by S. A. Beck
Otto felt his heart race. Would she train him with incendiary grenades? He kept his mouth shut though. He didn’t want to seem too eager, especially with Edward and Grunt riding him about his love of flame. He realized Vivian was still talking and tried to focus.
“So you pull out the safety pin like this, releasing the lever. As long as you grip the grenade and the lever, the bomb is still safe. As soon as you throw it, the lever flies free, thanks to a spring inside. That primes the bomb. Then you have two seconds before it goes boom. Watch me.”
Vivian hooked a finger through the ring of the safety pin and yanked it out. She threw the bomb, and the curved lever on the side flew free with a sharp “ping” as soon as she let go. The bomb arced through the air and landed about twenty yards away.
“Now with these flash grenades, you want to look away as soon as you throw. They’ll temporarily blind you if you’re closer than ten yards, but even up to a hundred yards, they’ll dazzle you a bit. You don’t want an afterimage floating in front of you and hampering your vision when you’re in a combat situation. There’s also a loud boom and some smoke and a concussion effect, like you noticed when we sprung you from jail. If you’re within five yards, you’ll get knocked off your feet. If you’re within one or two yards, you’ll get knocked unconscious, even if you’re Grunt.”
“Are they lethal?”
“Not generally. I suppose they could make someone fall off a cliff or give them a heart attack or something, but they’re designed as nonlethal weapons. Riot police use them. They’re designed so no fragments come flying off, unlike with regular grenades. Grunt and I aren’t in the business of killing people. Well, not anymore.”
Vivian retrieved the grenade and replaced the safety pin and lever. Then she laid out a circle of stones and walked back.
“Okay, that circle is your target. Try to throw it inside.” Vivian handed him the dud bomb.
The target was about twenty-five yards away and a yard across. Pulling the pin out like Vivian had showed him, he threw the bomb. The lever released, and the bomb sailed through the air, landing just outside the circle.
“Not bad for a first try, but you forgot something,” Vivian said.
“What’s that?”
“You forgot to look away.”
“It’s a dud. I don’t need to.”
“If you’re practicing something, practice it right. Otherwise you might not get it right in a combat situation. This isn’t a game, Otto. Sooner or later we’re going to be up against some pretty tough hombres.”
Otto remembered the men who had attacked him and Jaxon in the greenhouse. If it hadn’t been for Jaxon’s abilities, they would have been prisoners in about five seconds.
And then what would have happened?
It seemed so strange that a sixteen-year-old girl could have strength and speed like that. The more he thought of it, the more he realized how little he knew about the real world. He was like a sheep being led around by people who knew the real truth, just like that nerd with his computers and conspiracy theories said.
“So if Atlantis is real, or at least Atlanteans, what else does Edward get right?” Otto asked.
Vivian made a face and shook her head. “Too much. I wish he was wrong more often.”
“JFK?”
“Ha! You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to know something was up with that. The president gets assassinated by a guy who, at the height of the Cold War, defected to the Soviet Union then was allowed back into the country, and then the assassin gets killed by a member of the mafia. You don’t think that sounds fishy? And those are just the undisputed facts. There’s a whole bunch more. Ask Grunt about the bullet trajectory. There’s no way only one shooter was involved.”
“Um, okay. What about the moon landing. Did we really go in 1969?” Otto asked.
“Yeah, we went. Edward is a bit loopy on that one. He’s seen so many conspiracies turn out to be true he can’t discriminate anymore. Doesn’t help that he’s locked up in that room all day, lapping that stuff up.”
“So we didn’t go to the moon in a UFO in 1957?”
“Or ’58. He loves those little details. Makes him feel like he’s being scientific. Don’t worry, honey, the world is a lot weirder than you think, but it’s not as weird as what’s inside Edward’s head. You should make friends with him. He could use someone like you.”
“I’m not exactly well adjusted myself,” Otto said with a wry smile.
“Maybe you should try harder.”
Otto looked at his feet. “Yeah, I kind of messed everything up. Even though I didn’t burn the greenhouse, I probably would have burned something else sooner or later.”
“Rewrite the script.”
“Huh?”
“Rewrite the script,” Vivian repeated. “You got a movie in your head where you’re a screw-up and can never make something out of yourself. You think that way and you’ll be right, so rewrite the script.”
“Yeah, like it’s that easy.”
“You have a lot to unlearn. Not surprising with an alcoholic mother and a dad who’s always cheating on her.”
Otto gaped. “How did you know that?”
“Edward hacked the files of all your therapists.”
“And you all read them? Great.”
“We had to know who we were dealing with. Trust me, you aren’t nearly as messed up as Jaxon.”
“So you all had a big laugh at my expense.”
Vivian shook her head. “Ain’t no one laughing, honey. Well, maybe Grunt did a little. He’s like that. Edward sure didn’t. He never mentions his parents or any of his family. Not once. In fact, I don’t even know his last name.”
“What about you?” Otto asked.
“What about me?” Vivian raised an eyebrow.
“What’s your story?”
“Stick around long enough, and you might find out.”
Otto sighed. “We make quite a crew.”
“Sure do. Now practice throwing that a few more times before I trust you with live ordnance.”
Otto did as he was told, getting the feel of the grenade. It wasn’t like throwing a baseball. The bomb was smaller and heavier, and the lever made the grip a bit different. After about a dozen throws though, he was hitting inside the circle every time. He also remembered to look away.
“Now let’s play with the real thing, honey.” Vivian handed him another bomb from her purse. It had a yellow dot on the bottom, indicating it was a live flash grenade.
“Wow,” Otto said, looking at the little bomb in his hand.
“No different than the dud, honey, except you better not drop it after you pull out the pin.”
Otto grinned, pulled out the pin, and threw it at the circle. The instant before it landed, it burst in a blinding flash, a loud bang, and a puff of smoke. Otto took in a sharp breath of air. He had done that?
He blinked. A bright purple afterimage hung in front of his eyes, obscuring his view.
“You didn’t look away, did you?” Vivian said.
“Ah… no. Sorry,” Otto said, rubbing his eyes.
“I know it looks pretty, honey, but we’re in serious danger. You have to do things right, or you’ll end up dead. These guys don’t play around.”
The hum of the gate opening made Otto and Vivian turn. A Subaru pulled up the driveway. Yuhle got out, closed the gate, parked the car, and walked toward them.
He was carrying several shopping bags. “I got you some clothes, Otto. Time to get out of that prison jumpsuit.”
“Can I burn it?” Otto grinned. The looks on Vivian’s and Yuhle’s faces told him he had used a poor choice of words. “Ah… I mean, can I throw it in the trash?”
Yuhle shook his head. “Keep it. You never know when something like that may turn out to be useful.” The scientist set the shopping bags at Otto’s feet. “I got you a bunch of clothes in the sizes you gave me. Hope you like them.”
Otto pulled out a T-shirt that said “My family went
to the Mojave Desert and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.” He looked at Yuhle. “You hoped wrong.”
Yuhle grinned and pulled out another T-shirt. It said “Property of Alcatraz. Shoot on sight.”
Vivian giggled.
“Very funny,” Otto said, rummaging through the rest of the clothes. There was a decent pair of jeans, a couple of loud Bermuda shorts that gave him a worse afterimage than the flash bomb, and a few more T-shirts that were about as stylish as the first two.
“Hey, it’s better than what you got on now, honey,” Vivian said.
“Good point,” Otto grumbled and headed to his trailer to get changed.
Chapter 11
JUNE 6, 2016, PENTAGON BUILDING, WASHINGTON, DC
10:10 AM
“Thank you for flying all the way up here on your busy schedule, General Meade.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
General Meade stood at attention in front of a semicircular table, behind which sat the joint chiefs of staff. He had been called to Washington to discuss the Poseidon Project, and that made General Meade nervous. You were never called to the Pentagon unless there was trouble, and considering his project’s slow pace, he knew what that trouble was.
Gunfire didn’t bother him. His helicopter flying through a hail of RPG rounds was something he’d accepted as a part of life. Budgetary reviews, however, made him sweat under the collar.
One of the generals leaned forward. “We’re here to discuss your project to isolate and utilize the Atlantis gene. How is it progressing? The super soldiers you promised us are still in the early development stage, are they not?”
General Meade continued to stand at attention. He hadn’t been asked to sit. In fact, he didn’t see a chair for him. The army liked all those little psychological jabs. He’d done them with the less competent among his own subordinates countless times. “Progress has been slowed by the unexpected loss of our lead scientist, sir. Dr. Yamazaki had quite a bad stroke and is in the hospital. We’re continuing with our research.”
Once again, Meade felt angry at himself for inducing a stroke in his star researcher. True, she had become rebellious and threatened the entire program, but Meade had acted hastily. While leaving her drooling in a hospital bed kept her from damaging his plans, it also slowed down progress. He should have tried other methods to bring her in line. Breaking a valuable tool wasn’t wise. He needed to proceed more carefully.
“Quite expensive research, I see,” one of the other generals murmured loud enough for General Meade to hear and obviously for his benefit. The officer was leafing through a file. “Forty-two million dollars and counting, plus another twenty-three million in requests in this fiscal quarter alone. And all this for just six subjects, all of whom are in suspended animation and not being trained.”
“There is a seventh subject, sir.”
“Ah yes,” said the officer, not bothering to look up from his report. “A sixteen-year-old girl. We already approved the funding request and tied up a pair of useful agents for the next two years on that side project.”
“She’s very promising, sir. Young enough to be molded to our will. I know it’s expensive, but—”
The officer closed the file folder with a snap and looked at General Meade for the first time. “The current administration has forced us to make significant budgetary cuts thanks to the most recent economic downturn. Our forces are already overstretched dealing with the Islamist threat in a dozen theatres of operations, plus we’ve had to bolster our support for our allies in Eastern Europe to deal with a renewed threat from Russia, and expensive research and development is taking place for the next generation of aircraft carrier. Funding your project has become increasingly difficult.”
Another general opened a file folder. “Take this item here, for instance. Half a million dollars for a holding tank for the seventh subject, yet instead of using it, you’ve decided to spend even more money having her raised by a pair of our agents.”
“It seemed the best course of duty considering the circumstances. At first we thought we’d capture her, but given her age, we decided to raise her and guide her into being a willing recruit,” General Meade replied, thankful the general had been too polite to bring up the fact that half a dozen of his agents had been beaten up by a teenage girl. Then he remembered that one of those agents was the general’s cousin. The general wasn’t being charitable at all—he was just embarrassed.
“And how about this item here? Ten thousand miles in flight time on military transport planes for your personal use when conference calls would have done just as well.”
“We need to have the utmost secrecy, sir. I suspect the Poseidon Project is being monitored by enemies of the state, including a defector with possible ties to treasonous activities.”
And so it went for two grueling hours. At last they released him, telling him in no uncertain terms to bring back some results within a month or they’d pull the plug.
Stupidity bordering on treason! Did those idiots think they’d destroy the beings who piloted those UFOs by pacifying the Middle East and building a new aircraft carrier? The alien threat was beyond human and needed to be faced with a weapon that was beyond human. General Meade’s team couldn’t even begin to estimate how powerful an army of Atlanteans would be. It was the nation’s only hope.
General Meade stormed out of the Pentagon, heading toward the nearest air force base. He was taking a plane to Los Angeles to meet with the team dealing with the Jaxon Andersen case. Yes, another flight logged when those bean-counting bureaucrats would rather have him make a conference call any advanced hacker could listen in on. Those fools had been stuck in Pentagon meetings and DC dinner parties for so long, they’d forgotten what war was.
They’d find out soon enough.
Within half an hour, General Meade was in the back of a C-5 Galaxy transport plane headed for Los Angeles. His mood had calmed, replaced with a steely determination. The top brass wanted results? Fine, he’d give them results.
But first he had to sort out this annoying kid and make sure she would be under his control when the time was right.
The plane landed in Los Angeles in late afternoon, and Meade spent the rest of the day working in an office lent to him by the air force base. It was too late in the day to have a meeting with his agents. His best assassin and best poison specialist were playing Mommy and Daddy to a kid who didn’t know she was descended from the people of Atlantis. He’d find it funny if it wasn’t so damned important.
The next morning, he met them at the air base.
General Meade, Stephen and Isadore Grant, Marquis D’Arcy, and Juliette Roan sat around a conference table. He wasn’t going to make them stand like a bunch of privates just out of boot camp. Building a sense of teamwork was more important than asserting his authority. Respect had to be earned, not demanded. That was something else those Pentagon bureaucrats had forgotten. He opened the meeting by asking Jaxon’s foster parents for a progress report.
Stephen spoke first. “She’s a bit cold and aloof. I suspect that’s normal after having been shuffled through the system all her life. She seems interested in my greenhouse though.”
“Have you tested her skills? You reported that one of her special powers might be related to plants.”
“Her psychologist mentioned she was working on a plant growth serum. Judging from my chats with her, Jaxon doesn’t have any more knowledge about science than your average high school student, so it’s likely that’s one of her special powers. I haven’t brought her into the greenhouse though. I want her to feel more comfortable with me first. She’s wary of me, I can tell. Most likely another legacy of her time in the system.”
Isadore cut in. “She’s cold with me too, especially after I took her phone. She’s remained reasonably pliable, however. I think she’ll make a good subject. I’ve seen her in class with Marquis, and she’ll make an excellent killer one day.”
“I’ve been having trouble containing her anger,
” Marquis said.
“That will take time,” Isadore replied. “You nearly made me laugh with all that talk about the virtues of nonviolence.”
Marquis grinned at her. “She needs to learn to contain her killing ability before she can use it. Don’t worry, she’ll be catching up with our tally before she even graduates from college.”
General Meade allowed himself a smile. She and Marquis had been on several missions together and had a friendly rivalry over enemy body counts. Last time the general checked, both were in the triple digits with Isadore slightly ahead.
Juliette leaned forward. “I feel the soft touch works better. She seems to enjoy meditation, and I think she’s beginning to bond with me. Relaxation and gentleness are the two things she’s been yearning for her entire life.”
General Meade nodded in appreciation. Juliette was his most disarming agent, with a hippie-like demeanor and a voice that could put a raging bull to sleep. She was one of the best in the infiltration business because nobody could ever suspect her of stabbing them in the back.
The general shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It sounds like all is going according to plan. Unfortunately, the plan has changed. The Pentagon wants results. They’re getting heat from the White House about expenses, and a lot of programs are being cut. What with the war in the Middle East and upgrading our capabilities, there isn’t enough money to go around. Put some pressure on this kid. Stephen, get her in that greenhouse and find out what she can do. Marquis, get tougher on the training, and Juliette, get her out of her shell.”
Isadore’s brow furrowed. “And what about me?”
General Meade gave her a wry grin. “You have the toughest mission of all. This kid is dying to have a real parent. You need to learn to be a mother. Get her to love you, and she’ll do whatever we say.” He suspected he had just given her the most difficult assignment of her career.