The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  Some cardboard boxes were unloaded from the back of the car and carried inside. The men disappeared. There were at least three inside the house.

  The result came back for the driver of the car. Spanner seemed bemused: the photograph was matched not to mugshots and criminal records, but to a student identity card. Gabriel had studied for a year at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology – a postgraduate course in metallurgy. The student card was in a different name but viewing the photographs side-by-side the resemblance was more than uncanny. The hair was different but the facial structure and subtle identifying marks matched precisely – they were the same faces. Gary recalled that the Lisbon professor said Gabriel conducted the metallurgical analysis of the battlefield artefacts.

  “That's one of them,” Gary pronounced. “Could you print the file?”

  Spanner obliged and Gabriel's academic record was produced. Gary scanned over it. He had passed his metallurgy course with distinction – the only one from his class to do so. His thesis topic was the crystalline structure of uranium subjected to high temperature and pressure. Gary mused that to initiate the chain reaction in an atomic detonation, the uranium core was compressed using plastic explosives. The shock wave was focused on the core pushing it above critical mass. Gabriel had a piece of the puzzle to produce a nuclear device yet, looking at his photograph, Gary was yet again struck by his youthfulness. Like all of Doctor Campbell's orphans, Gabriel had achieved outstanding success at a prestigious university at a young age. It was a trait Gary had first noticed in Zarina. It was a perplexing conundrum that defied explanation. The innocence assumed in youth contrasted with their malicious intent.

  “The other one doesn't match anyone in the database,” said Spanner. Gary was not surprised they lived off-grid but rather astounded it was possible to do so and live in such a property in Leblon – a very desirable district in Rio de Janeiro. Other than the slightly blurred photograph supplied by Professor Silva, Miguel and Ariel may as well not exist.

  “What's the plan for detaining them?” Gary asked Mike who headed the Delta team and had just entered the room.

  “There's a maid that arrives at six in the morning. She has keys and we'll use her to gain entry. They'll be expecting someone so won't be disturbed by a little noise; we'll have the advantage of surprise. It's not a big house. We'll round them up and catch them in their beds – still asleep no doubt. You're not in a hurry?” Agent Schultz nodded and agreed. Gary was less convinced.

  “I would assume they know you're coming.”

  “Oh, we'll not be going empty handed.” Mike laid his hand reassuringly on a squat submachine gun and smiled. “We'll handle this – come what may.”

  Gary had heard that kind of talk before and was not reassured in the least.

  The night passed slowly and fitfully for Gary. He was dreadfully exhausted yet adequate and refreshing sleep evaded him. He thought of his grandmother whom he had visited and stayed with in Rio de Janeiro when he was younger. He was calmed by his memories of the city, the sound of people speaking in familiar accents and the sheer unabashed joy with which the cariocas lived. He feared these memories were about to be polluted with other violent and disturbing ones. He tried to think of Mandy but his mind was a battleground with unwelcome flashbacks of Mozambique. Gary was nudged by Hank at five o'clock and roused feeling worse than when he had turned in the evening before.

  “Get yourself some breakfast, you'll not have time later and you'll need it,” was Hank's advice. Gary had no appetite or thoughts of food. Mechanically, he forced himself up and accepted coffee blackly huddled in the kitchen away from the Delta team who were preparing to lay an ambush at the villa's gate and wait for the maid to arrive. He knew that he should be more alert, that adrenaline should kick in and waken him but he could not feel it – not yet. At five minute before six, he staggered through to observe Max and Hank. Agent Schultz was there also.

  At six o'clock, right on schedule, the short figure of the maid appeared at the end of the road. She was wrapped in a long coat against the chill of the morning. Dawn was moments away and the Gary looked up at Mount Corcovado as the first rays of sunshine lit up the statue of Christ the Redeemer that stood, arms open, above Rio de Janeiro. What was about to happen should not, perhaps, be done in the sight of Christ. Gary looked across at the villa, his mood no lighter with the lightening day.

  The maid was grappled forcefully to the ground by Steve, a big brute of a man. His hand firmly clamped across her mouth, she did not scream. Her light body was whisked off the ground and out of sight. Mike emerged moments later and unlocked the gate. Mike waved forward the remaining four soldiers who moved swiftly inside the grounds. Two swarmed round to the rear of the building while Mike led two to the front door. The keys were inserted into the lock while the two soldiers flanked Mike with their backs pressed closely against the walls. The door swung open and Mike raised his submachine gun and pushed inside. The two soldiers peeled themselves from the wall and in quick succession followed. The movements of the soldiers were rapid, purposeful and practised. Gary felt his breath catch. He was absorbed by the unfolding assault. For a few moments nothing was visible, nothing was heard over the radio. Hank scrutinised the infra-red scope displays while Max trained the rifle on the upper windows. Heartbeats pounded and Gary felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. An ear-splitting bang erupted and an explosion shook the upstairs windows. Silence followed.

  “Stun grenade,” uttered Hank seeing the look on Gary's face.

  The muzzle flash from an automatic weapon flickered inside one of the downstairs windows. A burst of gunfire, though muffled, broke the tranquillity of the morning. The Delta team were firing up the stairwell. An answering retort sounded. A terse radio broadcast was heard.

  “Suspects resisting and hold upper floor.”

  “No clear target,” advised Max.

  A stand-off ensued punctuated by small arms fire. The Delta team soldiers could be seen scrambling around the ground floor. They were regrouping and preparing an assault. It was the lull before the storm. The radio chattered with coded commands.

  “Lee is down. Repeat, Lee is down.”

  Lee was one of the Delta team. Gary stomach churned and he felt nausea. Neither Max nor Hank reacted. They kept scanning the upper floor windows, patiently waiting for an open shot. None came. Hank jolted alert.

  “Does anyone smell smoke?”

  Silence followed his disbelieving question. Gary could smell smoke. A pall of thick smoke engulfed the window and completely obscured the villa. Agent Schultz moved to the window and looked down.

  “The car's on fire.”

  Gary felt events were sliding rapidly out of control. He felt a kick in his gut and sick rise. He bent double. From his disposed position, Gary saw the windows of the observation room shatter. The back wall was raked with machine gun fire. Smoke from the burning car below rushed in and filled the room with acrid fumes – the stench of burning petrol and rubber. Gary looked around. Max was dead. Agent Schultz lay on the floor clutching a wound to the shoulder, screaming. Gary was disorientated. Where was Hank? Gary saw Hank crouched on the floor under the window. He was not moving but abruptly he reached up and pulled the sniper's rifle from Max's limp grip. Hank was not so much terrified as desperate. He waited, rifle shouldered and ready. His head bobbed up and quickly back down.

  Hank cursed.

  Slowly, Gary began to absorb the chaos unleashed around him. He had had a lucky escape. A further burst of gunfire could come at any moment. Gary kept himself low. He pulled at Agent Schultz and guided him to another room, away from smoke and danger. Agent Schultz was reluctant at first but acquiesced. Hank held his position.

  Gary examined Agent Schultz. He had taken a bullet in the upper right arm. The flesh was shredded but the bone was not broken. It was bleeding profusely. Gary tried to rally his thoughts. Agent Schultz was pale and slipping into shock. His eyes glazed. Gary rummaged to find something to use as a bandag
e. He summoned his boy scout first aid skills that he had never had to use for real. Agent Schultz needed his help. He began to think clearly.

  There was a ground shaking explosion. Gary felt the building lurch; instinctively he cowered under raised arms. Gary edged back through to the other room and saw the villa engulfed in smoke. The windows were blown out. Parts of the roof were falling gently back to earth like snow. No one could still be alive inside. Four or five of the Delta team had been inside – what had happened to them? Were they still alive? What about Miguel, Gabriel and Ariel? Gary had to wait to find out.

  Hank withdrew from the observation room and, brandishing a pistol, disappeared, heading downstairs. Gary was distantly aware of a commotion gathering outside. The neighbourhood of Leblon had been rudely awoken and clamoured for explanation with morbid curiosity. Brutal killing was common in Rio de Janeiro but not in Leblon. The neighbourhood was considered too sophisticated and chic for such vulgarity. Since many of the power players of Rio's gang struggles made Leblon home, crime was oddly rare. The top men did not like to live amongst the social dysfunction they orchestrated.

  An uneasy sobriety pervaded. The Brazilian police arrived and asserted an orderly return to the daily rituals of domestic life and work. The villa was cordoned off as well as the building housing the Delta team observation post. Agent Schultz was taken away in an ambulance under police guard. Gary was detained along with Hank and bundled off to the brutality of a police cell.

  The Chief of Police was in a foul mood. He had not been consulted regarding the Delta Force presence and was not greatly fond of America generally. He threatened Gary and Hank with a long spell in prison if not hanging. Gary and Hank remained uncommunicative. Consulate officials were summoned and strings were pulled. The chief resisted but eventually Gary and Hank were led to a car at the rear of the police station and spirited away. The American ambassador was already in the car as Gary stepped in. He was not pleased either. Whatever was happening, he had not been advised but his superiors in Washington were calling the shots. He took Gary and Hank to an air force airbase where a US military jet landed and immediately took off again with Gary and Hank the only passengers.

  Gary had kept quiet during his time in police custody. None of the police officials suspected that an ignorant American would understand Portuguese let alone their rapid and accented dialect. Gary kept alert and learned some of the facts of their investigation. It was a catalogue of mystery and confusion.

  Steve, a strong and able soldier, was found dead in the bushes into which he had dragged the maid. He had been garrotted by a bootlace. The officials almost delighted in describing how his eyes were puffed up like a frog's.

  An onlooker, alerted by the gunfire, had witnessed a woman matching the maid's description setting fire to Agent Schultz's car parked immediately below the observation post.

  Of Mike and his four-man assault team, Lee was badly injured and had seen nothing. Mike and two others were dead – they had been inside the building when a large gas explosion had detonated. There were no other bodies.

  Neither Miguel, Ariel nor Gabriel were found. They had disappeared – as had the maid. The house was all but rubble and neighbours asserted that the owner rarely visited. Civil records recorded the owner as an anonymous Lebanese company but thereafter the trail ran cold.

  The single piece of evidence was a computer memory stick that had apparently been left behind. There was data on it. Whatever secrets it held were securely in the possession of the Brazilian authorities. They were not sharing the information, least of all with the Americans.

  On his return to Washington, Gary learned the fate of the final member of Mike's squad, Spanner. He had remained outside and had been covering the back of the house. He had come under fire and gone to ground. Spanner had seen almost nothing of what happened inside the house. He avoided the local police and presented himself at the American embassy. Gary was relieved to hear he was unhurt. At least it was one less casualty than Gary first assumed.

  Chapter 52

  Washington, United States of America

  Gary slumped in a chair in Agent Vitti's office. He had dispassionately detailed the trip to Lisbon and the events in Rio. When he had finished they sat in silence for several minutes. Gary stared at the floor darkly.

  “Do you have a photograph of the maid? Can I see it?” Gary's voice was nervous.

  Spanner had carried a copy of the surveillance pictures and delivered them to the embassy. Agent Vitti brought up a picture of the maid on his computer. Gary studied the image. The maid had straight, jet black hair underneath a headscarf tightly pulled against the morning chill. Her features were captured from an oblique angle – more artistic than practical – but she was recognisable. She was somehow not Latino. There was something oddly familiar about her face that Gary could not place. He stared until Agent Vitti nudged him.

  “Do you know her?”

  Gary did not know how to answer. There was a trigger of recognition but not a conscious one.

  “Yes, but no. I can't think where I've seen her before.”

  Agent Vitti squinted at the picture.

  “She's Polynesian – one of the Pacific islands, Tonga, Fiji – maybe even the Philippines.”

  Gary felt the rush of realisation drop through his body and burn in his chest.

  “Lily.”

  Agent Vitti looked sharply at Gary.

  “Who?”

  “Lily – the nurse from the orphanage. That's her – but it can't be. It's not possible.” Agent Vitti was intrigued.

  “How many times in this investigation have we said something wasn't possible?”

  “Lily is much older, in her forties or fifties – at least. Or she was when I met her in Mozambique last year. But this is definitely her – I've no doubt about it – but here she looks barely twenty.”

  Agent Vitti eyed Gary sceptically – listening carefully but not fully agreeing with what he heard.

  “I agree. The girl in that photo is twenty at the most – I'd say she looked younger. Come on Sanders, there are plenty of rational explanations. It's hard to fake looking younger – and quite expensive to keep it up. But not so hard to look older. Maybe, when you met her she was disguised to look older?”

  Gary shook his head.

  “It could be her daughter?” suggested Agent Vitti.

  “I suppose it could be. Now that you say it, I'd agree.”

  “Do you think she took out that Delta Force soldier?”

  “Steve? No other explanation.”

  “She doesn't look strong enough.”

  “I'd say Steve let his guard down. He thought he was dealing with just some maid who'd give no problems. But if I'm right, she's one of them. One of the Nephilim. You should never underestimate them. It's like they're two or three moves ahead of us – all the time. Zarina was the only one we came close to catching.”

  “But for that bear, we'd have her.”

  “Maybe, I'm not so sure,” replied Gary. “Anyway, I can't help but feel that every piece of information, every lead, every break we get has been carefully fed to us to provoke a reaction. We even call them Nephilim because it was fed to us via Mister Lim from the bogus Brown and Edwards. And as for that Korean with his cryogenic pumps and his Bose-Einstein condensate: we get this lead; we start asking questions about it, and then we drag in every suspect under the sun that might be involved. They report back the questions we asked and suddenly the Russians, Iranians, North Koreans, even the Brazilians start buying up the equipment and doing the experiments. We're working on it ourselves out at Los Alamos. We've no idea if it works but, if I had shares in cryogenics, I'd be laughing.”

  “Seriously, you think we're being manipulated?” asked Agent Vitti.

  “Yes,” asserted Gary. “I just wonder what's going to happen. I mean, if it's possible to separate fissile uranium in a quick, low-cost process, there's no barrier to who could make warheads. Everybody would have them – and that includes t
errorists. It's a recipe for Armageddon. Someone, somewhere is going to press the trigger. There's no way to stop it. I just can't see who'd benefit. We'd all die. There would be radiation blown over the whole planet – who would survive?”

  “I heard,” said Agent Vitti, “that there's an underground bunker on the East coast, somewhere north of Boston – not sure exactly where – and we'd go underground and wait the whole thing out. In a few years, we'd come back out and we'd be the only ones left. We'd have won.”

  “When you say we, you mean Americans. I doubt either of us would get picked. It sounds like it's just for the President and his cronies.” Gary was morose.

  “No, the President has his own bolt hole to cower in. No, the rumour is that it's for top scientists, experts … you know, useful people, resourceful people. The sort of people who could start afresh.”

  “Sounds like solid contingency planning – just in case the whole planet goes crazy – which it's looking like now. I'd bet we're not the only ones though. The Russians surely have thought of it as well.”

  “I dare say you're right but … when did anything the Russians make prove to be reliable? They're smart people but the stuff just doesn't last. The same goes for the Chinese. It doesn't matter what it is, I buy Made in America every time.”

  Gary looked at his watch. “Well I have a lady friend to meet tonight so I'm going home – Armageddon or not.”

  “Are you still seeing that girl from Ohio?”

  “Yip,” replied Gary.

  “Did you run her profile?”

  “No, call me old-fashioned but I believe in finding out about women on dates and the like – when I get the chance. It's all going a bit slow.”

  Gary left Agent Vitti's office and headed home. He was meeting Mandy and he put work and the worries out of his mind. The world would have to look after itself for a bit, he had more important things on his mind.