by Jack Kilborn
The military thought they could control Stubin, keep him in line.
They had greatly underestimated him.
A dog whined nearby, and Stubin froze. That stupid mutt the kid doted on. Maybe if breaking Josh’s fingers couldn’t get them to open the doors, setting the dog on fire would.
“Here, doggy,” Stubin said, his voice high-pitched and sounding ridiculous. “Here, Woof. Come to Dr. Stubin.”
Woof jumped out from behind a tree, his tail wagging. He had some rope tied around his snout.
“Good boy. Come here. Come here, doggy.”
The beagle took a few tentative steps toward Stubin and stopped, looking away.
Then the gunfire began.
Josh had been willing to die to protect Fran and Duncan. He didn’t want his suffering to put them in jeopardy and had done his best to not react to the pain. Seeing the hatch open made him feel dirty, as if he hadn’t tried hard enough.
Santiago continued to hold him, putting a knife up to his throat. Taylor blended into the woods. Ajax stood there watching.
Two seconds passed.
Then five.
Ajax approached the entrance. Then the hatch closed again.
Before Josh could figure out what was happening he heard half a dozen shots come from behind. He was pushed forward, Santiago falling on top of him.
Josh rolled onto his side and Santiago was already up and stumbling into the woods. Someone ran up to Josh and fired a shotgun in Santiago’s direction, then swung it ninety degrees and fired at the retreating Ajax.
“You hit?” Warren Streng asked Josh.
Josh had no idea. It had all happened so fast.
“How did you—?”
“Back entrance. Came at them from behind. Fran worked the hatch as a diversion. You hit?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then move your ass.”
Josh didn’t have to be told twice. They hurried to the entrance and Warren twisted one of the dead deer’s hooves. The hatch opened, revealing a metal slide.
“Thanks for—”
“Not over yet. They’re watching us, and now they know how to get in. Move.” Warren stared down at Josh’s mangled right hand. “Can you shoot lefty?” he asked.
“Not very well.”
Warren handed Josh a massive handgun. “Now’s your chance to learn. Anything that comes down the ramp, kill it.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to put an end to this. How many?”
“Santiago, Taylor, Ajax is the big one. And Dr. Stubin—he’s the leader.”
“I also saw a girl.”
Josh shook his head.
“Are they armed?”
“I only saw knives. But they’re experts with them. Also, there’s a dog. Woof. He’s one of the good guys.”
Warren nodded, shoved Josh onto the ramp, and the firefighter fell onto his butt and slid down into the darkness. Josh almost dropped the gun, and his broken fingers banged against the wall, causing him to cry out. He saw purple light below, and when he hit the bottom someone pointed a shotgun at his head.
Fran.
She set the gun on the ground and hugged him, hugged him so hard that it almost hurt. Josh hugged her back, surprised by the depth of emotion he felt. He never wanted to let go.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her cheek on his ear.
“I’ll live. Duncan?”
“He’s here, with Sheriff Streng.”
A clanging sound from the outside. Warren had closed the hatch.
“They’re coming,” Josh said.
“I know. My father told me what to do.”
“Your father?”
“Long story. Come on.”
Fran picked up the gun and led Josh to the only doorway in the large room. It opened up to a brightly lit hallway. When Fran saw his hand she lost all color.
“Oh, my God, Josh. And your face …”
She touched his chin, which he didn’t feel because he was still numb from the lidocaine. The blurry vision had returned. He removed the metal case from his pocket but couldn’t open it with only one hand.
“We can deal with that later,” he said. “Can you open this and break one of the capsules under my nose? I’ve got cyanide poisoning.”
“Oh, Josh …”
Fran didn’t ask how it happened, which saved him from telling her that most of the town had been killed. They could compare horror stories when they were safe.
The Charge fumes hit, and it was like being shaken awake. After a minute of deep breaths he felt better.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Warren said this hall was a perfect bottleneck. We’re going to catch them in a crossfire, me in the kitchen, you in the storage room.”
“Sounds good. Let’s—”
Josh stopped midsentence as they both heard the unmistakable sound of the hatch opening.
Wiley lifted the night-vision monocular to his eye and surveyed the woods around him. All clear. He hadn’t bothered with the ghillie suit because it was bulky and often became tangled on things; Wiley wanted to be able to move as fast as possible. He wasn’t sure that at his age, in his condition, he could take out three highly trained soldiers, even though he had the firepower advantage. But that wasn’t his goal. You didn’t win at chess by killing pawns—you won by checkmating the king.
The night was as cool and crisp as biting into an apple, something he hadn’t done in a while. Wiley ordered supplies and food through the Internet, using a credit card with a false name and a delivery service that drop shipped pallets to his property once a month. Fresh produce didn’t make the cut.
Wiley butted up to a pine tree, breathing heavy, and absently wondered if Duncan liked apples. There were a lot of things he wondered about Duncan, and Fran. Maybe, if he cleaned up this mess, he’d have a chance to learn some of those things.
Most men never got a second chance. But this was Wiley’s. To make it right. To stop being afraid.
To finally forgive himself.
He peered through the monocular, the lens gathering up the ambient light and focusing it into a green image. There, thirty yards away, a man walking a dog. He saw the outline of the helmet, the different uniform, and watched the man walk through the woods with the grace of a drunk on roller skates. Dr. Stubin.
He came at them from the side, staying low and stopping every four paces to check for other enemy combatants. As he got closer, he noted Stubin wasn’t carrying any weapons and the dog wasn’t on a leash. The dog would pick up his scent, or hear him, any time now. Wiley decided to speed up the process.
Hiding behind a thick oak, Wiley hooted like an owl. Woof responded by whining.
“It’s just an owl, you stupid dog,” Wiley heard the man say.
When Woof poked his nose behind the tree, Wiley gave him a pat on the head, stepped out, and pointed the shotgun in the guy’s face.
“Hoot hoot,” Wiley said.
Stubin called for help. Or at least he began to before Wiley broke his nose with the stock of the Benelli. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing and gushing blood. Wiley kicked him over, put a foot on his chest.
“You’re Stubin, right?”
“Yes … yes …”
“You running the show?”
“You broke my nose …”
Wiley touched the shotgun barrel to Stubin’s head.
“Are you running the show?”
“I’m … I’m a scientist …”
“Then you’re no use to me.”
Wiley unclipped the tactical folder from his belt and flicked open the blade with his thumb.
“I’m the leader,” Stubin blubbered.
“You’re going to call off your men.”
“I … can’t.”
Wiley pressed the blade to Stubin’s cheek.
“I can’t! They have microchips implanted in their brains … they’re following an uploaded program … they won’t stop until their mission is
complete, no matter what I tell them. I’d have to reflash their BIOS, and I only have that equipment back at my lab!”
“So the only way to stop them is to kill them?”
“Yes!”
Wiley waited. Stubin lasted three seconds before shaking his head, sprinkling blood and tears.
“No! There’s an EPFCG in Mathison’s collar. You press the button, it explodes, emitting an electromagnetic pulse. It will fry everything electronic within fifty yards.”
“Define everything.”
“Integrated circuits, vacuum tubes, transistors, inductors. And the chips in their heads.”
“This is in the monkey’s collar?”
“Yes. Yes! I told you how to do it.”
“Then I really don’t need you anymore.” Wiley raised the knife.
“But you do need me! You do! I can give your life back!”
Wiley waited.
“Do you still have the film?” Stubin asked. “Of the training exercise on the Vietnam village?”
“That wasn’t a training exercise. It was butchery.”
“They were an early prototype of the Red-ops program. I used organic brain modification back then—surgery. And the drugs weren’t as pure. The microchips make them much more controllable.”
Wiley didn’t get it. “If you had a hand in that, what do you need the film for? It’s been sitting in a box for thirty years. I wasn’t a threat to you or your program.”
“I need it for money. Just like you.”
Wiley thought it through.
“You want out,” he said.
“Badly.”
“Why didn’t you just expose this yourself?”
Stubin shook his head. “No proof. Since that film got lost, nothing has been allowed to be documented. There’s no paperwork. No photos. No video. No record of anything I’ve done. You can guess how that’s torture to a scientist. Plus I’m like a prisoner. I’m forced to live in my lab, and it’s searched twice a day. I have six people watching me at all times, even though they have no clue why. I do my research on an encrypted computer, and I don’t even know the code. Only one man in the whole nation has clearance.”
“The major,” Wiley said. “The one on the film.”
“Yes.”
Wiley shook his head. “I got news for you, buddy. If you try to blackmail him, he’ll come after you, too.”
Stubin blinked. “Blackmail him? I’m going to sell the film to our enemies. They’ll pay hundreds of millions to embarrass the United States.”
“He’ll still come after you,” Wiley said.
“He’ll be kicked out the military and arrested for war crimes. But even if he tries, I’ll be on foreign soil, with an army of Red-ops around me. As soon as I get the film, I’m leaving the country with the unit. They can protect you, too. You can come with us. We’ll split the money.”
Wiley looked around, scanning the trees for unfriendlies.
“Money’s not something I need,” he said.
“What do you need?”
“To correct my mistake.”
Wiley raised his knife again. Stubin’s eyes got wide.
“I’m a scientist!” he said, talking fast. “I’m doing this for the good of mankind. I’m going to help millions of people. My research is revolutionary. Please.”
His eyes were wide and pleading.
“Sometimes good people do bad things,” Wiley whispered.
“Exactly! Sometimes you have to do things that aren’t ethical for the greater good.”
Wiley said, “I agree.”
The blade was sharp and went through Stubin’s neck without too much trouble. Wiley wiped it off on Stubin’s shoulder, clipped it back onto his belt, and pulled the clothesline from Stubin’s dead hand. He used the monocular to check the area, found it clear, and jogged with Woof down to the dry creek bed, where his second entrance was hidden behind the exposed root system of a large fir tree hugging the bank.
Unlike the main entrance, this was for emergencies only, and Wiley had to get on his belly to fit inside. He pulled on a fake root and tugged open the door, then called Woof to the small opening, patted his head, and took the rope off his snout. The dog sniffed at the hole, then happily climbed in. Wiley followed, feetfirst so he could close the door behind him. The tunnel was actually a PVC pipe with a four-foot circumference, roughly fifty feet long. It angled into the ground at a slighter incline than his main ramp. Wiley had to pause several times to catch his breath and allow his heart rate slow down.
The tube let out into his kitchen closet. Woof jumped on him and licked his face when Wiley made it through. Wiley patted the dog on the head, opened the closet door, and said, “Don’t shoot,” when Fran swung her shotgun at him.
The expression on Fran’s face when she saw Woof was priceless. The beagle ran right to her, and she rubbed its muzzle and kissed his nose, beaming. It reminded Wiley of Fran’s wedding, the last time he’d seen her smile. He hadn’t meant to crash the ceremony, hadn’t meant to be intrusive. Wiley went out of curiosity, not to cause trouble. But the curiosity turned to regret and self-loathing, which led to drinking too much and getting into a shoving match with Fran’s stepfather—a much better man than Wiley ever was.
Wiley watched Fran and Woof, silently jealous of the dog.
“Thank you,” Fran said without looking at him. “And thank you for saving Josh.”
“He’s in the storage room?”
“Yes. The Red-ops, they’re inside, too, but haven’t gotten through the hallway door.”
Wiley figured it would take them a while. It was a steel security door with a brace across the center. Impossible to open without tools. Unfortunately, they had a whole garage full of tools in there with them.
A floor-shaking BAM! coming from the hallway confirmed they’d already gotten started.
“I’ll send Josh in here with you,” Wiley said. “Go give Duncan his dog.”
Fran nodded, heading for the door.
Wiley called to her. “Hold on a second.”
She stopped. He went to her. “Aim the shotgun at the door.”
Fran complied. Her angle was good, but she had the butt tucked under her armpit rather than tight in the shoulder. Wiley got behind her, helped her adjust the stock.
“It’s got a recoil buffer, but it will still kick. Lean into it when you start firing. And don’t be scared by the noise—it will be the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.”
“Am I aiming right?” Fran asked.
He put his hand on hers, raised the barrel.
“Match up the back sight with the front sight.”
“Like this?”
I’m actually holding my daughter, Wiley thought.
“Perfect. You’re doing perfect.”
Wiley released her, watched her walk away. Then he went to the storage room, calling out before entering so Josh didn’t shoot him.
“Thanks again for saving my ass,” Josh said.
“I want you to go into the kitchen with Fran and Duncan. We’re going to hold them off as long as we can, then I want you three to go into the closet and escape the back way, up the tube.”
“What about you and Sheriff Streng?”
“He can’t make it, and I won’t leave him. When the soldiers get in they’ll have access to my weapons. I want you to be long gone by then. Understand?”
Josh nodded.
“One more thing. When all this is over, you should come back here. In those boxes, next to the bottled water, are a few hundred thousand dollars worth of gold, gems, cash. And take this.” He handed Josh a thin black object, made of plastic. It was about the size of his fingernail, and said “8GB” on the top. “A micro SD card. Can be read on computers and cell phones. It holds a digital copy of an old eight-millimeter film.”
“Fran told me about it.”
“Make sure the press gets it. Tell them what you’ve seen here, what’s been happening.”
“I will.”
“Where�
�s that monkey? Mathison?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen Fran.”
“We need to—”
Wiley caught a blur in his peripheral vision—someone running past the doorway. Someone in black.
Dammit! They must have followed me in through the PVC pipe.
Wiley raced into the hall, saw Santiago pulling off the barricade, yanking open the door.
That big son of a bitch, Ajax, rushed in like a charging linebacker.
Wiley shot slug after slug at him, emptying the Benelli, not missing a single one.
The giant staggered, bleeding from the face and neck, his body armor smoking where the shots hit. But the son of a bitch kept coming.
Wiley dropped the gun and pulled his Glock, backpedaling as he squeezed the trigger, Josh racing to the great room ahead of him.
Ajax got within ten yards.
Wiley aimed for the face, but the huge man was enraged, shaking his big head from side to side like a bull, picking up speed.
Eight yards away, coming on fast. He was going to plow right into Wiley, and the force would no doubt cripple or kill the older man.
Wiley took a different approach. Rather than try to follow the swaying of Ajax’s head, he kept the Glock rock steady. He forced out a breath, sighted down the barrel of his weapon, waiting for the massive forehead to line up with his sights.
Five yards and closing.
Ajax bellowed.
Wiley kept both eyes open and fired.
The bullet entered Ajax’s face just below his right eye, making a small hole. As it left his skull the hole was much larger, blowing out a section of skull big enough to put a fist into.
Ajax dropped to his knees and pitched forward like a felled tree, a mist of red floating to the floor after him.
But it was too late; the other two had gotten into the storage room, and to the guns.
Wiley turned and ran, following Josh into the great room, locking the door behind him.
Duncan went from being very happy to being very scared. Mom brought in Woof, and told him Josh and Wiley were also okay, and just when he started hugging his dog there were gunshots and Josh and Wiley came running in.
