by Greig Beck
Alex gritted his teeth. In one hand he still held his K-bar; his other hand edged toward the lead canister lying on the ground beside him.
Borshov, satisfied with his gun, raised it and pointed it at Alex’s face.
A sound from the forest made the big Russian frown. It was like a breeze kicking up, but localized in one small area behind the tree line. One of the Spetsnaz shouted something, and Borshov turned. Alex took this last opportunity and threw his knife — it buried itself several inches deep into the meat of the giant’s thigh. Borshov cried out in pain and surprise, but his gun barrel remained steady. He squeezed the trigger.
With his last ounce of strength, Alex grabbed up the canister and held it out in front of him. The bullet tore through its inches of lead, splintering on the glowing disk inside. When a much smaller bullet fragment burst through the other side, it was now coated with a fine powder of luminescent fragments.
A bullet from the massively powerful gun, fired at such short range, would normally have shattered a man’s skull. Now, it retained just enough mass and velocity to punch a hole just above Alex’s left eye, into his brain.
* * *
Blue sky, crashing waves, salt drying on warm skin. And a girl with long brown hair that smelled of green apples…
… Then a whirlpool of darkness.
CHAPTER 12
The almost invisible black chopper came up over the tree line and its rotating cannon sprayed the street below. Spetsnaz agents flew in every direction, fist-sized holes opening in their bodies. In a matter of seconds, the street was cleared.
The chopper landed and a figure jumped out, his suit dappling as he passed under streetlights, through pools of darkness. Another remained with the cannon, watching.
The one on the street cut down Stozer’s body. After a quick examination, he simply slid back the tiny cover plate on her chest and let the suit take care of her remains. Bruda and Kolchek went the same way. Checking Johnson, he gave a thumbs-up, and dragged him back to the chopper.
He sprinted over to Alex. The HAWC lay still, and a pool of blood surrounded his head like a dark, glistening halo. The figure laid two fingers lightly against his neck.
With his other hand, he pressed the stud in his ear. ‘It’s Hunter… I’ve got a weak pulse. Probably won’t make it, though — head shot.’
He waited. After a few moments, the instructions came back.
‘It’s Hammerson: he wants him — dead or alive.’
CHAPTER 13
Jack Hammerson sat in his darkened office, the only illumination coming from the screen on the desk in front of him. The display showed only two weak life-sign signatures, one almost nonexistent — vegetative. Its blinking lights whispered: mission failure, over and over. Deleting the project files, he switched off the computer.
He remained, unmoving, in the dark. His body could have been carved from stone. As if finally remembering he needed to, he drew in a long, slow breath, then switched on his desk lamp. He picked up the folder and flipped it open.
Arcadian Project — human trials not yet authorized.
Closing his eyes, he sorted through his options. He thought of his promise to Jim Hunter all those years ago. But if he could have brought him back, then. . Who knows how things might have turned out?
Sorry, Hunter — some of us were made for war. He’d decided. Hammerson picked up the phone.
‘It’s me… Ready the lab. I’ve got someone for you.’
About the Author
Greig Beck grew up across the road from Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia. His early days were spent surfing, sunbaking and reading science fiction on the sand. He then went on to study computer science, immersed himself in the financial software industry and later received an MBA. Greig is the director of a software company but still finds time to write and surf. He lives in Sydney, with his wife, son and an enormous black German shepherd.
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