Silverman threw up as soon as his feet touched the ground. He was gagging when Alex reached him. The strong smell of bile caused Alex to hesitate a moment and quell his own nausea.
Leaning over the retching man, Alex asked, “Professor, are you all right?”
Silverman produced a handkerchief and blotted his mouth. “Yes, yes, quite all right. I hate these damnable things,” he said, indicating the helicopter. Silverman straightened himself and stuck out his hand. Though sickened by the vomit smell, Alex took the professor’s hand and shook it willingly.
“Your message was vague, but seemed quite urgent,” said Silverman.
“Yes, we need your expertise again. I apologize for rushing you out here. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” Alex replied.
“Not at all. I had hoped you would call on me. The text has been on my mind since I relinquished it five years ago. Any chance I get to study it is a welcome opportunity. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
“If you’ll follow me I’ll explain some of it on the way.”
“Of course.” Silverman took his overnight bag from the flight crew member at the door and followed Alex to the waiting vehicle.
Sergeant John Millwood leaned forward in his chair. He adjusted the vertical hold on one of the many video monitors at the control desk where he sat. The screen slowly straightened and the picture came into view. Satisfied, he sat back.
A huge monstrosity, the long bank of monitoring devices covered the entire north wall of the tiny room. In the event of a breakout, a high-pitched siren sounded, alerting the facility of the potential danger. It was silent at the moment.
Millwood manipulated one of the scroll locks, panning the camera down the main corridor of the cellblock.
The hallway was empty.
All was quiet.
Glancing to his left, Millwood saw that Smith was asleep again. The lazy private’s head rested on his shoulder, and his neck was bent to such a degree that Millwood would swear it was broken. He reached over and shook Smith—for the tenth time.
“Hey, we’ve only got an hour left. See if you can stay awake that long,” said Millwood.
Slowly, very slowly, Smith’s head righted itself. Through bloodshot eyes he surveyed the room and sighed. “Man, I can’t get used to these shifts. Why are we even here? This place is a fortress. There’s no way those things can get out.”
“We’re here in case the system fails. I don’t know what you’re bitching about. This is the sweetest assignment I’ve ever drawn,” Millwood replied.
Smith yawned. He didn’t share the sergeant’s enthusiasm.
The assignment, monitoring the security wing at National Defense Facility Forty-five, could be a dangerous chore, too. Each of the dozen ten-by-ten cells contained the most uncontrollable and lethal of the project’s experimental subjects. Contact between the guards and prisoners was to be kept to a minimum, no prolonged conversation, and definitely no physical contact. The latter meant certain death.
Great care was taken in the construction of the cells. In addition to ten feet of granite, the walls were composed of three feet of concrete, twelve inches of steel, and an inch of silver plating. The six-inch doors on the cells were of titanium construction, also with an inch of silver.
Set back three feet from the main corridor, the entrances were surrounded by motion detectors. Any movement while the system was armed resulted in an immediate lock down of the entire wing.
Vents were placed at regular intervals along the walls. Should a lock down happen, tranquilizer gas was released, rendering all the occupants unconscious.
The system had passed every test. It was infallible. Escape was impossible.
Strapped to a stone slab, in the most bizarre surroundings he could imagine, Kyle Daly began to reconsider volunteering for the experiment.
The circular chamber, which rose steadily into a dome, was cloaked in deep shadows, a single overhead light the only source of illumination. Gigantic, granite monoliths formed an inner ring around his resting place. The rune-covered titans stood like silent sentries watching over him.
Along the outer wall medical monitoring devices beeped in unison to Kyle’s vital signs. Diodes attached to his body trailed wire off into the darkness. The institutional equipment seemed a stark contrast to the room’s gothic construction.
A sudden feeling of helplessness gripped Kyle. It was a new sensation; he had never felt this way in his entire life, always seizing the reins of his own destiny. What the hell am I doing here, he thought.
As if in answer to his unspoken question, a voice came from the darkness. “Power.” The single word startled Kyle. He craned his neck to see the source of his answer.
Standing by a breaker box to Kyle’s left, a lab technician flipped a switch. “Power.” He repeated, then checked something off on a clipboard and moved deeper into the darkness.
Kyle lay back and sighed. Yes, power, that was what he was doing here. And Assistant Director Fielding, Kyle’s supervisor, had guaranteed him that power by entering the project.
Before signing on with National Security Special Projects Division, Kyle had been one of the CIA’s top field operatives and sterilizers. He loved his work. Many a black agent had met an untimely demise at the hands of Special Agent Daly. With more than fifty successful ‘cleanings’, twice as many as any other active agent, Kyle had earned a reputation for getting any job, no matter how difficult, accomplished.
But, at thirty-five, and having turned down promotion twice to stay in the field, Kyle was likely to end his career in the basement of an embassy. The assignments and the work he loved going to younger agents. When Director Fielding offered him a way to stay in the field indefinitely, Kyle leapt at the opportunity.
Now here he was strapped to a makeshift table in a Lon Chaney movie. The only thing missing is a Jacob’s Ladder, he thought. Kyle chuckled in spite of his worries.
“Is something funny, Agent Daly?” A gravelly voice said from the darkness.
Kyle didn’t have to look to know who the voice belonged to—Doctor Philip Voss. As if on cue, Voss stepped from the shadows at Kyle’s side.
Wearing a floor-length white robe with the hood pulled back over his shoulders, Voss resembled a Ku Klux Klan member taking a smoke break from the hate-monger activities at a rally. Voss himself was middle-aged, a touch of gray at his temples. His tall and gangly frame was stooped over, evidently bent from years over a microscope. His chiseled face with its big hawk nose, by far his most prominent feature, was cruel and frightening.
Doctor Voss was Chief Project Administrator and although officially Doctor Thorpe was in charge of the facility, Voss clearly ran it.
In reply to Voss’s question, Kyle said, “No, just getting a little tired of waiting.”
“Oh, I thought you’d found something humorous.”
“I was thinking how this place resembles Frankenstein’s laboratory,” said Kyle.
Voss brought his face close to Kyle’s, making him feel uneasy. “I assure you, Agent Daly, this is no Frankenstein’s laboratory.” Voss regarded Kyle another moment, his steely gaze unnerving the younger man.
Turning away, Voss said, “Bring in the other specimen.”
From behind where Voss stood, Kyle could hear the sound of unoiled wheels squeaking in the darkness, gradually drawing closer. He tried to look past the doctor and get a better view, but could not. Then two technicians appeared at Voss’s side. They pushed an oblong cart with a drop cloth draped over it. Kyle thought he heard a low growl issue from beneath the covering as the technicians brought it to a halt beside him. He kept close watch as Voss directed one of the technicians to remove the canopy.
Beneath was a rectangular cage, perhaps four-by-six feet in length. One inch thick steel bars were evenly spaced around a glass case. The box itself was unremarkable, inside however, was the most hideous thing Kyle had ever seen.
The creature, for that was all Kyle could call it, not ever seeing
anything to match its description, had the basic appearance of a dog, albeit three times larger than any canine Kyle had seen. The shaggy, black fur was bare in spots, as if chunks had fallen or been ripped out by the thing. Its lupine head, roughly the size of a horse’s, protruded from a thick, matted mane at the shoulders. Rivers of drool ran from the three-inch fangs in it snout.
Kyle made eye contact with the beast. In the luminous yellow eyes, he could see extreme intelligence, but also an intense hatred and longing to kill. The thing held his gaze as though challenging him.
Kyle gasped and tore his eyes away from the creature, struggling against his bonds. “What the hell is that thing?” yelled Kyle.
Suddenly the beast roared. A blaring blast of bestial need that sent shivers down Kyle’s spine and made him break out in a cold sweat. Even the two technicians were startled by the creature’s outburst, jumping slightly away from the cage. Voss seemed unimpressed.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” said Voss, clearly admiring the creature.
“B-beautiful? It’s hideous! Get it away from me! Let me up from here! Undo these restraints!” Kyle yelled, veins protruding from his neck.
Voss leaned in close again. “Calm yourself, Agent Daly, you’ll frighten the Dire. You and he are not so different. In fact you are the same, killers. Born to slaughter. Isn’t that what you do, butcher people?”
Voss’s statement stunned Kyle into silence. No one knew what he did for the Agency. How could he know? Kyle glared up at Voss.
In answer to his silent question, Voss stated, “I make it my business to know everything about my subjects.”
Voss said nothing else. He moved away and left Kyle to his thoughts.
Kyle tried to recall the file he’d read on Voss.
After graduating from Harvard, Voss was recruited by the NSA and given a research facility not unlike DF forty-five. The general scope of the experiments was not outlined in the file, but the fact that the good doctor was relieved from duty after a series of strange deaths was. Apparently Voss was following his own agenda and performing secret experiments. This also was not in the file, but Kyle had a friend inside the Agency who confirmed his suspicions. Voss was brilliant, true, but he was also a narcissist who believed himself above rules and regulations. Kyle’s trepidation grew as he thought of the strange man he had entrusted with his future.
Activity began to pick up in the chamber. Voss was now standing behind a podium in front of the largest of the monoliths. It was twice as large as its brothers with hundreds of intricately carved runes etched in the surface, the others having only a single rune upon them.
Upon the podium was an ancient leather-bound book. The edge of the yellowed pages so dry and weathered they seemed as though they would turn to dust if touched. The doctor carefully thumbed through the book until he found the entry he wanted. Pulling the hood up and covering his face, he began to recite the words on the page.
From the darkness other figures, dressed similarly to Voss, moved out and stood before the other monoliths. The chamber was preternaturally still; Voss’s chanting the only sounds piercing the quietude. Even the creature, which had been restless, now listened as if in anticipation.
As Voss’s chants became more urgent a slight breeze began blowing through the room. Then an eerie bluish light seemed to come from the monoliths, growing brighter with each inflection of Voss’s voice. The cloaked figures slowly raised their arms above their heads, as if in supplication to some omnipotent being.
The breeze became steadily stronger until gale force winds swirled in the small confines of the chamber. The radiance from the monoliths was so intense Kyle had to shut his eyes tightly, but he still could not close out the light.
At the height of his chant, Voss uttered a single word. “Corneille.”
Light spewed from the runes, enveloping Kyle and the creature. At first it was invigorating, almost cleansing. Refreshing calm washed over Kyle. Then heat, followed by excruciating pain. Every fiber of his being felt as though it was being torn apart. Kyle heard a scream, it seemed to come from far away, from another part of the facility. Then he realized that it was he who was screaming.
Beside Kyle the beast howled in pain along with him, intermingled in the cries were terror and rage.
Suddenly the light receded as quickly as it had started. Kyle fell back hard against the stone. He hadn’t noticed the degree at which his back was arched until then. His muscles felt raw. He had never experienced this level of fatigue, not even after a high repetition workout.
From the darkness: “Did it work, Doctor?”
“Yes,” Voss replied.
Kyle felt himself being lifted up; each twist fell like a thousand needles being plunged into his body. He was too exhausted to even offer a grunt. His head rolled to the side as he was placed on a stretcher and he noticed that the cage beside the stone slab was now empty. He began to wonder where the creature might be, right before he lost consciousness.
“Get him to the security wing,” said Voss.
CHAPTER TWO
The narrow dirt track wound up the mountain. The Hummer ascended slowly, Thompson well aware of the treacherous drop off a mere three feet from the passenger side. As the vehicle climbed, pieces of shale and rock slid from the face of the cliff and hit the vehicle with a dull thump.
During the day, the road provided a panoramic view of the vast mountain range. The snow capped peaks rising toward the heavens and lush forests on the valley floors were stunning to behold. However, at night beyond the immediate area of the road, was nothing but cloying darkness and death if one strayed too close to the edge.
Thompson was in no hurry to return to the facility, he’d just checked his watch: 8:45. The longer he took to return, the less time he would spend inside the mountain. The fresh air and openness of the mountains was preferable to the dank enclosure that awaited him in the ‘cave’, as he referred to it.
Thorpe and Silverman spoke in hushed tones in the back of the vehicle. Alex explained some of the problems they had been experiencing, purposely omitting his own; the professor didn’t need to know everything.
Silverman listened intently, like a child hearing a fairy tale for the first time he was enthralled by the progress Thorpe had made with the formulas. He interrupted a few times, asking Thorpe to clarify certain statements, but kept his comments to a minimum.
Nine years before the National Security Agency had commissioned Silverman to decipher an ancient tome discovered in the Pyrenees by a French mining team. The professor’s field of expertise was anthropology, specializing in Celtic cultures, the text having been written by members of the order of Druids. Not usually given to obsessiveness, other than his overindulgence in wine and gourmet foods, Silverman was consumed by the four-thousand-year-old book. His every waking moment was spent reading, deciphering, and transcribing the archaic scrawls. It had taken him a full five years to complete the outline. Upon completion, he grudgingly gave it back.
Empty and frustrated by the absence of the text, he’d tried several times to join the research team at DF Forty-five, but was told his part in the project was over. Silverman would not be simply brushed to the side and forgotten. He used every contact he had inside the various security agencies, in a desperate attempt to get assigned to the project. His campaign lasted two years, all meeting with the same results—rejection. He had almost given up when the urgent message arrived from Dr. Thorpe—they needed him!
The professor was shaken from his reflection as the vehicle rounded a bend and intense light suddenly flooded the night. Four large circular lights seemed to hover in front of the vehicle effectively blinding the occupants. Then dark figures appeared in front of the radiant beams. Whatever they were, they had weirdly misshapen heads, large, dome-like, much too big for their bodies. Silverman could see that they carried weapons of some kind and kept them trained on the truck. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the figures drew closer. One was moving toward the driver’s sid
e window.
Silverman tensed as the figure came into view.
Dressed from head to toe in camouflage, with his face painted green and black, was a soldier. What had appeared as a domed head was actually a combat helmet. The sentry shouldered his weapon and peered into the vehicle, regarding each passenger with a quiet intensity. He looked to the driver and spoke very softly, almost a whisper.
“Good evening, I seem to have lost my teddy bear,” said the guard.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Mine’s in the back yard digging in the garden,” Thompson quickly replied.
The guard stepped back from the vehicle and snapped to attention, rendering a hand salute. In the passenger seat, Johnson returned the salute.
“You may pass. Good evening, sir,” said the guard.
“Evening,” replied Johnson.
Silverman gave Thorpe a perplexed look. Seeing his bewilderment, Thorpe said, “Challenge and password. Teddy bear was the challenge and garden was the password.”
“Oh,” said Silverman, looking even more confused.
The guard gave a hand signal and the blinding light was extinguished, revealing two immense doors in the side of the mountain. Camouflage netting was draped over the dull surface of the doors, which was drawn back as the vehicle drove on. Silverman counted seven other guards as they passed through to a large tunnel.
Inside, the tunnel snaked through the heart of the mountain, the rough-hewn walls echoing the Hummer’s engine. Halogen lamps were mounted on the walls and illuminated the shaft in bright but sour light.
After a few minutes, the tunnel ended in two sets of double doors, at least ten feet wide and fifteen feet high. The driver pulled the vehicle to the set of doors on the left.
Johnson retrieved a small box from the center console. The hand-held device was no larger than a remote control for a television, with a flashing green keypad. He pressed a series of numbers on the pad and a high whine filled the shaft. A moment later the doors slowly rolled open. Inside was a fifteen-by-fifteen chamber with no visible exit. On the wall opposite the vehicle a large number one was stenciled in red.
Dire Symbiosis Page 3