Codename: Omega (feat. The Apiary Society) (9 page)

Amelie Brevot stood over Donovan’s twitching body, holding an enormous, smoking pistol.  Luminous green fluid leaked across the tile floor, mixing with brain matter and blood.  She lifted the gun at Price and said, “We have done this all before, so do not waste my time,
oui
?”

Price did not move.  “Except last time, you were surrounded by your goose-stepping friends.  Did you bring them too?” 

“Of course not, Omega.  They were simply a means to an end.  All the little mortals with all their little games.  They are nothing like me.  Nothing like
us
.”  Amelie circled around him, stepping over Donovan to pick up the ancient spear.  She tossed it away in disgust, “And look at you, ready to give up.  You are a god, but you act like their dog!  This is why I do not care about the Nazis or the Communists or anyone else.  It is the ideology of mice to me.  It should be to you as well.”

Price took a deep breath and sighed, “Is this the part where I make a witty remark about you being crazier than a June Bug in May, or were you able to work that out by yourself?”

She pointed the gun at his head, “You are weak.”

“And you are a nut.”

Amelie cocked the hammer back on the weapon.  “Do you like my new toy?  It was invented just for you by the Japanese at Unit 731.  They found your blood sample oh-so-interesting, Omega.”  She pulled a bullet out of her pocket that was the size of a small artillery shell.  She showed Price the bullet’s clear center, filled with the same green fluid surrounding Donovan’s corpse.  “After this hits your bloodstream, you will just like any other mortal, and of no future use to me.”

 “It’s nice to know they were doing something at Pingfang besides doing vivisections on living infants and children without anesthesia, Amelie.  Kind of makes me feel warm all over that we bombed those bastards.”

“But why?  Why does it matter what one group of ants do to another?  Don’t you see that?”

“No, Amelie.  I really don’t.”

“I am sorry then, mon amour.” 

“Don’t be.  I’ll see you soon.”

“Ever the tough guy,” Amelie said.  She squeezed the trigger and fired, sending a bullet sailing straight at Price’s heart.  It passed through his empty shirt as his clothing fell into a puddle on the floor.

He was gone. 

Price charged through the tunnel and dove through the opening, rolling across the floor of OSS Headquarters and knocking a startled “Wild Bill” Donovan off his feet.  “What the hell are you doing, Sean!”

Price grabbed Donovan and yanked him out of the way of the door.  “We’re in trouble.  She can read our minds.”

“Who?” Donovan said.

“Just move!  I have a plan, but I need you to act fast.”

***

Amelie Brevot came around the side of the limousine and saw the driver tapping on the dashboard in tune to the big band playing on his radio.  She tapped him on the arm and said, “Pardon, monsieur.  Is this the way to the Smithsonian?” 

The driver looked up at her in confusion, and Amelie whipped her arm down, stabbing a three-inch blade into the side of his neck.  The man fell forward against the car’s steering wheel, his blood spraying the face of the windshield.  Amelie turned away, heading for the door.  She reached into her coat’s pocket for the handgun and drew it out, watching the front entrance for signs of movement. 

A naked Sean Price stepped into the doorway, looking down at her when he said, “Surprise.”

 Amelie’s eyes widened and blinked in disbelief.  “Impossible,” she whispered.

Price chuckled and started down the steps toward her.  He vanished once, appearing to her far right, still walking down.  “Did you see that one coming?”

She aimed the gun at him and grunted in frustration.  Price vanished again, appearing to her far left this time.  “How about that?”

Amelie closed her eyes briefly, trying to adjust, letting her gift guide her.  Price appeared directly in front of her and she was ready, firing the gun the moment he materialized.  The bullet struck him in the chest and Price immediately felt flames scoring his insides as the hideous green fluid seeped into his bloodstream.  Price snatched Amelie by the shoulders and shouted, “Now, Bill!”

“Wild Bill” Donovan hurled the spear from the top of the steps with all his might, sending it directly at Price’s back.  Price dropped to the ground at the moment of the spear’s release and the tip struck Amelie Brevot in the stomach.  She let out a cry of dismay at the impact, clutching the shaft of the spear in her hands as she looked down, seeing its point buried deep in her gut.    

 Amelie dropped to the ground next to where Price lay.  They looked into one another’s eyes as she gurgled and tried to speak.  Price moved the hair out of her face and rested his hand on her cheek as he closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to come. 

***

The young man woke up in the hospital bed, connected to tubes.  “Where am I?” he said.

An on-duty nurse shuffled across the floor toward him, her white sneakers squeaking as she came to his side.  “Well, hello there!  Don’t sit up, honey.  Just try and lie still, okay?”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in Chicago, Mr. Price.”

“Price?”

“Sean Price, British Navy?”

He looked up at her in confusion.  “Are you sure?”

“Aren’t
you
sure, sweetie?” she said with a soft giggle.

“No,” he whispered.

“Oh,” she said.  The nurse patted him on the head tenderly and said, “You were asleep for a very long time.  I am sure it will all feel much clearer after you rest.  Let me go get you some food and let the doctor know you finally woke up.”

She scribbled a few notes on his chart as she walked away from him, only to look back and smile gently.  He had the face of an innocent boy and the body of a man who’d been dragged through every inch of mud at Normandy.  She waved to the doctor on duty and said, “That patient is awake, doctor.  The one we were told to look out for?”

The doctor looked over her shoulder at the young man sitting up in his bed, mystified by the large bandage over his chest.  “Ah, in that case, I’ll need his file.” 

The doctor spread the patient’s file across his desk and found the single sheet of paper on official looking stationery that read
From the Desk of William J. Donovan, Esq
.  He dialed the first of three phone numbers that were typed onto the page and waited. 

Someone picked up after two rings.  “Bill Donovan, can I help you?”

“Mr. Donovan, this is the Chicago Veteran’s Hospital.  The patient you instructed us to notify you about has woken up.”

“Thank you, doctor.  What is his condition?”

“Quite good.  He is recovering from the gunshot nicely, and everything else seems completely normal.”

“Are you sure?” Donovan said.  “
Completely
normal?”

“Yes.”  The doctor looked down at the nurse’s notes and said, “Well, except he seems not to remember much.  When the nurse told him his name he appeared confused and was not sure where he was.”

“Thank you, doctor.  Be sure to forward any bills he incurs to my office for payment.” 

“We will, sir.  Hopefully he regains his memory soon.”

Donovan hung up the phone and looked out of his window, watching the leaves fall. 
Pray to God he doesn’t
, he thought.

Episode 4

TABULA RASA

1947

William “Wild Bill” Donovan pressed his gloved hands against his mouth and blew into them, trying to stay warm.  The winds blowing off of Lake Ontario were so cold it felt like his eyelashes would freeze together.  He heard an engine high up in the sky and pointed, “There it is.” 

The small airplane descended and landed on the unmarked runway outside of the compound.  Donovan clapped Commodore Blake on the shoulder and said, “Take good care of him.  He’s done a great service to both our countries.” 

The two men walked over to the plane and waited for the young man to climb down from the rear.  He looked at both men and said, “Hello, sirs.  Are either of you Commodore Blake of the Special Operations Executive?”

Blake looked at Donovan with a raised eyebrow, but Donovan shrugged and said, “He was deep undercover with an American team when they were hit.  He must have adopted the accent as part of his cover.  I’m sure a few weeks with you boys will straighten it out.”  Donovan studied the young soldier’s face, the now thin, three inch scar across his right cheek. 
Christ, he is actually starting to look older,
Donovan thought.  He held out his hand and said, “Take care, my friend.”

The soldier nodded and said, “Thanks.  You too.” 

Commodore Blake waved for his new arrival to come along, taking him toward the large gatehouse.  “Do you remember anything about your time in the war?  Anything at all about your service in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy?”

“No, sir.”  

“Good,” Blake said.  “It will be less for us to deprogram.  We don’t produce regular soldiers here, lad, nor do we train for standard missions.”

“What do you do here?”

“We prepare good men to do bad things to the people who want to destroy the world.  Is that something you reckon you’d be interested in?”

The young man turned to look at “Wild Bill” Donovan, who was standing in the snow watching them leave.  Donovan lifted a gloved hand to wave goodbye, but he did not reply.  He looked back at the Commodore and said, “Sounds perfect.”

“Excellent.  First thing we need to do is get you around some proper British folk to cure you of that horrific accent.”  The Commodore pointed at one of the young men standing guard and said, “Ian?  Come and meet our new arrival.”   

Episode Five

THE APIARY SOCIETY

1958

The creature had him.  He could not swim away fast enough as the beast cut through the water, eight sprawling tentacles curling and writhing toward him.  It fixed on him with thin, squinting eyes and snatched him by the ankle, poisonous suction-cups searing his flesh.  It yanked him through the black water with its slime-ridden tentacles that cinched around his arms and waist, pulling him tight to its wriggling, gelatinous, sack-like body.  There was nothing to punch, nothing to grab, no way to fight.  He opened his mouth to scream and swallowed a bellyful of seawater. 

“I’d lend you a hand,” Jack Ivor said, swimming up alongside him.  Ivor held up the bloody stump of his gnawed-off arm and stump of a leg and said, “If only I had one to lend.  You should have been with me, Sean.  Why’d you let me go in there all alone?”

The octopus now had him completely engulfed and suddenly spiraled downward, deep into the cold water of the abyss.  The phone rang.  Price screamed out loud as he sat up in bed, looking all around the room and catching his breath before he answered the phone.    

“Good morning, Sean.  The boss would like to see you straight away."

He could still see the octopus’ black eyes fixed on him.  Could still see the anger in Ivor’s eyes.  The woman on the phone repeated herself and he said, "That's really quite lovely, Miss Maxwell, but I'm slightly indisposed at the moment."

"I’ll bet.  Is she beautiful, Sean?  Does she do the things to you that—”

“What does the boss want?” 

“I’m really not sure, but he says it's urgent."

"How long have we been working together at MI-6, my dear?  Has it ever once not been urgent?"

The intercom buzzed at Miss Maxwell's desk, and a voice crackled, "It is
always
urgent when I call on you because I have other people to attend to things that are
not
urgent, Commander.  Your usefulness to me relies on that fact, and little else.  You’d do well to bear that in mind.  How soon can you be here?"

***

Price pushed the café’s door open, making the bells tied to the handle jingle and clang against the glass.  He waved to the shop owner and said, “Good morning, love.”

Mrs. Bridge finished pouring hot coffee into a cup before she looked up at him and smiled.  “You’re right on time.  Just brewed a fresh pot.” 

He looked around the store, “Where’s Jillian?”

“I think you’re about to find out.”    

Price ducked out of the way behind the aisle as a little girl came around the corner.  “Where is he?” 

Mrs. Bridge shrugged her shoulders and said, “I’m not sure.  Maybe he disappeared?”

“Mr. Price?”

Price came up behind a ten year old little girl as she came up the aisle, looking for him.  He fished in his pocket for a piece of candy and reached for her shoulder, when suddenly, she turned around and snatched it out of his hand.  “Ha!  Caught you!” 

“Foiled again,” Price said. 

“What do you say, Jillian?” Mrs. Bridge said.

The little girl curtsied and said, “Thank you, kind sir.”

Price bowed to her and said, “My pleasure, young lady.” 

“Hurry up and get your things for school, dear,” Mrs. Bridge said.

He waved to the little girl as she undid her candy and headed for the back of the store, favoring one leg as she walked.  “She’s
still
limping?” Price said.

“You know how children are.  Always getting bumped up.”

“I know, but it’s been over a week now,” he said.

Mrs. Bridge slid his coffee across the counter but did not look up at him.  “It isn’t polio.”

Price nodded as he took the coffee from her and said, “Of course it isn’t, love. 

***

Price walked past Miss Maxwell’s desk and stopped, staring at the closed office door ahead of him.  “Nothing good waits for me in there, does it?  Wouldn’t a wiser man choose to stay right here, with you?”  He sat at the corner of Miss Maxwell’s desk and placed his hat over his knee.