“I don’t know if I can, Dad. I’m so tired...and scared.” Exhausted and alone, Jennifer curled up in a fetal position and closed her eyes, crying softly.
Jonathan Nichols ran to the building containing the Centurions’ pens. He hesitated, then took a moment to tuck in his shirttail, adjust his tie, and make sure his ID badge was clipped to his shirt pocket. Confident he looked under control and professional, he entered the building.
Only one person was on duty at the front desk, a young man shuffling through a pile of paperwork.
“Mr. Nichols. What’s up?”
Jonathan Nichols cleared his throat. It appeared this person was not yet aware of what had happened. “Nothing, uh...” He looked for the man’s name on his ID badge. “—Dan. I was over this way and thought I’d check on our guests.”
“Well, Mr. Nichols, they haven’t gotten back from their training yet.” Dan Corliss looked at the clock. “Hmm, they’re usually back by now. I could call.”
“No! Uh, no, thank you. I was actually interested in B Group anyway.”
“Oh, sure. I can take you back there if you want.”
“No need, Dan,” Nichols replied. “I’ll just take a quick look-see on my own.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Corliss said. “I have a lot of paperwork anyway.”
“Well, Dan, it seems the new guy always gets stuck with the paperwork.” Nichols forced a smile.
“That’s a good one, Mr. Nichols. Go ahead. No need for you to swipe your ID badge. I’ll unlock the door for you.” Corliss pressed a button. The bolt on the heavy door slid open.
“Is anyone else on duty?”
“No, sir, just me, but the next shift starts in...” Corliss checked the clock, “oh, about two hours.”
“Thank you, Dan.” Nichols’s eye caught the monitor on the desk. The screen showed a row of empty pens. “Uh, are you watching both areas in the back?”
Corliss looked at the screen and his shoulders slumped. “Geez, Mr. Nichols, the system is set to only watch the A Group section. I guess I forgot to switch it to scan both the A and B Groups when Blue Team left with the Centurions this morning. I’m sorry. I’ll switch it back right away.”
“No, Dan, that’s okay! I’m going back there anyway so I can check it out. You can switch it when I leave, okay?”
“Uh, if you say so, Mr. Nichols.”
“I do say so, Dan,” Nichols said. He passed through the doorway, then waited until he heard the bolt slide back in place.
The A Group pen area was where Alpha and the other four Centurions were quartered. Nichols glanced up at the wall-mounted camera. The red light on the camera was lit. Good! It was still on. He waved to the camera and walked on to the next door.
He slid his ID badge through the card reader and heard the bolt slide. He pushed the door open, then closed it behind him, hearing the bolt slide back into place. He snuck a glance at the camera on the wall. The red light was off. He was not being observed. So far, so good.
Nichols looked around the B Group pen area. There were five Centurions lying quietly in their pens. Unlike Alpha and the rest of the Centurions in A Group, these five were still in the early stages of their training, not yet aware of the plan to turn them into killing machines.
Nichols walked into a small office across from the pens. He opened a wall cabinet above a counter stacked with medical supplies. Inside the cabinet were rows of small vials, each containing a dark yellow fluid. He removed one of the vials and examined its label. Next, he opened a drawer and rummaged until he found a needle-free medical jet injector.
Jonathan Nichols had watched this done enough times that he now believed he could do it himself. Not that he had any choice. It was up to him to keep the Centurion project alive. After all, Bascombe had killed two of his prized A Group Centurions in an effort to destroy Nichols’s career. Then, one of Attwood’s mercenaries had killed a third Centurion, for which the general blamed him. Everyone at BoDex had turned on Jonathan Nichols. He was the only one still concerned about the success of the project.
Nichols filled the onboard syringe, then stopped at the first pen. A Centurion lay on the floor, curled up like a drowsy cat. Nichols slipped his arm between the bars and extended it toward the creature, the jet injector in his hand. The creature’s eyes followed Nichols’s shaking hand. Nichols eased the jet injector closer. All he had to do was lightly touch it to the creature’s furry skin and press the trigger.
“Mr. Nichols?”
Jonathan Nichols jerked his hand back and swung around, grabbing one of the bars to keep from falling over.
“Sonofabitch!” Nichols bellowed, holding the jet injector in front of him like a handgun. Dan Corliss stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Nichols, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Corliss said. “I just thought I could help since I finished all my paperwork.”
Nichols gathered his thoughts. He stood up and brushed off his trouser knee. “Uh, sure, Dan. In fact, that would be much appreciated.”
“Great! What do you need me to do?”
“First, is the transport vehicle out back?” Nichols asked.
“Yes, sir, absolutely! It’s all gassed up and ready to go. The keys are already in it.”
“Very good, Dan. I’m going to administer a shot of sedative to each of the B Group subjects and then we’re going to move them into the vehicle.”
Corliss looked puzzled, but didn’t ask any questions. “Okay, Mr. Nichols. I can give them the injections if you like. I’ve done it before.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to. Uh, I didn’t mean to infer that I could do it better than you, sir.”
“That’s fine, Dan. I really haven’t done it too many times, just seen it done mostly.” Nichols handed the jet injector to Corliss. “You go ahead. I’ll watch the master at work.”
Corliss knelt down in front of the first pen and spoke soothingly to the Centurion. He reached in and administered the injection. The creature barely reacted. “One down, four to go, sir.”
They moved from pen to pen. When the last creature had been given an injection, Corliss said, “Well, sir, we can start moving them whenever you’re ready.”
“Very nice work, Dan,” Nichols said. Corliss smiled. Nichols’s eyes fell on the jet injector. “Let me have that and I’ll see it goes back to its proper place.”
“Oh, sure, Mr. Nichols,” Corliss handed him the jet injector. “I don’t mind putting it back though.”
Nichols snuck a peek at the onboard syringe, noting there was still some of the sedative remaining. “That won’t do, Dan. I took it, therefore, I am responsible for it. If we don’t follow protocol, we could be looking at more paperwork, right?” Nichols winked.
“Yes, sir, I totally understand about paperwork!”
“Well, then, Dan, what say we get these fine fellows in the transport vehicle?”
Twenty minutes later, the two men had managed to lead all five sedated Centurions out the back door and into the rear of the transport van. Corliss secured the van’s rear door, then hesitated. “Mr. Nichols, mind if I ask a question?”
Nichols waited for the question he knew was coming, surprised it had taken this long. “Go ahead, Dan, ask away.”
“Where are the Centurions going? And why are you taking them instead of the regular staff? I’m just curious, is all.”
And there it was, Nichols thought. There was no turning away from it now. The question he had not wanted asked had finally been laid before him. For better or worse, it was time. He gathered up the fragmented pieces of his plan, letting them coalesce into his next course of action.
“Well, Dan.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s all very hush, hush. General Attwood’s orders, you know?”
“Yes, sir.” But Corliss didn’t sound convinced.
“Tell you what.” Nichols theatrically looked over his shoulder. “Let’s step inside. I’ll fill you in. Can’t take a chance on prying eyes or big ears out here.” A
s an afterthought, Nichols baited his hook and cast his line: “A sharp young man like you deserves to be involved. I think you’re going places at BoDex, Dan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nichols, sir! Whatever you need me to do, you got it!” Corliss returned to the building with Nichols close on his heels. And there it was: hook, line, and sinker. Time to reel him in.
Nichols wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He knew he would have only one shot at this. His hand crept to the injector tucked in his waistband, settling on the handgrip, index finger caressing the trigger.
“Oomph!” Nichols grunted as he went down on one knee.
Corliss reached down to steady Nichols. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Damn knee, gives out once in a while. Help me up.”
As Corliss went to help him to his feet, Nichols swung the injector up and shot it into the young man’s neck.
“Wha—” Corliss blurted. “What did you do?”
“I did what I had to do to keep this project alive,” Nichols said. “I’m sorry.”
The effects came on Corliss quickly. Eyes fluttering, Corliss held his neck, trying to keep his balance.
“But why?” He sounded as if he might cry. “I was doing...what you...asked me...to do.” He shuffled backward, eyes closed, and slammed against the bars of one of the pens.
Nichols felt genuine sadness, but he had seen no alternative. He grabbed Corliss before he fell, then slid him to a sitting position. “In a few hours you’ll wake up and be fine.”
“Hey, Dan!” A voice erupted from the intercom. “You back there?”
Nichols looked at the camera on the wall. The red light was not lit. There was still time for him to get out. Nichols dropped the injector and ran for the door. He bolted into daylight.
Nichols heard the voice again: “Dan? Dan! Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”
Nichols jumped into the transport van. He slammed the vehicle into drive and stomped on the gas pedal. Nichols glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the BoDex employee step through the rear door just in time to be sprayed by a hailstorm of gravel thrown up by the van’s spinning tires. Nichols drove like a maniac, the weaving vehicle barreling toward the main gate.
“What’s the problem?” Black demanded. A BoDex security guard was being detained in the hallway by Collins, Black’s second-in-command. Collins had the man pinned against the wall.
“I told these jerks I had to speak to General Attwood right away!” the guard yelled. “The Centurions are gone!”
Collins pulled the guard away from the wall, then slammed him back against it. “Shut up, mall cop!” shouted Collins.
“That’s enough!” Attwood recognized Jim Keville, BoDex’s head of security. “Let him go!”
“Stand down,” Black ordered.
Jim Keville swatted Collins’s hands away. “Get your goddamn hands off me, you stormtrooper sonofabitch!”
Collins brought his weapon up. Black again yelled, “Stand down!”
General Attwood stood before Keville. “Who stole the Centurions?”
“Nichols. He knocked out the guy watching the pens, then loaded all the B Group subjects into the transport van and tore out of here!”
“Is anyone pursuing him?”
“No, sir. I came right to you for instructions.”
“Do we at least know in what direction he went?”
“The guard at the front gate said he turned right, so he has to be headed for the Adirondack Northway.”
“Time for me to take over, General?” Black asked. “Or would you rather wait for something else to go wrong?”
“I guess...yes. Can you find Nichols before he gets away?”
“General, the Reapers never fail.” Black addressed his men. “Collins, Graham, get over to the Black Hawk and tell them to be ready.” Black turned to Keville. “We need a couple of Humvees.” Keville looked to Attwood.
“Give him whatever he needs, damnit!”
“I can have them fueled and ready in five minutes,” Keville said.
“You’ve got three. Popavich, Williams, grab those maps! Let’s go!”
Black turned to Attwood. “General, do exactly what I tell you, understand?”
Attwood nodded, dazed.
“First, jam all communications. Next, contact the local authorities and tell them a situation has forced you to set up roadblocks keeping all traffic out of the area, and for them to stay away too.”
“My men are still out in the field searching for the Centurions and the girl,” said Attwood. “They’re armed with automatic weapons. What if the local sheriffs hear that kind of gunfire? What the hell do I tell them then?”
“Tell them you’re not at liberty to discuss the situation in the interest of national security,” Black answered. “You’re a goddamn general in the United States Army. Start acting like one.”
Attwood stood alone in the hallway, his face hot. He was not used to anyone speaking to him in this manner. The first chance he got, he would explain it to Black, man to man.
A rustling interrupted Jennifer Pruitt’s weeping. Noises again, closer, louder.
She wiped her tears, staggered to her feet, and ran on cramped, unsteady legs. Tripping, she fell, then rose up and tried to regain her balance. More sounds, all around. She ran again, while the deepening shadows under the forest canopy masked everything on the ground. Her father’s voice drove her. Raise your legs high, raise them high!
The ground suddenly fell from beneath her feet, and she tumbled down an embankment, crashing face down in the middle of a narrow dirt road. Holding her breath, she listened. The noises seemed further away now. Tears flowed. I can’t go on.
Jennifer rolled on to her back and stared up at the bright sun. If she could just rest for a while. She was oblivious to the sound of something approaching as she slowly blacked out.
Jack MacGregor knelt on one knee. The young girl was out cold. He gently placed her in the back of his SUV. Just a slip of a girl, she felt light in his arms. It helped that Jack MacGregor was six-foot-four and weighed 248 pounds, all of it muscle. Whatever she had been through, it had been bad. Her brown hair was matted with sweat and wild with pine needles and leaves, her face caked with dried mud. She wore only a dirty T-shirt and shorts, and a pair of mud-stained pink sneakers. Her legs and arms were a patchwork of dirt, bruises, and scratches.
MacGregor grabbed a blanket from the SUV’s cargo area. He covered the girl, then took off his barn coat, balled it up, and slipped it under her head.
The last thing he had expected to see was a young girl passed out in the middle of the secluded stretch of mountain road. There were no campsites in the vicinity. Eagle’s Notch was too far away. Where had she come from?
He hesitated with one foot in the vehicle. A strange feeling came over him. There was nothing here but the forest, thick with trees and bushes, but for a moment, he felt something might have been there, just inside the tree line. Sliding behind the wheel, MacGregor turned the key in the ignition. His eyes swept across the rear view mirror, and once again, he stared at the impenetrable curtain of trees. Was there something there?
Jack MacGregor drove slowly down the narrow dirt road, heading back home. He glanced at the unconscious girl lying across the back seat. “You are gonna have one hell of a headache when you wake up, little lady.”
“Sonofabitch!” Foster hid behind a tree and watched through the scope of his assault rifle as the SUV pulled away. He zoomed in on the license plate, committing it to memory. Now what was he supposed to do? Better check in with General Attwood.
“Kurt, get the General on the line,” Foster said.
“Hey, Sean,” said Cummings. “I’m checking the map and it looks like the road dead-ends down there just over a small wooden bridge.”
Sure enough, the map showed the road ending in a clearing containing a large structure. A notation on the map said: Nature’s Haven Resort.
“Kurt, contact the rest of our team and get their status
, then check in with base,” said Foster. “Tell them what happened to the girl and that we’re in pursuit. And give them the plate number on that SUV.”
A few minutes later, Cummings reported back to Foster. “Sal says they’re shadowing the Centurions along the stream and they’re heading in our direction. Base says to proceed to the resort and hold. We’re to quietly locate the target and contact base for further instructions.”
“And, Sean,” Cummings added, “the General says he’s sending in reinforcements, and that they’ll take over when they get here. We’re to locate and sit on the targets, then exit once the reinforcements are in position.”
A chill ran through Foster. He had once heard a rumor that General Attwood had access to a fail-safe team, to be used as a last ditch effort to cover up any botched operations, but he had shrugged it off, doubting such a thing existed in the United States Army. He had chalked it up to a military urban myth. Now he worried the myth might have substance.
What was the name they went by? Think, Foster, think! Was it...The Reapers?
Could the general be tied to the CIA or some other spook agency? Maybe these Reapers were not regular military. If they weren’t, then maybe they didn’t adhere to the same guidelines his men followed. And was someone else pulling the strings now? Was there someone above the general? C’mon, Foster! Get your head back in the mission.
Sean Foster had too many maybes and no concrete information. Was his imagination running wild? He would brief his men as soon as his two teams hooked up, just to be on the safe side.
Foster stood. “Okay guys. Let’s move.” Staying just inside the tree line, the three men hustled toward Nature’s Haven Resort.
“There’s our target!” the Black Hawk copilot, Perry, yelled. The pilot, an unexcitable man named Schmidt, looked over. Perry pointed to his two o’clock position.
“Got it,” Schmidt said, with a slight Texas drawl, as he pointed the nose of the UH-60 at the blue BoDex transport van speeding down the mountain road. The van threw up a tall rooster tail of dust.
The Devil's Claw Page 11