Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (75 page)

***

The schematics and maps were scattered over Perry’s desk. He’d used every last bit of intelligence and influence he had to try and locate whether the Navy or Air Force had any other prototypes in existence like the one that Dylan had taken, and so far, he’d found none.

Perry crumpled one of the maps in his hand angrily and threw it against the wall in frustration. He gritted his teeth and collapsed into his chair. He hated the limitation his position offered. He should have pushed farther, faster. He could have done it; there were a number of times when he could have easily fallen into the director’s chair for Homeland, but the risk was too great, and he needed to stay under the radar to avoid scrutiny.

The climb to power was often messy and degrading. Slugging your way through the muck and grime, looking to that circle of light in the sky. There was nothing glamorous about it, which was why Perry had done so well.

The superficial gods and vices that so many of his peers had worshiped had dulled the blades that were their minds. They focused on clothes, hair, cars, houses, jewelry, phones, watches, anything that flashed, shiny things that caught their eye and were just as easily discarded once something new was seen.

The scars that covered more than eighty percent of Perry’s body were the only things that seemed to catch the eyes of the people that he came into contact with over the years. There were times when he could still feel the heat. He’d close his eyes, and the flames would dance around him, licking his skin and singeing whatever clothes he wore.

Perry unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, loosened his tie, and grabbed the bottled water on his desk. He drained half of it, and then his phone rang. The caller ID was the same satellite phone that Dylan had used before. “I was wondering when you’d reach out.”

“I don’t have anything else to offer you except the computer chips and my life. If both are needed for my son’s freedom, then so be it.”

“Straight to business, I see. Did it surprise you, Captain? What you felt when you watched your ex-wife die? Did you reminisce about all the good years? All of the times you laughed? All of the times you were happy?”

“I’ll text you the locations where you’ll drop off Sean and where you’ll meet me. They’ll both be at the same time. Once I hear that Sean is safe, you’ll have what you want.”

“You know, I’ve heard rumblings of Director Moringer of the DEA putting together a unit. I wonder what that’s for?”

“You’ll have the locations and times within the hour. If you do not comply, the deal is off, and other avenues will be taken.”

The call ended, and Perry tossed the phone onto the desk, smiling. The captain was broken but still trying to put the pieces back together. Perry knew that Cooper would go to Moringer; it was the only play that they had left, but the moment Perry showed up, they’d have the evidence they needed to seal their case. There was no longer any room for failure.

***

Cooper strapped a bulletproof vest around Dylan’s bare chest before he pulled his shirt on. Dylan tucked the pistol into the ankle holster then pulled his jeans down around to cover it. Dozens of DEA agents were going through similar preparations: loading weapons, looking over maps, strapping on helmets, Kevlar, and any other piece of protective gear they had.

“Everything feel all right?” Cooper asked, giving him a look over.

“Yeah.” The Kevlar felt a little bulky and tight under his shirt, but he was able to get used to it quickly enough. Once Cooper was fitted, the two of them walked over to join Moringer with a group of officers. Moringer was pointing to different locations on the map.

“From what we’ve seen so far in regard to tactics, the terrorists seem to have some military training,” Moringer said. “With that in mind, we should expect them to be prepared for an assault and for any attempt on our end will be met with deadly force.”

“What about the team to pick up Sean?” Dylan asked.

“Agent Cooper will be handling your son’s extraction.”

It wasn’t what Dylan had expected. When he turned around, Cooper finished loading the magazine into the rifle then slung the strap over her shoulder.

“I’ll make sure he comes home alive, Dylan,” Cooper said. “You have my word.”

Dylan gave a light nod, and then Moringer checked his watch. “We’ve got at least a two-hour drive before we get on site, and I’d like to show up before Perry and his men do. Tell your men we’re rolling out, and do not let them engage until we have confirmation of Dylan’s son in our custody.”

Dylan picked up the computer chip and the other small device for the exchange and watched Cooper climb into a separate truck to head to Sean’s site. The doors to the back of his own closed, and the truck lurched forward. The trip felt longer than the scheduled two hours. When they arrived, the sun was still up.

The location was a small field surrounded by trees. The field was barren with the exception of a small bench and a lone tree placed right in the middle. Moringer wouldn’t allow Dylan out until everything was in place, and even then it was only to stand outside of the vehicle.

One of the DEA agents outfitted a small radio into Dylan’s left ear and did a communications check so Dylan could hear what was happening with his son. Dylan gave a thumbs-up, and the agent left him alone. He stood there by the truck, his weight shifting on his feet until the sun went down, and Moringer gave word that a caravan of vehicles was on its way.

Dylan sat under the tree, on the slanted bench, and ran his fingers along the rough wood nervously. When his heart pounded, it sounded like a thumping echo in his head. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark night, and Moringer’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Five vans just pulled onto the road. Stand by.”

The headlights glowed from the vehicles through the trees then flooded the open field as they turned off the dirt and onto the grass. All five pairs of lights shone on Dylan, and he held up his hands and squinted from the brightness.

Car doors slammed shut, and a shadow blocked one of the headlights. Dylan lowered his arm, and while he couldn’t see the man’s face, he already knew who it was.

“You look well, Captain,” Perry said, walking over and joining Dylan on the bench. He leaned back. “Better than I thought you would, considering the circumstances.”

“We have a visual confirmation on your son,” Moringer said. “Cooper is almost in position for the trade.”

Dylan tried to look between the vans at the shadows of the men standing outside. The weight of the pistol at his ankle felt clunky and heavy. “Once I hear that my son’s safe, you’ll have what you want.”

“Will I?” Perry asked. “How many men did Moringer bring? Hmm? Twenty? Thirty? It won’t make a difference.” Perry picked at his fingernails. “I suppose I could just ask.” He leaned in close to Dylan and spoke loudly. “I hope you’re well, Moringer!” Perry leaned away and threw his head back and laughed.

“You’re not getting anything until I hear that my son is safe,” Dylan repeated, trying to cut through the maniac’s laughter.

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why, Captain?” Perry asked, the fit of laughter dying down. “Why you? Out of all the ships, out of all the people who go out on the water every day, who live here, who have done things more terrible than you could ever think of, why did I pick you?”

“Pick me?” Dylan asked.

Moringer whispered in Dylan’s ear. “Cooper is about to engage in transition. Stand by.” A light rumble echoed in the distance. Dylan looked into the night sky, but Perry seemed oblivious to the noise.

“If I were in your position, I would be asking myself that question,” Perry said. “But perhaps Agent Cooper didn’t have a chance to tell you everything she found. The harbormaster who ignored your Coast Guard call? How convenient it was when the terrorists came right into your path?”

The noise thundered again, growing louder, constant. Dylan shifted his foot closer to his body. His hand gently pulled up the denim of his pant leg. “You did all of this? Why?”

“Now, there’s a good question for you to ponder while you’re rotting in your jail cell.”

The rumble in the distance was unavoidable now, and Dylan’s earpiece had gone wild with shouts and screams. Gunfire immediately erupted from the tree line where Moringer and his men were stationed, and Dylan had sprinted to the other side of the tree by the bench when he felt two quick thumps slam into his back. He stumbled forward into the grass and dirt, still holding the bag with the gear inside. He reached for the pistol at his ankle and fired into the darkness behind him.

Dylan crawled backward, listening to the popping gunfire try and break through the roar of whatever was above them. Dylan looked up and saw the flashing lights of planes and then watched the surrounding trees light up with fire that circled the entire field, orange flames contrasting against the night sky, while smoke billowed and blocked the stars above. Drifting embers danced and swirled in the wind, popping and crackling as fire consumed the woods.

Even from the distance, Dylan felt the heat from the flames, and the radio in his ear went silent. He pushed himself to his feet, his back aching from the bullets, but the Kevlar seemed to have done its job. The case with the chips was still gripped in one hand, while the other held the pistol.

The flames illuminated the field, but Dylan could find neither Perry nor his men. “Moringer? Moringer, can you hear me? Cooper? Anyone!” He tried to remember if Cooper had gotten his son, but he wasn’t sure if Moringer had said Sean was safe or not before the shooting started.

A blow landed across the back of Dylan’s head before he had a chance to think about it further, and he fell to the ground face first, and both the bag and the pistol fell from his grip. Disoriented, he managed to push himself to all fours, but before he could reach for the gun, Perry stepped on his wrist, aiming a pistol in his face.

“It’s a powerful force, fire,” Perry said. “Hot enough that it can melt the strongest steel and has the potential to ravage the entire earth, turning it into nothing but a pile of ash.” Perry looked to the tree line, the flames’ reflection flickering in his eyes. “It’s a distinct smell, the burning of human flesh. Once you smell it, you’re never able to get it out of your nose. It just… lingers there. You can taste it in everything you eat and drink for days, weeks afterward. I’d imagine Moringer and most of his men have burned out by now.” He turned back to Dylan, the pistol still in his hands. “It’s an unimaginable pain, Captain. One that you’re fortunate to never have to experience. But then again, you’ve had your share of pain over the years.”

Dylan yanked his hand free, but Perry took a step back when Dylan tried to grab for him then laughed when he fell into the dirt once more.

“Yours truly is the saddest story,” Perry said. “So close to the life you wanted, only to have it ripped away from you, then forced to watch as it disintegrates in your own hands.”

“Your scars, you think they hurt when you got them?” Dylan asked, rising from the ground, wiping the dirt from his face that had clumped among the sweat. “Put that gun down, and I’ll show you what pain is.”

“You’re done, Captain.” Perry’s smile vanished from his face as he clutched the bag of computer chips to his chest and lined up his shot. His finger was on the trigger, and just before his muscle jerked the trigger back, gunfire exploded behind him.

Dylan shuddered, and Perry spun around. It was only for a half second but enough for Dylan to lunge and tackle him to the ground. The combined weight of their bodies smacked against the compact earth with a thud, and the two rolled on top of each other a few times over.

Dylan gripped Perry’s throat, squeezing the flesh between his fingers, and then reached for the gun that Perry held just out of reach. Perry kneed Dylan in the stomach, but the Kevlar blocked most of the blow. Dylan kept reaching for the pistol, his fingertips grazing the composite of the gun.

Finally, Dylan had one hand on the pistol, but then a sharp spasm of pain shot up his thigh, and his grip on both the gun and Perry’s neck loosened. He looked down, and Perry’s hand twisted the knife deeper into Dylan’s thigh, the handle the only part of the knife visible. Dylan cried out, and Perry punched him across the face.

The gunfire grew closer, and Dylan rolled on the ground, his hand gingerly touching the knife, but even the slightest graze triggered a spasm of pain. Blood gushed up from the fabric of his pant leg and rolled down the side of his thigh. He gritted his teeth and heard the sound of feet rushing behind him. He quickly turned his head, waiting for Perry to finish him off, but instead he saw the face of Director Moringer, with a handful of men.

“Dylan! Are you all right?”

Dylan gripped Moringer’s collar, pulling him close. He started to feel lightheaded and was having trouble concentrating. “My son.” He grunted, suddenly feeling cold despite the still-raging fire that surrounded him. “Did my son—”

“Cooper got him out. They’re en route to a safe house now to meet with Peter and your daughter.”

What was left of Dylan’s strength left him, and he let go of Moringer’s collar and fell back into the grass. He watched the flames dancing in the night air as his eyes slowly closed. And for a moment, in the thick of the trees burning, he could have sworn he saw Perry, walking casually through the forest, fire all around him, and turning back to look at Dylan with a smile across his face.