She decided it had to be her research because there simply wasn’t anything else in the house for them to have any reason at all to destroy but why pay her for four years of research and then destroy it? Especially since she had to suppose he must know she’d finally succeeded?
Was that the key? Had they watched her bounding around like an idiot and realized she’d succeeded and that was what set off the chain of events that had led her here? Wherever here was.
Or was it just coincidental?
She supposed it could have been but it still felt strange that Paul had showed up right after that and she found she couldn’t put it down to circumstance.
Maybe they just thought she’d gone off her rocker?
Unlikely. She’d been so thrilled that she didn’t really recall what she’d done, but she’d rushed to her computer to update her records. Even if they didn’t have the computer itself bugged, they could probably have seen what she was doing or at least guessed.
If she accepted it was the research they’d wanted to destroy, what could be a motive for doing that? Because they didn’t want to stop world hunger?
She hadn’t seriously considered that but as soon as the idea popped into her head, she stopped to think it over. That was what her research meant. Beyond the money that could be made from it, it would’ve at least put an enormous dent in the number of people starving. Why would he not want to prevent starving?
Because he wanted to decrease the surplus population? She wouldn’t put it past him. She wouldn’t put anything past him at this juncture, but there really wasn’t a tremendous surplus—not anymore—too many people to feed and not enough jobs, but one disaster after another in the last hundred years had already cut the world population tremendously.
Hungry people. Unhappy people. Rioting people. It struck her abruptly that that was the perfect atmosphere for hate. People that were suffering wanted somebody to blame and they mostly blamed their government, but they were all too eager to lash out and take out their fear, anger, and frustrations on anything or anyone that became a target.
And Miles Cavendish had given them one—the mutants.
It was almost too diabolical to be believed, but was it possible? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that that had to be the motive. It wasn’t as farfetched, upon reflection, as she’d initially thought. People were suffering and they were angry about it. Throughout the course of history anyone who became the target of the angry masses, usually the government, would toss out the first likely victim they could find just to get the mob off of themselves. The Romans had thrown the Christians to the lions. The church had thrown the angry mobs ‘witches’ to torture and burn alive.
The Nazis had thrown out the Jews. The industrialists poisoning their environment had thrown out the smokers. That one was easy. Nobody wanted to lose their jobs just because the company they were working for was killing everybody and destroying the planet.
It hadn’t resulted in violence, but then that hadn’t been the objective. The objective had been to divert attention and animosity from themselves and prevent people from demanding they clean up their act.
The list went on and on. All they had to do was pick a victim that people wanted to hate, tell them they were right to hate them, and turn them loose. As long as it was someone they could get to easily, they were too preoccupied with venting their anger on them to notice what else was going on.
The food riots was a prime example of what could happen when the ‘atmosphere’ was already volatile, how easily people could be manipulated and turned into a weapon of mass destruction. And the government had been directly responsible for it. They could deny it all they wanted, but they’d made it happen. After siphoning people out of their money for years and years, they hadn’t been prepared when disaster struck—due to greed, corruption, and plain out incompetence.
Everyone had been so enraged when they discovered the food and necessities that the government had been supposedly stockpiling wasn’t there when they needed it that they’d been ready to turn on them and tear them to pieces. The government spokesman that had ‘appealed to the people to stop hording food and essentials and share with their neighbors’ had known exactly what he was doing—turning the mob. The media had picked it up, broadcast it everywhere and before anyone could turn around, the mobs had been dragging people out of their cars, homes, and offices and beating them to death—because they weren’t showing the signs of hunger.
It had not only worked to turn the rage on the hapless obese, who were suffering with everybody else, but it had given them an excuse to impose martial law and protect themselves.
Miles Cavendish hadn’t built a global terrorist organization without knowing how to manipulate people. What were they going to do when it was announced that her research would’ve gone a long way toward curing world hunger? Saved hundreds of thousands, maybe millions from starving to death?
That was what Paul had meant! They already had their story prepared!
Cavendish would have to make them believe it was the mutants that did it and she’d made it easy for them! Simon and Ian had been right there on the scene.
He might also have to get rid of her.
Would he think it worthwhile to try to convert her to his way of thinking before he went to those lengths? Or would he think it just not worth the risk?
He didn’t need to kill her, though, or even convert her. If her research actually was gone, it could take her years to do it again. She couldn’t remember every single thing.
Climbing out of the shower finally, she dried off and headed back into the bedroom, climbing into the bed and pulling the covers up. She didn’t turn off the lights.
For once she didn’t care how much energy was wasted. The cavernous room gave her the creeps. She didn’t want to lay in it in the dark.
So, assuming she was right, her father had allowed her to spend four years of her life trying to create something he never intended to market even if she was successful.
Maybe he hadn’t expected her to succeed? It was good PR just having her work on it. It was a great motivator for the hungry if she did succeed and then mutant terrorists destroyed it. He couldn’t lose. He would have droves of people joining his organization and those who couldn’t afford the price would still be backing him, cheering him on.
The realization made her cold, chilled her too deeply to shake it off.
Someone had to stop Miles Cavendish, somehow.
* * * *
Simon paused in the shadow of a large rock, resisting the urge to adjust the gear he was wearing. The body armor and the assortment of weapons he’d donned for the assault had made swimming hellish, but it was even worse once he got out of the water, awkward and miserably uncomfortable. It would’ve been suicidal to go in without it, though. The volcanic rock Miles Cavendish had chosen for his lair was like a fortress and surrounded by a fairly impressive army.
It was a ‘new’ island, hadn’t even been in existence long enough to make it on to any maps, not surprising since it had been formed in an eruption less than fifty years earlier and wasn’t much more than a rock now. The vegetation was sparse and he was willing to bet there wasn’t much in the way of fresh water—maybe none. The vegetation might rely entirely on rain—which made the island less than desirable for settlers looking for land.
He doubted Miles Cavendish had any neighbors they needed to worry about—just the army of guards bristling with weapons. By his guess, they were outnumbered and he wasn’t anywhere near the mansion yet. He was hoping most of the guards were patrolling the beach and the outer perimeter and not within the high walls surrounding Cavendish’s mansion, but he already had doubts those hopes would be realized.
He just hoped they could get to Anna and get her out in one piece. He’d made himself a promise that he’d stay out of her life if he could just get her out of the mess he’d gotten her in to, see to it that
she was safe.
When he was certain there was no one within hearing distance, he activated his communicator. “I count four on the beach—automatics. Five in the rocks between the beach and the mansion—three have sniper rifles, two with automatics.”
“Two snipers on the beach make six,” Caleb reported after a moment’s silence, “… four in the rocks on my side, two snipers, two automatics.”
Several minutes passed. Simon was preparing to move forward when Ian reported in. “We’re in position. I spotted two.”
“Two more on the south east corner,” Joshua reported.
“Base?” Simon asked, hoping the rocks hadn’t interfered with the transmission.
The response was so weak he cupped his hand over the earpiece and still didn’t catch it all. “Repeat!” To his relief, they seemed to be receiving better than sending.
“Should I send someone to take out the snipers?”
Simon considered it. “Get them into position, but tell them to hold either for a verbal command or first shots fired. Got that?”
He scanned the area and began moving again the moment he had confirmation.
He wanted to get Anna to a safe distance before there were any shots fired, but failing that, he didn’t want to be cut off and possibly pinned down without reinforcements. He’d left the standing order to launch the attack immediately if there was an exchange of gunfire whether they’d had time to clear the mansion or not. He didn’t want the men cut down by snipers, though, and figured getting men in place to take them out was the best he could do to protect both Anna and his men. He just hoped nobody screwed up, because if at least one of them hadn’t managed to locate Anna before the shooting started …. Well, it wasn’t something he wanted to think about.
He found an observation post just outside the wall about twenty minutes later and settled to watching the grounds and the roofs for movement. He wasn’t happy to discover he’d been right about Cavendish. There were more men inside the damned compound than outside. He spotted six on the roof and four more in the two towers on either end, east and west, of the compound, and another six on the grounds. With Ian’s, Joshua’s, and Caleb’s counts they had twenty-two inside the compound and possibly more inside the mansion itself.
He settled to considering the situation. They could pull back and try to come up with a plan and risk another approach or make a try for it tonight. They’d managed to get all the way to the compound without incident—once—though. The chances of managing it a second time with so many men seemed remote. Anna’s situation also became more dangerous the longer she was inside.
They were going to have to do something about the men in sniper positions, though. There was no way, he decided, to take them all out quietly. There were too damned many of them and most of them were in sight of each other, which meant it didn’t matter when they tried an entry insofar as they were concerned.
Coming to a decision, he contacted base and ordered four more men up to try to get into a position to take out the men on the roof before they could do too much damage and gave Ian, Joshua, and Caleb a green to go as soon as they found a hole.
He ran into trouble the instant he went over the wall. One of the guards had moved into the brush near the wall to take a piss. Fortunately, the man was intent on getting his zipper up. Simon whipped his knife from his belt and lunged, driving the six inch blade through his breastbone and into his heart. The man coughed as the blade knocked the breath from him, but Simon managed to get his hand over his mouth before he could utter a cry of alarm.
Uttering a mental chant of curses, he dragged the man into the brush and disabled his weapon. He was more cautious as he moved on, but he moved quickly. They could discover they were missing a man any moment.
Chapter Nine
Caleb went over the wall and landed lightly in the shadows. Before he could move away from the wall, however, he spotted a pair of guards rounding the back corner of the compound, heading toward the front. After glancing quickly to his left and right and discovering there was no cover for several yards, he dropped to a crouch and stilled, his finger on his trigger while he watched the men advance slowly, scanning the grounds.
He thought for a moment he’d been spotted when both men stopped almost directly in front of him, but after exchanging a few words, one continued toward the front and the other headed to the back once more. Easing his finger from the trigger of his gun, he moved to cover, scanned the roof and then the grounds and sprint toward the house, flattening himself against the wall between two windows. There were low growing plants near the house, but they were few and far between and not tall enough for concealment unless he crawled on his belly. Worse, the house itself was built of pale stone and his gear was black. After flicking a quick look through both windows and discovering both opened to the same empty room, he debated for a moment and decided to try the windows.
The first he tried was unlocked. After he’d paused to check for any sign of motion detector or alarm and found none, he pushed the window a little higher and hoisted himself through. He checked the room again once he was inside and closed the window.
He touched his communicator. “I’m in.”
* * * *
Ian studied the four men standing together at the rear of the compound, waiting for them to move and give him an opening. When he tired of waiting, he checked his surroundings and moved to the corner of the wall, running north along it for several yards before he checked the compound again. He was still within sight of the knot of men he’d first spotted, but they had their backs to him. After checking the compound as far as he could see for any others, he went over the wall, paused to make sure none of the men would turn in his direction and raced toward the corner of the house where a spindly tree offered some cover.
Dragging his gaze from the group after studying them again for several moments, he scanned the house for an opening and saw light spilling from a door or window perhaps three yards from where he stood. He debated briefly whether to wait where he was for the men to get tired of standing around with their thumbs up their asses or move and decided to move. Dropping, he crawled toward his goal, stopping just before he reached the square of light beneath what he saw now was a window.
When he turned to check the position of the guards again, he saw the four had split up into pairs and set off in opposite directions. The first pair reached the corner and turned it before the second. Waiting only long enough to see if they would turn around and pace back, he pushed away from the ground and into a crouch, and then straightened.
He heard muted voices coming from inside before he’d come fully erect and shifted to the side of the window, taking a quick sideways glance inside.
He couldn’t see the men talking, but he could hear them well enough that he decided it wasn’t a recording of any sort and it was men’s voices. Although he strained to hear, he didn’t detect a woman or more than two men, he decided. After glancing quickly in both directions for the guards, he ducked beneath the window and moved to the other side.
Caleb’s voice whispered through his earpiece as he changed positions, alerting him to the fact that he was inside. He depressed his own communicator. “Two men, rear of the building, first floor.” He glanced back in the direction he’d come from. “South west corner.”
The minute he raised up high enough for another quick look inside, his heart skipped several beats. He could see a monitor displaying at least a dozen positions that were clearly inside the house itself. “Cameras in the corridor!”
He hadn’t even gotten the warning out when he saw Caleb step from one of the rooms, saw him freeze at the warning and scan the ceiling and then dart from his position toward a stairway.
A quick search of the room for the men talking sent a brief flicker of relief through him. Neither of them were guards and neither man was looking directly at the screen. Even as he watched, however, the man sitting with his back to him glanc
ed toward the display. Ian jerked a look back toward the screen and discovered with relief that Caleb had made it up the stairs and ducked into a room.
He was about to leave when the man he’d been watching stood up. He recognized him instantly from the image Anna had created for them—Miles Cavendish.
He wasn’t certain who the other man was, but suspected it was the bastard that had tried to run them down with the boat.
His focus on the men inside nearly cost him dearly. Two guards rounded the end of the building nearest where he stood. It was too late to move. The movement itself might alert them to his presence and they hadn’t seen him—yet. He froze, easing his hand very slowly toward his revolver.
He realized after a moment that the light spilling from the window was enough to make it impossible for them to see him on the other side, but they were still moving. In a few minutes that wouldn’t be the case. He’d just cast a quick look for cover when he heard Joshua on his communicator. “Two more nearly at the corner. You want me to take them out?”
Ian shook his head ever so slightly and slipped slowly toward the ground, flattening himself behind a scrubby plant that was no more than a foot high or much more than that across. Hoping the deep shadow from the building itself would conceal him, he eased his revolver slowly from its sheathe.
The two pairs crossed paths, paused to exchange a few comments and continued.
Ian let out the breath he’d been holding when they reached the corner.
“Got her! Second floor, north east corner,” Joshua said abruptly.
“Are you in?” Simon asked.
“Negative, no hole.”
“Caleb?” Simon asked.
“Second floor, first room at the top of the stairs. They’ll probably spot me the minute I step into the corridor again. Go or no go?”
Dark Abyss Page 14