JACK KILBORN ~ AFRAID (34 page)

Stubin checked his watch. The military had quarantined the town, as expected. But General Tope would be sending in more Special Forces units soon. Good as the Red-ops were, they were only five people, and Ajax was functioning in a diminished capacity and might not last the night.

Stubin wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. Truth told, he hated these monsters that the army had forced him to create. Ajax cut up his parents at the age of eleven. Bernie had been given the death penalty for burning down a nursing home. Taylor—a vicious schizoid serial killer—was another death-row rescue. They’d gotten Santiago from South America, a sadistic freelance interrogator who wound up working for the wrong side and was captured by the CIA. And Logan was another psycho who’d been plucked from the mental ward, prone to such violent outbursts that her diet consisted mainly of thorazine.

Human garbage, each of them. But they were the only ones he was allowed to perform the implantations on. The only ones he could experiment on. The military spent incredible amounts of time and money teaching soldiers how to kill, and some of them still hesitated at the moment of truth. How much easier it was to take killers and turn them into soldiers.

So now, under his care, he had five Hannibal Lecters with Rambo training and transhuman modifications. The Chip made them programmable, controllable. The Charge rebooted the Chip when it sensed other thoughts interfering with the program. It also fine-tuned their instincts, making them more aggressive, faster, stronger. There were also indications it unlocked powers of the mind known only to monks and mystics. The ability to withstand pain. To function in extreme conditions. To heal faster. Some experiments had shown it could even enhance extrasensory perception.

But who was utilizing this untold power? Who was the subject of his brilliance?

Psychotics and maniacs.

What a waste of my talents,
Stubin thought.

Stubin wanted to work on normal people, not crazies. But the government wouldn’t allow it, and no private company would dare fund such a project. When he acquired the film, everything would change. After spending decades being a slave of the U.S. government, he’d get out of his indentured servitude and wind up with some serious money, as well. Stubin figured the film was worth at least two hundred million. He’d set up another lab, one with complete freedom, in Mexico. He’d run his experiments on the locals—bribes ensuring the full blessing of the Mexican government.

And what better way to fulfill his dream than to use the very Red-ops unit he’d been forced to create? They were supposed to be in Afghanistan now, wiping out some village where the Taliban was suspected of hiding. But Stubin decided to run his own program instead. Instead of the Middle East, he brought them here, to find Warren Streng.

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.

J
osh 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.

W
iley 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.