“Must be losing my touch,” Eugene said. “Or you guys are secretly machines.”
Neither answered. They both raised their mugs and took a sip of coffee.
“Definitely machines,” Eugene mumbled to himself. Speaking more clearly, he said, “Have you seen Daron?”
“Yes,” Ford said.
“And?”
“And he agrees with you. He wants us to pick up the capture/kill missions where you and the asset left off.”
“Is he still here?” Eugene asked.
Ford shook his head. “He left about an hour ago. Said he’ll be back tomorrow night.”
Over the past several weeks, Daron and Eugene had never been separated that long. Eugene wondered if there was a legitimate reason, or if his crusty partner was just avoiding him. It didn’t matter, there was a good chance Eugene wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.
“Alright then,” said Eugene. “How about we go kill some bad guys?”
Wearing matching sets of black tactical gear, Eugene and Ford exited the Datsun and slipped into the moonlit forest. It was better to conduct night operations under a moonless sky, but they didn’t have time to wait for proper astral alignment. Their gear was devoid of communications equipment, so they were forced to keep a tight spacing as they ducked branches and rounded trees, their suppressed H&K MP7’s swiveling as they went. Eugene’s night-vision goggles showed the world awash in shades of green, while Ford chose to view an infrared display with one eye and night-vision with the other.
Eugene couldn’t comprehend how his black-ops teammate could function with two different displays, but as long as Ford didn’t trip up and give away their position, he didn’t question it. In truth, Eugene struggled to keep up. The younger operative moved like smoke in the wind.
They made it to the cabin in under a minute. Ford moved from window to window, peaking inside while Eugene watched his back. They halted at the rear of the structure, surprised to find the back door wide open.
Ford reached up and switched both lenses to infrared, and Eugene followed suit. Ford counted to three with his fingers, and the pair of operatives entered the cabin. The first room was sparsely appointed, containing only a few kitchen appliances and four chairs around a card table. The hallway was completely empty, and the two bedrooms held a pair of cots each. Moving in a half-crouch with their arms in tight, they swept into the last room. Four heat signatures lined the far wall—four people sitting ramrod-straight in a set of chairs.
Eugene’s finger instinctively dropped to the trigger, but he didn’t shoot. Something wasn’t right. The figures were cooler than they should have been, and they didn’t even twitch at the sight of the armed invaders. “I’ve got ‘em covered,” Eugene said. “Hit the lights.”
The overhead light came on a moment later, and Eugene lifted his infrared goggles. His heart skipped a beat.
Two men and two women were propped up in plastic lawn chairs, their hands gripping the armrests. Their skin was pale, and their faces were stretched in silent screams.
“He’s going to give me a heart-attack,” Eugene mumbled, shaking his head.
Ford didn’t take his eyes off the corpses. “Who is?”
“Jarrod. He probably left them like this for other Katharos agents to find.”
“You mean the asset did this?”
Eugene nodded. “Yep. I don’t know how he beat us here, but I’m getting tired of stumbling across his handiwork.”
Ford’s face showed his agreement. He checked each of the bodies for a pulse, then shook his head. “Nothing left to do here. Where’s the next objective?”
33
San, Maria, Anita, and Susana huddled around the table in the mansion’s third dining room. They crossed themselves, said Grace, and began to eat. It was a simple meal consisting of Ramen noodles and hard-boiled eggs; the government’s lavish spending on safehouse accommodations didn’t extend to the refrigerator. Out of everyone in the family, Maria was the only one who hadn’t tired of the salty fare. She dug in with her plastic fork and slurped up a wet glob of noodles.
“Don’t,” Anita said, glaring at her daughter.
Maria smiled sheepishly and made sure to bite off the next forkful.
San stared straight through his own soup. His life had become a haze as he drifted from day to day. Sleep arrived in fits and ended in nightmares. His appetite was gone, and the lack of food was sapping his strength. Two nights remained before the morning of the attack. Daron rarely brought good news and never had anything to say about Philip.
San was losing faith in Hillcrest’s former head of security. Lately, Daron seemed out of focus. He was obsessed with finding Jarrod, and San wondered if anyone was truly searching for his lost son.
“You should eat,” Anita said.
San met her gaze. He had seen that look many times in the past week. It was a look that said she didn’t want to lose her husband along with her son. Nodding, he dug his fork into the noodles and took a bite. He chewed the soft food for longer than he should have, then dropped his fork as if it was made of lead. Ignoring his wife’s beseeching stare, he stared down at the table.
“San…” Anita began.
“I’m okay, dear,” San said. “It’s just a headache.” He had grown used to telling the lie. He was losing the will to live, his depression deepening into a black pit. Though he spoke optimistically to his family, he had secretly given up hope. Convinced his son was dead, he merely waited for news that someone had found the body.
Eugene poked his head into the room, and San thought the dark news had finally arrived.
“San, can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.
San forced a smile for his family and said, “I’ll be right back.” He followed Eugene to the study, then sank into a chair.
Eugene closed the door behind them. “San, I can’t imagine how hard this is. But you need to keep it together. For your family.”
San frowned and said, “I think I’m holding up okay…”
Eugene rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar. You look like crap and anyone can see that you’ve given up, including Anita and Maria.”
San fidgeted in his seat and grumbled, “I’m fine.”
With a heavy sigh, Eugene crossed the room and leaned against the desk. “I know I haven’t kept you in the loop, and I’m sorry about that. We’ve been really busy and I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep whenever I can.”
San nodded.
“I just want you to know we’re making progress,” Eugene continued. “We’ve run three dozen ops in the past two days, and they’ve all been hugely successful.”
San’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t know how long it took to complete an operation, but three dozen seemed high, even for someone as talented as Eugene.
Eugene leaned in closer. “Jarrod’s out there doing the work for us. Whenever we move on a target, it’s already been hit. The Katharos agents are either dead, or wrapped up like Christmas presents. I have no idea how he’s doing it, but he’s tearing them apart. It shouldn’t be long before he finds Philip and brings him in.”
“Assuming Philip is still alive,” San mumbled.
A fire passed through Eugene’s eyes, and he stood over San. “How dare you?”
San blinked and leaned back. “What?”
“I can’t believe you would even consider that,” Eugene said. “I am risking my life out there, taking risks I would never take if your son wasn’t involved. But I’m okay with it because I haven’t given up hope. After everything I’ve seen and done, the least you can do is stay positive.”
San blinked. His mouth hung open for a long moment, and he finally said, “Your right. I’m sorry, Eugene.”
“Don’t mention it.” He crossed his arms. “I’m serious, don’t bring it up again and I’ll pretend like you never said anything.”
San nodded, duly chastised.
“Keep your chin up, we’ll have good news before you know it.” Eugene moved to the d
oor, and a smile tugged at his lips. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go see what horrible presents the cat left behind.”
Philip stared up at the unremarkable concrete ceiling, wondering if it was possible to die of boredom. He had read all the books in his cell, then used some of the pages to create origami airplanes. A few days later, he staged an epic battle between the competing air forces of “The Odyssey” and “Moby Dick.” Hundreds of aircraft had been lost, leaving just one survivor to declare victory for the Moby Dick Military. Now, surrounded by piles of crumpled paper, he struggled to fall asleep. He had no idea what time it was, but it didn’t matter. He slept as often as he could to avoid having to entertain his under-stimulated brain.
His captors continued feeding him regularly. They provided baby wipes, fresh clothes, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. They only thing they didn’t give him was a reprieve from the mind-numbing isolation.
Closing his eyes, he began taking deep breaths. He had found that the breathing exercises would eventually make him dizzy, and sometimes even make him pass out. It was an odd way to fall asleep, but he was willing to do anything to pass the time. As he exhaled slowly, he heard an unusual sound outside his cell. His eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. Throughout his captivity, he had only heard his captors make two sounds: setting his loaded food trays in the drawer and removing the empty ones. This noise was different—a clunking and what sounded like a man groaning.
Slowly, he crept toward the door and put his ear to the crack. He closed his eyes, trying to shut everything else out. He couldn’t hear anything until, suddenly, someone whispered, “There is a blindfold in your drawer. Please put it on.”
Philip jumped back, feeling amazed and terrified at the same time. He finally had human interaction, something he’d been longing for, but the request was unsettling. The frightening thoughts of beatings, torture, and beheadings rushed back to him. He struggled to find his voice, then said, “And what if I don’t?”
“You don’t have to be afraid, Philip,” the voice said. “The blindfold is for your own good. I won’t hurt you.”
Philip eyed the steel drawer warily. Whoever was out there, they sounded sincere. But that was no guarantee; after all, he had been abducted against his will and held prisoner for days. Maybe it was all part of an elaborate trick.
“Please, Philip,” the voice urged. “We have to hurry. I need to get you to your father.”
“You know where my father is?” Philip asked
“Yes. He is very concerned about you, and it’s taking a toll on his health. Please, put on the blindfold. I’m going to open the door in a few seconds, and I would prefer if you didn’t look.”
Philip hesitated, then retrieved the blindfold. The door opened just as he cinched it into place, and a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
“Just walk,” the voice said. “I’ll direct you.”
Reaching out with his hands, Philip began to walk. He could see a thin section of the floor beneath the blindfold. Despite the stranger’s warning, he tilted his head back and tried to see more of his prison. The linoleum floor was dated and yellowing, and the walls were government-issue gray. Philip passed through an iron gate and turned down another hallway. A boot came into view, then a leg. Philip tilted his head sideways, trying to see more of the man.
“Don’t,” the voice behind him said.
Philip ignored the warning. He was too curious after his long isolation. The boot and leg were stretched out on the floor. Philip grimaced when the face came into view; it was bloodied, swollen, and several teeth were missing. The man was still alive—his rising chest was proof of that—but he would have a serious headache when he woke up.
Philip decided not to look around anymore. Keeping his eyes shut, he followed the voice’s cues until they were outside the building. The door unlocked, and Philip heard a van door sliding open.
“I—do we have to get in the van?” Philip asked.
The gentle hand nudged him forward. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only vehicle here. Just sit down and try to relax. It’ll be just you and me, okay?”
Philip nodded and reached forward until he felt the seat fabric. He sat with his fingers intertwined and his knees together, hoping it would be a short trip.
The side door slid shut, then the front door opened and closed. “Buckle your seatbelt,” the voice said, “and you can take the blindfold off if you’d like.”
Though Philip wanted to know the identity of the stranger, the thought of seeing the inside of the black van made him sick. “No thanks,” he said, fumbling for his seatbelt and clicking it into place.
“Very well,” the driver said. “It’ll take us about forty-five minutes to get there, and I’ll be here with you the whole way. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”
Philip nodded, then resumed his breathing exercises. Perhaps he really was going to see his parents, or maybe he was on his way to his death. Whatever lay ahead, he just wanted it to be over with. After a few minutes, he felt his mind growing dull. Time slipped away, and he fell into a light sleep.
34
Janson stared wide-eyed at the closed-circuit television screen. It showed a teenage boy ascending the front steps. She had never seen him before, but she knew exactly who he was. His features closely resembled those of two refugees in the house: Anita and Santiago Torres. Abandoning the security monitors, she rushed to the front door and pulled it open.
“Oh…” the boy said, his face falling. “I’m sorry ma’am. I was expecting to find my parents here.”
Janson tried desperately to hide her shock and said, “No, no, it’s fine. I know who you are. Please, come inside.”
Philip’s face lit up, and he stepped onto the marble foyer. “This place is amazing,” he said. “Are all government safehouses like this?”
“No, this one’s special,” Janson said. She glanced around nervously, hoping to find Ford. There was no one in sight; the house was quiet, as it usually was in the mid-afternoon.
“This is a major upgrade from my last place,” Philip said. “Way less cramped.”
Feet shuffled in the hallway, and Anita Torres burst into the room. Her eyes bulged, and she shouted over her shoulder, “I told you I wasn’t hallucinating! Get down here!” She ran forward and, though Philip was several inches taller than her, lifted him off the ground.
“My baby boy!” she cried. “Thank God you’re back!”
Philip hugged his mother tightly, resting his cheek on her head. “It’s good to see you, Mama.”
There was more scuffling, and three more faces appeared in the hallway. San, Maria, and Susana stood awestruck for a moment, then rushed in to join the hug.
Janson skirted around the joyous group and met a dumbfounded Ford. “We need to talk,” she said. “Kitchen.”
When they were alone, she whispered, “We need to get word out to Daron, ASAP.”
“How…who brought him in?” Ford asked.
“I have no idea. He just showed up. Was Eugene with you?”
“All day,” Ford said. “We just came back to refit before heading out again.”
Janson glanced toward the door. “Only a few people know where this safehouse is. We may have a security leak. I need to know if Daron wants to move these people out of here.”
Ford nodded. “After Eugene and I leave, I’ll send Daron a message and tell him to meet you here.”
“No,” Janson hissed, “do it now! If Daron comes back before…”
Suddenly, the noise of celebration died down. After a pause, San said, “Look who’s here! I bet he’ll be glad to see you!”
Ford and Janson exchanged panicked glances, then sprinted back to the foyer. To their dismay, Daron had just entered the house. His right eye twitched, and he glanced at the two operatives. All they could do was shrug and raise their palms.
“How did you do it?” San spoke above the rest. “How did you find him?”
Daron stared at Philip and said, “W
ell…we, uh, chased down some leads and made a move on several suspected Katharos compounds until we found him.”
San beamed and squeezed his son’s shoulder.
Philip thumped himself on the forehead, suddenly remembering an important detail, and reached into his pockets.
“I almost forgot,” he said. “I was supposed to give you each a note. I didn’t even have time to read them after your detective or whatever dropped me off.”
Daron accepted the sealed envelope, but his eyes were on the one in San’s hands. “I’d better take that,” he said. “It might contain important intelligence.”
“Nonsense,” San said, waving Daron off. “I want to hear from the man who rescued my son.”
Daron nodded, and shot a sideways glance at Alphas One and Two. A silent message passed between them, and the two operatives split up to patrol the house.
San was smiling broadly as he tore open his letter. “San,” he read aloud, “I have come across information you might find…very…disturbing…”
Frowning, San read on in silence, his eyes jolting across the page. As the message sank in, San gripped the paper tighter, crinkling its edges.
Keeping his eyes on San, Daron opened his own envelope and withdrew a small note. The message bore only five capitalized words, “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”
Stuffing the note in his pocket, he reached for San and said, “I really should take these.”
San jerked the page aside and held up a hand. “Daron, I think you should keep your distance right now.”
Daron folded his arms over his chest, waiting for the hammer to fall.
“San, what’s going on?” Anita asked.
San ignored her and addressed his sister-in-law, “Susana, please take Maria upstairs.”
The Path Of The Nightmare Page 22
