Retribution (SSU Trilogy Book 3) (The Surgical Strike Unit) (15 page)

As he snapped the phone closed and moved toward the plane, Rafe looked around the compound. Despite his assurance to Niko, he had the sinking sensation this was the last time he’d be back here. And damn if he didn’t find his eyes blurring as he stepped into the plane.

Chapter 12

The Next Night

Adirondack Mountains

“I
just lost another of my guards to an attack by one of your freaks,” Rufus Cygan snarled as he stormed into Dr. Kaufmann’s office.

Kaufmann raised his head from the report he’d been studying, his eyes narrowing in annoyance at his head of security. “I’ve told you before not to bother me with such trivialities. Have the subject terminated and make sure a note gets put in his file about the attack.” He lowered his eyes back to his report.

But instead of heeding the subtle dismissal, Cygan slapped his hands palm down on Kaufmann’s desk. “Your freaks are getting harder to control. It’s taking up to five guards to hold one of your subjects when they get out of line. I want permission to bring in additional men. Double that when we move to the new facility.”

Kaufmann slowly stood up until he looked Cygan in the eye. He wondered what combination of drugs would work to bring the man’s lack of respect under control. “I have told you that the only additional men we can afford to give you are Level 1 subjects. The project’s funders are already skittish. If they get so much as a whiff of our problems, they’ll shut us down.”

Kaufmann leaned forward until Cygan had to back up. “If this project ends, I will personally see to it that you’re thrown to the Level 5 subjects.”

Cygan wet his lips and retreated as far as the visitor’s chair. But then he seemed to find his backbone. “I’m telling you, my men won’t work with any of your freaks, even the Level 1’s. Because we all know even those don’t last for long. What’s the record now, three weeks?”

Actually, one of the subjects had actually made it four weeks without losing any of his cognitive or physical functions, the longest any of the Level 1 subjects had survived intact. “Then I suggest you find a way to handle the subjects with the men you’ve got.”

“What about the extra security team? At least let me borrow a couple of those men. There’ve been no more intruders since the night of the explosions in the lab. Whoever helped Dr. Montague and the subjects escape is long gone. Odds are they got what they wanted. That team can spare four men.”

Kaufmann shook his head. “Our funder claims his source is telling the truth and there’s going to be a larger attack on the facility soon. I’m not reassigning the men from the external security team.” He had several empty cells set aside for any attackers caught alive, and a new formula that was ready for testing.

“Deal with the issues in some other way, Mr. Cygan. Or you will be terminated.”

Cygan’s face paled.

Kaufmann let the faintest smile ghost across his mouth. There was something so delightful about watching a man realize how close he stood to death. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaufmann waited until Cygan had closed the door behind him before returning his attention to his report. Damn Dr. Montague. She’d been on to something. All the subjects she’d treated had made improvements in anger management. But as soon as her treatments stopped, the rages had come back threefold.

And she’d left no notes behind to assist him with duplicating her efforts. She’d even managed to erase her data from the backup. Such a setback was unacceptable. He had deadlines to meet and he needed Dr. Montague’s data just as much as he needed the notes on Dr. Nevsky’s microchip.

He’d just have to ask Jamieson to make certain Dr. Montague was returned to him.

Speaking of Jamieson…he checked the duty roster. All of the specially enhanced men Kaufmann had provided to Kerberos, Jamieson’s private black ops group, should have another two weeks at Level 1. Add another two weeks at Level 2 and he had a four-week window before he’d have to replace the men.

Kaufmann tapped his finger impatiently on his desk. Of his current batch of subjects, he expected the group which had been given the old formula to enter Level 1, the phase with the highest performance, within two weeks. Unfortunately, the group which had received the new formula had not yet shown the anticipated results. More tests would be required.

He glanced at the calendar. There simply wasn’t enough time. Damn Jamieson and his insistence on using the enhanced men to carry out the President’s anniversary attack. Kaufmann required more time to perfect the formula, so that the subjects entered Level 1 earlier than four weeks and then remained at that level for longer than the current month.

Also critical to ensuring the long-term viability of his program was halting the current rate of deterioration. Once the subjects reached Level 2, the decline in their physical and mental abilities occurred rapidly. Nothing his team had done to the formula so far had stopped the deterioration, which always ended in death.

Another reason he needed this new formula to work. He couldn’t afford to lose any more subjects. It was becoming increasingly difficult to locate new subjects without arousing the suspicion of the authorities.

He pulled closer the report he’d been reading when Cygan interrupted him. At this stage of treatment all of the men were stronger physically than those under the previous formula. They also showed the insensitivity to pain and the ability to get by on one hour of sleep that was the requirement for Level 1 status.

Unfortunately, the mental results weren’t as satisfactory. The formula had not sped up the mental breakdown required to achieve total mind control. It seemed that each man had an individual level of resistance to the various brainwashing techniques and nothing his team had tried changed that. In order to provide Kerberos and other organizations with reliable, enhanced soldiers, the time required for a subject to achieve Level 1’s superior skills had to be shortened. And the cellular and mental deterioration had to be stopped.

He made a notation in the margin. Once Jamieson brought him Nevsky’s microchip, he’d have the data necessary to get past these obstacles. Nevsky had achieved faster mind control in his subjects, but had refused to share his technique. The old bitterness rose, but Kaufmann pushed it back. Nevsky had been a paranoid control freak. He’d kept Kaufmann confined to monitoring the physical effects on both sets of subjects—the men who gained increased physical strength and endurance for long-range military operations, and the men who developed superior reflexes and speed that would assist them on espionage missions. But Nevsky had never explained the full scope of his program, leading to Kaufmann’s current difficulties.

He’d almost run out of the samples he’d stolen from Nevsky’s lab and his team had been unable to recreate over fifty percent of the substances in Nevsky’s formula. The data on the microchip was the key they needed to start mass producing the necessary chemicals.

It was ironic, really. Jamieson worked for the CIA, but his goal was to put together an invincible private army for the President, so he was more interested in the strength side of the program. Men who could keep moving through any type of adversity, solely focused on achieving the goal their mind control handler had set for them.

Since Jamieson currently paid the bills, Kaufmann currently focused only on the aspects of the research that met Jamieson’s goals for Kerberos. But Kaufmann’s goal was far greater. Once he’d satisfied Jamieson’s requirements and the man stopped breathing down his neck for new and improved soldiers, Kaufmann fully intended to restart the spy side of the program.

He’d then offer either type of subject for sale on the open market—mind controlled brute, or super brain spy.

He flipped back through the report, checking one of the numbers. Before he could go public, he also had to find a way past what some of his researchers called the men’s expiration date. The longest any of the men had survived after reaching Level 1 certification was eight weeks and two days. The program had made small advancements in extending the length of time the subjects lasted in the desirable Level 1 phase. But they inevitably started to deteriorate into Level 2 after three or four weeks. Once they reached Level 3, their bodies began to show outward signs of stress. An increase in clumsiness. Longer sleep cycles. Increased sensitivity to pain. Levels 4 and 5 followed quickly, with the end result being a man whose body broke down at the cellular level, and whose mind was so full of rage and insanity that even the simplest mind control command was ignored. If the men didn’t commit suicide or die from their internal organs failing, then Kaufmann’s rule was to give the Level 5 subjects over to more advanced Level 1 subjects for practice of assault techniques.

Unfortunately, he’d been unable to stop the deterioration. Nothing he’d tried had given the men longer life spans, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to find new subjects. Nevsky had initially used criminals, but had found that their lack of respect for authority interfered with the mind control program. Before he died, Nevsky had experimented on his first batch of soldiers stolen from the military and falsely reported killed in action. A recruitment method Kaufmann had continued.

Unfortunately, Jamieson had informed him that the FBI and the military were investigating disappearances of their personnel after some of their “dead” operators had been spotted during Kaufmann’s trial missions.

Kaufmann planned on incorporating reconstructive surgery on his subjects once he’d finalized the formula and could provide his buyers with a guarantee of at least two years remaining life per soldier. With a life span of mere months, Kaufmann couldn’t afford to give his current subjects new faces, which meant it was time to find a new pool of subjects to pull from.

He needed young males, in top physical condition. Maybe college athletes. His recruitment team could stage a few car crashes. Maybe even fake the crash of a team bus. That would net him a decent size subject pool.

Yes, he’d definitely look into that idea.

His intercom buzzed. Kaufmann scowled at it, but when it refused to be cowed and buzzed again, he pressed the talk button. “Yes?”

“Sir, Cygan asked that I inform you that an attack force is currently approaching the compound.”

Kaufmann slapped his report shut. “Very good. Please tell Doctor Weis to have enough tranquilizer prepared and to make certain the cells are ready to receive our new guests.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaufmann left his office and headed into the lower level of the security room. He wanted to watch the monitors and observe how the members of the assault team behaved during the attack. It would give him insight into how to break the survivors after their capture.

F
acedown on a patch of dirt, Rafe struggled to lift his head. He needed to see how many of his men were still alive, but the drugs Kaufmann’s security team had shot into his system prevented him from moving so much as an inch.

He did a mental recount. Muldovsky was dead. He’d fallen in the first attack by Kaufmann’s security. Willits had been shot in the shoulder, but none of the others had taken hits that Rafe had seen.

Depaoli and his team… They’d been inserting from the other side of the compound. Rafe hoped they’d managed not to walk into another ambush, but he doubted it. The trap had been too perfect. Kaufmann’s men had known exactly where Rafe’s team would enter the grounds. Had waited until the last man was inside the fence before attacking.

Rafe’s team had been on radio silence, so they hadn’t realized until they tried to warn the others that their radio signal was jammed.

Someone at the SSU had betrayed them.

“Is this all of them?” The cold male voice rang with authority.

“Yes, sir.”

The tip of a highly polished loafer poked Rafe in the side, rolling him to his back. “Only six survivors out of twenty-four.” Rafe looked up into a face he recognized from the files. Dr. Leonard Kaufmann. The slightly scholarly aura about him contrasted with the utter soullessness of his blue eyes.

Rafe felt an infuriating mix of helplessness, grief and rage. Only five of his teammates were alive. He shoved deep all emotion except for his rage as he stared up at Kaufmann. Tried to open his mouth to speak, but the drugs had effectively paralyzed every muscle.

“Welcome to my program, Mr. Andros,” Kaufmann said. “I will so enjoy breaking you and your men and turning you into model subjects.” Despite his words, his eyes showed no anticipation. No glint of satisfaction or pleasure.

Rafe had come face-to-face with crazed terrorists and vicious criminals, but Kaufmann’s lack of emotion sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Rafe strained against the invisible bonds of the drugs and was rewarded with a slight twitch of his fingers.

Kaufmann shifted his gaze to someone behind Rafe and nodded.

A piece of metal jabbed into Rafe’s shoulder. He heard a sizzle a second before hot pain exploded in his shoulder. His entire body jerked, then the world went dark.

Three Days Later

Late Evening, SSU Compound

Oregon

G
abby had just finished pouring hot water into her teacup when someone knocked on her cabin door. Strange, no one ever visited her. She hadn’t made any friends yet, and no one from the lab ever bothered her at home.

Who could…? Rafe! Maybe he was back early.

She dropped the teakettle back onto the stove and dashed across the few feet of living room. Quickly smoothing her hair down, she yanked open the door.

Ryker stood on her front porch, the overhead light throwing his features into grim shadow.

“Gabby.” The somber, almost pitying tone of his voice threw her into a panic.

Rafe. Something had happened to Rafe. Her heart lurched to a stop.

“No.” She backed up a step and closed the door half way.

Ryker caught the edge of the door and pushed gently. “Please let me in. I need to talk to you about Rafe.”

“No.” Her eyes pleaded with him from behind the safety of the door. “Please, no.”

“I thought you’d rather hear the news here, in the privacy of your cabin, than in the lab or my office,” he said gently.