The Path Of The Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  Jarrod’s mind analyzed every pause and inflection in San’s speech. There was desperation, but also hope. It was a plea for help, but it wasn’t given under duress. Strangely, the tone seemed vague, as if San’s words were aimed at an intangible audience, rather than Jarrod himself. A moment later, San’s voice changed. When the final words came, Jarrod’s head twitched. “Jarrod, someone abducted Philip. I know what you’re doing is important, and I would never ask if I thought there was another way. In a few days, there may be an opportunity for a hostage rescue, and you are the only person I trust to save him. Please, Jarrod, come back. I don’t want my son to die this way.”

  An instant after the audio ceased, letters and numbers flashed across the screen in a jumbled code. Though they appeared random, Jarrod could read the message as if it were written in plain English, the capability to decode it hidden deep within his brain.

  Philip Torres has been captured. If you are willing to assist, transportation will be arranged for you. Be at the…Djambala airport in…seven hours.

  Very few people could send a coded message that Jarrod alone could read. Among them were Daron Keeler and Emily Roberts. Jarrod dismissed the latter—if San was in Emily’s presence, there would be traces of anger and bitterness in his voice. The message was authentic; Philip had been taken hostage, and San wanted Jarrod’s help.

  It wasn’t logical to abandon his mission. Jarrod was thousands of miles away. There were dozens of rescue teams in a better position to save Philip than him. Additionally, there was no way for Jarrod to know who had abducted Philip or where they were.

  It came as a surprise to Jarrod’s mechanical instincts when a new order filtered down from his subconscious: Move to Djambala airport and proceed to the United States by any means necessary.

  Lacking any official documents, Jarrod avoided the white-walled terminal building of the Djambala Airport, jumped the security fence, and concealed himself in the open grass next to the airstrip. His armor left him invisible to all but the closest scrutiny. Lying completely still, he watched the aircraft come and go, memorizing tail numbers.

  After six and a half hours of silent observation, a distinct whine reached his ears. It was the sound of two Rolls-Royce Mark 511-8 turbofan engines, specifically belonging to a Gulfstream C-20B passenger jet. His transportation was about to arrive.

  Staying on his stomach, he dragged himself toward the runway, anticipating where the arriving aircraft would be after turning around for departure. The jet’s tires squeaked as they touched down, and the jet sped toward him. It turned around on the taxiway without pausing and finally came to rest less than one hundred yards away. Refracting the light of the setting sun and flushing pigment into his lower limbs to blend in with the runway, he sprinted toward the aircraft’s opening door. The door’s built-in steps hadn’t even touched the ground when he leapt inside.

  His armor resumed the appearance of chiseled ebony. Jarrod pushed past an aircrew member and said, “Take off. Now.”

  The crew member gasped and stumbled back against one of the seats. He had been told their lone passenger was “unique,” and would probably arrive abruptly, but he hadn’t expected this.

  “Y-yes, sir,” he mumbled, giving Jarrod as wide a berth as possible as he backed toward the cabin. When he reached the cabin door, he gave three sharp knocks, and said, “Ready for takeoff.”

  Jarrod wandered to the rear of the aircraft and grabbed an emergency parachute, then sat down and buckled in.

  The crew member eyed him nervously. “Can I g-get you anything?”

  A black jaw formed at the bottom of Jarrod’s smooth face. It bounced up and down as he uttered the words, “No thanks.”

  The crew member swallowed, then fumbled at the folding door behind him. He stumbled inside, locked it, and spent the entire flight in the cramped confines of the lavatory.

  28

  San ambled down the spiral staircase, his head hanging low over his shoulders. Somehow, he had made it through another night. With his son still missing, sleep was as elusive as the wind. He had lain awake in the morning hours, his mind conjuring images of his son being tortured or killed. Anita hadn’t slept either. She had left the room hours ago, hoping not to wake Susana or Maria with her quiet sobs.

  When San reached the kitchen, Anita was already there, scrubbing dishes from the night before. Without saying a word, he grabbed a towel and began drying the dishes. He hoped the mindless activity would keep the dark thoughts at bay, but it didn’t. His mind transported him to an underground dungeon, where men in black masks were beating Philip with whips and chains, punishing him for the sins of his father.

  The sound of harsh scrubbing brought him back to reality. Anita was cleaning a stained plate with fierce determination. She swore under her breath and scrubbed harder, her hands shaking from the effort.

  “Anita…” San said softly.

  There was a crash as Anita lost her grip on the plate and it shattered. She stared at the broken remains as a child might gaze at a dead puppy.

  “Anita,” he repeated

  Her eyes bounced, staring at one point, then the next, and finally settling on his face. Her body turned rigid, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay…” San said. “Everything will be okay.”

  Anita’s pupils dilated, then constricted. “Oh, San,” she said, her lip trembling. “Where is my baby boy?”

  San pulled her into a hug, and she seemed to melt in his arms. She had reached the tipping point, and crying wasn’t enough. With her face buried in his chest, she wailed over and over again, “Where’s my baby! Why did they take my baby from me!?”

  San didn’t speak. He feared he would break down if he parted his lips. All he could do was hold her tight and sway gently, praying for an end to the nightmare.

  They stayed that way for several minutes, then a shape at the edge of the kitchen caught San’s attention. It was Janson. He hadn’t heard her come in, and had no idea how long she had been there. She turned away as soon as he looked up.

  “Ms. Janson,” he called out. “Have you gotten any news from Daron?”

  Without turning around, she shook her head, then left the room.

  San frowned and pulled away from his wife, absently rubbing her shoulders. She wiped her eyes on her sleeves, then snagged a paper towel and blew her nose.

  “Coffee?” San asked.

  She nodded, and wandered over to the breakfast bar. A few minutes later, they were both sipping French roast. The tears were gone, replaced by a hollow despondence. They didn’t try to lift each other’s spirits. It was no use; nothing but the safe return of their son would bring them out of the darkness.

  As the sun ascended the morning sky, other protectees began to stir. Physicists, engineers, chemists, and surgeons invaded the kitchen in search of food. San recognized most of them from his time at Hillcrest, but he wasn’t in the mood for reunions. Taking Anita by the hand, he retreated to the study.

  They had just settled into a pair of armchairs when the study door swung open and Daron entered.

  San was on his feet in an instant. “Any news about Philip?”

  “What? No,” Daron said, sounding a little annoyed. “If you haven’t heard, things are not going well out there. To put it bluntly, we are getting our asses handed to us.”

  “But what about our son?” Anita demanded.

  “We are working on it,” Daron replied.

  “You’ve been working on it,” Anita said. “We want to know what progress you’ve made.”

  Daron glared at Anita, then at San. “Your son has alphabet soup looking for him right now. FBI, NSA, DHS, CIA, you name it. I doubt the President’s kids would get this much support if they were taken hostage. When I say we’re working on it, I don’t mean we filed a report with the county sheriff. I don’t mix words, so please don’t question me.”

  San and Anita exchanged glances and fidgeted uncomfortably.

  Daron took a deep breath, th
en continued. “I am losing good men out there. If I’m short on patience, it’s because people are dying. Even if we knew where your son was, Katharos would probably move him before we even got close. We are dead in the water right now, and it’s all we can do to get our defense experts to safety before they’re assassinated.”

  San suddenly felt guilty for his narrow focus. “I’m sorry, Daron,” he said. “How…how many people have you lost?”

  Daron set his teeth and stared out the window. “Eighteen of my men. If you include the assassinations of the folks working with DARPA, it’s nearly six-fifty.”

  San staggered. The world spun around him, and he held onto Anita for support. In a hoarse voice, he said, “S—six hundred and fifty…people?”

  Daron nodded grimly. “And that number’s climbing every day. Whenever we find out about a Katharos safe house, they clear out before we can organize an assault. They know everything we’re doing, intercepting every communication, and setting up ambushes. And we haven’t learned jack shit about their full-scale attack, which is less than four days away.”

  Growing paler by the moment, San said, “Daron, why are you telling us this?”

  Daron sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, San, it’s just been a rough week. I guess I needed to blow off some steam. I actually stopped in to deliver some good news.”

  Anita reached out and held her husband’s hand.

  “We made contact with Jarrod,” Daron said. “A C-20 picked him up yesterday and flew him to Andrews Air Force base.” Daron cracked a smile. “Sounds like he scared the shit out of the flight crew. Eugene’s on his way to pick him up.”

  A light flickered in San’s eyes. “That’s great! Is he going to bring him here?”

  Daron shook his head. “Absolutely not. We need Jarrod in the field every second he’s here. He’s our best asset.”

  San thought about that for a moment, then said, “But he’s not your asset. If he came, he did it of his own free will.”

  Glancing at his watch, Daron turned toward the door. “Semantics. We just need to feed him the right information and cut him loose.”

  Daron’s parting words sent a chill down San’s spine. He sincerely hoped Daron wasn’t hiding anything, because Jarrod was not kind to people who tried to manipulate him.

  “What do you mean ‘lost the cargo?’” Eugene asked.

  The pilot glanced at his crew and sat up straighter in the briefing room chair. “The cargo…excused himself while we were on approach.”

  “You mean he bailed out?” Eugene said.

  “We believe so,” the pilot replied.

  “What do you mean?” Eugene pressed. “You didn’t see him jump?”

  One of the crew members fidgeted, and the pilot said, “Our flight attendant was in the restroom at the time. As we were descending, one of our emergency hatches opened. When we landed, we discovered that one of our parachutes was missing.”

  Eugene sighed. “Any idea where he landed?”

  “We could run some calculations…” the pilot said. “It won’t be precise, considering the winds were variable at the time…”

  “No, don’t worry about it,” Eugene said, holding up his hands. “I’ll find him myself.” Eugene thanked the aircrew for at least getting their passenger across the ocean and reminded them that everything they had witnessed was strictly confidential. The aircrew nodded, and Eugene left the building. Their last hope of taking a stand against Katharos had fled before the jet even touched down on American soil.

  Even though it was mid-morning, the military airport’s parking lot was packed. Eugene jogged past row after row of parked vehicles, digging into his pockets for his keys. He stopped a few paces short of his Datsun, stunned by what he found inside.

  So that’s what it feels like, he thought.

  A man in an ill-fitting Nomex flight suit was sitting in his passenger seat.

  Eugene shook his head, opened the door, and sat down. “How did you even know this was my car?” he asked.

  Jarrod shifted in his seat, the skin-tight flight suit restricting his range of motion. “I recognized the scent,” he answered.

  “Alright…and why did you jump out of the plane?”

  “I wished to avoid security cameras.”

  Eugene grinned. “Probably saved us some time. You didn’t even have to wait in line at customs.”

  Jarrod paused, silently acknowledging the joke, then said, “What do you know about Philip Torres?”

  “Not nearly enough,” Eugene admitted. “Daron has feelers out all over the place, but we haven’t heard so much as a whisper. All we know is he was taken by men in ski masks driving a black van.”

  “Where is San?”

  The Datsun rumbled to life, and Eugene backed out of the parking space. “He’s in a safehouse with Anita, Maria, and his sister-in-law. We’ve been rounding up anyone we think this criminal organization might be targeting.”

  Jarrod nodded. “Katharos.”

  Eugene frowned. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  Jarrod replied in even tones, as if giving a mission debrief. “I disabled a Katharos fortress in the Republic of the Congo. All but two enemy personnel were killed, and it is likely that they have since perished. The man identified as the commander was taken into custody and interrogated. He provided the name of his organization and security details for three other Katharos bases, but little in regards to strategic intelligence. During the interrogation, I inferred with high probability that the top-ranking member of Katharos known as ‘Empress’ is actually Emily Roberts.

  Jarrod continued, further explaining the connection. “Abductions by complete strangers, though highly publicized, are rare. Emily Roberts and her cohorts have a motive to kidnap Philip, in order to draw out Santiago. If Roberts is associated with Katharos, then it is likely Katharos is responsible for the abduction.”

  Eugene didn’t speak for a long time, silently navigating toward the Airbase Exit. Finally, he said, “We’ve missed you, Jarrod. Whoever these people are, they’re well equipped, and they’re always two steps ahead of us. Philip is just the tip of the iceberg; hundreds of people are dying and thousands more are at risk. Daron and I are doing everything we can, but I don’t know if we have a chance without your help.”

  “Pessimism and optimism are equal hindrances,” Jarrod said. “What makes you believe thousands of people are in danger?”

  Eugene shook his head and chuckled softly. “You know, sometimes I wish someone would cut my emotions out with a scalpel.” He took a deep breath. “I ran a reconnaissance mission on an arms-dealing conference. Two people dropped the words ‘Empress’ and ‘Casket,’ and discussed an all-out attack on DARPA. We didn’t think it was possible at first—DARPA’s resources are too spread out, too intangible. There are scientists all over the country doing weapons and technology research at universities and civilian corporations. As it turns out, we were wrong. Katharos has been rooting them out and killing them off. The scary thing is, the main attack is still almost four days away. We have no idea what their targets are, but we’re expecting a massive cyber-attack and bombings at key facilities. Maybe even the Pentagon.”

  “Do you have any sources from within Katharos? Have you taken any captives?”

  Eugene hesitated. “A couple. But I’m not supposed to tell you where they are.”

  “Why?”

  “Daron has our best interrogators working on them, and he thinks you’d be put to better use in kinetic operations.”

  “If you know where Katharos assets are hiding, why haven’t you attacked already?”

  Eugene’s shoulders drooped. “Like I said, they’re always two steps ahead of us. Whenever we get solid intel about one of their hideouts and put together an assault, they clear out before we can move in. Somehow, they’ve broken through all our secure communications. Daron thinks the only chance we have is to go completely low-tech. No comms, no computers, no preparation. And our entire system is based around communi
cation. We can’t even get approved for a SWAT team without leaving a digital footprint.”

  Watching Eugene’s expression, Jarrod said, “That’s why Daron wants me involved.”

  “As far as I know, he’s just trying to utilize you in the best way possible,” Eugene said, though there was a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

  “When can I speak to Daron in person?” Jarrod asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s been all over the place lately, and I can’t contact him directly. We’re running radio silent. That’s why he sent me to pick you up, so I could pass along our first objective without the possibility of being tracked.”

  Jarrod surveyed the Datsun’s interior, noting that everything inside was analog, even the radio. “And what’s our first objective?”

  “A house in the suburbs,” Eugene said. “We think there are at least four Katharos agents hiding out. We want to take them all captive, if possible. Think you can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Eugene glanced at his burly companion. “We can’t be sure, but they are probably well-armed. I’ve got some weapons and body armor in the trunk, so I can back you up if you’d like.”

  “No.”

  A smile tugged at Eugene’s lips. “I wish I had your confidence. It would be best if you could secure the hostages in the house without alerting the neighbors. Any calls to the police, and Katharos will know we’re onto them. I have restraints and non-lethal weapons in the back, too.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Jarrod said.

  “And you’re okay with all of this? I mean, we can’t give you orders…we just think this is the best course of action.”

  Jarrod stared long and hard at Eugene, then said, “You keep using that word.”

  Eugene frowned. “What word?”

  Jarrod didn’t answer, he simply turned away and gazed out the window.

  “Jarrod, what word?”