Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (2 page)

Chapter 1

It was an ambush!

The intruder ran a desperate zigzag pattern through the darkness as bullets rocketed over, in front of and behind his fleeing silhouette. His enhanced hearing detected the whine of rotating concave mirrors and micro oscillating motors from multiple starlight night scopes and infrared lenses. Angry reports of multiple machine guns and assault rifles unleashed wave upon wave of hot lead and glowing phosphorous tracers as the muzzle plumes from each weapon illuminated the darkness with tongues of rose-colored flame. He leapt an impossible thirty feet, crashing through a thin sheet metal wall. The dark form cartwheeled three times, avoiding a persistent line of machine gun fire that followed him through the opening. He spotted a nearby packing crate and leapt toward the much needed cover.

“Son of a bitch!” He crouched behind his impromptu cover. “They knew I was coming.”

The lone specter paused to stare at the gaping tear in his black combat pants. He hadn’t been quick enough, but the wound was already sealed and scarred over. A normal man would have been crippled. The intruder didn’t have any time to reflect on his situation as another line of bullets passed over his head from higher up in the building. He reached inside the black leather duster and freed two combat pistols while peering into the upper catwalks. He detected at least four distinct voices speaking Arabic fifty feet above him. He didn’t understand much of the language but recognized the words ‘find’, ‘kill’ and ‘American.’

It was time to level the playing field. The intruder’s eyes began to glow, becoming luminous balls of aqua blue radiance. His bio-organic night vision far surpassed that of  primitive human technology. With a well-rehearsed gesture the man covered his eyes with dark protective goggles, shielding their glow from any onlookers. He looked back up the catwalks, the barrels of his pistols following two targets while simultaneously tracking the other two marks. “Sweet dreams,” he whispered tapping the triggers of each weapon. Both Wilson Super .45s barked twice, illuminating the darkness with mauve plumes of fire.

Each target jerked as two rounds violated their flesh. One form fell over the shallow railing, screaming in agony as his body fractured a nearby crate, covering the tattered wooden fragments and contents with blood and sinew.

Afterwards, the dark silence was shattered as the two remaining Arabs fired random volleys into the lower level. The intruder leapt twenty feet onto the nearest catwalk; though his landing was light the metal structure squealed as rusted bolts and beams moved slightly under his weight. He sensed the enemy’s weapons discharge and spun his body ninety degrees. As he moved, the droning whine of several bullets traveled through the space his head had occupied only a heartbeat earlier. He raised his weapons again, locking onto the heat signatures of the last two targets; with another quick tap two more metal-jacketed, lead messengers of mortality claimed their victims.

* * * *

“In here!” a voice shouted.

The intruder glanced down at the opening he’d made earlier. A constant stream of armed men poured into what he now determined to be a warehouse. He turned his weapons toward the newcomers and fired. Round after round spit from each muzzle, finding their marks on the unfortunate victims. He paused, momentarily expelling exhausted clips and reloading. This gap in his assault gave the Arabs the time they needed to regroup and counter attack.

Six modified AK-47 assault rifles sprayed bullets over the entire warehouse punching hundreds of holes in the thin sheet metal walls and damaging the weakened steel balconies and scaffolding. The sounds made by tortured, rusted metal stressed beyond its tolerances were the only noises heard by the combatants.

The intruder felt the platform he stood on slowly give way.

“I need to move now,” he whispered. “No choice.” Thought led to action as taut leg muscles exploded, carrying him fifteen feet up to another layer of walkways. The force of his kick off toppled the lower scaffolding, collapsing the entire level like a series of dominos. The impact of steel against concrete floor was grating.

The Arabs advanced cautiously, peering through the kicked up dust and debris with their night vision goggles, looking for a body.

The intruder’s new perch placed him directly over the advancing group. He opened fire on the unsuspecting men, causing them to panic and flee. Two of the men managed to make a break for the opening; the other four were piled on each other in a growing pool of blood. He then dropped the thirty-plus feet onto the concrete floor and checked each still body for vital signs.

The fallen steel had crushed several crates. Their contents lay scattered throughout the warehouse floor. He walked over to the first crate and picked up a heavy rocket launcher. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and continued his inspection. The floor was littered with weapons: Hundreds of assault rifles, rocket launchers, rocket propelled grenades and shoulder-fired missile systems.

“Well, well,” he mumbled, “the motherload.”

The man reached into his jacket, producing a handheld transceiver. “This is Knight, conformation code Alpha, Tango, Victor, Seven One Niner. I have confirmation that the Port of Salhan is a weapons depot.”

“Destroy it; destroy it all,” a voice commanded.

Agent Erik Knight, CIA cooler, terminated the conversation and returned the transceiver to his pocket. He walked fifty paces away from the warehouse, opening the rocket tube, in hand, as he went. He then spun around and pointed the weapon at the hole he’d made during the firefight. He took aim and pressed the launcher’s trigger. The rocket leapt from the tube and sped toward the warehouse. Erik smiled as the projectile flew through the gaping hole.

The explosion wasn’t nearly as destructive as he’d anticipated. The detonation blew out several windows and ignited scattered bits of debris but it wasn’t enough to level the structure and ensure that all the weapons stored inside had been destroyed. Reinforcements were likely due any minute. He had to act fast.

He retreated another hundred paces, hoping he’d given himself enough distance. He held both arms out and inhaled deeply, focusing his will on the static energy inhabiting the air around him. His forearms tensed and his fingers curled. As he increased his focus two burning spheres of blue plasma – the size of softballs – materialized in the open palms of each hand. He then flung both his arms forward and both burning embers launched faster than the human eye could follow.

Each plasma ball impacted the warehouse, disrupting the molecular structure of everything they contacted. Within seconds the warehouse exploded, taking out the pier and several smaller storage facilities nearby. A reddish yellow fireball rose two hundred feet in the air as wood and sheet metal fragments rained down upon the eradicated warehouse facility.

Sirens pierced the darkness as Erik leapt over the ten-foot razor fence, disappearing into the Saudi Arabian night.

Agent Erik Night approached the US embassy, pausing several hundred meters away to observe the surrounding human traffic. He recognized several local spies. A listening depot lingered directly across the street.

The Arabs were so bold they didn’t even bother to hide their surveillance anymore. As he neared the embassy, a wave of nausea tore through his body. His mind shrieked a powerful warning, nearly causing him to collapse. Erik paused; to his horror, the telepathic link to his wife ceased.

“Shanda!” he called to his wife in a whisper. Erik ran the last few meters to the embassy, horribly frightened. His mind reached out desperately searching for her, but only a dark void remained. As he approached the embassy guard his transceiver beeped.

He stared at his radio, tears already streaming down his face because he knew what he was about to hear.

“Knight,” he whispered hoarsely into the radio.

“Erik, it’s Martin,” the voice began in a solemn, doom-filled tone. “I’m sorry to tell you like this, but … there’s been an accident.”

Chapter 2: Gestation Day 11

And they buried the dead

Erik Knight stood alone among the crowd, barely hearing or comprehending the words coming from the pastor. His aqua blue eyes burned with tears as they locked upon the metallic coffin suspended above the freshly dug earth. He kept hoping he’d wake up from this nightmare, but the ordeal was real. Shanda was gone and there was nothing he could do but endure the black emptiness from their shattered telepathic bond. His ex-wife wailed as the service concluded; he was barely conscious of the hand that held his own. He gently placed a single long-stemmed red rose upon the coffin. He knelt down, scooped up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over the casket.

“Good bye, baby. I’ll always love you.” His whispers were followed by waves of despair which overwhelmed his body. He looked up toward the gray October sky. “Watch over her, please?”

He turned and walked away, letting go of the hand that had held his so tightly.

He climbed toward a ridge that overlooked the entire cemetery and remembered the last time he was up here, a little over two years ago, saying good-bye to his best friend. The episode had been painful, but nothing compared to the loneliness, the vast emptiness that now filled his entire being.

“We were supposed to have longer than this, angel,” he whispered, as if addressing his wife’s spirit. “What am I supposed to do now?” He sat down on the cool soil, buried his face in his hands and wept, grieving for his lover, his wife – the woman who had meant more to him than his own life.

* * * *

“Dad?” a soft voice whispered.

The gentle touch of his daughter’s hand upon his shoulder made him look up.

“Dad, it’s time to leave.”

Erik noted his friends, Margaret, Jeff and Alissa in the background. The concern and sympathy they all felt were etched clearly in young Brianna Knight’s eyes. The promise of beauty from her childhood now stood fulfilled in the young teenager standing over him.

“Okay, munchkin,” he whispered hoarsely.

Brianna offered him her hand as he stood up. Erik took it, stumbling along the narrow path like a feeble old man as she guided him along the cemetery’s ridge. Jeff placed an arm around his friend’s shoulder as they walked away from the burial site and approached the long black limousine.

“Why, Jeff?” he whispered to his friend as they climbed in. “Why did it have to be her?”

“I don’t know, Erik. These things rarely, if ever, make any sense. I know that’s no comfort. Just remember that what you two shared, most people never find, even through marriage. Keep her love alive inside you and a part of her will always be there.”

* * * *

The limousine pulled into the Barker Funeral Home driveway. Erik stepped out of the car and walked toward his black Monte Carlo SS, followed closely by his ex-wife.

“Will you come by the house tonight?” Margaret asked hopefully.

“Thanks, but I just want some time alone. Besides, I don’t think Richard would appreciate my presence there. There’s still too much bad blood between us,” he answered evasively.

“You really shouldn’t be alone. What happened between you and Richard isn’t important right now. I’m sure he’d agree that hostilities between the two of you should be suspended. Besides, your daughter would feel better if she could spend some time with you.”

Erik gave Margaret a forced smile. Margaret would bully him until he gave in. And he didn’t really want to be alone; the thought of returning to their apartment behind Madame’s Restaurant was daunting. The space held too many memories, and he wasn’t ready to face that emptiness just yet.

“All right, I’ll be there in about two hours.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she replied, hugging him briefly.

* * * *

Margaret watched as the modified black coupe sped away from the funeral home. How could her ex-husband endure another shattered relationship?

“I’m worried about Dad,” Brianna provided. “They were the picture-perfect couple. I don’t know if he’ll bounce back from this loss.”

Margaret put a comforting arm around her daughter who seemed to share the same somber thought.

“Hon, your dad is the strongest man I’ve ever known. His strength isn’t just physical; he also has a deep, powerful spirit. It may take a great deal of time but your dad will be okay.” She smiled and sighed heavily. “He’ll need lots of help from all of us. These first few weeks are going to be hell.”

Brianna sighed. “Shanda was the perfect match for him I’ve never seen him happier than when they were together. I really liked her a lot.”

Margaret nodded her head slightly. “I did too sweetheart; we all did.” Both mother and daughter entered their waiting limousine and headed home.

* * * *

Erik parked his car in the back lot of Madame’s Restaurant and entered the apartment he’d shared with Shanda for the past two years.

They had planned on purchasing a home within the next year, and starting a family. Erik looked sadly at the scattered baby magazines that littered the coffee table in the living room. More than anything else, Shanda had wanted to be a mother. Erik stared at their wedding picture prominently displayed on the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

“Emptiness,” he muttered. “All I have left is this empty apartment and a hole in my mind where your presence used to be.” He took the picture of his wife from the wall. “I would have killed the driver of the truck that hit you, but, hon, he died in the hospital a few days ago. I’ll leave the thrashing for you if he makes it up there.”

Erik pulled the picture to his chest before replacing it on the wall. He wasn’t ready to be here, by himself, with all their memories. Gathering his keys, he headed out to his office. He was tired, the kind of tired one gets from enduring too much grief and misery. He wanted to escape his pain through sleep and stop the hurt – if only for a few hours.

Erik unlocked the heavy door, entered his office and flopped on the couch. The noise of customers in Madame’s dining area came through despite the soundproofing he had installed. Since his mutation his senses were ultra sharp and even the slightest noise was as clear as a voice in the same room. He could filter the sounds if he concentrated hard enough, but right now he was unable to marshal a single spark of will power.

He lay on the couch and allowed the blackness to overcome him, welcoming the temporary reprieve that this oblivion would grant him. It had been only four days since he’d lost Shanda, the four longest days of his life. There was nothing he could do, no latent Esper power he could call upon to bring her back and that feeling of helplessness ate at the pit of his soul.

* * * *

Colonel Ross sat at the head of the mahogany briefing table in his new oversized office surrounded by his executive staff. Lt. Colonel Select Anderson sat at his right, supervising a briefing, assembled by a young second lieutenant fresh out of officer school.

Ross had been given this new assignment not because of any great success in his already stellar military career, but because of his one failure that cost the lives of fifty soldiers. That single mistake would remain a blemish on his otherwise flawless record.

When Ross received his orders, he insisted that his current second be transferred as well. Anderson jumped at the opportunity and readily accepted the promotion and the new challenge.

Anderson looked over at his commander and nodded. Ross cleared his throat and the twelve men seated at the table focused their attention on the large viewing screen.

“Lights.” Ross barked the order. The room went dark at his sullen command and was silent as pictures of multiple headstones flashed upon the screen, each engraved with the names of young men who died in service to their country.

“Four months, gentlemen,” Ross grumbled. “Four months of back to back funerals, wakes and honor guard ceremonies. Fifty good men buried because of some long-forgotten incident.  An event we’ve managed to keep from the headlines and television screens of an ignorant populace.” The colonel’s voice rose in intensity. “I was there as the death calls came in for each group, and I personally saw that each family was notified and each soldier was buried with honors, but that’s not enough.” Ross rose and began pacing.

“We still have a wild card out there, a joker in our deck, a fly in the ointment, a pain in my ass that needs soothing, gentlemen – a threat to our national security – in mine and other military opinions.” Ross lowered his voice to a deadly baritone. “The powers that be decided that now is the time to remove the fly, or at least put it in check.” Ross glanced toward Anderson. “Next set of pictures,” he ordered.

A young man in jeans and a white tee shirt appeared on the screen. He had long jet-black hair and an athletic build. Despite the smile on his face something deep in those eyes was foreboding and mysterious. The woman standing next to him was a drastic contrast to the clean-cut, intense-looking man.

She wore leather pants and a wild leopard print vest. Gothic black makeup and purple and pink dyed hair framed her attractive face. The look she was giving the man was equal in intensity, yet seemed lighter, more joyful. It was obvious that the two were deeply in love.

“The man is this picture is Erik Knight,” Ross stated. He pressed the remote, saying, “He has to be removed immediately. Here’s why….”

The next slide depicted a massive silver-skinned being nearly seven feet tall impaling another equally large dark humanoid with a silver-edged weapon.

“This is also Erik Knight, or what Erik Knight is capable of becoming.” Ross paused to allow the men their startled gasps and mumblings of disbelief. He allowed ten seconds of disorder before he smacked the table with his fist, silencing the room again.

“If you find that hard to believe, you’ll love the next few slides.”

Each new slide showed the silver being engaged in combat with the black armored humanoid as well as a massive winged feline creature straight from a childhood nightmare. Ross remained silent as combat slides were run.

The dull fluorescent lighting came back on, illuminating the meeting room. “What in the hell were those things?” a major inquired.

“Soldiers,” Anderson replied as he began handing out mission briefs to each man at the table. “The last of a breed of genetically created soldiers designed to fight in a war while we still inhabited Europe – before the Bronze Age, when white men were fighting with sticks and stones and the native peoples were primitive tribes that had free run of this country.

“The information we gathered was taken from a company that was involved in an illegal mining operation. One of our corporate snoops snatched that nugget of intelligence earlier this year. We, of course, can’t do anything to the company since we’ve buried the entire story and all the evidence that would’ve incriminated said company has been blown to kingdom come. We make a big stink and this whole thing opens up again. All relevant information pertaining to this project is in your briefing package. I strongly suggest that you read it and memorize every detail.”

“Everything’s there but ‘why’ he needs to be neutralized I suspect.” A voice challenged the colonel’s authority.

The voice belonged to Overland Security Agency (OSA) specialist Michael Sparks, Washington’s clean up agent in charge of the Hopedale cover up. “The OSA and the NSI went to a great deal of trouble to bury the Hopedale incident. Erik Knight is not a threat. In the two years since that battle, the silver warrior has made only one appearance that we’ve discovered. It paid a visit to the young girl who was initially abducted by those two monstrosities, one of the children he rescued from that mine, truly the act of a dangerous being.” Sparks added his last words with venom.

“I appreciate the OSA’s interest in this project, but you’re better suited for espionage than assessing potential military threats or opportunities.” Ross paused. “Knight represents a wealth of untapped information and potential. If he shared the knowledge of those aliens with us, we could advance our weaponry and scientific technology hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. The medical breakthroughs in genetics research alone are mind boggling. But he will not.” Ross pounded his fist against the table, doing his best to control his short temper.

“Agreed, there would be benefits,” Sparks said, nodding his head curtly. “But you fail to acknowledge the obvious: Knight works for our side, through Martin Denton and his monolithic law firm. The company of Denton, Marques and Priscoli is the largest source of American intelligence and international counter-espionage in the United States!” The OSA spook glanced around the table. “Not only that, but Erik Knight has been pivotal in resolving several large government headaches regarding foreign agents and terrorist cells in, and outside this country. How do you expect to get the authorization to neutralize him when it’s in the best interest of the government to keep him where he is, doing what he’s doing?”

Ross shot the operative a look of contempt, obviously controlling his annoyance at being challenged in front of subordinate officers. “I’m not sure we could neutralize Knight, even if that was the objective for this project. There’s another means of getting what we need. I just want him occupied for the next several months while our team implements our plan and develops our project. I want Knight sent out of the country, as far away as possible, and kept as busy as possible for as long as possible.” With an emphatic pointing of his right index finger he added, “Send him on some deep op in South America, or send him back to hassle the Saudis, but just keep him out of the States.”

“I’ll need to know why.” Sparks paused then went on to explain his reasoning. “I have to make up some cover story for Denton. The consulting deal they have with Knight is on a short-term basis. Several months is a long time to keep somebody in Knight’s particular line of work out of the country doing intelligence operations.

“Even somebody as good as Erik Knight could have his cover blown after such a long period of exposure outside the country. You’re asking me to put a special agent of the United States Central Intelligence Agency in unreasonable jeopardy just to have him out of your hair for God knows what.”