Dark Project

by Sean E Thomas

  “It seems drastic.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Johnson, am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Did I hear right? Only Congress and DA can promote me.

  “He’s a danger to the project and we can’t afford for him to be arrested.”

  “What do you want to do with Kincaid and his friends?”

  “If he’s willing to provide you with the formula and play ball, let him live, otherwise kill him and the others.”

  “Yes, sir, anything else?” Johnson asked.

  “No.”

  For a few seconds, Johnson stared blankly at the screens. Slowly, he began to dial the number for Night Flight Charters out of Delta Field.

  After he’d made the call, he propped his feet up on Dean’s—no—his desk, and relaxed. The complex shook on its large shock absorbers. Johnson brought his feet down. The building trembled again, this time more strongly. Was it an earthquake?

  A red light mounted on the wall pulsed, warning sirens shrieked, and the computer warning system chanted, “Red, Red—Red Alert. Red, Red—Red Alert.” Now that he was in charge of Arctic Warrior, he would change that annoying warning.

  Johnson switched on the external monitors and froze. He saw project soldiers and civilians fall as they fought or ran. Others were cut in half by gunfire, bombs, and shrapnel from an unknown enemy. Then out of the forest, soldiers fired M16s on full automatic. Interspersed between the soldiers were U.S. Army personnel carriers sporting .50 cal. machine guns that also blazed away.

  In the background, the computer droned, “All personnel take defensive positions, project is under attack. All personnel—” The complex shuddered again and the computer’s voice died away. Johnson’s hands trembled and he wiped them on his pants, then ran for the door. As he grabbed the doorknob the lights winked out. “Mother—”

  Chapter 41

  As the rental car careened down the unevenly paved highway, Dean sat white-knuckled, clutching the seat. His eyes were glued to the road ahead. Occasionally, he glanced at the speedometer—poised at one hundred MPH. Colonel Ramsey sat calmly at the steering wheel and joked with his men. It had been close to an hour and they still hadn’t overtaken Kincaid.

  As they passed Stewart’s Crossing, the signs for Mayo and Elsa were barely readable.

  “What about the road to Mayo?” Dean asked.

  “If I were Kincaid, I’d take the Robert Campbell Highway. If he reaches the intersection with the Canol Road, we’ll never find him.” Colonel Ramsey pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car leapt forward and swayed.

  Dean’s face turned ashen as he looked at the speed—one hundred twenty m.p.h. The scenery became a blur. “Do we have to go so fast? Stretches ahead aren’t paved.”

  “We have to chance it. Kincaid’s hauling ass. He could have as much as a thirty-five-mile lead.”

  “Haven’t we made it up?”

  “Maybe not. With the frost heaves and uneven roads, he can’t do more than eighty-five or ninety. The turnoff for Camaracks is one hundred miles away.”

  “And?”

  “We’ll overtake him ten miles north of the town.”

  “The team from Whitehorse?”

  “We’ve have them in a vise.” Ramsey laughed. “And if they forgot to fill up with gas in Dawson, we’ll get them sooner than later.”

  * * * *

  As the miles clicked by, the pain and loss of blood dulled his senses and Bill felt a low current, fuzziness course through his body. They were being followed, but how far behind? He came instantly alert. “We’re heading into an ambush, I can feel it. Can’t you push this heap any faster?”

  “I’m pedaling as fast as I can. What do you expect—miracles?”

  “There’s a group behind and one ahead of us. We have to get off the main road and make a run for it.” Bill picked up a guidebook and leafed through it.

  “I don’t know of any turn-off until the Robert Campbell.”

  “Frenchman Lake, take the road to the left, now.” Bill saw the sign for the lake as the Taurus careened past it. “We can rest at the campground in safety.”

  “You could’ve warned me sooner.” Lee pumped the brakes. As they crossed the bridge, the station wagon slowed steadily, but then it hit a layer of gravel, went into a skid, and headed for the embankment. Bill braced himself on the dash as Lee fought for control. The car skated over the surface as though gliding on an ice rink. For a second, she regained control, but then the vehicle hit a chuckhole and she lost it again. The speedometer held at fifty as the wheel turned back and forth in her hands. The vehicle dodged right toward the edge of the road and then the river. Lee whipped the wheel in the direction of the skid. Then they were on pavement and the vehicle slowed.

  Bill expelled a whistle. “That was some driving. Let’s not tempt fate again.”

  “I’ll try not to. Say, where did the gravel come from? I thought the road was paved.” Color seemed to return to Lee’s cheeks as she made a u-turn with the Blazer.

  “According to the book, this must be one of the gravel stretches.”

  “How close are they?”

  “I’m not sure. I have trouble focusing.” When Bill pulled the handkerchief away from the wound, the bullet dropped into his hand. What remained of the gaping hole was a small healthy looking scab. “What the—”

  “Are you okay?”

  “The wound’s almost healed,” he said in awe.

  “A side effect of the virus?”

  “I guess,” Bill pointed to the dash where he had braced himself. The force of his grip had left a deep depression.

  * * * *

  Dean looked out over the countryside as it flashed by. Even the deep, blue-green of the river was a blur. What he could see, he couldn’t enjoy. The stress wore on him. Little sleep, the project, Sable, Kanashig, and the elusive Kincaid.

  As the mileposts clipped by, he felt they were close. But where? They were almost to the Robert Campbell Highway and hadn’t overtaken Kincaid.

  A black sedan, Dean guessed was a Centra, rocketed north past them, the men inside were a blur, but they appeared to be military. “Your men?” Dean asked.

  Instead of acknowledging him, Ramsey looked over at his sergeant. “Hand me the mike.”

  A white Corsica flew by and Dean thought he recognized Sable and Masters. He looked over his shoulder and the car went around the bend and disappeared from sight. Could it be? No, it had to be his imagination. “We lost them. How could we lose them?”

  “We haven’t lost them,” Ramsey snapped. “They must have taken a side road or beat us to the Robert Campbell.”

  Ramsey impatiently grasped the microphone, pushed the transmit button. “Death Angel TOO, this is Death Angel WUN.”

  Seconds of static answered him.

  “WUN, this is TOO: did I pass you? OVER.”

  “TOO, this is WUN. ROGER. Have you seen the target?”

  “NEGATIVE.”

  “Turn around and meet me. OVER.” Colonel Ramsey slowed the sedan.

  “WUN, this is TOO, WILCO, OUT.”

  “Damn, we can’t be far behind,” Ramsey grumbled. “Sergeant, get out the maps and the Milepost.”

  * * * *

  As Sable passed Dean’s car, he quickly raised his palm to his face. “Damn! We’ve got to get off the road. The other car will be coming back.”

  “Do you think they recognized us?” Masters slouched in his seat.

  “I don’t think so. No one seemed to get excited.” Sable pulled off onto a grassy side road, drove fifty feet, and turned around. By the time Sable neared the road, he saw the other car pass.

  “They’ve lost Kincaid and McNeal,” Masters said.

  “At least we know where Dean’s at. And—”

  “Hopefully, we’ll find—”

  “Them before Dean.”

  “Get the binoculars from the pack and see what they’re up to.”

  Chapter 42

  Ramsey pulled to th
e side of the road and stopped. Getting out of the car, he motioned for his men to move to the hood. The sergeant spread out the maps.

  “Where could they have gone?” Ramsey examined each map and appeared deep in thought.

  Dean approached the group and looked over Ramsey’s shoulder. He squinted in the blinding sun and put on his sunglasses. As he mulled over the options, he had to reflect on his status as a group member. In Canada, his status as a major general was moot. Ramsey ran the operations with an iron hand. Since the trip started, he had been treated as an outsider. Barely any of the group acknowledged his existence. Then Dean saw it, what appeared to be a shortcut to the Campbell Highway. He looked up when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel and a car door slam.

  “Any ideas, Colonel?” the approaching man asked.

  “None so far.” Ramsey continued to examine the maps.

  “This road?” Dean outlined the Frenchman’s Lake cut-off with his finger.

  Colonel Ramsey glowered. “Sergeant, the Milepost.”

  The sergeant leafed through the book. “He’s right, sir. The road goes through a campground.”

  “If they took it, they won’t make good time.”

  “We’ll envelop them.”

  “But they could stop and recuperate while we chase our tails.”

  “They could’ve taken any number of roads,” the sergeant said.

  “They’re so close, I smell their blood.”

  “Then, let’s go,” Dean said.

  Ramsey turned and faced the other team leader. He flashed a broad smile. “Take the southern entrance to the campground and I’ll take the other. In a few minutes, we’ll have our revenge.”

  * * * *

  Lee pulled into a camping slot next to a vacant, light-blue Ford pickup. The trees gently screened out the sun and the cool shade offered solace and some respite. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said nervously. “It looks like they’ve gone fishing and left their truck for us.”

  “Then it’ll be the first time for me too, but the truck won’t do. We really need faster transportation, Bonnie.”

  “Bonnie?”

  “Yeah, and I’m Clyde. We’ll need aliases for our life of crime.”

  “The truck looks like it’s open.”

  “Yes, but it’s another Ford.”

  “We have to take what comes along.”

  After Bill finished packing the pickup, he looked at the Taurus hidden in the trees beyond the campsite to ensure it couldn’t be seen from the road.

  “You left him enough money?” Lee slid in the seat next to Bill.

  “More than it’s worth. I left him the title to our Taurus and 5 thousand in Canadian.” Bill appraised the 1975 dusty truck. The owner had kept it in good condition, both the interior and exterior. It only had a few minor scratches. Though he didn’t know engine mechanics, Bill could see the engine was clean, with no oil leaks, and it purred with power when revved. Best, it didn’t smoke, but with the big block and its age, it might not have the power they needed.

  A few minutes more and they’d be on the Robert Campbell and make up lost time. Bill looked at Lee and tried to smile. She smiled back nervously. Their chances were poor.

  After he’d cleaned up at the camp’s spigot and dressed, putting on faded jeans, a blue plaid shirt, and hiking boots, he felt better, more optimistic. Lee had also changed into jeans, a brown shirt, and waffle-stompers. If they had to run cross-country, they’d be ready.

  “Now look who’s dawdling,” Lee said. “You said we were pressed for time.”

  “Okay, we’re leaving.” Bill backed onto the road and slowly accelerated. Bill sensed anger and hostility nearby. They were close. Slowly, the truck lurched forward and as the distance from the campsite grew, the Ford began rocking from side to side as it hit chuckholes.

  “Won’t our exchange put the owner in danger?”

  “I doubt it. I think the Gestapo has more sense.” Images invaded Bill’s mind and he saw Dean with several others, identical in almost every way as though they were stamped from the same mold, standing around a map. He sensed Dean was no longer the primary threat. A dark, brooding man next to him was now his nemesis. Every line of the man’s body said military, probably Special Forces.

  Each time a new vision came, he felt helpless. He drew away from the images as he rounded a turn.

  * * * *

  Ramsey’s men were fully armed with the newest assault rifles. Determination was set on their faces. Each slammed a magazine into his rifle.

  “Do you need all this armament?” Dean felt helpless, his pistol dwarfed by the other weapons. “We’re not going to war.”

  “It never hurts to be prepared,” one soldier said with a deadly smile.

  A warning shiver went down Dean’s spine. After it was all over, would they let him survive? He might have to kill or be killed.

  Ramsey slowed the sedan, spraying gravel and dust in its wake. Then he hit a dip in the road and the shock ripped the wheel from his hands. Gravel grated under the tires and threw the car from one side of the road to the other.

  Dean grabbed the edge of the dash and held on with all his strength. The car bounced and Ramsey’s head slammed against the center post. As he rebounded, he slumped in his seat and his foot jammed the accelerator to the floor. Rocks hit the bottom of the car in a machine gun staccato while the car skated out of control. It crossed the road at an angle, struck the guard railing, and was thrown toward the ditch on the opposite side.

  “Do something, anything!” Dean yelled.

  The sergeant reached for the wheel with one hand, shoved the colonel out of the way, and fought for control. Then he moved his foot under Ramsey’s leg and lifted. The car did a 360-degree spin out and headed straight for a missing section in the railing and the lake. Dust whirled around the car, clouding Dean’s vision, but the sedan somehow passed the missing section, and slammed into the railing. The screeching sound of metal crumpling vibrated throughout the car, as it continued its deadly dance.

  The sergeant regained control and the sedan began to slow. The soldier pumped the brake, but the car went into its final skid and headed for the opposite side of the road and the ditch.

  It flew across the ditch with the undercarriage slamming into the embankment. On impact, Dean’s seat belt broke. He was lifted like an astronaut, weightless in space, and hurled against the front seat. The sergeant, however, wasn’t so lucky. His head smashed through the windshield and was severed from his body as the sedan rolled over and over.

  Rifles and pistols bashed into Dean from all directions as he tumbled as though in a synchronized dance with the car. Then the door flew open and Dean tumbled from the car. As it rolled over his body, he heard the bursting of glass and the crumpling of metal as the roof collapsed and the car came to rest. It was odd, but he didn’t feel the pressure of the car on his body and there wasn’t any pain. Was he going to die? Shouldn’t his life flash before his eyes?

  As Dean lay in the ditch, muddy water soaking his clothes, he thought, “Is this death?” A lancing pain ran up his shoulder and he moved to ease it.

  * * * *

  Sable pulled his Corsica to the side of the road and into the trees, then picked up the binoculars from the dash. Ahead several hundred yards away, he recognized the remnants of Dean’s car. “Shit. Maybe they killed themselves.”

  “One can hope,” Masters said as a red Bronco passed them and stopped next to the accident. “Oh, shit. This idiot doesn’t know what trouble he’s gotten himself into.”

  Chapter 43

  They were almost out of the campground, when Bill felt a chill creep up his neck. “There’s a vehicle coming.”

  The approaching car appeared to be a black Centra. He couldn’t tell how many were in the car, but he could tell it was new. No one he knew would take their new car fishing. Bill drew the floppy, fishing hat down over his brow to hide his white hair.

  “How can it be them?”

 
; “They have two vehicles. One’s coming. Hide.” Bill watched Lee slip to the floor. A faint smile crossed his lips at seeing her scrunched up.

  “Why do I need to be down here?” Lee grumbled.

  “They’re looking for a couple.”

  The approaching sedan drove slowly down the center of the road, rocking from side to side, dipping and lurching when it hit hollows or chuckholes.

  Bill’s throat tightened as he pulled the Ford to the side of the road to let the vehicle pass. He stared straight ahead to avoid eye contact. Every fiber in his body told him to run, but he forced himself to relax. They were so close he could almost reach out and touch them. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and ran into his eyes and down his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill vaguely saw the man behind the steering wheel. The sun bounced off the man’s silver sunglasses, masking him, but his short, cropped hair told the story. As the soldier passed, he scanned the road and forest from right to left. There were at least two others in the cars, intently studying the surrounding terrain.

  “Have they passed yet?” Lee asked in a muffled voice.

  As the car disappeared into the forest behind them, Bill breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes.”

  “Can I get up?”

  “Stay down until we get to the main road.”

  “If they’re already gone, why can’t I get up?”

  “Because there’s another car out here.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “You betcha.”

  Chapter 44

  Before he knew it, the colonel stood over him, blocking out the sun. The dark shadows masked Ramsey’s face. “Are you all right?” Ramsey asked in a flat tone.

  “I think so.” Pebbles hit Dean and stung his face as he heard a car screech to a stop.

  * * * *

  Sable turned his head and saw a man spring down from a large-sized, bright candy red Bronco. “Maybe we should help him.”

  “And tip our hand? They might rough him up a little, take his Bronco.” Masters shifted himself in his seat trying to get comfortable.