by Jaq Wright
Santiago ran to a door in the back of the concrete storeroom and opened it, revealing a huge propane tank lying at the core of the building. A large block of C-4 was nestled under the tank, and he set a timer for twenty minutes. He locked the steel door behind him and ran to a manhole-type cover in the floor. He pried it open with a crow bar, and climbed down the long steel ladder to an underground cave. He fired up the waiting mini-sub, and headed out, gliding silently into the Caribbean.
The main building exploded in a fireball, and burning debris rained down on the fighting men. The south barracks was on the receiving end of a large section of wall, which set the remains of the structure on fire, and the surviving defenders crawled out to lay on the grass face down.
The north barracks was still defended, and Cameron inched his way closer. He rolled against the base of the stone foundation, and listened carefully to the gunfire. Sounds like three shooters, he thought. The brick wall just ahead of his position was cracked and partly crumbled. He moved closer, then eased out one of the loose bricks. He took three breaths, then brought his eye up to the opening. There were about ten men in the ruins, all but three cowering in a relatively intact corner, with only two actively firing. He maneuvered into a crouch, then stood up quickly and shot them both, as the rest of his squad came up and over the wall. The fighting stopped, and it was eerily silent except for the quiet whoosh of the stealth copters.
The Agency was left with about twenty-five prisoners from the outside barracks and the tunnel guards, who had given up without a fight. Two of the men from Cameron's team had been hit with rubble, and he helped apply field dressings.
The mission commander stood alone, staring at the burning ruins. He did not turn when Cameron walked up to him. “Fourteen of my men dead. Both the roof teams were annihilated. Three dead on the ground. Seven wounded.” Now he turned and looked straight at Cameron. “For a spook mission. Unbelievable.”
“Something important must have been going on here. Otherwise, why destroy the building?”
He just shook his head and walked away.
Divers were deployed in the harbor at first light to check for mines, and finding none, their support ship docked. The U.S. casualties had already been helicoptered to the ship, but the enemy fighters, living and dead, were all still in the compound, where medics were treating their wounded.
The main building continued to burn, and would have to do so, since they had no effective way of fighting the fire. Cameron was unhurt, and was sitting on a piece of rubble when one of the team leaders approached him.
“Agent Hansen? Come with me.” He led Cameron around to the back of the east wing.
There was a loading dock, and in the adjacent lot were four large shipping containers. On the left was a red one, which had been opened, and appeared to be filled with bodies. “All shot,” the SEAL said simply. Most were in simple work clothes, but two wore fatigues and had rifles, and there were several women and a couple of well-dressed older men. The floor of the container was slippery with blood. To the far right was a blue container, which had been crushed under a large mass of concrete, corresponding to a large defect in the back of the building. Next to it was another blue container, completely intact, and the open door showed a large amount of computers and other technical gear.
Finally, there was a yellow container, which looked like it had been cut in half by a large metal panel of some sort. The entire roof was covered with holes, from the size of a softball to as big as a basketball, with additional debris sprinkled everywhere. The front half had been pried open and was smoldering. There were two badly burned bodies on the floor, and three more, their charred arms still handcuffed to the remains of what looked like hospital beds with rails. The back of the container was blocked by the metal panel, but there was definitely someone alive on the other side, as a steady stream of weeping and Spanish shouting testified.
“There's someone there,” Cameron exclaimed. “Let's get him out!”
“Not that easy,” came the reply. “That steel panel is wedged tight. It must have confined the fire to the front half. There is a tractor down at the dock, we're bringing it up to see if we can move it. Also there is no guarantee this guy is a friendly.”
Cameron couldn't argue with that.
Eventually the tractor was successful. Cameron watched as the panel was dragged free, while three men observed with rifles up and ready. He was greeted by the sight of three more men cuffed to beds. Two were dead from being struck by debris which had rained down through the roof. The third was alive, but there was a large triangle of metal protruding from his belly, and the bed was soaked with blood. He was jabbering mostly incoherently, but Cameron was able to identify the word “diablo.”
He tried to calm the hysterical man, and asked in Spanish what had happened.
“They brought me here from my boat, and pounded a chisel in my back, and my legs no longer work,” he finally sputtered out in campesino-accented Spanish.
“Who brought you here?”
“I don't know, they were like pirates, attacked my fishing boat, and my two brothers and I were all brought here. That was months ago, and there were eight of us here at first, all paralyzed with the chisels. It was horrible. They held me down and screwed something to my back. Then a man hit the chisel with a hammer. I fainted, and when I woke up my legs were dead. Four of us were taken away and I did not see them again until last night, when they brought us here. Two of the ones who had gone away were put in the container with us, but at the front, far from me. I could tell one was my brother. My other brother was next to me, but he no longer answers.”
And then, just like that, the man died.
Cameron went back around to the front of the building and found the mission commander. “I have an FBI forensic pathologist over on Antigua. Let's get her over here to help sort out the bodies out back. This is no drug operation.”
“I need authorization.”
Cameron got on his secure sat phone and was connected to the DDO. After he was briefed on the events, he noted, “Doesn't sound like you have a hard link to Perez.”
“Not yet, but we have a container full of computers and equipment, and a bunch of dead patients or experiments or something. We could really use Dr. Lenz over here to help sort things out. She's already involved, and it will take a while to get any other experienced pathologist.”
“Fine, give me the commander.” Cameron handed over the phone. The commander said simply “Yes, sir,” and jogged over to one of the helicopters.
“Thanks,” Cameron said into the phone.
There was a long pause, and he was afraid they had lost the signal, then the DDO spoke. “Just find that link, Hansen, and make it solid. I want something besides dead Americans to report to the Committee.”
Chapter 6
Saturday, October 8
Isla Sofia
As Mitzi was en route to the island, Cameron was watching the equipment from the undamaged container being unloaded onto the blacktop of the parking lot. It was mostly computer workstations and several racks of server boxes, but there were some interesting finds. First was a lower body exoskeleton similar to the one Perez had demo'ed at the para games. Bingo, Cameron thought. There were several long, thick cables with multi-pin connectors, a complicated carpentry rig, and assorted medical equipment, including an operating table fitted with heavy leather straps.
A generator and a couple of computer techs were brought up from the support ship. After a few minutes, one came over to Cameron. “No hard drives in any of the cases,” he reported. “They were all in a box at the back, smashed to pieces. Nothing recoverable.” Over the man's shoulder, Cameron could see a helicopter approaching. Mitzi.
Mitzi quickly organized the four corpsmen. “Take a million pictures, then bring out all of those bodies from the red container and lay them out on the lot. Search their pockets, put anything you find in one of these Ziplock bags next to the body you find it on. I think that I'll start with the
bodies in the hospital beds.”
The two bodies on the floor of the yellow container looked like they were female, whereas all the ones in the beds were male. Two of the charred corpses in the front of the container were wearing odd metal helmets. Mitzi felt a rush of adrenaline. She rolled the first one onto its side, and there it was. “Cameron, get over here,” she yelled.
“What did you find?”
“Look, these two have helmets, and look on the back.” She pointed to the lower spine, where Cameron could see a connector protruding. He stared, then ran out to the pile of computer equipment, returning with one of the cables. It fit. They rolled over the other helmeted corpse, revealing a similar connector. They moved on to the other bodies. Of the four remaining, none had either helmets or connectors, but all had ugly scars over their mid lower backs. Three, including the one Cameron had spoken to, were not burned, and in addition to the scars in the middle of the back, she noted four small healed puncture wounds in identical positions over the pelvic bones. That also clicked for Cameron. He went out again, and came back with the carpentry rig. He placed it on one of the backs. The pelvic wounds lined up with the holes on the sides of the rig. “These look just right for framing screws,” he remarked. When placed on the back, there was a short piece of pipe which centered over the spinal wound. “I think that they screwed this on and then pounded a chisel through to cut the spines.” Mitzi nodded.
They had put up a large tent in the lot, designed to be a mobile hospital unit, complete with operating tables and lights. Mitzi supervised as the corpsmen moved the bodies in from the yellow container.
She started with one of the unburned bodies, putting it face down on the operating table. She incised carefully around one of the wounds, tracking it down to the spine. It transected the spinal cord at the L4 level, not cleanly between the vertebrae, but rather right through the middle of the bone, with the bone in that area splintered. She showed Cameron. “This is very curious. It would have required significant effort to make a wound that specific. Much easier to let an instrument slide between the vertebrae to sever the cord.”
“Do you know what else is curious,” he asked. She looked up. “We have dozens of bodies, and so far have not found so much as one cell phone.”
“They probably don't have service here.”
“Probably not, but my experience is that even the poorest laborers have them, usually a smart phone, and they would never leave them anywhere, even if they could not use them. They are simply too valuable to lose.”
“So they must be forbidden.”
“Exactly. Someone wanted to make sure there were no photos.”
“I need to get a look under these helmets,” she said, and looked at the two burned bodies with the headgear. One was a little less charred, and she examined the helmet carefully. She tried to feel around the edges, but could not find a way to get it off. Frustrated, she poked her head out of the tent and called to one of the men outside. “I need a band saw. Is there one down on the ship?”
“Probably, there is a full shop.”
“Bring one here. Now.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Cameron.
“I have two specimens, so I am going to take an aggressive approach with this one.”
When the band saw arrived, she got a couple of the corpsmen to help her saw through the skull a couple of inches below the helmet, taking off the top of the head at the level of the eyebrows, then just over the ears and through to the back. That left about two inches of bone, brain, and burned flesh showing below the helmet. She then set it upside down on a work table. As she worked the brain out around the edges, it was easy going for the first few centimeters, but then the brain was very tightly stuck to the skull. She showed it to Cameron. “This is very unusual. In my large experience with burn victims, brains do NOT fuse to skulls.” She worked at it for quite a while, but it would not separate. “Fine,” she muttered, and started to scrape the brain away with a scalpel. “Of course,” she exclaimed. “Look here. There's no skull under the helmet. There's a fine metal mesh, like a screen for a window, and the brain is firmly stuck to the screen. Like it had healed there.”
Cameron was watching, transfixed, unable to move. “Like your dad said. The top of the head was cut off. How long do you think he had been like this?”
“Hard to say, given the burned state, but at a minimum, several weeks. This mesh is fixed to the inside of the skull remnant with what look like tiny staples. The skull edge is nicely healed, at least eight weeks. Yes, completely consistent with what Dad told me.” She shook her head slowly. “I guess there's no chance of him being here.”
Cameron shifted from one leg to the other. The building behind them was still burning, no one could be alive there. If he had been on the island, he was dead. “No, I'm afraid not.”
She turned back to her work.
Once she had the brain completely removed, she could see that the screen or mesh was like a smooth helmet, and the brain was stuck to it wherever it was in contact, but the deep folds of the brain's sulci were not in contact with the mesh at all. “Go find me an electronics expert,” she directed Cameron.
He went over to where the techs were still sorting through the computer equipment. “Need a little help over here. Got some interesting stuff.” Sandy, a tall, almost wispy man from Cedar Falls, reluctantly followed him back over to the autopsy tent, and after one look, took a few minutes to vomit repeatedly.
Mitch, the corpsman, started to laugh, but stopped when Mitzi casually tossed him the helmet with the attached bone and gristle. “I saw a barbecue grill out front. There will probably be a wire brush. Scrub away all the brain and flesh remnants, then let Sandy here see what he can make of the connections.”
Mitch gulped, but pride demanded he not show weakness, and soon, he had just the ivory ring of skull and the bare wire mesh inside the helmet. He brought it back to Sandy.
Sandy could now see that the helmet was secured to the mesh with four snap clamps. He popped those open and the helmet separated easily from the mesh. He was greeted by a mass of wires, attached to the mesh at perhaps a hundred and fifty points, each with five individual strands, for a total of around seven hundred and fifty connections. These all exited at the back of the helmet, ending in a round socket connector three inches across, bristling with connector pins. He showed it to Mitzi and Cameron. That was it, as far as he could tell. Wires attached to mesh. Stuck to brain.
Mitzi resumed working on the back, Cameron watching from a few feet away. “Come look at this,” she called over her shoulder, waving him forward. She had cut back the skin above and below the connector. She pointed as she talked. “See, there is this metal plate screwed into the bone of L3 and L5, nice and solid. It looks like basically all of the main body of L4 has been removed. I'm gonna cut out this whole section so I can turn it over and look at the other side.” She had acquired a Ka-Bar from someone, and sawed through the ligaments and disc between L2 and L3, then between L5 and S1. Then through the muscle tissue about four inches each side of the spine. She rocked the whole segment back and forth, then was able to get her knife in front of the spine, cutting down to release the block of tissue. She flipped it over and started poking around in the burned tissue. “There is some sort of a box on this side of the plug, and about a hundred wires that look like they are attached to the nerve roots.” She called Sandy back over. He pried open the box. Inside were a couple of green circuit boards and a black processor. He poked at it.
“Bet that's a Snapdragon 410 processor,” he said, almost enthusiastically.
“What's that?” Cameron asked. “Is that a powerful unit?”
“I'll say,” Sandy was nodding, “That's the one Samsung used in last year's Galaxy A5. I mean, sure, they went with the Exynos 7580 this year, but this little baby could probably run command and control for a battleship.”
The second body was more badly burned, and the spinal connection was almost completely destroyed. Mitzi
turned her attention to the head. Now knowing what to look for, they scrubbed the flesh off the bone and the helmet with the wire brush, found the connecting clamps, and freed the helmet. They were greeted with the same hundred and fifty wires, five strands to a wire, connected to the mesh. “See the difference?” she asked Cameron, pointing at the screen. He stared at it for a minute, then shook his head. She in turn shook hers. “This mesh, instead of being a flat dome, is wrinkled and folded like an actual brain. The first one was just a bowl on top of the brain, but this one has these furrows to contact more of the cortex.” She peered at the edges of the skull and ran her finger along it. “This was also attached much more recently, perhaps in the past two to three weeks. It looks like they are making progress.”
Another tech poked his head in. “Something you guys will want to see. Turns out that the well-dressed dead guy in the other container actually did have some electronics. His tie tac had one of those novelty spy cameras. One of the guys recognized it from one his uncle has. We've recovered some video.”
They went to a workstation where a jewel stud tie tac was attached to a computer with a USB cable. “There are two video clips,” the tech said, pointing to the monitor. The first one had a man in a lower body exoskeleton, with a thick cable array coming from a metal helmet like the ones on the burned corpses. He was fairly successful in taking some slow steps across the floor. It then cut to the same man, still with the same helmet/cable apparatus, but now with another large cable attached to a metal plate on his back, no longer in an exoskeleton. He was standing, wobbly, holding onto a bar on a mirror wall, such as you would find in a ballet studio. He was laboriously lifting first one leg, and then the other, nearly falling each time he brought up a leg. Fear and effort showed in equal parts on the man's face, which was covered with sweat.