The Americans: Apex Trilogy, Book 2

by Jake Bible

  “Lost? Where?” the Empress asked, her patience already waning.

  Dr. Stilig glanced at Zverev, but was met with a blank stare. “I am unsure, Your Highness. I only examined the container as it was given to me.”

  The Empress grinned. “Take a guess.”

  Dr. Stilig swallowed hard. “It could be possible that the main containment was transferred.”

  “Transferred how?” the Empress asked, fiddling absently with some of the equipment lining the lab.

  “It may be in a vehicle…” Stilig began. The Empress turned to Zverev, who shook his head.

  “No vehicle, Doctor. Where else?”

  “Well, um, it could be possible that, well, given the right conditions, a, um, person could be carrying the containment,” the Doctor stuttered. “But that would be quite risky. If containment was breached that person could possibly be killed by the nanotech. Unless…”

  The Empress twirled her hands, egging the Doctor on.

  “Well, and this is all theory,” Dr. Stilig said. “If the person had some sort of conditioning to handle ingestion of large quantities of metal, say, if they were an American Ghost…”

  Natlaya smiled broadly. “That is an excellent theory, Doctor!” She clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Who else knows of the nanotech?”

  “Just my lead assistant, Your Majesty,” Dr. Stilig answered, worry creasing his brow.

  The Empress turned to Zverev. “Find the assistant’s family and hold them, you know, as motivation. We wouldn’t want any loose lips. Understand?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Zverev replied as he followed Natalya out of the room.

  “This will be an excellent addition to our collection. Don’t you think, Doctor?” the Empress asked.

  “I will need a larger sample, Your Highness,” the Doctor risked saying.

  “And I will try to bring it to you, Doctor.” The Empress grinned as she and Zverev left the lab. “I think I know right where to find it.”

  Dr. Stilig leaned heavily on the work table next to him and closed his eyes. He knew it was just a matter of time before something happened. He was glad only his assistant’s family would be held. His predecessor hadn’t been so lucky.

  ***

  “I could feel you coming before you got halfway down the hall,” Vasily said as a prison guard let Alexander into the cell, closing and locking it behind him.

  So deteriorated was Vasily’s physical state that no one would have known the two brothers to be identical twins. Alexander looked down with pity at his brother, and the putrefying corpse lain across his legs, covering his mouth with his hand to ward off the smell.

  “You have to let them take Peter, Vas,” Alexander said kindly, kneeling close, gripping his brother’s shoulder.

  Vasily winced in pain, but didn’t pull away. “No need, Tick. I’ll be joining him soon.”

  Alexander’s heart broke at the mention of his nickname. Tick and Tock. It was what their mother had called them when they were children.

  “Here come Tick and Tock,” she would call out when they ran into her bedroom. “You can’t have one without the other.”

  Alexander fought, but he was soon bawling, his head buried in his brother’s neck. Vasily reached up absently and patted Alex’s head softly.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. “There is nothing you can do. Whether you give her what she wants or not, it’s already gotten so far she will have to kill me. Kill us both unless you can get away.”

  Alexander pushed away. “No!” he shouted, wiping his nose. “I’ll get you out of here!”

  Vasily looked up into his brother’s teary eyes. “You don’t believe that,” he said, taking Alexander’s hand in his. “Save yourself, if you can. Preferably without giving The Cunt what she wants.”

  Alexander couldn’t help but smile. The Cunt. They all had their nicknames. He wiped roughly at his eyes. “Will you let me take Peter?”

  “No, Tick,” Vasily answered quietly. “I will be joining him shortly.” Vasily opened his right hand and a small piece of white apothecary paper fell out of it. “I still have friends in the Guard. They were able to help me along.”

  “How soon?” Alexander asked, suddenly calm now that his brother’s fate was decided.

  “Minutes?” Vasily yawned. “Maybe sooner. I waited to take it until I knew you were coming.”

  Alexander settled down next to his brother. “I’ll wait with you if that is okay?”

  “Of course,” Vasily smiled through another yawn. “I would love nothing more.”

  The two twins held hands as one waited for the other to die.

  ***

  “So, did you design this, or did Al?” Billy asked from behind the bar as he placed a well stocked jar of scabs back in place, having taken what he needed.

  “A little of both,” Styles said, his feet propped up on a table as he lifted a pint of dark beer. “Mostly Al, though. He says it’s something he’s been dreaming about since he was a little tike.”

  Billy laughed and mixed a very dry martini. “Okay, I have to ask. What’s with the whole cowboy thing? I mean you even have the accent. I hate to break it to you, pardner, the South ain’t gonna rise again.”

  “Don’t really know,” Styles said honestly. “It’s how my people talked and how I’ve always talked.”

  “Fair enough,” Billy said, sipping from his glass. “I’ve known Americans from Spain that had Spanish accents so thick I sometimes had to switch on the translator in my com.” Billy took a long swig of his cocktail. “But what about the hat? That had to be specially made.”

  “It was,” Styles answered, fingering the brim. “Made for my great granddaddy. I just happen to have the right size head.”

  “So it’s not true about the combat wound?”

  Styles laughed and tapped his empty glass with his finger. Billy grinned, poured another and walked over, taking a seat next to him as he handed him the fresh pint.

  “Thanks,” Styles said. “I do have a wound under my hat, but not really from combat. More a vocational hazard.”

  “And which vocation would that be?”

  “Professional guinea pig,” Styles said, his face suddenly hard and serious. “Al found me in some lab, I really don’t know where, and got me the hell out of there. Of course, I doubt he would have done it if I couldn’t fly this baby.” Styles patted the wall of the cabin.

  “So what does BTT stand for?” Billy asked, knowing from the look on Styles’s face he wasn’t going to get any more explanation about the lab.

  “Better Than Tits!” Styles snorted.

  ***

  Heather took a deep breath, grimacing at the sterile, antiseptic taste from the suit's air processors. She didn't even flinch when the twig snapped behind her.

  “I know you’re there,” she whispered. “Might as well show yourself.”

  There was a slight rustle and a shadow pulled away from the trees.

  “Come on,” Heather insisted. “I don’t have all day.”

  The shadow stepped into the light and Heather gasped. A young man, American by the style of Shock suit he wore, approached her cautiously. Lacerations crisscrossed his face and one eye was all but unrecognizable, its purple-black mass swollen like a ripe piece of fruit. His Shock suit was scarred and burned in many places and Heather could tell the helmet was no longer functional, since he hadn't bothered to raise it and his skin was showing sure signs of severe radiation poisoning.

  “You’re American?” the young man asked. “A Ghost?”

  “Yes…What happened?” Heather asked, peering further into the forest, trying to see if there was anyone else.

  “Don’t bother,” the trooper sighed. “I think I’m the only one that made it out.”

  “What are you doing here?” Heather said, guiding the trooper away from the crater and back towards the skiff. He yanked his arm away and stepped back.

  “No! They are watching,” he hissed. “I shouldn’t have expos
ed myself to you.”

  “But you did, so let me help you.”

  “You can’t. I just wanted to warn you to get away,” he said rapidly. “Our orders were to storm the palace and take the Empress. But they were waiting for us. I made it into the woods. That was just before the detonation.” The trooper looked past Heather, his eyes fixing on the past. “They nuked it all. The base. Everything.” He snapped out of his reverie and gripped Heather by the shoulders. “Leave now! They want to kill us all—!”

  His last words were cut short as his face was ripped open by an unheard bullet. Heather stumbled back, wiping at the brain and bits of bone splattered across her facemask.

  The hillside was instantly surrounded by the Palace Guard, their weapons trained on Heather. She glanced quickly back at the skiff and knew, even with her speed, she wouldn't make it in time.

  “Fuck,” she cursed, already moving to close the distance between her and the guards.

  “On the ground now!” one shouted. “We have orders to execute you if you do not comply!”

  “Yeah, good luck with that, assholes!” Heather shouted as she reached the first guard, her speed taking him by surprise. She dropped to the ground, her body sliding along the slick, muddy slope, and kicked out with her right leg, connecting with the guard’s kneecap, the crunch of bone drowned out only by the guard’s scream.

  She tossed him aside as he fell onto her, grabbed up his rifle, rolled to her left and opened fire. Three quick trigger pulls and she dropped three guards, but also caught a return bullet in her right shoulder, spinning her about and slamming her to the ground, her suit sealing instantly.

  Heather had been shot many times before, but that was different. She could feel the bullet rip through muscle and shatter her shoulder blade as it exited out her back, but she also felt the searing pain of healing flesh, just like with a BC suture rush job, and instantly knew she was no longer wounded.

  Not wasting any time, Heather flipped herself to her feet and bolted for the tree line, hearing bullets rush past her head as she ducked into the cover of the shadows.

  Another slug hit her, then another and another, bouncing her body against the pine trees surrounding her. She started to convulse, but not from the gunshots. She ripped her helmet off, doubled over and heaved out more of the red-black goo that had been plaguing her for the past day.

  Struggling to her feet, the viscous liquid dripping from her chin, Heather turned and faced the remaining guards, their rifles squared at her chest.

  “Fuck you,” she gurgled as more liquid flowed from her throat and out her mouth.

  The guards opened fire and it wasn’t until their magazines had emptied that Heather finally lost consciousness, her body unable to keep up with the assault.

  ***

  Gelts had disabled every bit of surveillance he could find in his quarters, if a small, cold room behind the kitchen could be called “quarters”. Not exactly what he thought the head of security and personal bodyguard for one of Europe's royal members deserved, but then he had learned to roll with the punches in his line of work.

  He knew they would be watching him, listening to him, coming for him, which was why he was sitting in a chair in the far corner of the room, the lights off and two auto-pistols in his lap, when they did come.

  Knowing they would be wearing body armor at the least, and Shock suits at the most, he made sure every shot he took was a head shot. There was a pile of headless bodies six deep blocking the door before the first pistol was empty and he tossed it aside, rolling from the chair to the middle of the room, hoping they weren't going to use explosives or heavy guns. Hand to hand he could handle, small arms he could compensate for, but the room was too tiny for him to survive any heavy ordinance.

  “Mr. Gelts!” Zverev's voice boomed. “I do not want to kill you and wish you would stop killing my men!”

  “Stop sending them in here then!” Gelts shouted back, immediately moving to a different spot in the room so they couldn't lock in on his voice, although he was sure their scanners had his body signature targeted.

  “We have been asked to bring you into temporary custody,” Zverev called. “You are not to be harmed, only detained for security reasons.”

  Gelts shook his head. He knew they could take him eventually, there was only one of him after all. He didn’t expect any rescue, since he was pretty certain that the rest of his security team hadn't been made the same offer and were probably nothing but ash in the trash incinerator's catch bin.

  He took a deep breath and glanced about his room. The shadowy outlines of the single bed, small desk and chair, and small dresser mocked him, providing zero cover or protection. He could hear the muffled voice of Zverev directing his team, probably getting them ready to blast their way through at any moment.

  “Why do you want me alive?” Gelts asked.

  There was a slight pause. “Because it is the only way to get the prince to do as the Empress wants,” Zverev answered honestly. “With you alive, Prince Alexander will feel more secure and will be more cooperative.”

  Gelts smiled. Zverev had a reputation for bluntness and brutality in the security world, but he was also known as a man of his word. Of course, his word was only good if it didn't go against his orders from his Empress.

  “I'm coming out,” Gelts shouted and he could hear the guards checking their weapons and setting positions. “I'm leaving my pistol inside and my hands will be raised. Kill me, Zverev, and my ghost will haunt you for eternity!”

  “Understood,” Zverev said and Gelts knew he would live through the next few moments, but had no illusions as to the rest of his future.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Time to go, brother,” Natalya said from outside the cell, her face an impassive mask.

  “Not going with you, Nat,” Alexander replied. “Vas is gone. Your hold on me is over.”

  “Yes, well, that may have been true if you had come by yourself,” the Empress said, activating a holo. The images of Heather, Beth and Melissa's unconscious bodies being carried into a dark grey, utilitarian building came to life before Alexander's eyes. “I know you have had your issues with Ms. Walton, and I doubt you even care for the new girl, but I remember how your face would light up when little Mel would jump into your arms. You do as you are told and she stays safe.” The image faded away quickly and Alexander glared.

  “And when I've done that, what's to stop you from discarding me as you did Vas?” Alexander snarled. “We are all dead, sister. I'm not as world savvy as you, but I've certainly learned a few things.”

  “Such as how to negotiate the price of a prostitute? Please, brother, your knowledge of life is worthless,” Natalya laughed. “It's your skills with BC design that I need. Those skills will secure the Russian throne for generations.”

  It was Alexander's turn to laugh. “Generations? Even if someone could stomach the thought of breeding with you, you'd only eat your young anyway.”

  Natalya glared and motioned for the cell door to be opened. It slid aside and several guards came in, yanking the corpses of Vasily and Peter roughly away from the prince. Alexander's entire body sagged in defeat.

  “You will have to kill me, Nat. You know that, right?” he said, pained by the simple truth.

  “Yes, Alex,” the Empress responded with no hint of remorse. “Hopefully, you'll prove yourself valuable enough to keep around for a while. You amuse me, brother, and in these trying times amusement is hard to come by.”

  “Not if you're a sociopathic monarch,” Alexander said, getting to his feet as more guards surrounded him. He waved them away. “I'm not going to do anything.”

  ***

  “One, two, three!” Billy shouted before he and Styles systematically downed the twelve shots of whiskey set out before each of them, slamming each empty shot glass onto the table.

  “Done!” Styles yelled a split second before Billy. He leapt to his feet, doing a drunk shuffle and had to immediately brace himself against one of
the seats. “Oh, man, I think that eleventh shot did me in...”

  Billy tried to stand, but just ended up in a heap on the floor. “The eleventh? What about the twelfth?”

  “There were twelve?” Styles said, now visibly green. “Shit, math never was my strong suit.”

  A shrill alarm blared in the cabin and both men covered their ears.

  “What the fuck is that?” Billy yelled.

  “Proximity alarm!” Styles shouted back. “Someone is moving a little too close to my girl!”

  “Turn it off! Turn it off!” Billy pleaded.

  Styles stumbled to the cockpit and began flicking switches until the alarm ceased. He collapsed back into the pilot's chair and brought up external surveillance, becoming considerably more sober at the sight of the small squadron of Palace guards taking up positions around the BTT.

  “So, what's...up...?” Billy asked as he fell into the cockpit. “Dammit! I knew it would all go bad, but hoped we'd at least get another breakfast out of it first. And maybe a massage in the spa.”

  Styles tossed his hat aside and Billy gasped as he watched Styles jack into the BTT.

  “Dude! That's fucked up!” Billy said, all courtesy aside.

  “Yep, it is,” Styles responded. “Doesn't always feel so good, either.”

  Billy pulled himself upright and leaned against the cockpit wall. “I hope you got a plan, cowboy. Because my Ghost skills are unreliable at best and completely useless at the worst.”

  “Not to worry, Billy boy. I've been in worse situations,” Styles laughed around an alcoholic belch. “Ugh, that one was chunky.”

  “Yeah, I keep forgetting you've been hanging with Al,” Billy laughed. “He tends to get people into these kind of situations.”

  “ATTENTION MR. STYLES AND MR. BRENTON!” a voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “PLEASE EXIT THE VEHICLE OR WE WILL REMOVE YOU BY FORCE!”

  “Hah!” Styles grinned. “They don't seem to know that I've been hanging with Al. You can't remove anyone or anything from the BTT!”

  Billy never saw Styles do anything, but he instantly felt the change and confirmed the feeling as the guards on the surveillance became confused and agitated.