As the last of the troops climbed up off the platform on a rope ladder into the safety of the helo, they looked on the carnage that most had thought not possible. The troops couldn’t believe the sight or wrap their minds around what had happened that day. They had lost a dozen or more men and women in the firefight, seen the horror of the conflict and escaped with their lives.
For some, what they had witnessed was motivation. For some it would mark the end of their fighting days.
For Rod and Cindy, it was only the beginning of what was to come.
They would retreat now but return quickly to recover the remains of their fallen comrades.
***
“What are your orders sir,” the pilot asked. “The last of the teams have been evac’d to safety. We’ve still got plenty of fuel and munitions to go a while longer. The thermal show they hostiles are pretty much holding in place.”
“I want you to target the hostiles opportunistically and rake back and forth on the highest concentrations of their personnel. Run over their camps, including the one I’m sending you the coordinates to now. These are GPS coordinates and they should be uploaded into your nav computer right away. Keep going until you get low on fuel or run out of munitions.”
***
Arnaud watched the scene unfold via the drone video. He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.
He estimated a good six to seven thousand trained and dedicated Black Shirt troops lay dead or dying on the ground.
“Order the camps to shut down and the troops to scatter immediately. They have their orders; they need to move fast. Leadership is to rendezvous with me at the Lodge. We’re going back to base in Washington.”
***
Two hours later, Edward called Adam.
“Call Paulo and tell him that fifteen thousand of his military are now dead in Idaho and if we had, had more time and munitions, they’d all be dead. You can tell him his Lodge in Idaho is now rubble. If this is what he wants, then this is what he will get.”
“I don’t think these were Collective troops, Dad,” said Adam.
“If not them, then who?”
“I think they were all Black Shirt. Our new ‘Most Wanted’ is Saldana Ri.”
“Tell him anyway and tell him this is, what is in store for all Gens, Collective, Black Shirt or any other Gens walking the planet. If he has any pull with this Saldana Ri and her leadership, tell him to get on the horn with her and think through their plans for fucking with the human race.”
“Roger that.”
THE CRYPTID TRILOGY
CRYPTID: DISCOVERY
SABBI BIANCA, MORTE ROSSA
Chapter 1
Derek Nobilus sat in his office with another man, Vincent Romano, a Gens in his late twenties and a recent arrival in London from upstate New York in America. A third man was under discussion, though not present; this man was well-known to Derek. He was in his mid-twenties and was a capable munitions, and demolitions technician. He was an even better up-and-coming boxer in Derek’s ever expanding stable of young boxers. In truth, Bertie Mills had been chosen for his other great attribute: he was expendable, had a dicey background, and would be eliminated right after the job he was assigned was done. Suspicion and responsibility for what he was just about to do would be thrown to him and his fellow Northern Irish Catholic mates.
A false claim of responsibility would be sent to all major media outlets suggesting that a resurgent IRA was again operational, and ready to commit terrorist acts in London.
Vincent was sent to oversee an assignment given by his superiors, the brothers Fortizi back home. It was an important one and the details of which Derek knew nothing. He was to recruit a human from his boxing flock with certain military skills and to let the young Gens plan and execute the job. In fact, none of the three knew anything about the purpose of the job was, only what they were instructed to do and when.
What Derek, the older man knew for certain was that as soon as arrangements were made, he would be leaving London, and his people for a very long time. Possibly a very, very long time. After all he was helping old friends who had a major problem with some humans; however, neither he nor any of his kind had any sort of problem with humans and would’ve preferred to have been left out of the dispute entirely.
But after decades of support from his colleagues in America, it was far too late to say no. If he did, it would likely have been his own death that would be planned next. His chums in America were like that.
Derek had accepted the urgent assistance of his friend Enzo Fortizi back in the USA to whom he was now indebted. This debt had to be repaid, either in kind or with his own blood. Not a choice he wanted if he could avoid it, but, at present, he couldn’t. His trouble had been local and relatively low danger. Derek needed some muscle and had asked for help.
But this thing that Enzo was asking was major and existential. Way out of proportion to the small favors Derek had sought. No matter, as the Brits were wont to say: in for a penny, in for a pound.
Derek told the American that he would assist, so when the email came detailing the mechanics of the job he was to undertake, he began preparations for the task. Derek was cautious in framing how, and how much he could help; he could supply a human bomb maker but wouldn’t himself take an active part in executing of the job. Also, he would communicate only by secure email to anonymous email accounts. No phone calls, nothing that could be readily traced back to him. He had read all about the NSA monitoring calls to and from the US. He wanted nothing to do with them.
“When will the electronics be ready? I’d like to get going and get this task over with,” said the young Gens. “Then I need to disappear. Do you have my tickets and documents?”
“Yes. All here,” said Derek. He handed the Gens a large envelope. In it was a new passport with a new identity, and a round trip e-ticket on BA to Costa Rica along with $8000 in cash, all in US currency notes and no bills over $20.
“This will get you to Costa Rica and on to Tapanti where you can disappear.”
“I won’t need this much cash. A couple hundred should do it.”
“This is what the email from New Jersey requested I give you, so take it up with Princeton, not me.”
The young Gens looked at the older man suspiciously. He instantly didn’t like Derek, not that he knew him at all. His attitude was not deferential enough and contained a hint of insubordination. But he knew of him and his kind through the stories his uncle told of the ‘good old days’ when the men were young and could get away with murder. Literally.
“As to when the electronics will be ready, you should plan for a ‘go’ on Friday.”
“That’s three days from now. How about tomorrow instead? I don’t want to hang around here any longer than necessary.”
“What you want doesn’t matter. Things are arranged for Friday. So, you go Friday.”
“I said tomorrow. Make it happen.” The young man was arrogant and incautious, at least to Derek’s mode of thinking. Typical of his kind; killing was always their first option, not their last, and issuing threats was SOP. In the older man’s eyes, their kind was looking for trouble, trouble they would be unable to handle when the time came.
Death is very often the result of hubris, arrogance. This Gens had that weakness in spades.
“The electronics are being assembled and the only date when we know all three women will be at a specific location at a specific time is Friday. If you want to go before then, go for it. But you won’t have my help.”
The young man would report this old fart to both his uncles; one of whom once confided that he would probably eliminate this guy anyway. Why not now?
This man was a bother, knew too much and would likely not provide any material assistance to the cause when crunch time came. The Nobilus had once been close with the Gens, but that had been long ago. Now the older man represented a dwindling species that had willingly elected to be subsumed by the mass
of humanity; they had given up their unique cultural and genetic identities to live among them. To be like them. To eventually be them.
Disgusting, he thought.
The young man had received his orders via secure encrypted communication and had been sent over to London on three hours’ notice. He was to go radio silent from the moment he received his orders. Odd, he thought, but then not all that odd under the circumstances. Security had to be tight, so extraordinary measures would be required. A war was coming; obedience to the Collective leadership needed to be unquestioned and loyalty to his Clan was essential. The young man was delighted that his uncle had enough confidence in his ability to carry out this job and given him this plum assignment.
“You should’ve had all this ready by now and I should’ve been given the option of multiple times and locations for the attack. Your work is sloppy. And inadequate.”
Derek, the older man, looked at the young man with amusement. There was a time when he would have snapped his neck for a much lesser insult, but this young man, his assignment and all that went with it was of no consequence any longer. The young man would do his job successfully on Friday morning, or not. But he, Derek, would be out of the country and on his way to a sanctuary Thursday night. After that, he could care less. His world in London, maybe Europe, was finished. Now he would start over, far away from the conflagration he hoped would never find him.
Vincent carried on in the manner of self-important young men. “We need two devices, one to use, and one to test. The test will be conducted tomorrow a hundred kilometers north of here. The man making the device will accompany me to make sure all goes smoothly. Then he needs to have the second device completed by Thursday night. I’ll meet him at the designated location at the designated time on Friday morning. No names, no communication and no discussion. I meet him, we go to the target, do the job, then leave. After today you and I will not have any communication.”
Vincent paused, thinking a little less with his arrogant self.
“On second thought, what if I do need to contact you? I’ll need an emergency way of communicating.”
“No, you won’t. Don’t come here and don’t call. After you leave today, you’re on your own. My associate will meet you, do the job, then disappear.”
“I don’t like this. Seems too dependent on no mistakes being made, and your man doing his job with precision.”
“Feel free to make the device yourself and figure out the logistics. But everything is set, so unless you fuck this up, it should all go smooth as silk.”
The young man grabbed the envelope, took his documents and e-ticket, then left as silently as he had arrived. Derek sat back in his chair and looked around at his office. He had been here in this shabby office for over twenty years and living in this neighborhood for more than twenty years before that. He was sad to have to leave; he hoped he could return one day. Maybe return when all this nonsense was over.
Normally, he didn’t like communicating via email or anything written for that matter. He didn’t like making a record that could follow him. The less people knew about him and his activities, the better. He hadn’t discussed this job with his old friend, nor asked who would be involved. He was given an email address to consult and was assured that his instructions couldn’t be traced or decrypted.
Those were outright lies, of course. The email hadn’t come from his old friend Enzo Fortizi nor from his brother Paulo nor anyone in the Fortizi clan. Likewise, the instructions to Vincent Romano, a relation of the brothers Fortizi from upstate New York, had also not originated in Princeton.
The communications had originated in San Francisco and had been sent via the BioGen server in New Jersey. The communication and all the subterfuge had been arranged by the woman and her confederates in the Black Shirt Movement who were deep under cover in Princeton. But even their moles’ utility was rapidly evaporating, and some of them would soon depart this planet to join their ancestors.
Speed had been essential in moving this project along as the longer it took, the longer the window for discovery would be. By the time the brothers Fortizi discovered what had happened, it would be too late. Far too late.
Derek Nobilus had thought something didn’t seem right. Normally he would’ve checked, and double checked the instructions. But his email had been clear: time was of the essence and this was a high priority project. Carry out these instructions and to the letter. No phones, no contact that could be traced. They were sending a family member to lead the operation, so do your job the email said. Then disappear.
Derek thought the task foolish and likely to cause more trouble than it was worth. Too much publicity and too much MI-5.
Derek Nobilus was right, but for all the wrong reasons.
Chapter 2
Derek Nobilus was seated at the gate at Heathrow Airport awaiting his flight to Madrid, Spain. He was anxious to board and get out of the UK, where he thought his presence was soon to become too hot for his own good. He couldn’t be certain that any of what was about to happen would land on his head but bombing an establishment in Central London using one of his human boxers skilled in bomb making would certainly result in scrutiny from MI-5, and possibly MI-6. He wanted nothing to do with either.
The Brits were quite skilled in running down domestic terrorists, making essential connections, and capturing faces on cameras. He had little doubt that he would be connected to this whole affair sooner rather than later and, if so, he would likely be detained for questioning if and when caught. Then his relationships in America might come under scrutiny and that would certainly be a death sentence. Not from the Brits, of course, but from the Collective. He was reasonably certain that Paulo Fortizi was thinking the same thing; therefore, his life expectancy after Friday morning could probably be calculated in hours if not minutes had Paulo the capability and resources.
The Collective would silence him long before he had a chance to disclose anything. They would be unwilling to allow Derek Nobilus to rat them out, say anything about the Collective or explain their ancient and close ties of kinship. Therefore, Derek took what he knew to be the most prudent course of action. Get out of town permanently, or at least until things settled down.
If they ever did.
Derek had long ago settled on a plan of escape from London, and all his worldly connections. He would not only sever ties with the Gens Collective, but with his own Nobilus Collective. As he explained to Enzo on more than one occasion, his own folk no longer needed him or any Collective structure. He explained that the majority of his kind had drifted off to hitch their wagon to humanity long ago. His role as leader was more akin to a service club president than leader of a great nation. Truthfully, Derek told his old friend, he no longer knew who was or wasn’t Nobilus any longer; he had no way to contact them and had even less influence with those few who still cared.
Some of that was even true, but not most of it. Number were down, for sure, but Derek knew where everyone was and what they thought. If there was war, they would reveal themselves to the humans and fight with them. Their numbers would not matter, of course, but their unique knowledge of the Collective and Black Shirts would.
In the UK, the Nobilus now identified more with the Labour or Conservative political parties, or the trade union movement, rather than their ancient genetic identity as crypto humans. They married into human families and had human babies; the Nobilus mating among themselves was just too complicated. The Nobilus had simply ceased to have an identity apart from humanity; those who still identified as Nobilus folk were just fine with that. Many of the remaining Nobilus line either had no idea what a Gens was or even why they might matter to them. Parents thought identifying themselves as Nobilus to their children far more dangerous now than ever.
Derek shared a none of this with Enzo and none to the Gens Collective, including Paulo. To his way of thinking there was nothing to be done anyway; Derek couldn’t change his world, and the Gens were mercurial when
it came to issues like this. The Collective might just decide to off the Nobilus at the same time the offed humanity. Derek would ride out this storm and see how things developed from a distance.
If he couldn’t save his people, he might at least save himself. Derek had no wife or children and no kin to speak of. He was all alone in the world, his world, and was happy for it.
Ten years ago, he saw something coming, though then he had no idea what. Enzo had shared snippets of information on the undertakings of the Collective and it didn’t take a college degree to figure out that conflict of some sort, and some magnitude was very likely. When Enzo mentioned war, even back then, Derek began thinking seriously about himself and his own future. He would remain openly faithful to the Gens Collective for the time being, but if war approached, he would bolt. First to safety, then to the winning side: humanity.
Derek had no illusions about who would win a war of the species. He just had no desire to be in the middle, or worse, directly connected to the losing side.
Derek took measures, measures that were designed to get him out of the way, and to safety while the world imploded, exploded, or otherwise fell apart. If he was lucky, he might survive the upheaval, but he had no intention of being anywhere near the actual conflict.
Where to go? Derek Nobilus looked around and decided he would go back to where it all began for all the important species that are now or have ever been on this planet: Africa. Derek Nobilus wanted to find a band of like-minded individuals, not necessarily all of his own kind, and make plans for a post-apocalyptic future. There were plenty of human survivalists floating around, worried about any number of catastrophic events that they believed were just about to happen. From economic collapse, to a world war, to the bomb to a million other worries, they were planning, and preparing for the worst.
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