Apex

by Ryan W. Aslesen

  So far so good. He called a halt and took a head count: all present.

  Without a word, the team began preparing for the land portion of the mission, producing night vision goggles and comm gear from the waterproof bags in their packs and powering them on. They put on their helmets and adjusted the earpieces of their AN/PRC radios. Fins, masks, and rebreathers were discarded; if time permitted, they would be concealed beneath the carpet of rotting leaves on the jungle floor. They outfitted in a hurry, for they were at their most vulnerable. The jungle canopy blocked out practically all starlight, rendering distance vision impossible without NVGs.

  “Down!” whispered Flint, the first man to finish gearing up.

  Everyone flattened on the ground. Max, who had just finished his preparations, low crawled to where Flint lay peering around a massive tree trunk, looking through a thermal sight. “Thirty meters.”

  Max had trouble spotting anything but tree trunks in the eerie green-and-black world behind his NVGs, but within a few moments he spotted a figure threading its way between the trunks, taking cover at every one and proceeding cautiously. Another unfriendly moved about ten feet behind the first man.

  “Two,” Max said.

  “Yep,” agreed Swift, who had crawled up next to Max.

  Max considered his options. Every second he waited to take them out was another moment their infiltration might be compromised. Though their weapons were equipped with silencers, he still had to consider muzzle flash, which would be visible to any other patrols in the area, and the fact that suspicions would arise when the patrol didn’t check in.

  Do it now.

  “Take out the lead when you’re ready,” Max said to Swift, as he tried to get a good bead on the second man through his reflex sight.

  Swift reached back for his model 1911, likewise equipped with a reflex sight. Smart move not using the grease gun. Swift’s M60E3 might not be the proper tool for this job, but Max figured it would see plenty of action by mission’s end.

  Max’s target emerged from behind a tree just as Swift squeezed off a pistol shot. Max fired on his man, swore when he saw long splinters torn from a tree as the target ducked behind cover only to break and run a moment later, weaving through the tree trunks as he bounded away to report to his superiors.

  The target ran another twenty feet before Max could get a clean shot at him. This time his round hit home and took the man down. Max and Swift jumped up and ran toward the downed men. Both of their enemies would be difficult to locate in the tangle of trees and vines.

  “Better hope to hell you got him,” Swift growled, his breaths coming in bulldog snorts.

  Yeah. Max didn’t respond. He vaulted over Swift’s man, who had been shot in the face, and kept running. When he reached the general area where his target had fallen, he began a thorough search of the jungle floor, locating the man within a minute or so.

  “You didn’t quite fuck us over, Ahlgren. Congrats.”

  The enemy, in a black combat suit and plate carrier with an FN P90 submachine gun, lay face down, the earth and leaves drinking a pool of blood around his head. Max had shot him in the base of the brain, just beneath his helmet.

  “Thought I’d have to save the day again,” Swift added.

  Max’s eyes fell on two useful things. “Let’s take his radio, then stick him in there.” He pointed to a thick mahogany trunk a few feet away, its hollow core extending about three feet below the surface. After depositing the dead man and throwing some leaves atop him for concealment, they carried Swift’s kill to hide along with the scuba gear.

  “Monitor this radio,” Max told Leseur. “That headset squawks, I want a translation. Don’t respond unless I order.”

  Leseur nodded. Max then put Otto and Leseur to work digging out a shallow trench to bury the scuba gear and body while he conferred with Swift and Flint.

  “The plan remains in effect,” Max said. “We head uphill and find a place to hole for a while. Hopefully these guards are Chatty Cathies so we can keep track of their whereabouts.”

  “Why are we holing up?” Swift asked.

  “Flint will go out and scout while we wait. That’s a job best left to one.” Max disliked sending a man out by himself, as there was safety in numbers, but with a team this small, they couldn’t afford to get caught out together by a large group of well-armed enemies. Besides, he knew Flint was one of the best scouts and snipers in the business. If anyone could handle this task, it was him.

  “Agreed.”

  “Turn to getting this mess cleaned up and our tracks covered. I want to be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s you, Boswell,” Swift said. “Ahlgren can’t stand guard by himself... obviously.” He grinned at Max, teeth shining bright against his jungle face paint. “I’ll take this direction.”

  You’re on thin ice, motherfucker. Swift hadn’t undermined Max’s authority over the others—not yet—but obviously considered himself an independent contractor on this mission. But he’s right this time, dammit, we need two sets of eyes on watch. Missing his target had rattled Max more than he cared to admit. And that shitheel can fucking sense it. Don’t let it happen again.

  The team had the items buried and their most blatant telltales erased within the allotted amount of time. Max’s watch read 0136 as he moved his men out, headed uphill. He and Leseur took point, followed by Flint and Otto, with Swift guarding the rear. Something in a patch of sand caught his eye just before he stepped on it—an animal track, three toes with an impression of a long talon at the end of each. Not overly large, about the size of his hand. He paused so the team could get a good look.

  “You see?” Leseur said. “I tell you.”

  “Interesting,” Max said. “What would your herpetologist father make of this?”

  Swift managed to look doubting and worried at the same time as he bent to examine the track.

  “Wait, why am I asking you?” Max said. “You’re a gator wrestler, not a scientist. Move out.”

  They continued uphill. Swift, who stayed behind to examine the track, caught up a couple of minutes later. Max wondered what he thought of the track, yet at the same time he didn’t give a shit. Like we need his opinion. Better to wait and see for myself. It’s the only honest answer I’ll get.

  12

  Near a break in the jungle canopy Max dropped to his knees and elbows, heard the others behind him do the same.

  “The fence,” Leseur said.

  We’ll see.

  Max crawled forward, working his way through the thick undergrowth, leading the team to the edge of the tree line. The jungle continued uphill on the other side of the fence, which was twelve feet high and topped with a corkscrew of razor wire. A ten-foot area on either side of the fence had been cleared of brush recently, but a thicket of scrub and brambles had already sprouted in the space.

  “Camera,” Otto whispered.

  Max followed his pointing finger twenty feet to the right. A small PTZ camera sat atop the fence pointing straight at the downhill tree line.

  “Probably has a motion sensor,” Max said. It didn’t appear they’d tripped it, for the camera still pointed away from them. There are bound to be others. He saw none, however, and wondered at the intervals between them. “Do you think they have seismic sensors?” Max asked.

  “Doubtful with all the wildlife on this island,” Otto replied. “Too many false alarms.”

  “The fence is electrified,” Swift said. “See the insulators?”

  Dammit. Max had worried that might be the case.

  “We’ll never make it over undetected,” Swift stated.

  “Not all of us,” Max agreed. But he had an ace up his sleeve, one man who might be able to get over without tripping the cameras. “Get over that fence, Flint. Continue uphill and scout from the heights as planned.”

  “Understood.” />
  “Undetected?” Swift asked. “How’s he gonna do that?”

  “Long fence. I’ll find a break in the security somewhere,” Flint said as he started to slip into the ghillie suit he had brought in his pack.

  “Good enough,” Max said. “We’ll secure a spot and wait for you. I’ll relay our GPS coordinates so you can find us when you’re finished.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Good luck.”

  Flint, clad in the ghillie suit, backed off from the tree line, and disappeared into the jungle.

  “We stay in the vegetation and parallel the fence, head east until we find a defensible spot to wait.”

  “While Harvard runs off and blows our cover?” Swift asked.

  “Shut it. You don’t know him. Now move.”

  Not waiting for a snide reply, Max crawled backward into the jungle until he could barely make out the fence through his NVGs. He stood and led the team east, moving stealthily and keeping the fence visible off to his right. Nearly an hour had passed since they’d left the beach.

  Half an hour and about a half mile later, Max spied a thicket off to the left, downhill a short distance, and led the team toward it.

  “Stop!” Leseur hissed.

  Max dropped and took a knee, scanned the dense vegetation through his reflex sight, and saw nothing. He turned to Leseur for an explanation, found him listening intently at the earpiece of the stolen radio.

  “What are they—?” Max began to ask.

  Leseur spoke French into the microphone before he could finish.

  Shit. He’d feared this would happen. Leseur’s voice had taken on a deeper pitch, and Max figured he now spoke in the curt military manner of a Legionnaire. He watched Leseur listen and then respond two more times before the conversation ended, after which Leseur looked puzzled.

  “Let’s hear it,” Max said.

  “They called all teams to report in. One, two and four reported, so I answered as team three.” He suddenly looked worried. “I had no choice... They might have been... suspicious had I not.”

  “I understand. Continue.”

  “All teams report their sectors quiet. But... there was some strange... talk they used. The commander say if intruders breach the security they may be on the board now.”

  “Board?” Otto asked.

  “Yes. Then he say continue to search out of bounds until further notice.”

  Max didn’t have time to think it over. “Let’s move; we’ll discuss it in there.”

  He led them to the thicket, an area of sparse, juvenile jungle hardwoods too short to form a canopy. Thorny scrub and towering thistles flourished amongst the scattered tree trunks as a result, growing thick and practically impenetrable. Max saw an opening low in the bushes and started crawling. Inch-long thorns tore at his pack, his uniform, his helmet cover as he slithered through muck and slid over rocks.

  A couple of minutes later he emerged into a tiny clearing beneath one of the larger trees, a muddy area scattered with stones and shorter scrub that hugged the earth. This will do nicely. He didn’t figure patrols would attempt to enter the thicket, and if they did he would know it long before they arrived in the clearing. It would take a man hours to silently make that crawl.

  Drenched in sweat, they took off their packs and settled down at the base of the tree on somewhat dry ground. Max’s watch read 0307. He radioed Flint and supplied the coordinates for their location. Flint acknowledged and reported he was still scouting.

  Leseur stood and walked toward the encircling thorns.

  “Where are you going?” Max asked.

  “I must... ah, relieve myself.” He twitched once as though he’d received a minor electrical jolt.

  “Do it here, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

  “No... ah, please, monsieur, a moment.” He stepped lively to the thorns, dropped to his knees, and then crawled beneath.

  “Let him go shit in peace,” Swift said as he unwrapped an energy bar. “That’s nothing I wanna see.”

  Can’t argue that. Max removed his NVGs, wiped the sweat from around his eyes, and took a pull from the hose of his hydration bladder. A decent amount of starlight filtered down through the tree limbs, and they could use red lens flashlights while buried this deep in the sticks. We could damn near light a fire back in here and not be seen.

  Leseur crawled from beneath the brush some five minutes later and took a seat beneath the tree. He removed his NVGs and helmet and cracked a smile.

  “Something funny?” Max asked him.

  “No, monsieur. I am just relieved.” The pace of his usual, halting English had increased. His right foot began an endless twitching, quick as a bird’s flapping wings. At least a high junkie posed a lesser liability than a drunk with deprivation tremors or one too shitfaced to stand.

  “Go over the conversation you had, I want to hear it again,” Max said. While Leseur recapped, he formed some ideas, but he asked the rest of the team for their input before making any decisions.

  “The fence is the boundary,” Otto said. “And this side must be out of bounds.”

  “Which puts Harvard on the board,” Swift said.

  “Yep,” Max said. “The most dangerous game. They’re probably combing that hill for intruders right now since they’ve found nothing out here.” A thought struck him. He looked around, found a stick lying in the mud and drew a crude outline of the island. The team huddled around him. Otto held the flashlight under a poncho as Max pointed with the stick. “We landed here, headed up the hill and found the fence, which puts us somewhere in this area. Leseur, you said you worked on the fence over here, on the other side of the hill. I’m thinking the fence completely encircles the hill.” He drew a line around the larger hill. “That’s the board. Now you said there’s a fence at the center of the island too, right? Up by the airstrip and the building that was under construction?”

  “Oui.”

  “That could be another boundary of the board... or perhaps a fence that bisects the island.” Max drew a line across the center of the island at its narrowest point. “Wilde won’t want hunters close to his lab, so that will be on the far side of the middle fence. Once Flint gets here, we’ll have a better idea of the layout.”

  “Looks like this hunt club is the real deal,” Otto said.

  “Beware of billionaires with rifles,” said Swift.

  “Among other things.” Max raised a brow. “These lizards are an obvious concern. Wilde must have created them, and if he can make dinosaurs, he might have engineered other things.”

  “Reptilian super soldiers?” Swift grinned.

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Come on, Ahlgren. You don’t really believe that conspiracy shit. I hope.”

  “You saw the track.”

  “Manufactured. You’re letting these guys fuck with your head.”

  “Manufactured how?” Otto asked. “Like in the old cartoons? A guy walking around putting down tracks with a wooden foot on a long stick?”

  “I’ve seen stranger things. Sounds more realistic than dinosaurs and reptilian bogey men.”

  “You are a fool, monsieur.”

  “And I’ll rip your tongue out if you don’t guard it, Frenchy. That’s your first and final warning.”

  Though Swift said it with a smile, Max knew he wasn’t joking. As did Leseur, who wisely closed his mouth and continued to twitch, rocking his body back and forth slightly.

  “We’ve got some time to kill before we find out what the story is,” Max said. “Get fed and hydrated. Leseur and I will take watch until dawn.”

  Otto switched off the flashlight, and the team settled down to relax as best they could with the mud and bugs. Sleep claimed Otto about fifteen minutes later. Swift remained awake but silent, giving his mouth a hard-earned rest. Insects and frogs took
over where he’d left off, a cacophonous din of chirps and bellows that would hopefully shut off if enemies approached their position. Or Flint. Either way, Mother Nature had their backs on watch.

  Around 0400, Max heard the faint rumble of an engine under stress coming from far up the hill. I hope Flint didn’t set off a sensor up there. Max thought of calling him but opted not to—Flint was a true lone ranger who could take care of himself. He would warn them if he ran into trouble.

  Ten minutes later the enemy radio crackled to life. Again, Leseur acknowledged and conversed, then translated for Max. “All teams report nothing out of the ordinary. Orders to finish searching sectors, report back to base at zero-six.”

  “Guess the jig is up in a couple of hours.” Wasn’t gonna last forever. Hopefully Flint makes it here before then.

  Flint called Max at 0453 with a status report: “Found vantage point, collecting visual intel, over.”

  “Any signs of enemy troops, over?”

  “Affirmative, one vehicle heard close by approximately one hour ago. It continued to the northwest. No visual, over.”

  “Copy that. We will be compromised at 0600. Time crucial. Finish up and report in with ETA, over.”

  “Roger, out.”

  At least he’s in position. Hopefully he’ll be back by six. Max wanted the team assembled before the inevitable search for them began. He had hoped that they would be able to get to the main compound before being detected, but that wasn’t the case. However, Max was a man used to improvising as a plan rarely survived the first contact with the enemy. He relayed the info to Swift, who leaned back and closed his eyes afterward, apparently unconcerned. But definitely not asleep.

  Leseur snuck off toward the brush. “Shitting again?” Max asked.

  “Oui. I have the... indigestion.”

  “Right.” Max thought about ordering him to take a shit in the clearing, but he let it go. He’s been valuable so far, just leave him be.