The Founders

by Richard Turner

  “Never,” replied the pilot. “This shuttle is nothing more than a glorified glider. Don’t worry. Your boss is paying me well to get you down safely on Bouvet Island, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Mister Charles, who’s our backup?” asked Tanaka, an Asian man with long, black hair that lay in a braid down his back.

  “A company freighter has been diverted from its usual route and will rendezvous with us twenty-four hours from now,” explained Charles.

  “Boss, we didn’t get much of a mission brief before we left Chile,” said an African mercenary with a bull neck and powerful shoulders and arms. “Who are we up against?”

  “Muhammad, there is only a U.S. Army Ranger squad and a couple of retired SOF operators standing in our way,” replied Charles.

  “Easiest money I’m ever going to make,” remarked a red-haired man with a thick Scottish accent.

  “I doubt it will be easy. The two former SOF operators have had dealings with Mister Roth or his brother three times now and have always come out ahead. The Rangers are to be eliminated, but Mister Roth wants the two men, along with two civilian scientists working with them, to be taken alive.”

  “For half a million dollars, I’ll gift wrap them for Mister Roth,” said the Scotsman.

  Charles disliked men who constantly bragged. It was unprofessional in his books. “Angus, just do your job and follow my orders, and you’ll live long enough to spend your reward.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Angus with a mock salute.

  Charles heard the contempt in the man’s voice. A last-minute addition, Charles knew he would have to keep an eye on the man to make sure he did what he was told to.

  “Mister Charles, strap yourself in. I will be detaching us from the Pegasus thirty seconds from now,” reported the pilot.

  Charles sat back in his chair and pulled his six-point harness tight.

  The pilot began to count down from ten.

  Charles’ neck muscles became as taut as steel as he repeated the pilot’s countdown in his mind. Risk was a large part of what he did, but trusting his life to a man he didn’t know made Charles uncomfortable.

  “Zero.” The pilot pressed a button on his console. The shuttle detached and fell free from the Pegasus with a barely perceptible lurch. It began to glide straight toward the island. “Mister Charles, I’m going to try and get us as close to the Norwegian station as I can, but no promises.”

  “As long as you don’t crash or fly off the glacier into the ocean, I’ll be happy,” responded Charles, seeing the mist-shrouded island grow closer by the second.

  The pilot looked down at his GPS and brought the shuttle directly in line with the Norwegian research station, using his instruments to fly over the top of the fog-covered island. Still traveling at over one hundred kilometers an hour, the pilot kept the nose of the shuttle up to help slow the speeding ship.

  “We’re two kilometers from the base,” announced the pilot. “I’m lowering the landing gear.” Underneath the glider, three ski-like skids dropped into position. At one kilometer, he brought the skids down on the ice and lowered the nose of the shuttle. A plume of ice and snow shot up behind the craft as it raced over the glacier.

  “We’re going to fly right off this bloody glacier!” screamed Angus.

  “No, we’re not,” responded the pilot as he flipped a switch deploying the ship’s drag parachute. The shuttle began to slow, but not enough.

  Through a break in the fog, the mercenaries could see the end of the glacier, and then nothing.

  “Do something,” said Charles through clenched teeth.

  “Hang on!” yelled the pilot, detaching the parachute and activating a grappling hook. At the back of the ship, a dart shot out, pulling with it a steel cable. A split second later, the dart embedded itself deep in the ice. The steel went taut, instantly stopping the shuttle.

  Charles thanked God that he had been wearing his harness, or he would have gone right through the cockpit windows. He unbuckled himself and looked over his shoulder at his team. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not do that again,” said Tanaka.

  “I agree,” added Angus.

  “I told you I’d get you down in one piece,” said the pilot.

  “Enough,” said Charles. “I want everyone outside and ready to move in the next five minutes.”

  Dressed in white-and-gray camouflaged smocks, Charles quickly inspected his men before pointing at Tanaka. “Take the lead and get us to the research station before night falls.”

  Tanaka nodded, got his bearings in the fog, and began to walk.

  Charles waved for everyone to follow him. His mind was awhirl. Before leaving Chile, he had been shown the latest satellite images of the island. If Grant and his people weren’t at the Norwegian camp, they would be on the beached ship. Charles had no idea why the Americans thought it was worth exploring Bouvet Island, nor did he care. His men were hired for half a million dollars each; his reward was ten times that if he bought the four Gauntlet personnel back to Chile for Roth to dispose of at his leisure. Perhaps Angus was right. Charles couldn’t foresee an outcome where he didn’t come out of the next twenty-four hours a rich man indeed.

  38

  The journey topside took longer than Grant expected. The angle of the ship where it rested on the rocky beach, combined with the need to respectfully move the bodies up the many flights of stairs, had been slow going.

  “What the hell is that awful smell?” said Maclean as a pungent odor wafted down the darkened corridor.

  “My eyes are watering,” said Hayes. “It smells like ammonia.”

  In a flash, the Norwegian and Chinese survivors took to their heels and ran.

  The hair on the back of Grant’s neck stood straight up. He spun around and brought his MP7 up to fire. His heart skipped a beat when the flashlight attached to his SMG lit up a hideous creature barely five meters away, with its arms outstretched and its jagged teeth bared. Grant didn’t bother to aim. He pulled back on the trigger and held it. The sound of the weapon firing in the narrow hallway was deafening. Empty casings fell to the floor until his MP7 was empty.

  Maclean pushed Elena and Hayes toward the Rangers, yanked his MP7 from his shoulder, and opened fire.

  The creature, struck multiple times in the chest, staggered back. A few seconds later, it fell to its knees before dropping to the deck.

  Grant ejected the empty magazine in his MP7, jammed home a new one, and fired two rounds into the monster’s head, making sure it was dead.

  “What the hell just happened?” yelled Wright.

  “We were attacked,” replied Grant, stepping to one side to let the sergeant see the body.

  “Jesus,” muttered Wright. “Let’s hope you killed it.”

  Grant got down on one knee to examine the body. The creature’s chest was perforated with entry wounds. What puzzled him was the fact that there wasn’t any blood. “Jeremy, come here, please.”

  Hayes moved past Wright and joined Grant. “What do you want me to see?”

  “Where’s the blood?”

  Hayes looked at the remains and shook his head. “This is most peculiar.”

  A sustained burst of automatic gunfire from the top of the stairs ripped through the air. Everyone in the corridor turned their heads and looked upward. The gunfire abruptly stopped, only to be replaced by screaming.

  Grant jumped up and ran to the bottom of the stairs. The Rangers carrying the bodies were already backing up. With blood gushing from a cut on his neck, Martinez tumbled down the stairs.

  “Lay the bodies down,” ordered Wright, grabbing Martinez by his collar and dragging him away from the stairs.

  From behind, another burst rang out, startling Grant. He pivoted on his heel and saw Maclean firing at point-blank range into the head of the supposedly dead creature.

  Grant tapped Wright on the arm. “Sergeant, hold your men here.” He turned and sprinted back to help his friend.
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  “They’re goddamn robots,” said Maclean, changing his empty magazine for a full one.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we watched it come back to life,” said Hayes. “It self-repaired right before our eyes.”

  “David, what are we going to do?” asked Elena, her voice filled with fear.

  Grant looked down at the creature as the holes Maclean blasted into its skull disappeared, one by one.

  “If it can repair itself within seconds, how on earth are we going to kill it?” asked Hayes, backing away.

  Before Grant could come up with a plan, Maclean helped himself to one of the dead Rangers’ weapons and ammunition bandolier. He popped open the M203 grenade launcher and slid in a high-explosive projectile. Maclean brought the launcher up to his shoulder, took aim, and prayed there was enough distance between him and the robot for the grenade to arm.

  “Down!” yelled Grant, diving for the deck.

  Maclean pulled the trigger. The projectile flew out of the launcher and struck the creature square in the chest. For a second nothing happened, making Maclean fear the worst. Then with a blinding flash, the grenade went off, tearing the robot in half. Body parts and circuitry flew everywhere.

  Grant leaped to his feet and started to kick the pieces of the robot away from one another.

  “What are you doing?” asked Elena.

  “I don’t know if this can reconstruct itself after this much damage, but I don’t want to find out,” he replied.

  Hayes and Elena rushed to help.

  “Mister Grant, what are we going to do?” asked Wright. “Martinez is dead, and Houston’s missing.”

  “He’s dead,” Grant replied bluntly.

  “How do you know?”

  “If he were alive, we’d still hear gunfire. Since we don’t, and he hasn’t joined us, he has to be dead.”

  Wright hesitated for a moment. “Sir, what are your orders?”

  “Sergeant, keep your M203 gunner watching the stairs, while I try to figure another way out.”

  “Sir, we can get out through the fish bins at the back of the ship,” suggested Shen.

  Grant looked over at Maclean, who gave a quick nod. “Okay, Shen, lead on.”

  Shen and his partner turned on their flashlights and shone them back down the corridor. Apart from the mangled remains of the robot, the way was clear.

  “Sir, what about our fallen?” asked Wright.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to leave them here for now,” replied Grant, knowing how much it pained a soldier to leave their comrades behind. “When the Farragut gets here, I promise you that we’ll come back and retrieve your men.”

  Wright reluctantly nodded. “Fireteam Bravo, leave our fallen where they are, and follow the ship’s survivors.”

  “Mister Maclean and I will cover the rear,” said Grant. “The remainder of you move right behind the Rangers.”

  With Shen guiding one of the Rangers, the bloodied survivors struggled through the maze of overturned equipment as they rushed to find a way off the ship.

  Grant and Maclean covered each other as they moved, one at a time, from doorway to doorway down the corridors. Just as Grant was about to move through an open door, he glanced down the passageway and, to his horror, saw another robot. This one had four muscular-looking arms, and was carrying a thick, metal tray in one of its arms as a shield. In his ear, he heard Susan’s voice yell, “Run!”

  39

  “Did you hear that?” said Muhammad to Charles. “It sounded like gunfire.”

  Charles stood in front of the research station, peered into the mist, and listened. A couple of seconds later, the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire came to them, carried on the wind. “That’s got to be coming from the beached trawler.”

  “Shall I look for tracks?” asked Tanaka.

  Charles nodded. He cradled his MP5 in his arms and walked back to the room containing the dismembered bodies of the Norwegian scientists. Angus stood outside the room, smoking a cigarette like he didn’t have a care in the world. Charles stuck his head inside for one last look around. His employer had never discussed the possibility of a wild animal capable of ripping men to pieces being on the island. He hoped that whatever it was, was long gone.

  “Mister Charles, I’ve got their tracks,” called out Tanaka.

  “Where do they lead?” asked Charles.

  “Up the beach toward the ship.”

  Charles knew he had them. He snapped his fingers in the air. “Okay, people, let’s fall into line and follow these tracks. Remember your rules of engagement. The Rangers are expendable. Everyone else must be taken alive.”

  As they approached the ship through the fog, the dull crump of a grenade detonating told them they were getting close.

  “Man, that smell is god-awful,” said the pilot, waving a hand in front of his nose.

  “I bet a dead whale washed ashore near here,” offered Muhammed. “It must have bloated up and then exploded, spilling its rotting guts all over the beach.”

  Charles gasped for air. “Whatever it is, it’s powerful.”

  All of a sudden, a darkened shape stood up out of the water, ran forward, and grabbed the nearest mercenary. The doomed man let out a terrified cry as he was pulled back into the fog. Terrified, Charles’ men fired blindly into the mist.

  “Stop it!” he cried. “You’re wasting ammo.”

  “Something got Roder,” said Angus. His hands shook wildly.

  Charles squinted his eyes, trying to see into the swirling mist. For as far as he could see, there was nothing. “Roder, if you’re okay, call out.”

  Silence.

  Charles’ mouth turned dry with fear. He reached for his canteen, unscrewed the lid, and took a deep swig.

  “What the hell got him?” asked the pilot.

  “One of the American Rangers must have been waiting in ambush,” said Charles.

  A burst of gunfire, followed by the sound of a man screaming in horror, pierced the fog from the front of the small column. Charles dropped his canteen and ran, nearly stumbling over a bloodied arm on the rocky ground. He took a deep breath to screw up his courage before picking up the severed limb. Charles’ eyes widened when he recognized a golden ring on the hand belonging to Tanaka. Another man cried out, begging for someone to help him. That was enough; all of Charles’ bravado evaporated. He dropped the arm, turned, and ran for his life. Behind him, he could hear the remaining men running with him. His body was numb. Charles couldn’t fathom what could be killing his men. Driven on by fear, Charles kept running. He didn’t want to die. Not like that. There was no payment in the world he would accept to turn around and face the thing ripping his team to shreds. Charles wanted to live.

  40

  Grant found Maclean and one of the Rangers waiting for him on deck.

  “Specialist, if you have any hand grenades on you, now’s the time to use them,” said Grant.

  The man nodded and opened a pouch on his vest. He grabbed two grenades, handing one to Grant. They pulled the safety pins and tossed the grenades down the stairs leading belowdecks. As fast as they could, the three men scrambled over the side of the ship and climbed down the net. The two grenades went off as soon as their feet touched the rocky beach.

  Grant looked around for his friends. He found them huddled together, surrounded by the surviving Rangers.

  “David, what are we going to do?” asked Elena.

  “We’ll find a good position to defend and wait out the next few days until help arrives,” he replied.

  “Boss, somebody’s coming,” said Maclean, bringing his SMG to his shoulder.

  Grant turned his head and caught the sound of feet scrambling over the rocks. He flipped off his own weapon’s safety with his thumb. A second later, a man ran out of the mist. If he saw Grant and his people, it didn’t register on the man’s face. He just kept on running. Two more men ran past, tossing anything they didn’t need to the ground to help them run fas
ter. Lastly, came a man dragging an out-of-shape man in a flight suit along with him.

  Grant stepped in their way and brought down his SMG. “Hold on there. Who the hell are you, and where do you think you’re going?”

  The chubby man pointed back behind him. In German-accented English, the man said, “Monster. There’s a horrible monster in the fog.”

  As though the man’s words were like a starting pistol going off, the Chinese sailors and the Norwegian scientist took to their feet and bolted after the other men.

  “Follow them,” said Grant to Wright.

  The Rangers sprinted into the fog to catch up with the terrified survivors.

  With Maclean at his side, Grant jogged behind Elena and Hayes. They had barely gone ten meters when the man who had been helping the out-of-shape man ran past them. A horrible scream told them the fat man was gone.

  “Over here, over here,” yelled Wright.

  Grant saw the sergeant guiding people into a narrow crevice on the side of a rocky hill. He waited for everyone else to worm their way inside before rushing to join them. The gap came out into a massive cave lit up by glowsticks Maclean and the surviving Rangers were tossing around.

  “Watch out, sir,” said a Ranger as he set a Claymore mine facing the opening.

  Grant jogged past the Rangers and stopped when he spotted four armed men standing around trying to catch their breath. His jaw clenched the moment he recognized one of the men. He brought up his MP7 and fired off a burst at the feet of the four men. “Drop your weapons and raise your hands in the air, or I swear to God that I will kill you where you stand!” yelled Grant.

  “Do it,” added Maclean, aiming his SMG at the nearest mercenary’s head.

  Wright and two Rangers edged forward with their weapons at the ready.

  “How do I know you won’t kill us after we drop our weapons?” asked the black British man Grant recognized.

  “Because we’re not trash like you,” said Grant. “Now do as I say.”