Guardians of the Portals (25 page)

"Boss, I don't see how they've got enough techno smarts to learn how to find one of these things, let alone how to dial it."

"Well, they have enough smarts to make weapons."

Zack scoffed, "Swords, bows 'n arrows."

"You think that’s funny, asshole? We have one dead and one who's not gonna make it unless we get him out of here. They managed just fine with primitive weapons.” He glanced quickly over the pile of rocks offering shelter, worry creasing his brow. He muttered, “How smart do you have to be to learn how to pull a trigger? We let this stuff fall into the wrong hands, we have Star Wars, not just World War III." Kieran pointed to the man on the ground. "Check his pulse. He hasn't moved for a while."

Crawling over to their companion, Zack checked the prone man's vitals and shook his head. "He's gone, Kier. Damn."

After a quick sweep with the scope, Kieran growled low in his throat, "Get behind me. Now. And stay low."

Zack crab-walked to the shelter of a granite outcrop and drew his Sig Sauer P226. He did a quick peek around the boulder. Teeth clenched he hissed, "I got two at ten and another at seven o'clock." With his back against the outcrop, Zack settled into a crouch, listening hard.

Motioning with three fingers, Kieran pointed off to his right. He swung his M40A3 sniper rifle toward the advancing party and made minor adjustments on his Nightforce scope. They'd taken position on high ground with limited visibility to the off side of the Portal. But the advance party still hovered just out of range. Kieran settled in to wait.

"Where's Falcon? Do you think they got him?"

Kieran shrugged. He disliked questions for which he had no answers and idle speculation interfered with his concentration. But Zack persisted, his impatience translating to loose lips and nervous movement that would attract attention to their position.

"Shut up or I'll shoot you myself." Kieran knew that wouldn't keep him quiet for long but it was the best he could do.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He never got used to the wild changes in weather as they traversed the Portals. He'd thought of inter-dimensional travel as simply stepping from one geographic location to another—roughly similar, like a mirror image perhaps. There'd been no way to prepare for the upside down, inside out nature of the alien worlds. Few of them resembled Earth and mercifully few had populations anywhere near his own planet's level of technology and sophistication. But, as Trey was quick to point out, that didn't mean there weren't any. It just meant they hadn't run across them yet. Not a comforting thought.

The whereabouts of Trey was getting worrisome. He was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a long time, if ever. But there were a lot of things he didn't understand about the man they all called the Falcon.

Why did he stay when no one trusted him and he clearly didn't give a shit about anything or anybody? There was a story there but so far he'd come up empty. As for the rest of the hierarchy at Greyfalcon, he'd been with them long enough to have gleaned intel on each of the principals in the organization. It always amused him that conversations would flow about him, even those meant for someone far above his pay grade, and he could absorb it all like a sponge to look at when he'd come down off his high.

His tours in the 'Stans had given him a taste for adventure and experimentation. Gunnarr’s organization had provided him the perfect mix of targets and toys and recreation. He kept his head down and did his job. When Trey showed up the stakes changed and the adrenalin peaks reached new heights, along with the risks.

Then there was the small matter of his father ... and his sister. Kieran knew he'd better shut down that line of thought. He looked over at Zack, who had dozed off. The man was going to be road kill, probably not worth trying to save. He'd let the Falcon worry about that. All he needed to do was take out any targets that got within range. And wait.

A ping of gravel to his left alerted him to Trey's approach. He did a quick sweep to make sure the advance party hadn't changed positions significantly. If silence could be loud, this was the place for it. It wasn't an absence of sound but one with a low ambient rumble, just at his threshold, easy to block and too easy to ignore. He felt like he'd been dumped into an alien slumber party.

Trey slid next to Kieran and muttered, "We're locked out."

Speaking low, the two men crouched below the rock face. Kieran didn't like that his friend seemed worried. It was not a good look for him. He asked, "How do you know?"

"I just do. We have to find another Portal. There's a fair-sized settlement about ten klicks from here. There should be a jump point close-by."

"Are you nuts?" Kieran pointed to pile of crates scattered across a flat section on the outcrop. "We can't haul this crap that far with just the three of us. And besides, a settlement means people, people trying to kill us. Or hadn't you noticed we've got two dead, and one who's gonna be if he doesn't wake his lazy ass up."

Sneering, Trey said, "The Portals are mostly near population centers. If we're lucky, we won't need to go that far. And the shipment's not coming with."

"Falcon, man, you can't leave it. Your dad makes like it's the prime directive. We leave this stash and that scouting party becomes the big bad on the planet and we get our heads handed to us on a platter."

"Don't worry. Nobody's going to use it. Do you still have that C-4 with you?"

"You can't mean that..." He swallowed the objection, knowing they had little choice.

Leaning against the rock, Kieran shaded his eyes from the intense silver-white light. They sat on a sandstone outcrop heavily laced with iron that turned the layers brilliant shades of red and orange. The land below undulated under a heavy growth of some sort of grass or reed he couldn't identify. It looked to be six-to-seven feet tall, useful for hiding, not so good for navigating as there was no way to determine direction.

Zack coughed once, the sound echoing with a weird trilling sound. Kieran hissed 'shh' and repositioned the rifle as he swept the area. It was still, far too still. Zack tried to stifle a yawn, as he squirmed to a more comfortable position.

Muttering, "I think we're out of time," Trey looked around the rock strewn ground. "Where are the charges?"

Kieran waved to a duffle bag behind Zack and motioned for him to bring it over. The man nodded and grabbed for the straps but before he could latch onto them, he fell forward onto his knees with an 'umph'.

"Zack, wha—" Kieran's voice drowned in a piercing cacophony of ultra-high frequency ululations. It was all he could do not to clap his hands over his ears.

Nose and ears bleeding, Zack straddled the bag briefly as he rolled to the side, his momentum carrying him downhill until he reached the granite outcrop and stopped. He seemed to be murmuring something, but Kieran couldn't hear for the ungodly noise driving all thought from his brain.

Trey cursed out his entire pantheon on one long breath as he limped over to Zack and checked for a pulse. He indicated the man held on, but judging from the amount of blood pouring from his nose, mouth and ears, there was no way to know for how long. The din in their heads threatened to burst blood vessels, so sharp and insistent and painful that they could barely stand, let alone think. Like electronic voice modulators, the indigenes seemed capable of altering acoustic pressure—a chorus in a continuous detonation of murderous clamoring. He had no idea what the effect might be on the ordnance, particularly the ammunition. Trey planned to blow it, but he doubted that included them sitting right next to it.

His friend mouthed, "I'm setting the charges," and motioned his intentions.

Kieran stuffed rags in his ears to try to cushion the effect. It helped, but not much. With no way to know how long the indigenes could keep up the racket, they needed Trey to work fast. That wasn't going to be easy under these conditions and he couldn't help wondering if the painkillers flooding his friend's system, making his every movement sticky and cartoonish, would help or hamper his efforts.

Though the man lived in pain every day of his life, his indulgence might be one of those things none of them would live long enough to regret. He'd tried to stop his friend from overdosing on the meds but Trey said he wanted to have full mobility, or the semblance of it, to get them to safety through the Portal.

It was the kind of argument he was all too familiar with—the pot calling the kettle black. With the portal no longer operational, they were going to be out of options one way or the other.

When Trey failed to activate the sequence, he'd been as surprised as the rest of them. But knowing the man's abilities, he'd bet the farm that Trey probably had a good idea as to why and an even better idea as to
who
was behind it. It was the
how
that eluded him and that was troubling on a lot of levels since he was considered to be
the
expert on the damn devices.

The man lived too close to the edge, not caring if he lived or died, ready to sacrifice himself and anyone unlucky enough to be at ground zero. He was acting like he was ready to take a long walk off the short pier.

Unless...

****

J
ake paced the corridors, mindless of anyone in his way. He longed for a smoke but the tobacco police made that option unattractive with über-sensitive sensors, so he and Gunnarr repaired to the roof when need overcame self-control. He was on his way, climbing the last few steps, when his cell phone buzzed.

"O'Brien here. Yeah. What do you mean, locked down? How is that even possible? No, don't do anything. I'll be right there."

Jake sank to the step and dialed the capo. He relayed the information, then mumbled, "I'm on my way."

Gunnarr met Jake at his office door and motioned him in. "I talked with Eirik. He claims he knows nothing about the lockdown."

"Do you believe him?"

"Of course not. Even if he weren't directly responsible, he certainly knows who is."

"I assume you explained what's at stake." Jake walked to the plate glass window and stared at the lightening sky. The orange-tinged clouds had a moody feel, almost sub-tropical, as the weather flip-flopped from near spring to arctic blasts and back.

"I gave my brother as much information as he needs to know. I did not share particulars."

Jake spun to stare at Gunnarr. He sputtered, "Don't you think he deserves to know his nephew is stuck on the other side?"

The capo shrugged. "My brother has been oddly disinterested in Trey's whereabouts and activities. I strongly suspect he has given up on him. In any case, he says he will ... and I quote, 'put my people to work on the problem.' He did say one thing that I'm not sure I understand."

"What?"

"He said, 'let the Falcon find the way.'"

Jake looked perplexed. "So he does know your son is stuck on the other side. And that means he has the ability to find ... what, other Portals? That's a good thing, right?" Jake sat on the bench seat by the windows, working through the logistics. "He finds them. No, wait. What if he can...?"

Gunnarr leaned on the desk, his fists pressed hard into the walnut veneer. "Work it out, O'Brien. I want to know if you come to the same conclusion."

"He can make them, God damn it! He can make them!"

Gunnarr nodded and continued, "I don't think 'make them' is exactly the right description. I think it's more like he senses favorable vortices and can coax them into a pattern. If this is so, Trey will be trying to find the right patterns. So it will just be a matter of time."

Jake felt the first ray of hope press against his ribcage, though knowing Kieran was trapped with a homicidal, suicidal maniac was cold comfort. There was no guarantee that the Falcon would even try to save himself, let alone his men.

Head aching, Jake mentally ticked off their limited options. It was fine to spin theoretical webs, but they were no closer to getting their two sons out of harm's way. He stalked to the door but halted as the capo called out, "Where are you going, Jake?"

"I'm going to find Fletcher and beat the crap out of him. Then I'm going to figure out where they'll pop out." He turned to sneer at Gunnarr, "I suggest you put your people to work on it."

––––––––

T
he words echoed strangely, phantom shapes, ovoid and alien. Caitlin set the bit of wood down, her fingers still tingling from the contact. She reached for ... something, but the image faded. Like a waking nightmare, madness and clarity wrapped her in their soft embrace.

The kitchen had been maximized for efficiency. It sat at the rear of the cabin, enclosed, almost an afterthought to the open spaces, with the soaring ceiling, and stairs leading to the loft and the sleeping areas. A door to her left led to an alcove—a laundry and mud room, so necessary in rural Vermont—then a corridor of sorts, more an enclosed walkway linking the main house with the garage and an attached shed crammed with hardwood logs. The enclosed corridors were a necessity in winter, protecting the occupants from the elements as they moved from the comfort of the living quarters to the more utilitarian workrooms and storage areas.

Troubled by the faint remembrance, and the disturbing physicality of the hallucination, she walked to the back door, undecided. The man had yet to return, a mercy really for she would be hard pressed to even look at his face without her embarrassment giving her away. Why had she forced a contact so intimate, so fleeting?

Time is your enemy. You must slow it down, stopper its passage, observe how it coats the surface, shifting. Like oil on water, part of, yet not, carried, dispersed. Gather those bits, see how they change and reform. Make it your own.

Caitlin glided into the anteroom and quietly eased the door closed. Never and always alone, her spirit—more than anything—craved solitude. She reached for her quilted jacket, and startled as she stared in the mirror next to the coat rack.

Damn, I hadn't meant to shift.