Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (15 page)

The incessant drone of her alarm clock woke Nancy Bertoni and she cursed like an angry sailor as she hit the snooze button. She’d been having difficulty sleeping since the whole spying incident began with Michael. But soon it would all be over. Michael’s investigation would be effectively stonewalled, and he would move onto something else.

No doubt, she would have to live with her boss acting like a grizzly bear for several weeks until the bitter taste of defeat waned. To her that was preferable to seeing him fired.

The aroma from her coffeemaker filled the kitchen, and at the beep of the machine, she rose and dressed, then poured herself a cup of coffee. To her, the brilliant invention of a timer on a coffee pot eclipsed all other modern kitchen conveniences.

She settled at her kitchen table, relishing the first sips. She heard her two children stir, and the silence was broken by the sounds of pop music vibrating every object on its base. She shook her head. Why do teenagers have to have their music so loud? Releasing a sigh, she rose and reached the bottom of the staircase.

“Turn it down, Rachel! You’re going to wake the dead.” The volume dropped slightly. “She’ll be deaf before she’s twenty,” Nancy muttered to herself as she returned to the solace of the kitchen. She turned on the tiny television on top of the microwave stand to catch the morning news.

She was only half listening, preparing breakfast when the news anchor introduced a story with the name ‘Michael Sparks.’ Nancy’s stomach went into a knot. She dropped the knife she held, whipped around and watched in horror as a field reporter filled the screen, broadcasting from Finnegan’s Tavern. He related every hideous detail of Michael Sparks’ and Peter Snow’s tragic deaths in a mysterious car bombing.

Nancy turned back to the counter and threw up her morning coffee.

Oh God, please don’t let this be my fault. She wretched as tears rolled down her face. She grabbed a towel and wiped her mouth.
A car bomb.
She felt as if she would pass out. She caught the back of the nearest kitchen chair, pulled it to her and sat down.
How could this have happened?
He’d promised her they’d simply stonewall his investigation. She began sobbing. Inside, she knew her betrayal
was
the cause of his death. The powers that be concluded that Michael Sparks needed to be stonewalled permanently.

She had sold out her boss for money and security.

The cost of that security had come at a high price, two lives. Her guilt tore at her insides. She rushed back over the sink unable to overcome her dry heaves.

“Mom? Mom are you okay?” her seventeen-year-old son asked, rushing to her.

“Just give me a minute, Tim,” she choked out, struggling to reign in her guilt. “I think I’m getting a stomach bug.”

Nancy heaved a cleansing breath, walked over to the television and turned it off. Regaining her composure was difficult, but she went back to the task of preparing breakfast for her kids.

She went through her morning routine in silence, robotic, only half listening to her children as they playfully bantered around the breakfast table. She couldn’t get the image of the flaming car out of her head.

Tim and Rachel finished their breakfast and gathered their school books. Nancy gave her usual speech about paying attention in class, especially to her son who had a tendency to daydream; afterwards she watched from the front door as they piled into Tim’s ‘69 Firebird, a car Tim and his father had restored – a lasting tribute to the man.

Tim had idolized his father and had taken his death very hard. Selling the car would have provided them with much needed money, but it seemed better to hold onto the car, along with all the happy memories.

The engine cranked and fired, and the loud exhaust echoed through the quiet morning. The car pulled out of the driveway, then it rolled to a stop at the curb. Both children got out of the car, looking shamefaced as they walked back toward the house.

“What’s the matter?” she asked them.

“We need money for lunch,” they said simultaneously.

“What?” she asked in disbelief. “You drained your allowances already? What do you kids spend your money on?”

She started unleashing her patented ‘money doesn’t grow on trees’ speech, when the ‘69 Firebird exploded, engulfed in a massive plume of fire that scattered pieces of the automobile over hundreds of feet.

The concussion from the detonation lifted them all off their feet, knocking them over like bowling pins.

Tim was first to pick himself up, then he helped his sister to her feet. Nancy rose to her feet and shrieked at the disaster then ran over to hug both her children. Had they not stopped for lunch money, they would both be mangled and spread across a hundred feet of roadway.
They’d be dead.

She held her children tight. “Are you hurt?” Nancy screamed over the noise the fire created.

“Mom, we’re fine.” Tim looked back, devastated at the billowing inferno that was once his car.

With panic rising within her, Nancy grabbed both their arms and said, “Listen to me very carefully,” she said then gulped. “Go inside and pack a suitcase, both of you.” Then she gave Tim a don’t-argue-with-me look. “I want you to call a cab and go to the bus station.” She disregarded his questioning look while she reached into her purse for cash. “Buy two tickets for Rome, New York. I want you to stay, at your Uncle Bill’s house until I call, do you understand me?” Her face filled with tears.

“Mom, what the hell is going on? Who would do this?” Tim asked, alarmed.

“I can’t talk about that now, Timothy.” But as she said it, all of the pieces fell into place in her mind. “Just do as you’re told and don’t let your sister out of your sight. Do you understand me?”

“In my sight at all times.” Tim nodded.

Nancy hugged both her children as neighbors came out of their homes to investigate the explosion.

“I’ll handle this mess. You two get ready to go. I’ll call Bill and tell him to pick you at the bus depot.”

In the background Nancy could already distinguish the wail of sirens.

* * * *

Nancy sat at her kitchen table emotionally drained. The interviews with the police and fire department had been exhausting enough, but the looks of terror and confusion in her children’s eyes as they slipped into the cab was more than her troubled heart could bear.

Someone had tried to eliminate her permanently.

Only whoever was hired to kill her had made a serious mistake. They wired the wrong car, her son’s car. Nancy’s car was at a local garage for repairs.

Michael Sparks was right; these people were bastards who believed they were above the law. Nancy had gone to bed with the devil, and her children had almost paid the price.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “You sons of bitches,” she wailed. “You almost killed my babies. You will regret what you did in spades.”

The ring of her cell phone startled her. She drew her phone out of her purse. ‘
UNIDENTIFIED CALLER’
flashed on the liquid crystal display.

“Hello?” she said.

The connection was immediately broken. She used the *69 option on her wireless in an attempt to identify the mysterious number. A recorded voice came on, announcing that her call could not be completed as dialed. She turned off her phone and slid it back into her purse.

“Damn.” She berated herself. Now whoever tried to kill her knew she was still alive. There would be another attempt on her life. She needed some sort of protection to keep her safe. That insurance was in Michael’s office safe: The files pertaining to Erik Knight and Pendelcorp. If she could get those files and find Agent Knight, he could protect her – more importantly, he’d protect her family.

Nancy grabbed her purse and rushed out the door to get to her office and Michael’s safe as soon as possible. She was racing the clock and racing against the people who were trying to end her life.

Chapter 11: Gestation Day 43

Strange allies

Rydell Conrad sat at the large conference table, casually sipping a glass of Perrier with a twist of lemon. His employer seemed agitated.

“Richard, you’re pacing more than an expectant father would,” Conrad began “Calm down. I assure you Erik Knight has his hands full in Paris. I’ve got enough surprises planned for our hero that he’ll be busy for sixty months let alone six,” he said smugly.

Richard Pendleton stopped his pacing. “It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Conrad. It’s just that every time I think I have Knight boxed in, he somehow manages to find a way to escape the box.” Richard poured himself a brandy.

“Our deal with the Saudis went belly up thanks to his interference, and I have a gut feeling he’s going to blow this wide open too.”

Richard sat across the table from him. “I have faith in our ability to effectively do our part; it’s Ross and Anderson who concern me. We’ve dealt with several competent officers over the last two years, but this Ross fellow seems to have a personal vendetta against Knight. Personal vendettas are self-destructive; I know from experience. I don’t like the fact that Knight is around, always a potential threat, but he’s working terrorist issues now, far removed from our political and economic interests. As long as he doesn’t piss in my pool, I’ve decided it’s best not to piss in his.”

Conrad chuckled at his boss’s words. “What about the other one – Anderson?”

“Anderson is definitely the brighter of the two. He seems stable and reliable; hopefully he can keep his boss on an even keel. We can’t afford another fuck up here, because if Erik Knight figures out what we’re up to we’re all dead men.”

Conrad nodded. “I’ve planned enough hi-jinks in Paris to keep our hybrid superman far too busy to think about what may or may not be going on back in the States. He has a little surprise waiting for him at every step of the little tramp’s travel itinerary.”

“You’re not really going to have that teenager killed are you?” Richard asked, concerned.

Conrad took a sip of his Perrier and answered, “That all depends on our nemesis. If he can protect her she’ll live, but if he fails….” Conrad paused and looked away briefly. “If he fails he’ll be responsible for the death of the French president’s daughter. The men I’ve hired are not actors; they’re professionals. If I told them to pretend they wanted to kill her, it would never work. Assassins view their work as a form of art. They like to kill. It’s more than just an occupation; to most of them, it’s a passion.

“We couldn’t do this half way, Richard. Our associates set up the fraudulent threats to the French government, and it’s up to us to create the danger. In order to do that we must use real players. Knight could tell if our gunmen didn’t mean real harm to the girl. You said yourself he had the ability to read people and sense whether they were a danger or not.” Conrad stood up and walked toward the large picture window overlooking Logan Airport.

“The danger has to be real in order to make Knight swallow the bait. The odds are he’ll eventually capture one or two of our assassins. If he finds out that they were only paid to scare Miss LaSalle and her family, our ruse is blown. We must keep Knight off balance, real threats and dangers are the best way to ensure he’s gainfully occupied and out of the way.”

“You’re right. Sound thinking.” Pendleton gave a curt nod. “I’m sure ‘Superman’ will keep her out of harm’s way.”

“That’s what we’re banking on,” Conrad agreed. “We’re playing both ends against the middle here. We want the threat to be real, but we’re also hoping that Knight is as good as we think he is. If Knight fails, then we’ve triggered an international incident, plus, the hybrid will head back to the States, and be that much closer to our operation – and his wife. I also don’t believe that all the techno gadgetry our friends have in place will be effective in blocking him if Knight undergoes his metamorphosis. If the alien part of him is as powerful as the reports we’ve read claim, nothing will shield Mrs. Knight’s whereabouts from her husband.

“What it boils down to is this: Can Erik Knight protect Monique LaSalle for the next six months without becoming that silver creature? If he fails, he comes home; if he changes, the odds are he will sense his wife’s life force and tear up the countryside looking for her. That’s what we’re gambling on in order for this whole scheme to play out. We’re betting Knight can do his job effectively as he is.”

Richard ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I’d say our odds are even money on this one.” He sighed heavily. “Perhaps it’s time we came up with our own little escape clause.”

“Indeed.” Conrad nodded.

* * * *

Shanda awoke early. Her morning sickness had lasted half an hour, followed by an uncontrollable desire for food. Her captors had been very mindful when stocking her kitchen; it was crammed with healthy, organically grown foods – according to the packaging.

She finished the contents of her plate with a wishful sigh. “I’d kill for a Hershey Bar or some M&Ms.” She looked through the transparent wall into the next cell. Gray was still silent and unmoving.

The little alien had suffered terribly from his ordeal. Shanda had silently cheered when one guard had come to the creature’s rescue. Willing to sacrifice his own life for the alien, he now kept a vigilant watch over the creature through entire shifts, even coming back late in the evenings to be on hand should the alien require anything.

During the evenings, Shanda noticed the greasy stains on his uniform. She assumed he’d earned the smudges hauling garbage per Ross’s promise. Even through the telepathic barrier, she sensed the misery of the hapless soldier. Ross was making the sergeant pay dearly for his choice of allies.

Shanda heard the telltale hiss of pressurized air as the titanium door opened. Staff Sergeant Phelps entered, pushing a cart in front of him. He walked over to Gray’s cell. Shanda watched as the guard stood motionless, his eyes unblinking for nearly a minute, intently focused on the creature.. Inside the cell the alien stirred and then struggled to make his way to the transparent wall that separated the two. The sergeant reached for the tray on his cart and uncovered four bananas and what Shanda guessed was a plate of mashed potatoes.

The guard opened a chamber in the wall and placed the food inside the opening. He closed the doorway and pressed a series of buttons. A heavy panel slid open on the inside of the cell and a shelf extended the food to Gray.

Shanda smiled expectantly as Sergeant Phelps rolled the cart toward her cell.

“Good morning, Mrs. Knight,” he began. “I have the protein shakes the doctor ordered for you. I wasn’t sure what flavors you preferred so I brought a few of each. Try them and let me know which ones you like and I’ll see that you get more of them in the next few days.” He lifted a tray, containing several cans, into a similar chamber on her cell wall.

Shanda waited patiently for the same process to take place then removed the tray from the extended shelf and studied the contents.

“Doctor Hill wanted me to make sure that you drank at least one of those right away,” the sergeant added shyly, “so if you wouldn’t mind.”

Shanda picked up a can of chocolate flavored protein drink and drank the beverage in four quick gulps.

“How was it?” Phelps asked.

“Bearable.” She studied him then said, “You took a big risk for Gray.” She walked toward the barrier separating them. “Why would you do that?”

“Gray is my friend, the only true friend I have. I couldn’t stand by and let them kill him.”

“I applaud your loyalty. I only hope that the consequences of your action aren’t as severe as the colonel promised.”

Phelps shrugged. “Garbage duty won’t kill me.” He grimaced. “I’ll just smell like a trash can for a few hours each night.”

Shanda chuckled at his remark. “You don’t seem like a typical jarhead – no offense.”

Phelps smiled. “Thanks, none taken. I’m not – a jarhead, that is. I simply didn’t have any options with my life, so I figured this posting was as good as any. I’ve been happy here up until this whole thing with Gray. It’s been a positive experience, overall.”

“My husband was in Special Forces. He spoke fondly of his time in the military, despite all the missions and pain he had to endure.”

“May I ask you a personal question, Mrs. Knight?” Even through the telepathic barrier she could read the man’s sincerity and gentleness.

“Sure, why not. And it’s Shanda. Mrs. Knight is for when I’m fifty and have gray hair instead of black and purple.”

“I overheard the lieutenant colonel and the colonel talking about your husband. They kept referring to him as the ‘hybrid.’ What do they mean by that term? I know the meaning of the word as it would pertain to a car or a plant, but I’ve never heard the expression used for a man before. The colonel seems very afraid of your husband. May I ask why?”

Shanda signed deeply. Just thinking about Erik and what he was probably feeling and going through drove a stake through her heart. Her only hope of escaping her captivity was if Erik heard her plea; otherwise she would be at the mercy of Ross for as long as she served a purpose. She considered Phelps’ question. There would be no real harm in answering.

“My husband is the product of a combination of alien DNA and human DNA, from a race of beings known as Espers. Erik has abilities and powers that render him formidable – on a superhuman level. Ross saw a sample of that power, firsthand, a few years ago and has been after that power ever since. I can only assume he sees my baby as a way to access that power without having to go through Erik.”

The Espers were a proud and noble race. We were saddened when their civilization perished.
A voice echoed inside both Shanda’s and Phelps’ heads. Shanda looked over to Gray who was now standing by the clear barrier.

You know what she’s talking about, Gray?
Phelps projected his question back toward the alien.

Shanda did a double take at her guard. He was also a telepath, communicating through the barrier to both her and the alien captive!

Yes.
The tiny alien smiled as if he’d read her mind.
He is.
Then he went on to explain.

The Esper-Seelak war was terrible. No sentient race would have been safe if the Seelak had been victorious. I am glad to know some of the Esper race escaped the final catastrophe that destroyed their world.

I wouldn’t go that far.
Shanda projected her comment to Gray and Phelps.
Both species arrived here ten thousand years ago. They continued their war depopulating both sides in the conflict. The Espers eventually won and locked up the remaining Seelak inside a large mother ship along with some hideous creations they’d created to fight in the war. A little over two years ago, two of those creations were freed from captivity. The Espers realized too late that these creatures wouldn’t die … they’d simply hibernated.

To protect humanity they released a genetic virus into the air to combine with the DNA of certain humans that possessed unique genetic traits. My husband’s lineage possessed those traits and as a result he was transformed.

Erik’s DNA was a perfect match for the Esper warrior and as a result he’s a combination human/Esper hybrid. There’re a lot more gory details but that’s it in a nutshell.
Shanda felt another wave of nausea and staggered to the nearby couch. “Oh God, this really hurts.”

“Are you okay?” Phelps called to her through the barrier separating them.

But Shanda collapsed on the couch and unleashed a scream of pain; then grabbing her stomach with both hands she threw up violently. Phelps rushed to the emergency medical button on the wall and slammed it, activating a loud siren.

* * * *

“Hang on, Shanda! I’ve sent for help. The doctors will be here any minute.” The sergeant caught sight of a dark blotch growing on her jeans. Was it blood or her water breaking? Alarmed, he looked at the surveillance camera and hollered, “Hurry up, damn it.” His stomach knotted as he looked on while her body continued to spasm.

* * * *

Erik was in the middle of a heated discussion with President LaSalle and his aide when his senses picked up a subtle disturbance. His mind tingled as if responding to danger. He casually scanned the area but could see no visible threat. His eyes shifted through various spectrums of light, still scanning for a heat source or other anomaly – but there was nothing. Still, the sense of dread and danger loomed at the back of his mind.

“Are you unwell?” Jean-Paul asked.

“I’m fine; muscles just feel a bit tight. I overdid it at the gym last night,” Erik lied smoothly.

He adjusted his position and went back to the matter at hand. He had proposed a drastic plan of action and was having difficulty getting the president to agree.

“What you propose is foolhardy, Erik,” the president began. “I sincerely believe it will only bring the devil to our doorstep and possibly get you killed.”

Erik shook his head in denial. “Mr. President, with all due respect, sir – that devil has already paid two visits. We have not responded to those attempts. Our assailants will assume we are unable to respond.”

The president was silent. He looked at his aide for guidance. “Jean-Paul, what do you think?”

Jean-Paul shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry, Pierre, but I think Erik is right. We must take action or we will look weak in the eyes of our enemy.”

President LaSalle was silent for several more moments. His changing facial expressions showed he seriously weighed the consequences of the proposed actions upon his family and his presidency. Then he said, “What if they retaliate with more attempts on my daughter?”

“Mr. President,” Erik began firmly, “they’ve tried to kill her twice. What’s stopping them from trying a third or a fourth time – until they eventually succeed?” The detective sighed heavily. “I understand your concerns. As a father myself, I can empathize with those feelings, sir, but we must take action or
they will
strike again!”