by Dave Edlund
Peter and Gary perked up. “What research?” Peter asked.
“Colonel Pierson didn’t go into details, but he said Lieutenant Lacey and her team of analysts had learned enough from the electronic data files to suggest that they have been doing genetic engineering and experimentation on humans.”
“What else did he say? What type of genetic engineering?” Peter pressed.
“Look, I’m not a science nerd… Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Not at all,” Gary answered with a smile. Peter was deep in thought. He had an unshakable feeling that he was grasping the end of a ball of string and if he pulled just a bit the whole ball would unravel to reveal the mystery inside.
“There has to be something more, something else that he said. Anything. It could be an important clue.”
Bull replayed the conversation in his mind. “Nothing that makes sense to me. He just said that it looked like Ming was conducting genetic engineering, experiments on human subjects. He said that they were still reviewing the data and it would take a long time to go through all of it.”
“That’s it—nothing else?”
Bull thought for a moment. “Well, he mentioned Neanderthals, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
Peter’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Think. What exactly did he say about Neanderthals?”
Bull made a face, like a pout. “Just that he never would have believed Neanderthals and humans were so close.”
Peter turned to Gary, “My God…”
“Does that mean something to you?” Bull inquired.
Neither Peter nor Gary answered at first, although it was clear they both comprehended Colonel Pierson’s cryptic message.
Peter felt the pressure of five pairs of eyes burning into his thoughts. “Yes, this means something.”
He paused, struggling to find the right words.
“What your colleague, Lieutenant Lacey, is about to learn is that the genetic engineering documented by those electronic files involves crossing human and Neanderthal DNA.”
“How can you be so certain?” Bull challenged.
“Because… those creatures that we’ve been fighting are the product of that work.”
“What?” Homer exclaimed. “You mean we’ve been fighting the Geico Caveman?”
“Strictly speaking, Neanderthals were not cavemen. They were actually a fairly advanced society that even produced jewelry and held beliefs akin to what we would call religion,” Gary lectured.
Homer sneered at Gary like he was the science teacher from high school who no one liked.
Peter went on. “Scientists have recently discovered a substantial amount of Neanderthal DNA in modern humans of non-African descent. Somehow Colonel Ming has found a way to introduce intact Neanderthal DNA into human hosts. That’s clear from the reference to experimenting on human subjects. He must have found a way to allow the foreign DNA to fuse with the host DNA.”
“How can that be done?” Bull asked.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. A virus I guess. That’s how viruses infect their host—they enter the cell and inject their genetic material into the host, taking over the enzymes that control cell reproduction.”
“Except we’re not talking about a cold or the flu,” Bull said.
“No. What Ming has done has never been achieved before. The result is what we’ve seen. A hybrid—neither human nor Neanderthal—with characteristics of each.”
“That explains their strength,” Gary added. Then almost as an afterthought, “And why they’re so hard to kill.”
“What do you mean?” Ghost demanded.
Peter answered. “The Neanderthal is widely believed to have gone extinct 25,000 to 30,000 years ago. It lived in a much different world and fought for food and survival with primitive weapons. Yet, as a species, it was undeniably successful—expanding its range during a harsh climatic period that we call the Ice Age. Neanderthals had to have been very tough, probably more animal-like in physiology than human.”
“Okay, so they’re tough. We already knew that, Professor.” Bull was growing annoyed. They were losing valuable time.
“So now you know what you’re up against. A being that is stronger than you, can out run you, and has better senses—sight, hearing, smell. You are fighting a humanoid creature that has more animal traits than it has human traits.”
“And it can shoot,” Gary added.
Bull frowned. He didn’t like what he was hearing, but that changed nothing.
“Thanks for the science lesson, Doc,” Ghost commented.
“I’d feel better if we had the Dillon as backup,” Magnum added.
“The battery is nearly exhausted,” Bull explained. “No way it can make the trip on the mule, and it’s too heavy for us to carry—it would slow us down too much.”
Peter looked over at the mule with the multibarrel minigun mounted to the flat deck. “Maybe we can help with that.”
Chapter 37
Darfur
June 14 0646 hours
Flanked by four Homothals and with Sergeant Wong in the lead, Commander Jim Nicolaou was led to one of the medical labs. He had been in this lab earlier, when he discovered Daniel. He recognized the tables with the wide, thick leather straps for restraining the subject. Prodded by the muzzles of two rifles, Jim was urged forward, toward the closest table.
“Lie down, Commander,” ordered Wong.
“And if I refuse?”
Wong cracked a wicked grin. “Then it will be my pleasure to shoot off your left knee cap.” To emphasize the point Wong removed his sidearm from its holster and pointed the gun in the direction of Jim’s legs.
Reluctantly, Jim stepped forward and slowly climbed onto the table. He lay on his back and allowed his legs and arms to be strapped down tightly. The Homothals and Chinese soldiers stepped back. Jim stared at the ceiling, waiting for the next move.
He didn’t have to wait long before Colonel Ming entered.
“It seems that I have underestimated the resourcefulness of your team, Commander. So it would appear I still have a need for you after all.”
“Admit it, Ming. You just missed my charming company.”
Ming ignored the childish taunting.
“My technicians are having some difficulty tracking your satellite communication. They tell me that your men routed the signal through at least a dozen intermediate stations. Is that true?”
Jim didn’t answer. In fact, he really didn’t know. The entire data download and transmission back to Gary’s server had been done not only without Jim’s permission, but also without his knowledge of the technical details.
“It matters not,” Ming said. “You will tell me what I want to know.”
“Didn’t we already play this game?” Jim challenged. He knew that Ming intended to torture him, and he wanted to stall as long as possible to give his team more time. He still clung to the hope that his team would come after him.
“No… we haven’t,” Ming replied. “You see, before I did not really need your cooperation. Now that I do, the game is about to begin.”
“What makes you think I’m going to answer your questions now?”
“Because I will make your existence very painful if you do not.”
Jim didn’t answer. He found a small stain on the ceiling where he began to focus all his attention.
“Commander. I will ask you a few questions… simple questions, really. They should not be hard to answer for a man of your accomplishments. Now, where did you send the satellite communication?”
Jim remained silent.
Colonel Ming leaned over Jim and stared malevolently. “I will ask once more. Where did you send the communication and what was the content of that communication?”
Jim stared back defiantly, turning his head to make sure he locked eyes with Ming. “Go to hell, Ming.”
“I see… we have lost our manners.” Ming walked away from the table and t
urned his back to Nicolaou.
“Do you know what this room was designed for, Commander?”
“To torture innocent civilians, no doubt.”
Ming chuckled. “You do have a simple mind, Commander, don’t you. Of course, you are right… in a way. What we do in this room is torture, but that is not the intention.” Ming walked in a small circle, pausing for effect.
“No, what this room was designed for is nothing less than miraculous. On these tables we create a new life form, the Homothal. This is our Garden of Eden!”
Needles of panic pricked the back of Jim’s neck. Ming was completely mad.
The colonel stepped closer to Jim. “Yes, on these tables we transform Homo sapiens into a hybrid creature that is more Neanderthal than human. This is the result of my brilliance!”
“You’re sick, Ming,” Jim muttered in disgust.
“The process is actually rather elegant. My scientists have learned how to incorporate the Neanderthal DNA into a very basic virus—the cold virus, actually. We tried many—we’re still developing the Ebola virus as a carrier—but in the end the cold virus worked very well. The trick, you see, was to find the right viral host that could insert foreign DNA into living human cells such that those cells replicated with the foreign DNA.”
Ming was smiling as he spoke, unashamedly proud of his work.
“You’re nothing more than a monster.”
“I see! And thus your earlier reference to ‘Dr. Frankenstein.’” Ming said this with a dramatic flair that surprised Jim.
“And Josef Mengele, let’s not forget.” Jim added. “Although it would appear that you have outdone his work, if that’s even possible.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you. Mengele was brilliant, but crude. Of course, with today’s tools who knows where his work would have led.”
“Mengele was sick, like you. He conducted surgery on children without anesthesia. He maimed and tortured thousands and murdered many more. And for what? What was the benefit?”
As Jim finished, Ming’s expression turned cold. “I never said that I am working for the betterment of mankind.”
“No, I suppose not, you evil bastard.”
Colonel Ming turned away and took the rifle from the nearest guard. The room was silent. Jim watched and waited. Ming slowly turned back toward Jim. Then suddenly and with lightning speed, Ming swung the gun down across Jim’s stomach.
The rifle struck hard. Strapped to the table, Jim was defenseless. He reflexively cried out and grimaced in pain.
“You will speak to me with respect, Commander.” Ming returned the rifle to the guard.
“Now, you will tell me what I want to know.”
Jim struggled to catch his breath enough to speak. His abdominal muscles were trying to double him over, fighting against the straps and causing even more pain.
Jim shook his head from side to side, and through gritted teeth he answered, “Never.”
Ming considered Jim for a moment. He really needed to know the transmission’s destination. He desperately wanted to know who was coming after him. It could be the Americans, the Chinese, the Israelis, the Koreans, or the Japanese—or any other one of Ming’s countless enemies.
“Commander, can you imagine what happens to a man undergoing my gene treatment?”
“No, I don’t normally associate with vermin of your caliber.”
Ming ignored the insult. “It really is amazing. The cellular transformations that occur are painful, excruciatingly painful. In fact, that proved to be one of the biggest hurdles when we were developing the technique.
“Getting the DNA to fuse with human cellular material was child’s play. Getting the patient to survive the transformation… now that was a very difficult problem to solve. The stresses on the human organs, especially the brain and heart, proved too much for 73 percent of the patients. Women and children were especially frail and nearly all died from the cellular disruption.”
Jim jerked at his restraints. He desperately wanted to get his hands around Ming’s neck, to squeeze the life from him.
“In the end, we had to use a combination of sedatives, steroids, and PCP. Even with this cocktail, we learned to subject only the strongest patients to the treatment.”
“So that’s why the young men have been taken from villages throughout Darfur. You needed healthy and strong subjects for your experiments.”
“Precisely. And as I told you earlier, we needed subjects that would not be missed.”
“But they are missed. They left families behind who are telling the world about their abducted husbands and fathers and—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Ming. “My orders were to destroy the villages and everyone else in them, but a few escaped. Anyway the world doesn’t care. We have already discussed this matter.”
“I care.”
“Your concern is insignificant. You will, however, make an intriguing test subject.”
Jim’s eyes widened just a bit.
“Don’t be too afraid, Commander. I am sure you will be able to endure the pain a very long time. Of course, you could answer my questions and then we can be done with the drama. Sergeant Wong would be more than happy to put an end to your life.”
“If nobody cares about what you’re doing, why does it matter where the message was sent?” Jim pressed.
Ming remained silent.
“You don’t know who your enemies are, do you?” Jim guessed. “You really aren’t sure who I work for. What if it is the Chinese?” Jim played into Ming’s paranoia.
“I have no use for any government. Soon, they will all bow in fear before me!”
“Hell is filled with tyrants who thought just like you. You will fare no better.”
“Time is up, Commander. If you choose not to answer me now, maybe you will talk once the genetic transformation begins to turn you into one of my loyal soldiers. You will still be able to speak during the initial stages of the infection. Though sadly, as the pain intensifies and the cellular reorganization reaches completion, all speech will be lost along with your humanity. There is no turning back.”
Jim stared defiantly at the Colonel Ming.
“Very well.” Ming turned to Dr. Hsu who had been silently waiting for orders. “You may begin.”
Chapter 38
Darfur
June 14 0658 hours
Peter and Todd had wired the electric motor on the mule directly to the bank of batteries, bypassing the throttle control. As the mule rolled down hill, this modification allowed the rotating wheels to turn the motor and generate electricity, which charged the batteries. There was no way the men could be sure exactly how much charge the batteries had picked up, but with luck it would be enough to propel the mule within range of the compound.
At the bottom of the ridge, it was a simple matter for Ghost to reconnect the batteries through the throttle to the motor. For now, they left the mule in place, lightly camouflaged. The plan was to leave the mule with its highly lethal weaponry in hiding, only driving it into the open to cover the team as they escaped with Commander Nicolaou.
Homer was designated to operate Bessy using the remote controller from his vantage point on the finger ridge about 50 yards above the camouflaged mule.
Still unconscious, Ethan had ridden the mule down to the finger ridge, strapped to the deck of the machine. There, the team laid him next to a large boulder on a relatively flat, sandy section of ground and made him as comfortable as possible. From this point the sandstone cliff opened into a fissure that extended further up the slope. Peter had placed a folded shirt under his son’s head, offering meager padding.
Alone with Ethan, Peter kneeled and spoke in a soft whisper. “You rest here. You’re safe, and I won’t be far away.” He paused, feeling his voice catch.
“We didn’t come all this way for nothing.” Peter forced a smile as he cupped Ethan’s bruised and swollen face. Unconscious and motionless, he appeared to be peacefully asleep. Except that Peter
understood all too well the injuries he had suffered and the risk that he may not recover fully, if at all.
He gently wrapped Ethan’s hand in his own and closed his eyes. As he did, a solitary tear ran down his cheek. He swallowed trying to vanquish the foreboding from his mind.
Peter could not shake the feeling that he had been here before, when Maggie was in the hospital on life support. As the memory resurfaced he could no longer hold back the tears, and he wept.
No, not again. I can’t let this happen again. God, how I miss you Maggie. Why did I have to lose you? It never should have happened. If only I had been driving that night, instead of you.
Peter opened his eyes and looked down at his son. “I’m going to get you out of here Ethan. Just hang on… please hold on… for me.”
He folded Ethan’s hands across his abdomen and brushed away the tears streaking his face, leaving behind brown smudges. Struggling to regain his composure, Peter began to feel his self-control returning and with it the clarity that always seemed to follow his moments of deep despair. “No,” he said a bit louder than before. “You are not going to die here. We are going home.”
Still looking down at his son, Peter rose. “I have work to do. And when I’m finished, I am taking you home. I promise.”
He rubbed the back of his sleeve across his face again, trying to erase all evidence of his frailty, and then placed his right hand on the Colt pistol once again in its holster on his hip. Without ammunition it was pretty much useless. Still, he drew a measure of confidence from its presence. More useful was Hamaad’s machete, which Peter had in a sheath slung across his back.
Turning, he marched the few dozen yards to the tip of the finger ridge and joined the other snipers, ready to bring hell to the enemy below.
“Glad you decided to join us,” Homer quipped. And then, in a lower voice meant only for Peter to hear, he added, “He’ll be fine.”
Peter turned his head toward Homer who was occupied with the image through the BORS scope. “Let’s get this done.”