by Don Drewniak
Upon his return, Henderson immediately asked Ling, “Who is this Morgan?”
“I don’t know, but he obviously wields a great amount of power.”
He looked at her and thought she shouldn’t be there, but she was. Vowing that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, he said, “Don’t worry, Alice, everything will turn out okay.”
“Damn,” he thought as soon as the words came out, “I didn’t sound very convincing.”
He walked slowly toward her with the intention of giving her a brief hug of assurance. Five, ten, fifteen seconds passed as they embraced. He pulled back slightly and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. Their lips touched. Instinctively, he backed away a step. “Alice, I’m sorry.”
Ever so softly she asked why, and then kissed him.
Meanwhile, Williams, the General and Rappaport met in the house.
“Fill me in on Morgan,” said Williams.
“Not easy to do,” replied the General. “What do you know about the shadow government?”
“Not much except the rumors that there is a clandestine group, or maybe several groups, that are the real power brokers, not the pocket stuffers in Washington.”
“It’s more than a rumor. From what I’ve been able to piece together, sometime in the late forties or early fifties a small group outside of the government managed to get a hold of technology for a revolutionary source of energy. One which would give the planet all the energy it needs.”
“Where did they get it?”
“My sources tell me there are two possibilities. One is the Germans were on the verge of a breakthrough when the war ended and the other is that it came from alien spacecrafts that either crashed or were shot down. Either way, this group managed to get control of it.”
“Flying saucers?” laughed Williams.
“That was my first reaction, but I know quite a few high placed military who believe they exist. There are some who claim to have seen them. They keep their mouths shut for fear of being smeared or busted. Two that I know about who didn’t keep quiet died in what were reported as being accidents. Both were convinced that a cabal is secretly running the country and has the alien energy technology. Word is that they were getting too close to finding out who is running the show.”
“So they’ve been sitting on this technology for fifty to sixty years. Why?”
“From what I’ve been told, whatever they have could be easily and cheaply copied if it were released.”
“So much for fossil fuels.”
“Exactly. The group undoubtedly consists of those with both power and money. Some of those involved must be making their billions from oil. If it’s the real deal, the need for oil would all but disappear. There goes the billions. Unlimited cheap energy would close the gap between the super rich and the rest. There goes the power.”
“If you are right, General, this might be the military-industrial bunch that Eisenhower warned about.”
“Time wise, it fits. Ike gave that speech when he was leaving office in 1961. Whoever they are, they would have been consolidating their power during his presidency. He must have had some knowledge of their existence.”
“So, did he meet with aliens?”
“Now that is pure bullshit.”
“Where does Morgan fit in?”
“I have no doubt this is the group he works for. He probably doesn’t know anyone in the inner circle, but it makes no difference. He’s got a small army made up of the best men money can buy and he’s backed by the most powerful bastards on the planet.”
“How do you see it, Jim?” asked Williams.
“It took me quite a while to come around to Tom’s way of thinking, but I no longer have any doubt about it. Morgan’s arrival cements it. They want Assassin.”
Williams entered the van at 5:30. “Alice, the house is yours to use.” Placing a key on a table, he said, “If you need it, take my Pathfinder. That includes driving it to Florida.” Before she could respond, he exited the van.
Stepping into a waiting Humvee, he instructed the driver to go. As the vehicle approached the north side of the fence, two men uniformed in black signaled them to stop. One of them pointed to the string of black helicopters parked along the north side.
Opting to walk, Williams climbed out of the Humvee. He studied everything around him as he proceeded – the men, their equipment, the helicopters. Quickly noted was that the flat black helicopters were absent serial numbers on the tails and any other identification.
Morgan was waiting for him.
“Thank you for coming, Major.”
Williams said nothing.
Walking toward the lead helicopter, Morgan asked, “When we open the gates, what do you expect Assassin to do?”
“Head to the hills and look for prey along the way.” Not lost on Williams was Morgan’s use of Assassin to identify the alien.
They climbed into Morgan’s helicopter. Front and center was a large screen focused on Assassin, which was bounding along the inside of the western quarter of the fence.
“Satellite,” said Morgan.
“I may have overlooked something in my last assessment of Assassin,” said Henderson. “I suspect Assassin may be the equivalent of a human anywhere from two to four years in age with respect to its awareness. Which means it is developing fifty to as much as hundred or more times faster than a human. Not only that, it is also increasing its awareness, for lack of a better word, with each captured prey.”
“Two weeks or so away from being a teenager,” offered Ling.
“It might be sooner depending on what it encounters once Morgan turns it loose.”
The gates on the southern, western and northern sides of the fencing were opened at 7:00AM. Assassin passed by two open gates before exiting one of the western gates. As Williams had anticipated, it headed due west.
Morgan piloted his helicopter. Williams sat beside him. They were accompanied by six members of Morgan’s force.
“What is your objective?” asked Williams as the helicopter ascended.
“Let it attack whatever it chooses and grow as long as we know it can be contained. Then capture it.”
“Then what.”
“Bring it to a facility where it will be studied.”
As they were talking, two of the seven helicopters sped ahead going directly toward the mountains.
“We also have a drone ready to fly if needed.”
Meanwhile, Assassin continued on at an eight to nine-mile per hour pace, stopping briefly every fifteen minutes or so to ingest vegetation.
Eighteen miles out, Assassin stopped. Viewed from the screen, it was almost indistinguishable from the underlying sand. Six minutes passed without movement. It began to pivot and once again stopped.
“Be prepared for what might be a long wait,” said Williams.
“Prey?”
“My best guess. I’m not sure that learned is the best word, but it’s using what it has learned from the assassin bug.”
“If I understand you correctly, even though it has shed the assassin bug’s outward features, you are saying it has retained its instincts.”
“Yes, if instincts is the right word, and maybe more. Perhaps its toxin.”
Morgan landed his helicopter; the others followed suit, as did the General. All were at least a half-mile away from Assassin.
“The General is three hundred yards behind us if you want to pay a visit.”
“Maybe later,” replied Williams as he focused on the satellite feed.
One of the crew brought forward two trays, each with hot coffee, two warm bacon and egg sandwiches, hash brown potatoes and a cardboard bowl filled with blueberries and strawberries.
They finished eating in silence. Breakfast done, Morgan asked, “Will it take on anything that passes by?”
“Tough to tell, but I suspect it will be looking for something which will add to its strengths.”
At 10:15AM, Morgan said, “I need to stretch. Join me?”
>
Williams nodded. Morgan dismissed all but one of his crew, who stayed behind to monitor Assassin.
“Let’s get a closer look at it,” said Morgan as he headed in the direction of Assassin.
Williams followed without saying a word. Morgan slowed his pace once he made it to within thirty feet. He stopped at a distance of ten feet and observed the perfectly still Assassin for several minutes.
While standing the same distance away, but five feet to Morgan’s right, an image of Assassin suddenly springing at Morgan flashed through Williams’ mind. He also briefly thought about drawing his ACP and unloading it into Assassin. Meanwhile, it remained perfectly still.
Observing done, Morgan turned and began walking away. Williams remained in place for a few additional seconds.
Shortly after the two returned to the helicopters, Williams spotted two trucks in the distance coming in from the direction of his house.
“Supplies,” said Morgan, speaking for the first time since starting the walk to see Assassin up close. “Enough to carry us for two weeks if necessary. When the one on the right is fully unloaded, it will be used to transport Assassin after we capture it. Also, they did not travel through your land.”
“If you capture it,” thought Williams.
The trucks rolled in as Assassin remained motionless.
“Major, would you mind taking over monitoring the feed? I want to check the supplies and go over with the men what will have to be done to prepare for the night.”
“No problem. What are your plans?”
“Depends on Assassin. If it stays put, we stay put. If it’s on the move, we go with it. At least three of the four helicopters will fly with us. The fourth will be used when needed to ferry supplies to the two at the base of the hills. If it’s here, it goes with us. The truck crews will scoop up everything we leave behind and follow us. One more thing, can you fly this baby?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The sun was a few minutes away from dropping below the horizon. Williams was sitting in front of a tent located twenty feet from the lead helicopter. Morgan approached with an open bottle of Merlot and two glasses. He poured the wine into both glasses and handed one to Williams. “The temperature is starting to drop.”
“Thanks.” Williams wasn’t surprised by the Merlot. Without doubt, Morgan had access to information that very few in the country had. He wondered what else Morgan knew.
Morgan had barely taken his first sip when there was a shout from someone in the lead helicopter, “Morg!”
Both men dropped their glasses and dashed to the helicopter. “It’s got something. Happened too fast for me see what it was.”
Forgetting he wasn’t in charge, Williams yelled, “Play it back.”
Morgan didn’t utter a sound.
“Tarantula, a big one,” said Williams. “Body is about three inches, leg span nine to eleven. The good news is that most of us can get some sleep tonight.”
“Just like the Kangaroo Rat?” asked Morgan.
“Exactly.”
“Why don’t you pay a visit to the General? You can let your two scientists know as well.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“GENERAL,” SAID WILLIAMS, “let’s take a walk.”
The General, who was sitting in a folding chair outside of a small tent, put down a glass of scotch. He tossed a small empty glass at Williams and handed him a bottle.
“It’s about time you showed up. I thought you had taken one of his bribes.”
“A couple of Killer Two’s steaks might do it.”
Glasses in hand, they began walking away from the General’s helicopter and the tents which surrounded it.
“Ling just filled me in on the tarantula attack.”
“They’ve got a feed?” asked Williams.
“And it’s secure and there is nothing he can do about it. What’s next?”
“We wait and see how Assassin changes. This should give us a little time. I need you to locate Fowler?”
“Fowler? Why?”
“Can you think of anybody better to have in the hills than him?”
“You’re right, but it’s been ten years since he was discharged. He could be anywhere, including dead and buried. Anyway, why the hell would he work with us?”
“He was running with the Ugandan army when I was there and he flew back to the States with me.”
“You danced with that psycho?”
Williams nodded and handed the General a slip of paper. “Here’s a cell number. Whoever calls, say nothing other than Nyamilima. Fowler will tell them where to find him.”
“They don’t make B-movies this bad.”
Williams smiled. “Get him to Socorro on a private jet. He’ll need a secure phone. Unless Assassin makes an unexpected move, I’ll be back here tomorrow night to give him instructions. Meanwhile, have a green ATV with rear cargo space ready for him with hunting gear. See if you can get an old four wheel pick-up with a trailer for the ATV. After I talk to him, I’ll give you a list of everything else he’ll want. I’m going back to get a steak.”
Fowler was one of those rare individuals who often seemed to be devoid of anything resembling a conscience. His discharge was for indiscriminate torture of prisoners during the early days of the war in Iraq. The only reason there wasn’t a court-martial was to avoid publicity.
He was absolutely fearless and with or without weapons he was, like Williams, a lethal killing machine. Williams had seen him in action when they both assisted the Ugandan army against rebel forces. Fowler was about to get cut down from behind when Williams fired several rounds into two attackers. “You ever need me,” said Fowler afterward, “I’ll be there.”
After they deplaned in Miami, Fowler scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper, and said, “Nyamilima.” The slip of paper had remained in Williams’ wallet from the moment he received it.
In addition to his killing prowess, Fowler was a master at making himself disappear in virtually any terrain. Just as the General considered Williams his ace in the hole, Williams considered Fowler to be his ace.
Ling and Henderson watched Assassin’s latest devouring and tossed out a number of wide-ranging speculations regarding what external and internal physical changes might result. Among Ling’s ideas was the possibility that Assassin might add eight large legs, while Henderson thought its number one priority would be to incorporate the tarantula’s venom into its arsenal.
The initial fleeting kiss and the follow-up kiss initiated by Henderson left no question that there was an attraction between them. Ling, however, understood that in his command position anything more than an occasional kiss and hug would have to wait.
As expected, Assassin remained motionless during the next twenty-four hours. “I wonder what would happen if something decided to attack our alien while in this state?” asked Morgan while he and Williams were eating lunch.
“I’ve wondered about that ever since it nailed the assassin bug. My best guess is that it is fully aware of its surroundings and would respond. What it might lose is whatever it is taking from the tarantula.”
“How’s the General doing?”
“Waiting for you to hang yourself.”
Morgan laughed. “He’s not the only one. How about you?”
“You know how far back the two of us go. My loyalty will always be to him.”
“Understood.”
“However, I want to see where you are going to take this. We both know you are taking one helluva risk. You also know that if it gets away from you, I’ll go after it and stop it anyway I can.”
“It won’t get away. Once it takes on something big, it will be time to capture it and bring it to a secure facility. We will then be done and you walk away with your meteor money and you’ll be a phone call away from whatever else you may need or want down the line.”
Williams went back to see the General late in the afternoon. As soon as they walked a football field’s distance away from the heli
copter, the General said, “Your psycho is in Socorro. Before you call him, go over with me exactly what you are going to tell him.”
Williams fully briefed the General.
“You had better be right on this one, Bill.”
They walked back to the helicopter. After they climbed into it, the General passed a phone to his major and exited.
Williams and Fowler spent fourteen minutes on the phone with Williams doing virtually all of the talking. At the end of the conversation, Fowler said, “I’ve got most of what I need.” He then read off a list of the rest.
Arthur Jonathan Fowler was an honor student throughout his four years in high school. He was the only child of parents who divorced when he was six-years-old. Shortly after the divorce, his father disappeared and with him went child support. Money was scarce throughout his childhood. While in grade eight, he began delivering newspapers after school. He turned sixteen during his junior year in high school and managed to get a job working after school and weekends in a neighborhood delicatessen. The job carried through to the summers following his junior and senior years.
He needed to help support his mother whose health was failing. As a result, he turned down several college scholarship offers and decided instead to attend a local community college in his hometown of Worcester, Massachusetts. This would allow him to continue working at the delicatessen.
Fowler was just shy of six feet tall and thin. With no family car, he had never dated. His non-school and non-work time was most often spent reading.
Two weeks before he was to have started junior college, he was beaten and robbed while walking home just after nine at night following nine hours of work at the delicatessen. There were four attackers, all of whom took turns punching and kicking him. They made off with six dollars. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately as future events would seem to prove, he did not recognize any of them and, as a result, he did not report the attack to the police.
He decided against attending college. Instead, he joined the local boys’ club and began lifting weights, as well as taking boxing and wrestling lessons. He also read whatever he could find on martial arts and practiced as many moves as time would allow. All the while he worked full-time at the delicatessen.