by J. M. Madden
He wanted to test Smoke again. The hesitation on the tech’s part had been enlightening, and if there hadn’t been so many people in the immediate area, he probably would have tested the man further. The sniper’s actions had been the most telling, the most chilling. Aiden knew without being told that this new ability, being able to provoke action on desires, was potentially catastrophic. He wanted to get the hell out of the jungle and back stateside but he honestly wasn’t sure what awaited him there. Probably a bullet in the head if he tried to break out of here.
He was vaguely aware of being unfastened from the table and being dragged back to his cell. His mind continued to block out the pain, sapping his energy.
Aiden was aware of days passing, but only through a kind of haze that came over him. His body had slipped into a kind of … coma, though he heard and felt everything going on around him. He was too exhausted to get to his water or food, but at some point one of the guards slipped in and forced some water down his throat. It felt cool and refreshing, which told him more than anything how fucked up he was. If the tepid water felt cool, that meant he was hot, probably with fever.
He hated this godforsaken jungle.
Chapter Three
American! Willingham! Wake up!
Aiden blinked at the telepathic shout, coming awake with a rush of adrenaline. It only took him seconds to hear the sound of a low flying helicopter. He rolled his head to look through the bars of his cage, but he couldn’t really see anything. People were on the move, though. Army soldiers were running to formation in front of the main troop barrack to the east, and some of the doctors were hurrying toward where he knew the helicopter pad was. Actually, it was no more than a spot cut into the foliage just large enough for the blades. It had to be constantly maintained or the jungle would reabsorb the space.
Who is it? Do you know?
No.
Wulfe sat watching the goings on, but Aiden didn’t think he could do that. Craning his head he looked down at his gut. The entry wound had scabbed over. There was a little swelling, but nothing too bad, and miraculously, it didn’t seem to be infected. Actually, he didn’t feel too bad. Using his arms against the bars he pulled himself up, then leaned against the corner. Nausea threatened when he moved and the muscles in his stomach quivered, but they held.
The sound of the helicopter’s engines whined as it changed elevation. A sleek, dark Sikorsky flashed through the trees before it disappeared behind the foliage. Aiden didn’t have the energy to wonder who it was coming to look at them. Probably another nondescript official from one of the countries, or maybe one of the Silverstone executives, checking the ‘fiscal viability of the endeavor’. They came every few weeks, looking well-fed and useless, swatting at mosquitos like it would do any good.
There was no sound for a while and his eyes drifted shut, then suddenly there was a flourish of noise and activity. Guards stood at his cell door, waving their weapons at him to get up. Aiden scowled and shook his head, trying to appear more injured than he actually was, but they persisted. Finally, Aiden rolled over onto his knees and dragged himself vertical by using the bars of the cage. The scab around his wound pulled but didn’t rip. Breathing deeply, he turned to face his audience.
Expecting another group of men in business suits, he was startled to see a sleekly styled brunette with bright blue, intelligent eyes. The dark navy suit she wore seemed so incongruous in the middle of the jungle, but she didn’t even seem to be aware of the surroundings. A waft of expensive perfume hit him, reeking of elegance, but the expression on her face was chilling. She looked at him like he was a piece of meat.
“I really hope you have more to show me than a starving man with a bullet hole in his side.”
Aiden scowled, not appreciating the description. As he looked down at himself though, he could see she spoke the truth. He was on the scrawny side.
Dr. Shu adjusted his thick glasses and stepped forward, clipboard in hand.
“But madam, he’s standing. The subject was shot less than twelve hours ago, and the skin is completely sealed over.”
Aiden blinked, shock rolling though him. He’d thought days had passed since he’d been shot. Letting his head roll forward, he looked at the long line of his stomach again. It had only been twelve hours?
His fingers reached down to touch the wound. It was tender, but not excruciating like it should have been.
What the fuck…
The woman cocked her hip and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “How long has he been here?”
“Seven months, Madam. Almost eight.”
That was another shock. Damn, had it really been so long?
With a disdainful look, she turned away, heading down the row. Four heavily-built men dressed in black combat armor, obviously mercenaries, followed her. The doctor trotted along behind, shuffling file folders as she stopped at each cage.
When she stopped at Wulfe’s cage, something about her demeanor changed. Suddenly she seemed more … predatory. Like if Wulfe was chained to a table she would reverse cowboy him. Nausea surged through Aiden at her avid, sensual interest.
Aiden slid down the bars till his ass hit the ground and rested his head back against the cool iron, wondering how the hell they were all going to get out of this situation.
A short while later, two shots were fired. Two bodies were dragged into the med center. Apparently not everyone had survived the inspection.
The woman brought chaos with her. The guards and hired soldiers had been policed by a small crew of Brazilian Army, commanded by Captain Aguirre, a self-important dickhead who’d been responsible for several of the men’s deaths. When they’d first been contained two men had tried to break away and Aguirre’s squad had shot them down. Another test subject was ‘put down’ when he’d gone off his rocker, believing the plants were creeping into his cell to eat him. To beat them he’d started eating himself, starting with his calf.
No one had had any idea how severe the psychedelic effects of Ayahuasca could be. Shu had asked all of them if the man, a Czech who had belonged to the 601st Special Forces Group, had had any kind of mental illness they’d noticed. No one had offered any information, but personally, Aiden thought the man had been crazy before he’d been brought to the Brazilian jungle. There’d just been a look in his eyes. The Ayahuasca was known for releasing mental inhibitions, obviously both the good and the bad.
So, Aguirre executed the man rather than risk anyone getting hurt. Aiden probably would have done the same thing, but Aguirre had also taken out a couple of men that hadn’t deserved to be extinguished. One subject had spit on Aguirre’s boot for some slight. The captain had taken out his service weapon and shot the subject, to Shu’s outrage. Another subject, not recovering well from the current experiment, hadn’t responded to some obscure order thrown at him as they’d moved him from the med center. When the man had tried to speed up he’d been tripped up by the shackles around his ankles, falling into one of the guards. The guard, already twitchy, had fired several rounds into the camp as his finger contracted on the trigger of his weapon. Aguirre had almost been shot. Instead he’d drawn his weapon and killed the subject. Then he’d also killed the guard.
Aguirre believed himself the ruler of all in the camp. Until the Bitch in Blue arrived.
The guards and the techs talked about the woman like she was some kind of goddess— a warrior woman, beautiful and fierce. Aiden memorized every detail he could learn about her. Because at some point, he was going to kill her.
Priscilla Mattingly, the Chief Operations Officer of the Silverstone Collaborative, stayed in the camp for a week, every day wearing a different blue outfit. In spite of the heat and dangerous terrain, she wore long sleeved power suits and heels, always. Perhaps because of her feminine appearance Aguirre thought he could rule her as he did the camp and the other Silverstone Collaborative executives who’d come before. He realized the mistake in his thinking when Mattingly began directing ‘his’ troops. It was the high
point of Aiden’s stay at the camp because the intersection of the two strong personalities just happened to take place right in front of his cage.
Mattingly had instructed one of Aguirre’s troops standing at the door of the med center building to retrieve her shade umbrella, her only concession to the heat, as she inspected the subjects. The man had jumped to do her bidding, obviously aware of the danger hidden beneath the silk. As the soldier took off running, Aguirre had stepped from the med center and called the boy to attention. Torn, the young soldier had halted, giving Mattingly an apologetic look. When Aguirre asked the boy what he was about, the young soldier had explained.
Aguirre had smiled at the boy, pulled out his sidearm and shot him on the spot. “No one gives orders to my troops but me,” he’d growled.
Rage surged through Aiden at the man’s casual disregard. The young soldier had been between a rock and a hard place.
A coldness had slid into Mattingly’s blue eyes and she’d waved her guard dogs back as she stepped toward Aguirre. The captain straightened and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of the tan uniform pants. Even as sick as he was at that point, Aiden could see the masculine posturing. Whether intentional or not, the captain pointed his fingers at his dick, reminding the little woman that he was the boss. It was an age-old move studied by many behaviorists over the generations. And it was obviously a move she’d dealt with before.
Mattingly didn’t acknowledge the action, just stepped around the body of the young soldier and into the captain’s space. Some of his guards moved behind him, but they didn’t seem to be foolhardy enough to try to save the man.
“I think you’re a bit confused as to how things operate around here, Captain.”
“No, Senhora. But perhaps you are. Would you like to join me in my hut for a conversation?”
Aiden couldn’t believe the man’s balls.
Priscilla Mattingly’s smile spread, as if she’d just been given a gift. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Captain, but we investigated you quite thoroughly before we had the General appoint you. We were aware of your alcohol problem, as well as the money you’ve been skimming off your guards’ pay.” The men shifted behind him, anger suffusing their faces. The captain snapped his mouth shut, losing his smug look. “If either of those misdeeds didn’t catch up with you, we figured the drug lord you’ve been taking bribes from would get tired of losing product when you were supposed to reroute patrols. We put you in this position because we knew, at some point, you’d fuck up, and we’d need a fall guy. You are very close to becoming that fall guy. If you don’t straighten up, I’m going to strip you down and put you in one of the cages with these men. Or perhaps I’ll let some of your men fuck you. I hear they like that type of thing here and I think they’d enjoy that. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You’re not in charge anymore. I am. After I leave, IF I leave, I may let you be in charge again, but until then, if I tell any of your men to do something, hell, if I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed immediately. Do you understand me, Captain?”
Red had suffused the man’s face and he scowled. “You have four men to my thirty. Do you really think you can control us?”
Mattingly leaned forward and scraped a blood-red nail down the man’s cheek. “Try me, you illiterate swine,” she whispered. Then she slapped him. Not a hard, decent slap, but one of contempt.
The captain reached for his weapon, not used to being disrespected, but the woman had been waiting for him to move. With a rather elegant twist, she drew a slim knife from the sleeve of her suit jacket. With little fanfare, she turned the knife and shoved it up through the captain’s jaw, through the soft palate and into his brain, slamming it as deep as it would go. The captain’s eyes widened and he fell slowly to the ground.
The men behind him lifted their weapons, but Priscilla Mattingly gave them a disgusted look and the men lowered the muzzles.
“Just for clarity,” she said, leaning down to wipe her bloody hand on the captain’s shirt and remove her stiletto, “I am in charge, no matter what clothing you wear. My company is bankrolling every single one of you fuckers, so if you have a problem with that, you need to leave now.”
No one moved.
It had been a stunning show of cold authority and it had told them the woman would do anything for her company. It also told Aiden that she would deal with the test subjects the same way if they ever crossed her.
Within three days she’d had the camp running on a regular schedule. She’d appointed a new ‘captain’ and the man fell over his feet trying to please her. He followed every new rule she handed down to the letter.
Confident that things were running smoothly, she left a week later. The tension in the camp eased, and things settled back into rhythm. Well, until Shu fell to a violent, bloody death at the fangs of a Bushmaster.
Aiden heard the news from Wulfe, who had overheard some of the soldiers talking about what had happened. Apparently, the viper had been in his hut and the doctor had inadvertently stepped on the thing. The snakes were one of the most aggressive in the jungle anyway, so Aiden knew the bite had to have been devastating. Men had responded to the doctor’s cries for help, and the snake had been killed, but the medical response had been insufficient. They’d worked on the doctor for two days, but he had succumbed. Scuttlebutt between the guards said it had been a gruesome death, the venom not allowing the doctor’s blood to coagulate.
For days everything medical stopped. The other doctors and technicians seemed to be at a loss as to what to do. Dr. Shu had run every aspect of the Spartan Project and was the Silverstone Collaborative’s shining star. They had made billions off the man and his cures for diseases.
Aiden wondered if any of them had thought to give the doctor a shot of the Ayahuasca he was studying. It might have made a difference. It had in his own case.
Aiden sat in his cage and watched, disgusted, as some of the female technicians walked by, still crying for the monster after three days. The man had killed dozens of men, heroes, but all he heard was how great of a man he had been, and oh, the loss…
Boo fucking hoo.
They needed to get the fuck out of there.
The best thing about Shu’s death was that it proved a phenomenal distraction for their escape from the camp.
Late on the night of day four after Shu’s death, Wulfe yelled at Aiden mentally.
American, Fontana says be ready. He heard one of the technicians talking and the Bitch in Blue arrives tomorrow to take over operations.
Aiden woke but didn’t sit up in case someone was actually watching the security cameras. He wasn’t surprised she was coming back, but he bet she was pissed. She’d made no secret of the fact that she hated the jungle. And if she was pissed off about returning it was hard to tell how their testing schedule would go.
It also made sense to leave now because they were the strongest they’d been in months. After a week without testing and the occasional double food ration from Smoke, they were as ready as they could be. They hadn’t been out of their cages once in that time, and he was ready to move.
Excitement surged, and it was all he could do to roll over and pretend to sleep.
Chapter Four
Like a whisper, Fontana came for him two hours later, with Wulfe and TJ Rector by his side. How the fuck did you get out of your cage? Aiden demanded.
Fontana grinned and moved to the door. Watch.
Holding the iron lock in his hand, Fontana just looked at the thing for several seconds. Then, with a click, the lock fell open.
Aiden shook his head, amazed, and honestly a little fearful. Fontana was doing things he’d never even considered.
I managed to get the guards to fall asleep, Fontana told him. We’ve got a little bit of time to get out of here. The cafeteria should be empty right now. I suggest we gather what food and water and supplies we can before we head out.
Agreed.
We’re not leaving.
Aiden’s throat close
d up as he stepped outside, unshackled and uncuffed for the first time in months. Yes, he was naked as a jaybird, but he was finally free. No one would be putting him back into handcuffs, he vowed. He would die first. Then what Wulfe said sank in, bringing him back to focus.
What are you thinking?
Wulfe looked at the medical building. Our proof is there.
The rest of them turned to look at the med center, knowing he was right. It housed all of the secrets. Shu had been meticulous about his notes, and they each had files several inches thick. The technicians had complained endlessly about the duplication. It could be a suicide mission going back in there, but they had no other option. Wulfe was right about that.
Rector and Fontana, go to the cafeteria and Shu’s hut. See what you can find. We’ll also probably need something to go through the fence, so look for some tools. Wulfe and I will see what we can find inside. Meet back here in thirty minutes.
The two men nodded and slipped away into the darkness. Aiden looked at Wulfe.
I really don’t want to go in there, he admitted.
I don’t also, but we must, American. This is the only time. She will get rid of everything. Every record, every note. And we will be liars.
Aiden knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to do. He scanned the area, checking for soldiers or guards, but the camp was deathly silent.
He looked at the squat cinder block building, fighting nausea. Deliberately, he slowed his breathing, but it was hard. His heart was trying to thud out of his chest and his body demanded oxygen. Aiden couldn’t even remember how many dangerous missions he’d been on as a SEAL, but certainly into the triple digits. Too many to count. He’d been shot and stabbed, snake-bitten and had busted ankles and knees, and he’d take any one of those injuries again rather than voluntarily walk into that building.
