Arcadian Genesis (7 page)

Alex nodded and turned to Stozer.

‘Fifty out front: double time.’ He started forward.

‘Yo.’ She followed him. They ran ten feet apart, slowing when they were fifty feet ahead of the other HAWCs.

She shot him a playful look. ‘Not getting any younger, Alex.’

‘I didn’t realize you were pacing yourself. You want to move faster?’

‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’ He could hear the smile in her voice. ‘If you’re ever going to buy me that drink, you’d better hurry; I’m fighting them off back home.’

He grinned. ‘You fight them off because you like to fight.’

‘And maybe you’re one of those guys who likes a woman to take control. I can do that too, you know.’

Alex laughed softly. ‘I’m sure you could. Right now, I’ve still got some stuff to shake off, but . . .’

She groaned. ‘Oh boy, still hung up on that kewpie doll, are you? What was her name, Angie? Wish someone carried a torch for me like that.’ Momentarily disappointed, she then seemed to grab another thought from the air.

‘Hey, jarhead, I’m still up for a drink. I’m betting one date with me, and anyone else will be history.’

He looked at her for a moment. The suit she wore, dappled in different shades of the forest, hugged her athletic figure; the woman looked formidable, strong, attractive. He might like that drink after all. Not like he was being unfaithful.

‘Maybe just one, then.’

‘Sure, to start.’ She grinned – then froze. ‘Company.’

Crouching, Alex held up his fist, and then flattened his hand – the HAWCs behind dropped out of sight. Holding his breath, he listened: there it was, the whisper of a word or two, the soft sound of a gun being handled, the lid of a food tin being slowly peeled back.
Good
, he thought,
not GRU, then
. Professionals would never have made that much noise. He lifted a small scope to his eye and moved the spectrum up to thermal. One . . . two heat signatures . . . with two bodies in each thermal grouping. The signatures were ten feet apart – a simple killing zone – and way too close together for an optimum ambush. Again, a good sign – amateurs, probably Russian military.

He turned to Bronson, held fingers to his eyes, and then pointed to the positions of the concealed soldiers. He then pointed at himself and Stozer, nominating their respective targets. He’d take the end team, the hardest to hit, having to pass the crossfire team to get to them.

Bronson nodded and made a downward stabbing motion with his fingers: no guns – knives only.

Getting down on his belly, Alex inched his way forward, slipping under logs, through the trees, his suit changing with the colors of the earth, leaves and wood around him. Stozer followed, keeping close. Alex knew that they wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to the ambush zone without being detected, but they didn’t need to. He just needed to get close enough to surprise and frighten the shit out of them.

He slowed when he was within forty feet. The soft murmur of voices continued. He reached down and pulled free his longest blade, the tanto edge K-bar – night-black and laser sharpened – it was more a cutting tool than a stabbing weapon, but with enough force it could be pushed through just about anything – and flesh and bone was easy.

Alex pulled one leg forward, tensing the huge muscle in his thigh, and counted down in his mind:
5–4–3–2 . . .
He exploded from his hiding place like a juggernaut, knife clenched in his fist.

He passed by the crossfire team on his left before they were even aware their perimeter had been breached. As Alex expected, once they got over their initial surprise, they brought their guns around on him. But Alex moved fast, and made a difficult target. Most importantly, he’d got their attention.

Before him, he saw two more barrels aiming at his chest – he had arrived at his own target group. Alex launched himself into the air as Stozer broke cover.

He landed hard, crushing one man flat, and swept his blade across the fallen man’s throat, cutting it to the bones in his neck. Before the blood had time to spurt, he had already lunged at the remaining soldier who, whether by skill or good fortune, managed to fire off a round into Alex’s upper body.

The sun burst through the trees. Everything went white.

Hammerson’s voice yelled in his head, louder than the bloom of red pain he felt in his chest:
Never let them see you’re hurt, never stay down . . . and make them pay
.

Make them pay
, he remembered.

The Kevlar armor had taken the impact and diffused it across his torso. He probably had cracked ribs, but it was better than being dead.

If it had been luck the first time, the soldier had used up his quota. As he struggled to unjam his gun, Alex came back hard at him. The blackened knife, shining with blood, flashed upward and buried itself in the soft meat at the base of the soldier’s throat. It went in to the hilt. The man gurgled wetly as he sunk to his knees.

Alex took no pleasure in the kill; these men had been nothing but in the way. As he watched, the soldier’s eyes became glassy and clouded. He ripped the blade free and wiped it on the dead man’s jacket.

Stozer was using leaves to wipe blood from her chest and arms. Two bodies lay at her feet. She nodded to Alex. ‘We make a good team.’

Alex looked at the slashed bodies. ‘A bit untidy.’

Bronson brought the team forward.

‘We need to pick it up – if you two have finished gossiping, that is.’ He looked down at the circular burst on the front of Alex’s armor. It stayed black; the dappling mechanics built into the weave no longer worked around the impact area. ‘Medium caliber, and slowed down a little by the muffler. Still, that’s one of your nine lives gone, Hunter.’ He looked Alex in the eye and his own narrowed momentarily. ‘Lift your game – no one comes back from the dead.’

Alex grinned. ‘Only hurts when I laugh, boss.’

Bronson raised an eyebrow. ‘You laugh? I’ve never seen it.’ He pointed with his thumb along the trail. ‘Take us out again; I got the Doc.’

Alex nodded and turned, building quickly to a jog once again. Sam Stozer ran beside him.

‘Shut up, you fool!’

Millinov’s mouth snapped shut and he almost dropped the phone.

‘I, I . . .’ He swallowed. ‘I just need to know what to do, Mr. President.’ Millinov glanced anxiously back at the video screen.

Once again one of the gray-looking blobs lumped at its center, its darker yolk-like core splitting into two in some sort of strange alien mitosis. Already the dozen or so that had dropped from the capsule had multiplied to five times their original number.

He had tried venting chlorine gas into the chamber. After it had cleared, the blobs still inched across every surface of the sealed room and Anatoly and Yelena were no more dead than before; instead, he discovered them vigorously piling alien blobs up against the chamber door.

‘Describe
exactly
what is happening . . . and slowly.’

Millinov licked his lips. Fear was making his stomach roil, and he suspected he would need to use the bathroom soon. He cleared the phlegm from his throat.

‘I think . . . I think they are using the creatures to dissolve the blast doors.’ While he watched, telltale wisps of smoke curled up from the inner door’s brushed steel surface, which was now only visible in patches between the quivering mucous blobs.

 ‘And your lab assistants – they are in thrall to these creatures?’ The president’s voice was icily calm.

‘I believe so. The things are inside them. The doors . . . they won’t last much longer. And they’re multiplying; there are so many more of them now. What should I do?’

The president smacked his lips as though he had just been sipping something. ‘Multiplying? Hmm, how long before they break through?’

‘I don’t know – how could I know? How could —?’

‘GUESS!’ The Little Wolf’s shout made Millinov cringe. He took a deep breath, tried to place one thought in front of the other: the steel was dissolving, but slowly. They would soon burn through the inner door, and that still left the outer.

‘I think . . . an hour, maybe two.’

‘Good, good. Stay where you are; call me – no one else – if the situation changes.’ Volkov paused. ‘Your bravery is noted, Dr. Millinov, and I will personally see you are rewarded for your work. Ensure that all personnel stay within the building. I’m sending help.’

‘Thank you, thank you,’ the scientist murmured, mopping his forehead with a sweat-soaked handkerchief.

‘Courage, Dr. Millinov. A team will be with you within the hour.’

He hung up. Millinov sighed with relief.
The Little Wolf . . . is tough, but he is a good man
, he thought as he sat down, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding on the video screen beside him. He smiled almost dreamily, ignoring the strange, bee-like humming coming from the chamber.

Volkov studied the ceiling-high map on his wall. The capsule and the technology it contained were now compromised. The things would break free soon, and probably overrun the entire facility. He thought briefly of the laboratory’s personnel, the population of the surrounding town. He had already made his decision: the disk was the real treasure. Its recovery was paramount. Unlimited power, and no more dependence on fossil fuels or nucleonics – it would reshape the nation. Russia would be the greatest superpower the world had ever known . . .

He turned away from the map. The laboratory was contaminated . . . diseased, and on the verge of infecting the rest of the country. There was only one real way to deal with a seeping sore . . .

He picked up the phone and called his most trusted general. ‘Time to cauterize the wound.’

The afternoon sky had turned slate gray – promising snow, or at least a freezing night. Alex and the team stayed low, watching, on the outskirts of the town, breathing slowly through their noses. This wouldn’t hide the heat bloom if someone had a thermal scope, but it would cut down on the small ghosts of steam that escaped into the air from hot, humid breaths.

Khamid was kept at the rear; his puffing gasps made him look like a chain smoker.

Alex ran his gaze over the squat buildings. Even the Chechen capital, Grozny, had few that were over four storeys, and those were all decades old. Farther out in the countryside, many of the small houses and farms had been there for over a century or two.

But here, the buildings, the streets – even the trees were all new. He knew why; he knew the town’s brutal history. They’d done their homework on the man they were sent to retrieve.

The original town had been burnt from the map, then rebuilt – a new wound plaster over an ugly scar – but still, something was wrong. Alex was reminded of those small towns built during the 1950s in the Nevada Desert, as testing sites for atomic bombs. Brand spanking new, and yet unlived in.

Staying low, Alex made his way to Bronson, who was acting as Khamid’s guardian and keeper.

‘Looks empty. There should be people around – something. What do you think, Dr. Khamid?’

Khamid nodded grimly. ‘Yes, yes. Katyr-Yurt should have a population of nearly five hundred – mainly young families. I was here only a few days ago and —’

‘Did you see anyone when you placed the package, Doctor?’ Alex leaned toward him.

Khamid looked up and his mouth worked for a few seconds before he spoke. ‘I, I think . . . it was very late, so maybe . . .’ He stopped and looked around, confused.

Bronson grunted. ‘Forget it; let’s get the package and fall back to our extraction point. We need a precise description, Dr. Khamid – I don’t want my team coming back with someone’s goddamn lunch box.’

Khamid nodded and made a shape with his hands. ‘The disk itself is beautiful; only the size of a large coin, but glows even in strong light. We believe it is at least one hundred thousand years old, of extraterrestrial —’

Bronson cut him off. ‘The case, Doctor. Describe the case.’

‘Yes, of course. It is a ceramic-coated lead canister about eight inches by six. Be careful: it’s heavy, over a hundred pounds, and I have no idea if the lead is really sufficient shielding.’

Bronson shook his head. ‘Great. Potentially lethal, and we’ll be carrying this thing for hours.’

Kolchek slapped his forehead. ‘Shit, I just knew I should have saved some of my sperm back home.’ He winked at Stozer.

Stozer snorted. ‘They can get plenty of your junk off the magazine stack under your bed, asshole.’

‘Cut it out.’ Bronson leaned in close to the Chechen scientist. ‘Now, where is it
exactly
?’

Khamid pointed down the main road. ‘Second on the left, Surkhaiki Street, number fifteen . . . where my mother’s house used to be.’

‘Seriously?’ Stozer shot him a disbelieving glare.

Khamid shrugged. ‘They think I’m dead, so I am invisible to them . . . hopefully. It’s under the front steps, wrapped in a towel. Be careful with it, and make sure you do not open it under any circumstances.’

Bronson looked briefly at his watch, then up at the sky. ‘It’ll be dark soon. Hunter, I want you to take Johnson, Stozer and Kolchek in on recovery. Bruda will trail you for backup.’ He nodded at the AA12 rotating machine gun in Bruda’s arms. ‘If we hear that bad boy come into play, we’ll know we’ve got a war on our hands. As soon as the package is secured, I’ll call in the evac. chopper – we’ll then have one hour to make it to a clear and secure zone for rendezvous. If we miss our bus, we walk home.’

Bronson looked slowly along the line of faces. There were no questions. ‘Okay people, a few minutes until go time, so kick back and recharge.’ He pulled out a small canteen. ‘Dr. Khamid, you and I are just going to sit it out and enjoy the action.’

Alex and the remaining HAWCs took up positions where they could watch the town, the forest, and Bronson for any further instructions. Kolchek also monitored a small radar imager, which bounced a signal over the surrounding landscape. The device could cover a mile in any direction, and about the same overhead – not much, but it would at least give them a heads-up if anyone got too near.

Alex sat back against a tree and pulled out his own canteen. Ten feet farther down the line, Sam Stozer was on her belly with a scope to her eye. She turned to look over her shoulder at him, and smiled when she saw him looking.

Kolchek dropped down beside him, and instead of his usual wisecracks he was silent for a moment.

‘You know, Hunter . . . You’re going to make it today.’

Alex turned to him, expecting some sort of punch line. He sipped from his canteen, then offered it to Kolchek. ‘Sure, it’s my lucky day – I’ve already been blown up and shot. That’s enough for one mission.’

Kolchek waved the drink away. ‘No buddy, I mean: I
know
you’ll make it today – I seen it in my mind.’ He chuckled softly and without mirth. ‘Not sure about me, though.’

‘Come on, pal; if anyone is going to walk outta here with a smile and a shoeshine, it’s you,’ Alex said.

Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Kolchek held out a small, folded square of paper. ‘Give this to Hammerson; he’ll know how to get it to my —’

Alex batted it away. ‘You’re shitting me. No way I’m taking that.’

Kolchek pushed it back at him. ‘For fuck’s sake, just . . . humor me. You can always give it back to me later, right?’

Alex hesitated, then snatched the paper from him. ‘Okay, but back home, the drinks are on you . . . for a week.’

Kolchek smiled. ‘Sure, drinks’ll be on me, buddy.’

Alex cast a glance at the sky: the lighter shades of gray had turned leaden now, and a cold, sharp breeze bit at his ears and nose. It was time.

‘Muscle up, people – it’s showtime. Bruda, stay at the tree line until we’re on the street, then keep one hundred feet behind us. Kolchek, Johnson and Stozer: on my mark . . . Go!’

Alex started forward with Kolchek and Stozer at each shoulder, and Johnson close behind, in a simple, arrow-tip formation. Bruda crabbed along the tree line, keeping them in sight. He had the big gun set for semi-automatic and had pinned several of the double magazines to his belt for fast loading. The shotgun shells would come out fast and hard – each drum contained thirty-two twelve-gauge rounds. He would control his fire, but could get off a hundred rounds in under a minute. The thing kicked like hell, and would knock a normal man flat if he tried to open it up too quickly. But for a man like Bruda, who weighed in at about two-forty pounds, that wasn’t a problem.

The HAWCs went down the street low and fast, their skeletal, black Colt ACRs held out in front of them. As they neared the corner, Alex paused, his gaze roving along the line of dark windows, over the rooftops, then down the darkening street. There was no doubt about it now.

The town was deserted.