ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The salt in the potato chips was making her thirsty, and the diet soda made her have to pee. Seneca stuffed another barbecue chip in her mouth, starting the vicious cycle all over again.

"Okay, who's next?" Seneca glanced down at her list. "Why it's Kevin Kilgore of Sheridan, Wyoming," she said in her best game show host voice. "God, I need to get out of this room."

She sipped more of her diet soda, and typed the name Kevin Kilgore into her search engine. Nothing much popped up, but the guy wasn't that old. Twenty-five. She wrote that in her notebook.

He played football in high school. Seneca was linked to the Sheridan Post newspaper article, then leaned back to read an overly long piece about the state football playoffs. It seemed that Mr. Kilgore was instrumental in sending the Wildcats to the State Championship by catching an impressive three touchdowns.

And there he was in all his glory. The picture showed a lanky youth, leaping high in the air to catch a bad pass over the heads of short defensemen. But the more she read about Kevin Kilgore, the more she was impressed by his athleticism. The kid was good at basketball, baseball, and he was fast, breaking a state record in track.

Next was the article about the homecoming game, complete with a photo showing Mr. Kilgore in his football uniform with a crown already on his head, while his fellow nominee, a cheerleader named Angela Johnson, was being crowned queen.

It was so damn Americana that she smiled. Two happy kids in a moment that they would remember for the rest of their lives.

After high school graduation there was a lot less information about Kevin Kilgore. He played football at the University of Wyoming down in Cheyanne. But after only one year, he had transferred back to Sheridan Junior College.

When he was twenty there was a photo in the local paper celebrating twenty-five years of Kilgore & Son Septic. And at the age of twenty-two, young Kevin Kilgore was arrested for his first DUI.

His second came last fall, right before he up and disappeared. The parents were concerned about their son. But in more than one interview, people had 'prayed that Kevin had just taken off,’ suggesting that this is what the town concluded. As one Sheridan man pointed out, 'they never found a body.’

Seneca sat back wondering how hard it was for Kevin Kilgore's parents to read those quotes from their neighbors. She stood up to stretch, feeling the same stab of guilt every time she read about someone on that list. Knowing that with one phone call she could tell those people the one thing that they wanted to hear. 'Your child is alive and safe on a military base in Utah.’ But she couldn't make that call, because if those people had any hope of rescue, she needed to let Gunner do the rescuing.

But she wasn't hopeful that they would escape.

How was Gunner going to get them out of a huge, highly protected military base? The answer was, he wasn't. He could get Cat or Ansel out. And if they were lucky, both. But the rest of those people would still be there, rotting away in some lab while the world kept spinning.

Her burner phone rang, and she was feeling discouraged. "Hello."

"I need you to do something for me." It was Gunner. "I need you to find the original blueprint for the base."

"That's not going to be easy." Seneca's brain shot down several ways to acquire them. The government information act would take too long to request, as would a press request. "Those documents would be located in government files. Files that it would be a federal offense to access."

"You don't have to do that," Gunner explained. "All you have to do is find out who won the contract to build the base, then access
their
files."

"That’s illegal and I can get arrested, Gunner."

"Not if they give them to you." He left how she would get their permission up to her. "The contractor is probably someone in the Salt Lake City area. Most likely the largest firm in town. But if they are no longer in business, look to see if they've been bought out because that firm will have inherited their old files."

"Okay." Seneca wasn't sure she wanted to ask, "Have you looked at the base yet?"

"Yep." Gunner paused. "I'm not going to lie. It's going to be difficult to get them out. The research areas are heavily guarded and that's where Ansel and Cat will be spending most of the day."

Seneca followed his train of thought. "So you’re going to take them at night."

"Not quite," Gunner answered. "The only question now is which one to take first. That's why your research is imperative."

"They’re not being held in the same area?" Seneca found herself holding her breath.

"We don't think so. For security reasons, we think they might be holding Ansel in the brig." After watching how easily Ansel killed a man, a trained soldier, she thought that was a wise precaution on the general's part. Gunner continued, "Obviously, that adds to the difficulty in extracting him."

"Gunner, be careful." She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling. "You know Ansel would never forgive himself if anything happened to you while you were trying to—"

"This isn't about Ansel." Gunner didn't even hesitate. "This is about all of those people, and Ansel understands that better than anyone."

Admiration constricted her heart. She had never met men so willing to put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of others.

"Well then, I better find you those base blueprints," she said more hopefully than she felt. "But what if I can't get them?"

She could hear Gunner take a deep breath before saying, "Then we're screwed."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The general stood in front of Dr. Rumsey, listening to his weekly status report. Shiny machines made whirring noises, spinning down blood and tissue samples to determine something or another. He didn't really care. All he wanted was to get results.

"We've finished our baseline tests with Catherine Miller and Ansel Babineaux. They’re both well above average in intelligence, and physically…" The Doctor grinned. "I must say that Catherine Miller is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Strong, graceful—”

"Pregnant with her husband's child." The general brought the man back down to earth. "Are they ready to begin their therapy?"

"Yes. However, with the pregnancy, I want to take extra precautions to—"

"Start with Sergeant Babineaux," the general ordered, equally concerned about damaging the baby, but more interested to see what could be done with the Ansel.

The boy was already one of the United States' elite soldiers. If they could enhance his God-given abilities, it would be a beautiful thing. And the soldiers he would make with the Babineaux's biological material boggled his mind.

"What areas do you want enhanced first?" the doctor asked.

That was a difficult question. He knew the man was already thinking about escaping, he had seen it in his eyes when they had their disappointing conversation.

If he could just help him understand why this was so important to national security. But what did he expect? Ansel Babineaux was the best of a soft generation. A generation that had grown up constantly being told that they were 'special'.

What a bunch of bullshit.

People used to have a loyalty to this country. However, these days the individual's wants and needs seemed to supersede all else.

But these kids had not lived through Vietnam or the Cold War. And once those wants were taken away by a foreign power because no one was willing to sacrifice for the country that gave them those rights, they would be singing a different tune.

"Enhance his strength first," The general decided. The last thing he needed was to give Sergeant Babineaux more brainpower to plan his escape. "I want to see the results when it's done."

"Yes, sir," the doctor said as the general's phone rang.

"General Hawkins," he said, stepping out into the hallway.

It was Inez. "They're gone."

Shit!
He hadn't expected Holstad's team to hang around, but somewhere in the back of his mind he was hoping he had been wrong about the captain. It would be so much easier if he didn't admire the man.

"How long ago?"

"Two days," Sergeant Munoz said. "Captain Holstad has not been heard from since he received the phone call from Seattle. Caffrey and Stockton failed to report in shortly after that."

"And there was nothing in their quarters to indicate where they had gone?"

"No, sir. But we did find evidence that all three of them had been staying together."

"What evidence?" the general asked, curious.

"The amount of food. Three sets of poker chips on the table, and…" Inez paused, which meant the next thing she said would be important. "A shattered cell phone."

"So, they've gone dark." That's why they weren't able to track Captain Holstad. Very disappointing. "Thank you, Sergeant. Now, you and your men get your asses back here."

"Yes, sir." Inez was a good soldier, who knew how to follow orders.

"And Sergeant," the general warned, knowing that he was fighting for the future of this country, "prepare for company."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Ansel knew something was wrong five minutes after he drank his orange juice. His brain was foggy, and he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open.

He picked up his plastic juice container and forced himself to focus. Nothing. And then, he picked up the round foil that sealed the lid to the juice. There it was, hidden in the dark center of the logo.

A tiny pinprick.

They had drugged him.
That couldn't be good.
He fought the drugs, but it didn't help. The tiny observation window cut into the cell door slid open, and a pair of blue eyes was looking at him.

"He's almost out," the guy said, and that was the last thing he remembered.

Ansel felt strange. He opened his eyes then looked around the bright room. Dr. Rumsey was there, so he asked, "What are you doing to me?"

But the guy did not answer. He was warm. Blankets covered him, including his feet, but he wasn't comfortable.
Why
? And then Ansel realized that he was strapped down. But not like before.

When they first brought him to the base, he had been handcuffed to prevent his escaping but Ansel could still move. Not now. Now, thick straps that looked like seatbelts where pulled tightly over his ankles, knees, hips, and shoulders.

He could feel something in his arm, and Ansel realized it was an IV line. His breathing grew more rapid and he tried not to panic. Four guards stood in the corners of the procedure room, well out of his reach.

"What are you going to do to me?" he demanded to know.  

Dr. Rumsey leaned over him, placing his hand on Ansel's shoulder, and saying in that condescending tone that doctors always took when they think they're calming you down, "Sergeant Babineaux, we’re about to begin your DNA therapy treatment."
Fuck!
"Don't worry, the restraints are merely precautions taken for everyone's safety."

"You mean, so I won't try and kill you while you alter my fucking DNA!" Ansel shouted, knowing that if he had the chance, he would kill Doctor Rumsey to stop this from happening.

"I understand your concern, Sergeant," the doctor reassured him. "But I'm told that the procedure is not all that painful. You will experience an increase in your heart rate, followed by a tingling sensation and what is described as 'an increased awareness of your senses'."

Ansel had been in dangerous situations before, expecting to die. But this was a different kind of death. He was about to become someone else. Someone different. Would he even know himself? Would he still hate bananas? Would he still love his sister?

Would he still love Seneca?

The thought formed in his mind without conscious construction. Ansel swallowed. His hands were shaking, and he was thankful that the son of a bitch couldn't see them beneath the blankets.

"My concern is more along the lines of you doing this procedure against my will." Ansel glanced at the only people that could help him. The soldiers. "And you're all just letting this happen, involuntary medical testing of US citizens. You ever heard of Josef Mengele?"

They didn't even blink.

"We'll start with twenty cc's," Doctor Rumsey said to his nurse, who handed him a vial of light blue liquid. The same blue liquid that Gwen had used to stabilize their DNA when she ran her tests.

For some reason it was the blue color that made this all real. They were about to inject a portion of someone else's DNA into his body, and he would never be the same.

"Don't!" his mind screamed. Ansel pulled against his restraints, and the soldiers raised their weapons.

Doctor Rumsey ignored him, injecting the syringe into Ansel's IV drip.

"It will take a few minutes for the solution to work its way into your body. But we have found a slow introduction of the foreign DNA into the body provides the best absorption results for the recipient." The doctor smiled. "But as you have one of the highest purities of the anomaly, the likelihood that your body will reject the foreign DNA is…minimal."

Ansel stared at the ceiling. Devastated. He was becoming an amalgamation. No longer himself. That thought was far more painful than any torture they could have inflicted upon him.

"How are you feeling?" Doctor Rumsey asked, but Ansel didn't answer.

He could feel his heart speeding up, but not from fear or exertion. This had a chemical feel that constricted his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Ansel took deeper breaths to compensate, and then he felt a warmth spread over him. He could hear the soldiers breathing now, smell the blood in the air. His eyesight became sharper; more colors became clear.

But the strangest thing was being able to feel the inside of his own body. Not like a sharp pain or a stomach ache. He could actually feel his muscles, feel the shape of them as the tainted blood surged through them.

Ansel flexed his right hand and felt the individual muscles working together to contract. Instead of his brain telling his body what to do, it was as if his body already knew, reacting before he had even thought about it. His body told him where to apply pressure on the straps to break himself free, but it also told him that his restraints were too strong.

"Let's give him twenty more cc's." Doctor Rumsey said.

Ansel warned, "No!" knowing the threat his body would become to Doctor Rumsey if they made him stronger. While he thought the guy deserved what Ansel would do to him, he was in no hurry to be shot in the back by one of those soldiers when he killed him.

"Why?" the doctor asked. "What are you feeling?"

Ansel showed him, pressing against his wrist restraints and ripping them at the edges. The doctor instinctively took a step back, his mouth falling open.

"I've never seen it work so…well." The man licked his lips, a perverse excitement lighting up his eyes. "All four of you, take him back to his cell and take extreme measures when you remove his restraints," the doctor ordered, scribbling notes in Ansel's file, adding, "I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow."

Ansel’s blood ran cold.