by Don Drewniak
“Now what?” asked Cyclo as they headed toward the Covington’s house.
“I’m calling Morgan and Williams.”
“We may have found the Holy Grail. Presuming all who are currently using the house are in it, we may find the Covington’s, most likely infected, and possibly others who have been infected. And, I’m guessing, one or more Morales.”
“If we find out that any of those combinations exist, infected or not, we are going to have to follow the General’s orders and wipe them all out.”
Williams and Morgan met briefly with the General and were in Morgan’s helicopter surveying the territory north of the Rappaport led slaughter when Morgan received the call from McBride. Williams was able to hear McBride and immediately ordered, “I’ll have the General send over forty troops, but we’ll keep them waiting two miles away and concealed as best as possible. No matter what happens, no troops near the house under any circumstances unless either Morgan or I clear it. Get Art and Mueller there ASAP. All of you stay out of sight of the house until we get there. If anyone leaves the house, contact Morgan immediately.”
This caught Morgan by surprise, but he didn’t say anything until after the conversation with McBride came to an end. “Holding back the troops?”
“I understand why the General wants every one of the bastards killed, but first we need to know how many are in the house.”
“And?”
“And then we try to find out if these are the end of the line. To have any chance of doing that, we have to get one alive and under our control. I figure there are at least three – the couple and an Assassin. Probably more. We need to flush them out and wipe out all but one. Then we follow it and see if it leads us to any others. Oh, can you have FBI ready to help clean up the mess?”
Morgan nodded. “Are you going to let the General know?”
“Yes.”
“Will he give you the go?”
“Yes.”
“How do you plan to get one alive?”
“You are going to take care of that.”
Williams switched to piloting the helicopter en route to the Covington’s house in order to let Morgan use his tablet. Fifteen minutes before landing, Morgan announced that thermal imaging from the drone indicated there were five human figures in the house. “I’m willing to bet they they are now all Assassins,” said Morgan.
“We only need one.”
Williams landed the helicopter in a secluded area a little under a mile from the house. Waiting for them were Fowler and Cyclo. Fowler, along with Mueller, had arrived forty-five minutes earlier. Cyclo was told to stay in the helicopter and to be ready to fly at a moment’s notice. The Pathfinder was loaded with everything Williams and Morgan thought would be needed.
A five to six year old Japanese sedan which belonged to the Covington’s was parked in a shaded area about sixty feet in front of the house. A check by Fowler revealed that there was a key in the ignition. At the same time, he placed a GPS tracker underneath the car. McBride was at the wheel of the Pathfinder which was parked well out of sight. Mueller’s task was to use an M-32 6-shot 40mm launcher to fire tear gas through the window of the rear door and through two rear windows. This, it was hoped, would force those inside to exit through the front door. Williams and Fowler were positioned about fifty feet off to either side of the front door, rifles and hand guns ready. Fortunately, they had an abundance of bush and tree cover.
Morgan was flat on his stomach sandwiched between two bushes about thirty feet from the driver’s door of the sedan. In his hands was the experimental rifle containing RFID chips. It was the same one he had planned to use on what was thought to be the original Assassin.
Less than a minute after Mueller fired repeated volleys of the gas, the inhabitants of the house came running and staggering out of the front door. Williams and Fowler began firing at the trailers. Morgan caught the first two with the chips, hitting each with three. Shortly after Morgan’s firing, Fowler dropped the second of the two remaining Assassins. All three then stopped firing and remained perfectly still – nearly still as the four bodies on the ground.
Blinded, choking and stunned, the remaining Assassin alternately ran and fell during the next two to three minutes. Williams noted that whoever it was, or had been, it wasn’t a Morales. It was a male, late twenties or early thirties, light skinned, an inch on either side of six feet tall and well-built. The clothing, a pair of dungarees and a flannel shirt, was several sizes too small. Williams guessed they belonged to the male Covington. Compounding the presumed Assassin’s difficulties was a lack of shoes.
When the lone survivor appeared to have gained at least partial sight, he assumed a crouching position and proceeded to survey his surroundings. Dominating the view was a trail of four bodies extending back to near the front doorway of the house. After briefly looking at the carnage, he began to slowly turn clockwise, momentarily pausing while looking in the direction of Fowler. Continuing on, he paused for at least ten seconds while fixing a gaze on Morgan.
“He recognizes Morgan,” thought Williams.
Without trying to hide his presence, Williams readied himself. The two stared at each other for nearly two minutes from the moment the latest version of Assassin spotted Williams. Finally, Williams glanced at the Covington’s car. Assassin rose to a standing position and began to walk slowly to the waiting sedan.
As soon as Assassin entered the vehicle, Morgan called McBride and told him to bring the Pathfinder to the house and to order in the troops. “Have them surround the house and let no one, including police, anywhere near it. Get the bodies taken out immediately. It’s your responsibility to see that they get to Texas without being seen by anyone except the General’s troops and the agents I’m flying in.”
Meanwhile, Williams, Fowler and Mueller raced to the bodies. “Just as I thought,” said Fowler, “military.”
Two of the four bodies were replicates of the living one and had identical U.S. Marine tattoos. The remaining two, the ones closest to the house, were the unfortunate Covington’s. As soon as Morgan joined the group, he said while pointing to the replicates, “I’ll tell McBride to make sure they are finger printed so we can find out who these were. Awful.”
“Let’s not forget,” said Williams, “that we are dealing with an Assassin who may be utilizing the type of individual the original wanted.”
Morgan looked at Fowler half expecting him to make a comment to the effect that the Marine was only the second choice, but Fowler said nothing.
Williams and Morgan conferred briefly just as Cyclo and McBride joined them within seconds of one another.
“We’ve got a signal from the car,” said Cyclo.
Williams said, “Jesse, you and Cyclo follow him in the copter. The rest of us will sweep the house and then Art, Don and I will track him with the Pathfinder.”
Morgan and his son scrambled to the helicopter, while the rest of the team carefully entered the house.
“What a goddamn stinking mess,” yelled Fowler once it was apparent there were no Assassins in hiding.
Empty bottles, cans and cardboard food containers were strewn about in every room. Dishes, glasses, cups and utensils crusted with dried food and liquids were equally scattered throughout the house. Food remains, much of it rotting, smelled almost as bad the only toilet in the house which was apparently blocked.
“If we hadn’t got them,” said McBride, “the filth might have done the job.”
“What’s missing?” asked Williams.
“Morales,” answered McBride.
“I’m not surprised that we found Assassins other than Morales, but I am surprised that a Morales Assassin was able to infect a marine. How the hell did that happen? And where are the Morales Assassins?” added Fowler.
Williams walked up to a desktop computer which, surrounded by garbage, was on a Formica kitchen counter. He shook the mouse and as he did so a page from a military surplus company flashed onto the screen of an old CRT monitor.<
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“Gentlemen, take a look at this,” said Williams.
As the other three gathered around the computer, he looked at McBride. “Andy, the rest of us better get on the road. Be careful. One more thing, if the police show up, tell them it’s off the record, but that there are reports of a flying saucer being spotted.”
“What?”
“Morgan will explain.”
Fowler did the driving with Williams sitting up front.
“He’s south of the ghost town heading directly toward Silver City on 180,” said Morgan via a cell phone connection with Williams. “Staying at the speed limit. Do you have a position on the car yet?”
“No, but Don should have it up in a minute or two.”
“Ghost town?” asked Fowler, who could hear what Morgan was saying.
“Cyclo tells me that’s what Alma is called.”
“Any ghosts there?” asked Fowler.
This was an open invitation for Cyclo. “Not to my knowledge. However, Apaches wiped out a whole bunch of early settlers around 1880, so maybe. Also, Billy the Kid and the Sundance Kid may have spent some time there. The New Mexico Tourism Department labeled it a ghost town.”
“Anything to make a buck,” interrupted Fowler. “Anybody live there?”
“A few dozen. There’s a store and a restaurant for tourists and a Boot Hill Cemetery.”
“I thought that was in Dodge.”
“There are a bunch around the country.”
“Enough,” laughed Morgan. “Anything in the house?”
Williams described what they saw.
“We’re also tracking him with a drone. Once you get a signal, try to close the gap.”
“You want me to break the law?” asked Fowler.
There was no reply.
A minute later, Mueller passed the tracker to Williams.
“It shouldn’t be too long before we get an idea of what our latest Assassin has in mind,” said Williams.
“Mind or minds,” quipped Fowler. “He has to know we are following him, especially being a marine. Wonder if he has any money on him? Unless he has gear in the trunk, he’s eventually got to stop and either buy or steal what he needs, including gas.”
“Chances are he does. That might be why the key was in the ignition. Quick getaway,” answered Williams.
“Maybe he is heading to someone he knows. Any chance one or more Assassins?” asked Mueller.
“Doubt it,” said Williams, “but that’s what we need to find out. He knows we let him go after cutting down all the rest. If there are others, he must figure that we are trying to get him to lead us to them. I’m betting he’ll try to find a part of the city where he can find some cover, maybe a place he is familiar with, ditch the car and try to lose us.”
“If that’s the case, the RFID’s, if they are working, could be our ace,” said Mueller.
“If Morgan didn’t hit some trees instead.”
From the open cell phone connection came Morgan’s voice, “I didn’t miss, Art. Too bad I didn’t aim a couple at your ass.”
The Pathfinder swerved a little as Fowler broke into laughter.
As the minutes passed, the Covington’s car entered the outskirts of Silver City. Fowler had closed the gap to just under a half-mile. With light traffic on Route 180, Morgan and Cyclo had a clear view of both vehicles.
“He just passed by Route 90 which heads into the main section of the city,” said Morgan.
“So I see,” replied Williams as he focused on the tracker. “I’m surprised . . .”
Morgan cut him off. “Bill, he’s turned into a motel parking lot right off 180. The motel runs perpendicular to highway. He’s heading to the far end. Just parked at the end of it. This is as close as we are going to get. No sense in drawing attention. Let’s see if he heads to a room.”
“Is he still in the car?” asked Williams as Fowler began turning into the motel lot.
“Yes.”
“Can you see him?”
“No.”
“Damn!”
Williams instructed Fowler to pull in about nine spaces away from the sedan in what was an almost empty parking lot.
With field glasses trained on the driver’s side windows, Mueller said, “It looks empty.”
Telling Fowler and Mueller to stay in the Pathfinder, Williams opened the passenger door and walked slowly toward the sedan. The engine had been turned off and there was no sign of Assassin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“SAME PLAYBOOK,” SAID WILLIAMS.
“It sure as hell looks like it,” replied Morgan. “Let’s hope he only helped one to escape.”
“Even if that’s the case, it probably won’t be long until there are two.”
“Now what?”
“Other than finding out who he was, or is, hell if I know,” answered Williams.
“Hell if I know either. We’ll head back to see what has happened back at the house and I’ll call Andy to see about the fingerprints. Call you right back.”
Williams, Fowler and Mueller were driving back toward the Covington’s when Williams received the promised call.
“He what?” asked Williams in reply to what he was told by Morgan.
Morgan explained that ten troops, including an Army doctor and four medics, were in the process of transferring the bodies into two choppers. The FBI agents were an hour away, so McBride decided to cut off both hands of one of the copies of the Marine Assassin. That way, the fingerprints could be taken by the agents as soon as they arrived.
“I hope he was careful not to touch any of the blood.”
“State police, local police. I bet there are a few pissed off cops down there,” said Morgan, describing the scene to Williams.
“Down there” was the road on which the Covington’s house, or at least what had been their house, was located. A solid wall of troops was lined up along the road blocking any entrance to the property.
Morgan was viewing the site through field glasses while sitting in the helicopter. “The bodies are gone.” Turning to Cyclo, he said, “Land about two hundred yards behind the house.”
“Any need for us?” asked Williams.
“No.”
“Then we are heading to the motel.”
“As soon as we make sure that Andy has everything under control, we’ll meet you there.”
It was well after seven in the evening when McBride returned to the motel. “Hope you all have been having a great time,” he said as he joined the other five in the restaurant.
“We all had good late lunches, took naps and just finished up with excellent dinners,” replied Fowler.
“The least one of you could do is buy my dinner and a drink.”
There was a protracted silence before Morgan said he would spring for both. “Now take it from the top.”
“The troops the General sent were good, real good. I pointed to the bodies and immediately an army doctor took over. The medics and a few of the troops, all wearing protective gear, began bagging the bodies getting them ready to throw onto the helicopters. That’s when I told them to hold off on one of the Marine bodies and asked to borrow some of the protective gear. The doctor ordered one of the troops to get me an outfit. I remembered having seen an ax in back of house. I sprinted to it, came back, told everyone to stand back and then gently cut off the two hands at the wrists. Surprisingly, not that much blood spurted out.”
“Gently, my ass,” laughed Morgan.
At that point, the lone waitress brought McBride a bottle of beer. Half the bottle was gone ten seconds later.
“The bodies were airborne before the cops arrived. I had the remaining thirty or so troops seal off the property. The head honcho from the State’s began demanding answers. I walked over, showed my FBI ID and told him the investigation was under federal jurisdiction. ‘That’s horseshit,’ he yelled. ‘What the hell is going on around here? Same goddamn horseshit every time.’”
“Can’t blame him for being pissed,�
� said Morgan.
“We went back-and-forth for a little bit and then I asked him to walk across the road out of ear shot of the cops and the troops. I told him what I was about to tell him was off the record and went on to tell him that we had some satellite images of unusual objects hovering near the incidents that had been happening. One was spotted near that house. When I got there, the troops were already there and we were waiting for more FBI agents to come and start the investigation.
“He asked what was in the house. I told him there was no one in it and asked who lived there. He told me a couple in their fifties, Jim and Patricia Covington and then asked if there was any sign of violence. I told him there was none that I could see and that everything seemed in place. I finished up by telling him that I was sorry it was off limits to him and his men, but I was just following orders.”
“Great job, Andy,” said Morgan.
“One more thing. He told me that a lot of the people in the area are buying the flying saucer crap, but he didn’t.”
“Maybe we should fly a black triangle over the area,” said Cyclo without showing a trace of emotion.
“You telling us those things are ours?” asked Fowler.
“Ask Morgan.”
Fowler looked at Morgan who said, “It’s classified, Art.”
Fowler smiled, “Wait until I tell this to Killer Two.”
“Anything else?” asked Morgan turning his attention back to McBride.
“When the agents came, they took the prints and then the troops put the hands in a container. At the request of the agents, the troops sanitized the house and then poured gasoline over the area where the bodies had been and torched it. When the agents and the troops left, I decided to check out the area around the house.”
“Find anything?” asked Morgan.
“Only two Morales.”
None of the other five said a word as they stared at McBride. Finally Morgan said, “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” said McBride casually. He was obviously enjoying the moment.
“Alive? Dead?”
“Another beer might help my memory.”