by John O'Brien
Cyrus begins to explain what the job entails. As I expected, with each detail, I slip further and further over the edge to insanity. According to what he’s saying, we’re to keep “infestations” under control. Now, that sounds all fine and dandy, but the things he’s talking about are creatures from childhood horror stories. I don’t know whether to take the man seriously or if I’m about to be punked. However, the images of the night in Mexico surface and I can’t immediately discount what he’s saying. He goes on to say that the Organization, as he calls it, is a secret one that very few know exists, but they have the capability to call on a wide avenue of resources…and that’s where Lynn comes in with regards to the team I’ll be assigned to.
“Okay, I’m going to file away everything you just said for a later review. I want to know…” I begin.
“Why you?” Cyrus interrupts.
“Yeah, something along those lines.”
“Well, you’ve proven that you know how to fight them,” Cyrus replies.
“Fight them? Are you insane? I didn’t know how to do much of anything other than to run. I managed to kill, what, one, maybe two, and they went through five highly trained men like we were bugs and they were the windshield of a semi,” I state.
“You actually killed five. One in single combat, one when escaping the cave, and three others with the claymores. That’s not even mentioning the one you knocked off the cliff. I call that a feat, considering,” Cyrus says. “And, before you ask, yes, they were our people who dismissed the rescue team.”
“I get now why you were there, but what have you done with my team?”
“They have been returned to their families and we covered the burial expenses,” Cyrus answers.
“And the other team…Calhoun’s?”
“We think that was a separate incident, but we’ve taken that under our purview as we can’t be overly cautious.”
“And what did you learn?”
“The method used to kill them was entirely different, as you’re already aware. A single wound, most of them non-fatal, most likely the result of an arrow or crossbow bolt. We weren’t able to locate the weapons, but each delivered a cocktail of a fast-acting sedative and lethal, fast-acting poisons. From our initial analysis, it appears that they were hit simultaneously and were immediately immobilized. The poisons then did their work. Considering the results of the autopsies, they were dead within minutes of being struck,” Cyrus responds.
“They were branded,” I state.
“Yes, with what looks like a hajal bird. Do you know what that signifies?” Cyrus queries.
“That they’re some Greenpeace fringe group?”
“The hajal bird was the symbol of ancient Hashashins…commonly referred to as ‘assassins’ in today’s world,” Cyrus explains.
“So, what? This was done by some special ops folks who hate us and have taken up that as their symbol?” I ask.
“We’re not sure at this point, nor are we sure how or why they keyed in on Calhoun’s team. Like yourself, they were contractors. But, whoever did this might not know enough to understand the difference. Or, they might have known and didn’t care.”
“Could the cartels have upped the ante and started training or hiring elite groups of their own?” I question.
“It’s a possibility, but I wouldn’t place odds on it at this juncture. If that was their doing, then there would have been global announcements in order to advance their reputation. As yet, there hasn’t been a word, publicly or on any of the underground sites,” Cyrus explains.
“So, this could be a message, only we don’t know what it is,” I say.
“That’s a possibility.”
“And there had to have been a leak. They knew exactly where to find them and where they were going,” I state.
“That’s being looked into by other agencies, but the circumstances certainly lean in that direction,” Cyrus says.
“So, you’ve inherited a mountain,” I say, changing the subject as I know that thread of the conversation is over for the moment.
“Mr. Walker, we’ve been around a long time and have always been a part of this facility. The other section is on a warm standby status, but we’re still in operation. We utilize certain features here and piggyback on some of the systems. There are others like you, but we need a constant influx of fresh teams in order to keep the infestations under control.”
“By infestations, you mean childhood monsters,” I say.
“Something like that. They’ve been around, and known about, for a long time. That’s why the Organization was created long ago. Our job is to see that they don’t spill over into the main populace and create a panic. They’re in the dark corners of the world, and when we learn of them, we go in and root them out.”
“I’ve been in some pretty dark corners and have never heard of anything like them,” I reply.
“That’s because we’re doing our job. We manage to keep it from becoming known and you hear about them only on the fringes where the tin-foil hats reside.”
“So, that stuff is true?”
“Some is, but not most of it. Most of that is made up to sell the papers and magazines, and some of it is manufactured and embellished by us. That way, anything reported isn’t really taken that seriously before it gets dumped into the lunatic category,” Cyrus responds.
“That makes sense, I guess.”
“Now, it’s not like the world is currently being overrun with them, so we focus on special cases. Aside from tracking down creatures when they get out of hand, you’ll be assigned tasks much like the ones in your old contracts. After all, you have to stay sharp; we can’t very well have you lying on the beach sipping fruity drinks, now can we?”
“Why not? That sounds perfectly fine with me. We could call it training,” I state.
Cyrus chuckles. “Would you like to meet your team?”
“In a moment, but I have a couple additional questions first. This, well, organization. Does it have a name?”
“It’s merely called the Organization. We don’t have patches for you to wear or any formal charter in writing. We operate outside of normal discretions for the reasons I’ve mentioned. That said, I’ll hold to my original promise that we won’t ask for anything outside of the moral character you’ve already displayed.”
“I’m not aware I displayed any moral character.”
“I’ve read the ops reports, so I’ll have to disagree with you there. Although you’ve been involved in some nasty stuff, you aren’t cruel or masochistic about how you take care of business.”
“I still don’t see how you can take out what I ran into without an armada of B-52s carpet-bombing the place. You sound confident that it’s possible, so I’m guessing there will be additional training and some fun toys I get to play with,” I say.
“There are ways, and you and your team will be provided with adequate training and additional knowledge. We have some nice gadgets, but nothing like what the movies portray,” Cyrus responds.
“So, no UV light bombs to disintegrate masses of vampires?”
There, I actually said the word. My mind is still reeling from the conversation I’m having and I am kind of wishing I hadn’t dialed the number. Or signed. Here’s where pushing myself lands me in trouble.
“No, nothing like that. I know this is a bit much to take all at once, but it’s not a joke. This organization is needed to maintain a balance. As you know, there are many different levels to civilization, and many exist below the surface of the majority—terrorist cells, back room business dealings, corruption, cruelty and genocide, depraved individuals on the loose, all of that. This is one of those deeper levels, kept secret, but one that nonetheless exists. Our job is to handle matters before they ever fully reach the surface. Something along the lines of what you previously did.”
“Fair enough.”
“And, we can’t go around carpet-bombing as you mentioned. The things we do must be done in secret. There would be a bit
of an uproar if we just up and flattened part of Mexico. There are very few who know about us. We’re well-financed and able to use resources at our discretion, but we can’t do things that will bring the organization into the light of day.”
“And that’s what we’re trying to prevent these creatures from doing?”
“Exactly.”
“I get that. Okay, let’s see what poor souls you’ve sentenced,” I say.
Chapter Five
Lynn’s boots make soft thuds on the polished tile of the hallway. The embedded lights overhead cast a soft glow, unlike the harsh glare found in most government installations. That alone is sign enough that the Organization isn’t an arm of bureaucracy. Landscape paintings in rich frames adorn the walls, each with its own soft light illuminating the brush strokes. Walking along the corridor, it’s easy to forget that tons of rocks lie overhead.
The top of Lynn’s short-cropped blonde hair peaks at about my mouth level. Fatigue pants and a black T-shirt cover a tight, muscular body as she walks beside me like a drill sergeant strolling down the middle of recruit bunks. Her blue eyes stare straight ahead as if no barrier can stop her from her goal.
“Jack, I’ve read your file,” she says, her voice steady and without moving her eyes.
“There’s an inference there that implies something more,” I reply.
Her tone says that perhaps she is regretting her assignment. I also believe she’s setting an atmosphere to be listened to—that she’s not just some liaison who only provides information when asked. I’ve worked for some of the big agencies before, and they’ve always had an air of aloofness, like they knew better than everyone in the room. However, that wasn’t always the case, and I have developed some good working relationships. I kept out of the politics and just focused on my assignment, whatever that happened to be, and I plan to do the same here. However, with the mission of the Organization as presented, it seems I’ll be working on a much different level. I don’t know whether I should feel intimidated or not; only time will tell if this thing is legit. Even though signatures are attached to sheets of paper, if this turns out to be only a better financed PMC, I’m out.
Before replying, Lynn comes to a sudden halt. I actually take two more steps before I realize there’s only one set of clomping boots and that the blonde hair in my peripheral has disappeared. Turning, I see her by one of the doors lining the hall, her hand around the handle.
“A little warning would have been nice, Mrs. Connell,” I comment.
“Oh, my apologies. We’re going in here,” she says, her eyes smiling, but her overall expression betraying not a hint of her actually being sorry. “And that’s Ms. Connell, but as I mentioned before, you can call me Lynn.”
She swings the door open and steps inside. I follow, expecting to see others, and am momentarily surprised to find a small, empty conference room.
“Either the others will be along shortly, or we’re about to have a little chat,” I remark.
“The latter, as you’ve surmised,” she says, taking a seat. “Look, this thing we’re doing here is no joke. I’ve been here for a little while and there are things out there straight out of our nightmares. From your file, I see you do things well and have talent, I’ll give you that. But, I’ve also noticed that you tend to go off plan. That will only get you so far, and in my personal opinion, you’ve been lucky. I don’t mean it like that’s all you’ve been, but definitely in certain circumstances. We can’t rely on luck to carry off some of the shit we’re going to get into.”
“Fair enough. But, you’ve obviously been around the block, so you know that being flexible is the key to getting out of certain situations. And, the luck you speak of is really pulling shit out of my bag of tricks and weighing the odds. It’s an instinct I’ve built up over the years, and I’ll rely on my gut feelings ahead of rigidly keeping with a set sequence. That’s all the while keeping with the ultimate goal, or any intermediate ones.”
I take a breath. We’ll obviously be working together quite a bit, so we might as well get everything out in the open and worked out.
“My philosophy is to have available information and use it accordingly, but why plan so extensively when everything goes out the window at first contact? If one conforms to a rigid set, then you’re just limiting yourself. It’s better to have a variety of contingencies available,” I answer. “That’s why I work better in small teams or by myself.”
“But, Jack, you make shit up on the fly without notification. While that seems to have worked for you so far, what you don’t see are the people behind the scenes scrambling to keep up and rearrange things,” Lynn states.
“The only time a set plan works as intended is if there’s no contact, or if it’s, well, brief. And, there are always unseen hurdles to be surmounted,” I argue.
“So, you don’t believe in planning?” Lynn asks.
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re implying,” Lynn responds, her tone increasing a notch and her eyes flashing.
“No, I merely said, why get locked into a mindset of following a rigid sequence of planned actions? Have the operational goal and plan for the best outcome, but be ready for when it all heads south,” I reply.
Lynn sits across the table, glaring holes through my head.
“Look, I know this is us getting a feel for how to work together. And, I’m not so hard-headed or ego-driven to think I have all the solutions. You obviously like to have a well-thought-out plan and I tend to wing it at times. It’s not a weakness per se; in fact I see it as a strength. You’re obviously good at what you do or you wouldn’t be here. And, you’re right in that sometimes I get on the other side of a circumstance and think, ‘Wow! That worked?’ I’ll be honest with you, I’m feeling a little behind the curve here. I feel confident when coming up against other people. Even against those trained to operate in the special ops world, there is always a pattern to be found, even among the best of the best. That can’t be avoided. But, they don’t move at the speed of light or disappear in dark smoke. And, they tend to die, or at least get slowed down, when you shoot them or stab them in the heart,” I comment.
“Jack, I’m going to get right to the point. We’re here to work as a team—not as Jack’s support group. I am not going to provide you with intel and planning only to have you reply with a shrug and tell me, ‘cool story, bro.’ I don’t mean to come across as some hard bitch trying to get her way but, as I said, I’m not going to be pushed into the background. I’ve spoken at length with your contacts. Some said, ‘Meh, he gets the job done,’ but an equal number wished me luck,” Lynn states.
I laugh. “Fair enough. I know that I can be an ass sometimes, and I apologize in advance for that. I feel that my flexibility is my strength, and I can see that planning is yours. I’m not against combining those strengths, and I promise to notify you if I have to go off script, along with the promise to make sure it’s okay if time permits.”
“I can live with that. Know that I don’t need the limelight. I just want to be able to do my job, which is to provide coordination along with what you need. We’ll always be in communication when you’re on assignment, so I can’t be left in the dark struggling to keep up. I’m not only your intel liaison, but also your contact within the Organization. I own the assignments we’re given. Most of the times, they’re investigations into odd occurrences to find out if we’re dealing with something within our realm. If not, then we pass it off, or take the assignment depending on time and resources. I appreciate that, as the team on the ground, you have the authority to do whatever is needed. All I’m asking is that you work with me.”
“Deal. And I’ll say it again, I can’t speak for the others without knowing more about them, but I’m not even close to ready to deal with those things we encountered in Mexico. I’d like to say more training will help, but I don’t see how two lifetimes of that will be sufficient. Do we have some dark magic we’re going to toss at them?” I say.<
br />
Lynn smiles for the first time since I’ve met her. I have to say that it lights up her face. I thought she was cute from our first meeting, but damn if that smile doesn’t stir shit up.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?” Lynn replies.
“Never mind. You were going to say.”
“This isn’t Hollywood. We don’t have explosive UV lights or bullets, although those wouldn’t work anyway. We do have other ‘resources’ that may aid us, and you’ll be introduced to them soon. As far as training, you have what you’ll need in a personal sense. The other members of the team have just completed equivalent training and you’ll have the opportunity to train together before we throw you into the lion’s den,” Lynn responds.
I’m struck by the particular phrasing of meeting the resources and the way it’s emphasized. From the way she says it, there won’t be a mystery vault full of weapons derived from alien technology, but a human resource we’ll be speaking to.
“I’m curious how we were chosen,” I query.
“You’re all survivors of an attack. Perhaps not under the same circumstances, but even so, you all showed the capability to fight off fiends and live,” Lynn answers.
“And you? Were you selected in the same way?” I ask.
Lynn remains silent for a moment, her gaze taking on a faraway look. For a brief moment, her eyes darken with anger before returning to the present.
“Yes,” she finally replies.
She shakes her head as if to dispel the memories. “But, that’s neither here nor there. I think we’re done here. Let’s go meet the others.”
We stroll out of the room, the tension between us dissipated. Lynn’s a strong woman and carries herself with the confidence of one who can take care of herself in any circumstance. We all have issues that we have to deal with, but I can tell that hers isn’t a false confidence. And those clear blue eyes betray an intelligence that is just downright scary. Her presence, although not intimidating, is definitely a force. For a brief moment as we walk through softly lit hallways, I feel that perhaps it was luck, not skill, all along.
