Monsters of the Apocalypse

by Rawlins, Jordan

  "Did you say easy? Did he say easy, Miho?"

  "Yes he did, sir."

  October stood up and leaned over his desk staring into the face of the little man.

  "Nothing is easy with Jacob. Nothing. I don't like this, it feels wrong. We need to proceed carefully here. I must think. Miho, would you mind running and getting me some dessert, there was a cake…"

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, we don't have time for dessert. We need to be ready to move so that we can kill Jacob.”

  October Carnegie sat down in the ancient leather chair that was centered perfectly in front of the large windows that looked out on the battalion of military technology that kept him safe from a nation of enemies and plots - and he sighed.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Walker, a whole lot of the world’s been missing dessert while trying to kill Jacob for the last twenty years and he’s still alive. I'm going to have my cake.”

  Chapter 3

  ***

  Jacob stepped over the last guard's writhing body. The young man had been shot twice in the stomach and was bleeding out slowly and loudly. Jacob tilted his head and watched the blood pool around him.

  "The losses were heavy, sir, but we're in. The mission is a success, sir," the young scout shouted as he stood proudly over the dying guard. Jacob watched as Arian moved next to the boastful scout. Jacob returned his gaze to the dying guard who continued to squirm in the ever-growing pool of red.

  "I'm sorry, son. You must be in a lot of pain," Jacob spoke quietly as he moved his hand to the gun in his waistband. "You know, it's one of the reasons why, back in the day, America trained its soldiers to be such good and efficient shots. In war, it's just professional courtesy to kill enemy soldiers quickly. In the history of the world, all the wars that were fought, modern America was responsible for the least suffering in their enemy soldiers. Which isn't to say they didn't cause plenty, but in the last few generations: bombs dropped, missiles flew, bullets hit you in the face and then you died. That is the way of this fine country, or at least it was. I don't know, these new soldiers are… well, lucky for you, I happen to be a relic."

  Jacob smiled, pointed his gun and put two more bullets into the suffering young man, who then went still. Jacob then looked up at the scout who now shifted nervously, chest still inflated with pride, and nodded to Arian, who smiled and put his Sig Sauer 9mm, custom black to match his own dark skin, to the scout's temple.

  "My brands are the sign of a soldier, a warrior," Arian hissed at the scout. "Something you would know nothing about. You are not a soldier. Even worse, you are either a sloppy shot or a sadist. Either way, goodbye."

  The dead scout hit the ground while the gunshot echoed off the military compound's metal walls and Jacob and Arian moved into the main control room.

  In minutes, Arian had already moved through the security locks and was attaching the off-board drive to the mainframe computer. Jacob watched as Arian opened up the algorithm that bypassed the firewall and allowed them to access the Alpha Team camera controls. There was the sound of a few last shots outside of the room as images filled the twenty screens in front of them. Some were images of city streets, some in various unspectacular rooms, one a bathroom stall, and some were dark.

  "We now have access to every Alpha member ever, Jacob. I just type in their assigned numbers and they'll come up on the screens. What numbers are we looking for?"

  "The first ten, of course. One through ten," Jacob leaned forward in excitement.

  Arian typed in the numbers and up popped three images. All the rest of the screens were dark. One image was of the inside of Jacob's home, or specifically, the image of the interior of his pantry. The second screen was filled with the image of Jacob's dining room table - this was being sent from Jacob's own camera, long since removed but recently turned back on. On the third screen, was the image of a glass of whiskey, slightly shifting with the recent movement of being set down.

  "I'm sorry, Jacob, I can't seem to get these others up."

  "That's okay, that's because they're all dead. Only three of the first ten are still alive: me, October Carnegie and Nestor Bravo. October appears to be searching for food in my kitchen, which means the whiskey is Nestor."

  "That's the… wow, that's the feed of Nestor Bravo," Arian said with an awed respect.

  "Yes."

  "Huh, it's funny, I'm nervous. Even though it's why we're here, I just can't believe the guy exists. All my life he's been this myth."

  "He's real," Jacob's hand affectionately patted the younger man's muscular shoulder, "terribly, horrifyingly real."

  "What do you want me to do now?"

  “I want you to turn off the feed, Arian. Then turn it on. Turn it off. Turn it on. Then wait.”

  “Okie doke.”

  Chapter 4

  ***

  October looked at Jacob Rothschild's mansion through the binoculars that Special Agent Flores had procured from a bag he was now carrying over his shoulder. October felt the giant Indian was even more intimidating in his active-duty blacks. The lights of the mansion were on, but nothing could be seen moving inside. There was a strike team hidden along the tree line waiting for the command to charge. October held a borrowed gun, a model he didn't recognize, in his right hand, painfully tight. He glanced up at the moon above and watched as a satellite quickly passed just below it like a shooting star with no tail.

  "How long has it been since I've felt the rush of battle? You tell yourself when you enter the public sector, politics or whatnot, that the battle is still there. It's only the weapons and strategies that have changed. But, there is a feeling unique to the moment before risking your life, not your reputation or your office, but your actual life, in the name of something greater. Don't you think, Agent Flores?" October turned to find Flores staring blankly into his eyes.

  "If you say so, Mr. President," Flores grunted and then turned his gaze back to the mansion.

  “Mr. President, the men are in position. I’d recommend you head back to the edge of the...”

  “Enough, Miho, I’m going in with them," October snapped.

  “Mr. President, Jacob may very well be ready for us. At the very least he will have some degree of protection and with an original Alpha Team soldier like him that could be lethal.”

  “Please, tell me more about the Alpha Team, Miho.”

  “I’m not implying you weren’t one, Mr. President. I’m implying that you’re the President now and your duty is to the people of America and you risk not only your life, but their life, by not moving back to the perimeter!”

  October looked down at the beautiful woman, small, made smaller by the ever looming presence of Flores, but deadly in her intensity and intelligence. Long ago, when he'd first brought her up from the ranks of intern to Assistant Secretary she must have been younger, but he had no recollection of her seeming any different. Her confidence was as strong and unflappable as the day he met her. The loyalty that had always been missing in her tone and demeanor was always crystal clear in the efficiency, and the success rate, of her actions and the soundness of her advice. Even now, October knew she was right.

  "You're right, there is danger here. But, I have to go, Miho. I have to show my people. How can they trust me to protect them from the nightmare that is coming if I hide from just one man?”

  Miho sighed and looked at Flores who remained passive and unmoving.

  "Mr. President, do you know who the most trusted president in the last three hundred and fifty years of American history was?"

  "Of course. Honest Abe. Abraham Lincoln."

  "Do you know who the first president ever assassinated was?"

  October smiled and tapped his gun against his own temple knowingly.

  "But they loved him."

  Chapter 5

  ***

  The whiskey glass appeared on the screen again as Arian stopped flickering the camera feed. Jacob stared at the screen, saying quietly under his breath, “Come on, Nestor.
Come on.”

  The camera view moved up from the whiskey glass to the mirror behind the bar. The face on the screen, Nestor’s face, glared with half closed almond eyes through long dark hair that hung over his face. The eyes glared directly through the screen. Nestor showed no recognition or thought, his face was a silent, immovable mask.

  Nestor's dark skin showed no lines of worry or wrinkles of question and, except for the white scar that went from his temple to the corner of his mouth, Nestor seemed unchanged by the years. Nestor looked exactly as he had in that smoky Mombasa bar so many years ago, right before Jacob had opened his face with the edge of his knife. Jacob remembered the sound of the knife while he stared at Nestor.

  Jacob didn't breathe.

  Finally Nestor nodded his head and said, "Okay, Jacob. I’ll be there. I might not kill you. I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Okay, turn it off. We're done here,” Jacob ordered.

  “And the other one? The President's feed?”

  Jacob looked over at the other screen where he saw the reflection of October’s smiling face in his own living room mirror.

  “As planned. We’re leaving. Turn them off.”

  Just as Arian flipped the switch, Jacob heard October laughing his name.

  Chapter 6

  ***

  “Mr. President, we’ve checked every inch of the mansion and he’s not here. We found this...”

  October, now rummaging through Jacob's pantry looked up at the tiny electronic devices that the nervous computer specialist held in his hand.

  “What is that?”

  “A camera and mic set. The same one they… I mean you… you have. That you have in you. The same transmitter.”

  October grabbed a package of nuts and opened it with his teeth, then poured the package's entirety into his mouth. The specialist watched and waited as October chewed.

  “So he removed his own camera," October said spraying a mist of nuts towards the nervous man. "Then he blocked the feed well enough that you’d think he was trying to hide it, but not so well that you wouldn’t find it and hack it?"

  "Yes sir, Mr. President."

  October froze and stared with violence at the computer specialist.

  "Why were you looking?"

  "What? I'm sorry, sir," the specialist stuttered. "What do you mean?"

  "The thing about that is, he wouldn't do all that, without then tipping someone off. Jacob leaves nothing to chance. He wanted me here. He used that camera as the bait. He would make sure that the bait worked! I mean, why would you go looking in the first place? Who told you to go looking into the camera feeds of the Alpha's?! Who are you working for you pathetic little twerp?!"

  October grabbed the small man by his throat so tight that the specialist started the involuntary squeaking that comes from the strain of torn larynx.

  "You, sir, he's working for you."

  October turned to find Miho and Flores standing in the room having just entered in the side door. Miho pointed at the choking man as she continued.

  "We've had men searching through the Alpha feeds to find Jacob for ten years - he's just the only one good enough to have succeeded. And you're killing him."

  October let go of the man and nodded to Flores who, after a glance to Miho, carried the convulsing man out of the room.

  "Did that big Indian Ape just look at you for permission to follow my orders?!" October snarled.

  "Did you just almost kill a man for no reason, Mr. President?"

  October turned away, not interested in losing yet another staring contest with the woman. He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and sat down at the kitchen table. The foam from the can burst forth with a hiss as he tore it open.

  "Damn it. Why, Miho? Why did he want us here? Am I going to walk out of this mansion and be shot? Is that what this is about?”

  “We took the time to do a two-hour sweep of the area, sir. The house was protected by various jamming devices and scrambling insulation, so we weren't sure what was inside, but the outside and the surrounding area were clear, we knew for sure. Infrared cameras, radar and drones have all been searching this property for the last two hours. If there were a bomb or a human, any kind of threat even near here we’d know it. Now that the house is clear we can be sure that you’re not in danger.”

  "Really? So outside when I wanted to charge in: there was danger, but now that I'm inside: there is none? Which is it, Miho? Am I in danger or not?!"

  "I just explained how…" Miho stopped with a sigh, and gathered herself before she continued. "It's wise to expect danger, sir. It will keep you alive longer. Risks that are unnecessary, like charging into the house of your most dangerous enemy, should be avoided. Risks that are necessary, like leaving the house of your most dangerous enemy, shouldn't be avoided."

  "You're so damn clever, aren't you," he said as he crushed the empty beer can and threw it against the wall before finally returning to his normal breathing pattern. He stared at his hands, watching the beat of his heart in his fingertips.

  “Okay then, Ms. Walker. Okay. If the danger isn't here, then the danger is somewhere else and he wanted us distracted. I would assume that the two hour sweep would have drawn all of the local resources?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So in the last two hours there has been no patrol, drone sweep or security checks, in what…? A five-mile area beyond this target zone?”

  “Perhaps ten miles,” she said with hesitation.

  “Miho, what’s the most high security, high clearance building in the ten-mile area?”

  President October Carnegie watched as Flores reentered the room and took up his post behind Miho's shoulder as she searched the glowing screen of her tablet.

  “Something called Operations Control 4B. I’m not exactly clear…” she read out loud.

  “Oh, Jacob, that's very clever,” October laughed.

  “Sir, what is Operations Control 4B?”

  “It’s one of the few places that can operate the cameras in an Alpha. It’s a relic really. No reason someone like you, someone as young as you, would think twice about it. But…”

  October got up and walked into the living room and stared into a mirror hanging crooked on the wall. He looked at his fat face and he knew that this image, this viewpoint, wasn’t his alone at this moment.

  “Jacob,” he laughed. “Jacob.”

  Chapter 7

  ***

  Jacob sat calmly and watched as Nestor walked through the door and sat down across from him at the table. Jacob smiled as he poured whiskey into the glasses that sat in front of them. To someone who didn't know better it seemed that Nestor moved with a simple purpose, indifferent and unaware of Arian sitting in the corner on his laptop, or the few remaining newly recruited Alpha Team members who now guarded the door, but Jacob did know better. He knew that if Nestor was here, that Nestor had already found another way out and that if Nestor seemed calm, then Nestor was positive that he would be able to kill everybody here.

  Jacob ran his eyes over Nestor. His body was mostly hidden under a black hooded sweatshirt and the leather coat he wore above it, but there was a hint of the muscles that lay tensed underneath. Jacob could picture in his memory the skulls and flowers that climbed Nestor's right arm in honor of his Mexican father, his left tattooed with the koi fish and cherry trees that were a tribute to his Japanese mother. Jacob could picture the way those arms shook and glistened when they killed. Nestor's chin-length hair was now pulled back in a high ponytail, with still a smattering of strands dashing across his face.

  “You look good, Nestor. You haven’t aged a bit. What’s your secret?”

  Nestor just stared.

  “It's being Asian I would guess. That's your secret. Mine, is a sense of humor and sunscreen. Thanks for coming.”

  Nestor nodded and set a large knife on the table between them, indifferent to the sound of Arian shifting to point his gun at the table.

  "Look at that, Arian. That's a Sog Se
al 2000. That's the knife they issued the original Alpha Team. Talk about a historic piece. It should be in the Smithsonian, Nestor, not here. Actually, you're really supposed to give those back when you're discharged."

  Nestor stared, silent. Jacob shrugged.

  "You have no reason to kill me. You have scars, Nestor, so do I. We’re even.”

  “Even,” Nestor hissed.

  “Yeah. Well, maybe not Even Steven, but friends let the little things slide.”

  “Friends?”

  “Nestor, how could you ask that? Of course. Always.”

  “Are you saying that you haven’t sent dozens of assassins to kill me over the last five years?”

  “No, I’m saying that the fact that I sent dozens of assassins to kill you over the years doesn’t mean in the slightest that I don’t consider you my best friend.”

  Nestor shrugged and, ignoring the knife, sipped his whiskey while Jacob studied his own drink, a grimace of mirth on his face. The cabin they were in had seen better days. It wasn't technically owned and it was on no map. Jacob didn't know if Nestor ever thought of it as a home or how he came by it, but it was the one place that, with any consistency, Nestor could be found. The last time Jacob had been here was at the end of the Great War.

  After she had died.

  “I need you to do something for me, Nestor.”

  “I'm not in the killing business anymore.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about, Nestor? The reason I’m here is because I need the best and one of the two guys who was even at your level, you killed with a rolled up magazine two months ago!”

  “That was self-defense. You’d sent him to kill me.”

  “That’s why we have police in the civilized world, Nestor, instead of beating assassins to death with magazines, you call the police and they arrest them."

  "Funny," Nestor said flatly. "What about your Shadow Army? Your Indians? What about Arian over there?"