Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  Dylan nodded. “Just give me a minute.” The door shut, and Dylan took a seat on the corner of the bed, the springs giving a light squeak underneath his weight. He clasped his hands together so hard that his knuckles turned white and then bowed his head. “I don’t know if you exist, or if you do if you can even hear me, but I need something from you. Let me get through this without losing any more of myself or my family, and whatever is left of my soul is yours. You can do whatever you want with it. That’s it. That’s all I want.”

  Dylan let his hands fall and kept his head hung with his eyes closed. There was a small part inside him that mocked the prayer, calling him a fool, telling him that he couldn’t pass the burden of his sins onto someone else, no matter how hard he tried. In the end, it would fall on him. There wasn’t any other way.

  When the guards dropped Dylan off, Moringer was sitting in the back of the room alone. Dylan expected him to be with a team of people searching for any way to stop Perry from his plans. But the sight that Dylan’s eyes beheld was a man alone, shoulders sagging, eyes defeated. “Have a seat, Mr. Turk.”

  Dylan pulled a chair from the table and sat, watching Moringer try and gather his thoughts for whatever needed to be said, which it looked like he was dreading. “We’re thirty minutes away from Perry’s deadline. You probably realize that what he’s asked of us is impossible and nonnegotiable.”

  “It’s something that he knows, too.” Perry didn’t do anything he didn’t want. Everything that man had planned out had come to fruition.

  “I need you to try and talk him down.” Moringer kept his eyes down until he’d finished the sentence then looked up. Even he knew the lunacy of his request. “We don’t have a lot of options right now.”

  “And why in the hell would he listen to me? What, you think we have some sort of camaraderie? That we have a connection? The man is a psychopath.” Dylan jumped up from his chair and then slammed it back under the table. “He has no reason, no understanding. So you and your team better come up with something better than me!”

  Moringer took the verbal assault on the chin, waiting for Dylan to finish the rant before he spoke. “Cooper is looking into Perry’s past. She’s had a few leads that she’s tracking down, trying to find something we can leverage against him, but until she has something solid and concrete, we’re dead in the water. We do have other options, but we’d like to keep them as a last resort.”

  Dylan pressed both hands against the wall, shifting his weight to lean against it with his back toward Moringer. “Perry keeps saying that we are connected somehow, but I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’d never seen him before in my entire life before he took Sean.” He spun around, his arms sagging in exasperation. “Everything he’s done has been to toy with me. I think that’s what he’s still doing.”

  Before Moringer could respond, the guard from earlier stepped inside and informed them that Perry was attempting to call. Moringer dismissed the sentry and walked over to Dylan and gripped him by the shoulders. “I won’t pretend to know your pain, but as long as Perry has his finger on the button of those nukes, your family will never be safe. No matter what you say to try and convince yourself. This is bigger than all of us, Mr. Turk.”

  Dylan understood that, but he also knew that he wasn’t equipped to handle something like this. He was a boat captain, not a soldier or an investigator or a field agent. He hadn’t gone to college; he’d barely finished high school. The world had demanded more of him than he was capable of giving. “It’s too big.”

  The guards led Dylan down the hallway and into a different conference room than the one before, where another laptop waited for him. Without another word, the guard shut the door, locking him inside.

  A voice crackled from a speaker mounted in the corner. “The computer is already set up.”

  Dylan took a seat in the chair and examined the rest of the walls. He spotted the camera mounted on the opposite side. “Did he say what he wanted?” But Dylan didn’t receive an answer until the incoming call was transferred to the laptop.

  “Hello, Captain.” Perry smiled, but then furrowed his brow in concern. “You look tired. Are you getting enough rest?” But it only lasted for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have the time, do you?”

  “They’re still working on your request. You know what you’re asking is beyond the scope of what they can do,” Dylan answered.

  “Beyond their scope, perhaps, yes, but not mine.” Perry leaned back. Even in the pixilated image, Dylan could see the insanity that Perry no longer needed to hide. The veil had been pulled back, and Perry relaxed, wallowing in his own self-worth. “The clock is ticking.”

  “Why don’t you just speak to them yourself? Why do you have to go through me?”

  “I prefer to deal with people familiar to me. We have history, you and I. History that goes back farther than you know.” He leaned back, his hands behind his head and his feet propped up. “Ever been to the west coast, Dylan?”

  “No.” Dylan shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms protectively over his chest.

  “It’s beautiful out there. The cliffs along the coast, the waves of the ocean. Good fishing there, too. I’m sure you’d enjoy yourself.”

  “You know you’ve locked yourself in a box, right? They know your play, Perry, because you only have one left.”

  “That was the problem with you, Dylan. Always looking at the obvious motives, what’s in plain sight. You’ve never been one to look closely unless it’s for your own survival, but even then it’s quick and dirty, glazing it over with the same passion that you’d use to figure out the breakfast options at a fast-food restaurant.”

  “What do you think we have in common? You keep telling me that I should look closer. Well, I have. The only extraordinary things that have happened in my life have been my family, and even that was taken from me. You don’t strike me as a family man, so what? What is it?!” Dylan slammed his fist on the table, rattling the computer screen and sending a spray of spit onto the screen that landed on Perry’s pixilated forehead.

  “Pain. That is our link. You have suffered, as I have.” Perry leaned closer into the camera on the computer. “And that pain is not over. For either of us. I can promise you that.” He sat back. “Tell Moringer he has twenty-six minutes and thirty-nine seconds to approve my request.”

  The connection ended, turning the screen blank. Dylan picked up the computer and slammed it to the ground. The laptop exploded into pieces, plastic shards flying into the air, and the screen completely shattered. The moment the laptop hit the ground, one of the guards came rushing inside, grabbed Dylan, slammed him against the wall, and pinned his arms behind his back.

  The pressure in his arm felt like it was going to snap in half, and Dylan let out a hoarse moan. “Get off me!” But Dylan’s demands only made the guard increase the amount of pressure, and Dylan let out another wail.

  “Enough! Let him go.”

  The guard released Dylan after a spiteful last shove against the wall, and Dylan tried rotating his left arm to have the feeling return. Even after he gave it a rub, it still felt like it would snap in half at any minute.

  Moringer ordered the guard to leave, and Dylan and he were alone. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?” Moringer kept his hands on his hips, a stance Dylan normally saw on his high school principal.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Dylan offered an exasperated gesture to the broken computer, as he sat back down. “He’s delusional.”

  “Well, right now that delusional psychopath has his finger on the button to launch a nuclear weapon!” Moringer’s face flushed red. “So next time you think about losing your shit try and remember that.” Moringer kicked a few pieces of the computer on the way out and slammed the door behind him.

  Dylan knew what was at stake, but he couldn’t take the games anymore. Perry had pulled on too many strings already, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep his own sanity. />
  Chapter 7

  Moringer looked over the mission details one last time. If anything looked out of place, or if Perry suspected anything, then they were finished. It wasn’t even a guarantee of success, but the only vulnerability that they’d been able to find that gave them any chance of stopping Perry was the lack of surveillance around the bunker’s entrance.

  While the security features were locked down tightly, the view from the bunker was limited. The military had never really planned for an invasion of any foreign soldier on the base during the construction, so their plan was in the realm of possibility for being successful. The only fear was that Perry would have the same understanding.

  “Well?” The CIA director had been impatiently tapping his pen against the table, the clicking rhythmic noise running in time with the lightning-quick thoughts sprinting through Moringer’s mind. “We’ll need all nods on this if we want to go. The president won’t accept anything less than a unanimous vote.”

  Moringer laid the papers down for the hundredth time. “The president wants to make sure he has a finger to point if this goes worst-case scenario. I want to make sure we can be successful.”

  “And?” The CIA director offered a sarcastic tone. “What do you say?”

  The details of the plan were intricate. All it would take would be one slipup, and Perry would know they were there. “Where are we at with the time?”

  “Ten minutes,” the CIA director answered. “All of our resources are in place. All they need is the green light. They can have that base in five minutes.”

  While Moringer admired the CIA director’s enthusiasm, he didn’t share the same level of confidence. There was zero room for error on this. It was a tall task for even the elite SEAL teams that were a part of this. He knew Perry wasn’t a man to hand out idle threats. But if they did nothing, he’d still follow through. At least this gave them a chance. “Tell them it’s a go.”

  The CIA director slapped the desk and radioed the command. He jumped up and clenched both fists, letting out a wail that reddened his face in excitement. “That fucker won’t know what hit him.”

  “Yeah,” Moringer said, sinking back into his seat and glancing out the window. He’d worked in this building for more than two decades, and in all that time, he’d never taken a moment to notice the beauty of the landscape outside. The architecture in Washington wasn’t like anything he’d seen anywhere else. The monuments etched from marble would last long after he was gone. “Let’s just hope we know what’ll hit us.”

  ***

  Ozier and the rest of his officers paced around the bunker anxiously waiting for take over of the third and last nuclear base. Perry knew what all of them were thinking: that he was all talk. That in the end, he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

  “Less than eight minutes,” Ozier said, repeating the time for the hundredth time since they had gotten within thirty minutes of the deadline and had heard nothing back from the others.

  “I do not need your help in telling the time, Ozier,” Perry snapped then turned to the laptop with which he’d been communicating with Dylan. He’d give them a few more minutes, wait until the clock struck zero. Then he’d make sure Dylan knew what his lack of communication would cost.

  Most individuals in power didn’t understand or appreciate a threat until it became a tragedy. Perry had seen that time and time again in his work at Homeland. Tyrants, presidents, dictators, generals, rebels—it didn’t matter the nationality, the race, ethnicity, sex, everyone treated it the same. It wasn’t real until it happened. For Perry, that was one of the most exploitable facets of the human mind, and it was something that he’d used to get what he wanted hundreds of times.

  And when you were dealing with a country as powerful and grandiose as the United States, the façade of reality was all the greater. The people in this country had been so strong for so long that they had no idea that someone could actually hurt them. To them, it was inconceivable. But Perry could see through the farce, the invisible protective veil these people walked around wearing. It was nothing more than an illusion, one they clung to for dear life.

  The clock ticked down to five minutes, and Ozier’s voice was cut off by the ringing of the laptop. Everyone in the bunker edged closer to the device, but Perry picked it up and carried it into his private room, much to the chagrin of the others.

  “Dylan, I didn’t expect you to be calling so soon.” Perry checked his watch. “You still had some time, although you’re cutting it close.” He watched Dylan’s face, the stoic poker-like expression he’d adopted when speaking. How much longer will the man last before he self-destructs?

  “We need more time, Perry. What you’ve asked us to do is impossible. The military just has too many assets in too many places. You set them up for failure.”

  “They set themselves up for failure. They probably haven’t told you about Homebase protocol. In the event of a nuclear strike or severe world casualty, all base commanders are trained to withdraw their troops, assets, and documents in less than twelve hours.” Perry cocked his head to the side. “That’s still almost three cities nuked, but it’s better than three hundred, wouldn’t you agree? I would try and sell the plan harder, Dylan.”

  “You know I don’t have any sway with these people.”

  “No, but you have just as much motivation. What kind of deal did they offer you? Limited jail time? No jail time at all? Money? Witness protection? Your children?” Perry watched Dylan’s face twitch at those words. The man was on the verge of exploding. Whatever shred of sanity he held onto wouldn’t last much longer. It was almost done. “I would think that it was your penance to try and stop these nukes from killing millions. After all, you’ve already had a hand in killing thousands—tens of thousands, actually.”

  And there it was. The bobbing of the throat, the reddening of the eyes, the locked jaw and slight lip protrusion. Dylan was troubled. The weight of everything he’d been involved in was starting to wear down that pillar of resolve that was his justification for all the terrible atrocities he had committed.

  “Oh, yes, Captain.” Perry felt the swell of excitement at the sight of Dylan’s shame. “The blood that has been spilled by your hands has soaked you to the bone. You’re dripping with it.”

  Dylan kept his voice calm. “You can’t put that on me, Perry. Whatever sick, twisted games you think you’re playing won’t work. You talk about illusions? Well, you have the biggest one of all. The illusion that everything you come up with in your mind will work.”

  “What’s in my mind is about to kill over one million people. Less than five minutes, Dylan. I’d go and speak to your handlers. Who knows? The city I pick might just be where the DEA has your family.” Before Dylan had a chance to respond, Perry disconnected the call. He leaned back in his seat, relishing the fact that Dylan was squirming in his chair, but was immediately interrupted by Ozier bursting through his door.

  “We have a problem.”

  ***

  Captain Neal Typhin waited on the edge of the base, tucked under the cover of camouflage and surrounded by his team of Navy SEALs. His eyes were focused on the scout team of terrorists just two hundred yards north of his location. The three-man team worked the area lazily, and Typhin’s finger itched over the trigger. But his orders were to wait until the official green light. He clicked the radio communication link at his neck. “Status check. All teams.”

  “Red team. Check.”

  “Green team. Check.”

  “Yellow team. Check.”

  “Blue team. Check.”

  Typhin clicked the radio off. Just give me the go, generals. A cross dangled from his neck, and he clutched it with his free left hand and closed his eyes.

  The pendant had been given to him by his grandfather. Typhin had come from a long line of soldiers. His grandfather had stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day and lived to tell the tale. Typhin had heard those stories at a very young age. There was so much blood that the ocean waves had tur
ned crimson as they washed onto the shore.

  Typhin’s father told stories that gave him worse nightmares, though. The jungles of Vietnam, the traps, the heat, the disease, the hell he found right here on earth. While his grandfather had managed to escape with most of his wits, his father had killed himself with a bottle of whiskey. And a shotgun shell under his chin.

  It was Typhin’s mother who found him. His father had done it in Typhin’s bedroom. He was only six at the time, and he couldn’t grasp the concept of his father killing himself, what that meant, or why his mother moved the two of them out of the house.

  Once Typhin was older and was able to wrap his head around what his father had done, he made a promise to himself that he would never become that weak. Ever. He brought the cross in his hands to his lips and kissed it then tucked it back under his shirt and Kevlar.

  “Captain Typhin.” The radio crackled and broke his concentration on the terrorists in the distance. “This is Command.”

  “Go ahead, Command.” Typhin kept his voice low.

  “You have a green light. All units are clear to engage.”

  “Roger that.” Typhin echoed the orders over the radio, and his unit of six men rose from the earth like the undead, sprinting to devour their victims. The mission called for stealth. Typhin had been debriefed on what the repercussions were if they failed, or if they were caught, and he didn’t plan on letting any of these rag fucks even smell him coming.

  Every unit stationed around the base knew their assignment, and it was radio silence until the mission was complete. Typhin brought his team to a stop, letting the terrorists cluster next to a charred Humvee. He kept low, his steps soundless, listening to them chatter back and forth as two of his team members followed in the same footsteps.