Caroline was quiet a moment, biting her bottom lip as her fingers strummed nervously against the lower edge of the keyboard. “Well, it looks like they were here long before we arrived. There are records here going back years. Best I can tell is they created the dinosaurs, and are trying to turn them into cyborgs or something. There are some older files that are corrupted. I see controls diagnostics over here. Genus and species information over there, and—” Caroline stopped.
“What is it?” Nattie asked, as the young woman turned to face her and Rob.
“They have all of our information here too. They were using us as a cover, to create hybrid dinosaurs.” Caroline’s face paled as she spoke.
“Why?” Rob asked, moving beside her, placing his arm around her shoulders as he read through the screens.
“It doesn’t say, but I think it is pretty clear.” Caroline looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes.
“Motherfuckers,” Clark growled. “Building a frigging robot dinosaur army. Bloody Yanks. No offense,” he added, looking at the three beside him.
“Woah, wait a minute. What’s this?” Caroline said, pushing buttons as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
A few moments later, a large screen flickered to life on the main wall of the bunker. It flashed with static for a second before dividing into a grid of nine squares. Each one was a camera, showing different points of the island.
“Look, there,” Rob pointed to the lower right screen. It showed two men standing by an entrance to the building. “Are they planting explosives?”
“Does that look like a rescue party?” Clarke picked up his rifle and began walking away.
“Hey, come back here, you can’t even be thinking about going up there,” Nattie called after Clarke.
“Stop him,” Caroline called, her eyes glued to the screen. She jumped up from the chair and screamed. When she looked back at the screen, the camera was gone.
Chapter 30
The boat reached the shore, and under the cover of rapidly falling darkness, the two men scrambled up the rocky beach and onto the island.
Captain Kincaid brought the Langley round to the far, long side of the island, meaning the boat pulled up on the opposite side to where Clarke and his group had arrived. The compound was within a five-minute run from the shallow cliffs that rose from the beach.
Neither man spoke. Their mission was clear, and the room for interpretation was non-existent.
Gunnery Sergeant Plummer carried the charges that would give them entry to the building and down into the bunker. The plans rolled up in his gear confirmed the layout of the both the building and its bunker. He had them memorised and knew the quickest way in, down, and back out again. Sergeant Woods moved a little behind, his rifle raised. He swept from side to side, watching for any signs of movement.
The top secret papers they had been privy to proclaimed the island was deserted of dinosaur life. Aside from the bunker built by deep cover operatives working for Black Arrow Security, nobody had stepped foot onto the island, and an enforced segregation from the indigenous wildlife had been enforced thanks to the early control units implanted into the sea swelling creatures.
Still, it never hurt to take precautions.
“The building is ready. The charges have been placed,” Plummer said, his voice a whisper, but rendered crystal clear in the earpiece that Woods wore.
“Roger that. It’s all clear back here,” Woods said from his position just inside the tree line.
“Make your way toward me, and we will blow this thing. Remember, the scientists need to come alive, the others, well, they are optional,” Plummer said, making a point of reminding Woods about their objective.
He chose Woods for the mission because out of the four of them, he was the weak link. The youngest on the team, he had no blood on his hands, no real issues that told him the lay of the land. He needed to get dirty, and he needed to understand that sometimes, doing one’s duty meant making sacrifices and hard calls.
“Copy that,” Woods said as he broke into a run, crossing the cleared area around the building in a flash.
The ground rumbled, and the Tyrannosaurus appeared from the trees behind them. It emerged like a ghost from the trees. The presence of its arrival created a shadow that fell over the two men.
Plummer took his rifle and opened fire. Standing his ground, he unloaded a stream of hot lead into the creature, which roared at the inconvenience. Woods followed suit, backing up as he fired.
The creature lunged forward, its body seeming too large, and pitched too far forward to be stable, but somehow, it worked. The head swooped down and bit Woods in half. The rifle continued to fire from inside the creature’s mouth.
What remained of Woods fell both left and the right with strands of intestine linking the remains together like laces on a shoe.
The dinosaur spun as the rifle fired bullets from inside its mouth. Its tail crashed against the wall, just as Plummer detonated the charge he had placed. The rear portion of the creature blew apart in a loud pop of blood and flesh.
With its tail gone, the Tyrannosaurs was pushed off balance and fell face first into the forest floor. Its head bouncing as it fell, it was unable to right itself as blood spurted in thick gushes that arced over and across the roof of the building.
Not wasting any time, Plummer slipped inside and made his way towards the bunker.
The power was out in the building, and the emergency lights were fading. The dimness was disorienting, but Plummer knew his way, even in pitch blackness. He had it memorized.
Clarke was waiting for him, his rifle raised and at the ready. He stood behind the door, knowing that the men coming for him would be preoccupied to think that they may have been spotted.
The first man appeared and moved straight to the trapdoor. He dropped the charges, and connected them all. A few moments later, they were two cracks that rang out. One that blew apart the locks on the bunker hatch, and the other that blew apart the large man’s knee.
Emerging from the shadows, his face set in stone, Clarke raised the rifle and took careful aim at the injured man. His knee was gone, a bubbling mass of meat took its place. Yet he remained standing.
“You’re a tough shit, aren’t ya,” Clarke spoke up, letting the full power of his native accent run wild.
Plummer turned his head, unable to mount anything of a comeback as it took all of his control to not pass out from the pain.
“What do you say, you drop them weapons and come with me,” Clarke said, taking a step closer the Plummer. “That’s right, all of it, Gunny, otherwise I’ll take your other knee too.”
Plummer dropped his weapons and found the ability to hop around so that he faced Clarke.
“Where’s your mate? The other one that was with you?” Clarke turned his head to look through the door, but never once did the barrel of his rifle leave its focus point in the centre of Plummer’s chest.
“He’s dead. A rex ate him,” Plummer growled through gritted teeth. Sweat poured from his head, which was turning an ever-deepening shade of red as he fought against the pain.
Clarke took one more look through the doorway before he slammed it closed. “Well, that makes this much easier then, mate.” He walked up to Plummer, and without breaking his stride, slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face. The squelch of his shattering nose sounded like a boot pulled from a gasping muddy puddle. It satisfied Clarke to the point where he left the man alone for the time being.
Carefully, he manoeuvred the body down the hatch and into the bunker, locking them back inside.
He dragged the bleeding body inside and let it lay where it fell upon his its release.
“We should put him in the infirmary,” Nattie said, not even trying to hide her disdain.
“Nah, he won’t live long enough to get benefit from treatment,” Clarke answered, his eyes focusing on the screen. “Tell me what you have found.”
Caroline said nothing for a moment, but
looked to her peers. Nattie nodded, and Rob put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Well, it looks like this place was set up to do more than just protect people inside. You could control an entire country from here. I’ve got sensors and readings from well … pretty much anything you can think of. That guy there, he came from a ship, the USS Langley, they are sitting off shore waiting for them. There is also a submarine nearby, but they don’t seem to be doing anything. These machines are basically feeding me this information; I don’t even have to look for it,” Caroline said, and her inner techie could not help but get excited, even against the backdrop of death and violence.
Clarke studied the young scientist, reading her excitement and enthusiasm. However, he was a man of the shadows. He knew what came next and did not know how to break it to them.
“I’m going to check on Dennis. Keep digging, see what you can find to help us out.” He turned and walked back to the medical bay, stepping over the unconscious gunnery sergeant on the way.
Dennis looked bad. His body was pale, and the sweat dripping from him held the stench of sickness; the kind of lingering odour that clung to every surface inside a hospital. Not matter how clean, or how thoroughly scrubbed, the same stench remained, engrained into the building, right to the foundations.
He was shivering and looked to have lost half his body weight in the time he had been lying there.
“Looks like we have reached the end, buddy,” Clarke said, moving next to the bed. “They’ve got the warships after us. Looks like we found the dirty secret of the modern day United States, and well, they don’t want us telling anybody. I don’t know if you can hear this, but, well, it’s fucked up. You rest easy. You saved me back in the Sudan, and now it’s my turn to save you.” Clarke reached over to the table and took the bottle of morphine. He loaded the syringe to the max and injected it into Dennis’s neck.
On the bed, Dennis stiffened and then convulsed for a moment before his body fell still. His breathing shallowed, slowed, and finally stopped. Clarke waited, saying a silent prayer for his dead friend.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, only standing up when the inevitable sirens started to sound.
They blared like klaxons at a football stadium, the rising and falling pitch restless sea of noise. Clarke hurried back to the others.
“They just opened fire on us,” Rob said, speaking as he turned.
Chapter 31
Philippe Mantle sat behind his desk as he did every day. His office was dark and windowless, the conditions cramped and claustrophobic, but he liked it that way. He had worked in the same place, in the same room, for almost fifteen years. He was great at his job, and had no ambitions for anything higher, nor plans to trade it in for a new setting or a change of pace. He liked order, and he liked routine. His small, dark corner of the world made him feel comfortable, and simply knowing it was there helped him when the size and scope of the real world threatened to become too much for him.
The fact that he did not know who he worked for, and that his pay cheque appeared in his bank every two weeks with a variety of different names attached to it, did little to bother him. He knew the work he did, and could make assumptions as to what level of security he held, but he held no inclination to do so.
So when an alarm starting ringing on his machine, announcing the presence of people inside of Crichton Labs override security system, Phillipe knew he was in for a bad day; a day that would mess with the schedule he liked to stick to. It angered him. Picking up his phone, he already felt on edge about the disruption.
“Sir, this is Phillippe, somebody has activated the Crichton security system. They are poking around, aimlessly if I look at it, but they are getting close to finding Trix,” Phillipe spoke to his supervisor, the faceless man who only ever communicated via the telephone.
Phillippe listened to the voice on the other end of the phone and hung up. “Yes, sir,” he managed to add before the line went dead.
Phillippe moved back to his computer and got to work trying to find out more about their uninvited guests.
***
Sikke Werkhoven moved through Johan’s house, stopping off in the library where he casually plucked a first edition book from the shelves, and a bottle of aged whiskey from the cabinet, and made his way out the front door.
The helicopter flew up and over the house. Sikke looked up, shielding his eyes, watching the bird move over the coast before turning back to the sea.
He gave a sigh and turned back to the house. It was a stunning property. Maybe he would buy it once the damage had been corrected.
The shrill tone of his phone made him jump. It broke the recently re-settled silence like a siren.
“I am disappointed, Director,” the disguised voice spoke, cutting Sikke off before he could even truly answer the device. “I thought you could handle the job at Crichton Labs, but evidently I was mistaken. It shall not happen again.”
“Sir,” Sikke began, but the line went dead.
Sikke never saw the red sight on the back of his head, nor the assassin that lay in wait. He did hear the quiet whoosh of the silenced weapon, and felt the cool ocean breeze tickle his exposed brain, but then everything went black.
Chapter 32
Lieutenant Lloyd stood on the bridge of the Langley and watched as his CO walked back onto the bridge. He cut a dejected figure. It was the image of a man who had received either a telling off for something he was not responsible for in the first place, or even worse, a man who had been tasked with cleaning up the mess said people had left behind.
“How’s it looking, Captain?” Lloyd asked, waiting until his CO was close enough to keep the conversation between the two of them.
“It’s looking like the back end of the lord mayor’s parade,” Kincaid said.
“I don’t understand,” Lloyd said, knowing that the captain would occasionally throw in expressions learned during his years of education in England.
“It means it’s a pile of shit. Get the Anderson on comms, and ready the missiles,” Kincaid spoke with authority, and a tone that told his XO not to both asking any more questions.
“Aye, sir.” Lloyd turned and walked away. “Sir, Captain Defour is on comms.”
“Captain, I just received a call from the pentagon. You are to regroup with us at the rear of the island. We have orders to open fire on the compound.” The words echoed around the bridge with the finality of a hangman’s snapping noose.
“Captain,” Lloyd began, but one look from his CO silenced him.
“We have our orders, and we will see them through,” Kincaid spoke. “Captain Defour, I need you to start moving now.”
“Sir, what about Plummer and Woods?” Lloyd asked, his voice calling across the bridge.
“They are to be presumed dead. Our orders are from the highest level, Lieutenant, and we are expected to follow them through.
“Yes, sir,” Lloyd answered, lowering his gaze. He could hear the stress in his CO’s voice and realized it would be unwise to push the matter any further.
“Lieutenant, you have the bridge,” Kincaid said. Turning to leave, he leaned over to one of the technicians near him, and a few moments later took two cigarettes from the pack offered to him.
The air on deck was cool and crisp. The breeze whisked away the smoke from his cigarette. Standing on the deck, he watched the crew as they ran through the motions. He felt a surging pride in knowing they were following his orders, that he had trained his ship to run in such a well-oiled fashion. It also stung, knowing that those men were jumping to his word, when he himself had no idea what they were doing. Launching missiles to take out a military institution. In Kincaid’s mind, that was an act of terrorism, the very thing he enlisted to fight.
His head spun, and not only from his first cigarette in over six years.
“Captain, the missiles are primed and ready,” John Pike, the chief weapons officer, said. Approaching the captain, he leaned against the railing and look
ed out at the island. “I reckon I know what you are thinking.”
Captain Kincaid gave a snorted laugh and turned to face the officer. Pike was the oldest and most experienced man on the ship, and regardless of regulations, that earned him certain privileges in Kincaid’s eyes.
“Enlighten me, Mr. Pike,” Kincaid said, tossing the butt of his cigarette overboard.
“You’re thinking that this makes us terrorists, probably even wondering if this is a set-up. You’re going to start questioning what we are doing, and what you believe in,” Pike spoke in quiet, relaxed tones, his eyes never leaving the islands.
“You might just be psychic,” Kincaid laughed.
“Nah, just an old son of a bitch who has seen and heard plenty of things over the years. With all due respect, Captain, those fears are valid, but they are not the issue. They are just your own hang ups, and trust me, they are good problems to have. What you really need to be worried about is what have we created on that island that is so bad, the folks back home are willing to destroy it now?” Pike turned and looked at his captain, who returned his look in silence. “Like I said, the missiles are ready for your orders, sir.”
Pike walked away, and Kincaid was alone again. For a moment, he even wondered if he had imagined everything. The walk back to the bridge had him feeling conflicted, but by the time he reached the captain’s chair, his mind was resolved. He knew what needed to be done.
“Mr. Pike,” he spoke into the comms.
“Aye, sir.”
“Fire when ready.” Kincaid stood to attention as the boat shook as the RIM-161 missile took to the sky. They traced its path until impact, when a cloud of dust obscured the island before the fireball of the explosion flared on their screens.
Chapter 33
The alarms rang and sent Caroline into a panic. She jumped up from the computer terminal and into Rob’s arms.
“I didn’t touch anything,” she said, spitting words in rapid fire as her fear skyrocketed.
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