Dark Project

by Sean E Thomas

  The pair hit their opponents simultaneously. Bill hit his on the back of the neck with the pistol and the man collapsed face down in the dirt. Before the other agent, who Sable assumed was Gilstrap, could turn, Sable dropped into a karate stance and threw a punch to the kidney. The man folded backward and dropped his Uzi. As Bill’s man began to rise, he hit him with a knife-hand to the neck, yielding a loud cracking sound. The agent collapsed dead on the sedan’s hood.

  “I don’t know my own strength.” Bill wobbled, his legs began to shake and he fell to his knees. He took several deep breaths. He hacked and retched.

  Sable placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “It’s all right. You were only defending yourself and the others. Taking a life, any life, is traumatic even when it’s in self-defense.” Sable knew the guilt of killing would soon surface to haunt Kincaid as it had haunted him when he killed a man in the line of duty. Though a board of inquiry had cleared him and he had been decorated, it was several years before he could put the shooting behind him.

  “It doesn’t help.” Bill vomited.

  Chapter 33

  Dean slammed his fist down on the conference table. “What do you mean, you’ve lost a company of soldiers?”

  “I didn’t lose the goddamn troops! You and Major Wheeler did!” Hadly screamed. “It’s your piss-poor intelligence and planning that killed my men.”

  “At ease.” Everything was falling apart. Sable was closing in. The newspaper reporters were camped outside the Fort Greely gates, demanding access to Kanashig and the project. The stolen Gemini had been found on the outskirts of Delta and was currently in the possession of the troopers. He’d lost over a third of a Special Forces battalion, and when the Secretary of Defense got wind of these events, his career was gone. There had to be something he could do to extricate himself from this situation, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

  Turning to Strickland, he lowered his voice. “Can you make some sense of what happened at the village?”

  “They knew we were coming. They were prepared for us. According to the National Guard company commander, we have a mole in our organization.”

  “Bullshit.” Dean glared from Hadly to Johnson.

  Johnson bit his lip and stared back. “They’re lying.”

  “Then—” Dean said. “Who did the intelligence reports? How is it we walked into a fully armed unit?”

  “There wasn’t a recon done. Who would have expected an Indian village to have a Guard unit at its disposal?” Sam Chapman asked. “If you were so damn worried, you should have ordered a recon. All we expected was a small, sleepy village full of fishermen and trappers.”

  “What’s done is done. Let’s get down to the important question. Where’s Kincaid?”

  “We can’t tell where he’s at. But, I sent some agents into McNeal’s cabin yesterday. Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “My agents haven’t reported in so I sent another team in and they should be back within the hour,” Chapman said, then paused. “There’s something wrong, very wrong with the village.”

  “And pray tell, what is that?”

  “There was no one who seems to be over twenty years old in the village.” Chapman folded his arms.

  “So they evacuated the elderly,” Dean said. “So what?”

  “The strangest thing is all the adults have white hair.” Chapman shook his head.

  “You must be mistaken. Tlingits have black hair, not white.”

  “Maybe it was a side effect of the virus.” Chapman shrugged. “I became suspicious and had Harry Kukākínok and the guard company commander, Maroak, checked out. According to their birth certificates, Harry Kukākínok should be eighty-two and Maroak in his forties, but they look like they’re just out of their teens.”

  “You’re mistaken; they must be the children or possibly the grandchildren of those men.”

  “It’s been verified; there’s no mistake. I checked their fingerprints against AFIS.”

  “Wasn’t Kincaid the one working on the youth formula?” Dean’s gaze went straight to Johnson.

  “His experiments were unsuccessful.” Johnson played with his pen.

  “Or so he told us. It must have been a smoke screen. He could have been hiding his successes.” Dean eased back in his chair and contemplated the idea. He could disappear or hide in plain sight by becoming young.

  “He may have shared the formula with Kanashig in exchange for protection.”

  “We have some in the Detention Facility. Get blood samples. Interrogate them.”

  “We can’t. The post commander has them in solitary confinement.”

  “Why wasn’t I told?”

  Chapman shrugged. “They weren’t important at the time.”

  “What are we going to do about the Gemini?” Johnson stopped writing and looked up. “It’s not the cost of the thing. The Gemini has GPS plots to the project.”

  “Why didn’t you foresee this?” Dean swallowed hard. The plots would lead investigators to Cindy’s body. “Get the Gemini back and dump the plots.”

  “Already checked,” Strickland said. “The troopers have the hovercraft under guard.”

  “Be innovative. We’ve got Antitank Weapons in the inventory. Use them.” Dean leaned forward over the table and clenched his hands into fists. “Now, back to the Indians. Is there a way to get a couple of guinea pigs?”

  “Not as protected as they are. In fact, they’ve called in several other village units. It would be pure suicide to make another attempt.” Chapman shook one of his legs to ease the tension.

  Dean needed another point of view; maybe Ramsey could help. The colonel might be angry enough to get even. Dean motioned to Johnson. “Bring Ramsey here.”

  As the door slammed, Dean turned his attention to the agent. “Meanwhile, keep the village under surveillance.”

  Chapman placed his hand over his pistol. “From now on my men will aid only in the capture of Kincaid.”

  “I’ll see you in the stockade first. Captain Hadly, get the guards.”

  “Go to hell!” Hadly stiffened.

  Chapman drew his 9 mm, cocked it, and placed it on the conference table, his hand resting on the grip. “Try.”

  Hadly blanched and pushed himself away from the table. “I’m with Chapman.”

  Chapman watched Dean’s moves. “Try any dirty tricks and my agents will ensure you’ll never see the light of day.”

  Dean nodded his resignation. “Let’s take a break and cool off.”

  An hour later, the conference room remained silent. Dean surveyed the agents and soldiers on each side of the conference table. Somber expressions were mingled with those of undisguised hate. He’d finally pushed them too far. The only thing keeping them here was the SECDEF and a sense of duty. He didn’t relish dealing with Ramsey. He motioned for the MPs to bring Ramsey in, then turned to Chapman.

  “What did your men find at the cabin?”

  “They escaped. Sable and Kincaid killed my best agent and tied up the other.” Chapman paused. “My second team missed them by minutes. And get this: Kincaid and George look like they’re in their early twenties.”

  “Did you find anything at the cabin?” Dean felt his throat tighten. It was true. Kincaid had made a breakthrough on the youth serum.

  “They searched it from top to bottom—no clues.”

  “You checked the border?”

  “Not a trace.”

  “I want you to get them and I don’t care how much money it takes. If necessary, bring in more agents.” Dean looked up at Ramsey as he was led in by the MPs. The man’s nostrils flared and his fists were clenched at his sides. Dean motioned the men away. Ramsey was a dangerous man. It might have been a mistake to free him.

  “At Agent Chapman’s request,” Ramsey cleared his throat, “and what remains of my unit, I’ve deployed it to cover the borders.”

  “Then we have him.”

  “He could be anywhere. There are back roads, rivers they could take
to go into Canada. The surrounding areas have been heavily mined for gold and miners have left cat trails and mining roads almost everywhere.”

  “You’re supposed to be the expert and outthink him.”

  “The high terrain and timber east of Chicken will slow his progress.”

  “Best guess?”

  “He may have already crossed the border,” Ramsey said. “But if he hasn't, I’ve placed a platoon at Boundary and Haines.”

  “Have composites been sketched on Kincaid and his group?”

  “We have done one better. We obtained copies of high school and college yearbooks on them except George and we have his World War II records. If they show their faces anywhere in Alaska or at the border, we’ll have them.”

  Chapter 34

  Sable looked around Jon’s home. It was simple and utilitarian with brown couches and easy chairs. The fireplace crackled with warmth, belying their situation. Sable stretched back in one of the chairs. He felt uneasy though the Guards seemed able to protect his friends. They were seated around Jon’s front room in semi-relaxed repose, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Everything had been moving too fast. He couldn’t relax and take it easy. Though the Guard unit was protecting the village, Dean could bring in a larger Army force from Fort Wainwright, only a few hours from the village. But he doubted it.

  Dinner had been great—wild duck stew, a taste he planned to cultivate. Though on duty, Sable took a sip of Becky’s special brandy. He savored the taste and casually smelled the aroma.

  “Well, you’re safe for now,” Sable said, lifting the snifter in salute. “You have new identities and sufficient cash for the next few months.”

  “Yet to be seen,” Jon said.

  “Can’t we forget the war for a few minutes?” Bill asked.

  “Sure,” Sable said.

  “Hey, sailor.” Lee’s voice was seductive. “Why don’t you come over and keep me company?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Bill put his snifter down, pulled the easy chair lever up, and stood.

  “What’s keeping you; I’m starting to get cold.”

  “I can fix it,” Bill said. “I’ll turn up the heat.”

  He started to pass the couch on the way to the thermostat when Lee pulled him down next to her. “It’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and placed her hand over his.

  “Everything has been going so fast.”

  When she kissed Bill longer, Sable began to feel uncomfortable and knew it was time to leave.

  “Well, what’s the news on the virus?” Sable drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair.

  “It’s swept through the entire village and the puzzling thing is no one has died.”

  “Did any of Dean’s soldiers or agents catch it?” Becky went over to Jon, sat on the arm of the recliner and put her arms around him, but her question had been directed toward Sable. “This could be dangerous.”

  “The virus seems to have run its course. None of the villagers are infectious.”

  “Will we continue to remain young or will we start to age again?” Bill asked.

  “Only you’d think of that,” Becky said.

  “Becky, stop it! We’re all supposed to be friends.” Lee slipped out of her chair.

  A knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Would you get that?” Jon motioned to Sable.

  “Sure.”

  As Sable opened the door, his hand went for his gun, but he was confronted by a tall, white-haired man he recognized. He stepped back to let him through. The soldier’s name tags said: “Maroak” and “U.S. Army.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m one of the good guys.” Maroak slipped past him.

  “It’s good to see you.” Jon stood and met Maroak half way. “What can I do for you?”

  “I came to see Kincaid,” Maroak said and sniffed the air. “The coffee smells good.”

  “Lee, would you get him a cup?” Jon motioned to Maroak. “Have a seat.”

  “What can I do for you?” Bill asked.

  “Let’s get to what’s critical.” Maroak hunched over the table. “I need the plans for Arctic Warrior.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re taking the offensive.”

  “What do you mean?” Sable folded his arms.

  “We’re going to attack and destroy it,” Maroak said as Lee handed him the coffee.

  “But it’s on federal property, Army property—the Army, the FBI, DIS will retaliate.” Sable realized the full impact of what Maroak was suggesting. In fact, Maroak wasn’t suggesting anything but stating Kanashig’s decision. This was insane—a Guard unit taking on the Army.

  “They won’t.” Maroak took a swig of coffee. “They can’t afford to. Everything’ll come out concerning their actions.”

  “But it’s suicide.” Sable looked to Jon and Bill for support.

  “I agree. It has to be done,” Jon said. “We have to stop General Dean or he’ll keep coming back.”

  “Can’t you wait another day?” Sable asked. “The troopers are going through the court system to bring Dean to justice. He’s the whole reason we’re going against the Army. Tomorrow, he’ll be in jail for murder.”

  “He isn’t yet.” Maroak spread his fingers out and examined them. “Dean has to be killed before he kills anyone else.”

  “If you try, I’ll have to stop you.”

  “It would be quite unfortunate. The Troopers are no match for us and we have to stop Dean. We beat his men once; we’ll do it again,” Maroak said.

  Bill shrugged. “I’ll draw you the maps.”

  After Maroak left, Sable couldn’t hide his uneasiness. “Dean expects you to make a run for the border. Let my men go in as an advance guard to clear the way.”

  “Why worry? Dean’s men will never recognize you,” Becky said.

  “But once they catch on, they’ll track you down,” Sable said. “I suggest you use some type of disguise as well. They wouldn’t expect two women to cross the border.”

  Lee and Becky guffawed and Bill realized what Sable had proposed. “You’re enjoying this.”

  Jon stood and paced the room thoughtfully. “I hate to admit it, but I think Sable is right.”

  Chapter 35

  The hot, August sun beat down on the Delta tundra. Sable mopped his brow with a handkerchief and looked across the valley at the mountains and their meandering glaciers. For this time of the year, it was inordinately hot—ninety-five degrees. High on a knoll, Alaska State Troopers busily searched for the body of Cindy Dean, but it seemed the sense of urgency was waning. Several promising sinkholes had already been excavated without success. Some distance to the north, caribou were casually grazing, oblivious to the activity.

  “Damn, these are the coordinates.” Sable clinched his fists. “It even matches the descriptions.”

  “Don’t worry.” Masters patted him on the back. “I feel it—we’re close.”

  “I’ve found something,” a trooper yelped.

  “What is it?” Sable headed toward the trooper, Masters following.

  “You’ve got to see this.”

  “Get a cast of this.” Sable knelt next to a set of footprints. The prints led from the hole. At the edge of it, a small cylindrical object glistened gold and reflecting sunlight.

  “What is it?” Masters asked, leaning over to get a closer look.

  “Let’s see.” Sable slipped on his latex gloves, brushed away some dirt and picked up a gold-plated pen, examining it while turning it in his hand. The initials “CED” mean it’s Charles Emerson Dean. On the other side of the shaft was the clincher he’d been looking for—and the engraving said, “With Love Always from your Wife, Cindy.”

  “Then she’s got to be down there.” Sable waved one of the troopers, Michael Wadsworth, over. Sable couldn’t help feeling sorry for him as he approached. His uniform was covered in dirt.

  Wadsworth looked over the edge and
sighed. “I guess this is why they don’t pay us the big bucks.”

  Sable shrugged as Wadsworth tied a rope to a nearby tree and dropped the line over the edge. “Be careful.”

  Sable and Master stepped back from the edge.

  “This stuff’s easy.” Wadsworth backed over the edge and bounced into the hole. Sable heard a couple of thuds, then nothing. As Sable looked cautiously over the edge, he saw a flashlight beam swinging from side to side, but a heavy thud told him the man had landed.

  “What’s it look like?”

  “I’ve found the body. It’s covered with dirt.” Wadsworth’s voice was muffled.

  “Is it Cindy Dean?” Sable asked.

  A few seconds later, Wadsworth said, “It’s female.”

  “Can you tell how she died?” Sable said.

  “Not yet.”

  The sides of the hole began to collapse. Streams of dirt cascaded down on Wadsworth.

  “Watch it. Don’t bury me.”

  “Are you all right?” Sable called.

  Wadsworth coughed. “Yeah, but it was a close call.”

  Sable paced back and forth.

  “It’s Cindy,” Wadsworth said. “A bullet between the eyes.”

  “That does it! We have the pen, computer, printer, the boots and the casting of the motorcycle tire tracks in his driveway,” Sable said. “Damn, if only we had the weapon.”

  “Some of the stuff we can’t use,” Masters said.

  Sable shrugged. “We’ve had less before and made it stick. We’ll put out an APB on Dean for the murder of his wife. Check all the airlines. Also check the border crossings to see if he fled to Canada.”

  “Let’s pay a visit to Fort Greely and see if we can corner the asshole and at the same time get the Indians released.”

  “All right. We need back up, and I think I know a Guardsman who would like to be in on the bust.”

  * * * *

  Sable, Maroak, several troopers, and Tlingit National Guardsmen walked into the office of the post commander’s secretary. On her desk, a mahogany carved nameplate read “Janet Day.” On one corner of the desk was a large aloe plant and on the other, facing away from visitors, was a photograph he surmised was of her family.