Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2)

by Jacob Hammes

  “Well,” Marcus sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but everyone has a job. We just so happen to have the get-the-box-back-to-DC job along with presidential orders. If you’ll excuse us, we don’t like keeping our bosses waiting.”

  Gregory heard what was going on through the radios attached to each of the agents. He was always listening. Though there had been quite a bit of electrical interference when the agents were near the box while it had been turned on, everything was now coming through as clear as a bell.

  He quickly brought the team up to speed on what had been happening in both the shipping yard and at the hospital. The police would be moving the woman Amy to an undisclosed location and doubling the security watching her. Stephen and Brenda would have a few minutes with her to see if she knew anything helpful. She was shaken, especially by the loss of the doctor who had been taking such good care of her, but willing to cooperate.

  Marcus didn’t think they would get any information out of the damaged young woman, but he hoped nonetheless. There were stranger things bothering him than what the teenager would say given the chance. One particular feeling remained hidden in the shadows just out of reach, gnawing at his mind like his intuition did so often. He knew something bad was coming—he just didn’t know what sort of bad it was.

  Steve from the Department of Homeland Security happened to be somewhat of an anomaly. He was tall and very in shape. Beneath the ridiculously bulky suit that served as a mere disguise, Steve was actually pretty thin. He practiced yoga five to six times a week, had a personal gym in his spacious apartment, and ran marathons when he got the chance. His striking blond hair and blue eyes gave him the appearance of an Aryan man and though he was German, he didn’t claim the heritage. He had been raised in the United States and spoke four languages—none of which were German.

  His real name was Stewart Lauer. His employer was not at all connected with the United States Government, unless one counted the fact that both participated in covert operations. He was a rather eccentric gentleman who dealt solely with unsavory business through a rather inconspicuous front. This sort of business wasn’t drugs, or arms dealing—it was much deeper and darker than any of those menial day jobs.

  As for Stewart’s job, he was an assistant. The assistant who did whatever his employer needed him to do. Sometimes it was simply cleaning up messes that had been left behind; other times it was creating messes that would mask their existence. On more than one occasion, this required Stewart to take rather creative measures. Whatever the task, he had to be available at all hours of every day, meaning he had very little personal life.

  It was probably the reason he was in such good shape.

  He had been sent here to clean up after a particularly embarrassing issue. The matter of the yacht and the box had gotten well out of hand. Though he knew the task would be daunting and fraught with federal agents, he knew he would be required to perform to the utmost of his ability.

  Unfortunately the machine had done a number on him, too. Though he had heard of them before, even seen them in person on multiple occasions, never had he had a chance to experience what the insane machines could do. It ended up repelling him as well as any of the government agents that had been in attendance. In fact, he watched rather perplexed as David and Marcus, the UOD goons, made their way to the boat and shut the machine down.

  It would have been nice to get the box first, but now Stewart needed to figure out yet another way to get the annoyance under his control. He hated that the agents had the box, but his boss would be even less happy if he couldn’t get it back.

  Stewart watched from afar as the machine was loaded up into the black SUV. The agents Marcus and David had loaded it while the other two, Phillip and Brenda he thought, spoke with the angry government representatives. They seemed to be having trouble getting away from the plethora of federal agents; each of them felt as if they had a claim on the ‘weapon.’

  It didn’t matter—all Stewart wanted was for the machine to get out of the shipping yard so he could acquire it in his own unique way. He patted his chest to reassure himself. There, beneath his black blazer, was a silenced automatic .22 caliber pistol. The small rounds hardly made a noise as they were shot, and the automatic function of the pistol assured the firer that all thirty rounds would be fired within a few seconds.

  This wasn’t his first rodeo, nor was it the first time he had to face killing in order to clean up a mess. His plan was easy. His own vehicle was sleek and black and had hidden lights that were created to mimic police flashers. All he had to do was stop the UOD agents, take the machine, disappear as quickly as he could, and leave this entire issue in the dust.

  In just a few minutes, he had the ridiculous hazmat suit off and sat comfortably in his own vehicle. Once the UOD agents started out through the gates, Stewart simply followed them. He knew the perfect place to stop the agents. If the opportunity presented itself, he would act quickly and be back home in no time.

  With the climate controlled interior of the vehicle making Stewart perfectly comfortable, there was no reason to keep the windows down. Driving from his home in Virginia hadn’t been his idea of fun, but the car afforded him many advantages flying wouldn’t. All he had to do was switch his license plates once the job was done and he would blend into the busy traffic without a hitch.

  He drove along casually behind the SUV, waiting for the perfect time to present itself. Then, he figured he could just swoop in with his lights on, demand the box or gun the occupants down, and leave. An SUV on the side of the road might not attract any attention for a day or two anyway. It might be just as well, gunning down the agents. His boss had mentioned the UOD a few times within the last few months and how they might present an unexpected obstacle.

  Regardless, following the agents proved fruitless. The only possible chance to execute his plan had been when the agents pulled up to the gate at the small airport from which they would be departing. He pulled his vehicle into the grass just a hundred yards away, watching as they were greeted by a uniformed police officer. Though he could take all of them, his boss had been pretty explicit that he should avoid being subjected to police interrogation.

  Leaving a bunch of dead bodies in an area that was sure to have video surveillance would only harm his boss and their company.

  Instead, he cursed himself for being too slow and tried to think how he could inform his employer without angering him too much.

  Stewart turned the car around and decided he would grab some food before heading home. The box was a loss, but it wouldn’t provide the UOD with any usable information anyway. They’d assume it was some strange weapon or an experiment gone badly and leave it at that.

  The real use for the strange machines would go on being a secret while Stewart and his boss continued with their business.

  Chapter 7

  Amy didn’t know exactly what was going on. She didn’t know why there were federal agents asking her questions about where she had come from, or why those crazy people had come in trying to kill everyone. All she knew was the police officers had chased them off or killed them outright, but not before her doctor had been murdered. Now she felt a deeper emptiness inside of her the nurse, despite her niceness, couldn’t fill.

  He had promised to help her get better. Now she was left alone with people who didn’t speak her language, or know her plight, or care as much as she thought he did.

  It didn’t matter, though. The agents she spoke with now seemed to actually care about her. They had helped fight off the two killers and for that she was grateful. She promised them she would do whatever they asked, though they didn’t seem to be asking much.

  One of the men had a bright pastel shirt on and thick mutton chops which made him look comical, despite his badge and gun. The giant black man stood outside. She was rather concerned about him—he was menacing, despite his big smile and white teeth. The Asian woman, Cynthia, was nice enough. She spoke Spanish pretty well, too, but she seemed fake. The glove tha
t she wore over one hand didn’t help her in that aspect either.

  Amy looked at it for too long, and Cynthia fidgeted uneasily.

  “Nothing?” Cynthia asked with a sad voice. “You can’t remember anything?”

  “Not even my real name,” Amy answered shakily. “I can’t even remember my own name. If I could tell you anything, anything at all, I would. Instead, I’m the subject of people like you trying to drag information out of me while other people seem as if they’re trying to kill me.”

  Cynthia sighed audibly. She didn’t want to press the obviously shaken girl, especially since she was getting nowhere fast. Instead, she simply took Amy’s hand between the two of hers and held it tenderly. The hand in the glove felt as if it were on fire beside the other one. It was comforting, yet frightening at the same time. As if some hidden power lay beneath the white cloth—either that, or it had just been used to snatch a pizza out of an oven.

  “I’m going to give you and the doctors our phone number,” Cynthia said. “It’s imperative that you get in touch with us if you think you’ve remembered anything at all. Your name, a phone number, or anything else from your past at all might give us a clue.”

  “Why would my name help you in your investigation?” Amy asked. She wrapped her skinny arms around her as best she could to shield herself from the cold. “If I remember my name, is it going to help you find those bad men?”

  Cynthia smiled a bit. She knew something about this job that Amy didn’t.

  “Maybe not,” Cynthia said. “But we know the right questions to ask you. Once your brain starts working again, we might be able to access the information you didn’t even know you had by asking you guided questions.”

  It made sense to Amy. She thought that remembering would happen in layers. It might come slow at first, but then she could peel back the haze and figure out what had happened before her fateful ship ride.

  “I will call you if I remember anything,” Amy answered. “I want those bastards caught. Hopefully you can bring them to justice for doing this to me and for murdering my doctor.”

  A flash of something violent sped across Cynthia’s beautiful brown eyes. It was murder, Amy could feel that. It made her happy, not scared. She felt as if this woman really had her best interests in mind, especially since she was willing to go to such great lengths.

  They left and Amy was alone again in the hospital room. Though she had two more guards outside a new room, complete with large television and big window, she felt as if she were far away from everyone. Amy didn’t know what she liked to do before she lost her memory, but sitting in any type of bed didn’t feel natural. It felt as if she should be out doing things, not lying uselessly about.

  Regardless of what she wanted to do, she knew her body was weak. It felt fatigued still, as if she had recently run a marathon. It was difficult to keep her eyes open and from time to time she felt like she might just faint.

  Instead of risking the possibility of falling over unconscious into a corner, she decided it was best to lie down and get more sleep. The guards were reassuring and the television whispering quietly on the wall made her feel comfortable. She curled her tiny feet up beneath her skinny legs and folded her hands beneath her head.

  Within minutes she was deeply asleep. Rest, however, was not what she found in the darkness in her head. She had terrible dreams—nightmares which kept her tossing and turning and moaning in the bed. More than once she woke up sweating, tears pouring down her cheeks. Every time she fell back into her deepest sleep, the visions took over. It wasn’t until the last time she fell asleep that the visions became clear and her dreams became vivid.

  She was aboard the yacht, surrounded by smiling faces. All of them were familiar, somehow. Though she didn’t know their names, she knew they were friends. They smiled or winked her direction, ruffled her hair and rubbed her back and shoulders. More than once she was congratulated for something she didn’t know she had done.

  Then the visions would take a dark turn. The lights were suddenly red and flickering. The once happy men and women that had surrounded her screamed, crawling through puddles of blood, and clawed at the doors. It didn’t seem like anyone in particular was at fault. Instead, the men and women, all crazy, had been killing themselves and each other in some lust-filled massacre. Blood spurted from a severed artery where one man had shoved a steak knife deep into his leg. Another man begged to be cut open. Women cut precious parts of themselves off like they were making offerings to the gods.

  She didn’t know whether what she was seeing was real or not, but all the men and women seemed as if they were particularly afraid of Amy. They cowered away from her, hid their heads in the corners of the ship, or crawled away from her through pools of thick blood. She couldn’t imagine why grown adults who had just recently been celebrating with her, would be cowering away in such fear that they would be willing to murder themselves rather than look upon her.

  It made her sick. She wretched in her dream, doubled over in fear and terror and nausea. She tried so hard to get away, to find a corner of the ship that wasn’t covered in blood. She tried to punch through a door which seemed as if it were made of living tissue, complete with teeth and bloody tongues. Her fist stuck to it. The soft flesh was sticky enough to hold her fast.

  With her other hand she pushed against the door, trying desperately to free herself. Amy knew it was a bad idea when her other hand became stuck fast, just as the first. Wailing in terror, she kicked the door with all her might. Fighting ferociously against the monster door, she pulled as if she were an animal stuck in a trap.

  It dragged her closer and closer to the abysmal hole of its esophagus. Soon she was up to her elbows, held fast by something she couldn’t fathom. Then, her biceps were pulled in and she struggled with all of her might to keep her face away from the stench of the monster. It was impossible for her to get away; the door-demon was too much for her. Soon, her face was pulled into the warm flesh of the maw and she was completely engulfed in it.

  The warmth was disgusting, yet somehow comforting. She couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t breathe, and knew she would surely perish. Amy felt oddly content. It was as if she could finally rest. If this had become what her life would be, she wanted it to end.

  Instead of dying, she found herself floating above a pool. Her feet glided blissfully above the water below her. She couldn’t tell if she had entered the belly of the beast or whether she was now in a new nightmare, but this place felt better than the last. It wasn’t full of death, at least.

  She struggled to move away from the place she had been glued to, but found that she was powerless. As much as she flailed her arms and legs, nothing made her budge an inch—she was weightless without an anchor. Instead of wasting her energy, she decided to sit still and scope out the new place in her head. The water glowed below her, a comforting blue color just out of reach. She could feel the warmth emanating from its calm surface, making her feet feel comfortable. Besides the glow of the water, there was nothing.

  A faint light sparked in the distance, finally giving her some insight into how large this place was. It must have been massive, for the light seemed to take forever to reach her. When it finally did come into view, Amy could see it was the face which had visited her that morning. A smiling visage the shape and intensity of the sun came closer, warming her spirit as it did. She was forced to look away, worried at first the face would attack her or turn ugly, or simply burn her up.

  It did nothing malicious. It simply came closer and washed her with a feeling of contentment. As if she were being touched by the rays of the sun for the very first time, Amy felt happy. An actual smile came over her and she knew whatever was in front of her, it was there to help.

  She awoke with a start. Where there had been warmth beneath her feet and all around her before, now there was a cold breeze. Somehow, Amy was not in her bed anymore. Instead, she was just climbing down the last rung of the fire escape on the side of a large building. Shake
n and disturbed by the sudden turn of events, Amy looked down at herself.

  This was real—she had no doubt in her mind.

  Nervously, she pulled the t-shirt around her small frame. The mild breeze was enough to send goose bumps up her bare arms and legs. She didn’t know where she was or how she had gotten there, but somehow she had walked away from the hospital in her sleep.

  Amy chanced a look back up the fire escape. She could see the windows above, all black against the dark nighttime sky. Looking across the street, she came to the realization she had managed to get to the ground before waking up, all while in a deep sleep. When last she had opened her eyes, it was light out still, yet now it seemed as if it were the small hours of the morning.

  She shuddered, wondering how she was supposed to get all the way back up to her room from here. The cops would surely be angry she had tried to escape their protection. She wondered if they would even listen to her, or simply chain her down to the bed. She didn’t want to be restrained, though she didn’t want to be the subject of a murder mystery either.

  It looked like nothing was going her way, when suddenly a man in a long jacket crept from the shadows near her. She reeled back defensively, then turned away from the man and started walking to mask her surprise. Her bare feet touched something sharp and she jumped, then started jogging. Down the alleyway there was a light. Amy thought she could head toward the light and figure the rest out from there.

  She chanced a look back at the man who was slowly advancing in her direction. In the darkness, he seemed to be comprised of only of a long jacket and a wide-brimmed hat. Other than that, he was merely a shadow. If he had any intent of harming her, he was surely taking his time.

  Amy rounded the corner and found a local convenience shop open and waiting for her. Though she wore nothing but a pair of panties and a long t-shirt, she didn’t hesitate to enter. The bell near the door rang and the man at the counter looked up. He had very dark hair and dark eyes that lingered on her skinny legs a little too long. The man nervously licked his lips before making eye contact with her.