Apocalypse Island (44 page)

“Used to be the king of this here island paradise,” Skip Johnson said with a touch of irony in his voice. It was as if the idea of Apocalypse Island ever being a paradise was a colossal joke.  “Least he was til the gov’ment built that airstrip up on the hill and made everything so secret.”

“Tell me something, Skip, how did Apocalypse Island get its name?”

Johnson frowned. “That’s a good one,” he said. “Way back in the olden days the natives were superstitious. They thought there was something down there.” He pointed at the hillside.

“You mean beneath the ground?” Wolf asked.

“Yep. A hole in the earth where demons lived. Some believed it was a hole that went straight down into hell. There’s an old island prophecy that says some day demons will rise from that hole and infest the earth. When the first Christian settlers came here they heard the stories and at first dismissed them. Then things began to happen.”

“What things?”

“Deformed babies and psychic children, and murders and mutilations and all manner of sacrilegious stuff. Not to mention ghost sightings and every other kind of weirdness you can imagine. So they named it Apocalypse. Apocalypse doesn’t actually mean the end of everything, you now. The bible talks about ‘the lifting of the veil’, which loosely translates into ‘the rising’ or ‘the coming of something horrific’. They always expected something to rise up, but so far it hasn’t. Good thing, I guess.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Wolf said.

“Grew up here,” Skip Johnson said. “Hard not to take notice when you live with it most of your life. The legend also says if you go near that hole you’ll be imbued with supernatural powers.” Johnson gave a dismissive shrug. “Anyways, the folks who lived here just accepted it, basically because they didn’t have a choice. They got used to the weirdness. Some say it’s even spread to the mainland, and if you ask me it’s true. Things just haven’t been right over there for a long time. All these kids running around in dark costumes thinking they’re vampires and demons and stuff, and painting filth on their bodies, and now these terrible murders, well...” Skip Johnson’s voice trailed off as he stared across the water toward he mainland.

“You think this island has something to do with all that?”

“The government didn’t set up shop here for nothing,” Johnson said. “Word is they tried to use it for their own greedy ends, but things they didn’t anticipate started to happen. When it got out of hand they tried to contain it. When that didn’t work they made it top secret and got their asses out of here.”

For a long silent moment Wolf just stared at Johnson. “Do you believe all that?”

Johnson grunted out a dry laugh. “I don’t know.  A lot of folks hereabouts do. Some words of advice for you, though; proceed with caution.”

“Thanks, I will,” Wolf said. He bounded up onto the dock and headed up the wooden platform toward solid ground as wind-driven rain sheeted over him. He didn’t really expect to ever see Skip Johnson again.

After Wolf was gone, Skip Johnson picked his phone of the dash and dialed.

Chapter 110

Spencer had come to this island in the late nineteen-seventies, a young agent just out of the academy. He’d been assigned as the operation’s head of security but had soon become involved heavily in the day-to-day running of the facility.

He’d been amazed at the size of the operation and the extent of its sophistication, most of which existed beneath the ground, totally belying its unobtrusive above-ground appearance.

He’d also been amazed at the type of work conducted here, which was some of the most cutting-edge mind altering research of the time. Hell, as far as he knew, nothing being done today could touch what they’d been able to accomplish back then. Too bad they’d had to cease operations when he’d felt they were so close to an answer.

But he was just a soldier. He took his orders from a higher power just like everyone else did, and when those in charge had said, “Enough! Bury it!” That’s exactly what he had done.

In Spencer’s estimation, the church had ruined it for everyone. There was too wide a conflict between religion and science. Always had been, always would be. Oil and water would never mix. But they’d been involved long before his time, and he hadn’t had much say in the matter. He supposed that in those early years of the discovery it had been the only logical choice. The church and the orphanage had been here first and they were much more adept at feeding and housing the little brats than a bunch of government geeks. But in the end it was the church that brought it all down. Spencer had warned his higher-ups about their meddling in scientific affairs. And there was talk about plans to spirit some of the children out of here under the cover of darkness, and, about the very real possibility that they might let the cat out of the bag. This could never be allowed. Nothing about this place could ever be permitted to go public. What had started as simple mind altering experiments on gifted children had resulted in a discovery so amazing that it rocked the scientific community and caused the government to ultimately bury it under a veil of secrecy; the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Roswell.

The facility here at Apocalypse Island had subsequently been abandoned and the discovery sealed off for good. Or so they’d thought. Now it had come to light that someone very clever had managed to break through their defenses and use the facility for their own ends. How this could have happened, Spencer could not even venture a vague guess.

Considering the circumstances Spencer knew that the entire island should have been abandoned and sealed off long ago. And that’s exactly what would have happened if they could have gotten away with it. But by then it was being populated by an upwardly mobile citizenry who would have demanded reasons and in so doing would have drawn far too much scrutiny from the outside world. So it was decided to let sleeping dogs lie. But now the sleeping dogs were becoming restless.

After the orphanage burned, MK-ULTRA should have become a footnote in history. But now with the internet and its legions of dedicated and pathological conspiracy theorists nothing was safe from public scrutiny.

It was assumed that all the brats had died in the fire. But then, one escapee had been discovered wandering the island, a huge child named Sam who’d been unable to speak. He was taken to a facility in New York State where further tests were conducted. Sam was an amazing physical specimen with nearly super human capabilities. One night he escaped and came home, drawn back to Apocalypse Island as a moth to a flame. That’s when Spencer and those in the highest echelons of governmental secrecy realized that no one who knew could be allowed to live.

They hadn’t counted on someone murdering innocents, and in so doing, pointing the way directly back to Apocalypse. The door needed to be closed once and for all. And as destructive as this final containment might turn out to be, Spencer had to be certain that this would be the end of it.

As he moved forward through the underground facility with Robeson and the two techs carrying the footlocker, he was thinking about an old island prophecy that told of demons rising up out of the earth and wreaking havoc upon Apocalypse Island. Spencer knew that on this night the prophecy would come true.

Chapter 111

Laura woke up on her back, her face thrumming in agony, her head full of confusing images. She tried to open her eyes but they were nearly swollen shut. She felt the crust of dried blood like a mask on her face. She strained to see her surroundings but all she could make out were foggy shapes. She tried to remember exactly what had happened but her mind felt sluggish like a set of jammed gears. From out of the confusion came a single muddled thought:
Danny...where is he?

She tried to focus her blurry vision but the effort only added to the pain in her sore brain. She tried to move but realized that her hands and feet were bound together at the wrists and ankles. The realization struck her that she was strapped down to something.

So where in the name of God was she?

The last thing she remembered was seeing that bastard, and the anger rising in her like a tide at the realization that her suspicions were spot on. Then she was struck in the face and the lights went out. Though she believed what she’d seen, she was still having a hard time wrapping her brain around the entire picture. The memory of his face sent a renewed surge of rage rushing through her. She needed to get out of here and let Danny know what was going on. And she needed to warn Jennings.

Wolf had stolen her gun, the asshole. Why hadn’t he helped her?

At the risk of drawing unwanted attention she kept silent and as still as possible as she worked at her bonds.

Chapter 112

The minute Jennings pulled his car onto International Parkway he knew something was wrong. The place was crawling with cops. He saw them from a distance and pulled over to the curb feeling wary and exposed.

He picked up his phone and dialed the station. Lou Abrams, the sergeant on the desk and an old friend answered the call and said that Robeson had ordered Jennings’s arrest.

“Bastard!” Jennings spat bitterly. “Why?”

“Listen,” Abrams said. “Frank Cavanaugh was found dead half an hour ago at your residence on Long Lake.”

“What? Christ, how?”

“He was killed with a butcher knife from your kitchen knife rack.”

“Jesus, I was just there,” Jennings said. “I didn’t see Frank.”

“Your footprints were the only ones in Cavanaugh’s blood.”

“Jesus,” Jennings said again. “That was Frank’s blood?”

“Who did you think it belonged to?”

Jennings did not reply.

“Listen, Rick, Robeson said you broke into Cavanaugh’s house and you’re also wanted for questioning in his wife’s murder.”

“That’s absurd,” Jennings said. “I didn’t kill Frank. He was my partner. Why would I kill him? Why would I kill Kate? She was my friend. She was strung up just like one of those Cross my Heart girls.”

“I know,” Abrams said. “Robeson told me it has something to do with Jack Higgins, that you’d betrayed him, maybe even killed him. I think you’d better come in, Rick.”

Jennings put his finger on the off button. He felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut. Robeson was setting him up, twisting everything around so that suspicion fell on him instead of where it really belonged. No way would he let them bring him down.

He got out of his car, pocketed the phone and walked across the airport’s remote parking lot toward Westbrook Street. When he was well away from all the bustling activity he pulled the phone back out of his pocket and made a call. Persephone Wilder answered. “Where are you?” he asked.

“Where I’m supposed to be. Meeting you at the airport.”

“Listen, there’s been a change of plan.”

“No kidding. I heard about Cavanaugh and his wife. The wires have it and every cop in the city is looking for you.”

“Do you trust me, Seph?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Okay, then listen, Robeson is in this up to his eyeballs. He used to work for the CIA and he was involved in the events on Apocalypse Island, and I think he was involved in Jack Higgins’s murder.”

“I tried to tell that story,” Wilder said. “But...well...you know what happened.”

“Actually I don’t. And I don’t know the whole story. Maybe you could fill me in. Did you know the chief was involved in Jack’s death?”

“I had a source, but my hands were tied.”

“So you did know?”

“I suspected, but they threatened me.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jennings said. He could hear Wilder’s soft breathing on the phone line. “And you never said anything?”

“I couldn’t, Rick. Listen, I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

“Robeson’s trying to set me up,” Jennings said. “Twist it around so that I look guilty instead of him. I thought he was my friend. I need your help.”

“You’ve got it, Rick. Listen, you’ve always been good to me, treated me like a human being when a lot of the boys downtown treated me like a bimbo. I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

“It’s because I’ve always liked you,” Jennings said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean it. I really respected the way you handled that whole thing after the death of your husband.”

“Didn’t do me any good.”

“Maybe not, but at least you stood up.”

Wilder had lost her husband three years ago when a burglar broke into their home, murdered him in his bed while he was napping and then robbed the place. A teenager had been picked up several hours later wandering along the country road near where the Wilders lived. He was high on methamphetamine and disoriented and claimed he didn’t remember anything. His pockets were filled with items from the Wilder household; a Rolex watch, several diamond rings, bracelets and necklaces, items that Persephone later identified as belonging to her and her late husband. It wasn’t the kid’s first arrest. The Portland police knew him well. He got into drugs at an early age, had several run-ins with other police agencies but always managed to beat each rap.

Jennings knew it was because he was from a rich family with political ties and his father could afford an expensive team of lawyers. The lawyers argued that other than the items found on the young man there was no evidence that he had been in Wilder’s house. Although Wilder’s husband had been stabbed to death, there was no blood or DNA on the suspect’s clothing and a murder weapon was never found. After a trial that lasted nearly six months, the kid was acquitted and put back on the street.

Persephone had taken a perverse kind of pleasure in taking the family apart, and had made some bitter political enemies in the process. The deciding factor in the trial was the part about the kid stealing expensive jewelry. He was rich. He drove expensive sports cars. He could buy anything he wanted. Why would he steal jewelry? The lawyers were good enough to put doubt in the juror’s minds and that was that.