Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (19 page)

“All I can tell you is that we need to get you through this pregnancy in one piece. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. We’re walking through uncharted territory. But I promise you that you won’t be going through it alone. I’ll be at your side. Your son deserves a chance at life; we owe him that at least.”

Shanda nodded as she visibly struggled to control her whimpering. “Why would you help me?”

“Because I’m not like them.” Allison gave her patient an encouraging glance. “I don’t approve of what’s going on here. I took an oath to cause no harm. I’m a doctor first and will do all that I can to see that your child isn’t harmed by Ross’s studies.”

“Thank you,” Shanda whispered.

Allison smiled. “You need to eat. I’ll fix you something if you like.”

Shanda realized that she was famished. “I’d like that a lot,” she answered.

“Good, because I’m starving myself,” Allison replied. “Let’s see how much of a mess I can make in this kitchen.”

* * * *

“Major Carter,” Ross began, “we may as well start with you. What the hell happened to our patient?”

The major, lead physician for Shanda Knight, cleared his throat and began nervously, “Sir, as near as we can tell, the fetus underwent an unexplained burst of rapid development. The sudden shift and growth was more than the host body was able to accommodate. The host went into distress and the host body reacted by attempting a miscarriage. The fetus, however has adopted its own life support systems inside the host womb that have augmented the human umbilical cord.

“We’re still studying the data we’ve gathered from the fluid sample and hope to have a spectrographic analysis of the chemical composition within the next fourteen hours. As stated in our medical logs, the fetus bears resemblance to a bipedal humanoid with some notable exceptions – the eyes and the epidermal covering. We cannot penetrate the epidermal layer with our medical instruments and the ultrasound readings were ineffective as well.”

“Give me the bottom line, major,” Ross’s voice prodded.

“Mrs. Knight is carrying an alien fetus that is developing contradictorily to any known species on this planet. The fetus may or may not kill her if it undergoes another growth spurt. The human body is not equipped to handle the abrupt biological changes she’s undergoing. The odds are very good that the developing child will kill the mother before coming to term.”

Ross was worried. “Estimate those odds please.”

“I’d say the odds are even money right now. If there’s another growth spurt, I’d go with the mother dying of shock and trauma at 80/20.”

Ross gave a curt nod. “Keep me apprised if there’s any change.”

“Yes, sir,” the major answered.

“Captain Stapp. Have you evaluated the process I gave to you based on our interrogation of Specimen 4?”

“Yes, sir. What you propose is feasible; we just don’t know enough about the ship’s technology to be sure of anything. We’re ready to implement upon your order.”

Ross wanted to wait a few days until the Pentagon brass arrived then put on a show for them, but that show implied risk. If the process failed for some reason, that failure would occur in front of possibly the worst group of people, his superiors and those who were funding the efforts at Groom Lake.

“I want to implement this afternoon. The sooner we get in there the more time we have to find something of interest for our inspection.”

“Yes, sir,” the young captain snapped formally.

Ross took a sip from his bottled water and looked around the room. “Who’s responsible for keeping tabs on Agent Knight? I want a report on his activities. I think it’s safe to assume that he’s still in Paris since our facility is still in one piece.”

Anderson fielded Ross’s inquiry. “Knight tore up a suspected terrorist hangout in downtown Paris around 8:30 p.m., local time. He’s busy shaking down the local fanatics, trying to get some lead on the group responsible for the assassination attempts on Monique LaSalle. He has yet to make contact with the OSA or the CIA or anyone at his firm, although we don’t have an inside man there so our data from that source comes through satellite bugging, several deployed rifle microphones and outside field agents.”

Bill Anderson paused and looked down at his hands, an indication to Ross that he wasn’t done with his report.

“Okay, Bill, out with it. You have that ‘I’ve-got-bad-news face’ on. I’ve known you too long; you can’t hide anything from me.”

Anderson leaned over and whispered into Ross’s ear, “I think this could keep till after the meeting, sir.”

Ross wrinkled his face then looking at his second in command, addressed the group. “You’re all dismissed.” Ross and Anderson watched as the officers filed out and the last man closed the door.

“So?” Ross looked at his bottled water and grimaced. He stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee from a pot on a side table.

“The ghost of Michael Sparks has come back to bite us in the ass,” Anderson began. “His secretary was the point person to keep tabs on him. I told our source to stonewall Sparks’ investigation based on the details we were getting from his secretary. Killing Sparks was not part of our overall plan.”

Ross interrupted, “Just get to the bad news without the sugarcoating, please.”

Anderson sighed heavily. “Nancy Bertoni stole documents that describe our operation in detail. According to the database tracker, she accessed several ‘
EYES ONLY’
Top Secret files and downloaded them before her link could be severed. She logged in under Sparks’ old access code; that’s what triggered the tracker. We’ve been keeping tabs on everything going in and out of that office.”

Ross was silent for a moment then let it all out. “God Damn it, Bill. I knew that sadistic prick would overdo it. Killing Sparks was a mistake; using his secretary was another mistake. We’re handling this whole operation like amateurs.”

“It gets worse.” Anderson gave Ross a gloomy look. At the urging of Ross he went ahead. “We have reason to believe she knows about Operation Homegrown, Special Agent Knight and the links to Pendelcorp. We think Sparks may have enlightened her to the whole story.”

“What the fuck!” Ross slammed his mug on the table, splashing coffee everywhere. “What else?” the colonel demanded as he grabbed a handful of napkins to sponge up the mess.

Anderson swallowed, then went on, “The man upstairs hired some outside talent to eliminate her at home. The hired killer blew up the wrong car and nearly killed her two teenagers. She knows she’s marked and she’s running.”

Ross froze for a moment then threw the wad of wet napkins on the table. “This is just goddamned terrific, Bill. I’ve got a Washington administrator running around with enough information to torpedo two-plus years of carefully laid planning – and probably ruin our careers – plus cause a political scandal that would make Watergate and the Iran Contra Gate look like a damned nursery school.”

“Hell hath no fury.” Anderson shook his head at the hopelessness of this mess.

“If only he’d just left it alone,” Ross added angrily. “Those fat assed, political desk jockeys think they can play the game. Well they just can’t. You can’t just kill everyone who may be an obstacle. There are always ramifications.”

“Bottom line is this, sir: We tried to kill her, we nearly killed her son and daughter, and she’s on the run. Where would she go with the information, the media?” Anderson looked to his boss for his opinion.

“I don’t know.” Ross slumped in the nearest chair. “I’m not sure if she’d go right to the media.” Ross turned a hopeful eye at Anderson. “What would you do in her shoes, Bill?”

* * * *

Anderson considered the problem and weighed all of the information available to him. “If it were possible, I’d hide some of the evidence in a safe spot as insurance. If I could that is. I’d want to have every advantage over those who’d want me eliminated. That information would be my only life insurance policy. I’d definitely want it protected.”

“Agreed.” Ross leaned back in his chair. “Have we got any ideas where she was heading?”

Anderson chuckled at her ruse and shook his head. “We thought we were tracking her via her cell phone, but she must have planted the unit on a stranger. We tracked the phone to some yokel out in the Maryland suburbs. He nearly peed his pants when we raided his house. We found the cell in his overcoat; he swears he never saw it before.”

Ross looked livid. “We’re looking more and more like the Keystone Cops or Inspector Clouseau from those Pink Panther movies. We have the resources of the United States freaking government behind us yet some two-bit secretary can give us the slip.”

Anderson nodded his agreement. “She’ll surface eventually, and when she does we’ll have somebody pick her up. No one can hide forever.”

* * * *

Ross began poking though the reports from Paris. Knight had torn up the Oasis Club, and one man ended up shot to death and six others were beaten to hamburger. Knight was still as strong and as formidable as ever. Ross hoped that Knight’s offspring could provide them with the keys to that power. He smiled, pleased that it looked as if the Knight fetus was totally alien. Between that and the success with Specimen 4’s interrogation, all was not lost. They just had to silence Nancy Bertoni. In order to do that they had to find her and he knew that would get harder with each day she remained on the run.

“Where would she go?” he mused aloud. Then a thought occurred to him and he voiced it aloud for Anderson’s benefit. “She’d go running to the one man who could offer her protection, one man who would get the most out of the information.”

“Erik Knight,” they both said in unison.

“But Knight’s in Paris,” Anderson countered.

“Right,” Ross said. “But she wouldn’t be privy to that little tidbit of information.”

“She’s going to Hopedale!” Anderson blurted out. “Sir, she’s going to make a beeline to that place where Knight runs his operation!”

“Madame’s. Let’s get in touch with Richard Pendelton. This is out in his neck of the woods; we’ll let him clean up this mess,” the colonel said. “It’s time he bloodied his hands along with the rest of us.”

* * * *

Richard Pendelton was reviewing reams of financial data pertaining to several large real-estate portfolios his company had acquired, when his secretary buzzed him. “Yes?” he said doing his best to hide his irritability.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Pendelton. Colonel Ross is on line three and he would like to speak with you. He claims it’s an urgent matter.”

Pendelton sighed. “It’s always an urgent matter with the good colonel.” If not for the enormous profit he was making from this grand scheme, he would have severed the ties to the bungling buffoon months ago.

“Put the call through, but transfer it to my secure, private line please.”

Richard’s picked up the receiver and activated the plasma viewscreen. “Colonel Ross.” He did his best to sound pleasant. “What can I do for you?”

Ross smiled. “We need you to do a little job for us, Mr. Pendelton. You claimed that we weren’t the only ones with access to,” he paused searching for the right words, “how shall I put this, contracted talent. Yes, that sounds appropriate for pleasant conversation.”

“I have several resources available in that particular profession,” Pendelton provided.

“Excellent,” the colonel replied. “Here’s what we need.”

Ross went into detail about Nancy Bertoni, the information she had obtained, and where they believed the scared secretary was headed.

“You want a hit at Madame’s Restaurant?” Pendelton shrieked into the phone. “You must be mad. A hit there would bring Erik Knight running back in order to protect his home turf. Knight lives, eats, sleeps and works out of that place – not to mention the fact that everyone dear to him either lives or works there.”

“Are you saying that you won’t do it?” Ross asked smugly.

Richard paused, weighing the equations in his mind. “I’m not saying no; I’m simply saying that you need to consider your bigger objective of keeping the hybrid out of the country. We do this, and Erik Knight comes back and comes back with a fury.”

“This problem needs to be eliminated, and it is headed into your territory. We can send our own people to kill her when she arrives, or you can use one of your hired hands. Our talent tends to be, shall we say, messier and less concerned about collateral damage. If you want subtlety, I strongly urge you come up with an alternative plan,” Ross implored.

Richard considered the problem. “If she took files, that’s theft of government property, is it not? Why not simply put out an APB on this bitch, and let the police handle it, or have some of your legitimate spooks haunt Madame’s for a few days. When she goes inside, she can then be apprehended and arrested as a spy,” he suggested.

“Mr. Pendelton, you just impressed me, but let me change the scenario slightly. We’ll send some of our people out to you along with a warrant and we’ll let you coordinate the pickup. I’d rather she never gets the chance to say anything to anybody once she’s in custody,” the colonel added.

“I’ll have my man, Conrad, coordinate the effort with your people. Will there be anything else?” Pendelton asked.

There was momentary silence as Ross pondered the question. “Just call us once you have the mark.”

“Will do.”

“Good day, Mr. Pendelton.”

“Good day, Colonel Ross, and send my regards to Lt. Colonel Anderson whom I’m guessing is within earshot of my voice.”

The line went dead and Pendelton sighed. He reached for his own wireless and keyed in a number. “Conrad?”

“Sir,” a voice replied.

“I need to see you as soon as possible. We have a situation needing your special touch.”

Richard Pendelton could almost see Conrad’s ‘Great White Shark’ smile as the man responded.

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter 12: Gestation Day 44

Day 116 on the human infant development scale

Erik Knight spent the bulk of his morning making phone calls. He called his superior at Denton, Marques and Priscoli and reported the attempt on his life at Logan. He chastised the law firm supervisor about the continual breaches in their security. Then he checked on his daughter and then with Alissa. She was still having the same premonition only it was more intense. He was clearly in hybrid mode in her visions battling against several alien constructs. The moving black wall was still a mystery.

Erik requested data on the alloy used in the construction of his newest weaponry. He was informed that polymicrobonded-carbon weapons, still in the final stages of development, were months away from prototype construction. Several CIA weapons specialists had expressed an eager desire to study the detective’s new acquisitions.

Denton personally grilled him about his claim that the Muslim fanatics in Paris were not behind the threats on Monique LaSalle. Denton swore that the intelligence they had received from the government had been checked, double-checked and then reaffirmed through French Intelligence. Erik told the old man to go back and check it a third time because they were all wrong. He hung up.
Every agency both foreign and domestic had swallowed the bogus leads.
That was indicative of a new and powerful player in the international community. This new player wanted to test those already playing the game, observe and take notes.

The detective’s mind wandered back to last evening when he escorted Sarina back to her nightclub. He found her company and her conversation intriguing. She was well schooled and remarkably sharp witted. In his mind the only woman who could rival her beauty was the one he had married. But this woman was responsible for two attempts on his life and probably orchestrated the murder of several other people. Now they were forced together as allies – and he found the prospect not distasteful. In the field, one had to adapt to every change in circumstance.

Listening to her talk about her cause and its ‘nobility’ alarmed him. As much as he hated to admit it, the woman had some very valid points, but he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to debate the finer points of the West Bank, Jerusalem and the Palestine state. He only knew that innocent people on both sides were dying, and young Palestine children were blowing themselves up along with innocents, in the process. Sarina and her associates had built a profitable business of mercenaries and contractors for hire to support and fuel the fire surrounding the Middle East controversies. In the end they’d agreed to the uneasy détente until this crisis passed.

He stepped out of the shower and quickly dressed. He no longer hesitated about carrying his weapons; he went to the dining room fully armed. As he walked into the large dining hall, he drew stares from the president and his aide but looks of approval from the three French security guards who were also visibly armed. As per yesterday’s understanding, nobody touched their food until Erik took several deep breaths – his olfactory senses sampling every air molecule for a toxin. He nodded that all was well, and everybody began to eat.

Monique LaSalle assessed the visible weaponry he and the three guards carried. “Gentlemen, where’s the war?”

“The war, young mademoiselle, is here, protecting you from harm,” René, the lead French security specialist provided.

Erik raised his coffee mug in a salute to the Frenchman. “Well said. The game is different now, Monique. We no longer know who the enemy is. The threat could come from anywhere, at any time. The last two attempts on your life should have made that clear.”

Erik sensed her emotions. He wasn’t trying to, but they were audible to him. The young woman was afraid for her life, not even finding security in her palatial home. She felt vulnerable, but he decided to wait until they had a more private moment before talking with her.

President LaSalle looked at his daughter. “You seem troubled, my daughter.”

She looked up quickly, her porcelain skin reflecting the light from the overhead chandelier. “No, Papa,” she lied. “It’s just that there is so much to do before the party tomorrow.”

President LaSalle laughed heartily. “I will delegate two of the staff to be completely at your disposal today. They will help you with anything you require.”

“Thank you, Father,” she answered quietly and averted her gaze.

The president shot Erik a look of paternal concern. Erik understood exactly what the president wanted which was exactly what he had intended: Stick to Monique LaSalle like glue for the next few days.

After breakfast, Erik spent several minutes reviewing security plans with his three associates. When the president motioned that his daughter was leaving the dining hall, Erik excused himself and followed the young debutante.

“Monique?” He closed the distance separating them.

When she turned to look at him, there were tears in her eyes. She turned away quickly, hiding her face.

Erik gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not just scared, Erik. I’m terrified. If I attend this social tomorrow, I’ll be killed. I don’t want to die.”

He gently wrapped his arms around her. “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. You also have René, Jean-Luc and Paul – good solid men – as well as some Arab security specialists coming over tomorrow to assure that the party will run smoothly. You’ll have representatives from three different countries protecting you. You’re pretty special to warrant that kind of attention.” He gently tousled her hair. “You’ve got to believe me that you will be safe.”

“I believe you,” she whispered. “But I’m still scared.”

“We all get scared.”

“Even you? With all your strength and skill?”

“Yes, even I get scared at times,” he answered honestly. “No matter how strong or how powerful someone is, no one is immune to fear. Fear’s a natural reaction to danger that we use as a self preservation mechanism.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she cocked her head slightly.

“I don’t know. Did it?”

“No.” She gave him a pointed look. “You make a lousy shrink,” she added as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I’ll do better next time.”

* * * *

Colonel Ross walked over to the threshold of Hangar Bay 12 followed by Lt. Colonel Anderson and several staff members. The men negotiated their way past experimental aircraft that were being developed under the vast protective umbrella of ‘Black Program’ status. The objective today was different; their focus was an unearthly craft.

The craft the military downed several months ago was now moments away from being opened. Ross was full of anticipation as he walked over to the west side of the hangar where the silver thirty-foot-diameter disk lay surrounded by multiple computers, power cables and other human technical equipment. Ross approached the lead technician who was studying some readouts and asked, “Are we ready, captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get going.”

A few technicians approached the silver disk and reached out toward the alien metal. The captain touched the craft in four distinct places, following a precise geometric pattern. The vessel chirped, and the metal skin flowed apart like liquid, revealing the spacecraft’s interior. All applauded as a dark gray ramp extended from the alien vessel and stopped when it touched the hangar floor.

“We did it, Bill!” Ross turned to Anderson and slapped him joyfully on the back. “We’re back in business.”

Ross and Anderson followed the pre-selected technical group up the ramp and into the spacecraft. The internal damage from the downing of the spacecraft was no longer evident. At first glance, the vessel appeared fully functional; panels glowed, shifting through the various spectrums of color.

The alien craft was a stark contradiction to any human spacecraft. There were no visible awkward welds or bulkheads or bulky heat shielding that was required to protect spacecraft upon reentry to Earth’s atmosphere. The group paused, awed by the sheer alien feel of this environment.

A large round orb, hovered above their heads, glowing a steady rhythm of green, blue and then purple. The orb seemed suspended in mid air by some unknown principle of alien science and technology. No power conduits or plumbing of any kind were visible to indicate the transfer of electrical power or propellant.

The ship was a vast array of dichotomies to human understanding. Its beauty overwhelmed the scientists, and each man marveled at the vessel’s simple but beautiful elegance. However, all were totally flummoxed as to how such a craft could function.

The captain, a mathematical genius, then walked over to the far end of the craft and carefully examined one particular glowing panel. He waived his hand over the panel and then attempted to mimic the gestures that had gained them entrance. His effort failed. He tried touching several different symbols on the panel but it remained dark. He looked over at Ross and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“I believe this panel is the main buss to the drive systems, but I simply don’t know how to activate the unit. I’m assuming these symbols are all part of a complex language based on some mathematical or geometrical constant. Some symbols are parts of basic geometric patterns, while others represent universal mathematical constants. The pattern we used to gain access to the ship was a simple diamond pattern at four specific points on the ship’s outer hull. The symbols on these panels can make virtually any shape found in our geometry, and the other symbols are just other, bigger parts of the bigger mystery.”

“It’s all right, captain.” Ross declared. “We’ve got plenty of time to further explore all the secrets this baby has.”

Ross recalled the precise sequence that fired up the ship’s propulsion system and gave them access to an array of advanced technology. Ross waved his hands over adjoining panels that came to life. Inside the ship, a system began to moan.

On another flat control panel Ross pressed three geometric symbols. The ship shrieked in response, and the men had to cover their ears. Then the entire vessel began to vibrate and shudder.

Ross turned to the captain. “What’s happening?” he asked above the alien cacophony. He uncovered his ears to catch the captain’s response.

“I don’t know, sir,” the captain said, “but I’d say we triggered an alarm of some kind. Did the alien tell you how to deactivate it?”

“No, he hasn’t.” Ross re-covered his ears and yelled to the group, “Let’s get out of here. This shrieking is splitting my skull.”

The team fled from the ship and watched the noisy vessel, helplessly.

Something grew from the top of the smooth silvery hull. It looked like a silver daisy. The air above the craft parted, revealing a midnight blue rift in the air around the spacecraft. The silver daisy fired a bright red beam for three seconds. After the beam stopped the rift in the air sealed itself. The vessel fell into silence. The access ramp receded back into the ship, and the door they had opened earlier melted, flowing back together again.

Muttering to himself, Ross walked back over to the ship and touched the same sequence in the same spot as the captain had before. Nothing happened. He tried again in desperation yet the ship refused to respond. They were locked out again. Colonel Ross’s body trembled with rage; the alien had played him for a fool.

“Captain, try the sequence at various points around the ship’s hull. If after an hour you can’t get in, break out the Barium-Argon laser. If that doesn’t work, use an EMP projectile. Blow another goddamned hole in it if you have to,” Ross shouted. “I want to be back in that ship within the next twenty-four hours or I’ll blow it to bits and we can study the fragments.”

The military scientists gaped at him open-mouthed.

“Move it!” He turned on his heels and marched toward the detention center. It was time for another chat with Specimen 4. This time he would kill the little nuisance if he didn’t get what he was looking for, and if Phelps tried to interfere again his life would be extinguished as well.

* * * *

Gray sat in his cell satisfied. His telepathic receptors had detected the distress beacon sent through inter-dimensional space. His people would detect the ship’s beacon and a probe would be dispatched to investigate the source of the signal. The probe would eventually detect his presence, despite the human efforts to keep him isolated from the outside. His people would be coming for him. But Gray knew that the colonel, in all probability, was also on his way to his cell.

His fellow inmate’s situation was just as dire as his. The odds of her surviving her Esper-human pregnancy looked very slim. If she did survive the pregnancy she would, in all probability, be terminated.

Her offspring would be studied and prodded like a lab specimen. The military could not allow the Esper-genetic construct to achieve maturity because they would not have the ability to contain a mature warrior. The inherent bioelectric power that an Esper warrior was able to generate on their home world was staggering; if these Esper/human hybrids had that same capability on Earth, they would be deadlier than any human weapon.

Gray considered the possibility the Esper-child would have a genetic link to its biological father. Such a mental link would be more powerful than mere telepathy. When the child came to term, the father would sense it. If the child felt threatened in any way, the raw, untamed emotion would be transmitted like a wideband distress call. Shanda Knight’s mate would hear that call, and neither the miles nor telepathic shielding that separated the two would mean anything.

The child’s sire would feel his offspring’s fear and panic as if it were his own and Knight would come running. There was a great probability that the birth or harvesting of the hybrid child would be the eventual doom of the human scientific activity at this outpost. Who would destroy the humans first? An enraged hybrid Esper warrior or his own people’s defensive hardware?

The massive, titanium door hissed open. Sergeant Phelps stepped back, allowing Colonel Ross to step through the doorway, followed by three very unpleasant-looking soldiers. Two soldiers carried assault rifles while the third held a Tazer weapon. The alien quickly appended another equation to his mental probability exercise; would he be alive to see either of his hypotheses come to pass? The look on the Colonels face conveyed that the outcome of his survival was questionable – at best.