SEAL Team 13 (SEAL Team 13 series) (12 page)

“All right, something clearly happened up here. Neither of those two is stupid enough to leave his weapons lying around on the tarmac like that,” Private First Class Rodriguez grated out.

“No shit, Private,” Dale snapped. “The question is what the fuck happened. Anyone see anything?”

“Didn’t see shit, Sarge.”

“All right, Rodriguez, Smith, clear the jet. The rest of us will cover the hangar until you’re done, then we move on.”

“Right.”

The team moved back to the front of the jet, three of them in the front, the remaining two covering the rear. They knew their job and were determined to do it by the numbers, but plans were plans and reality had a way of making its own.

Even with NODs, they didn’t see the attack coming. A shuffle of feet, almost hidden by the sound of their own movements, a hint of motion in the air—none of it was enough to alert them in time. Sergeant Dale heard a muffled impact, and then his face was spattered with something warm and wet. He spun toward the sound and motion, only to see a dark shadow blot out the green glow of his night vision. Before he had time to react, a heavy pressure sat on his chest like an elephant bearing down on him. He tried to breath, tried to speak into his radio as he slumped to his knees, but all that came out was a low rattle that even he could barely hear.

In seconds the entire team was lying on the ground, surrounded by dark shambling figures where they had stood. They were all focused on the same thing, a figure standing apart from the group, watching as the blood of the fallen soldiers cooled on the ground.

“Tell the others that it’s time.”

Captain Jones didn’t know what the hell had happened.

They’d moved out of the airport and spread out into the town, where everything was quiet. The place was like some half-frozen ghost town, and it wasn’t the cold that was sending shivers up everyone’s spines.

They saw their first person about two streets northwest of the airport, and since there was no fighting or rioting to speak of in the area, everyone took it as a good sign. Then one person became two, four, eight, and so forth. Within minutes there were dozens of figures standing around them.

Just standing there silently. Watching.

They’d tried talking to them, of course, approaching cautiously and as nonthreateningly as possible. But the people didn’t react. It was like something out of a ghost movie, Jones supposed, though considering what happened next, a zombie flick might be a more appropriate comparison.

They all started walking in response to some unheard signal, converging on the state troopers.

The troopers shouted warnings, and someone even fired a shot into the air. Captain Jones would have had him on report for that, if it weren’t for the fact that he was pretty sure the offending trooper was dead.

The blood. My God, I’ve never seen so much blood.

The captain of the state police huddled down in a dark corner, his radio to his lips.

“I don’t
care
!” he growled. “We need help up here! Send
everyone
!”

He looked up as a figure appeared above him. The eyes seemed to glow as he dropped his radio and pointed his service piece.

The forty-five roared eleven times as Jones screamed over the thunder, continuing to squeeze the trigger as his magazine emptied. The desperate
click click click
sound only stopped when Jones’s throat was torn out by his assailant’s teeth.

“Colonel!”

“What is it, Major?” Colonel Sam Pierce asked, glancing up as the other man rushed from the command center they’d established on the C-130 out to where he was standing and threw him a fast salute.

Major Johnson cringed slightly. “I don’t know, and that’s the problem. We just lost contact with a squad we sent over to check on the missing corporals who went to check out some weird tech glitch north of us, and the radios went crazy. And now Captain Jones is screaming for backup.”

“What?” Pierce stood ramrod straight. “What happened?”

“That’s just it, no one seems to know.” Johnson shook his head. “Everything was quiet as a church two minutes ago, and suddenly all hell broke loose. We thought we heard shots, but no one answered our calls until Jones got on the horn. A few people got through after that, screaming something about cannibals and zombies, but we can’t even get a hold of them anymore.”

Pierce nailed his second in charge with a glare most men would turn away from, but Johnson had been with him a long time. “Tell me that you’re joking.”

“Sorry, sir, that’s what the callers said.”

“Jesus.” The colonel shook his head. “Just what I need. Druggies on bath salts or meth, I assume?”

“No evidence one way or the other, but considering the reports out of Florida, Texas, and other states over the past few years, that would be my guess, sir.”

“Just great. Okay, get the men ready to roll out. The state troopers have asked for our help, and we’ve got the governor’s declaration of emergency on our side,” Pierce ground out. “Just pray to God we can clean this up quickly, or it’s going to be splashed over every network in the country by this time next week.”

“Yes, sir.”

CHAPTER

CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

Eddie Rankin frowned as he walked through the newly assigned squad HQ.
Who the hell redecorated?

Someone had shifted the couch and moved several tables out into the open from somewhere. Chairs were scattered around the room too, and he needed to dodge around them as he made his way inside.

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, almost swearing as he stumbled over a box someone put in the middle of the room, hidden just around a corner constructed by the placement of the tables. “What the f—”

He fell silent, his hand automatically dropping to his belt where his forty-five was resting against his hip.
The last time I stumbled through a mess like this was in Iraq, and there was a Kalashnikov waiting for me at the end of the maze.

He picked his way through the room, glancing in each door as he passed until he spotted a lump on a sofa against the wall of the deepest office in the place. The lump already had a Smith and Wesson pointed at the door, however, and given that it was snoring, Rankin threw himself to one side and really did start swearing.

“Holy fuck, you crazy bastard!” he snarled. “Lower that damned hand cannon before you twitch in your sleep and blow a hole through someone!”

Hawk Masters snorted and yawned. “Relax, you wuss. I heard you coming from so far off I even had time to disable the claymores.”

“Claymores!” Rankin ducked his head around the corner. “You’d better be…”

He trailed off as he noticed two of the little green cases staring at him from the other side of the door.

“You’ve fucking lost your mind,” he said, his voice flat, as Masters rolled off the couch and holstered the big 500 revolver.

“Probably,” Masters admitted as he stretched out and yawned. “What time is it?”

“Almost 0900,” Rankin scowled, making sure that the antipersonnel mines had indeed been disarmed. “You mind telling me what’s with the damned ambush setup?”

“Someone tried to gut me last night.” Masters shrugged as he walked out and headed over to the coffee pot and prepared it to brew. “It woke up my paranoia a bit.”

“Hold up. Time the fuck out.” Rankin crossed his hands, signaling the play. “What do you mean, someone tried to gut you?”

Masters drew a wickedly curved blade from his belt, holding it up. “Chopped right through my sidearm with this thing and did a fair impression of Jackie Chan while kicking me all over my base housing. I’m living down here from now on.”

Rankin shook his head, trying to process the first statement. “Holy hell, man. Was it…one of
them
?”

“He seemed as human as we do, but I guess a doctor will determine that.” Masters shrugged. “He was nothing or no one I’ve ever met.”

“And he tried to kill you?”

“Gut me,” Masters corrected as he waited for the coffeemaker to do its work. “With a knife, all personal-like.”

That was an interesting point: You didn’t go after someone with a knife when you knew there was a better-than-fair chance he or she had a gun nearby. Not unless you had a personal stake, or were a total idiot. A silenced forty-five with subsonic rounds would be a much safer proposition, though he was personally partial to a good assault weapon from at least five hundred feet.

“Shit. You must have cut him off in traffic or something on your way down here.”

“I took a cab, jackass,” Masters growled, feeling more than a little put out by the whole situation.

People trying to kill him was par for the course while on the job. It wasn’t normal while he was on base in California, however, and usually he had some sort of idea why he was being attacked.

His thoughts on the matter were interrupted when a rumbling set of curses was heard from the office’s entryway. He and Eddie twisted around in time to see Admiral Karson hopping on one foot as he pulled one of Hawk’s makeshift caltrops off his shoe.

Eddie Rankin went near as white as a sheet, and stiffened to attention as the admiral got his feet back on the ground and stalked in their direction. Hawk just yawned again and took a seat by the closest desk, throwing his feet up as he took his first sip of coffee.

“Who the hell made this mess?!” the admiral thundered, an angry yet frightened-looking Captain Andrews following in his wake.

Hawk waved his free hand lazily. “That would be me, sir.”

Karson glowered at him, then stalked over to loom above him. “You can’t
booby-trap
your offices!”

“I’d say I managed a decent job of it. Caught Eddie with some of it too.” Hawk looked up to meet the admiral’s gaze, his expression bored. “I should have the lights rewired so that you can’t turn them on from by the door. That’ll make it even easier.”

“Let me rephrase,” Karson spat out. “You
may not
booby-trap your offices.”

“Put me up on charges.”

“Commander, you are riding my last nerve. I brought you back into the fold in good faith—”

“You yanked me back in because I know things you don’t know,” Hawk corrected, “and, while you don’t realize it yet, you really don’t
want
to know. Don’t try and play it off like you did me some kind of favor. I’m the one who’s going to get his ass killed doing your bidding, and I’m not about to make it easy for the killers.”

Karson seethed visibly for a time, while Andrews and Rankin watched as quietly as possible from the sidelines. It wasn’t every day you saw a lieutenant commander tell an admiral to go suck it, but it looked like Masters was actually going to get away with it.

“Yes, let’s talk about that, shall we?” Karson ground out through clenched teeth. “What the hell happened?”

“It was an assassination attempt.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Karson warned him. “I mean, do you know what it was about?”

Hawk shook his head. “Not a clue. Never met the man, and I don’t think I’ve pissed off anyone to the point where they’d try to kill me on a
naval base
. Any hits on his identity?”

Karson glanced over to Andrews, who shuddered but managed to snap out a response to the question.

“Nothing. Complete blank. No hits from the CIA, NSA, Interpol, or any federal or state agencies,” she said. “He doesn’t have a record, criminal or military.”

“Fabulous,” Karson muttered, turning away from the insubordinate lieutenant commander whom he needed too badly to discipline the way he’d prefer. “So I’m stuck with the same question. Was it someone who’s interested in the program, or did you just annoy someone other than me into a killing rage?”

“No answers for you there,” Hawk said, dropping his feet to the floor and standing up as he finished the last pull of his coffee. “All I know for sure is that the guy was trained. He was good—really good—and I’m only breathing because I got lucky.”

“Oh, much better. So he was trained well enough to outmatch a SEAL, even if it was one like you.” Karson rolled his eyes. “Any other good news for me?”

“No, that’s about it.”

“Fantastic,” the admiral muttered. “Well, I’ve got some for you. You can stop worrying about the kill attempt last night.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says me,” Karson glared, daring Masters to say anything this time. “I have something new for you to worry about. Now shut up and pay attention. We’ve got a situation that was bumped over to me by the NRO after some captured signals from a guard operation up north raised some eyebrows.”

The admiral tossed a computer tablet into Masters’s chest, turning away as the SEAL tried to catch the device before it bounced off him and hit the ground.

“Look it over. I want a report and options in one hour,” Karson said as he started to pick his way out of the office. “And clean this mess up!” Captain Andrews followed him silently after giving Hawk a withering glare.

“Yeah, yeah, right away, sir,” Hawk mumbled as he started to look over the files that were open on the tablet, “just as soon as the sun shines out my ass, sir.”

“Jesus, Hawk. Have you fucking lost your mind?” Eddie demanded once the admiral had left. “That was Karson, for Christ’s sakes! He’s on the SOCOM command board.”

“Fuck him.” Hawk shrugged, reading as he spoke. “He doesn’t know shit about what’s going on, and as long as that’s true he can’t do a damned thing to me.”

“Besides toss your ass in Leavenworth, you mean?”

“Sounds nice. Big strong walls, armed guards—I could use the relaxation,” Hawk said. “Now shut it and check this out.”

Eddie scowled, but walked over and leaned in to check out the file. “What’s this?”

“Something’s going on up in Barrow, Alaska. They sent some state troopers up there along with some guard boys,” Masters said. “Lost contact.”

“Lost contact? In country?” Eddie scoffed. “Did they forget to charge their damned cell phones?”

“No answer, not on any frequency—cell phone, landlines…They even sent e-mails,” Masters replied. “Looks like they tried everything but smoke signals. There’s a Coast Guard cutter off shore that even tried signal code.”

“Holy shit. Someone stepped in a big steaming turd,” Eddie muttered. “Any ideas?”

“Yeah. No good ones, though,” Masters said, opening some pictures. “The satellite photos don’t look promising, I can tell you that. Check this out.”

The images had been taken in low light, and they’d obviously been enhanced by computers at the NRO, but Eddie Rankin was used to decoding lousy surveillance pictures and these weren’t half bad. He stared for a long moment, his mind parsing the shapes he was looking at, then let out a low and long whistle.

“Are those bodies?”

“Yeah. You remember the drone pics we got out of Darfur?” Hawk asked.

“All too well. Jesus, this is in Alaska?” Rankin didn’t want to believe it.

“Yeah, I don’t know what the hell is going on up there, but I’ll stake any wager you like that it’s not a damned riot.” Hawk switched the tablet off and paced the room for a moment.

“Is it one of ours, though?”

“That’s the question,” Hawk admitted, shaking his head. “There’s not enough information yet to tell for sure…but damn it, it’s fucking
Alaska
, Eddie. What the hell else could it be? The Russians invading?”

Eddie snorted.

That was so unlikely, it made the supernatural seem downright pedestrian in comparison. Not that the Russians didn’t have the capability, mind you. Despite public opinion, what remained of the Soviet empire was no group of pansies. The Spetsnaz could easily have pulled off something like this, if they’d had reason to do so and something to gain. What they couldn’t have done was pull it off so cleanly that the NRO and NSA had no indicators at all, and that’s what made the file confusing.

No one could pull off something like this without there being
something
in the intel pipeline. Often signs were overlooked, only obvious in hindsight, but the file contained reports from both agencies as well as the CIA, and they had
no
indicators pointing to Alaska, let alone Barrow.

In the modern world, no one spoofed signal intercepts like that. No one. That left something that
wasn’t
from the modern world.

“What do you want to do?” he finally asked.

Hawk hesitated briefly, then shook his head. “No choice. Call the boys in, and tell them to pack warm. We’re going to get eyes on and find out for ourselves what the fuck is going on.”

“All right, you got it,” Eddie agreed. “Where are you going?”

Hawk shrugged as he walked over to the door. “Need to beg the admiral for marching orders, supplies, and some transport.”

Eddie snorted—he couldn’t help it. Only Masters would intentionally annoy the shit out of someone and then head over to beg for favors. “Good luck with that.”

Captain Andrews carefully kept quiet as she watched the admiral out of the corner of her eye. He’d been silent ever since they’d gotten back to his temporary office, and it was painfully clear that he was in no mood for conversation at the moment, not that she blamed him.

She’d thought that Masters was a bit off since the moment she’d met him, not to mention the team of people he’d called up. A bag of mixed nuts was the best descriptor she could imagine for them, short of falling into obscenities.