by O. K. Mills
“Telekinesis in one, super strength in another, teleportation—it was comic books come to life in that room.”
“How did these people get these powers?”
“Silas made it sound pretty random, but I don’t completely buy that theory. I watched this guy crush a soda can with nothing but his mind. Damn near killed him.”
Sharon suddenly collapsed her knife and focused more intently.
Pike continued, “Our target, Brynn James, has the ability to miraculously heal. Silas believes that if he can extract her ability, then he would also be able to siphon the abilities of the others without dying. The girl’s power would allow him to maintain his health while using the other powers. To be honest, I’m quietly wondering if giving him the girl is a huge mis…”
Pike suddenly hesitated.
“What is it?” Sharon asked.
“A certifiable maniac offered me a king’s ransom to essentially turn him into Jesus. Silas knew the minute he showed me those tanks that I was fully vested. I can’t back out now. I’ve seen too much.”
“What do you think he will do once he has the girl?”
“I’ve no doubt that he will attempt some coup of the world once power is his to command freely.”
“And this worries you?”
“Nothing worries me. When I find the girl, I am going to slit her throat, drive to Damien’s headquarters, deliver her, collect my money and probably run completely out of cares to give.”
His phone chirped. The text message read, “Nothing yet. Working on it.” Slightly annoyed, he clicked the power button to put it to sleep.
“You’re stressed, Marshall. What can I do to help you, baby?” Sharon asked.
Pike considered the question before suddenly reaching down and undoing the zipper on his trousers. He turned and gazed intently at her.
“Here? Downtown? In the middle of the afternoon?”
Pike continued staring, but said nothing.
Sharon sighed, pulled back her hair and went to work.
Bear pulled into a rest stop off I-95. He drove over to where several RVs and large campers were refueling. He put the Jeep in park, shut off the engine and just sat for a moment staring out the front windshield. He collected himself, took in a deep breath, and turned to Spade, who was still crouched down with his head out of view.
“You never answered my question,” said Bear.
“What question?”
“Five Guys or In and Out Burger?”
“There is no question,” said Spade. “Five Guys all day.”
Bear frowned and just shook his head.
“You convinced now?” Spade laughed.
“You’re definitely him. Only Spade is dumb enough to say something that ignorant. Speaking of burgers, I’m hungry, and I need to stretch my legs. I’m going to go over to that diner over there and get something to eat.” he informed.
“Bear, I think we all need to do that.”
“No. You two need to stay crouched down in the car until I can verify that we’re safe. You want anything from the diner?”
Spade turned and looked at Brynn.
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded yes.
“Get a second one of whatever you’re having. She and I can split that.”
Bear closed the door and made his way across the parking lot. It took about 15 minutes for him to order everything and return.
“Okay,” Bear exhaled, “we should be safe now. You two can sit up. Stay inside the car though.”
Spade and Brynn did the best they could to stretch while still seated inside.
After Bear passed out the food, Spade said, “Talk to me.”
Bear pulled out a tablet from his glove compartment, tapped a few buttons, and an image of a man in his early 50s appeared with vital statistics next to his image.
“Who am I looking at?” Spade asked.
“That’s Dr. Aaron Powers. He used to be big shot over at NIH.”
“Used to be?”
“Well, he’s dead now; don’t get ahead of me.”
Spade held up his hands apologetically before Bear continued.
“Aaron Powers was mostly known for his work on cancer research, but he was also one of the world’s foremost experts in genetic coding. He discovered something that our government has classified as the God Mode.”
“What is the God Mode?” Spade asked.
“It refers to paranormal abilities in human beings either through genetic manipulation or a series of randomized conditional triggers that occur to the right individual at the right place, at the right time and in the right space.”
“In English,” said Spade
“It’s comic books in real life.”
Clarity beginning to emerge for the first time all day, Spade glanced at Brynn.
“You’ve seen what she can do, haven’t you?” asked Bear.
“Yes, she is some kind of healer. How do you know about this, Bear?”
“The day we came across that January mercenary in Iraq was no coincidence. I was recruited into SOCOM straight out of basic to do Special Reconnaissance work. My tour in Iraq was a cover. I had been tracking that mercenary, tracking him for a few weeks actually. Project January is also nested under SOCOM, at least on the surface. They mostly fund unconventional warfare operations with mercenaries.”
“What do they do under the surface?”
“Well, under the surface, they look for people with the God Mode gift. People like Brynn.”
“You’d seen her before now?” Spade said, announcing it more so than asking it.
“Pictures mostly. Maybe a video or two. Whatever we had in SOCOM’s classified database. I know that a lot of people went to great lengths to try and hide her.”
“But why?”
“Why? Spade, we discovered how to get super powers to show up in regular people through science. We were going to weaponize the living crap out of that.”
“How? Create super soldiers?”
“Exactly,” affirmed Bear. “The problem was that people kept dying. Their bodies rejected the genetic manipulation every time they tried using their new powers.”
Bear tapped his tablet to bring up a new image of a thin man in an expensive suit appeared.
“This is Damien Silas, the money behind Project January. He was the one who brought Dr. Powers in to work on the super soldier effort. When Dr. Powers discovered that Silas had some additional intentions for the work, he quit.”
“Additional intentions? Such as?”
“Turning himself into a god, for starters,” explained Bear with a slight chuckle.
“He was going to use the genetic coding on himself?” Spade asked.
“Rumor has it that he actually did. It’s also pretty widely believed that Silas had Dr. Powers killed once he refused to continue working on the project.”
“Well, why haven’t we gone after Silas?”
“No proof. Plus, Silas funds like 50 percent of the wars you see reported on CNN and even more of the ones that you don’t. Silas is the Teflon Don. Connie Powers knew that.”
Upon hearing that name, Brynn perked up and looked at Bear.
“You know her, don’t you?” Bear said, tapping his phone to pull up an image.
When Connie’s likeness finally appeared, even Spade gasped.
“Bear, that’s her! That’s the woman who told me to look after Brynn.”
“She was married to Aaron Powers. Once her husband was killed, she dedicated her life to keeping people with the God Mode gift away from Damien Silas. That shelter was a front,” Bear explained.
“But why Brynn? There’s nothing to weaponize with her. She’s a healer. On what planet can you weaponize healing?”
“Think about it, Spade. Every attempt to create super soldiers via genetic manipulation has resulted in death. If Silas were to get a hold of a healer, and then use the genetic manipulation procedures to extract the power, he could gain all the abilities that he wanted and us
e them without any reservations. That’s why he’s after her.”
“That explains why she’s so important.”
Bear nodded.
Spade took a second to ponder, sat back, and sighed. He bent over to place his face in his hands in frustration. After a long moment, he returned his gaze to Bear.
“I can’t protect her, man. Not from a guy like this.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, bro, but she doesn’t exactly have anyone else.”
“You just told me that Silas funds unconventional wars. How am I supposed to protect her from that? Heck, man, she’s been helping me more today than I have helped her.”
“So you’re just going to quit? Again.”
Glaring at Bear, Spade clenched his fists tight.
“Go ahead and take a swing at me. Doesn’t change the facts, man. I’d just rather tell you to your face than behind your back like the rest of our unit,” said Bear.
“I did not quit,” Spade sighed.
“Are you trying to convince me or convince yourself? This girl needs your help man. Are you in or out?”
Spade looked at Brynn. Concern blanketed her face. He came just short of swearing.
He asked despairingly, “What are we supposed to even do?”
“We have to get her to a safe house. We have to bunker down and get someone on the inside at SOCOM to consider making a move against Silas,” said Bear. “It won’t be easy, even with Brynn as our proof, but we have to try.”
“I’ve been in Africa for the last seven years, man. Information and safe houses are your domain.”
“I’ll handle tactical, but you’re going to have to handle logistics. When I figure out where the safe house is, it’s going to be up to you to get her there in one piece.”
Spade sat in disbelief at what he just heard.
“We’re also going to need help.” Bear continued. “I know someone we can call to assist us with getting Brynn someplace safe.”
“Bear, I swore off violence. I promised God I wouldn’t kill again.”
“Then you might want to tell God you’re sorry in advance for the sins you’re about to commit,” Bear declared. “And I mean, Silas is just one of your problems. The local police all think you kidnapped her.”
“Yeah, I figured that” Spade replied.
Bear cycled through pages of data on his tablet. Before long he found what he was looking for.
“There is a safe house in Gainesville, Virginia, but you’re not going to like the operator.”
“Why? Who runs it?”
“Your father.”
6: Wolfe
Happy hour was starting in a couple of hours at Deana’s in McLean, Virginia. The mood and decor of the restaurant boasted a warm mixture of gold, sienna, chocolate and auburn; the only variances of color were the alcohol bottle labels and whatever happened to be on the wall-mounted televisions behind the bar. The sounds were the typical assemblage of varying conversations mixed with broadcast white noise, background music and any number of jingles that a smartphone could have.
It was too busy for someone to be watching Heather Wolfe, and yet they watched her nonetheless. She found herself the target of a forthcoming hit. The names of the people possibly responsible played through her mind as she perused the menu.
At 27, following a tour in Iraq, she had been recruited to work with the FBI. After a few years there, she eventually made the transition into the CIA.
For years Heather had been fighting the perception that her recruitment into these organizations was based more on her outward beauty than her considerable tactical and martial skills, and though she was indeed very easy on the eyes, the whispers behind her back had hardened her over the years.
For a while she even stopped putting on makeup, often wearing her hair in a ponytail or some other simplistic style all in the name of trying to prove something to some invisible bully. Once she realized that it really made no difference, she stopped living to please other people’s ever-changing perceptions and started living for herself.
She had lost count long ago of exactly how many times she had been labeled a “bitch” for asserting herself, only to then be praised (and even promoted) for similar behavior.
At the end of the day, one thing was certain: Heather Wolfe was indeed the focused totality of her experiences, and as a result, she was a woman very comfortable in her own thick, beautiful skin.
She flicked her long, dusky tresses over her fit shoulders as she gave a cursory glance to a booth in the opposite corner where her first assailant sat. He was a short man, balding, mid-to-late 40s and surprisingly obvious in his tactics. She was almost insulted that someone would send this guy to kill her.
Two others, males, mid-30s, waited in an idling car positioned near the entrance of the restaurant.
Even the waitress, an attractive Asian woman in her mid-20s appeared to be in on this particular job. Surprisingly, it had been this woman’s choice of shoes that had given away the entire sting.
She wore a pair of Jimmy Choo Tibet jeweled, leather, point-toe flats. For all Heather knew, this woman might have been the greatest waitress on planet earth, but even if she were, she likely could not afford to pay the $3,250 price tag for a pair on tips alone.
It stank of mercenary money as well as a combination of inexperience and arrogance that, in an odd way, reminded Heather of her younger self.
Her date, the blonde, fit gentleman she had supposedly met earlier in the day by total accident, sat opposite her in the booth, regaling anyone within earshot with tales so pathetically boring that she was beginning to wonder if he was actually in on the forthcoming hit.
Before long Heather knew she had to make a move.
“Carlton?”
“Yes, Heather?”
“Are you a part of the group that’s going to attempt to kill me in a few minutes?”
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse you? Why? Do you need to go potty?”
“No, Heather. I’m just confused. What are you talking about?”
Heather let out a patient sigh.
She was going to have to kill him, and that was too bad. He was halfway attractive, and it had been a while since she’d gotten any.
“Your buddy over there,” Heather pointed at him with her eyes, “he’s the one I’m going to kill right after I kill you.”
Carlton’s eyebrows raised, more shock at her assertion that killing them would be mere child’s play than his earlier mocked ignorance. Her eyes darted to the waitress before she continued.
“I’m going to kill her too, but I need to be careful because I like her shoes. I plan to take them after I’m done with her. The two in the car by the door can remain alive if they decide not to get in my way.”
“Heather, please tell me that you’re joking right now?” Carlton laughed nervously.
“You seriously brought me to Deana’s to kill me? No torture, no interrogation for government secrets? I must admit, this location is the funniest part of this entire debacle.”
Carlton finally turned deadly serious and looked her coldly in the eyes.
“No one in this restaurant needs to be harmed. The job was for you.”
“At last, he admits it. Was the pill you put in my mojito supposed to knock me out?”
“It was, actually,” Carlton casually conceded, no longer continuing his façade.
Heather drained the last swallow of her beverage, licked her lips and casually placed the glass down on the table. She smiled at Carlton before posing a final question.
“How would you like to die?”
“What?”
“I asked how you want to meet Jesus. Take advantage of this, Carlton; this is not an offer I usually provide.”
Carlton instinctively felt for his shoulder holster and found that his weapon was missing. Heather held open her purse.
“Looking for this?”
Carlton dropped the “s” word with a sigh.
Heather grinned.
“Yes. Yes, I am that, thank you.”
She closed her purse and posed the question to Carlton once more.
“How would you like to die? I can hand you back your pistol if you’d like? Let you make that bathroom run you’ve been begging for all afternoon so you can shoot yourself in the toilet.”
She let that marinate as she leaned forward and then added with a whisper…
“Or I can kill you here in this booth with one of the utensils on the table.”
Carlton leaned forward, coming almost nose-to-nose with her. His eyes meeting hers, as did the tone of his whisper...
“You’re just one woman. I have four people backing me up. All I have to do is say the word and it’s over for … AHHKK”
It happened so quickly that no one noticed, not even Carlton’s supposed backup. Heather twisted her foot hard to the right snapping off the blade that she kept hidden in her left pump. Blood from Carlton’s testicles oozed out down the leather seat. Heather deftly maneuvered out of the booth like a snake, snapped Carlton’s neck with one fluid motion, propped him up and continued feigning conversation as if nothing was amiss.
She quickly glanced in one of the mirrors opposite her to keep a watchful eye on the amateur who had been continuously staring at her over the top of his menu.
She held her side, appearing to be experiencing stomach pains and gestured to the ladies room. She even added in a “I’ll be right back” to Carlton’s now dead body.
“Menu Guy” hurried over to Carlton.
“I might have to actually order something once we kill this broad, Carlton. That fettuccine with chicken and sun dried tomatoes looks pretty good. I know, I know, it’s not on the diet, but I’ll run a few extra miles this week to make up for … Carl? Carlton? You ok… AHHKK”
Heather eased Menu Guy into the seat opposite Carlton and retrieved her Coast stainless steel pocket knife from his right kidney. He was bleeding out faster than she would have liked, but the ambient lighting would hide the blood well enough.
Now then, where was that waitress with my new shoes?
Heather saw “Jimmy Choo’s” come out of the kitchen. The female mercenary immediately noticed that Menu Guy was no longer seated in his assigned spot. She turned to Carlton, but instead saw Heather slinging her purse over her shoulder.