San nodded, and said. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I was as blindsided by Emily’s betrayal as anyone, probably more.”
Danny leaned forward. “What can you tell me about the test subject for Project Nerium, Four-Seven-Charlie?”
“You mean Jarrod? A lot, I guess. Where should I start?”
“From the beginning, please.”
San fidgeted. “I don’t know much about the beginning. I didn’t even meet Jarrod until he came to Hillcrest. His family died, or was killed, I mean. But Jarrod didn’t know they were killed, he thought it was an accident, and he had a mental breakdown. Roberts was in charge of his psychological treatment and—”
“Roberts was in charge of Project Nerium?” Danny cut in.
San frowned. “No. She was only in charge of Jarrod’s mental conditioning.”
“Okay. And what is mental conditioning?”
San shot a bewildered glance at Daron.
Daron crossed his arms and said, “Okay, Danny, maybe it would be better if you told us the official story for Nerium first.”
“Well, like I said, I always assumed the official story was a lie,” Danny mumbled. “I’ve put some things together on my own, you know.”
Eugene patted Danny on the leg. “Don’t worry about it. As far as we can tell, the real story was buried when the project failed.”
Danny scratched at the bristly hair on the side of his head. “I was told Project Nerium involved experimental supplements for performance enhancement, to be used by soldiers. And the creation of state-of-the-art body armor. They said the project was shut down after one of the subjects suffered a negative reaction to the supplements and went insane. He supposedly ran off with the only functional suit of armor and died in a shootout with the security team.”
San’s lips were twitching in the attempt to suppress a smile. Eugene shook his head.
“Go ahead San, tell him,” said Daron.
San took a deep breath. “You were right to be suspicious. Project Nerium was much worse than that. The process used gene editing, nanotechnology, synaptic rewriting, and performance enhancement in ways that would disgust the general population. It was unethical, and the results are terrifying.”
“Are terrifying? You mean the subject is still alive?”
“His name is Jarrod,” San said quietly. “He is still alive, but not in the way he was before. They gave him strength, speed, and intelligence, but they took away everything that made him human.”
Danny looked at Eugene, then back at San. “I’m sorry, but could you be a little more specific? What do you mean they gave him intelligence?”
San took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “They used nanomachines and a computer interface to rewrite the connections in Jarrod’s brain. They collected instructions for hand-to-hand combat, sabotage, psychological warfare, spycraft, interrogation, anything a killer might need, and wrote it into his head. They also erased things. Stuff he didn’t need, like how to cook macaroni and cheese, or what happiness feels like…”
Daron cleared his throat and said, “It’s a waste of time to discuss this in detail. Danny, why don’t you tell us what you know about Lateralis?”
“Well, I was told Doctor Roberts was in charge of it, and it was related to drones. She supposedly made a high-tech, virtual reality controller for a robot that could carry heavy loads in all terrain.”
“That’s close in concept,” San said, “but not in purpose or degree. Lateralis used some of the same physical enhancements as Nerium, with the addition of mechanical implants. They took a dead body and turned it into a remotely-piloted cyborg.”
Danny’s mouth dropped. “Incredible.”
A fire passed through San’s eyes. “Yeah, it was supposed to take living soldiers off the battlefield. For a while, I even convinced myself it was a good idea. Mutilating corpses and turning them into instruments of death seemed great until I learned Emily chose Jarrod’s dead wife for the first subject.”
Danny’s face twisted with disgust. “Why would she do that?”
San shook his head. “I’m not sure. I still have trouble accepting who Emily turned out to be.”
Danny nodded absently. His eyes roamed the room as if tracing a route through a maze. Though he didn’t smile, his expression grew perceptibly brighter. Suddenly, he jumped up and started pacing. “Yes…” he muttered, “that would make more sense…”
“Alright, Magoo,” Daron said, “snap out of it and share with the group.”
Danny halted and blinked his eyes. “Sorry.” He sat down, fidgeting excitedly as he spoke. “One of my jobs is to sort through tips we receive from foreign nationals, but most of our sources are prone to exaggeration. Ten guys with rifles turns into twenty guys in tanks, that sort of thing.”
Eugene nodded. “I know the type. My old unit paid locals to report on enemy movements in Afghanistan. About once a week, one of them called in and gave us a perfect description of the Mongolian Horde.”
“Exactly. Well, I keep getting stories about ‘a man who won’t die.’ Apparently, there is a monster that’s killing off scores of people in Africa with machine guns or magic or maybe both. I threw the reports out, figuring they were bogus. But the funny thing is, people actually are dying.”
“And you think Jarrod is behind it?” Eugene said.
“Is Jarrod a criminal mastermind bent on global destabilization?” Danny asked, smiling.
No one answered, then Daron said, “You’re losing us, egghead.”
“The attacks are linked to an organization I’ve been trying to track down for years. I still don’t have a name or enough solid evidence to prove its existence. But from what I’ve gathered, someone is manipulating smaller terrorist groups to destabilize conflict-prone areas around the globe. Eventually, nations like the United States step in, and this organization provides weapons to nearby insurgent groups, ensuring long-term regional instability.”
“But why?” asked Eugene.
“And how the hell do you know?” Daron added.
Danny crossed his arms. Looking at Eugene, he said, “I don’t know, and,” he turned toward Daron, “because I’m a freaking genius with access to the world’s most powerful spy network.”
“Sounds like conspiracy theories,” said Daron. “If the intel isn’t actionable, it’s useless. Why don’t you tell us more about—San, put your hand down.”
San lowered his hand sheepishly. “My wife is probably wondering where I am. Can we talk about Emily now?”
Danny was glowering at Daron. He said, “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Of course, I don’t have any actionable information Eugene and Daron haven’t heard already.”
San nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“But I did some digging into her past, and I found some anomalies. She spent a few years doing ‘charity work’ after finishing her residency. She went to Ghana, Bangladesh, China, Uruguay, Moldova, and at least a dozen other countries. She moved around way more than any volunteer should have.”
Daron frowned. “That wasn’t in her security clearance paperwork.”
“That’s the anomaly. I re-opened her file and compared it to the passport database. The investigators responsible for getting her a security clearance either made a mistake or covered it up.”
“Jeez,” said Eugene. “Did you contact the investigators?”
“No.”
“Why not?” said Daron.
Danny looked irritated. “Because I don’t know how to conduct a séance. Everyone involved in her background check died of natural causes over the past four years.”
San’s eyes turned hollow. “She lied. She wasn’t coerced…she was a traitor all along…”
Danny nodded. “I think so. She probably went Benedict Arnold while abroad, and someone with deep pockets and dangerous associates helped her get the job at Hillcrest.”
San’s shoulders slumped, and he stared off into space.
“San, nobody knew,” Eug
ene said. “She had us all fooled.”
“We had her over for dinner and board games,” San mumbled. “It turned into a tradition. The kids loved her…Anita loved her.”
For the first time, Eugene raised his voice. “Don’t act like you were the only one close to this, San. Marcus was her friend. He would have died to protect her, and she killed him. Quit moping around like you were the only person she hurt!”
San snapped out of his stupor and blinked at Eugene.
“That’s enough, Eugene,” Daron barked.
Eugene stood abruptly and marched out, leaving the remaining men in stunned silence.
“What was that about?” Danny asked.
Daron sighed. “Gene had a thing for Roberts. He was always asking about her when I went to visit him in the hospital. He took it pretty hard when she went rogue.”
“I had no idea,” San whispered.
“He’ll get over it,” Daron said. “We all will.”
Danny nodded. “And hopefully I can bring you closure by digging up some answers.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “I’m sorry, but I need to be going. Thank you for your input, San.”
San nodded. “I wish I could be of more help.”
“You might have clues that you aren’t aware of. I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you as the investigation continues. That is, if you’re still available to meet.”
San frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Are you serious? I just told you the investigators responsible for Roberts’s clearance, who were probably in league with her, all died of natural causes. Kind of a big coincidence. You’re not planning to go into hiding?”
San’s face didn’t register comprehension.
“The investigators were probably on her organization’s payroll,” Danny explained. He ran a finger over his throat. “And she had them killed anyway, just to tie up loose ends. Since you know her so well, don’t you think she’ll target you and your family?”
San’s vision dimmed. The room closed in around him, and he swooned. Daron caught him by the arm and held him steady.
“No,” San choked out. “Dear God, I’ve been such a fool. I—I need to get home.”
“Easy, big guy,” said Daron. “You need to get your head on straight before you go anywhere.”
San nodded and took a deep breath.
Looking over his shoulder, Daron said, “Nice one, Daniel. Real smooth.” Daron put an arm around San’s back and walked him out of the building.
Eugene met them in the parking lot. “Listen, San,” he said. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have lost my—hey, are you okay?”
“He’s alright,” said Daron. “Egghead less-than-delicately pointed out that San’s family may be a target for assassination.”
Panic flashed over Eugene’s face. He quickly replaced it with a look of determination. “Daron and I won’t let anything happen to your family. Don’t listen to Danny; he’s just paranoid.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Daron agreed. “We’re taking the fight to Roberts and her cronies, and we haven’t seen anything that indicates they’re after you.”
A cool breeze washed over the parking lot, and San felt the color returning to his face. “Thank you. Thank you both,” he said. San patted Daron’s arm and stood on his own. “I…have some things to discuss with Anita. I’ll let you know what we decide.”
He left them at the door of the run-down building and returned to his car. The Crown Victoria’s engine rumbled to life, and the sedan bounced out of the parking lot as if fleeing an unseen predator.
2
The streets in the sand-colored city wove together like fibers in a rat nest. Trash carpeted alleys and ditches, and dust covered every surface. Jarrod sped through the twisted maze, taking in landmarks and street signs. Suddenly, the unlit shanties gave way to well-lit, modern homes. Jarrod glanced up at the tangled array of powerlines. He was on the right track. He punched the accelerator and followed the widening mass of black cables eastward. The potholes in the road diminished both in size and frequency—another good sign.
Jarrod left the poverty-stricken city and slowed near a large estate. He recalled the tortured screams that described what now lay in front of him. His captive, now dead in a filthy basement, had spoken of iron gates, bronze lion statues, and the winding drive. It all fit perfectly, but Jarrod would need to taste the air inside the mansion to be sure.
He abandoned the Range Rover and stripped off his clothes, revealing smooth, black armor beneath. It covered his entire body, and was as seamless as paint. He surveyed the night around him and sniffed the air. As he turned toward the massive house, the black armor faded until he was as transparent as a wraith.
He jumped the gate and started up the steep drive, then crept onto the porch. Two massive Rottweilers lay snoring a few feet from the front door. Jarrod paused, then grabbed the doorknob.
One of the dogs jerked awake and looked around. Its roving gaze rested on Jarrod, and it tilted its head. Jarrod’s form appeared as a mere distortion of the porch beyond. The dog looked at its toothy comrade, who still slept peacefully. Satisfied, the beast lay its great head back on its paws.
Clear tendrils spread from Jarrod’s fingers and probed at the lock. It clicked, and Jarrod stepped inside. The door was well balanced, swinging on its hinges without making a sound.
He took a deep breath, and his enhanced olfactory sense fed him streams of information. There were six people in the house: three children and three adults. Two of the adults were male, and one of them was his target—pedophiles had a unique scent.
Jarrod flicked on the lights, illuminating a vast room with granite floors and fine tapestries on the walls. A carpeted stairway led to the second floor, and three suede couches and a recliner were clustered around a glass table. Something stirred on one of the couches. A boy, perhaps eight, sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around the room absently, then squinted at Jarrod.
Jarrod’s armor shimmered, then solidified into an inky black shadow. The boy’s eyes shot open, and he grabbed at the couch next to him.
Another boy spoke in French, his voice scratchy from sleep. “What?”
The first boy tried to form words, but only squeaked. He pointed frantically at Jarrod.
The second boy started to shriek. “Mama! Tomi!”
The door at the far side of the living room slid open, and a teenage girl poked her head out. Feet thumped in a hallway upstairs, and a man in his twenties stumbled down the steps. The girl froze, her hands over her mouth. The man’s expression sank in resignation.
The two boys abandoned the couch and ran to the man’s side. The girl trailed behind, skirting the outside of the room.
“I knew you would come,” the man said. “I’ve heard the stories. I know what you do.”
More footsteps, and an elderly woman descended the stairs.
“Thomas, what’s happening? Is everything alright?”
As she stepped into the light, Jarrod could see a strong resemblance between her and the young man. When she saw Jarrod, she gasped. Her knees buckled, and she clutched at the wall.
“No!” she cried. “Why is it here? Why is it in my home?”
“Mama, I’m scared,” said the teenage girl. “What does it want?”
“It wants our father,” said the man, his tone icy.
“It can’t!” the woman wailed. “Tomi, it can’t take him. You have to do something!”
Jarrod watched in silence, his face a smooth pane of ebony.
“I will not,” Tomi replied.
The woman gripped her son’s muscular arm and said, “Your father is a good man! Please, you must fight this demon!”
Tomi jerked his arm free. “You are either a liar or a fool. I’ve stood silent for too long while my father satisfies his thirst with other children as he once did with me.” He stepped to the side and said, “The man you are looking for is upstairs.”
Jarrod nodded
and said in a low voice, “Don’t let the children see.”
The woman collapsed and wept miserably while Tomi led the children to the girl’s room and shut the door.
As Jarrod passed the woman, his face morphed into a grotesque mask. Four mouths appeared, each with jagged white teeth, and a row of short horns encircled his skull. The black armor flickered with orange and red as if ablaze.
The woman stopped wailing and drew sharp, quiet breaths as she craned her head to listen. Upstairs, a door splintered open, and she heard her husband’s voice. “No! Stay away! Please, I’m sorry!”
She heard something heavy land on the floor. It had dragged her husband from the bed.
“Please! I won’t ever do it again, never again!”
Jarrod appeared at the top of the stairs, clasping the bloodied ankle of a heavyset man.
“Anya, please!” the man shouted. “Help me!”
Jarrod dragged his prisoner down the stairs, leaving a trail of crimson behind.
“Anya, my love! Do something!”
The woman turned away, weeping beneath closed eyelids.
“Anya! Don’t let it take me! Anya!”
She put her hands over her ears and hummed to drown out the noise.
Jarrod pulled the door open and dragged the man outside. The dogs attacked immediately, one clamping a powerful jaw on Jarrod’s arm, the other seizing his leg.
With a thought, Jarrod sent a dozen needle-like barbs into the dogs’ mouths. They let go and scurried away, whimpering. Jarrod continued down the driveway, his prisoner clawing at the ground and begging for mercy. The dogs followed at a safe distance and barked furiously.
At the iron fence, Jarrod rolled the man onto his back. The glossy armor on his fingers elongated, twisting into jagged claws, and he plunged them into the man’s shoulders.
“It will be over soon,” Jarrod shouted over the man’s shrieks of pain.
He lifted the man up and held him over the prongs of the iron gate. “Any last words?”
“M—mercy,” the man blubbered.
Jarrod shook his head. “Not tonight.” With a powerful downward thrust, he impaled the man on the gate.
The Path Of The Nightmare Page 2