Wrecked Intel (Immortal Outcasts®): An Immortal Ops® World Novel

by Mandy M. Roth

  While finning was illegal, there were plenty of ways to get around the law, and enough money to be made by taking the risks. It was big business. The kind that attracted dangerous players.

  It sickened her, the number of sharks that were killed each hour around the world. The numbers were staggering, and at the rate it was going, the species as a whole would be extinct. Something that had managed to survive over four hundred million years would be wiped out by fishing, if finning could really even be labeled as such.

  When the sharks went, so would go the rest of the oceans’ ecological systems, followed closely by the rest of the world’s. It was a sobering truth. Getting that through to the finners and the black-market traders was like talking to a wall. They didn’t care.

  Just so long as their pockets were lined, they cared little for their effects on the ecosystem.

  “If I could get my hands on one, I’d…”

  The thought trailed off as she thought about the last time that she’d managed to get her hands on one. She’d put him in the hospital with one blow. That blow had also landed her in hot water with the law. Thankfully, the judge had been lenient, and a big supporter of shark preservation. She’d sentenced Gena to anger management courses.

  When Bonnie had learned of the ordeal, she’d taken Gena out for drinks to celebrate. Bonnie was fine with putting finners in the hospital. It was part of why they got along so well.

  Gena secured her long dark hair on the top of her head in a messy bun and thought no more of it as she focused on the printed materials before her. Reaching out, she grabbed for her apple that was sitting on the edge of the desk. Absently, she bumped the apple rather than grabbing it, causing it to fall from the desk.

  Without thought or even looking, Gena’s hand shot after the falling fruit. She caught it in midair with ease and brought it to her mouth, taking a bite while continuing to read through the data.

  Her reflexes had always been that way. Greater than those of others around her, unless her family was being counted in. They too all had extraordinary reflexes. She had one sister and two brothers. The boys were the oldest, separated by only a few months in age. Then it was her and finally her sister, who was only a year younger than Gena. They were so close in age because they were all adopted at the same time, from the stories their parents told them.

  Since the parental units were rather tight-lipped about the details of the adoption, Gena and her siblings had all assumed it might have been a little gray in the area of legal. Not a surprise, considering they’d been adopted overseas from a shady orphanage, during a questionable time in the country’s past.

  While their parents didn’t discuss the specifics, the shared looks that passed between them said Gena and her siblings had been taken from a situation that had been less than optimal and brought back to live with them in the United States.

  Gena had been pushing seven at the time and while she should have been plenty old enough to have memories from her past, she had none. Neither did her sister. Her brothers, who were two years older, had limited recollections but had stopped voicing them by the time they were teens.

  For the best…since what they’d been sure had occurred was nothing short of insane.

  They had been sure they were all in labs of some sort, being tested on in ways that no child should be. Not to mention, the boys had been positive that men in special ops uniforms had burst in on it all and freed them—before one of them shifted into an animal.

  Yes. Insane was the word for it.

  Gena hadn’t used to be one to dwell on the past or even give much thought to it growing up. She saw her parents as just that—her parents. She loved them as though they’d given birth to her, and they, in turn, loved each of their children the same way. But recently, a nagging feeling had come over her, making her wonder about her extra abilities and her past. It left her wanting answers, but she didn’t want to upset her parents by asking for their help seeking out her birth parents. Not when her adoptive parents had been nothing but amazing.

  Chapter Four

  Just outside of Denver, Colorado…

  Cody stood almost statue-like with one arm high above his head as he held a grenade launcher in the air. He’d been doing so for just under an hour. Long ago, the lactic acid in his arm had built up. He’d already gotten used to the discomfort. A little unease was worth keeping the weapon out of the hands of the madman hell-bent on destruction.

  Okay, the madman (otherwise known as Wild Bill, if you believed the rumors circulating that he’d once rode a mechanical elephant during the Vietnam War and managed to take it down) wasn’t so much bent on destruction, as destruction just seemed to happen in his vicinity. That could have been a by-product of his idea of a toy—a grenade launcher.

  The man had gotten into a heap of trouble the day before with the very same weapon. It had been taken from him then as well, but he’d somehow managed to either get it back or find another. With the serious weapons caches on the grounds, it wouldn’t have surprised Cody any if Bill knew where a secret reserve of hundreds of launchers were located.

  It would be just Cody’s luck that the man would have access to anything dangerous, let alone in bulk.

  Bill's wiry hair stuck out in all directions, only adding to the air of insanity that seemed to surround him. It wasn’t as if Cody was new to dealing with eccentrics. The people he dealt with daily tended to have overreacting down to a science. That being said, Bill was putting him through the paces, testing all of Cody’s willpower and ability to remain calm. Which was saying something, since Cody was known as an easygoing guy.

  Ironic, since Cody’s shifter side was one of the most feared predators alive.

  “You’re a killjoy!” whined Bill, managing to increase the man’s exasperation factor as he continued to jump up and down, his arms outstretched to gain additional height and reach.

  It didn’t quite work as planned.

  Instead, Bill ended up tumbling to one side, bumping into the wall, grunting loudly before farting, and then continuing to hop up and down. The pattern had emerged (minus the farting) nearly an hour ago, and Bill hadn’t varied far from it. His threats had grown more colorful as the time ticked on, which amused Cody greatly.

  The vertically challenged male wasn’t going to get the object of his desire. At least not by leaping for it, since the man at full height came to Cody’s mid-chest. And Bill’s jump was only about an inch off the ground. It wasn’t as if Bill was a model of health or anything.

  Far from it.

  Cody was sure the man’s diet consisted solely of junk food and illegal substances. Possibly with more drugs than food half of the time.

  Even with his poor life choices, Bill showed no signs of tiring despite having invested nearly an hour in the fruitless endeavor. He was tenacious, Cody would give him that much.

  Cody shook his head, wondering if Bill was as deranged as he suspected he might be. When Cody had discovered him outside, preparing to test fire the grenade launcher in the parking lot of the resort the operatives had commandeered only days prior, Cody had disarmed Bill at once. The man still hadn’t given up on his quest to get the weapon back.

  There was no way Cody was letting Bill loose with that kind of firepower. Hell, a match was too much firepower for the eccentric small man. In the past seventy-two hours, countless weapons and sizable amounts of narcotics had been confiscated from him. He seemed to have recreational substances falling out of his ears. And he was damn proud of the fact.

  Cody had only known Bill just over three days, and that was plenty of time to understand the man wasn’t playing with a full deck. Part of that could be blamed on Bill’s past, and the fact he’d been part of Project MKUltra. Bill had been tested on by the CIA, and Cody was positive the experiments went far beyond what the public thought they knew of the mind-control project. LSD and who knows what else had been used during the trials. Since the government was notorious for giving half-truths and outright lying, Cody didn’t
doubt for a second that whatever they’d done to the man had been unpleasant and damaging. Not that any of those involved would ever fully admit culpability.

  No.

  They’d already spun a partial truth to cover their asses. They admitted to some wrongdoing but left out a whole heap of information. And the Freedom of Information Act was nothing more than a smokescreen to make the American people feel safer—like they were being told everything.

  Hardly.

  He’d seen his fair share of supposed declassified documents. They were full of nothing but bogus bullshit to appease those who bothered reading the fine print. The real truth and the real documents weren’t shared with the public.

  After all, Cody was walking proof of the government’s lies and deception, which was one of the reasons he did his best to try to keep his cool when dealing with Bill’s antics. The guy had lived through something most couldn’t relate to.

  But Cody could.

  He knew what it was like to be a plaything for the government.

  To be lied to.

  Told one thing while another was done to him.

  In many respects, Cody was lucky to have come out of the other side of his testing at the hands of the government as sane as he was (which was often debatable).

  Bill hadn’t been as fortunate.

  The man was damaged, too broken ever to be permitted to live on his own again without supervision, yet there was a certain charm about him that even the grumpiest of operatives found hard to deny. Cody had seen numerous alpha males growl and flash teeth at Bill over the past three days, but in the end, they all kept an eye out for him, monitoring him as if he were a child.

  In many ways, he was. Yet in others, he was downright dangerous.

  Such was the case with the grenade launcher.

  That he was still trying to jump to get, and still failing.

  Bill and his ever-faithful best friend, Gus—who was a character unto himself—had managed to wrap themselves up in the affairs of supernaturals to the point Cody had to wonder if they didn’t possess a superpower themselves. If they did, Bill’s would be the power of annoyance.

  He was a master of the craft.

  Bill was currently wearing a T-shirt bearing the logo of the retreat they were at. The shirt was about three sizes too small for him, leaving a large portion of his hairy stomach exposed. The man was furry enough for someone to mistake him for a shifter. There was a rather large clump of lint gathered in Bill’s bellybutton, sort of hanging there, threatening to fall at any moment.

  He had on a pair of jeans that were too big and cinched with a belt. They were rolled at least three times. Cody had assumed Bill’s attire meant he didn’t have the money for clothing that fit. He’d tried to take the man into town to buy him some things, but Bill had stared at him like he was the crazy one. Evidently, Bill had spent a considerable amount of time shopping for the jeans that he deemed were just right.

  Cody had stopped trying after that.

  Probably for the best, since Bill had then insisted on getting a pair of used high-top trainers from a thrift store because they’d already been broken in, saving him the time.

  “Give it to me,” whined Bill.

  “Nope.”

  “Gill-face,” snapped Bill, taking a jab at Cody’s shifted form.

  Cody merely grinned.

  “Keep smiling there, Aqua-douche,” snapped Bill. “While you’re at it, can you do like the rest of us do before bed and choke the chicken? I’m sick of being woken up by your grunting and groaning.”

  Cody stiffened. “Grunting and groaning?”

  Bill looked him up and down. “Don’t go pretending you’re not having wet dreams. We can hear you yelling for some girl, and then we hear you grunting and making lots of sex noises. That or you’re in the john taking a big-ass dump. My constipation grunts sound a lot like my orgasm ones. Makes sense. Either way, I’m expelling something, shit or—”

  “Dear God, stop talking,” said Cody. The last thing he wanted to hear about was Bill’s bowel movements or sexual escapades.

  He shuddered as a mental image of both hit him.

  Bill patted his gut. “Took me a big one this morning. Wished I’d have taken a phone in with me. I could have taken a picture of it. Thing of beauty. Gus complained about the smell all morning. Said I should see a doctor or something. Nah. I ate a bunch of hummus. The hippies have a ton of it down in the kitchen. Gives me gas. Big time. Keeps me regular though. Gus ain’t too happy about that. Says I stunk up our room. I told him to light a match.”

  Cody wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Dude. Too much information.”

  “If you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it,” said Bill.

  Cody stared at him a second. “Pretty sure people say that when they’re talking about sex. Not bowel movements.”

  Bill glanced away, looking deep in thought. “Huh. Makes a lot more sense for sex. Learn something new every day. Want to talk about your sex dreams? She hot?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. The last few weeks had been odd at night, to say the least. Since arriving in Colorado, it had been even more so. He’d wake several times a night, slicked in sweat, his body feeling as if he’d had marathon sex sessions. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the dreams in any kind of detail. Which was ironic and kind of pathetic, since it had been too many years to count since he’d had sex. Dream sex would have been something, at least. He did have weak impressions of a woman with long dark hair, creamy skin, and huge brown eyes. But the flashes were quick and chaotic. He could only guess the flashes of her were residual leftovers from whatever it was that had been happening to him in the dreams.

  The last time Cody could recall having dreams that interfered with his sleep and his ability to function properly while awake had been Costa Rica. That had been seventeen years prior.

  “So you ain’t dreaming about shagging a hot chick-shark?” asked Bill.

  Cody’s eyes widened. “No!”

  “You got something against sharks?” questioned Bill. “You do know you are one, right? They didn’t mess with your head like they did mine, did they? They didn’t convince you that you were a weretiger or some shit, did they? I knew a guy who they made think he was a chicken. He clucked and everything.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait. No. That wasn’t them. It was a hypnotist me and Gus saw at a carnival. Gus said it was all an act. I don’t believe him. We know people who can turn into animals. Anything is possible. Who’s to say a werechicken isn’t real? Back to you screwing girl sharks.”

  “I do not have sex with other sharks,” said Cody, his words clipped.

  “That mean you do have sex with, say, a hot girl whale, or a girl dolphin?” asked Bill.

  Cody considered hitting the man with the weapon just to knock him out. “No. To all of them.”

  “Oh, you like boys then?” asked Bill, no judgment in his voice. “That’s cool too. To each his own.”

  “I like girls. But I do not have sex with animals. Do you ever stop talking?”

  “No. Not really,” said Bill. “There was this one time I was dared to go out to a field with this group of cows and—”

  “I’ll pay you to stop talking and never finish that story,” said Cody, meaning every word of it. If the tale was headed in the direction that he suspected it was, he did not want a blow-by-blow. He’d never be able to bleach the mental image of Bill in a field with cows from his mind.

  Bill groaned. “I thought you were the fun operative. The easygoing one. You’re as repressed and boring as the rest. Especially that vampire.”

  Armand Faucher was the vampire in question, and a member of Paranormal Security and Intelligence’s (PSI) Shadow Agents Division. At one point he’d been part of the Crimson Ops, or Fang Gang, as most liked to call them. Armand had moved over to the Shadow Agent side of things years ago and was now a handler whose job was to keep the solo operatives
who worked under him safe. He also went in and assisted on covert missions when need be. That was how Cody had first met him.

  When Cody had been captured off the shores of Costa Rica all those years ago, he’d ended up under the thumb of a madman. Walter Helmuth had his finger in the pie of just about everything wrong in the world. So did his partners in crimes, The Corporation.

  Unbeknownst to Cody back in Costa Rica, the vessel that had scooped him out of the sea, bearing the logo of Donavon Dynamics, was owned and operated by The Corporation. The same assholes who were wreaking havoc throughout the supernatural community.

  Armand had been posing as a guard in one of the locations where Cody had been held as a test subject. At first, Cody had assumed the vampire was in league with the enemy. Part of the group of men who made torturing him and testing on him something of a game. During one of the countless beatings Cody had been subjected to, Armand had entered the holding cell and told the guards they were needed elsewhere, that he would finish handling the prisoner.

  Instead of inflicting more pain, something Cody had learned to live with over the time he was held, Armand had helped him. He’d gotten him something for the pain and had cleaned Cody’s wounds before locking gazes with him and speaking telepathically, letting him know he was a good guy who was undercover and that help had finally come.

  While Cody had been relieved, never actually believing any help would arrive, his concern had been for the others being held and tested on. Not for himself. Such was often the case. It was simply his nature. And he’d have it no other way. He didn’t want to exist in a world where everyone only thought of themselves.

  Besides, he’d seen and lived through what The Corporation scientists and guards were willing to do to someone. Horrific didn’t begin to cover it.

  Cody had gone into it all as an Outcast, a wereshark whose shifted side was uncontrollable and difficult to weaponize properly, but he’d come out the other side even more unstable. So much so that he’d found himself keeping it all a secret from those he trusted.