He studied the area around the gate, but didn’t see any type of intercom or communication system. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to announce his presence. He had never been summoned to the SC’s compound before and was a little worried that this might be some type of ambush or interrogation. It was possible that the supreme commander had heard about his spiritual visit with Father Mulcahy and was planning some type of retribution. He said a silent prayer asking for safe passage and forgiveness from the One and Only.
A handful of multi-story watch towers were in range, just inside the compound’s perimeter fence, each manned by two guards with shredder rifles and a flamethrower. Wyatt found it odd that troops weren’t stationed outside the gate in order to discourage anyone from approaching the residence uninvited. He figured they must have deployed some other type of deterrence system.
As he approached the front of the compound, he bent down and picked up a chunk of metal pipe sitting in a pile of construction waste to his right. He tossed it at the gate. When the three-inch cylinder touched the metal structure, the spotlights lit up almost as quickly as the gate shot arcs of electric current across its heavy-gauge frame. The pole-mounted guns rose up three feet, cocked themselves, swung around, and pointed their barrels at Wyatt’s position. He put his hands over his head and didn’t move.
“This is a restricted area. Identify yourself,” an amplified voice said.
Wyatt drew in a deep breath to fully support his words. “My name is Sergeant C. Wyatt Rutherford. I was summoned here at the request of the Supreme Commander. My ID number is Delta Lima Kilo Two-Twelve. Alpha squad.”
A minute later, the swing gate rolled open on its eight-inch caster wheel, revealing a squad of six armed soldiers. They sprinted toward Wyatt and quickly surrounded him, their weapons held high and tight. Two sets of hands searched his pockets, pant legs, shirt sleeves, and inside his vest, pulling out nothing but air. Wyatt knew better than to show up armed for a meeting with his boss.
One of the men behind him rammed the muzzle of his shredder rifle into the small of Wyatt’s back, pushing him forward with a firm lurch. “Inside. No sudden moves,” the man said, with a slight lisp in his words.
Wyatt surrendered, allowing the men to usher him through the gate and inside the compound. The group walked through a maze of grassy areas that were bordered by three-foot-tall brick walls that served as the base for a line of flower pots surrounding each segment. The landscaping was rich everywhere he looked, beaming with perfection. Each area was staffed by a stunning blond-haired woman dressed in simple attire, who appeared to be watering and pruning the potted plants in her section. None of them made eye contact with Wyatt.
Three spacious homes stood to the left, just beyond the plush landscaping sections; each was two-stories tall, trimmed with expensive-looking rolled shutters, solar-infused roofing plates, and spacious front porches. Wyatt assumed the largest one to the right was the Supreme Commander’s. Oddly, though, there were no trees, just endless amounts of grass, manicured bushes, and blooming flowers.
Off to the right and closer to the rear of the compound was an open dirt field where a gigantic contraption was being built. It looked like a multi-platform mobile landing base for transport ships, except each deck had a slew of super-sized gun turrets lined up across the top. Wyatt wondered if it was the new Stunner Deck that Freakshow had told him about.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the base of an overly tall, single-story tan-colored cement building that looked more like the bottom part of an elevator shaft that apparently went nowhere. It was near the middle of the forty-acre encampment; nowhere near the homes Wyatt passed earlier. The building was maybe fifteen feet square and had no windows, just a single door at the base and a plain metal roof. It looked more like a maintenance shack than anything else. Above the door was a quartet of black letters twelve inches tall that read SCIC.
A thick tree stump stood to the right of the door with a red-handled ax lying sideways across its top. It was covered with what looked like blood. Behind it were three pairs of chains with hand shackles hanging from the wall, each pair positioned above a set of leg irons that were welded to posts buried in the ground.
The hair on the back of Wyatt’s neck stood up and tingled. “Uh, where are we going?” he asked, stopping to evaluate his options.
The man leading the escort group didn’t answer. He nudged Wyatt in the back with his gun again, this time with added force.
The door to the shed opened. The Supreme Commander stepped out, wearing what looked like fleece pajamas; his long, wispy hair blew leisurely in the eastern breeze.
“I’ll take it from here,” Cyrus told his men. They quickly backed away from their close-quarter escort position around Wyatt.
“Come inside,” the commander said, sliding his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
They walked side-by-side into the tiny building. It was empty inside, with no furniture, tools, weapons, or people. There was only a second door on the opposite side of the fifteen-foot room.
The SC used his free hand to swing the door closed behind them, then he led Wyatt forward a few more steps until they were standing a few feet in front of the second door. Wyatt assumed they were about to exit the backside of the shack, which of course didn’t make any sense.
A pleasant citrus aroma rose up and invaded Wyatt’s nose, canceling his internal panic alarm. The hairs on his neck softened and wilted against his skin.
Cyrus released his arm from Wyatt’s neck and took two steps to the left. An orange-colored, wide-angle laser beam appeared from a round, one-inch metal extrusion just above the exit door. It washed over Wyatt from head to toe in a slow, but consistent manner. When it reached the ground, it shrank in size and disappeared as a pinpoint of light.
“Excellent,” Cyrus said, “You are who you say you are.”
Wyatt wasn’t sure what to say to that remark, so he kept his mouth shut.
When Cyrus stepped in front of Wyatt, a chest-high section of the wall next to the door faded away, and was replaced by a silver-colored metal plate about the size of a standard sheet of writing paper. The commander put his hand on the plate and held it there for a three-count. When he removed his hand from the unit, it began to glow a bright orange color, outlining the contact points where his hand and fingers had been. Speckles of blue light danced across the plate for a few moments, then the back door opened.
Wyatt couldn’t believe his eyes. Inside was another room, much larger than the tiny shack, maybe fifty feet across and easily just as deep. Cyrus stepped inside. Wyatt followed, trying to make sense of the paradox.
The room was decorated with two lounge chairs, a coffee table, a leather couch, a dining room table and chairs, and a row of bookshelf units containing hundreds of paperback books arranged in size from small to large. A small kitchen area was just beyond the dining table, and a king-sized bed with at least six fluffed pillows was to the right. Next to the bed were a pair of doors which Wyatt figured were closet doors.
“How is this possible?” he asked his boss, wondering if this was some type of illusion. However, it was possible they’d just transported to a new location. He was aware of the Jump Pad system that the SC had acquired from Dr. Kleezebee, but this obviously wasn’t that.
“I’ve acquired some amazing new technology,” Cyrus answered. “Something only a select few know about.”
“I’m honored, sir.”
“As you should be.”
“Are we still in your compound?”
“Yes, exactly where you think you are. We can now reshape parts of our environment at will.”
Wyatt was impressed. “So, this is where you live?”
Cyrus turned and nodded. “I prefer to keep my location on a need-to-know basis. It’s much more difficult for insurgents to launch an assault if they don’t know where I am.”
“That’s an understatement,” Wyatt mumbled, trying to wrap his head a
round this stunning achievement. “I thought you lived in one of the nice homes I saw on the way in.”
“That’s where I keep my stable—”
“Of women,” Wyatt added, disgusted, wondering how many beauties the man kept captive as sex slaves.
“Misdirection is the key to concealment. If my enemies are focused on the answers I choose to give them, then I always know what they are thinking.”
“And what their next move will be.”
“Precisely. But that’s not why I asked you here today,” Cyrus said, sitting in the black easy chair. He pointed to the other leather chair, closest to Wyatt. “Please. Sit.”
Wyatt sat down, but decided not to lean back. He didn’t want to appear too comfortable in front of his capricious boss. He kept his back straight up with his feet planted on the ground. It was his version of sitting at attention. It also gave him a split-second advantage, just in case he needed to get up and take a defensive stance or make a run for it.
“Sergeant, you’ve been a member of Alpha Squad for what, a year now?”
“Thirteen months, eleven days, sir.”
“I’ve read your performance reviews. Excellent work.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary, lately?”
“In regards to what?” Wyatt asked, wondering if the SC was talking about him or his squad leader, Freakshow.
“Odd behavior. Hysterics. Inconsistency. Any leadership issues that I should be concerned with that might compromise the next phase of my plan.”
Wyatt’s mind quickly drew a list of at least a hundred items—any one of which could have had Freakshow committed to the nuthouse. “Odd? No, sir. Things are pretty much status quo as far as I can tell.”
Cyrus pinched his brow and tilted his head, as if he were evaluating Wyatt’s choice of words. But he didn’t say anything.
“May I ask why?”
“Secondhand reports have come in that my most-trusted friend has been demonstrating characteristics that are outside his, shall we say, colorful nature.”
Colorful wasn’t the word Wyatt would use to describe Freakshow. “It’s true, sometimes he’s a little unpredictable. But I’m a hundred percent positive he’s on board with your plans.”
“I don’t doubt his loyalty. It’s his mental state. I’m concerned he’s not firing on all cylinders. Take what happened earlier at the café.”
“When he walked off into the corner and seemed to argue with himself?”
Cyrus nodded.
“Okay, I agree. That was a little strange. Even for him. But he carried out your orders to the letter.”
“This time, yes. But that might not be the case in the future. It doesn’t take much for a mission to unravel. If it does, I need to know that I can count on you to step in and take charge.”
“Consider it done, SC,” Wyatt said without hesitation. His mind drifted for a moment, as he considered how badly Freakshow would react if he were forced to take command away from him. He prayed it would never come to that. If it did, he’d probably have to kill Freakshow, then deal with his loyal guards. That would mean more blood on his hands and even more confessional visits with Father Mulcahy. Then Wyatt’s paranoia kicked into high gear. He worried that Freakshow might be nearby, possibly listening in on this conversation. He looked around. “Is he here?”
“Not yet. But he’s on his way. He has information about Kleezebee’s location.”
“Excellent news.”
“Kleezebee and that universe-jumping asshole Ramsay have been a major thorn in my ass ever since I let them walk. That won’t happen again.”
“Lucas Ramsay. . . . He’s a scientist, right?”
“I’m not sure you could call him that. Not anymore. Not since he lost his little brother. That twisted little fuck has been torturing people for information, including several of our most trusted operatives.”
An answer popped into Wyatt’s head. He now understood who Father Mulcahy wanted him to help.
Cyrus bit his lower lip. “But that little shit will get his as soon as the Stunner Deck is complete and operational. All we need now is the necessary power, then my little QED can rise up and destroy all those who oppose me, both foreign and domestic.”
“Is there anything I can do to help facilitate that?”
“Yes, I want you to take a squad and visit an old friend in Flandreau City. Convince him to return what’s rightfully mine.”
Wyatt assumed his boss was talking about the drug lord, Gaylon Reece. “A friend?”
“Technically. He used to be a rival. But now he’s just a royal pain in my ass, but that won’t matter soon.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but didn’t you sell the modules to him?”
“Now I’m un-selling them. Is that a problem?”
Wyatt shook his head.
“We have a contact in town that should be able to arrange a meet for you. The man will trade for anything—that’ll be our way in. Just don’t let on that we know what the spheres are and how to use them. Otherwise, he’ll gouge us on the price. You’ve never met the man, right?”
“Never.”
“Once you have the modules in hand, we’ll go in weapons hot. Kleezebee and company won’t know what hit them, literally. Cellular disruption is quite effective.”
“And painful, I’ll bet.”
“Kleezebee is the only one on this entire planet capable of stopping our new tech. I can’t take that chance. Not when we are so close to my dream. Before I send you on your way, there are two other matters we need to discuss.”
Ah, crap. Here it comes, Wyatt thought. “Anything, sir.”
Cyrus took the digi-pad from the coffee table and gave it to Wyatt. The screen lit up, showing two photos side-by-side. One was a tall, beautiful women dressed in sexy leather attire and the other was a balding, fat, black man. “Do you know these individuals?”
“Yes, the woman is Commander Kristov. I am not familiar with the gentleman.”
“His name is Dr. Marcus Yakberry. He’s a reverse engineering specialist from Avanti Prime. Quite possibly the smartest man in the entire galaxy. I’ve just pulled him from Special Projects and sent him to work with my ex-girlfriend, so they may test our new realignment process. But sometimes she doesn’t take well to strangers.”
“Kristov?”
Cyrus nodded. “I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days. Communications are down again.” He sighed. “Damn it, I never should have gotten involved with that woman. She can be a real vindictive bitch when she wants to. I’m not sure if she’s pissed at me again, or just ignoring me. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I know what that’s like. My wife can be a real handful.”
“She didn’t take it well when I ended it with her,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “She said I was at the top of her Fuck-Off List, whatever that means. Never get involved with a slut from the ‘hood. Everything they do is tied to an agenda. Nothing is real or genuine. And that temper of hers—”
Wyatt didn’t respond. He didn’t want to flame the anger swelling in his boss.
“But, she’s still an effective leader. I need you to pay her a visit. Smooth things over for me.”
“Not a problem, SC. I’ll make it my top priority.”
“Excellent. Then recover the modules and meet us at the rally point. I’ll send coordinates,” Cyrus said, flying out of his chair. “I think it’s time that I show you my most prized possession.”
Wyatt smiled, stood up, and followed his boss. They walked to the pair of closet doors just to the left of the bed.
Cyrus pulled open both doors to reveal an all-glass cabinet to the right and a vertical, seven-foot-tall steel box to the left. He put his hand on the side of the glass cabinet and flipped on the internal lights to reveal a set of five shelves—each with four severed heads sitting on them, facing out. All of the heads were missing their eyes. Just hollow sockets remained.
Wyatt g
asped, making it difficult to maintain his composure.
“These are previous team members who failed me. There’s always room for one more. Understood?”
Wyatt nodded, fighting the urge to hurl chunks. He did, though it wasn’t easy.
Cyrus pointed to the walls, floor, and ceiling of the closet. Every square inch of its interior was covered with some type of metal plate. Each plate was two feet square and covered with a crisscrossing pattern of unshielded, heavy-gauge electrical wire. “I had the interior lined with six-inch-thick tritanium.”
“For radiation protection?”
“Not exactly,” Cyrus answered, grabbing the handle on the coffin-like metal box. “It’s a neuro-shield that’s been supercharged with a perfectly modulated grid of exactly two hundred twelve amps. It keeps the seekers at bay.”
Wyatt didn’t understand the “seekers” reference. Was he talking about Dr. Kleezebee, or someone else?
“This is the Holy Grail of information and technology,” Cyrus said, opening the lid.
Wyatt’s jaw dropped open.
Inside the box was a slender, older woman wearing a silver-colored pantsuit with a bird emblem across the chest. Her arms, legs, neck, and midsection were chained to the sides of the container. A handful of wires and tubes hung from her arms and neck, looping around her body.
Wyatt made eye contact with her, but she didn’t react.
“I finally managed to capture one of the Baaku shapers,” Cyrus said proudly. “The final piece to the puzzle.”
TWENTY-NINE
Lucas slid a wooden stool next to the trio of commercial-grade, Lightwave Mark II cooking ovens stacked on top of each other, just to the end of the food prep station. He sat down and spun the back of the stool around in such a way that he could rest his elbow on the cutting table while viewing the first nine steps leading up to the second story. Rico was upstairs, conducting a search of Fisher’s apartment and office and was due back any minute. Lucas thought about running upstairs to help him, but the major had told him to wait here, so that’s exactly what he’d do.
Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2) Page 21