"What are the DGSE's suspicions on why that asshole wants it? To sell it?" Everett asked as he saw the three Spetsnaz coming toward their group.
"No, he wants it for blackmail."
Farbeaux looked over at Collins, their eyes met and they both knew the reasons why blackmail was the obvious choice.
"Correct, Colonel, blackmail."
"The ballsy bastard is trying for a coup in Quebec, that's why Sagli and Deonovich were so quick to give up what they had going in Russia; a safe haven and their own country with Punchy at its head."
"My country believes the weapon in question can be broken up into twenty devices and would all be the equivalent of any high-yield weapon in the modern arsenals of the world—"
"An instant superpower armed with nuclear weapons only a hundred miles from the American border. A power that would be able to dictate terms to Ottawa and to London," Collins explained as he closed his eyes.
"Well, that may not happen. It is my understanding that this weapon can only be armed by a code particular to the Hyper Glide, and this code remains one of the most guarded secrets of your government. Only a few men in the world know how to activate it and disarm it, and these men are more of a secret than the code itself," Henri said trying to make the others see a brighter side to their predicament.
As the guard detail were only feet away, Everett, Farbeaux, and Mendenhall looked to Jack. His silence told them that something was wrong. He was deep in thought and his lips were actually moving with the effort.
"Colonel?" Will said, trying to get him to say something.
"Please don't tell me—"
Farbeaux knew in his heart and when Jack cut his question off in midsentence, he lowered his head and closed his eyes.
"The men who know the codes to the Hyper Guide weaponry may not be as guarded a secret as you think," Collins said as they all instantly realized why Jack was led to the Canadian wilderness.
"Jack, is there something we should know before these assholes shoot us?" Everett asked as the three Spetsnaz stopped in front of their makeshift tarp.
"Punchy knows I can arm or disarm the weapon. That's why as a captain I was a team leader in the search in '89."
"You see, what did I tell you? Everyone has these damn weapons just sitting on their back porch, and if I ever go on a field mission and not run into one, I wouldn't know what to do with myself!" Mendenhall said as he slammed his booted feet on the ground as if he were throwing a fit.
Farbeaux leaned over as far as he could toward Jack as the first guard reached down to pull him off the ground.
"As I said, Colonel Collins, you never cease to amaze me."
* * *
Jack knew he had to act and do so without getting everyone shot before he had a chance to say what he had to say to Alexander. Mendenhall, Farbeaux, and Everett were stood up and moved out into the falling rain. They were lined up by the three Spetsnaz and while they were occupied, Jack made a break for the large communications tent. Just three feet from the flap, he was caught and knocked to the ground by Deonovich. He stood over Collins, smiling. His one mistake was straddling Jack as he lay on his back. Evidently the man hadn't learned about Jack's very quick feet. Collins reared his right leg up and brought it up toward the large Russians crotch — that was when Jack found out that, yes indeedy, the big man had learned — he caught Jack's foot and twisted, throwing Collins over onto his stomach.
"I told you to execute his men, not torture the colonel!"
Deonovich looked up at the man standing just inside the tent. Alexander had a murderous scowl on his face. Even Sagli shook his head from the dryness of the tent.
"Punchy, you better listen to what I have to say!" Jack called out through the rain.
Deonovich, ignoring the warning from Alexander, raised his own right foot and slowly smashed Jack's face into the rocky mud. The pressure was tremendous as the colonel's features became totally submerged as he struggled to free his neck.
Alexander looked at Sagli and nodded his head angrily. The Russian stepped out and shoved his partner from Collins. Jack's head popped up and he took a deep breath, shaking his head to free some of the mud. As lightning streaked across the sky, Alexander, without moving from the tent watched as Sagli moved the insane Deonovich away and tried to get him back to the executions he was ordered to perform.
"You have one minute, Jack."
Jack rolled over onto his back and sat up. He looked up into the rain to wash some of the mud away and then he looked at Alexander.
"You kill them, and my sister and myself be damned. I know what you want me for, and I will never free up the weapon with the codes you need."
Alexander was stunned. He stepped into the downpour and stood over Collins. He knelt beside Jack and looked him in the eyes. His large frame didn't move as if he were searching for the lie in his old friend's eye.
"How did you know?" was all he asked.
"Your treasonous game is up, Alexander. At least one intelligence service knows all about your plan to find the bomb and use it to stage a coup in Quebec."
Alexander suddenly stood and shouted at the three Spetsnaz, "Shoot them all now!"
"You know me, Punchy, I'll never give you the codes — so stop this from happening," Jack hissed as he struggled to stand.
"Goddamn you, Jack!"
"No! Goddamn you, you son of a bitch! You won't get a damn thing from me if one more of my people die!" The last words were the first Alexander had ever heard Collins scream out loud.
A hundred feet away, the three Spetsnaz took aim.
"Stop!" Alexander shouted through the storm just as lightning and its accompanying thunder came from overhead.
Jack flinched, thinking his friends were behind him lying in the mud, shot to death by a man he once claimed as a pal.
Sagli and Deonovich were stunned. Still, Sagli reached out and pushed down on the barrel of the weapon of the first man in line. The other two saw this and lowered their own AK-47s. Deonovich looked up and was furious that the American had said something to their new partner and changed his mind all in a few seconds. He turned and stormed away, his heavy boots splashing water and mud as he went.
Mendenhall felt weak in his knees, but remained upright, not giving the mercenaries in front of him the pleasure of seeing him afraid. He just thanked God that the heavy rain camouflaged the tear that rolled down his face.
"It seems I will owe your colonel after this," Farbeaux said in relief.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Farbeaux. Jack just may have bought us time by trading you for us," Everett joked, as he himself still had his heart in his throat.
"In any case, it was worth it to see the expression on that bastard's face when he was foiled from shooting us."
"It was worth me almost crapping my pants for at that," Everett quipped.
* * *
Alexander lifted Jack up and shook him.
"Listen to me!" he shouted into the face of Collins. "I have spent over twenty-five years in shit holes around the world; I have planned this for half as many of those years. I will not allow to you to fuck it up for me, Jack! If you don't do as I ask and enter those codes on that weapon, I will not kill your friends, I will skin them alive right in front of you. Then you will watch Lynn as she's taken by every mercenary in this camp, and then you will watch as she's cut to pieces! Am I clear, Jack?"
"Clear, Punchy." The voice was cool and the words said as if he had just been given an order by the president. "One question?"
Alexander had turned away, but stopped. He refused to face Jack again.
"What?" he shouted over the rain.
"Do you think the United States, or Canada will allow this to happen?"
This time Alexander decided to deliver the news himself; it was his turn to shock Collins with knowledge.
"Yes, I do expect them to allow the separation of Quebec from Ottawa, Jack," he said as he slowly turned. Collins could see the insanity coursing through his features, "Becaus
e the first weapons derived from this one warhead will be delivered to Toronto, New York, Washington, London, and Paris. Yes, they will welcome a new Quebec, and its new head of state, maybe not with open arms, but they will welcome it, if only publicly. Stranger alliances have happened in history, Jack, you should know that."
Collins saw Punchy turn and walk away. Then he stopped as a sudden shout and angry voices sounded from the camp. Jack turned and saw fifteen of the commandos running for the back of camp, toward the line of tents, in particular, Lynn's tent. His eyes widened when he saw the tent flap open and then his eyes flicked to the line of trees just as Lynn disappeared into the forest.
"Stop, let her go," Punchy shouted. The looked at Sagli and Deonovich, who were standing dumbfounded at opposite ends of the camp. "Gather up your prisoners, get the men to their weapons and the techs out of their tents; we move in tonight. This ends here, now!"
Alexander walked over to the larger Deonovich and grabbed him by the jacket he was wearing and as Sagli watched in shock, the big man actually cowered away from the smaller Canadian.
"You take what you have on you and get the woman back—now!"
Deonovich was released and he cowered even farther away from the insanely bright eyes of Alexander. Then he turned on his heels and ran in the same direction as Lynn.
The maniacal sound of the Canadian's voice startled everyone who heard it. It blasted over the thunder and rain, and it seemed to center on each individual. As Collins watched, men made for their tents and packs, weapons and equipment. The Spetsnaz was going to secure the doomsday weapon, and all Jack could do was watch.
The group would follow Lynn into the northern woods of the Stikine, and two different species of man would meet head-on after a million years of living separately.
The outcome might just decide the inheritors of the new world.
PART THREE
THE FOREST PRIMEVAL
12
Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III was hearing droning once more from deep in his mind. He tried to focus on the dream but it kept fluttering tantalizing close and then vanishing; it was constantly in and out of hearing range. The song was the same one he was singing before he had passed out: "Crystal Blue Persuasion" was being hummed with a deepness to it that made it seem it was coming from a deep and darkened well. The humming was not good, but continuous. Finally, the pain in his shoulder brought Charlie to the brink of wakefulness.
The smell of mildew and earth was the first thing to enter his waking mind as his eyes fluttered open. Or did they, he wondered. The blackness told him he was dreaming yet again as he tried to move his head. That was when he realized he was awake and that wherever he was, the sun never reached. Then it hit him like a comet: the cave and that old familiar smell from 1968—he was inside of Lattimer's cave.
Charlie tried to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder told him that was definitely not a good idea. He lay back down and that was when he realized the humming had stopped. With his shoulder screaming, Charlie moved his right hand to his front pants pocket and removed a small lighter. That was when his memory came back and he knew that the Russians had shot him — for what? Then it struck him: because he tried to be a hero, and he knew then for the first time in his life he had to admit that he just wasn't the hero type.
"Foolish old man," he said to himself, not realizing he had spoken out loud. That was when he heard movement to his right. Something large had scurried from where he lay to someplace farther down the cave's long and dark passage. Charlie swallowed, and still lying on his back, he used the lighter in his hand.
He kept his eyes closed for the longest time, afraid to open them for fear of what his vision would behold. Finally, gathering up his courage, he opened one eye and saw the cave's ceiling some thirty-five feet above his prone body. The ancient stalactites hung down like teeth in a nightmare mouth. He swallowed and opened his other eye, and then he turned his head. He saw that he was lying on a bed of leaves and moss. The smell of rotting vegetation was atrocious and he crinkled his nose. He smelled urine and feces, but the rotting bed mat was the worst.
As his eyes roamed the cave, he saw cave drawings, not unlike the ones he remembered from his first encounter back in 1968. As he tried to sit up, he was amazed at how deep the colors used on the paintings were. They looked powerful in their renderings of deer, elk, and other forest animals, and unlike the cave paintings of Paleolithic man in European paintings, these were depictions of hunts, or the killing of game; these were like a naturalist's view of the wild world. Charlie saw whole herds of beasts, running through the woods, grazing, and doing the everyday things that these animals would do.
Charlie managed to push the throbbing pain in his shoulder to the back of his mind, absentmindedly reaching for his left arm. With the lighter so close to his wound, Charlie was astounded to see that the bullet hole had been packed with what looked to be mud and small shavings of bark and grass. It smelled like someone had placed animal droppings in there for good measure. He shook his head and shied away from looking at the disgusting mess. He concentrated on standing up, one movement at a time, inches at most. Finally he managed to gain his feet, which he noticed were bare. Someone had removed his boots. When he looked around he could see them a few feet away. His eyes widened when he realized they looked as if they had been virtually stripped from his feet like a banana peel — the tongues were completely torn free and the laces were missing.
Ellenshaw shook his head, letting the lighter go out to give his thumb a rest. He stepped forward from the bed of leaves and grass until he felt dirt beneath his feet. Using his good right arm, he felt the coldness of the cave wall. His fingers felt the dampness and he rubbed them together. Overhead through the rock strata of the cave, Charlie heard the soft rumble of thunder and knew that the humidity he was feeling was caused by the deepness of the cave. He was far beneath the earth and that was when he realized that he was far away from the opening he had been in those many years ago. He almost became ill with the thought of being buried so far from the surface of the world.
He shook his head when he discovered that he was acting like a schoolgirl. He had a chance here to possibly see something that no man in history had ever been witness to: an actual living entity that hadn't changed in millions of years. With that thought Charlie struck the lighter once more. The flame illuminated the cave wall and Ellenshaw saw a large painting of what looked to be a bird — it almost resembled the phoenix of southern Maya and Inca origins. It looked like it was rising in flames from the earth, but no, Charlie thought to himself, it wasn't rising at all — it was falling. And never once had he seen any historical depiction of the phoenix with a man riding on the back of the giant bird.
"Amazing detail for a prehistoric rendering, I must say," Charlie said to himself.
Ellenshaw shook his head and stepped to his right. There were more depictions of animals and of the surrounding woods. He turned and looked behind him at the rear wall of the giant cave — there were more paintings there. As he stepped up, his eyes widened. There were straight horizontal lines drawn over a wavy surface, almost looking like a zigzag pattern against the stone wall. On these horizontal lines were what Charlie realized immediately were representations of men. They were stick men, but he could see that these men were on what had to be boats, the straight lines riding over a rippling surface. The Stikine River! he thought to himself.
Ellenshaw, placing the lighter as close to the painting as he could, reached out and with his finger touched the red (blood, he was thinking) and green pigment, then he brought the finger away and moaned deep in his chest. The water-based colors were still wet. Charlie's eyes widened as a sudden gust of breeze blew the lighter out. He cursed and struck the small wheel again, flicking the lighter and trying to get it to catch. Every time the flint was struck, the wall and interior of the cave illuminated around him, and that was when he failed to realize in those momentary flashes of light, that he wasn't alone.
He curs
ed one more time and struck the flint wheel of the lighter; this time the flame came up and stayed lit and as he turned, still in shock that the painting he had just touched was still wet to the touch, he came face to face with the artist.
Ellenshaw's mouth fell open as the vision of a million years penetrated his soul. Standing five feet over Charlie's head was Giganticus Pythicus, an ape that was supposedly extinct for the past ten thousand years. The eyes were that of no ape, and the face was not covered in fur or hair. The skin was clean and the lines of age were clearly seen. The nose was actually very similar to a man's, not flat like a modern ape, not large like a humans, either — it was somewhere in between. The mouth was large and as it opened its maw, Ellenshaw could see that the teeth were still that of an animal that could use its canines for very adequate defense.
Charlie's hand holding the lighter remained steady as he realized his life's dream was standing before him. An amazing discovery in the human experience was staring at him right in the face, justifying everything he had ever believed about the world. The animal's brown eyes bore into Ellenshaw's and he could see the brows rise up in a curious maneuver of facial muscles. The great beast tilted its head as it looked Charlie over in the flickering flame of the small lighter.
"He… hello," Ellenshaw mumbled.
The giant ape — Sasquatch, Bigfoot, a legend and myth of the new world — looked at Charlie with its expressive eyes, and then slowly leaned over the small man and gently blew out the lighter.
"Oh, crap."
* * *
Lynn crashed through the undergrowth as if the devil himself were chasing her. She knew that if she could take the threat of her own imminent death out of the equation, Jack just may have a fighting chance at thwarting whatever it was Punchy had in mind for him.
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