Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1

by GJ Fortier

  “We're already in motion, Greg. You and Cook throw some clothes on it and get it to the garage. We'll have a gurney waiting. Are you going to need any assistance?”

  “We can handle it, sir. Jimmy's here. We'll get him there as quick as we can,” Don replied.

  “You've got ten minutes, gentlemen.” Benny started moving again. “And Major, check on the condition of Commander Tyler when you get there. He'll be meeting you.”

  * * * * *

  IN THE LABORATORY, Greg gave Don a puzzled look. “Commander Tyler? I heard them call me but—”

  “We kinda had our hands full,” Don cut him off.

  “What is going on?” Jimmy asked. He had heard the end of their conversation with the captain and was still taking in the scene before him.

  Don finished dressing Orson. “Jimmy, find out what you can from SIS. We need some information, fast!”

  Jimmy cursed his inaction. He should have been working already. “SIS, have you been monitoring the situation?”

  “Of course, Jimmy.”

  “What is Commander Tyler's current condition?”

  “I'm afraid that I only have a limited amount of information concerning Commander Tyler’s current condition through visual records provided by the security feeds.”

  “Discontinue commentary. Answer further inquiries directly,” Jimmy stated curtly.

  “The commander is unconscious and in route to Captain Walsh's ordered location.”

  Jimmy watched as Don and Greg lifted Orson from the gurney to a makeshift litter that would make moving him through the laboratory compartments easier. Unsatisfied with SIS's answer, but knowing that it was all he was likely to get, he moved on. “What happened to the clone subject?”

  “Immediately before extraction, there was a spike in neural activity which resulted in premature consciousness. Upon subject's removal, all monitoring systems except visual records were disengaged according to protocol specifications.”

  “Is that all you can tell me?” Jimmy asked, his frustration growing.

  “Please make specific inquiries.”

  “Thanks for nothing!”

  “Don’t worry about it Jimmy,” Don said. “Give us a hand, huh?”

  “He needs an MRI,” Greg said.

  “How's he doin'?” Don asked.

  “His pulse is racing, his respiration is shallow and rapid. And he's still got some fluid in his lungs.”

  “At least he's alive. Let's go!” Jimmy said.

  In their confusion and haste, none of them noticed the sutured cut at the base of Orson’s left thumb.

  20 The Tangled Web

  COVINGTON’S EYES DARTED from screen to screen, watching the activity in the parlor, laboratory, and warehouse as the events unfolded. He heard the captain's orders and knew he had to move quickly. As the airmen remained glued to the security monitors, he slipped out of the room.

  He quickly made his way to his personal quarters, locking the door behind him. On a small gray desk next to his bed were two computer monitors, their split screens displaying various views of the complex. He took note that it was raining heavily on the outside as he habitually removed his sidearm and checked the magazine, then chambered a round and replaced it. Opening the desk’s center drawer, he removed a cell phone, a thumb drive, and a micro earpiece that he inserted and activated. “Foxtrot-three-four-one-two-two-seven-three, confirm?”

  “Alpha-foxtrot-three-four-one-two-two-seven-three, confirmed,” the female voice answered immediately.

  With infinite calm, he spoke. “Flash flood. I repeat, flash flood.”

  “Acknowledged,” the voice replied.

  Covington half smiled at the irony of the code as he watched the torrent of rain outside the convenience store. Closing the drawer, he turned to the computer and inserted the drive. He tapped in his authorization code and then a sequence that would initialize the security override to open the blast door in the tunnel as well as the secret wall in the generator room, among other things. Stepping over to the closet, he glanced at his watch. He opened the closet door and removed a second, identical pistol. He checked the magazine, chambered a round, and slid it under his belt at the small of his back. Finally, he pulled his rain poncho from the closet and slipped it over his head.

  He checked his watch again. It was 01:13.

  “Twenty-nine minutes,” he said softly.

  Back in the hallway, two more airmen met him. They had been awakened by the others when things seemed to be spiraling out of control. “You men secure the facility,” he ordered. Then he ran for the garage.

  * * * * *

  BENNY HAD THE TWO flatbed golf carts and two regular carts organized when the others arrived, enabling them to load the unconscious forms of Rob and the clone quickly. He ordered Covington, via the intercom, to prepare the transport truck for their arrival and to secure a pair of radios.

  “Greg, is your vehicle still at the store?” Benny asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You run blocker for the semi on the way to your office. We can call an ambulance for Rob from there.”

  “Jo and I are coming along,” Eddie declared as he turned to Cal. “You and Geri help the SPs secure the facility.”

  “Okay, boss,” Cal replied.

  “I’m coming too,” June said.

  Benny didn’t object, but he watched as Yeoum climbed into one of the golf carts. “No, Professor. You’re staying here.”

  Yeoum shot him an angry look. “I will accompany my patient.”

  Benny took note that the man said “patient,” as in singular. “Get out of the cart.”

  “I refuse,” Yeoum stated flatly.

  Benny nearly punched him in the face. It took all of his composure to keep his anger in check. “So help me, Yeoum—”

  Don interrupted Benny to address Yeoum. “Maybe you should stay here, Professor.”

  Yeoum continued to stare at the captain for a moment and then looked over at Don. Seeing the concern in his eyes, Yeoum reluctantly climbed out.

  Benny stared at the Korean. “Doctor Cook, Mister Bennett, you’re with me.” He climbed into the cart where Yeoum had been.

  “If June’s going with you, I had better stay here. Someone needs to look after the chimps,” Tiong reasoned, not knowing when any of them would return.

  “Very well,” Benny replied.

  The last to arrive was Covington. Benny looked past him for more security. Finding none, he made a mental note to square the sergeant away later.

  Covington checked his watch. More than twenty minutes had passed since he called in the flash flood. He was working hard to hide his frustration. Where are the cleaners? He jumped on the cart with the NCIS agents, making a mental note of where they carried their weapons. He resolved himself to the possibility that he may be forced to complete the task alone.

  Eddie had changed into his regular clothes and the captain was in his uniform, but the rest were still wearing scrubs. Greg and Don did what they could to monitor the vital signs of their patients during the journey through the tunnel, while the others remained mostly silent.

  “C’mon!” June repeated occasionally, verbally willing the carts to go faster.

  When they reached the generator room, Greg assisted them in loading the limp forms into the trailer and then raced up the stairs to the store above. The others did what they could to make the two comfortable, and then settled themselves in.

  As soon as everyone was secure, the truck began speeding down Highway 96. The pouring rain made it difficult for the driver to see in the darkness of the unlit road. Fortunately, there was never much traffic this time of night.

  Greg reached his SUV just as the truck pulled onto the road. He jumped in and wiped the rain from his face, then started the engine. As he threw it into reverse, the tires found little traction on the wet asphalt. They spun noisily, throwing water and steam into the air, as he pushed the pedal to the floor. He nearly hit one
of the gas pumps as he left in his effort to catch the speeding transport.

  “C'mon, Greg!” he said to out loud. “You're no good to them dead.”

  He sped after the truck, fishtailing as the Toyota exploded onto the road. The taillights of the big rig were already a half-mile ahead of him, so he stomped the gas pedal and quickly made up the distance. The rain made the conditions treacherous, but the road remained clear. Upon reaching the semi, he pulled into the oncoming lane and passed it.

  * * * * *

  THE DRIVER OF THE truck noticed the headlights in his mirrors approaching rapidly from behind and wondered if it was the police. He hadn't been told of Benny’s plan and didn't know that the major would be running blocker for him. He continued to watch as the headlights of the fast approaching vehicle grew in the mirror and then saw the SUV pull into the east bound lane in order to pass. As it went by, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the road ahead … and the pair of deer directly in his path.

  * * * * *

  DEPUTY KELLY MUELLER slowed to less that forty miles per hour as he drove down the storm-swept highway. He had nearly reached the Lightning Quik Mart and could see the glow of its lights across the railroad tracks. The clock on the dashboard read 2:07 a.m.

  “Time fer some coffee.”

  He was thankful that he hadn't been called to assist with a multiple car pileup twenty miles away on Interstate 75 as he pulled into the lot. He saw no cars at all, but what he didn't notice was that there was no truck parked along the building's eastern side. He snaked his way through the gas pumps and pulled into the space nearest the door.

  Donning his plastic-covered hat, he got out of his cruiser and trotted toward the brightly lit entryway.

  “Evening,” he called into the open doors as he paused under the overhang to shake some of the rain off. Just then, a bolt of lightning flashed behind him, followed almost immediately by the loud crack of thunder. Nearly taken off his feet, he didn't notice when he received no response from inside. He saw Stan and Jackie, the two night shift employees, standing together in the middle of the store staring at him in shock.

  “That one almost took my boots off,” Kelly laughed as he made his way to the coffee machine.

  The two said nothing, but simply watched.

  “Y'all been busy tonight?” he asked, suspecting that they hadn't.

  As he poured, he turned to face the two and met their unblinking stare. They hadn't moved from the spot where they had been standing when he came in. Even Jackie, who was always happy to see everyone, was stone faced and silent.

  “What's up with you two? Scared of a little thunder?” Kelly joked as he took a sip.

  “Yeah, that last flash … it was … pretty close.” Stan didn’t care about the weather. He and Jackie were still stunned at the sight of Greg tearing through the store a few minutes before, offering no explanation, in a mad dash to follow the transport truck.

  “Yeah, I … just hate thunder storms,” Jackie added, smiling uneasily.

  Suddenly something didn't feel right to Kelly. He was in the store at least twice a shift, and he knew these two pretty well. As well, that is, as you can know convenience store clerks. He had never seen them act this way. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he began to suspect that he might have interrupted something. “Is everything okay, y'all?” He gripped the butt of his Glock and scanned the empty store.

  Seeing the deputy’s reaction, Stan spoke up. “Yeah, no problems,” he said, walking to the bait room in the opposite corner of the store.

  “Are you having a slow night, Officer Mueller?” Jackie asked.

  Her painted-on smile made Kelly even more uneasy. “Yeah, nobody’s out on the roads in this mess.”

  Thinking quickly, Jackie opened her cash register, removed the bills, placed them in an envelope, and dropped it in the safe.

  Kelly turned and made a slow circuit around the perimeter of the store. He watched Stan push a mop bucket out of the bait room and start dry mopping the floor in front of the door.

  He completing his inspection, but he was still not completely comfortable. “Are you sure everything's alright?”

  Looking up from the magazine that she was pretending to read, Jackie smiled brightly. “Everything's cool. Wow! That lightning was random, wasn't it?”

  “Looks like it's letting up,” Stan said from the front.

  “I guess I better get back out there,” Kelly stated as he headed for the door.

  “See ya later,” Stan said as he left.

  Back in his patrol car, Kelly reflexively glanced over at the truck that was always there. Only this time, for the first time ever, it wasn't there. Intrigued, he backed out and rolled around to inspect the area. “Huh,” he said incredulously. “First time for everything.”

  * * * * *

  GREG THOUGHT HE saw something out of the corner of his eye as he pulled in front of the tractor-trailer, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of the driving torrent and claps of thunder. So he didn't notice when the semi struck the deer. With no sign of traffic ahead, he continued speeding down the highway. Glancing in the mirror, the image seemed odd. He could only see one of the truck’s headlights. “Great! If a cop sees one of the headlights out, especially in this weather, he’ll get stopped for sure.” But then he noticed something else. He was steadily pulling away from it. He took his foot off of the gas and the Toyota began to slow, but the headlight wasn’t getting any closer. Rolling to a stop, he turned the SUV around and headed back up the road.

  As he approached, he could see that the truck was no longer on the road, but looked like it had pulled over onto the shoulder. When he was close enough to see in the darkness of the rainy night, he realized that it was lying on its side in the shallow ditch.

  A steady stream of expletives issued forth from the doctor’s mouth as he slammed on the brakes, sliding off the road and nearly running into the overturned cab.

  Grabbing a flashlight from under the seat, he jumped out and ran to the cab. The windshield was all but gone and the driver was nowhere to be seen. The interior was spotted and streaked with an uneven coating of something dark. Blood? A single hoofed appendage jutted through the steering wheel. Shining the light at the back of the sleeper cab, he saw the antlers of a dead buck, and underneath was the impaled driver.

  “Oh my God!” he moaned as he turned his attention to the trailer.

  * * * * *

  ROB WOKE TO THE steady beat of his throbbing head, his body riddled with a dozen other minor injuries. He opened his eyes but was unable to see. There was something heavy pinning him down. His nostrils were filled with exhaust fumes. There were sounds of creaking metal, groans, an occasional cough, and something else. Was it raining? It was nearly pitch black. After allowing time for his eyes to adjust, they came to rest on a row of jump seats lying on the deck.

  I’m in the chopper. That’s what I get for trusting the Army to fly us outta here.

  Using one of the seats for leverage, he found it firmly attached to the bulkhead. We rolled.

  The pain inside his head was still intense, but it was subsiding and his mind was clear. He remembered seeing Sack go down. “Sack?” he called out weakly.

  “Rob?” He heard a female speak, almost in his ear.

  “Where's Sack?” he asked in the darkness as the bulk under him began to move. His body had been the only thing that had kept June from crashing into the wall when the truck went over.

  “Rob, honey. Are you alright?”

  Did she just call me honey?

  “Rob, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I can hear,” he answered, scanning the interior. He could make out other crumpled forms around them. He spotted his Beretta lying next to him. His mind shifted into combat mode as he retrieved the weapon. He was in danger and there were people around him who were injured, possibly dying. Forcing himself to push Sack’s situation asid
e, he started to concentrate on more immediate concerns. He pushed himself up and found the woman’s hand.

  “C'mon, we gotta get outta here,” June said urgently.

  He spotted a rectangular opening, three feet by ten feet, and started toward it. A heavy rain was falling outside.

  Raining? If anything it should be snowing. It's January for Pete’s sake. But that wasn't the only thing that was wrong. It was all wrong. He wasn’t wearing his ghillie suit. In fact, he couldn’t tell what it was he was wearing. It was loose fitting and short-sleeved. His combat webbing and gear were gone. Everything but his pistol. Did the other Blackhawk pick me up and then it went down, too? How long was I unconscious?

  He couldn’t see much of the woman who was pulling him toward the exit, but he could tell she wasn’t wearing a flight suit. Her hair was long, definitely not regulation, and she wasn't carrying any equipment. None of it made any sense. He watched the woman crawl through the low opening and followed. “I need a sit rep, soldier. Where's Sack?”

  June turned, looking back at the opening as Rob crawled through. The rain quickly soaked her scrubs. Did he just call me soldier? “You want a what? Who's Sack?”

  “My observer, big guy, mustache, poor attitude. He was shot.”

  As he finished the sentence, he felt as if someone stabbed him in the back of the head with a white-hot poker. He went to his knees, dropped the Beretta in the mud, and nearly passed out as he screamed in agony.

  When June saw the pistol, her first instinct was to grab it. “Where did that come from?” But then she realized that it must be the sergeant’s. He must have lost it during the crash. Ignoring the weapon, she grabbed Rob by the shoulders instead. “Rob? What happened? Did you hit your head?”

  The pain was unbelievable. He had never experienced anything like it. His stomach turned and his vision blurred again as he fought through it. I can't pass out again. People need help. With all of his strength, he struggled to open his eyes but found that he still couldn't see.