The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

  Ariel swallowed and tried to push down the memories of the terrible incident that had started him on his lifelong obsession with the paranormal.

  “You are here because you know for a fact the existence of monsters. A monster is what we want you to help us study.”

  Ariel felt the sweat break out on his palms.

  “What kind of monster?”

  “We’re not entirely sure. We unearthed it during research in Finland. It was frozen in ice in a deep cave. Seems to have been there quite a while.”

  “There’s no one else on this ship qualified to study it?”

  “Oh we’ve been drafting talent in from all over. With varying degrees of success. However now we need the kind of man who will be particularly good at studying monsters.”

  Ariel swallowed.

  “Well, monsters are my speciality, Dr Carver.”

  Dr Carver nodded and beckoned Ariel to follow him.

  They exited by a door at the far end of the observation lounge, along a narrow corridor, until they came to a door guarded by an armed sentry. Carver nodded to the guard, showed his pass and ran his fingers over what seemed to be a biometric fingerprint scanner. The door slid smoothly open and they stepped into a large dimly lit chamber.

  Ariel noticed there seemed to be an emptied flotation tank ahead of them. Dimly, at the far end of it, he could see the outline of an experimentation table, at least twelve feet high. He peered at it as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Carver reached out and another smart screen activated behind them.

  Lights suddenly illuminated at the far end of the room.

  Ariel blinked twice, his brain unwilling to accept what his eyes were seeing.

  “Dr Carver. That’s…what is it?”

  Carver beamed, visibly proud.

  Ariel’s photographic memory scanned through its databanks, trying to identify the huge creature in front of him with anything he had studied in the STG. Ariel could identify most monsters but this was something new.

  Ariel stared at the thing strapped down on the table, the tubes and wires attached to its body, feeding and monitoring it.

  It was Ursine in appearance but far larger than any bear Ariel had ever seen. It also had human facial characteristics but savage in nature. Beneath its translucent fur muscles rippled and both the claws and fangs were hugely exaggerated. It looked terrifying.

  Carver looked at Ariel with a hint of self-satisfaction.

  “I found it. After years of searching. A Chimeric organism that seems to exist in some sort of instability, some constant flux between one state and another. Perhaps on a quantum level. It’s fascinating, like nothing we’ve ever seen. I want you to help me understand how it can possibly exist, and how we can best use it for our bio-weapons programme.”

  “How would this be used as a weapon?”

  “The natural bio-weapon contained in this creature, within its blood, has extraordinary properties. Enhancing properties if administered in controlled doses. In controlled doses mind. It can damage humans irreparably if the balance isn’t right.”

  Ariel glanced from the screen to the Experiment strapped to the table.

  “From this data here, the creature contains telomerase in such abundance that it makes it hard to date. How old is this test subject?”

  Carver shook his head. “Honestly Ariel, we have no idea. All we know is that it is a resilient, self-repairing organism that is able to withstand almost all attempts to eradicate it.”

  “You’re trying to create something that can’t be stopped.”

  Carver nodded to a white coated lab assistant that stood by the experiment table.

  “No Dr Speedman, I have created something that can’t be stopped. Think of the military and commercial applications of this. This makes it priceless, and will make anyone involved in this project extremely rich. Including you perhaps.”

  Carver spread his hands.

  “The DNA repairs itself almost as soon as it is damaged. But that’s not all. Collins, switch over to the microscope.” Carver gestured to the screen once again. “The blood retains the properties of the Experiment. We have manipulated this into a separate serum for sale to various militaries. A Performance Serum, that we at the Chromium project are branding The Feral.

  Ariel looked at the ruby red blood in the petri dish.

  This is what he came for. He was as close to the Unseelie Court’s plans as it was possible to get. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to report in.

  “I think I can be of assistance.”

  Carver smiled. “Good. Mr Argent will be pleased you’re on board.”

  Ariel could not take his eyes from the creature.

  “Tell him I appreciate the opportunity.”

  “You can tell him yourself Ariel. He is on his way to the Proteus as we speak. His helicopter should arrive within the next two hours. He has asked to see you.”

  Isaiah Argent wants to see me.

  Ariel had been starting to feel a little confident, settle in to his role. Perhaps it had been the environment of a laboratory, something familiar where he knew he fitted in. For a moment, the briefest moment Ariel thought he could pull this off.

  Now the fear was back.

  Ariel was potentially about to meet his first live agent of the Unseelie Court, a creature that probably had the blood of thousands on its hands, a being that Ariel feared would see through his pathetic cover story in a heartbeat. He knew what the Unseelie did to prisoners and spies. He had seen the photographs.

  Cursed with his eidetic memory, he couldn’t stop seeing them.

  He felt the panic rise again in his chest.

  Deep breaths Ariel, deep breaths.

  7

  EGYPT

  Empire One drove down the midnight back streets of Cairo. Their tinted black Humvees rolled with a low growl up to the fenced off warehouses.

  They had infiltrated Egypt covertly under the guise of security advisors to assist in the potential evacuation of foreign embassies. It was a viable entry route considering the ongoing civil unrest in the country. Protests and riots over the past month had turned violent. On route to their target destination Empire One had passed looters, burnt out cars and flaming signs.

  They did not want to be identified as UN forces and although the vehicles offered them some protection they were uncomfortable with how conspicuously ‘government’ their transport looked.

  At the end of the dark alleyway where they were parked, an angry crowd marched past, chanting political and religious slogans. Empire One did not want to attract their attention. The crowd were untrained and mostly unarmed, but only a fool does not fear the mob mentality once it is roused.

  The team watched from behind the tinted glass as the crowd suddenly surged and dissipated, shouting and hurling stones as they ran past. A few moments later it became obvious why. Government forces in reinforced public order vehicles were breaking up the protest, using water cannons and tear gas. Organized teams of riot police in heavy body armour and shields advanced into the crowd swinging batons.

  Inside the lead Humvee, Usher addressed the team.

  “Ok, that mob is about as good a cover as we are going to get. With everything going on, the police are too busy to notice us. That’s the hope anyway. See the tag on the side of that building?”

  Usher pointed from the vehicle to a smear of red graffiti high on the side of one of the warehouses.

  Isaac placed binoculars against his eyes and nodded. “Looks like a mess of paint to most folk I’d think, but it looks like an Unseelie cult tag to me. It’s the signal for a meeting point. What’s our plan?”

  Usher shrugged. “Until we see a deal being made, our plan is as tasked. We wait. We observe. We hope the Egyptian authorities don’t notice us. If they do, my name’s Ahmed, I’ll be your cellmate for the next ten years.”

  The team performed equipment checks, drank coffee to stay alert, and watched the warehouse through night vision binoculars. They were still exhau
sted from the mission in Oman, and strung out from losing two of their teammates. Isaac did his best to hide it, but his injuries were far from healed, and Usher knew that technically he should still be on recuperative leave. For the moment each of them suppressed the grief, tiredness and pain they felt. They would have time to raise a glass to fallen friends after this operation was completed successfully. If they all got out alive then there was decompression weekend in nearby Cyprus for them to de-stress. For the moment they needed to do what soldiers did best. Dig in and soldier on. Usher regularly checked in with his liaison back at the embassy and almost two hours passed.

  Then the first vehicles turned up.

  Two dark Freelanders parked outside the warehouse entrance. Four bulky Slavic men got out wearing radio earpieces, dressed in black leather jackets and armed with automatic pistols. They scanned the area for threats then one of them communicated something via his radio. After a moment a large middle aged man in thick rimmed spectacles exited the lead car and lit a cigar. In the brief flare of light from the match, Empire One caught a glimpse of his face.

  Usher glanced at Christi, who had a laptop across her knees and was was sifting through a list of likely suspects. “I only caught a glance. You? Any matches?”

  Christi lowered her binoculars and glanced at the computer screen. She nodded.

  “Sarkhov. Dmitri Sarkhov. Underboss of Russian organized crime in London.”

  Usher nodded. “I thought the face was familiar. So the intel from our man on the inside was accurate. He’s a disciple? I thought all his loyalty would be to the mob.”

  Christi studied the screen for a moment. “No, his motivations seem to be purely financial. Sarkhov is rumoured to be the boss that runs the Russian mob’s illegal fighting tournaments in London. Including the Secret Arena.”

  Usher felt the hairs on his arms prickle. He spoke into his earpiece. “Team Two are you getting this?”

  A crackle came over Usher’s earpiece. It was Brock. “Yeah boss. I clocked Sarkhov. What is a mafia fight promoter doing in Egypt meeting with Unseelie? You think the rumours are true?”

  The Special Threats Group had suspected for some time that the Russian mafia had made a deal with the Unseelie and were arranging secret tournaments with paranormal contestants. Tickets allegedly sold for up to a million pounds.

  The mafia boss and three of his bodyguards moved into the warehouse, leaving one man outside on lookout.

  Charlie, the youngest member of Empire One, spoke over the radio in his broad east end London accent. “We got three other vehicles approaching through the gate, two cars, and one lorry.”

  The team observed as the vehicles parked at the far end of the compound. From the two cars armed security emerged, wearing body armour and carrying MP5 carbines. On their black baseball caps was the same red logo that was scrawled on the side of the warehouse.

  Usher slowly chewed a piece of gum and peered through his binos. “Hmm. That look like a Bleak Team to you?”

  Bleak Teams, the militarized terror cells of the human cultists who worshipped the Unseelie Court, were highly organized and trained. Often working under the guise of private security, Usher and his team had gone up against their kind on several occasions in the past. The Bleak Team spread out and took up strategic positions, covering the courtyard of the warehouse. Then the rear of the black lorry opened and a ramp was lowered. Ushered focused through the green tint of his binos but could not see into the darkened cargo area.

  Then four figures walked down the ramp. Usher heard Christi whisper by his side.

  “Oh my God.”

  Usher turned to the back seat to look at Isaac. The soldier’s usually swarthy face was pale.

  “Yeah that looks like four of the London attack team. Except if anything they look even bigger than before.”

  Empire One watched in tense amazement as the four enormous soldiers strode from the truck and stood staring out into the night. They were at least a metre taller than the Bleak team operatives, and hypertrophied far beyond human limits. Yet despite their bulk, they moved as gracefully as panthers across the concrete. They wore balaclavas and combat fatigues but their red eyes shone balefully from the black material of their headgear. Around their necks and wrists they wore frightening trophies, strings of ears and fingers. They looked like the embodiment of barely contained savagery. There was a feverishness to them, an almost tangible shimmer of instability and rage. Three of them carried long machetes that would have been as large as broadswords to a normal man.

  The fourth one carried a box.

  Then another figure hobbled slowly down the ramp supported by a cane. A tall painfully thin man with a long sculpted chin beard. Usher’s breath stopped in his throat. “Christi…”

  “I know. Already on it.”

  Christi raised a camera with a long lens and took several snaps of the figure. In a smooth motion she unclipped the memory card and fed it into the laptop. Never taking her eyes from the scene she tapped a few keys and sent the images back to the command team at the embassy. Usher watched as the four giants and the thin old man made their way towards the warehouse and disappeared inside. A barely audible ping was heard from the laptop and Christi looked up at Usher.

  “Confirmed. It’s him. It’s Isaiah Argent.”

  Usher felt his blood run cold. Argent had not been seen directly participating in an operation for almost seven years. He was the archetypal reclusive billionaire, had hideouts all over the world. The STG were fully aware he was not human, but they had never had the chance to get close enough to study his true nature effectively. What was important enough to bring him back out into public life?

  Usher spoke into his mike. “Control this is Exorcist. We have positive identification of Isaiah Argent at the locus. We have four X-rays, non-human, species unidentified. According to Isaac they may be the same creatures that initiated the Canary Wharf attack. They have a cargo and it seems some kind of trade is about to ensue. Please advise.”

  The team waited in tense silence for a few moments. Then a clipped voice came over their radios.

  “Empire One this is control. Primary objective has changed. This is no longer a surveillance mission, repeat no longer surveillance. You are now tasked with preventing the completion of trade. Intelligence provides that the cargo may be a biological agent to be used in potential terrorist acts. Threats must be neutralized and cargo obtained. Be aware to take appropriate personal protective equipment as the nature of the cargo is not yet ascertained. Tactical parameters; retrieve cargo, neutralize threats, minimize civilian casualties, and maintain cover from authorities. Authority to arm is given. All received?”

  Usher felt the adrenaline rise and knew his team were feeling the same. Live operations could go south this way very quickly. They were flowing and organic and could develop fast. With constantly changing intelligence and threat assessment, the potential for things to go horribly wrong was increased tenfold. Empire One pulled their balaclavas over their faces and donned their respirators. They focussed on controlling their breathing and waited for Usher’s signal.

  “Strike strike strike!”

  As a single unit they left their vehicles. The team stealthily moved across the street, their black clothing concealing them in the shadows. Bolt cutters quickly created an entrance in the wire fence surrounding the compound. Usher was about to give the signal to move in when suddenly the alleyway was illuminated in a flash of orange light. Looking to the left clashes between police and protesters had erupted at the entrance to the alley and a petrol bomb had been thrown onto a parked van. The flash of fire had for an instant cast the team in artificial daylight.

  The team froze, exposed to view, and watched the Bleak Team sentry standing guard outside the warehouse, ready to engage if they were spotted. Usher breathed a sigh of relief as the flames dimmed and the shadows engulfed them once again.

  “Go, go.”

  The team slipped through and crouched in the darkness at the corn
er of the building. Usher tapped Christi on the shoulder and she nodded then crept forward slowly behind the sentry. In a fluid motion she slipped her arm around his neck and her legs around his waist, dragging him to the ground and cutting off the blood supply to his brain. The man’s leg kicked three times then was still. As he lay unconscious Christi slipped her combat knife under the arm of his body armour and between his ribs. Then the team were at her side and dragging the prone body off back into the shadows.

  The warehouse door was open and the team slipped inside. Hugging the walls they made their way around to where they could see light and activity. Usher spotted the fuse box and gave a couple of quick hand signals to his teammate Stromberg. The Australian operator nodded his scruffy blonde surfer’s head and moved silently down towards the box. Christi, Brock, Charlie, and Kruger took up positions behind shipping containers just outside the pool of light and waited for Usher’s signal.

  Usher crouched in the gloom, carbine propped against his shoulder, watching the events unfold and waiting for his moment.

  In the centre of the warehouse the mafia boss Sarkhov was waiting with his three bodyguards. If the criminal was shocked at the four hulking ogres walking towards him he did not show it. Between them the tall thin figure of Isaiah Argent walked slowly, leaning on his cane. When he spoke the voice was reedy and had the drawl of Louisiana.

  “Well hello, Dmitri. Sorry to drag you all the way out here, under these circumstances. Bit of a party going on outside.”

  The crime boss grunted and spoke in thickly accented English. “We don’t want the world to be stable Isaiah. The more war and unrest there is, the more need for the sort of product both you and I trade in. The less we get noticed the better.”

  Argent gave a small sideways nod of his head.

  “You asked me to bring proof of efficacy, Dmitri. So I brought a few of my boys along. As you can see, they eat their greens. I thought a walking talking sort of proof was better than a whole load of facts and figures.”

  Sarkhov eyed the brutes up and down then grunted.