Abomination (7 page)

“I appreciate you trusting me with this, Ryan. That took
guts. It stays with me until I hear from you,” said the sheriff, as Ryan rose
to his feet.

“Thank you, Sheriff. I need to go now.”

“Of course. Good luck, Agent Pearson.”

“I believe I’ll need it,” said Ryan, as he turned to
leave.

“One more thing, if you don’t mind?” asked the sheriff.
“What were the names of the two agents that were killed?”

“Patrick Barron and Frank Hansen.”

“Patrick and Frank,” repeated the sheriff, committing
their names to memory. “I’m sure they were fine men. Their souls and families
will be in my prayers, too.”

“You’re a good man, Sheriff. I owe you an apology for
throwing my weight around during the briefing. I’m not normally so impatient.
When I figure this mess out, I’d consider it an honor to sit around, drink
moonshine, and spit tobacco with you and your boys.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” chuckled the sheriff. “I
have to admit, I believe you would’ve thrown me in my own jail. Do you mind if
I borrow that line when my deputies screw up?”

“Not at all.”

The two men shook hands and Ryan returned to the car.
His team filed out of the café carrying large cups of coffee. Dallas was the
first to reach him and handed him a cup and the folded napkin.

“I’ve been getting a lot of these lately,” said Ryan,
unfolding the note.

“Sorry it took us so long. There was a line at the cash
register,” said Dallas with a smile.

“Did you get in touch with your sister, Michelle?” asked
Ryan.

“I did. She’s fine.”

“Houma, Louisiana,” said Tom. “I knew I recognized the
name. It’s the setting for the for the ‘Swamp Thing’ comic book series?”

“I never would’ve pegged you for a comic book reader,”
said Michelle.

“Love them,” said Tom. “Every week as a kid I’d spend my
entire allowance at the corner drugstore. Soda pop and comic books were my
Saturday routine. Sadly, the files I read now contain the real monsters that
are out there.”

“Well, maybe we’ll run into the Swamp Thing down in the
bayou,” said Dallas. “You could ask him to help us find our monster.”

The team arrived at the airport and boarded the Learjet
that would take them into the hunting grounds of Richard Elliot. He was also a
highly decorated and patriotic Marine who volunteered to become a better
soldier through genetic experimentation. His record was spotless until the day he
and the others decided to walk away from the lab in Maine and become a ruthless
band of murderers.

During the flight to New Orleans, the only team member
remaining awake was Ryan. A folder with red stripes marked “Classified” was in
the seat next to him. He didn’t bother to open Elliot’s file and bury himself
in the pages filled with horrific images and reports. Instead, he sat quietly
looking out the window as the world slowly passed underneath.

The aircraft landed early in the afternoon at Louis
Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. The team was met by agents from
the local field office. They were given vehicles and escorted to one of the
FBI’s safe houses located on St. Charles Avenue near the French Quarter. The
local agents had no idea why Ryan and his team were visiting their city. They
were told to accommodate and provide them with any equipment, information, and
support they requested without question.

During the thirty-minute drive, all four agents remained
silent. Hardly a word had been spoken since they boarded the plane in Virginia.
Each was trying to anticipate Ryan’s next move. But Ryan wasn’t thinking about
the complexity of the situation he needed to sort out. He brought his thoughts
down to a very basic human level. He was thinking about Sheriff Parker driving
down a country road carrying the weight of having to tell a mother and father
their daughter was dead. He had to tell them their daughter was murdered by a
U.S. Marine.

Ryan wasn’t so naïve to think the chaos of the world
owed anyone an explanation for the horror it could produce, but the chaos he
found himself in wasn’t one of those situations. The answers were out there to
be found. As the vehicles pulled into the driveway of the safe house, he made
his decision. He wasn’t going to let the sheriff go down that country road
alone.

“Let’s get all the gear inside,” said Ryan. “We’re
taking tonight off. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Quarter, and I
think we all could use a drink.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” said Dallas, knowing
the real reason for the break.

He knew the reason because he had worked with Ryan for
over six years. Dallas started his career with the FBI after serving four years
with the Marine Corps. Both he and Ryan were stationed at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, but their paths never crossed. Dallas was assigned to the Marine Special
Operations Support Group while Ryan was assigned with the 2
^nd
Marine
Special Operations Battalion. The same Battalion of the four killers he was
hunting. Dallas knew that was no coincidence. Ryan knew as well.

As a Marine, Dallas’s specialty was counterterrorism and
surveillance. After his initial training with the FBI, his abilities earned him
immediate assignment to the elite Hostage Rescue Team (HRT) based out of Quantico, Virginia. He excelled in both planting and detecting hidden surveillance devices,
but his forte was finding foreign and domestic terrorist groups operating
within the United States.

While with HRT, Dallas had been the newest addition to
Ryan’s already established team. He immediately recognized what made Ryan stand
out from the crowd. He was simply relentless and a natural born leader. Ryan
recognized Dallas’s abilities as well. When Ryan was selected to lead an Inland
Regional Apprehension Team (IRAT), he requested Dallas join him to chase down
the country’s most wanted fugitives. He accepted the job on the spot.

In a departure from the normal job description of an
IRAT team, Ryan’s group would work closely with the FBI’s Behavioral Science
Division, also located at Quantico. It only took a few days for Ryan to
understand his team would be charged with hunting the most elusive and
dangerous killers who found themselves on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

Ryan and Dallas possessed the skill set necessary to
plan and execute an arrest warrant in almost any environment, but both lacked
the experience needed to profile and track their prey. Another positive
characteristic of Ryan’s leadership ability was the self-awareness to identify
his weaknesses. To compensate, he surrounded himself with agents that would
bring strengths he didn’t possess to the team. And two of the strongest
profilers were Michelle Dobbs and Tom Freeman. The fact that they also had
experience working in the field made them too appealing to pass up.

Before they knew what hit them, they were kicking in
doors and practicing assault tactics with Ryan and Dallas. It was less of an
invite and more of a draft when they joined the IRAT team. They didn’t put up
much of a fight, knowing they’d still be intimately involved with behavioral
science. They both found the idea of applying their skills in the field and
putting the bad guys in handcuffs very appealing. Ryan succeeded in creating a
highly tenacious and effective group that cleared cases with impressive speed.

Dallas, Michelle, and Tom were wondering when their old
leader would be returning to the team. They didn’t have to wait long for their
answer. After Ryan made a phone call to the deputy director to make him aware
of their short break, he hailed a cab and disappeared for over two hours. When
he returned to the safe house, he had the cabbie wait out front.

“Are you guys ready?” asked Ryan.

“Yep,” responded Dallas, patting a small leather bag over
his shoulder.

“And it matches your shoes,” added Michelle.

“And my eyes,” said Dallas. “You don’t win best-dressed
agent by ignoring the details.”

“You’re absolutely hopeless,” said Michelle, closing the
door behind them.

“Where are we headed?” asked Tom.

“A quiet little place where I like to relax and think,”
answered Ryan.

After a short ride, the cab dropped the agents off on Canal Street. There was still daylight illuminating the Quarter, but it was already filled
with loud groups of tourists and locals getting a head start on the evening’s
festivities. Most were carrying large plastic cups full of beverages that could
power a dragster. About a block away from Ryan’s “quiet little place” on the
corner of Canal and Bourbon streets, they could hear the distinct piano
accordion from the Zydeco band playing inside.

There was a decent crowd already forming in the bar, but
they managed to grab a table in a slightly quieter corner facing the front
entrance. Without saying a word, they all dropped their cell phones in the bag Dallas
carried. He removed a small plastic case from the bag before he asked the bartender
to hold it behind the bar.

Ryan and Dallas then excused themselves to go to the
restroom. When they entered, Dallas removed a small device from the case, and
Ryan assumed the position of a traveler getting the wand at an airport security
checkpoint. Dallas quickly scanned his boss with the RF receiver and no spikes
were detected. He removed a second device from the case and pressed the power
button to activate the unit. If he missed any bugs, the transmission frequency
would be scrambled as long as Ryan stayed with ten feet of the jamming device.
The unit was compact and powerful, resembling a walkie-talkie, but only had enough
battery life to remain effective for thirty minutes. They returned to the table
as the drinks arrived.

“When in Rome,” said Tom, picking up his glass. The rest
of the team followed the queue. Ryan wasted no time starting the conversation.

“First, I want to apologize to all three of you,” said
Ryan. “I report to and take my orders from Deputy Director Donaldson. From the
beginning, I was instructed to give you enough information to keep you safe and
nothing more. Any requests for support from you guys was very detailed and
scripted. It’s a complete departure from the way we normally operate. When you
offered anything more, I didn’t have much choice but to ignore you. When you
started putting things together and I suspected someone else was listening, I didn’t
have much choice but to cut you off. And for that I am sorry. I especially owe
you an apology, Tom.”

“I had a feeling something else was distracting you,”
said Tom. “No apologies necessary now that we know you were under some hefty
constraints. So where do we go from here?”

“I know where I’m going, but what I need to make clear
that I’m not telling you three to come with me,” said Ryan. “I’m only asking.
Before you answer, it’s important each of you understand a few things. You
should know me well enough not feel any pressure to do something beyond your
level of comfort. If you decide to walk away from this, I’ll completely
understand.”

“Enough with the disclaimers, Boss,” said Dallas. “We’re
in.”

“You have no idea how premature that statement might be,”
said Ryan. “I’ll start with what I know. Donaldson called me in his office a
few months ago and handed me four files. Those files contained the dossiers and
crime scene information similar to what I was allowed to disclose before we hit
Arrington. There were two scientists in attendance from the Michaels Lab in
Maine during our meeting. They gave me very little information about the nature
of the research and experiments they were conducting on the Marines. They
basically told me they were super soldiers with greatly enhanced capabilities.
But after what we experienced in Harrisonburg, they seemed to have left out a
few important details. I strongly believe understanding those details could’ve
helped me keep our agents alive. Needless to say, I’m a little pissed.”

“Obviously, their strength and speed are enhanced, but I
wouldn’t go so far as to say their mental capabilities were as well,” said
Michelle. “At least not in Arrington’s case. The fact that he basically let us
walk into the farmhouse undetected doesn’t lend weight to his mental strength.”

“They told me he was the weakest of the four men,”
responded Ryan. “They emphasized his physical abilities were much stronger than
his mental. The other three scored much higher on the cognitive testing. I’m
not saying he was retarded, but based on their scale, he was less formidable.”

“After what he did to our agents with his bare hands,
they have an incredibly skewed definition of less formidable,” said Tom.

“Exactly,” responded Ryan. “Somebody knew. But whether
or not that somebody was Deputy Director Donaldson remains to be discovered.
And that brings me to what I don’t know.

“I’m having a hard time swallowing the assumption that
he’s intentionally holding back information that could’ve prevented unnecessary
deaths. I do, or did, trust him. Now I’m not so sure. I need to find out. But
even if his office is compromised, my plan is to continue with the mission. We
all witnessed Arrington killing that woman. Regardless of how they turned, we
need to stop them.”

“What’s the plan?” asked Dallas.

“The plan is, you and I are going to find out who put
that bullet in Arrington’s head,” started Ryan. “I’m thinking it was a .50
caliber sniper round. Our snipers weren’t using rifles with that type of
ammunition. That has military written all over it. I’m also thinking they’re a
part of the same group Scott eluded was shadowing us. Again, I can’t confirm if
the deputy director is the one giving up our location and plans. Hell, I don’t
even know if I can trust Scott, but oddly enough, he’s the only one that seems
to be pointing me in the right direction. He also gave me the name of a
scientist we need to track down. She may have some answers for us, but she’s
not the priority at the moment.”