Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  He caught the sound of an auto engine firing and saw vehicle lights at the top of the road leading into the hollow. He counted three, moving down the hill in convoy. He moved to the far side of the weapon, behind its field of fire assuming the vehicles were to be his next targets, and continued to monitor progress of the vehicles. Mark lifted the command unit and focused it on the lead vehicle, keeping his head barely exposed above the protective barrier.

  The lead SUV moved slowly down the hill, eventually stopping just beyond the security checkpoint. Mark targeted the driver, or at least where he expected the driver to be, and pressed the fire command button. His ears rang again from the impact of the sound wave. The first vehicle moved jerkily and stopped, the lights slant-wise across the road near the security checkpoint. He quickly targeted and fired two shots at each of the following SUVs. Those shots also appeared to find their targets and the vehicles slewed one after the other, colliding and ramming into the first vehicle.

  “Taxi drivers, report.” It was one of the surviving team members, apparently in near-panic mode. Mark could barely make out the words. “Friggin’ assignment has gone to shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” There was no reply, no response to the anonymous voice, no acknowledgement of the status report request. There was only silence, hushed by snow.

  Mark edged closer to the trapdoor, ready to check the grounds below. He kept his head low. It was possible that, by now, one of the men was aware of his presence on the old tower. Perhaps, he thought, he could use the IR function of the command unit to search for the remaining attackers. He froze for a moment, alerted by his intuition. He listened. His hearing had been impacted by the weapon shots, and he was unsure whether he now would hear someone on the ladder or not. Hairs lifted on the back of his neck. He needed to check. He moved quietly towards the open trapdoor, which provided access to the ladder.

  He peered over the edge. To his alarm, one of the intruders was on the ladder, almost two-thirds of the way to the top. Mark leaned over the edge and sighted his Glock at the climber, remembering to adjust for a downhill target. He aimed and fired. Twice. Both shots hit their target. The climber fell, dead before he hit the concrete below. There was no movement from the body. Mark moved away from the trapdoor opening. He did not know if he could safely descend the ladder, nor how many intruders remained to be dealt with.

  ~~~

  Bob shivered. He had found the tiny security hut at the gate into the complex when he descended the hill. While it provided shelter from the snow and cold, it was no protection from whoever was attacking Alpha team. He counted. Again. He was the only survivor. He had no transport, unless one of the SUVs was drivable. He edged out of the shelter towards the first vehicle, which had collided with the checkpoint barrier mechanism. The front end was crumpled and the motor had stopped on impact. Bob ducked low to avoid detection. He slowly opened the SUV door, relieved the vehicle’s interior lights had been removed. There was a faint gleam of light from the communication equipment and he could see the driver’s body had fallen across the center console.

  He moved to the last SUV. That driver too, was dead and his body was leaning against the driver-side door. Bob tugged the body out of the vehicle, heedless of its fall onto the snow. Taxi Three, he thought. He only knew the man’s name. He walked slowly around the SUV, trying to assess the collision damage. One headlight was out, although the other still worked, shining onto the wrecked SUV in front. The motor was running. The windscreen was shattered, it was going to be a cold trip out.

  Bob calculated his options, and realized they were very limited. He could stay on station and try to find the person they were supposed to capture. That action was unlikely to be successful. Or he could take a risk and drive the surviving SUV up the hill and escape from this disastrous mission. He liked that option. The third option was to try to hike out of the area, and he did not relish his chances of survival in the pending snowstorm. As if to make the point, a blast of wind hit with staggering force, almost snatching the vehicle door out of his hands. That decided him. He cleaned off the front seat and then climbed into the vehicle. He was going to drive out of this death trap, and hope he survived.

  ~~~

  Mark was halfway down the iron-runged ladder when he heard the vehicle engine as one of the SUVs was maneuvered. He paused for a moment and then continued down with a rush. When he reached the ground, the vehicle was already at the top of the hill, rear lights flashing as the driver corrected a slide across the snow. Mark relaxed. He had no intention of pursuing the vehicle. Whoever had escaped was no longer a threat. He headed into the laboratory.

  He cursed as he made his way through the building. Offices had been trashed. Alarmed, he rushed to the incubator room. The door was open and he stopped, momentarily reluctant to see inside the room. He edged forward. His worst fears were realized. The fetal containers had been smashed, destroyed with deliberation, their contents released to the open air. Four lifeless bodies glared at him with unseeing eyes, blaming him for his failure to protect them. He dropped to his knees, careless of the fetal fluids which had spilled from the broken containers.

  “I’ll find whoever ordered this,” he promised, wiping his eyes. “When I do, I will destroy them. I promise.”

  ***

  Chapter 8

  It was Sunday. MayAnn was woken just after four in the morning by the warble of her cell phone. The tone identified the caller as Edwin Lopez, her senior officer, and she could not ignore him. Yawning, she accepted the call. Lopez did not wait for MayAnn to speak.

  “Agent Freewell, I’m connecting you to the Executive Assistant Director for National Security, Oliver Stewart.”

  MayAnn heard a couple of clicks, followed by a new voice.

  “Agent Freewell, I’m Oliver Stewart. As of this morning you’re seconded to National Security Branch, Counter Terrorism Division, indefinite, reporting to me. There’s a vehicle on its way to your address, ETA twenty minutes. Please be ready for pickup. Your destination’s the CTD Richmond office for an initial briefing. Archimedes Schmidt, who I understand you know, will meet you there. Be prepared to be away from home for five to six weeks or more. Questions?”

  “Hundreds, sir. However I’ll wait until the meeting with Schmidt. I do have some open files including our X-Mob investigation.”

  “Agent Freewell, I’ll take responsibility for your open files. This assignment’s far more critical,” interjected Lopez.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready for the driver.”

  “Good.” The call terminated without further ado.

  MayAnn, now wide awake, realized she needed to be ready for her pickup in less than twenty minutes. She lived south of York in Philadelphia and normally reported to the Baltimore office. Her head spinning, full of unvoiced and unanswered questions, she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She wanted to shower, dress, and pack, and she had time for only one of those tasks. Somehow it all happened and she had almost completed packing when her doorbell rang.

  “Agent Freewell?” asked the driver when she opened the door.

  “Yes.” She checked his ID. “Give me a minute to complete my packing.”

  The driver nodded. “We’re on a tight schedule, Agent, but I can spare three minutes. They’ve mapped out my schedule to the second and I managed to gain just that. Fortunately the roads are clear of snow, now.”

  MayAnn nodded her understanding. “Come in. Three minutes will be excellent.”

  In reality, it took MayAnn another three and a half minutes to complete her packing. The driver took control of her roll-along and she kept hold of her laptop and briefcase. She settled into the front passenger-side seat of the black Suburban and the driver activated his cell phone to report their departure.

  The distance to the Richmond office was just short of two hundred miles and apparently the driver was tasked to arrive in two hours fifteen minutes. Motorway speed limits were due to be exceeded; fortunately they had Highway Patrol clearance all the way.

&
nbsp; MayAnn slept for an hour, waking as they exited I-95, two miles from the Richmond office. The trip had taken marginally more than two hours, mainly because of the lack of traffic in the early hours of Sunday morning.

  “Five minutes under schedule,” smiled the driver. “I don’t think I want to improve on that. I’ll hold your suitcase, we’ve more driving to do.”

  MayAnn thanked the driver as she exited the vehicle at the FBI office. She had decided not to question him. While he might know her eventual destination, she preferred to wait for the briefing. One of the night duty guards checked her identification and x-rayed her briefcase and laptop before permitting her to enter past the security station. A junior agent, apparently alerted by the driver’s arrival check-in, was waiting at the elevators.

  “Agent Freewell?” the question was rhetorical as she was wearing her badge with name and photograph clearly displayed. He punched the elevator call button.

  “Yes—,” MayAnn peered at the agent’s badge, “Agent Cashmore.”

  “Mr. Schmidt has arranged a meeting room. He’s waiting.” An elevator arrived and the agent stepped in and pressed the hold button as MayAnn entered. He pressed the floor button and the doors closed. The elevator ascended five floors and slowed. The agent held the doors open. “Second room on the right,” he indicated.

  “Agent Freewell.” Schmidt was all smiles as he greeted her. “MayAnn. Welcome. It’s good to see you. I can offer coffee and an indispensable donut. Not sure where they found them at this hour. We’ll have breakfast later. Your trip was uneventful?”

  To her surprise, she and Schmidt were the only people in the office. “It’s good to see you, too. The drive was very smooth, thank you. An excellent driver. I even managed to sleep for an hour.” She helped herself to a coffee and took the indicated chair. “What—?”

  “What’s this all about?” Schmidt grew serious. He placed his half-eaten donut to one side. “It involves a mutual friend—Mark Midway. As a victim, I hasten to add. Later we’ll be heading out past Staunton, to a small town—Daneville, Virginia. Our destination is a small research complex called LifeLong Laboratory, where Mark lives. Or lived—yes, he’s still alive, as far as we can determine. Let me give you some background.” He paused for a moment, taking another bite of his donut.

  “To start, you’re now the FBI Agent in Charge for this incident. You’ll report directly to Oliver Stewart. I represent other Government agencies, and you’ll provide copies of all your reports to me. Oliver will confirm these instructions. This is all falling under Counter Terrorism Division. You’ll understand the reasons for that once I give you my initial briefing. Local CTD will work with you—Oliver has guaranteed utmost co-operation. You—we—have immediate and ongoing access to whatever resources we think are necessary, whether local LEO, FBI, or Homeland Security. We can also access Treasury, NSA, and military resources. Understand?”

  “So far. What happened?”

  “In brief.” Schmidt paused again, to finish his small donut feast. He brushed the sugar off his hands. “Late Friday night—or more correctly, early Saturday morning—a paramilitary group attacked LifeLong—an experimental laboratory complex—and murdered the director and his wife, plus a security guard and two staff members who lived on site. The director and his wife were Mark’s adoptive parents. The attackers destroyed the laboratory including some embryos—experimental life forms—humans,almost fully grown. Mark survived. Apparently he defended himself and the complex, and killed seven of the attackers. Another attacker was severely wounded and we have him under guard; while he’s critical, in intensive care, doctors expect him to recover. Another one escaped, we don’t know if he’s wounded or not.

  “Also, it seems a drone, an experimental UAS, was involved. As far as we can determine, Mark destroyed it, probably by using some equipment he was trialing for me. There’s wreckage near the site, plus an unexploded missile. We think the team managing the drone—based at Cherry Point, that’s a Marine Corps air base—was killed—Mark’s not involved—by carbon monoxide poisoning. At least, there’s a report of deaths at a drone test complex, and some of the equipment left by the attackers at LifeLong appears to be linked to drone usage. I’m just joining up the dots. Local FBI is attending Cherry Point at the invitation of the Secretary of Defense—they’ll report to us, no one else. Issues—let me see—the attackers were ex-military, the dead drone team members have been identified as CIA, someone authorized a missile-armed drone to be used against a US-based target, the life forms were human, and Mark’s missing.”

  “Wow. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” Her mind racing, she sipped at her coffee. The donuts were calling her. She successfully ignored their siren song. “So Mark’s a fugitive, at least from whoever’s behind this attack. Otherwise innocent?”

  “Yes. Mark has nothing to fear from you and I or from legitimate law enforcement. The CIA mix is extremely worrying.” Schmidt paused to examine MayAnn’s face, at last focusing on her eyes. “Are you onboard? I need one hundred percent commitment.” He waited.

  MayAnn had no hesitation. “Absolutely. I like a challenge. Mark impressed me when we were on the training course. I regarded him as a straight-shooter, a good person to have as a friend, and it sounds as though he needs friends.”

  “Good. I agree. I did some extra work with Mark after your course, and based on evidence to date, I’m prepared to support and defend him. I can’t imagine how anyone could counter what we know. Now let’s meet with your local counterparts and then get out to LifeLong. I have arranged for the local LEOs—they were first to the site when another LifeLong security guard raised the alarm on Saturday—to brief us, here. They’ll also help us at the scene. There are two local FBI agents securing the site—they also will assist you. Of course, you’ll need a far more comprehensive investigative and support team. Ready?”

  The meeting room was larger than the office Schmidt had used. There were four FBI agents including the local CTD agent, two deputy sheriffs and two sergeants from the Staunton Sheriff’s office. The deputies and sergeants had been the first responders. Schmidt led the meeting.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Agent Freewell.” He looked around the room. “Agent Freewell reports directly to Executive Assistant Director for National Security, Oliver Stewart. We’re treating this as a terrorism matter for reasons that should be obvious. Questions?” Schmidt paused. Heads nodded, there were no dissents. When a number of men armed with military weapons attack and kill innocent civilians and utilize a drone to support their activities, all on US soil, it was sensible to consider the crime as an act of terrorism, at least until determined otherwise. Schmidt named each of the attendees and MayAnn made notes.

  “Sergeant Douglas.” The Sergeant looked up when Schmidt mentioned his name a second time. “Would you please brief Agent Freewell? And all of you—the first responders—feel free to add comments. I’ll record this, not to embarrass any of you, but rather to ensure we have a permanent record that we can check and then double check. I’ll arrange for the tape to be transcribed and you can all review it. We’ll continue to supplement our reports until we have a very detailed understanding of this matter. Be aware it’s going to escalate to the highest levels of the Government, possibly impacting both CIA and Military. Some fingers are going to be burned—no, I don’t mean at this level.”

  Sergeant Douglas looked at MayAnn. “Agent Freewell, please be assured, we’ll do our utmost to help you. I’ll use my notes, if that’s OK?”

  MayAnn nodded.

  The sergeant continued. “Thank you. We received a call from the LifeLong security guard—a Gilbert Stubb—at 11 a.m. on Saturday. He has the day shift and was late reporting to work because of heavy snow. We had a very heavy blizzard in the area early Saturday morning. When Stubb arrived, he discovered two vehicles blocking access to the complex and three dead men, apparently drivers of these and a third vehicle. Based on the frozen tire tracks, we believe the third vehicle h
ad departed some hours prior to Stubb’s arrival. The guard immediately drove back out of the hollow where the LifeLong complex is located, because there’s no cell phone reception available in that hollow. He stopped at the top of the hill overlooking the complex and made his call to 911. He waited there for our arrival.

  “Dispatch sent four vehicles—the four of us. We arrived just after midday.” He checked his notes. “Five minutes after. We parked at the top and walked down to the complex. We found—,” he checked his notes again, “—three apparent intruders deceased at the entrance, number four deceased under a disused water tower, five and six deceased outside the residence of Dr. Weinek, and number seven deceased inside the house. Another intruder was inside the house, barely alive—he was suffering from a gunshot wound and is currently in intensive care. All intruders were wearing similar military-style camouflage uniforms and bulletproof vests. Except for the three drivers, they also wore helmets with inbuilt wireless systems and identification transponders. The two vehicles at the complex entrance contain sophisticated wireless systems. The intruders, to state the obvious, perhaps, were part of an organized private militia or paramilitary group of some nature.

  “We found the bodies of Dr. Otto Weinek and Dr. Anna Shutov, his wife, in their bedroom. The body of the night shift security guard was outside one of the staff houses, and two bodies of LifeLong employees were inside that house. Our assessment is the civilians were killed by the attackers. All were shot, apparently with military stealth weapons, some of which we identified at the scene.