Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2) (3 page)

He tried desperately to run, but his body wouldn’t comply. He was frozen in place, mouth agape and eyes glued to the horrific creature before him. She moved a bit and her small frame somehow became even more frightening. Shadows—or wings—stretched out behind her.

Like the engines had been thrown into overdrive, Germaine felt the floor suddenly pulsate beneath him. All around him, too, the materials on the shelves started shaking. As suddenly as it had stopped, the music started up once more. The few cabinets within the room started opening and closing, at first slowly but increasing in frequency every second Germaine remained rooted there. Beside the shaking floor and objects moving of their own accord, the music was the least of his worries.

The way she stood before him without a glimmer of fear, the woman had to be the master of the ghost ship. She must be the culprit behind all this madness. She was surely made of evil.

The petite demon pushed his chest, as if to create distance between the two. Germaine couldn’t help but step back from the force of the push, though it was less than he would have imagined. It seemed too gentle for such a creature. Her touch was cool, in fact, and soft. Even though her hand had lost contact with him, he could still feel it in his chest.

At first it seemed cool, like water had been splashed against him. He could feel something lingering behind. He almost felt content, until he looked down. What he saw added more terror to the situation than he could have possibly imagined. There in the middle of his chest burned five small points of fire. Like five lighters had somehow been inserted into his shirt, single wavering flames burned up toward his face.

“Germaine.” The guy in the security office tried his guard again on the handheld radio. He had tried at least twenty times since Germaine had disappeared inside the boat. The cameras were too high up in the fog to see everything that had been happening. Every once in a while it would clear enough to see the back of the yacht. 

He was starting to get nervous. The thought of the pleasure ship slamming into the dock was enough to set his stomach to boiling. Thinking about one of his employees being hurt in the accident made him flat out nauseous. He couldn’t take all the stress of something like this happening as well as others could; he was overweight, on medication, and half lit.

“Germaine, answer me right now,” he tried sternly. His only answer was static. Though the fire department would be on the scene any minute now, he wanted accountability of his employees long before they arrived. It seemed as if he was going to have to get up and go investigate the matter himself.

As he pushed himself away from the desk and made to get his ass out to the dock, he spotted something peculiar on the camera feed. Between the floating clouds obscuring the view of everything in the yard and the rest of New Jersey, he saw something that was definitely out of the ordinary.

Frank sat quizzically for a moment, contemplating whether or not he had actually seen what he thought he had. He rubbed his eyes and thought hard about whether he had seen a man—his man—jump from the back of the boat. 

This was definitely bad news.

“The local police called the FBI, who in turn called the CDC, the NSA and the DOD,” Gregory said, droning on about the case already. Marcus barely paid him any attention. He still had Julie’s taste in his mouth. Where usually it was sweet, soft, and lingering, today it was tart, confusing, and nagging. He had hardly expected his girlfriend to be happy about going on a long weekend together, let alone delighted at the marriage thing. They had long had an understanding that work came before their relationship. Not six months ago, they had both agreed that marriage was quite possibly the last thing they would ever think about.

On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine life without her anymore. As he glanced across the table to where his deceased friend Bishop used to sit, he couldn’t help but reminisce. The scars were finally healing, at least physically, and Julie had been a big help in that process. He had inadvertently opened up in nearly every way because of the last serious case his team had worked.

Since then, a lot had changed. Lambert Frederickson, the mysterious old man that owned stashes of Relics across the globe, had been added to the agency’s rolodex as a consultant for everything Relic-related. He had warned the agency about multiple sites for the ancient pieces of history thus far and promised to have more up his sleeve. The only thing he wanted in return was free rein to pick and choose the most important pieces for his collection.

Though the agency frowned heavily upon the prospect of having strange artifacts out and about in civilization, especially after what had happened with John Flipske, they reluctantly agreed. After all, his knowledge of the existence of such things predated even the inception of the Unusual Operations Division. Without his expertise on the subject, the UOD would undoubtedly be without a much needed advantage.

John Flipske, as it turned out, was a unique case. He had taken the lives of quite a few people, including UOD employee Bishop. Though he had a spotless military record as a Special Forces soldier, he had succumbed to the influence of a powerful Relic. It had forced him to commit murder, destroy his own family, and seek an end to the world as everyone knew it.

It was easy to say that the agency had changed significantly since then.

The crew itself had changed, too. Cynthia Gordon had taken to remaining much quieter than usual. Her dark hair was worn down more often, covering her soft Asian features as it fell. She had started frequenting the gym even more than usual, and it showed. Though she had always been toned, she was becoming a well-oiled machine. The black slacks and tight fitting blazer she wore left no room for doubt that she was all about business.

Though her beauty was still present, she seemed much more insecure. She wore long sleeve button ups and a single elbow length glove over her wounded hand. It protected the thin gauze dressing she used to cover the scabs. The scarring disfigurement had been caused by breaching an ethereal wall to free Marcus and kill John. It would not heal. Even though she had undergone multiple surgeries and various skin grafts, the wounds looked as fresh as the day they occurred.

She did well to hide the pain the injury had inflicted. Though it obviously caused her discomfort, she never once complained about it. She would continue on, whether or not it hurt. Everyone knew she was tough, yet no one could have guessed just how tough she actually was.

She caught him looking at her from across the desk and gave a light smile. Marcus smiled back and tried to play like he had been daydreaming. He had been, after all, but she didn’t know that.

Brenda Vaughn and Stephen McGregor had changed, too. They were both happy with each other and had finally opened up about their relationship. No one was surprised. They had all seen the way the giant black Irishman would stare at her. Everyone saw the way she returned the smiles, too. Her porcelain skin and dirty blonde hair was in perfect contrast to his dark skin and dark eyes. He had a jaw that had been carved from stone, and she was petite even in the face. Their voices, too, were polar opposites. She was well spoken and as loud as her small frame would let her be, but his harsh accent and baritone pipes would set her to shame any day.

Stephen had grown protective of her. The loss that they had experienced made him realize how serious their job actually was. It was the reason no one had dated before. No one had anticipated the loss, but they all knew it could happen. Gregory had handpicked most of them because of a unique set of abilities and character traits. One of those traits had been the ability to remain work oriented above all else. The rest were harder to explain.

Marcus wondered from time to time what it was about him that had persuaded Gregory to have him recruited. He wondered if everyone could tell that he was different in one way or another. Looking at his friends he couldn’t tell that they had any special abilities, least of all Phillip. If any of them had remained the same, it was Phillip. He still wore dark glasses even when inside, rumpled clothing, and the permanent scent of scotch.

Today was no exception. No one could tell whether or not he was awake in the darkened room. His hair was a mess, and his stubble-covered chin belied the fact that he had just recently washed himself. The subtle indications that he was actually listening came as bobs of his head or taps of his finger against his cheek. He was sitting next to the empty seat, so Marcus didn’t let his eyes linger too long. He hated the reminder that one of his teammates had been taken from him.

The change in David Hines was obvious. He had grown more accustomed to the bodily changes that he experienced around Relics. Because of his ability to sense the objects, he found himself being guided through a grooming process. Now, he could control his urge to vomit when in close proximity to the things. He could also sense from which direction the waves of electromagnetic radiation emanated. He was becoming more and more useful and thus more accepted as a member of the tight-knit team.

His brawny muscles flexed as he shifted in his chair. Regardless of how muscular he had become, he still resembled someone born in the Stone Age. Marcus wondered how many cans the Neanderthal had crushed with that forehead during his college years.
I bet he could crush a can of peas with that thing,
Marcus thought.

Then there was Henry Bauss, his trusted friend. His dedication to the team had never been stronger. Though he had always been a team player, Henry seemed to be taking it to a new level. In his fifty-plus years of life, he had accumulated a vast store of knowledge. Now, as if he were pressed for time, he continuously shared the wealth with his friends and colleagues. They were grateful for it, especially Marcus. Though they often spoke of tactics, old jobs, and anything that might help, Marcus knew he still had a lot to learn.

What had not changed about him was his tacky attire. Today he wore a pastel pink shirt with a lime-green tie, brown slacks, and gator-skin shoes. The man was a walking mess, but it suited his graying stubble and salt-and-pepper hair. Marcus couldn’t tell whether it was his kind blue eyes or his ridiculous mutton chops that made children giggle.

“Are you going to join us, Marcus?” Gregory hadn’t changed a bit. His angry scowl below thick brows and a crew cut managed to make even his ridiculously large moustache menacing. He had decided the moustache was a good idea, despite everyone in the office objecting. “I’ve been talking for god-knows how long and you haven’t copied one thing down thus far. I’d love it if you could get your head in the game this morning and stop worrying about what your girlfriend is doing.”

The lights were dim and the overhead concave monitors stretching between the ceiling and the walls were lit. He hadn’t even noticed the change in the room, daydreaming like he had been.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Don’t we all,” chided Gregory. “I think you’ll want to hear what our next case is about. It’s right up our alley.”

“Julie proposed to me last night,” Marcus blurted out. He didn’t mind that everyone knew his business, and he knew that this would garner some sympathy from the others. Maybe it would get him some forgiveness for spacing out, too.

The universal reaction was shock and a collective grunt of sympathy. Gregory went so far as to giggle audibly. Everyone that knew Marcus knew the story of his dead wife. They also knew of his deep apprehension when it came to new commitments. He had dedicated so much of his life to the job. He had been questioned numerous times as to how he had any time for her as it was.

“Eww,” Phillip said as he scooted the glasses down his nose a little bit and regarded Marcus with bloodshot eyes. “Sorry, brother. Sounds like a painful ending to a great relationship.”

“Shut up, Phillip,” Brenda said. She had optimism in her voice and Marcus could hear it. “That’s great news. I think you two are awesome together. You’re always smiling when you come in after a night with her. Why wouldn’t you want to marry the perfect woman? I think it’s great news.”

“It’s definitely news,” Marcus stated. “I don’t know whether it’s good or bad.”

“I say go for it,” Gregory said, astounding everyone in the room by jumping into the conversation. “She holds you up when you’re down, she understands when you leave, and she leaves cute little marks all over your neck and face for which we are all grateful.”

“Unfortunately this is neither the place nor the time to be talking about this.”

The air in the room changed palpably.

“Police responded to a report that an unidentified yacht came crashing into a port in New Jersey last night around two or three in the morning. Generally this wouldn’t be the type of news that would interest us, I know, but it gets better and better. The first man reporting to the scene was a security guard. He boarded the pleasure yacht to figure out why it decided to power up a shipping lane and into a port.

“The surveillance manager reports seeing his security guard jump on board before losing communications altogether. Unfortunately, other than the fact that the security guard boarded the boat, all we know is that he also left. The surveillance manager said he saw his security guard do a swan dive into the icy waters of a New Jersey inlet. The Coast Guard found his body this morning in some weeds on the opposite side.

“The time stamp is on one of the videos we’re going to watch. It just so happens there was some disturbances to communication networks up the coast near where this incident occurred.”

“Strange,” Marcus said quietly. “What else?”

“Aboard, police found a woman,” Gregory continued. “Along with the one survivor, there were six dead bodies. No one has been able to retrieve the bodies because everyone who gets too close experience some pretty horrifying side effects. We do, however, have some photographs of what we can expect to see.”

No one had anything to say as a picture of the crime scene flashed across the wireless network and simultaneously appeared on all the screens. The scene was one that would turn a normal man’s stomach, but the UOD operatives studied it like something from a textbook. Were there any clues present they would surely not escape the gaze of the team, Brenda most of all.

“This case reeks of Relics,” Brenda said, a determined set to her jaw. “Were there any pings on the satellite system?”

The satellite had been the most important and powerful weapon the UOD had in their arsenal against the elusive Relics. Sent into space to track down weapons of mass destruction, the satellite was quickly thought to be defective. It did find caches of dangerous things. The unfortunate part was that the caches were not in fact weapons at all. Upon further investigation, the satellite was repurposed to track a hidden threat within the world; Relics. Pieces of history charged with electromagnetic radiation capable of making people go completely insane.

Since it was thought that only one out of every ten million or so people could be affected by a single Relic, it was highly rare that matches were ever made between Relic and person. Regardless of the astronomical odds, dangerous things happened when the two met. The Jewel of Babylon had nearly destroyed the world as it existed, no one questioned that. Whatever happened that night had left Cynthia scarred, Stephen with a bullet hole in his stomach, the perpetrator John dead, and each of them changed in more ways than they felt comfortable talking about.

“The satellite did not pick up any significant electromagnetic radiation to speak of,” Gregory said. “There was nothing that would alert us to any Relic activity on the night of the event.”

“Then what?” Stephen asked. “There are no Relics, no EMF readings on the satellite, and no dangerous killers on the loose. The local police did an investigation and from what you’ve told us, a woman murdered her family. What if people are simply allergic to something near the ship?”

“You’re hiding something from us,” Marcus chimed in. “Spill it, old man.”

“There was only one man capable of boarding the boat,” Gregory continued. “Everyone else is complaining of severe disorientation, hallucinations, debilitating headaches, and extreme nausea within fifty meters of the ship. The one police officer brave enough to make it aboard was only on long enough to snatch the young woman and head for the door. He hardly made it past this invisible force field keeping everyone else out before collapsing. He then proceeded to pant and scream about how a scrawny teen was some sort of giant wasp.”

“A giant wasp,” Marcus giggled. “Sounds like something must have been playing on his fears.”