Callsign: King - Book 3 - Blackout (A Jack Sigler - Chess Team Novella)

by Ellis, Sean; Robinson, Jeremy

  And had he really let Fiona and Sara fall? Had that been intentional?

  He shook his head, certain that he had misinterpreted the look in Alexander’s eyes. The big man had said all along that Fiona was the only one who could stop the black hole; what possible reason could he have had for letting her die?

  He swung his legs off the bed and stood, crossing to the desk where he picked up the telephone and dialed a number. When an anonymous computerized switchboard began reciting a menu of options, he keyed in the code that would immediately connect him with Deep Blue.

  “King!” The voice in his ear was both relieved and irritated. “Where have you been?”

  “My phone got knocked out by whatever it was that hit Paris. This is the first chance I’ve had to check in.” That was mostly true. He probably could have called sooner, but his first priority had been to get Fiona and Sara away from Paris. Given the disruption of infrastructure and communications in the region, that had been no mean feat.

  “What exactly did happen?” Deep Blue asked. “Was it related to Brown’s quantum computer scheme?”

  “There’s a lot I’m still trying to piece together, but I can assure you that Brown won’t be a problem anymore.”

  There was a brief silence on the line, then the other man said simply: “Understood. Hold on.” Deep Blue’s muffled voice could be heard speaking to someone else for a moment. Then he came back on the line. “Lew is here. Has some intel you might find interesting. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  The phone crackled and then Aleman spoke. “Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” King said.

  “I’ve been looking into Pradesh and it turns out even the mighty Shiva’s security—and his bank—can’t keep me out. He received several payments from Jovian Technologies, who it turns out, also designed the quantum phones for Brown. The root of Jovian is Jove, better known as Zeus, father of Hercules. Its speculation, but we all know how Alexander likes to name things, including himself, for the ancient Greek myths, many of which he created.”

  “Carutius,” King said. “That’s what he was calling himself this time. The same name he used when he married Acca Larentia, before the formation of Rome on the land he owned.” The idea that Alexander owned the very land Rome was founded on never ceased to amaze King. They’d found an underground citadel belonging to Alexander, hidden beneath the ruins of the Roman Forum, but how much more of the city still belonged to him?

  He turned his thoughts back to Pradesh. If the man was working for Jovian, did Alexander know the man was a cult member? Of course he did. Alexander wouldn’t care if Pradesh threw himself into the singularity. What difference would the man’s death make? As long as the man achieved his goal—to control the black hole somehow. Maybe direct it’s path. What Alexander didn’t know was that the quantum phones would grant the black hole sentient thought and allow it to chose its own path. That’s when things got away from him. So the lingering question was, “What did Alexander want with a black hole?”

  “That, I can’t tell you,” Aleman said. “But he was definitely working behind the scenes on this thing.”

  King looked up as Sara came out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her torso, another turban-like on her head, and he flashed her a smile. Alexander and his motives could wait. The man’s secrets wouldn’t be uncovered by dwelling on them. “Oh, I did meet up with Sara and Fiona. They’re fine.”

  “I had no idea that I’d be putting them in danger,” Deep Blue said, guiltily.

  “Actually, I appreciate the gesture. And now that Brainstorm is finally kaput and Alexander has disappeared again, I think that family vacation you proposed is definitely in order.”

  Deep Blue paused, and then said, “King, as much as it pains me to have to say this...”

  King tensed. If it had been anyone on the other end of the line, he’d have already hung up, but if Deep Blue needed him for something, it most likely couldn’t wait. “What is it?”

  “Can you pick up one of those ear hats? I think I’m going to make Rook wear one for a year when—if—when we find him.”

  King laughed, said he’d pick up a few for all the new recruits, and hung up the phone.

  Sara leaned against him. “All quiet on the home front?”

  “For now.” King leaned over and kissed her forehead, then he left the suite’s master bedroom and knocked lightly on the door to Fiona’s bedroom. He eased the door open and found the girl nestled in a cocoon of blankets, a pillow covering her eyes.

  “Fi,” he called out. “Up and at’em, lazybones. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into today.”

  The pillow fell away as Fiona sat up, her eyes wide with apprehension. “You’re kidding, right?”

  King was taken aback by her response. Fiona’s sense of humor had yet to make a full recovery.

  “Of course I’m kidding, kiddo.” He gave her gentle smile. “It’s Disney World. What could possibly happen?”

  ###

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  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  JEREMY ROBINSON is the author of eleven novels including PULSE, INSTINCT, and THRESHOLD the first three books in his exciting Jack Sigler series. His novels have been translated into nine languages. He is also the director of New Hampshire AuthorFest, a non-profit organization promoting literacy. He lives in New Hampshire with his wife and three children.

  Visit him on the web, here: www.jeremyrobinsononline.com

  SEAN ELLIS is the author of several novels. He is a veteran of Operation Enduring Freedom, and has a Bachelor of Science degree in Natural Resources Policy from Oregon State University. He lives in Arizona, where he divides his time between writing, adventure sports, and trying to figure out how to save the world.

  Visit him on the web, here: seanellisthrillers.webs.com

  -Sample-

  THE LAST HUNTER by JEREMY ROBINSON

  Available for $2.99 on Kindle: Click here to buy!

  DESCRIPTION:

  I've been told that the entire continent of Antarctica groaned at the moment of my birth. The howl tore across glaciers, over mountains and deep into the ice. Everyone says so. Except for my father; all he heard was Mother’s sobs. Not of pain, but of joy, so he says. Other than that, the only verifiable fact about the day I was born is that an iceberg the size of Los Angeles broke free from the ice shelf a few miles off the coast. Again, some would have me believe the fracture took place as I entered the world. But all that really matters, according to my parents, is that I, Solomon Ull Vincent, the first child born on Antarctica—the first and only Antarctican—was born on September 2nd, 1974.

  If only someone could have warned me that, upon my return to the continent of my birth thirteen years later, I would be kidnapped, subjected to tortures beyond comprehension and forced to fight...and kill. If only someone had hinted that I'd wind up struggling to survive in a subterranean world full of ancient warriors, strange creatures and supernatural powers.

  Had I been warned I might have lived a normal life. The human race might have remained safe. And the fate of the world might not rest on my shoulders. Had I been warned....

  This is my story—the tale of Solomon Ull Vincent—The Last Hunter.

  EXCERPT:

  12

  My foot rolls on a bone as I kick away from the bodies. There’s so many of them, I can’t make out what I’m seeing. It’s like someone decided to play a game of pick-up sticks with discarded bones. I fall backwards, landing on a lumpy mass. My hands are out, bracing against injury. Rubbery flesh breaks my fall, its coarse hair tickling between my fingers. I haven’t seen the body beneath me, but I know—somehow—that it’s dead.

  Long dead.

  This is little comfort, however. After finding my footing, I stand bolt upright. My chest heaves with each breath. Each draw of air is deep, but the oxygen isn’t getting to my head. I try breathing through my nose, and the rotten stench of old meat and something worse tw
ists my stomach with the violence of a tornado. I drop to one knee, fighting a dry heave.

  “Slow down,” I tell myself. “Breathe.”

  I breathe through my mouth. I can taste the foul air, but I force each breath into my lungs, hold it and then let it out slowly. Just like I learned at soccer practice. I only lasted a few practices before giving up, but at least I came away with something. Calm down. Focus. Breathe.

  My body settles. I’m no longer shaking. But when I look up I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. Stars blink in the darkness, like when you stand up too fast. But they’re not floating around. They’re just tiny points of light, like actual stars, but I get the feeling they’re a lot closer. The brightest of the light points are directly behind me, and to test my theory I reach out for them. My hand strikes a solid wall.

  Stone.

  The points of light are small glowing stones, crystals maybe. I’d be fascinated if I weren’t absolutely terrified.

  My hand yanks away from the cool surface as though repulsed by a magnetic force. For the first time since waking, a rational thought enters my mind.

  Where am I?

  It’s a simple question. Finding the answer will give me focus. I turn my mind to the task while my body works the adrenaline out of its system.

  The dull yellow stars behind me are large, perhaps the size of quarters. They wrap around in both directions, almost vanishing as they shrink with the distance. But I can see them surrounding me with a flow of tiny lights. There is no door. No escape.

  I’m in a pit.

  Full of bodies.

  Long dead bodies, I remind myself as my breathing quickens. It’s like looking at the mummies in The Museum of Fine Arts. They can’t hurt you.

  With my eyes better adjusted to the dim light, I crouch down to look at the bone I stepped on. What I see causes me to hold my breath, but I find myself calming down for two reasons. First, my mind is engaged, and like Spock, my emotions, which can overwhelm me, are being choked out. Second, the bones are not human.

  The nearest limb looks like a femur, but it’s as thick as a cow’s and half the length. I try to picture an animal that would have such thick, short limbs, but nothing comes to mind.

  I scan the field of bones. Most are similar in thickness and size, but many I can’t identify. Whatever these bones belonged to, I’m fairly certain they’re not human. In fact, they don’t belong to any creature I’ve ever seen before.

  Remembering the soft flesh that broke my fall, I turn around and look down. If not for the clumps of rough red hair sticking out of the sheet of white skin, I might have mistaken it for a chunk of rug padding. The skin is thick, perhaps a half inch, and hasn’t decomposed at all despite the bones beneath it being free of flesh.

  A scuff above me turns my head up as dirt and dust fall into my face. Someone is above me.

  “Who’s there?” My voice echoes.

  The only response I get is silence, which makes me angry. I’ve been beaten and kidnapped after all. “Hey! I know you’re there!”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  The sinister scrape of the voice makes my stomach muscles tighten. This is the man who took me.

  “Why?” I ask through clenched teeth, determined not to show this man fear.

  “Because...” I suspect his pause is for dramatic effect. When I feel the sudden urge to pee, I know it’s working. “...you’re not alone.”

  I spin around, forgetting all about my bladder. I can’t see more than ten feet of body-strewn floor. Beyond that it’s just a sea of light flecks. If there is someone down here with me, I’ll never see them.

  Then I do.

  In the same way we detect distant objects moving in space, I see a body shifting to my left, blocking out the small lights.

  “Who is it?” I whisper.

  “Not a who,” answers the voice.

  Not a who? Not a who!

  “What am I supposed to do?” My whisper is urgent, hissing like the man’s voice.

  “Survive. Escape.”

  “How?”

  “That’s up to you.” I hear him shuffling away from the edge. His voice fades as he speaks for the last time. “I will not see you again until you do.”

  A rattle of bones turns my attention back to the sneaking shadow. My eyes widen. It’s no longer slinking to the side. It’s growing larger, blocking out more and more stars. That’s when I realize it’s not growing larger, it’s getting closer.

  In the moment before it strikes, I hear it suck in a high pitched whistle of a breath. I duck down to pick up the thick bone that tripped me up. But it’s too late. The thing is upon me.

  13

  I scream.

  I’m too terrified to do anything else. My hands are on my head. I’m pitched forward. My eyes are clenched shut. Every muscle in my body has gone tight, as though clutched in rigor.

  It knocks me back and I spill into a pile of bones and old skin. But I feel no weight on top of me. No gnashing of teeth on my body. The thing has missed its tackle, striking a glancing blow as it passed, but nothing more. Perhaps because I bent down. Perhaps because it can’t see well in the dark. I don’t know. I don’t care.

  I’m alive. For now.

  And I don’t want to die.

  But I’m certain I’m going to and the events of the past few months replay in my mind. I can’t stop it. I can’t control it. And in a flash, I’m back at the beginning. A moment later, my mind returns to the present. I’m still in the pit. Still waiting for death. But I feel different somehow.

  My attention is drawn down. The thick bone is still in my hand. I stand, holding it at the ready like Hercules’s club or Thor’s hammer. What I wouldn’t give for an ounce of their strength right now.

  But strength is something I lack. I can already feel my limbs growing weak from fright. If this fight doesn’t end quickly I’ll probably lie down and accept death like a deer in the jaws of a mountain lion. It always amazes me how quickly prey animals accept their fate once caught. Will I be any different?

  The answer surprises me.

  A shift of shadow to my left catches my eye. But this time the fear is drowned out by a rage I have felt before, a rage that now has an outlet. I lunge for the shadow, bone-club raised. The thing flinches back, surprised by my attack. My first swing misses, nearly spinning me around. But I follow it up with a backhand swing worthy of John McEnroe. The impact hurts my arm, but it lets me know I’ve hurt the thing, too.

  The thing stumbles back, letting out a high pitched whine as it strikes the wall. I struggle to see it, but it’s backlit by the wall. I can, however, see its silhouette more clearly now. Its body is egg-shaped and maybe four feet tall, with short, thick legs. Its arms are almost comical—short stubs sticking out to either side as useless as a T-Rex’s tiny appendages. I feel emboldened by the thing’s size and awkward build. But I’ve underestimated its will to live. This thing doesn’t want to die as much as I don’t.

  It lets out a shrill scream and charges again. I start to duck, but this time it doesn’t leap. Instead, it lowers its top half—I can’t see where the head begins or ends or if it even has a head—and plows into me like a battering ram. It lifts me off the ground and carries me ten feet before slamming me into a stone wall. I hear a crack as my head strikes, but I don’t lose consciousness. There’s too much adrenaline in my system for that to happen.

  But when I open my eyes and look at the thing, I wish I had fallen unconscious. Then I wouldn’t have seen it. I wouldn’t be awake when it devoured me. But I am awake, staring into a set of jaws that looks like it belongs to a great white shark—rows of serrated triangular teeth set into a jaw that protrudes from the mouth. The entire top half of the creature, just above its pitiful arms, has opened up to take me in. I have no doubt I’ll be severed in half. I’ll spend my last living moments bleeding out in this thing’s gullet.

  I can’t die like this.

  “Get off of me!” I scream. My voice di
stracts the creature. Its jaws close slightly, revealing a pair of perfectly black eyes, like two eight balls jammed into the top of a killer Humpty Dumpty. Tufts of thick brown hair cover its milky skin.

  I’ve seen this before. The remains of these creatures litter the cave floor. These things aren’t killing people here, they’re being killed. It wasn’t put here to kill me, I was put here to kill it.

  “Get off me, I said!” I shout, further confusing the beast. I dive to the side, but it clamps down on my shirt—a red, white and blue flannel that looks much more patriotic than any piece of clothing should. I spin around and lose my balance. The shirt rips as I fall away. My hands stretch out to brace my fall and I plunge into a litter of bones—the bones of this thing’s kin. But my right hand catches on something sharp. A hot burn strikes my palm, followed by a warm gush of liquid over my wrist.

  I’m bleeding.

  And the thing can smell it. I hear its quick breaths, sniffing as a dog does. Then I hear the smacking of lips and then it moves again, closing in on me.

  Ignoring the pain in my hand, I dig into bones and find the sharp object. Playing my fingers over it gently, I feel a large triangular tooth. Then another. And another. In my mind’s eye I can see its shape: a broken jawbone from one of these creatures. I find an end that has no teeth and grip it.

  I’m back on my feet for only a moment before the creature charges again. But I’m ready for it. Whatever this thing is, it’s deadly, but it’s not smart enough to realize I would anticipate the same attack.

  I step to the side and swing down. I feel an impact, and then a tug on my weapon as the teeth catch flesh. A sound like tearing paper fills the air and makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t see it, but I know I have just sliced open the creature’s back.