Callsign: King II- Underworld (15 page)

FUSION

30.

East of Phoenix, Arizona — 1026 UTC (3:25 am Local)

After five minutes of fruitless searching, Sokoloff knew that he had lost his prey. In the maze of hills and valleys, there were any number of possible paths, and it was evident that King had taken one and he had somehow wandered down another. Only pride had prevented him from contacting his employer to ask for assistance—specifically, the GPS location of George Pierce’s cell phone—but he wasn’t foolish enough to let pride stand in the way of finishing the job and earning his ten million dollars.

He was a little dismayed to discover that he’d received three text messages, presumably sent during the time he’d been underground with Pierce. The first was an almost polite request for an update. The second was more direct, almost demanding in tone, but essentially a repeat of the first, with an urgent appeal to execute the contract as soon as possible. The third, now almost ten minutes old, was a variation on the blackmail threat that had been used to draw him out of retirement. If the message was to be believed, Interpol was already hot on his trail.

Sokoloff sighed. He didn’t think his employer was that rash, and he couldn’t imagine why, all of a sudden, it had become critical to rush the job to completion, but if that was really how it was going to play out, then so be it. He had eluded the authorities before, and he could do it again if necessary.

But maybe it wouldn’t be necessary.

Skipping the tedious step of sending a reply, Sokoloff dialed the number from which the messages had been sent. The call connected immediately.

“You have broken protocol.” The voice was female, but sounded artificial like an automated answering service. He half expected to be instructed to press “1” to continue in English. Instead, the voice went on. “Please provide an explanation for the lapse in communication, and your subsequent decision to initiate direct voice contact.”

“I am sick of trying to type on this thing,” Sokoloff snarled. “If you’re so worried about getting this job done right away, stop jerking me around with text messages.”

“Your objection to established methods of communication has been noted. Please provide an explanation for the lapse in communication.”

“I went through a tunnel and lost the signal. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I need you to track Pierce again. The target is close by, but I can’t find him. Tell me where Pierce is, and I’ll end this.”

“George Pierce is currently one point six miles east of your location, traveling at an average speed of forty-two miles per hour.”

Sokoloff sighed again. “Just send his coordinates to my phone in real-time.”

“Negative. There is an eighty-nine point seven percent probability that the target is en route to a known location. The coordinates for that location have been sent. Proceed there immediately and execute the contract without further delay.”

“How do you know where he’s going?”

There was no answer. The call had been terminated at the other end. Sokoloff glanced at the screen and saw that his GPS app had been activated to show his new destination.

31.

1031 UTC (3:31 am Local)

King got out with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, but as the soldiers swarmed around him, he said: “You need to let me speak to whoever is in command. It’s urgent.”

He knew they would eventually accede to his request; it was just a question of how long it would take and how uncomfortable they would choose to make him in the interval.

The soldiers already seemed to grasp the need for urgency. King and the others were manhandled away from the Humvee and rushed back to the fenced area near the entrance to the facility. As they got close, King could feel cobwebs of static electricity brushing his skin and he smelled a whiff of ozone in the air, but the concrete building eclipsed his view of the strange light show that seemed to be issuing from the mine beyond.

“Sigler? I’ll be damned, is that you?”

King swung around to meet the source of the familiar voice. “Colonel Mayfield?” He did a double-take when he noticed the star on the man’s body armor vest. “Sorry, General Mayfield.”

When King had been a platoon leader in the Army Rangers, Colonel Scott Mayfield had been his battalion commander. Mayfield had approved his transfer to Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta, which had been a stepping stone to Chess Team. He remembered Mayfield as an even-tempered and fair commanding officer, but he had no idea what to expect here and now.

The general stalked forward, a hint of frustration in his eyes. “I take it you’re the one who’s been dogging my men all night. I should have been kept in the loop on Delta activities in my AO.”

“I guess you didn’t get the memo,” King replied. He nearly told the man he wasn’t with Delta anymore, but didn’t see how that revelation would help the current situation. Better to let him think he was on duty. “And we really don’t have time to play catch-up.” He took a breath, and then with as much respect as he could muster, said: “Sir, you’ve got to shut Bluelight down, immediately.”

Mayfield shook his head. “Those aren’t my orders.”

“Then let me talk to Copeland.”

The general frowned. “Son, I don’t think you grasp the big picture here.”

“King!” Nina shouted. “It’s starting.”

King glanced back at her and saw what looked like a glistening fuzz seeping out the ground around her feet. He turned back to Mayfield. “With all due respect, sir, believe me when I say that I see a lot more of the picture than you. If you don’t shut Bluelight down immediately, more of your men are going to die. Let me talk to Copeland. He’ll understand.”

Mayfield pursed his lips. “I’ll let you say your piece, but my orders stand. The Bluelight experiment needs to be completed, and any resulting hostile incursion dealt with and eliminated.”

“Then you already know.” Nina took a step closer. “You know that it’s driving the creatures to the surface, turning them into killers.”

Mayfield ignored her and gestured to the door. “This way.”

The mist continued to swell out of the ground, sparkling like reflected moonlight, as they stepped into the still darkened foyer. Mayfield barked an order to a subordinate then stepped past King and the others to lead the way to the mission control room.

Not much had changed in the forty-eight minutes since King and Nina had last seen the facility. The only difference was that this time, they didn’t linger at the door.

“Dr. Copeland,” Mayfield called. “These people would like to speak with you.”

The physicist glanced up from his workstation. He looked like a man on the verge of psychotic break. Sweat beaded on his balding pate, and his shirt was rumpled and soiled, as if he hadn’t changed it in days. “You’re kidding right? Now, of all times?”

King pushed forward. “Dr. Copeland, you have to shut Bluelight down immediately.”

“Believe me, I’d love to.” Copeland turned back to his computer screen as if there was nothing more to say on the matter.

King wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him, but he kept his anger in check. “I don’t think you understand what your device is doing.”

Copeland looked up again. “Who are you again? And how do you know anything about Bluelight?”

“I know that it’s driving those creatures insane, and I know that as long as you run that machine, they’re going to keep coming and they’re going to keep killing.”

Copeland shook his head. “There have been some unexpected side-effects, but General Mayfield assures me he can deal with that.”

“General Mayfield has no idea what Bluelight is doing.”

Mayfield didn’t hold back. “Sigler, I think you’re the one who’s clueless here. Do you even realize what Bluelight means for us?”

King didn’t have an answer.

“The President has ordered the Defense Department to phase out petroleum usage, and shift to alternate energy productions. Just imagine that. Imagine trying to fight a war from a forward operating base surrounded by fields of windmills and solar panels. It’s a strategic nightmare. But Bluelight can change all that.”

“Just what in the hell is Bluelight, anyway?” Pierce intoned.

Copeland checked his screen again then stood up. “So you don’t know. What a surprise. In a nutshell, it’s free energy.

“The Earth is surrounded by a shell of antimatter particles. They’re created by the sun and radiate outward in the solar wind. The Earth’s magnetic field scoops them up, one anti-proton at a time, and there they stay until they eventually decay. In some areas, where the magnetic field is especially strong, there are large anomalies, but you can find them almost everywhere if you know where to look.”

“You’re harvesting antimatter?” Nina said. “Sounds like something from Star Trek.”

Copeland seemed to take that as a compliment. “We don’t harvest it. The Bluelight system fires a proton beam into the magnetic field. The protons and antiprotons annihilate each other, just like in the warp core reactor, and produce charged plasma high above the atmosphere. The plasma throws off a lot of loose electrons, which conduct back to the source. We use the lightning to charge an array of batteries. In just eight minutes, the prototype Bluelight device can produce enough electricity to run a small city for an entire day.”

Mayfield nodded. “A portable version, small enough to fit in the back of a truck, could power an entire army base. So you see, shutting it down is not an option.”

“Don’t you realize what’s at stake here?” King persisted. “Those creatures are going to keep coming.”

“We’re ready for them this time. There can’t be that many of them left.” Mayfield cocked his head sideways. “Wait, is that why you’re here? Trying to protect endangered species, or some crap like that?”

As if to underscore his statement, a soldier stepped into the room from the foyer. “Sir, we’ve engaged the hostiles. And there’s something else.”

The building must have been heavily insulated, because until the door opened, King hadn’t heard any noise from outside. Now, the room was filled with the percussions of thunder and gunfire.

“On my way,” Mayfield said. As he reached the door, he turned to King again. “I’ve got soldier work to do. You three stay here and keep out of Dr. Copeland’s way. Bluelight stays on. End of story.”

32.

Sokoloff was only half a mile from his goal, when the GPS display blinked off and was replaced by the message:

Signal Lost.

An instant later, the mist started to rise from the ground. The urgency in his employer’s demand made a lot more sense. Earlier, the mist had preceded the appearance of the creatures by only a few seconds. The hitman stomped the accelerator to the floor and focused his attention on the building directly ahead.

A bolt of lightning bisected the horizon right in front of him. He winced, blinded momentarily, but kept going. Another flash followed, simultaneous with the boom of thunder from the first, and in the instant where the sky lit up like daylight, he saw shapes emerging from the mist.

An unfamiliar tingle of panic rippled through Sokoloff’s body. He had squared off against some of the deadliest men on the planet, and always emerged victorious, but these animals were nothing like his human prey. Executing the contract—killing King and earning ten million dollars—suddenly didn’t seem nearly as important as just reaching the safety of the building. Of course, there was no guarantee of safety there…or anywhere.

A dark shape rose up in front of him. He ducked instinctively as the Humvee thudded into the creature, knocking it up onto the hood and against the windshield. Dazed, but probably not dead, the creature blocked his view of the road ahead. There was another thump and the right side of the truck bounced into the air as the wheels rolled over an obstacle that hadn’t been there a moment before. The jolt was enough to dislodge the creature on the hood and it rolled to the side, just as another lightning bolt stabbed out the sky.

The creatures were all around him now. Dozens ran ahead of him, seemingly oblivious to his approach. Others came up alongside and slapped at the aluminum exterior of the Humvee, as if trying to grab onto it and hold it in place. Sokoloff wiggled the steering wheel back and forth, knocking the creatures back, as he raced headlong into a hellstorm.

The muzzle flash of machine gun alerted him to the presence of soldiers guarding the facility. He hoped that they would believe him to be one of their own and use their firepower to give him cover for his mad dash; the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

As he closed the gap, he left the trailing creatures behind and came up on the vanguard. Lost in their primal rage, three of the beasts went under his tires, and then he was in the clear. A few of the soldiers waved him on frantically, little suspecting that he had already killed five of their comrades, and would kill as many more as it took to accomplish the contract. He aimed the truck for a gap between two of the parked Humvees and skidded to a halt, surrounded by a score of stridently cracking carbines and light machine guns.

As he got out, one of the riflemen scrambled up into the turret of his vehicle and got behind the machine gun mounted there. Sokoloff ignored him, and was himself ignored as the soldiers gave their full attention to the advancing threat. Sokoloff made a show of looking for a target, even as he melted back from the skirmish line. King and the others were nowhere to be seen, but the abandoned Humvee he had passed on the way in was evidence enough that his target was nearby. If King wasn’t out here, then there was only one place he could be.

The hitman took one last look around to ensure that he wasn’t being observed, and then ducked through the doorway.

33.