“You couldn’t have known, Punk. Even Jimmy didn’t want to tell you how bad he’d gotten,” Derek’s voice was soft and apologetic.
“But if I’d known, I could have come sooner.” She pulled into the parking lot and shut off the Jeep. “I tried to come home about six months ago but…” Her voice trailed off and she averted her eyes.
“It’s okay. I understand. You had to save the world from monsters and shit.” He shot her a crooked grin.
Laura shook her head. “No. Actually I’d quit at probably the worst possible time.” She turned and faced him. “But we were facing probably one of the worst possible situations and I was afraid. If something happened to me? I’d never be able to make it to dad in time and…”
He reached out and gripped her hand. “Hey, you made it in time. He’s still kicking. And he wants to get the hell out of there.”
She looked out the window and the deep black of the sky. “Why couldn’t he have waited until morning?”
Derek laughed. “It’s Dad. 3AM is morning!” He opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep.
Laura got out and walked to the doors of the hospital. A creepy feeling fell over her as she entered the foyer of the hospital and the reception desk sat empty.
*****
“Odds are slim we’ll actually find anything, you know that, right?”
Spalding turned his eyes from the road and grunted. “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that since we left.”
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.” Little John held onto the Oh-Shit handle as Spalding took the turn into the industrial complex. He relaxed when the truck straightened out then stiffened again. “Whoa!” He slapped Spalding’s arm and pointed. “Lights.”
Spalding killed the headlights and let off the accelerator, allowing the truck to coast along the empty paved street. “Nobody’s supposed to be there.” He pulled the truck to the side of the road and jumped the concrete curb, letting it come to rest on the dirt shoulder.
“You don’t think our shooter would be stupid enough to return here, do you?” Little John reached for the rifle in the back seat of the truck came to his knee across the console. He poked his head out of the sunroof and brought the rifle scope to his eye.
“I have no idea who it could be. Hell, it could be teenagers coming up here to drink and get laid.” Spalding killed the engine and hit the button for the window. He watched from a distance but couldn’t make out anything discernible. “See anything?”
“I’ve got two moving near the gate.” John slid back down from the sunroof, his jaw set. “They’re armed.”
Spalding rubbed at this chin, his gears turning. “By all rights we should call this in and get the team together.”
John gave him a knowing look. “So they can scatter like roaches before we can get back?”
Spalding glanced back up the hill toward the warehouse. “I guess if we were quiet, we could take a look. Get an idea how many we’re talking about.”
“And kill them.” John shot him a wink.
“Let’s see who they are first.” Spalding reached behind him and grabbed his own rifle. Since so many operators had made the switch to M4s, he found himself grabbing the familiar rifle rather than using the venerable P90. He still often carried one slung to his back as they were lightweight and delivered a hell of a punch, but when you really wanted to reach out and touch somebody, the extra power of the 5.56 round made him much more comfortable.
Both men slipped from the truck and Little John brought the heavy SCAR to his shoulder, his eye scanning the area as the two made their way up the hill in a crouched advance. The waist high grass rustled against their uniforms as they moved silently up the hill, using what little cover there was to conceal their movement.
John slipped in behind a rather large oak tree and stole a quick glance toward the gate. Both guards had their backs turned to the drive and seemed to be in a heated discussion. He motioned to Spalding to advance and watched as the man slithered up the hill, the grass barely moving as he settled in next to a small stand of brush. He brought his scope to his eye and scanned the area.
John stole another quick glance and motioned to Spalding who shook him off. Using hand signals he indicated that another guard was on the roof. Little John settled in low on the tree and pulled the suppressor from his pack. He quickly attached the canister to the end of the .308 and slipped around the base of the tree. The grass concealed him as he scanned the rooftop. Finding the guard sitting at the peak, the orange glow of a cigarette flaring as he inhaled, Little John adjusted his scope for distance and elevation. There was no wind to speak of as he settled the crosshairs on the guard.
Spalding watched through his own scope as the guard’s head exploded in a silvery mist when the SCAR coughed its deadly round. The bloody spray reflected the small amount of moonlight and made the spray appear silver rather than pink. He nodded with satisfaction as the man slumped and fell to his side. He gave a thumb’s up to Spalding and the two turned their attention to the guards at the gate.
Spalding gave the hold sign and the two would-be snipers waited to ensure that another guard didn’t appear to throw a monkey wrench into the works. Once he was satisfied that the immediate area was clear, he signaled Sullivan. Almost simultaneously, both rifles spit their deadly silver plated rounds, decimating their targets. Spalding took the head shot and Little John went for the heart. Both shots struck with deadly accuracy.
The two men scrambled to their feet and made for the gate. Spalding pushed one side open first and grabbed a guard by the ankles, dragging him out and into the tall grass. John grabbed the other guard by the belt and carried him out, stacking him unceremoniously next to his partner. “I think it’s safe to assume our shooter isn’t alone.”
Spalding glanced over his shoulder and stared at the building, the rows of shipping containers still in position in front. “What do you want to bet they have a whole new army?”
“Ya think?”
“Well, that is the way our luck runs, ain’t it?” Spalding slipped back across the open yard and fell into the shadows of the shipping containers. Little John cleared the next corner and the two advanced. “We may have no choice but to engage.”
“You don’t call those three guards we shot engaging?” John shot him a smirk.
“That’s not engaging the whole damn lot of them.” Spalding slipped ahead and cleared the next corner. They could hear the sounds of construction and people talking. Spalding slipped in next to the building and peered through a window. The sight of numerous people within the building sent a chill through him. “Fuck, if I’d had any clue, I’d have brought coms.”
“Given a choice, I’d have brought the rest of the team.”
*****
Bob Stevens knew he was risking more than his career as he slipped the keycard into the reader and pushed open the doors. He had the keycard made for an employee that transferred almost immediately to a field office. With instructions to destroy the card and delete the permissions, Bob thought then that it might one day come in handy. He never actually thought that he’d be the one using it.
He pulled the hood up and over his face before approaching the building. He knew where almost all of the cameras were and he prayed that his precautions would protect him. When the door light turned green, he let loose the breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding and quickly pushed his way through before he could change his mind. As soon as the door shut behind him, he turned and began taking the stairs two at a time.
He finally reached the top floor and pulled a small pouch from his pocket. He fumbled with it as he walked across the padded carpet floor toward the director’s office. He pulled the lock picks from their pouch and quickly went to work on the door. He prayed the entire time that the director wasn’t so security minded that he had different locks installed. Bob knew he could pick the standard locks used throughout the building, but the director’s office?
He nearly fain
ted when the lock clicked and allowed him to turn the barrel within the cylinder. He pulled the lever and pushed the door open slowly. He glanced around the darkened office and looked for anything out of the ordinary; red lights in the corners or along the floors that would indicate a laser grid security system. Heat scanners or pressure monitors in the floor. He paused just inside the door and felt his shoulders slump. He’d watched too many spy movies.
He quickly slid in behind the desk and began tugging at drawers, a penlight pinched tight between his teeth. He scanned the files in the desk drawer and came up empty. He reached for the other side of the desk and found the drawer locked. He quickly dug out his lock picks and went to work again.
He could feel the sweat forming above his lip and across his forehead as he worked the lock, a sigh of relief escaping as the lock turned and the drawer slid open. He pulled it out and began digging through them. Nothing on Project Gladiator that he could find. Bob sat down in the director’s chair and glanced around the darkened office. “If I were a paranoid dictator, where would I hide shit?”
His eyes fell on a portrait of the president on the wall. Bob’s head cocked sideways as he noted the deep shadow along one side of the portrait. “Surely not.” He pushed up from the chair and went to the photo. He tried to lift it and found it attached to one side with a hinge. The frame pulled out and Bob stood facing a safe built into the wall. “Fuck me.”
Fingerprint scanner, retina verification, and a combination lock all built into one safe? How paranoid was this guy? Bob’s shoulders slumped as he pushed the frame back into place.
He turned for the door and paused. His computer! How could he have been such a dolt?
He slipped back into the chair and pushed the power button. He waited for the login prompt to come up and smiled when it asked for the login and password.
Being a computer analyst for the agency had its perks. Having had to repair the man’s computer more than once, Bob had become familiar with the pattern he used for his passwords. He clicked his username and tried the last known password that he had stolen from his login logs. The screen instantly came to life and Bob smiled to himself again. Even if the old bastard deleted the files, Bob could reconstruct them. Nobody bothered to use the DoD shredder that came installed on their computers. They simply moved everything to their ‘trash’ and then on occasion deleted those files. That meant they still existed.
Bob clicked away at the computer and grunted happily when he hit pay dirt. He pulled the USB thumb drive from his keychain and plugged it in, transferring the files to the thumb drive before shutting everything down and slipping the drive back onto his keychain.
He stopped at the door and pulled the hood back over his face before slipping out into the lobby. He purposely left the director’s office door open. He wanted him to know that somebody had been in his office…even if he honestly thought there was nothing to be had.
19
Mitchell watched the monitors as the drone made slow circles above the battlefield. “Keep ‘em busy, boys. We got another drone headed your way.”
“Copy that, OPCOM. Be advised, we’re running dangerously low on ammunition here.” Dominic’s voice sounded tinny coming across the overhead speakers. “I’m beginning to wish I’d have listened to what the little vamp had to say.”
“It wouldn’t be anything good, Sierra One.” Mitchell studied the radar feeds and knew that it would be too long before the second drone could be onsite.
“Any idea how many are in the shadows, OPCOM?”
“Negative. They just keep coming. We can’t even pinpoint a staging area. It’s like they’re just materializing in the woods and advancing on your position.”
Marshall nudged Dominic. “See all that dirt on the bodies? You don’t think they buried themselves out there just waiting for us, do you?”
“I have no idea, Two.” Dom pulled rounds from his partially emptied magazines and used them to top off his others. He tossed the empty mags aside and shoved the two full ones into his vest and brought his rifle to his shoulder. “But with as many of them as were buried in the ground just to trip us up and grab at us? Who knows what they were thinking.”
“We were thinking of capturing you so that we could speak.”
Dom spun and leveled his rifle on the vampire standing beside him. “How the…” He felt the color drain from his face and heard the other operators shift their weaponry to aim it at the man now standing beside him. He made no effort to move, his smile unwavering.
“Would you believe I come in peace?” The man held his hands up, palms out to show them empty and raised them slowly. “I could easily have struck at you while you were distracted.”
“You’d be dead.” Dom flipped the safety off and moved his finger onto the trigger.
“Very true. And that is not what either of us desires.” The vampire stepped back and the moonlight highlighted his features. Long blonde hair trailed behind his ears and brilliant blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. He kept his arms raised and stood erect. “You may search me if you like. You may even take me as a hostage. I wish only to speak with the leader of your group.”
“You getting all this, OPCOM?” Hammer asked as Dom reached forward and pulled the vampire unceremoniously into the middle of the circle of operators. Wallace did a quick pat down and declared him free of weapons.
“My people are waiting beyond the trees. They have strict orders not to advance so long as we are speaking. Should you release me right away…or kill me, they will attack again.” The vampire looked to Dom. “May I sit?”
Dom took a step back and shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s your funeral.”
“I certainly hope not.” The man was dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Had they been anywhere else, he might have passed for a hiker or lumberjack. He sat on the ground, crossing his booted foot. He motioned to Dom. “Please join me. We have a lot to discuss, and I think your superiors would like to know what we know as well.”
Dom turned to Hammer, “Keep an eye on the tree line. If anything moves, drop it. That goes for all of you. Keep the perimeter secure.” He turned to the vampire and sat across from him, his rifle resting across his lap so that the barrel faced the man.
“Allow me to begin with an apology. You were not who we thought you were at first. Once we realized you were the human hunters…I sent one of my people to make contact.”
“And who did you think we were?” Dom couldn’t hide the distrust from his voice.
“It is a very long story, but suffice to say, we thought you were hired mercenaries sent to exterminate us.”
“Not too far from the mark.”
The vampire stiffened and nodded slightly. “You are the human hunters, no? The ones who lead the attack against the Sicarii in the desert?”
“One and the same.” Dom sneered a smile.
“Then you are not the mercenaries we thought you to be.” The vampire’s voice grew silent as he spoke. His face took an almost reflective appearance as he turned his attention back to the hunter across from him. “We were crossing through this area and discovered a small group of very young vampires. They had done…unspeakable things.”
“We know.” Dom raised a brow at him, not believing him.
“We are not Lamia Beastia, but we do not adopt the tenets of the Humanus either. We do feed on humans, but we have familiars who volunteer their blood to us. We do not kill in order to feed.”
Dom didn’t like what he was hearing, but he got the distinct impression that he was truthful. He shrugged. “I should care?”
“You should. We took it upon ourselves to remove the troublesome vampires from this area and were about to move on when we got word that they were simply bait.”
Dom’s eyes narrowed. “Bait? For what?”
“For you, we think. Perhaps for us. We are not sure.” The vampire shrugged slightly, his face displaying worry.
Mitchell came across the coms, “Who would be doing the baiting
and who told him this?”
“Who told you the baby vamps were bait? Why would they do this?” Dom repeated.
The vampire shook his head. “The only survivor from those we removed is who told us. He wasn’t…new. He was much older. He was ordered to do this thing.”
“By who?”
The vampire averted his eyes a moment and inhaled deeply. “He claims that he was ordered to by the Council.”
“Who?” Dom leaned forward, unsure what he was hearing.
“The Vampire Council?” Mitchell asked.
The vampire looked up and nodded. “Your superior is correct. The Vampire Council. We tried to ask him more questions, but he had a suicide pill. Silver. He swallowed it before we knew what he was doing. He would rather accept the true death than betray his masters.”
“And you thought we were mercs sent to kill you?” Dom shook his head. “Why?”
“Hunter, you have much to learn about our ways. It is the true death for any who takes the life of another vampire. But for one who takes the life of a Council’s agent?” The vampire shuddered. “Everyone he has ever cared about shall pay. They will see to it.”
“Pass him coms, Sierra One,” Mitchell ordered. He turned to the communications tech and nodded. “Enter this into the permanent record.”
“I can hear him fine,” the vampire stated as Dom pulled his earpiece and lip mic.
“I think it’s so they can hear you better.” He handed it to the vampire and watched as he fumbled with it. Dom laid his rifle aside and clipped the mic in place then helped him run the wire for the earpiece. “You’re good.”
“To whom am I speaking?” Mitchell asked.
“You may call me Reginald.” The vampire listened to the sounds in the background as Mitchell took his seat again.
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