by Don Drewniak
That brought the General to laughter.
Williams asked Fowler to finish the story. When he was done, the General said, “I never thought I would hear something that rivals how Bill killed Assassin in being unbelievable. This one is close to it. Arthur, congratulations, you did one helluva job.”
“Thank you, General. Now, how about a raise?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
FOLLOWING THE DELIVERY BY RAPPAPORT AND MCBRIDE, the Texas team now had the ended Assassin, Eagle Assassin One (living), Eagle Assassin Two (dead), and the newly arrived Morales Assassin One (living) in its possession. The team consisted of the original five members: Stanton, Ling, Henderson, McDonald and Patel, plus Saunders and the newly added Baldarelli.
Baldarelli’s duties were three-fold: interpreter, interrogator and protector of the members of team whenever any of them were with Morales Assassin One. Now in his late thirties, he was the same weight and height, two hundred ten pounds and six-two, as he was in college where he was a starting linebacker in his sophomore, junior and senior years. He went to work for the F.B.I. after graduating and was recruited by Morgan twelve years later.
An exhausted Rappaport called a 9:00AM meeting with all team members, including Baldarelli, who had arrived two hours earlier. McBride was also present. Speaking to the group, he introduced their newest member. “This is Marco Baldarelli. He is a former F.B.I. agent who has been assigned to the team by Morgan. He is fluent in Spanish and is a trained interrogator. Under no circumstances is anyone to be with Morales without Agent Baldarelli being present. In addition, we have brought in six additional men. One of them will be directly outside of the room in which Morales is being held at all times. I’m sure that I do not have to remind any of you that this is not Hector Morales, rather it is another manifestation of Assassin. Any questions before we continue?”
“Yes,” said Henderson. “How was he captured?”
“Andrew and I had to leave with Morales, officially Morales Assassin One, before the details were discussed. The only thing we know is that is was Fowler who did it.”
“Thank goodness,” thought Ling.
“The top priority,” continued Rappaport, “is to find out if there are any more of him. To that end, Agent Baldarelli will take the lead.”
What Rappaport did not share with the team was that Baldarelli had spoken via phone with Williams, who had detailed the role scotch had played in the killing of Assassin and the capture of Morales. Both the General and Morgan instructed Baldarelli to begin immediate interrogation of Morales and to do so using the best available scotch.
The two drawings suggested by Henderson were completed. It was decided by Stanton that she be the one to show them to Eagle Assassin One. Baldarelli, along with two soldiers with weapons drawn, slowly walked into the room. All three stopped several feet from the door. The alien eagle was twenty feet away and did not move. Henderson then walked in. Standing between the soldiers, she held up the first of two three-foot by two-foot drawings. It was the one with a likeness of Eagle Assassin One with the damaged wing.
Remaining motionless, the eagle stared at it for several minutes. It finally slowly lifted its left wing as if to ask, “And?” Henderson then held up the second drawing showing another likeness of Eagle Assassin One, this one with a repaired wing. Again several minutes passed until it again slowly lifted its left wing.
Stanton, who had been watching through the one-way mirror, cautiously entered the room pushing in a large wheeled computer stand. On it was a laptop to which was attached a 30-inch monitor. Flanked by the soldiers, he slowly wheeled it to within ten feet of the eagle. He then walked slowly back to the door.
Henderson then hit the play button on a remote. On flashed a video showing a team of veterinarians surgically repairing an eagle’s damaged wing. It played for nearly ten minutes. All the while, Eagle Assassin One watched with what seemed to be total attention.
Upon the conclusion of the video, Henderson pointed to the monitor and then to the eagle’s damaged wing. Minutes passed until Eagle Assassin One raised its good wing. With that, two veterinarians, totally encased in biohazard suits entered the room and proceeded to sedate the patient. A gurney was used to roll it to a surgical room. Included on the operating team were the two veterinarians, two assistants, an anesthesiologist and Stanton. Stanton’s task was to extract blood and tissue samples. All members of operating team wore biohazard suits.
Stanton spent the next few hours examining the samples and then placed a call to the General. “General Barrington, I just finished examining blood and tissue samples from the Eagle Assassin. As expected, the virus appears to have successfully invaded every cell of the eagle. As you know, the virus which controls the various Assassins, if as Cyclo pointed out it is a virus, is the most insidious and potent mankind has ever encountered. If it should spread out of control into the animal and/or human population, we are looking at a possible doomsday scenario.”
There was no reply. As a result, Stanton continued, “More bad news, I just met briefly with Marco Baldarelli. He has finished his interrogation of Morales. Morales replicated once before his capture. There is a possibility that his double has already replicated or will do so in the near future.”
“Unfortunately, that is what I expected. Do you need additional live humanoid assassins?”
“No, but a dead one would be a bonus.”
“A dead one?”
“For a postmortem.”
“You are not suggesting we kill Morales?”
“No, I understand that Morales may be able to provide us with invaluable information. Also, we would like to see if Morales One will replicate while in captivity. While I doubt it will do so, if it did what we may learn might be crucial.
However, there is just so much we can possibly garner from his blood and tissue samples.
“We’ll do what we can.”
“Alice is here with me. She has additional information about the Eagle Assassin threat. Would you care to speak with her?”
“By all means.”
“Good afternoon, General. How are you?”
“Not quite as well as I was before this phone call.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Unfortunately, what I have to say may further dampen your spirits.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Among the prey of golden eagles are smaller animals such as ground squirrels, marmots and rabbits as well as larger ones such as foxes. With the increased size and intelligence of the Eagle Assassins, they are apt to go after even larger prey. This is made all the plausible by the fact that they are now going after prey working in packs. Witness the attack on Bill. Suppose rather than kill and devour some of these, they choose to infect them? This includes human beings.”
“God almighty!”
“There is no way for us to begin to fathom the consequences.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
As soon as Stanton came back on the line, the General said, “my first priority with respect to any alien humanoids is now to destroy them completely. Morales is to be kept alive. Any postmortem will have to wait.”
“We are done with the original Assassin. It needs to be disposed of unless the government wants to add it to its Wright-Patterson or Area 51 collection.”
“Dr. Stanton, if there are any such aliens, I have no knowledge of them. I will see that it is removed as soon as possible.”
“We should be through with the postmortem of the dead eagle within three days. It can then be removed. Although it is a long-shot, we may be able to eventually learn something of value from it.”
Back at the motel in Reserve, the HC was meeting to finalize the details of the search.
“In addition to Morgan’s, we will have a second drone monitoring our area courtesy of the General. It will focus exclusively on Silver City. Also, while our mission is to search the area for humanoid assassins, we need to try to figure out how many Assassins of all types are in circulation,” said Williams.
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Cyclo began, “I’ve been working up a genealogy of sorts beginning with Assassin One.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Williams.
“The only scenario that makes sense, at least the way I see it, is that Assassin split twice after it made its escape. The replicates would be Assassin Two and Assassin Three.”
“That must have happened in a very short period of time,” said Williams. “Shorter than I have thought possible.”
“I know and that makes our search that much more critical. We have assumed that you killed the original Assassin and that is probably the case. However, I don’t think we can be absolutely sure of that.”
“What?” asked Fowler.
“Both spin-offs would have had exactly the same memory as Assassin up to the moment of replication and might very well have thought they were Assassin. All three would have remembered their original encounters with Bill as being exclusively their own.”
“So, in theory,” said Williams, “any three of them may have been the one which took down the mountain lion and Fred.”
“Yes, and there is probably no way we will ever know. However, because of time frames involved, the most likely would be the original with Assassin Two being a reasonable possibility. Assassin Three is only a very remote possibility. No matter which of the three you killed, that is a dead end with respect any danger posed to us.”
Fowler couldn’t resist, “Unless it comes back as a zombie.”
Flashing a rare smile, Cyclo quickly fired back, “Only if one of its brethren hires a bokor.”
“A broker?”
Cyclo hesitated, another rarity for him, as he wasn’t sure if Fowler didn’t know what a bokor was or if he did know and was baiting. He decided to play it safe. “Not a broker, a bokor.”
Deadpanned, Fowler said, “Oh, bokor. I was in Haiti several years ago. I killed one to see if it could bring itself back as a zombie. Never did.”
Cyclo was a total loss for words as Williams and Morgan laughed. Once the cabal had settled down, trying to sound like the General, Morgan said, “Arthur, what am I going to do with you?”
Despite the obvious pressure Morgan was under because of the escape of Assassin, it was clear to Williams that he was enjoying being part of the group, perhaps truly enjoying life for the first time in years.
Cyclo continued. “There are other scenarios for what happened next, but this one is as good as any. Assassin Two went on to infect Morales, who became Morales Assassin One, who we know replicated and that replicate should be in circulation. The question is has it replicated? That would mean there are at least two Morales Assassins.
“At least?” asked Morgan.
“Either one or both could have replicated. If so, there are three or four of them.”
“Dammit.”
“There is also the possibility that Assassin Two replicated before or after infecting Morales. If so, who knows what is out there from this strand?”
“And that still leaves Assassin Three,” said Williams.
“Most likely Assassin Three replicated once to create Assassin Four and then went on to pick apart the destroyed bear before it was demolished. That should be another dead end. Assassin Four started the Eagle Assassin line, most likely by infection. We know there are at least two of them. There are probably more by now. Let’s hope they haven’t attacked any humans or infected them.”
“So Assassin Four may still be out there and might have split who knows how many times? And I let the original get away.”
“Morgan,” said Williams, “it does no good to agonize over it. Remember, I could have easily destroyed it in the early days. Let’s concentrate on going forward and wiping them out.”
“Thanks.”
“First thing in the morning we start from square one. Morgan, do you and Cyclo want to take Reserve or Glenwood?”
“Makes no difference, but since Art has had success in Reserve, why don’t you two cover it. We’ll take Glenwood.”
“Fair enough. You can switch to Gila in the afternoon. Art and and I will take Mule Creek. If we come up empty, we can come back to Reserve and Glenwood.”
The first day back on the humanoid trail yielded nothing – no one remotely resembling Morales. No reports of criminal or unusual activities which could be linked to a humanoid assassin and no images of worth from the drones.
Shortly after five the following morning, Williams’ cell phone rang.
“Bill, it’s Morgan. We may have a break. I’ve got a night vision feed showing what looks like a break-in of a farmhouse three miles north of Glenwood.”
“Give us ten minutes.”
Eight minutes later, the group was standing alongside their two vehicles.
“What are we looking at?” asked Williams.
“At 4:34 this morning, the drone picked up an image of a human shape walking toward the farmhouse. It stopped for about five minutes and appeared to be watching the north side of the house. Then it slowly circled to the back of the house, stopping fifty feet or so behind it – this time for about ten minutes. Finally, it went into a run heading straight at the back of the house. It disappeared under what looks like a porch roof and hasn’t been seen since. I’m betting it rammed a rear door.”
“Could you tell if is occupied?”
“There’s a car there, Bill, so most likely it is.” He paused. “Look at this, it just came out of the house carrying two rifles and is heading for the car.”
There was now a sufficient amount of daylight to allow them to watch as the intruder unlocked the car, opened the trunk of a six or seven year old Toyota sedan, placed the rifles inside and headed back to the house.
“This doesn’t look good for whoever is in that house,” said Fowler.
Williams frowned in agreement. “Morgan, why don’t you and Cyclo get the copter and go directly there. Art and I will take my Pathfinder. Keep us posted, especially if the bastard takes off in the car.”
“Will do.”
Morales Two, or whoever it was, made three more trips into the house. Among the items he carried out were a suitcase, three cardboard boxes and what appeared to be a six-pack of beer. He then entered the car.
Morgan and Cyclo sped towards Westerlind’s and the copter, while Williams and Fowler drove toward the house. By the time the copter was airborne, the intruder had pulled away from the house and was driving slowly south on Route 180 toward Gila and Silver City.
Using cell phones, Williams and Morgan kept in constant contact. “Bill, are we going to check the house?”
Williams gave the question some thought before answering. “Odds are the intruder is a Morales. Can you nail the bastard if Art and I go to the house?”
“We’ll get him.”
“Leave no trace. I’ll have the General send two copters with medics and a dozen troops to the house. As soon as you finish off Morales, meet us there.”
“Will do. Also, it might be a good idea to have the FBI step in. I can arrange to have the right agents in charge of the investigations.”
“Do it.”
Once in the helicopter, Morgan and Cyclo rapidly closed in on the slow driving prey. “I’ve got the car in sight. It’s going at twenty-five miles an hour. No run-of-the-mill scumbag would break into a house the way this one did, steal a car and drive this slowly. This has to be another Morales.”
“Check.”
“We’ve lucked out, Bill. He’s turning onto the back road heading west toward Gila.”
“If you can catch him out of sight of any other vehicles, blast him to hell and destroy the car. Leave nothing but scrap.”
“I should of have gone with Morgan,” complained Fowler.
“You sure?” asked Morgan.
“I’m sure. If it isn’t him, we are still eliminating vermin. Save taxpayers some money.”
“Okay.”
With the car in sight and no other traffic visible, Morgan passed no more than ten feet over it, sped by, turned and headed directly at
the front of the car.
“Bill, it’s Morales.”
“Take him out.”
Morales swerved to his right to get out of the way of the helicopter. He also hit the accelerator. Moments later, he was stuck in sand.
“Don’t waste any,” said Morgan as Cyclo grabbed a thermite grenade.
“Fifty says it goes off just before hitting the hood.”
“You’re on.”
Seconds later, Williams heard Morgan laugh and say, “Dammit.”
Shortly after the explosion, the car burst into flames. Cyclo then dropped a half dozen fragmentation grenades before Morgan headed to the house, leaving nothing but smoldering rubble behind.
“Mission accomplished.”
“Great work, guys,” replied Williams. “Art and I are outside the house. We’ll wait for you.”
“It will take a couple of hours, but we’ll have FBI covering the house and the remains of the car.”
“Good.”
“Ready?” asked Williams as Morgan and Cyclo stepped out of the helicopter. “I don’t expect to find anyone alive. Just in case, let’s knock on the front door and identify ourselves as police.”
Morgan nodded as he looked at small single-story farmhouse which was badly in need of painting and repair.
“Bill,” said Fowler, “why don’t you let me do the knocking while the three of you guard the back door. Give me a minute, then go in.”
“Do it.”
A minute’s worth of knocking yielded no response.
Weapons drawn, the three stepped into a ransacked kitchen. To the left was a hallway. Two open doors were visible.
“One must be a bedroom,” said Williams as he slowly walked toward the doorways. Looking first through the doorway to his left, he whispered, “Shit.”
A male in his late fifties or early sixties was lying in a pool of blood, the victim of multiple stab wounds to the chest and neck. On a blood-soaked bed was a pajama clad woman in the same age range with a single stab wound to the neck.
Fowler joined them. After all four remained stationary and silent for two or three minutes, Morgan asked, “What now, Bill?”