Threshold (10 page)

TWELVE

Uluru, Australia

AS KNIGHT AND
Bishop arrived at the mouth of the valley, the sun had just begun peeking up over the horizon. The sandstone surface of Ayers Rock was well known for its ability, some believed supernatural ability, to change colors under certain conditions, most frequently at sunset and sunrise. Removing their night vision goggles, the pair saw the stone was beginning to glow red.

They paused at the valley opening, hoping to hear or see something that would give some hint about what they were about to run into. But only minutes after the attack had begun, the valley had fallen silent.

Bishop sniffed. “I smell the fire.”

Knight pointed to a wisp of smoke filtering up over the red rock. “I think it’s been put out.”

Sudden movement brought their weapons to the ready. Both men had opted for small, light UMP submachine guns over their usual specialized weapons. Without the rest of the team in tow, Knight’s sniper rifle and Bishop’s machine gun made a bad combination for standard combat. With fingers on triggers, both men nearly shot the small black-flanked rock wallaby as it hopped from the valley, its eyes wide. The small marsupial paid no attention to the two men it would normally flee from, hopping between them and into the desert beyond.

Knight took a step forward, but was stopped by Deep Blue’s voice. “Knight, Bishop, you read?”

“Go ahead,” Knight said.

“I’m patching Queen through.”

“Knight, Bish…” Queen was uncharacteristically out of breath. “We arrived too late. Our targets are down.”

Knight and Bishop both keenly remembered the strength and ferocity of the Neanderthal hybrids and their mothers. “Seriously?” Knight said, keeping his eyes on the valley ahead.

“Looks like they didn’t stand a chance. Listen, just—” A muffled boom sounded over the headset, followed by Queen’s voice saying Rook’s name. Then she was gone.

“I’ll try to get her back,” Deep Blue said. “The valley is in shadow with the sun rising so we’re not seeing anything on the visual scan.”

“Infrared?” Bishop asked.

“That’s the thing,” Deep Blue said. “I’m not seeing anything other than embers from the fire. Either everyone is gone, or…”

“Everyone is dead,” Knight finished. “We’re on it.”

Knight and Bishop crept into the valley, weapons ready. They focused on every crag and shadow where someone could hide. A series of petroglyphs caught Knight’s eye. He looked at the ancient pictographs. Some depicted ancient peoples and animals and others were simple swirling circles that he knew represented a watering hole. His eyes followed a streak of black algae that had grown in a water channel. Halfway up, the dry black surface became wet.

And red.

A small trickle of thick blood rolled down the stone and dripped at his feet. “Bishop!”

He followed the blood trail up and found a dark-skinned arm protruding from beneath a large boulder. It appeared the boulder had fallen on the person, but there were no cliff faces above it.

Bishop stepped farther into the valley as Knight continued looking at the crushed arm. “That stone must weigh a ton, Bishop. How—”

“Knight.” Bishop’s voice was quiet, but full of dread, which was an unusual inflection for a man who could not be injured or killed short of decapitation. Sensing the danger had passed, he lowered his weapon.

Knight joined him at a curve in the valley, which opened up into a large atrium. The back wall, covered in petroglyphs, rose up and hung over a large watering hole. It was fringed by adder’s-tongue ferns and mulga and bloodwood trees. A small clearing held a circle of crushed, smoldering ash. But none of this held their attention. It was impossible to see the beauty of the place amid the sheer carnage.

Counting the bodies was impossible because many were torn apart and intermingled. Several were squashed, like roadkill—bodies bent, faces twisted in disgust, entrails burst from stomachs. Others lay beneath massive stones, as though they’d fallen from the sky. And one man hung upside down from a tree, twenty feet above the valley floor, his legs bent at impossible angles. Several piles of sandstone dust, now scattering in the breeze rolling down Ayers Rock, were spread among the dead.

The attack had only lasted a few minutes, but had been brutally efficient, leaving only a single wallaby as an eyewitness.

Bishop bent down to a severed head and rolled it over with the barrel of his UMP. Ignoring the look of horror frozen in the man’s eyes, he focused on the Aboriginal facial features—pronounced brow, wide nose, dark skin. “These were our targets.”

Knight crouched by a nearby body, possibly the one belonging to the head Bishop was inspecting. A pouch tied around the waist contained a wallet. Knight opened it and found a photo I.D. The name read: Balun Ammaroo. But the man in the photo wore a business suit and tie. “They were reenacting all this. Connecting with their heritage or something.” Knight toggled on his throat mic. “Deep Blue, this is Knight.”

“What’s your status.”

“We were too late. Everyone here is dead. Same M.O. as the Siletz Reservation.”

The line was silent for a moment, then Deep Blue spoke again. “Take pictures of everything. Collect any evidence you think is important. When you’re done we’ll call in an anonymous tip so the bodies can be collected.

“Copy that,” Knight said, “and Blue…”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve seen some crazy things in the past few years…” Knight looked around the clearing imagining how long it would take the Neanderthals or even the Hydra to inflict this many casualties, this brutally, and then disappear without a trace. He thought back on the large shadow he’d seen in the valley and shook his head. “And personally, I’d hoped all that was behind us, that some kind of normalcy had been restored to the world. But that’s one wish that won’t be coming true anytime soon. We’re chest deep in it again.”

THIRTEEN

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

ALEMAN RAN DOWN
the staircase with Fiona over his shoulder and his handgun in his hand. Surrounded by brick and concrete, the sounds of the battle raging outside were dulled, but he could still feel the shaking of explosions in his feet. The second-floor door sprang open as three Army Rangers entered the stairwell, ready for battle. Aleman recognized them and, outranking them, commandeered their protective services.

“They’re after the girl,” Aleman shouted. “Do not leave my side.”

The front man nodded. They had all been briefed on Fiona and knew she was under the military’s protection, though they did not know why. “Where to, sir?”

Aleman had been wracking his brain on this point. They had never assumed someone would actually infiltrate Fort Bragg and hadn’t come up with a fail-safe plan for such an event. They needed to be safe, but more than anything, they needed to hide. Someplace dark. Someplace secure. “Nearest fallout shelter.”

The three Rangers took the lead and descended the staircase first. They entered the short hallway at the end of the stairwell and made for the lobby. At the lobby door, the last of the three Rangers held out an open hand to Aleman.

He stopped in the doorway and waited for the men to give the all clear. One man was about to, but his voice caught in his throat as his eyes grew wide. Something outside the lobby had caught his attention, and there was no time to shout a warning.

The lobby imploded as a large projectile burst through one side, plowed over the three Rangers, and exploded out the other side of the building. Fiona screamed as Aleman turned and shielded her small body with his own, taking a chunk of concrete to the back of his head. He fell to one knee, felt his mind swirl, and then forced himself back onto his feet, ignoring the warm trickle of blood dripping down the back of his neck.

He ran into the destroyed lobby, holstered his handgun, and picked up one of the dead Ranger’s MP5 submachine gun.

Fiona’s second scream was directed straight in his ear and caused him to drop her. She landed on her slippered feet and tugged on his shirt frantically. She pointed through the ruined lobby wall, where the large projectile had exited. “Lew!”

He turned and looked through the opening. A large gray mass, perhaps one hundred feet away, was turning around.

It heard her scream,
Aleman thought.

Then it charged. In the brief moment he took to look, Aleman saw that it ran on four legs and vaguely resembled a rhino, though perhaps twice the size.

Hoisting Fiona up again, Aleman ran out the opposite side of the building and into the parking lot. A garage full of Hummers ready to go stood on the far side of the parking lot. Once mobile in one of the tough vehicles, he would make his way to the fallout shelter—after losing the behemoth, which he could hear gaining on them.

Running down a thin alley of parked cars, Aleman did his best to keep their heads low. Bullets were flying. Buildings were exploding. Bragg had become a war zone. As he exited the sea of cars Aleman turned to look for the large hunter. He saw nothing. But it was there. A car on the far side of the lot exploded into the air. Moments later a second car followed. It was charging straight through the lot, flinging cars out of its way.

Aleman took hold of the garage doorknob and turned. But it didn’t budge. “Damnit!” He put Fiona down and kicked the door. Once. Twice. His head began to spin as blood seeped from the back of his skull. Knowing he wouldn’t get through the door in time, he turned to face the creature.

As cars in the middle of the lot were flung skyward, he turned to Fiona. “We’re going to dive out of the way at the last second, okay?”

She nodded and tried to look tough, despite her shaking lower lip.

“We’ll be okay.”

“Don’t die, Lew,” she said with a quivering voice. “Not for real.”

Aleman focused on the giant gray force approaching them and refused to promise something he knew he couldn’t. “Just jump when I say.”

The car at the edge of the parking lot shot into the air, spinning madly as the monster burst free and charged toward them. Aleman only had time to see that the creature looked more like a bull-rhino amalgam with bull horns on top of its head and a third horn rising from its snout. But the rest of the features were dull, as though worn by time. Aleman tried to see more, to get some kind of hint about what this thing was, but his vision was blurring.

Then something amazing happened. A man, dressed head to toe in Special Ops black, charged toward the creature from the side. For a moment Aleman thought it might have been King, but the man was too tall and what he did next, well, not even King could have pulled it off.

The man took the creature by two of its horns and pushed down. The face, if that’s what it could be called, dug into the pavement. The beast’s forward momentum thrust its backside up and it flipped tail over head, landing on its back with a ground-shaking impact.

The man continued toward them without looking back. In his fading vision, Aleman could see the beast trying to right itself. And when it made progress he thought he saw two large shadows descend upon it. But he couldn’t be sure. His attention moved back to the approaching man. Pushing Fiona behind him, he raised the MP5.

“Lew…” Fiona whispered.

The man raised his hands. “There’s no need for that.”

“Just stay back.”

“I can protect the girl.”

Aleman’s aim faltered for just a moment, but it was all the man needed. He stepped forward and twisted the MP5 out of his hands, tossing it to the side. Knowing he was about to fall unconscious, Aleman asked, “Who are you?”

He watched helplessly as the man scooped up Fiona, who had fallen limp, perhaps passed out, and said, “King will know.” He stepped away, and then paused. “I hope he appreciates me breaking my promise.”

With fading vision, Aleman watched the man retreat with Fiona in his arms. His last thought was of King and how the man would react to finding out his foster daughter had been kidnapped.

FOURTEEN

Mount Meru, Vietnam