The Menagerie 2 (Eden) (10 page)

Alyssa closed the laptop. “I need to get to one of those holographic consoles,” she said, “and work the screen. I think I can open up worlds of information,” she said, smiling.

. . .
Worlds !. . .

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Mr. Savage, if I may have a quick word with you, please.” O’Connell appeared winded.

John looked up from his seated position, their eyes meeting. “Sure.”

“Alone?”

Savage shook his head. “What you have to say to me you can say in front of Alyssa.”

O’Connell nodded, quickly perused his surroundings, then took a step forward. To John the man appeared less confident, his shoulders turned inward as if he was closing in on himself. “I understand that you held a rather prying discussion with Captain Whitaker about his alleged affiliation with a certain group.”

Savage stood. “I did.”

“If I may be so bold, Mr. Savage. I’m afraid you were spot on.”

“What do you mean by ‘afraid’?” asked Alyssa. “Is there something I should know about?”

O’Connell nodded, more like a quick inclination of his head. And then to Savage: “You need to know something,” he began. “After your discussion, Whitaker came to me with concerns.”

“Such as?”

O’Connell closed the space between, his voice becoming a whisper as he pressed them into close counsel. “You were right about his affiliation,” he told him.

“He’s a Tally-Whacker.”

O’Connell nodded in affirmation. “He was surprised that you knew what a Tally-Whacker was. Not many do, since they only exist in the eyes of certain political circles.”

Alyssa stood, left the laptop on the cot, and joined in counsel until their noses were inches apart from one another.

“They are a wetwork team working for the DOD—”

“Which is your unit,” interrupted Savage.

“I’ll admit, yes. But it appears that the DOD is also working in collusion with the CIA and, most likely, the NSA.”

“And by the way you’re whispering I assume that’s a bad thing?”

“The Tally-Whackers are creatures of a different breed,” he went on. “They’re killing machines who do so upon orders.”

“I know that,” said Savage. “My question is: why are they here? I thought this was a collusive operation between the governments of the United States and Mexico.”

“On the surface,” O’Connell simply said. “But it appears that there’s a subterfuge going on that was beyond my need to know.”

“Such as?”

“Whitaker said some things that made me question his purpose here—his true purpose. I was led to believe by the DOD that the Tally-Whackers were here to run interference should an unknown operative within the scientific team happened to be an operative from an insurgent group.”

“But that’s not the case, is it?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I believe our lives are in the balance,” he told them. “All of us.”

Alyssa said, “But we signed nondisclosure agreements. We were paid.”

“Those nondisclosure forms, Ms. Moore, are as worthless as the paper they’re printed on. They always have been. And I’m sure the money paid directly to your account has vanished without so much as a single fingerprint left behind in cyberspace.”

Savage was an ex-SEAL who realized the need to cover one’s tracks. “There was an employee of ours,” he said. “Jennifer DeNardo, the secretary who let you in.”

O’Connell sighed, the regret genuine. “I’m afraid that Ms. DeNardo, your secretary, met with a terrible accident,” he told them. “I’m afraid that Ms. DeNardo and her family—”

Alyssa barked a cry and fell into Savage’s embrace.

“I’m afraid they met with a terrible end,” he finished.

Savage did all he could to keep from going after O’Connell. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“I knew that Ms. DeNardo was dead. But I didn’t know that she was to become a tool to be sanitized after I contacted you. When I spoke to you, Ms. Moore, the government’s offer was legitimate, I assure you.”

“So what happened?” she asked.

“It appears that my superior answers to another superior and so forth up the chain.”

“You’re talking the president of the United States?”

“No, Mr. Savage. I’m not. I’m talking about those who truly hold the scepter of rule in this country. I’m talking about the leaders of the CIA and NSA. Of course, they answer to the president because that’s what’s expected of them, that’s their role. But the information they hand him is gravely reduced, just enough to whet his appetite. In the end, however, it comes down to two things: to maintain absolute power and to keep this nation safe. Everything and everyone else is expendable.”

“Why are you telling us this?”

“I believe, Mr. Savage, after speaking with Captain Whitaker, that I may have become one of the expendable. Even as a member of the DOD.” He waved his hand to indicate the ship in general. “This ship, what’s inside it, has a power-altering secret. It’s one that’ll keep the U.S. on top for years to come. No one—not Russia, not China, not the Middle East, no one—will be able to compete with us.”  He turned to Alyssa. “It’s my belief, should Ms. Moore find a way to open the gateway to this ship’s information highway, that Whitaker and his team will be galvanized to download the intel and execute everyone on board until there is no one left. Of course they’ll make it appear to look like an accident so that the Mexican government will be forced to believe that no intelligence was downloaded, the information lost during the turmoil. But we both know that Whitaker will have possession of it and pass it off to his handler, which is McCord.”

“But what about the scientists aboard this ship, the biophysicists and the biotechnologists, people who are only concerned about those things being held inside those chambers.”

“They’re props, Mr. Savage. Expendable . . . props. A cast of characters to make the Mexican government believe that there is no other purpose beyond our hidden agenda, which is to download the wisdom of this ship and to walk away with it solely. Those creatures are not even an interest to our people.”

“And you knew about this?”

“Some. But after reading into Whitaker’s comments, I believe this to be the most likely scenario.” Then after a brief hesitation: “They’re here to kill, Mr. Savage, clear and simple. And they’re here to kill us all the moment Ms. Moore opens that gateway.”

Alyssa turned to John. She had found the key that would open the door to the ship’s archives. “I can’t give him that information,” she said.  

“What information?” O’Connell asked.

She looked at him. “I found it,” she told him. “I found a way to access the data.”

O’Connell’s face dropped. It wasn’t news he wanted to hear. “Destroy it,” he simply said. “Destroy that data before Whitaker gets his hand on it.”

“Too late.”

Those holding counsel turned to see Whitaker standing by the cot with the laptop in his hand. He was flanked by two teammates in full gear and weaponry. Holding up the laptop, Whitaker wiggled it in display to show them that he now had possession of the key to intergalactic secrets. With a smile that was as broad and beaming as the Cheshire cat, he said, “Too . . . late.”

At that moment O’Connell’s shoulders slumped to the crookedness of an Indian’s bow. Somehow he knew his life was over.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Whitaker handed the laptop to a soldier on his left, a big guy who went by the moniker of Goliath, and lived up to the very design of his name. He stood six foot seven with the composite of his armor customized to fit his broad shoulders and chest. On his six-pack abdominal plate was the faded image of the Tally-Whacker skull and crossing blades.

“Too late,” Whitaker stated. “Now, if you’ll be so kind to follow me.”

“To where?” asked Savage.

Whitaker pointed to the laptop. “We’re going to take this key here,” he said, “and unlock the door.”

“Yeah, well, let me tell you something right now, Whitaker,” said Alyssa. “If you think that I’m going to help you from this moment on, then you’re sadly mistaken.”

 “Oh, but I think you will, Ms. Moore. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll do everything I ask of you.” Whitaker clicked on the laser sight of his assault weapon, raised the barrel, and played the red dot of the sight by bouncing the laser’s point from one person to the next in play, the dot going from chest to chest to chest. “No doubt in my mind at all.”

Alyssa puffed her chest out to contest him. But Savage held her back. He could see that she was becoming heated and going into spitfire mode, the Y-vein against her forehead more pronounced, and throbbing.

Honey!

“No I won’t,” she stated adamantly.

“Ms. Moore, your boyfriend knows who we are and what we’re capable of.” Then: “Isn’t that right, Mr. Savage?”

To Alyssa: “Honey, please.”

She tried to break free of John’s grasp as she addressed Whitaker harshly. “You think you’re in charge because you hold a weapon?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“I know for a fact that you can’t do anything without me. And without me, you have nothing.”

“You think I’m a novice to the game, Ms. Moore? Is that what you think?” In quick and fluid motion Whitaker pointed the barrel of his weapon, drew to a point on O’Connell’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The weapon’s suppressor sounded off like a loud spit as the bullet entered and exited the man’s body, the exit wound blooming like the petals of a rose as O’Connell went to a bended knee and grimaced as he placed a hand over the entry point, blood seeping steadily through the gaps of his clenching fingers. To his credit he didn’t cry out, which earned a measure of respect from Whitaker.

Alyssa suddenly appeared stunned, her mind processing Whitaker’s sudden and brutal act.

“You will cooperate, Ms. Moore. And just like Mr. O’Connell informed you, everyone on this ship is expendable. And as long as I hold this laptop, I do mean everyone. Secondly, he was right when he told you that the scientists—the biophysicists, the bio-whatevers—are nothing more than props. If you do not cooperate, Ms. Moore, if you battle me all the way, then I will place a scientist at your feet with the barrel of my gun to their head and pull the trigger. Whether they live or die is up to you. You cooperate, they live. If you don’t, then their lives will certainly bleed out at your feet.” He centered the red dot to the crown of O’Connell’s head. “So we’ll start right now,” he said evenly. “Ultimately, Ms. Moore, it’s your choice. You now have five seconds to make a decision . . . Four.”

She looked at John.

“Three.”

And knew she had no other choice.

“Two.”

Reason told her they were all going to die in the end anyway.

“One.”

But to be the decision maker on whether someone lived or died was more than she could tolerate. “I’ll do it.”

He lowered his weapon. “Of course you will.”

Savage aided O’Connell to his feet. The man continued to grimace against the pain.

“Ms. Moore, there was always a hidden agenda attached to this mission. It’s unfortunate that you and Mr. Savage happen to be a part of a much greater cause.”

“So now we’re expendable? Like O’Connell?”

“O’Connell knew the potential stakes involved with his employment the moment he engaged himself with the DOD’s deep cover unit. In fact, Mr. O’Connell has sanctioned the assassinations of several of his own to cover up for the greater good. Only this time it’s his turn. Deep cover has to show the Mexican government that we lost the man in charge of gathering data. And with him lost . . . along with the intel, which will be in my possession.”

O’Connell moaned. Droplets of blood were pooling in the space between his feet.

“He needs help,” she stated.

Whitaker leaned forward. “Well, I’m afraid he’s not gonna get it.”

“Then he’ll bleed out,” said Savage.

“Then he bleeds out.” Whitaker held his gaze for a long moment, as if in challenge, before falling back into rank with his two commandos, Goliath and Maestro. Then, to Goliath:  “Get them to the Master Station,” he told him. “I need to contact Central.”

Goliath shot him a thumbs-up. “Yeah, boss.”  

Whitaker turned to Alyssa. “My men will take you to the ship’s Master Station,” he said coolly, “to a master console we believe to be the mind of this ship, or what’s left of it anyway. If what you discovered is the key that opens the archives, then you’ll be able to open it from there. But keep in mind: if you delay or drag things out unnecessarily—” He allowed the red dot of his laser sight to settle on Savage’s chest, at the point above his heart. “I guarantee you, Ms. Moore, that you will not like my response. Nor will Mr. Savage.”

“We’ll do anything you want,” said Savage, “as long as you don’t hurt anyone else to prove your point.”

“You have my word,” he told him. “As a soldier.”

Savage winced at that statement. A SEAL would never compromise his morals for a hidden agenda at the cost of innocent lives.
Never!

But a Tally-Whacker.

They had no morals
.

Whitaker gave his men a series of hand signals, galvanizing them. Maestro, an African-American who looked to be lean and angular with strong dimensions, poised his weapon so that it was leveled to kill. “Savage, you and your boyfriend O’Connell can take point.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Onward and downward,” he said, pointing to the aft of the ship’s remnant with a quick indication of his chin. “Ms. Moore will follow.”

Savage took a steady look at Maestro’s weapon. He had been in situations like this before, most recently in Eden with the likes of Obsidian Hall and his team of mercenaries. But this group was different, a step up from Hall’s team. These people were skilled to never fall into complacency or to expect the unexpected, since the unexpected should never happen.

Maestro, however, could see Savage’s thought processes at work, could see that he was trying to figure something out. More so, he was watching Savage’s every move, spying the slightest tic or awkward motion, looking for anything that would betray the SEAL’s intentions. He raised his weapon until Savage could see the open mouth of the barrel. “Move, Savage. And don’t even think beyond the moment.”