,” Johnson said. “Word is they tried to use it for their own greedy ends, but things they didn’t anticipate started to happen. When it got out of hand they tried to contain it. When that didn’t work they made it top secret and got their asses out of here.”
For a long silent moment Wolf just stared at Johnson. “Do you believe all that?”
Johnson grunted out a dry laugh. “I don’t know. A lot of folks hereabouts do. Some words of advice for you, though; proceed with caution.”
“Thanks, I will,” Wolf said. He bounded up onto the dock and headed up the wooden platform toward solid ground as wind-driven rain sheeted over him. He didn’t really expect to ever see Skip Johnson again.
After Wolf was gone, Skip Johnson picked his phone of the dash and dialed.
Chapter 110
Spencer had come to this island in the late nineteen-seventies, a young agent just out of the academy. He’d been assigned as the operation’s head of security but had soon become involved heavily in the day-to-day running of the facility.
He’d been amazed at the size of the operation and the extent of its sophistication, most of which existed beneath the ground, totally belying its unobtrusive above-ground appearance.
He’d also been amazed at the type of work conducted here, which was some of the most cutting-edge mind altering research of the time. Hell, as far as he knew, nothing being done today could touch what they’d been able to accomplish back then. Too bad they’d had to cease operations when he’d felt they were so close to an answer.
But he was just a soldier. He took his orders from a higher power just like everyone else did, and when those in charge had said, “Enough! Bury it!” That’s exactly what he had done.
In Spencer’s estimation, the church had ruined it for everyone. There was too wide a conflict between religion and science. Always had been, always would be. Oil and water would never mix. But they’d been involved long before his time, and he hadn’t had much say in the matter. He supposed that in those early years of the discovery it had been the only logical choice. The church and the orphanage had been here first and they were much more adept at feeding and housing the little brats than a bunch of government geeks. But in the end it was the church that brought it all down. Spencer had warned his higher-ups about
their meddling in scientific affairs. And there was talk about plans to spirit some of the children out of here under the cover of darkness, and, about the very real possibility that they might let the cat out of the bag. This could never be allowed. Nothing about this place could ever be permitted to go public. What had started as simple mind altering experiments on gifted children had resulted in a discovery so amazing that it rocked the scientific community and caused the government to ultimately bury it under a veil of secrecy; the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Roswell.
The facility here at Apocalypse Island had subsequently been abandoned and the discovery sealed off for good. Or so they’d thought. Now it had come to light that someone very clever had managed to break through their defenses and use the facility for their own ends. How this could have happened, Spencer could not even venture a vague guess.
Considering the circumstances Spencer knew that the entire island should have been abandoned and sealed off long ago. And that’s exactly what would have happened if they could have gotten away with it. But by then it was being populated by an upwardly mobile citizenry who would have demanded reasons and in so doing would have drawn far too much scrutiny from the outside world. So it was decided to let sleeping dogs lie. But now the sleeping dogs were becoming restless.
After the orphanage burned, MK-ULTRA should have become a footnote in history. But now with the internet and its legions of dedicated and pathological conspiracy theorists nothing was safe from public scrutiny.
It was assumed that all the brats had died in the fire. But then, one escapee had been discovered wandering the island, a huge child named Sam who’d been unable to speak. He was taken to a facility in New York State where further tests were conducted. Sam was an amazing physical specimen with nearly super human capabilities. One night he escaped and came home, drawn back to Apocalypse Island as a moth to a flame. That’s when Spencer and those in the highest echelons of governmental secrecy realized that no one who knew could be allowed to live.
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