Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (6 page)

“Is it on you now?”

Erik nodded and gestured to the silver embroidery and buckle decorating the belt on his jeans.

Alissa laughed aloud. “How did you pull it off?”

“I just laid the staff on the belt and it knew what I expected.

“Do you still talk to it?”

Erik became somewhat embarrassed. “Sometimes. It’s like a pet cat in some ways; every few days it needs attention for a period of time. If I leave it in the safe for more than two days it’ll start whining and buzzing at a pitch only I can hear.”

As if sensing his embarrassment, she quickly changed the subject.

“What time are you leaving?” she asked, handing his breakfast order to a passing busboy. She slid herself in the booth moving the bag over and looked intently into his eyes.

He glanced at his watch. “The limousine will be here in about two hours.”

She swallowed then spoke in an ominous voice. “Erik, you probably don’t want to hear this, especially now, but I have a really bad feeling about you going overseas at this time. Leaving now doesn’t feel right,” she began. “Something is going to happen, something huge, and for the life of me I can’t seem to put my finger on it. I see bits and pieces of an upcoming event, a disturbance. I can’t see the whole event; I only know that it’s very dangerous.”

“Look, ‘Obiwanette.’ ” Erik’s tone was light in an attempt to break Alissa’s somber mood. “I’m going to babysit a young woman for a few months, establish some competent security measures and then come home. I don’t expect to be overseas as long as Martin and company anticipate; even if I am, it’s not forever.”

“You’re mocking me!” she accused, completely missing his attempt at humor.

She rose to leave his booth; Erik reached over and gently placed his hand over her trembling fingers. He sensed her fear of the unknown, her frustration at being unable to properly interpret whatever was disturbing her. A dark feeling of dread passed through his body as the two made physical contact. Something was definitely wrong, and Alissa had picked up on the disturbance before he did.

“Show me,” he whispered.

Alissa nodded and gently touched the side of his forehead, transmitting the images and impressions she’d experienced. Random scenes flashed through his mind: Strange craft engaged in battle upon a vast desert; a huge, dark storm; a swirling, moving wall of black that seemed to decimate everything in its path. Dread accompanied the visions. Something far more sinister dwelled within her thoughts, something just out of reach. Then their link was severed.

Erik sat back, running his fingers through his shortened locks. “What the hell was that?” he whispered. “How long have you been having these visions?”

“About four weeks. I was hoping you and your friend who shares your mind might have some answers. I didn’t want to burden you with it earlier because of Shanda’s passing.”

Alissa was referring to the biggest side effect of his mutation – a complete set of memories and sentience, inherited from the being whose genetic structure was used in the making of his hybrid form. The genetic blending had been so perfect that he could access those memories and that personality inside his mind, as if there were another intelligence existing within the confines of his brain.

“I understand. Thank you for your consideration. As for my ‘friend,’ he’s been quiet the last several weeks; he senses the shifts in my bioelectric patterns since Shanda passed. I’ve expressed a desire to be ‘alone’ for awhile, and my friend has respected my wish.”

“Maybe the two of you should have a meeting of your mind and get its perspective on what I just showed you.”

Alissa looked hopeful but he didn’t have the time, or the desire, to investigate another ‘cosmic’ mystery. “I’ll look into it.”

“Promise me you’ll do more than just ‘look into it.’ Something terrible is around the corner, Erik.” She gave him a pleading look.

“I promise.” Erik thought for a moment and an idea surfaced. “Jeff has my spare office key; get it from him later and go into the top drawer of my desk. Taped underneath the drawer is an envelope; in that envelope is a phone number. If you get any more details on your vision, dial that number.”

“Will you answer, Erik?”

He shook his head. “Martin Denton will answer. Tell him you’re my assistant and you have information for me.” Alissa frowned and he explained. “He already knows you’re far more than just a waitress to me.” He put his hand upon hers and looked directly into her eyes. “You’ve been a great friend through all of this, Alissa. I don’t have the words to express my gratitude. If there’s a storm coming, I’ll be back here to meet it head on. Until then, try not to focus too hard on the images. You’ll figure it out eventually.” Erik projected a telepathic wave of assurance to her.

Erik felt Alissa’s veil of concern lift. She smiled as she stood up. “Thanks, Erik. I knew I could count on you.”

“Alissa?” When she looked at him, he added, “In a few weeks, Brianna will be by with Margaret. She’ll be taking my SS out for a few runs after she gets her learner’s permit. I gave her my keys. If you look in the parking lot and the car isn’t there, it’s with her.”

She grinned wickedly. “Margaret will be cursing you until the day you get back. You know she hates that car.”

Erik chuckled. “Margaret’s a fuddy-duddy when it comes to performance machines; she should thank me for helping her overcome her phobia.”

He ate his meal in silence with his mind replaying the vision Alissa had shared. He isolated specific images similar to freezing a DVD in mid play. He studied the three weird machines that were traversing the desert. Easily four-stories tall, they looked like otherworldly constructs. Each machine appeared to be suspended above the sandy terrain, kicking up sand as it moved toward a line of human military machinery. The gigantic wall of darkness approaching both groups was a complete mystery that towered over the scene.

He would consult Jakor, his genetic counterpart; perhaps the alien intelligence had information about the monstrosities. A hint of remorse hit him; he had been less than cordial during their last encounter. The mighty warrior that co-existed with him for over two years lay buried; he would have to focus in order to re-establish the link.

“Later,” he mumbled to himself as he drained the glass of cranberry juice.

“Did you enjoy your last decent meal for the next half a year?” a jovial voice startled him, snapping him out of his contemplation.

“Yeah Jeff, unless you’re going to pack me a few ‘doggie bags.’ ” When they`d first met, Erik had been nearly destitute. He appreciated the fact that the owner of Madame’s Restaurant, Jeff Mitchell had agreed to let him operate his small agency from a seldom-used dining suite in the rear of his establishment.

As part of the agreement, he had worked part time as a waiter and busboy during the peak meal hours. The two men had since established a close friendship. Jeff seated himself across from Erik and laughed at the duffel bag.

“I see you broke out the expensive luggage for this trip.”

“I was never one for expensive luggage.” Erik reached across the table and patted the faded bag.

“Are you all set to go?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, the airport limo should be here in a couple hours.”

“I just want to wish you the best of luck.”

“Thanks, man.”

Jeff extended his hand to Erik. “Be safe and come home soon. Madame’s won’t be the same without you.”

Chapter 7: Gestation Day 35

Prisoner

Sergeant Arthur Phelps had been monitoring Gray for thirty-six hours. The only evidence that the alien was alive was the shallow rise and fall of its mid section as it drew shallow breaths.

The physicians, who began the process of reviving their latest subject, didn’t even bother to glance over at Gray. Phelps shuddered. This avoidance did not bode well for the alien. The inevitable loomed ahead and the alien seemed to sense it as well.

The other guards exchanged whispers over the new arrival, speculating on her purpose, and wondering how she would affect the fate of the alien captive. Phelps speculated that both were going to die. The human female’s sentence would take longer but her arrival had hastened her fellow captive’s demise.

The human female was freed from all the medical equipment and monitors. Phelps judged her to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Faded streaks of pale purple hair framed an attractive face. Phelps stared at her curves longingly; beautiful women like her seldom had anything to do with nerdy types. He caught the glint of a gold band and diamond ring. What kind of man had she married? Was he an athlete or a punk rocker? Was he wondering what happened to his wife?

Arthur?
A familiar voice rang inside his head.

Phelps jumped, embarrassed that he had been caught musing over the woman.

Welcome back to the living.
Phelps projected the greeting toward his friend.
I was worried about you.

Gray stood and approached the thick Plexiglass wall of his cell then stared at the occupant across the aisle. He had gathered enough information by eaves-dropping on the medics to know that the child in the woman’s womb was something other than human. He had also picked up on his human friend’s desires and the discomfort Phelps felt at being caught with raw emotions so blatantly exposed.

You find this female desirable. You wish to mate with her?
Gray projected his response.

Yes.
Arthur bowed his head.
But she belongs to someone else. Besides, I don’t think she’s going to be interested in mating, dating or any such thing when she wakes up. She’ll be frightened and confused.

Gray tilted his large head as if in confusion.
She is a slave?

The alien had misinterpreted his thoughts, taking his reply literally.

What I meant was that she’s married. You see those two rings on her hand? They signify that she has fallen in love with another man and belongs to him.

Is that not the same as slavery? Belonging to someone else?

Phelps smiled, grateful for the swift change in topic.
Not exactly, though some married men may disagree. Being married means that a man and a woman have chosen to spend the rest of their lives together.

The alien stared over at the sleeping form.
Will her companion not be looking for her?

* * * *

A stab of pain and guilt riddled Staff Sergeant Phelps chest.
Her husband is probably dead or believes she’s dead. If she wound up here, the odds are nobody is, or will be, looking for her.

Phelps stared at the shapely form in the cell. The drug-induced coma would fall away gradually. She would awaken to a world of horror and captivity, a lab rat in somebody’s maze, a pawn in a grander scheme of political chess. He too was a pawn in the most dangerous game of all – National Security. In this game, sacrifices were made for ‘the greater good.’ Jane Doe and Gray were to be sacrificed for the elusive ‘good.’

Arthur?
Gray projected disrupting his train of thought.

Yes?
Phelps turned toward Gray, knowing that the inevitable question was imminent.

These men are going to kill me, eventually. Is this correct?

Phelps had never experienced fear in his charge before. He chose his words carefully, knowing that Gray could detect a lie.
I’m afraid things don’t look good for either one of you right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m not privy to the decisions made at higher levels. My job is to follow orders. But I’ll tell you this. If I knew of a way to help you, I would.

Gray eyes grew rounder.
Arthur, I don’t want to die. I wish to go home to my own kind. I’ve committed no acts of aggression against your species. I was attacked by your kind and my colleagues were murdered in an act of unprovoked aggression.

Phelps raised his hands in a show of futility.
If I could help you, I would. But I don’t know how.

Gray looked deep into Phelps’ eyes, reaching Phelps’ soul and focused all of his will to project an image into the mind of his human companion. The plan the alien had devised was simple, but required a willing human to carry it out.

* * * *

Phelps felt the telepathic surge and embraced the projected images. His innate ability grasped the images and amplified them, burning them to memory. He studied the message, then shook his head, rubbing his hand through his bristly scalp while his mind continued to process the data.

I could probably do that, but I’d be visible to anyone monitoring the ship at that time. Are you sure the ship still functions?
Phelps was dubious.

Arthur, the vessel has extensive regenerative abilities. By now the craft is fully functional. All you need to do is to follow the instructions I’ve provided. The ship’s beacon will begin transmitting. Its signal is extremely powerful. My people will hear it and come for me.
Gray’s reply was confident.

Phelps shook his head again.
I’d never make it. There are too many cameras, not to mention armed guards. This would be a suicide mission.

I know.
Gray gave him a sullen nod
.
I only propose it as a possibility. It is the only course of action I can come up with, given the current circumstances. Maybe with a little more time you could come up with something else.

My life isn’t perfect, Gray, but I’d kinda like to stick around a few more years and hope things get better
. Phelps added lightly.

* * * *

At the airport, Erik stepped out of the limousine and waited as the driver retrieved his duffel bag from the vehicle’s spacious trunk. He hadn’t been comfortable around large crowds of people since being altered. It took more than the usual amount of mental energy to block out the multitudes of conflicting mental energies emitted around him.

The driver placed his bag on the curb and handed him an invoice. At his earlier request, Martin had spared no expense: Luxury transportation and an entire row of first class airline seats – all to himself. The detective signed the invoice and gave the driver a generous tip.

Despite the first class arrangement, he still faced a long check-in line and security screening. He automatically recalibrated his senses and focused on a particular wave of mental energy. Someone in the crowd had taken more than a passing interest in him. Erik concentrated on the intercepted impression, burning more of his mental energy on the impression.

Someone within the terminal planned on killing him. This wasn’t the first time in the past two years that a hit man had tried to retire Special Agent Erik Knight.

“Shit!” he cussed under his breath. No one outside his trusted circle was supposed to know about his mission, or about his travel itinerary. There was a leak in OSA security. Erik looked around at everything while looking at nothing in particular. The impulses would get stronger the longer he could maintain his hold on them.

PANIC!!
The sensation overpowered his mind. The detective identified his would-be assailant.

The man was tall, easily a hand’s breadth taller than Erik, wearing a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses to partially conceal his face. No doubt existed in Erik’s mind; the man was a professional assassin who would, most definitely, follow him overseas. The threat had to be neutralized before he boarded the aircraft without endangering innocent bystanders.

“Are you all right, sir?” a friendly voice asked, snapping the investigator from his thoughts.

Erik turned to the person who addressed him and shook his head slightly. “Sorry, I never sleep well before I travel.” He fibbed, perturbed at the interruption.

As she turned away he freed his senses – every fiber of his awareness sought out the assassin again, hoping to re-establish contact. If he changed into his other form, his senses would be sharper and his telepathic powers would not only isolate the assassin but read his thoughts. In his present form, he was only aware of mere impressions.

Plus in hybrid warrior mode, it wouldn’t matter what weapon the assassin intended to use. He was all but invincible. However, changing now would cause panic and undoubtedly lead to a hostage-taking situation.

He placed his duffle bag on the luggage platform. As the airline attendant finished applying the destination tags on what she likely thought of as a worthless, rough-looking canvas bag, Erik said, “I’d like this bag insured for $250,000.”

“Excuse me?” she said, snapping her head up.

“I’d like my bag insured for a quarter million,” he confirmed.

She glanced at the bag and raised an eyebrow, then reached under her counter for the appropriate paperwork. “Fill this form out and sign here, please.” She pointed with the tip of a ballpoint pen.

Erik took the pen she offered, filled in and signed the form then handed it back to her. At her look of reproach when he did not fill out the baggage content section, he reached into his back pocket and flashed his government security shield. “You don’t need to know what’s in there. I just need assurance that my luggage gets to the same place I’m going,” he remarked lightly.

The attendant leaned over to confirm his identity by staring at the shield and his picture ID then relented. “We’ll treat it like it’s our very own, Mr. Knight.”

Erik smiled his thanks then headed toward his gate, aware the stalker was closing in on him.

The man seemed extremely calm and calculating, a career killer, most likely an ex-political operative or disgruntled intelligence agent. He’d heard of agents setting up shop overseas where assassination was an art form and where they were paid handsomely. This gun for hire had to be retired before he boarded.

Erik needed a place without witnesses. As he continued his deliberate walk, he saw the answer.

“Oh, this is just too Hollywood,” he whispered to himself as he ducked into a men’s room. In the first stall he undid his pants and sat. He summoned his sentient staff from his belt, and the weapon flowed into his hand, softly buzzing with anticipation. The weapon read his mind and welcomed the opportunity for action. Erik pictured a rectangular shield, and the staff complied, forming a silvery barrier between him and the stall door.

He felt exposed in this unorthodox position, but no other solution would draw his opponent toward him.

The bathroom door opened, and Erik sensed his opponent. The assassin pushed in the stall door next to his and entered. Erik noted the killer’s feet pointing toward his own stall. The click of a pistol hammer cocking into place reverberated off the thin metal walls.

“Oh shit!” Erik launched himself off the toilet toward the door with all of his enhanced might.

Bullets tore through the thin sheet metal wall separating both stalls, missing him by fractions of an inch. Both man and shield impacted against the stall door, ripping the fragile barrier off its hinges.

Still wrapped around his ankles, Erik’s pants, severely hindered his mobility. He’d barely regained his balance when the assassin kicked open his stall door and fired a hail of bullets in his general direction. Erik lifted his shield and deflected the projectiles while he dove into another stall for cover.

The sentient staff transformed itself back into its prime mode, a silver cylinder nearly six feet in length.

“You’re slipping, Special Agent Knight. I literally caught you with your pants down. I thought you were OSA’s best.”

Erik sensed the assassin creeping toward the stall where he was now hiding, weapon raised to fire.

Only a contract killer from a foreign interest would use his title and agency name. A privately paid assassin would know him only by name, not by any specific organization.

“Come get me, hotshot!” Erik teased as he formulated his next strategy. He kicked off his pants and boots, sensing another bout of gunfire. He leapt in the air, somersaulting over the stall wall and landed on the other end of the bathroom while the bewildered assassin spun around to keep his half-naked opponent in sight.

The assassin fired another volley of bullets. Erik leapt up, smashing through the suspended ceiling and ductwork, losing hold of his staff while avoiding the hail of lead. He spun his body, his feet finding a foothold against a ventilation duct, then launched himself toward his opponent like a freight train.

As Erik dropped down he called for the staff and it flew into his hand. He swung the weapon in a circular motion as he dropped on his opponent. The hard-edged sentient staff collided with the assassin’s jaw while the impact of Erik’s body forced the man off his feet.

Erik kicked the killer’s black automatic pistol away, sending the weapon careening across the tiled floor. He quickly got to his feet and unleashed blows that sounded like thunderclaps upon the stunned assassin’s face and torso. The hired gun, already staggering, fell face first and spit out two of his front teeth on the blood stained tile.

“You bastard.” The assassin reached for his nose. “You broke my fucking nose.”

Erik bent over his adversary and relieved him of a second concealed pistol. A thorough search revealed several more lethal surprises including pocket-size throwing knives and darts, and a cleverly designed holster for the automatic pistol.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t offer up a sincere apology, considering what you had in mind for me.” Erik backed up a few steps and looked over the confiscated arsenal. Each weapon was made of the same dull black material. The substance felt hard like metal, but not cool to the touch.