by Alex Howell
Chris then picked up a shoe box from the floor and placed it on the kitchen table. He had carried it with him to the house, and no one knew what was inside. Chris then took the lid off, and pulled out a pair of what looked like everyday sunglasses. He held the eyewear up in the light for everyone to see.
“Check it out people! You won’t need guns when you got these.”
What… why are we showing off sunglasses? There better be a real reason for these.
“What the hell?” Matthew asked, echoing the thought of pretty much everyone else in the room.
Raina had to stifle a laugh as she looked at what did indeed looked like nothing more than expensive, designer sunglasses.
“Okay—so what is all this, Chris,” Mason said, not quite nervous but confused as to how this would help. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but these are sunglasses? What are we going to do with these?”
Chris just chuckled as he put them on, looking like a secret service agent who had forgotten his suit.
“There is literally more here than meets the eye.”
He then pointed at the lens of the eyewear. Mason would have rolled his eyes at the unnecessary dramatization if not for the fact that Chris at least seemed to be moving forward with his discussion at a steady pace.
“On the outside, these look like your standard old transition lens, glasses—they darken in the light to conceal your eyes. But this is by no mean your ordinary piece of eyewear. The left lens actually serves as a mini targeting array that can lock onto targets with the simple movement of your eye. This thing has an accuracy of up to nearly 100 percent from over a few dozen feet away!”
Hmm…
I suppose in this era, such a thing is possible.
“Accuracy for what?” Raina asked.
“While the left lens serves as a mini targeting array,” Chris explained. “It’s what’s built into the frame of the glasses that packs the punch.”
This is promising.
“And what’s built into the frame?”
“Installed on the left side of the frame is a supercharged needle,” Chris continued. “In order to launch that needle, all you have to do is tap the right side of the frame. Once it punctures the skin—similar to a taser gun, the needle will deliver a powerful electric shock.”
Mason couldn’t help but smile at that. Now that was a weapon that would prove promising—not only was it more subtle than a gun, it was so subtle that Mason could literally go anywhere in the world where there was a modicum of light and he would have an excuse for wearing them.
“Okay—so let me get this straight,” Raina said. “We put the glasses on and the left lens becomes a targeting array. We can then focus on targets as far as, say, 50 feet—and launch a taser gun-styled needle from the frame of the glasses?”
“Yes, the needle’s maybe about three inches in length, shoots out like a bullet and sinks into the target’s skin,” Chris explained. “Once inside it will quite literally give them the shock of their life.”
“But it won’t kill the suspects?” Marshal asked. “Right? Because I’d like to be able to kidnap them if possible. Been on a few too many missions where the mastermind isn’t revealed until we talk to someone.”
Tell me about it, Mason thought, remembering General Jones and Duke from his past two encounters and his suspicions that someone in the U.S. military was helping this current threat.
“Yeah—don’t worry about that,” Chris answered. “The shock will only knock them unconscious, it won’t kill them.”
“Are you sure?”
Chris Bradley cleared his throat.
“I’m going to give you a quick demonstration to prove it. But I need a test subject.”
A test subject for something that can knock someone unconscious?
“I nominate Kyle to be my Guinea pig.”
“What?”
While Mason wasn’t fully behind the idea of using a member of Onyx to test the weaponry… the idea of using the guy who had been brazen enough to hit on his daughter in front of him did have a little bit of the karma appeal going for it. If it was going to happen, Mason figured it might as well involve Kyle.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to have you stand some distance away so I can shoot you.”
“Sh—shoot me?”
At this point, so long as Kyle didn’t suffer any permanent damage, there was definitely a growing part of Mason that was now actively rooting for this to happen. He didn’t need the tech guy out of commission, but if he could get a minor laugh out of it all… why not?
“With the glasses! Don’t worry, Kyle. I’ve turned the electric current down to its lowest level. You will barely even feel it. This is primarily just to test the accuracy of targeting.”
“Won’t even feel it?” Kyle said, going from a shy and quiet guy to a demonstratively worried guy. “What about the needle that will tear through me like a bullet? Won’t I feel that?”
“Just a small pin prick, Kyle, it’s worth it for an accurate demonstration of the device.”
If not for the comment Kyle had made about Clara, Mason would have felt genuine sympathy for the quietest, most gangly member of the team. There was a certain element of ganging up that could be felt by all in the room, and this wasn’t really the time for peer pressure.
But, he had said those things, and so Mason was one of the ones encouraging Kyle to give in.
“All right—fine. I’ll do it.”
Cheers erupted in the room. Kyle fumed and dropped his head as he moved as far away as he could.
“I’m targeting Kyle right now in my view screen. I can now lock on and fire at will.”
“Do you have to, uh, phrase it like that?”
Chris ignored the comment, smiled, and then touched the side frame of his glasses. Almost instantly, a small needle shot out of the side of the frame and hit Kyle right in the shoulder.
“Ugh… Damn it! That hurt!”
“Okay, and now here comes the shock!”
The group watched as Chris activated the current. The ensuing shock was supposedly set for mild, but Kyle jerked violently from the jolt all the same. Mason laughed.
“Ow! That hurts! Take it off!Turn it off right now!”
Chris let it go for just a few more seconds, almost approaching the point that Mason felt was too much, before shutting it down. As soon as the current ceased, Kyle yanked the needle out of his shoulder, walked back over to the table, and dropped it into the shoebox. Kyle then angrily pulled out a chair and took a seat. There was nothing mild and meek about him right now—just frustration and anger.
“Aw, come on Kyle,” Chris said. “We all have to take one for the team every once in a while.”
“OK, enough,” Marshal said, bringing everyone back to full attention. “So I can look at anyone in a crowd, and from up to 50 feet away, zoom in right on their face and launch a needle into their throat?”
“Yes,” Chris said. “But. There’s a catch. I can’t give one to all of you—only two prototypes have been made.”
“You’re kidding.”
But Chris could only shake his head. As much as Mason hated it, he understood it to an extent. Something like that must have taken ages to design and create; it was a miracle that even one of them existed, let alone two.
And besides, they would have figured out a way without such a weapon; this just made things slightly easier.
“Okay, then we’ll just have to decide which two of us should be equipped with them when we regroup at the Lincoln Memorial for Richards’ speech tomorrow,” Marshal said. “In the meantime, let’s—”
“There is something else you should know,” Chris said.
There always is, Mason thought as he gulped.
“What’s that?” Marshal asked. “What now?”
“Those three vials of the Ebola virus—as bad as they are—won’t commit the mass murder these clowns are trying to achieve on their own.”
So…
“And what does that
mean?”
“What I mean is—they need a delivery mechanism in order to truly create carnage on a mass scale. You see, the vials have to be connected to something that can distribute the molecules of the virus over a widespread area simultaneously. And the only way to do that is through water, gas, air, or perhaps by way of some kind of enormous bomb.”
“Makes sense,” Mason said.
“Yeah—and we’ve pretty much ruled out the bomb theory,” Marshal said. “Since it seems that the expertise required for that is beyond the capabilities of this particular group of terrorists.”
“Right,” Chris said, taking back over. “It seems that they would have to opt for a simpler distribution method such as dumping it into a local water supply, or dispersing it as some kind of noxious gas.”
It was clear now that the target wasn’t just the Ebola virus. It was much more—it was the entire cult and everything they had at their disposal.
“Well, whatever they’re doing, I’m ready,” Mason said. “Onyx, Ghost. I think it’s time we all get a little bit of revenge for what they’ve done to us.”
26
September 19th, 2028
11:30 p.m. EST
Baltimore, Maryland
It was decided that with Pierce Richards’ speech beginning at the bright and early hour of 8 a.m., the team would make the effort to get there about half an hour before. Though it was cutting it close, deliberation had determined that the terrorists would not want to linger in the area; if they came any earlier, they would risk getting caught. They were much more likely to come just minutes before than hours before, and Onyx decided to prep for such a scenario.
That was the idea, at least. After everything the team had experienced over the last week, Mason didn’t want to assume anything. He just knew there was going to be a wrench in the plan somewhere; he just had to hope it wasn’t fatal for the nation’s capital.
But for right now, though, he wasn’t thinking about that. He was getting the chance to have something that he hadn’t had in a while.
Tranquility with his comrades.
The last few months had felt like a whirlwind of activity, but tonight, everyone was asleep in his house. It reminded him of the days when he worked off a military base, when he knew there would come an hour when he and his buddies would have to roll out and face death… but before then, there was an odd calmness to all of them. It was like their last few moments going up the roller coaster when things were moving slowly before the descent and the chaos and madness began.
Most of the team had already gone to bed for the night. Mason had volunteered to stay up, but that wasn’t because he was being a noble soldier. It was because he knew in such moments, sleep was never going to come to him.
And so, rather than shut his eyes and pretend to be asleep, Mason instead went to his back porch, sat on a porch chair, and sipped on a glass of water as he stared at the stars.
It was a common practice he had done in the SEALs, and he continued it today. In moments like this, he thought of what he was fighting for. Back then, it was the chance to come back to Bree.
Today, it was for the memory of Bree, for Clara, and…
Well…
“Hey, you’re up late.”
Mason leaned over his shoulder, saw Raina closing the screen door behind her, and smiled. She walked with a certain ease that was unlike her intense demeanor on missions; in this moment, perhaps she too had found the tranquility that Mason had hoped the rest of the team had found as well.
“I don’t have definitions of late and early as a soldier,” Mason said as he gestured for Raina to sit down. “I’m just here to take in the stars. Who knows? Might be the last night.”
“Well that’s morbid,” Raina said with a laugh.
“It’s honest!” Mason said, but he was laughing too.
A gentle silence fell over both of them as they both looked up to the stars. The sight was awe-inspiring, and sometimes, Mason felt in such awe that he was reminded how in some ways, what he did could easily feel meaningless.
But to the people he saved, the people he protected, and the people that he served, his actions were anything but meaningless. He was not about to turn nihilistic just because he could see Sagittarius.
“I owe you an apology,” Raina said. “I rolled my eyes and told you you could go on your own after that meeting with Kyle. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that. It’s what led you to this.”
“Nah,” Mason said easily. “It was me not watching my six that led to this. Bastards cracked me over the skull while I was chasing two of them. Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been alert or not stepped on that beer bottle.”
“Oh, that was you!”
Mason looked at her with confusion.
“I came by the place to try and find you and I noticed the cracked beer bottle. I take it you weren’t responsible for the needles.”
“Wild guess that turns out to be true,” Mason said, smirking. “That’s sweet of you to have done that, you know.”
“It would’ve been sweeter if I had finished the job,” Raina said.
“Eh,” Mason shrugged. “I’m alive. You’re alive. We’re both healthy, that’s what matters.”
At that, Mason stood up to stretch and went to the deck railing, leaning forward and taking in all that he saw. We’re both healthy, that’s what matters. I don’t think I could say it any better than that.
Seconds later, Raina came up to him and stood next to him. For a split second, Mason wondered if he should do anything.
Then, finally, he got the courage…
To put his arm around her and pull her in.
There was no way he was ready for more. Even this simple gesture, made because of what they were about to do tomorrow morning, felt a little bit guilty and unnatural. He certainly hadn’t done it in years, and he still had his wedding ring on.
But this… it was nice. It felt good.
It felt… like a step in the right direction.
“Think everything is going to go all right tomorrow?” Raina asked.
Mason snorted and squeezed her against him.
“If I didn’t,” Mason said. “I wouldn’t even show up. No reason to try if I don’t think it will. So yes, I think we’ll be fine. You and me and Chris and Kyle and Marshal and all of the guys will wipe out this group, find the Ebola vials, and call it a day. And then we’ll go and retire home, drink beers, and do whatever we normally do when things are all done.”
“Excellent,” Raina said with a chuckle.
Admittedly, Mason was never 100 percent sure of how things would go. To believe that he could just conquer it all without problem was the ultimate arrogance, and nothing killed a soldier faster than a steadfast arrogance that nothing could go wrong.
But for at least one night, he was 100 percent sure of at least one thing.
Things would be just fine between him and Raina.
27
September 20th, 2028
7:30 a.m. EST
Washington, D.C.
All of Onyx had taken their spot outside the Lincoln Memorial, and Mason had learned his lesson.
Matthew “Ghost” Benton was now with him through the end of the mission.
Mason and Matthew, who were unanimously chosen to wear the eye glass weapon, were up front, close and personal with the political spectators, keeping a close watch on the stage. Like a boy trying out a new toy, Mason couldn’t resist zooming in and out at the crowd, as he fooled around with his targeting array. But he made sure to keep things professional in appearance whenever one of Richards’ employees came by, pretending to be part of the security team.
At this point, it was a matter of a waiting game. Pierce Richards would come by in a couple of minutes, but, for once, a top-level politician wasn’t the target. Instead, it was the operatives nearby that Mason kept a close eye on. By now, everyone in Onyx knew who to look for when it came to members of the cult, but, so far, with Kyle watching the cameras from af
ar and the rest of the squad engaged in general surveillance, nothing had come up.
When the time came, Mason and Matthew would have to be the ones to take action. It seemed only appropriate for what the terrorists had done to him earlier.
And then, just as the sun rose—turning the sky almost blood red—Mason heard the signal.
He heard a telltale buzzing in his ear. It was Kyle.
“Hey Mason!”
Perhaps the buzzing of the test had woken him up, but Kyle spoke with much more certainty and confidence than before.
“One of the guys is heading toward your position. Get ready!”
Mason braced himself for one of those “green light” moments of adrenaline.
“Affirmative.”
With the faces of the terrorists burned into his brain from studying Benton’s photos and from his own personal experience as their hostage, he used the glasses to zoom into the smattering of people, searching for their likeness. With only a couple dozen people around, it didn’t take long at all.
He had his first target.
Spotting one of the men about 15 feet away, Mason moved in for the kill.
As Benton kept a careful watch, Mason took a deep breath, hoping they could move in quickly before any of the unaware aides saw something and interfered. Mason pressed the release button on the side of his eyewear, sending the super charged needle hurling through the air, landing right in the back of the terrorist’s neck.
The enemy dropped like an animal hit with a tranquilizer dart—he was down for the count.
But, unfortunately, subtlety had not exactly been had.
Startled people around the fallen man frantically checked to see if he was OK, thinking that he was suffering from a stroke, heart attack, or some other major health condition.
“Benton! You’re up next! Directly to your right! One of them is approaching your right flank! Hurry!”
“I’ll go clean up my mess,” Mason said as Matthew moved out.
But before Mason could move anywhere, Matthew stopped him.
