Текст книги "Leviathan"

Автор книги: David Lynn Golemon

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

THE GOLD CITY PAWNSHOP,

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

The old man went unnoticed at the city bus stop for the hour he had been sitting. His aluminum walker was perched in front of him–just an old man resting his aged body.

His keen eyes were watching the shop across the street. He had thus far not recognized one employee at the Gold City Pawnshop. The heat was almost intolerable, but the man sat and acted as though the sun were a blessing.

Suddenly his eyes picked up something inside the shop that made him move his head so his vision could pass across the plate-glass window in the front of the store. He coughed as he finally recognized a familiar face. He had run into this man on more than one occasion in the past, and knew him to be a favorite of his superior officers. His computerlike memory flashed back to two years before in the Arizona desert, and then again last year in the heat of the Amazon. He became satisfied as the black man's name came to mind: Mendenhall–Staff Sergeant Mendenhall. It was comforting knowing that certain things had not changed in the year he had been ... away.

The old man rose clumsily to his feet and used the aluminum walker, leaning heavily upon it as he slowly crossed the busy street. A car honked and swerved to the other lane, but the old man was intent on the pawnshop in front of him. The black man inside looked up at the sound of the horn, and he quickly moved to open the door.

Second Lieutenant Will Mendenhall held the door for the man, who nodded his head in thanks. The old man had not known the former sergeant had received his second lieutenant's bar after the Amazon mission.

"Car almost got ya there," Will said as he quickly let the door close behind the man and looked at his watch. He could see the deeply etched wrinkles and figured the old gentleman was at least eighty years old. His white moustache was well trimmed, and for someone his age he had expressive blue eyes.

"I wanted to throw my walker at the smart-ass bastard, but then what would I have done?"

"Yeah, wouldn't have blamed you, people around here are in a hurry to get to nowhere," Will commented. "Well, what can I help you with?"

The old man raised his right liver-spotted hand off the walker in a mock surrender.

"Son, you have me. I ... I just wanted to feel this air-conditioning for a moment before I head back out to that damn bus stop. Missed the last one–hell, I fell right to sleep."

Mendenhall smiled and nodded his head, "You bet. If you want there's a seat up by the counter." He looked at his watch again, knowing that Captain Everett had called him five minutes ago and ordered him off gate 2 duties. "Right now I have to clock out and get out of here."

"I thank you, but right here's fine with me. The air is cool and I can see that damn bus comin' through the window, but thanks anyway, son."

Will was just turning away when the old man's other hand slipped from the walker and he started to fall. Will reached out quickly and caught the man, who was far heavier than he looked.

"Whoa, you okay?" he asked, stabilizing the man.

The old man reached out, grabbed Mendenhall's forearm, and expertly placed the tracking device, which was no larger than a microbe and was injected by what seemed to be just a jagged piece of the old man's ring. Mendenhall felt the jab and reacted with a hiss.

"Oh, my ... oh ... I'm sorry. This old wedding band's seen better days." The man finally grabbed hold of the handles to his walker as Will rubbed the underside of his forearm. "Wife's been dead for the better part of eleven years now; just been too lazy to take the ragged thing off." He reached into his pant pocket and drew out a handkerchief. "Got a little scratch there, better wipe it clean."

Mendenhall held up his hand. "Nah, it's all right, I'll put a Band-Aid on it when I go in the back. You take it easy now. If you need a hand getting back across the street, you ask the clerk at the counter, and he'll get you there."

"I'm much obliged, son, much obliged, but look here, there's that damn bus now." He smiled and made for the door. Will shook his head and held it open for him again. He waved as the old man slowly made his way to the street, then, looking both ways, went across.

Mendenhall rubbed the scratch and watched as the old man waved, wobbled once more, and then smiled as the bus doors opened. Will turned away and went through the back, or gate 2 as it was known, and into the underground maze that led to the top-secret Event Group.

The old man sat at the rear of the bus where there were no riders, leaning the walker in the aisle as he sat heavily into the large backseat. He chanced a last look out of the tinted bus window and watched the Gold City Pawnshop slide past. His eyes narrowed as he thought of the black man, knowing that standing that close to him would have made his death that much more unexpected and pleasurable. However, the man wanted Mendenhall together with the other members of the Event Group, so they would meet their fate at the same time. They would meet his wrath, his vengeance.

The man reached up and peeled the gray moustache from his upper lip and pulled the grey wig from his head, and then pulled out a bottle of aloe lotion and squeezed in into his hand. He slowly rubbed it into the skin of his face, loosening the glue he had used to create the realistic-looking wrinkles and removing the makeup-induced liver spots.

When he felt his face was clean, he watched the casinos on the strip slide by, and as he did, Colonel Henri Farbeaux, an archenemy of the Event Group, missing for the past year, caught sight of his own reflection in the window, a face that now held little humanity. Like everything else, that had been lost in the Amazon Basin well over a year before.

Farbeaux had lost his wife Danielle while he himself, against every natural instinct he had, helped the Event Group save the lives of young students on an expedition to the gold mine El Dorado. He lived because of a moment of weakness brought on by Colonel Jack Collins and his heroics in saving the group. He had assisted Collins, and paid for this weakness with the loss of his wife.

Yes, Colonel Henri Farbeaux needed to seek what he longed for in the last year–vengeance against the men and women who had cost him everything, Danielle and his faith in himself. Jack Collins and the rest of his people would learn that Henri Farbeaux was here, and those responsible for his thinking he was human would die.

He spread his hand out on the window and totally blotted out his image.

The room was cast in total darkness. The man sitting upon the bed rubbed the area around his wrist where the handcuff chafed his skin. His thoughts were on removing that handcuff chained to the railing of the bed and ending on his right wrist. He couldn't swear to it, but he thought he knew how to get the restraint off of his wrist. How he would know this was beyond him. The elderly man, his doctor he assumed, had said that his memory would be shaky for a day or so after waking, but to think he had a memory of how to escape handcuffs was worrisome and problematic. Was he a criminal? Was that why he would know? In addition, he had seen several people, men and women, enter his darkened room to check on him and bring him meals. Upon study, he had decided that he could handle them physically as well.

The man leaned back against the headboard of the steel bed. He was thinking about what he could remember. Only his death came to mind. A strange thought to say the least, only because the answer was right in front of him, as he was obviously not dead.

Through the wall and steel at his back, he was feeling movement. He knew this because he had a keen sense in his stomach that said he was moving. Every now and then, he had noticed the pitcher of water on his nightstand sway, indicating that whatever transport he was on was turning. Therefore, what little memory he had said he was on a ship.

The door opened. He shielded his eyes with his free hand as someone, or was it two people, stepped into the room. They quickly closed the door, shutting out the lights from a hallway beyond. The man heard shuffling, and as the dim light of a desk lamp came on, he saw the old man, the doctor, but he felt a presence in the back of the room. This person stood by the door and was watching him. He knew it, felt it.

"Well, my friend, it's time for you to leave us," the doctor said with a half-smile.

"Who are you?" the man asked, making no move to sit up.

The doctor laughed. It was a mournful little chuckle that wasn't mirth, but a sad sound.

"I apologize, but aren't you more concerned on just who it is youare?"

"I know that will come soon enough, but if I'm leaving you, I would like to know who you are."

"We're friends. Will that satisfy you for the moment?" the voice said from the darkness. "The doctor informs me that as soon as he triggers your memory with your name, it will all come back to you."

The man tried to peer into the inky blackness beyond the foot of his bed. He could barely see the darker shape as it stood against the far wall. Then the voice emerged again from the darkness.

"You are going home. I just wanted to tell you before your departure that I am a great admirer of yours, and of the men and women for whom you work." The female voice hesitated, then continued. "When you get home, tell your people you were treated well and that you were dealt with respectfully. In a few months, my wish is that I may still be able to call you friend. The doctor will now explain where you are, and who you are."

The door opened. The bright light flared once more, and the woman left the room. The man could see she was tall, at the very least six feet; she was dressed in dark green and her hair was jet-black, but that was all he saw before the door closed.

"It's not often that she would grace someone she doesn't know by speaking to them. But then again, I should have thought she would. I'll tell you this much, she visited you at least three times a day. It was quite unsettling to my sleep cycle having her pop in at ungodly hours," the doctor said in an English accent.

"Who is she?" the man asked, finally sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The doctor laughed again; this time the humor came through his hardy sound.

"Who she is, at the very least, is a loaded question. Suffice it to say she springs from a family of geniuses and is, by leaps and bounds, the most brilliant human being the world has ever known. Just leave it at that." The doctor shook his head but kept the smile on his face. "When all is said and done, go away with the knowledge that she respects you. That is something you will be able to tell your grandchildren. She spoke to you and she liked you; not many can say that."

"Am I supposed to be honored?" the man asked, clinking the chain that held the handcuff in place.

"Oh, that. It was for your own protection, until your memory cleared up. We didn't exactly know how you would react when you awoke. Your ... how should I put this? Ah, your preeminence in the art of death precedes you, sir."

A spark of memory flared in the man's mind. He tilted his head and looked at the doctor.

"That's right; it's teasing you right now, isn't it?" The doctor stood, went to a closet, and pulled open a door. He reached in and removed an item from inside, then closed the door and turned. He held up a small silver key, obviously one that would unlock the handcuff. As the man examined the doctor, he saw that the white lab coat had a patch on the left-hand breast pocket. It was an L, with what looked to be two dolphins on either side, making it look like [?] L[?]. Beneath that was the symbol for a medical doctor, the twin-snake motif.

"Now, would you like to be filled in on who you are and what is expected of you? If you behave, I think we can dispense with the security measures." He went to the bed and tapped the handcuff.

5

MONTAUK POINT,

LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK

Carl Everett stood just inside of the parking area of one of the most famous lighthouses in the United States. Jason Ryan and Will Mendenhall stood on either side of him, waiting for the mysterious rendezvous to take place. Behind them sat a stretch limousine with its motor off and headlights on. They had been at the point for thirty minutes watching as the fog became thicker each passing moment they waited. The only sound that was audible through the thickening mist was the seaboard dinghies with their forlorn toll.

"Goddamn FBI, how can they plan for an entity they know absolutely nothing about?" Everett mumbled, his eyes never leaving the shoreline.

"Director Compton should have acted without presidential knowledge," Ryan said, looking to his right at the closest FBI HRT member laying low underneath the cover of a large bush. Hostage Rescue out of Quantico had been called in for the ambush, and several of them were half-buried in the rough and rocky sands of the point.

Everett turned, chanced a look at the naval lieutenant, and sniffed.

"Some people like to go by the book, Mr. Ryan, even if you don't."

"I've known Compton to toss that book away from time to time," Ryan countered.

Everett didn't respond to the challenge. He just pursed his lips and then turned up his coat collar.

Mendenhall looked at his watch, then turned around and looked at the limousine that was minus one important element inside its interior: Director Compton. He also tried his best to peer through the swirling fog beyond, feeling uncomfortable. Absentmindedly he rubbed the scratch on his arm, wondering if he was going to get some sort of infection from that old man's ring this afternoon.

"Okay, what's on your mind, Will?" Carl asked, noticing it was the tenth time Mendenhall had turned to look to the rear.

"I can't shake this feeling that someone is out there, behind us. I've had it ever since we got here."

"There arepeople behind us; it's the FBI, and they have one hell of a lot of guns," Ryan said.

"I'm beginning to think Jack taught you something after all, Lieutenant. I'll let you in on a little secret. I have the same feeling." Carl turned and looked at Jason Ryan. "And it's not the FBI. Whoever it is, is far better at hiding than they are."

Ryan turned and looked at Mendenhall, who raised his brows as if to say I told you.

"Well," Ryan said, also looking at his watch, "our ecoterrorists are officially late–it's now oh-two-hundred and–"

Suddenly a larger-than-normal breaker crashed onto the beach and rocks, hard enough that seawater washed over into the parking lot and covered their feet. The sea retreated, and the breakers went back to their normal surge.

"You guys are navy boys. Is that normal? Like, was it a tidal surge, or maybe a rogue wave or something?" Mendenhall asked as he shook water off his shoes.

"You've been watching far too much Discovery Channel, Will," Everett said as he watched the fog in front of him, knowing they were no longer waiting for their company.

Everett reached behind him and placed both hands underneath the back of his nylon coat. He felt the nine-millimeter automatic, chambered a round, clicked off the safety, then brought his hands free of his coat. Ryan and Mendenhall mimicked his action.

Carl switched on the voice-activated microphone attached to his wristwatch.

"All units and positions, we have movement out at sea. Stand by. We don't know anything definite with this fog, so hold station."

The fog eddied and swirled around them. Carl chanced a glance at the limousine parked fifteen feet away. The fog should have been sufficient to cover the fact that Niles Compton was over two thousand miles away in Nevada.

"Ahoy the beach!"

The voice came from a loudspeaker. Everett couldn't track it because of the denseness of the fog.

"All units, we have voice contact only. Remain in place," Everett said. He took three steps toward the water, puting one hand behind him to stay Ryan and Mendenhall. "Ahoy the boat. I am Captain Everett, United States Navy. Identify yourself."

"Advance to the water's edge with Dr. Niles Compton, please."

Everett turned and looked back at Jason and Will for a moment, then turned back toward the fog-shrouded sea.

"That's not the way this game is going to be played. Dr. Compton keeps his station behind me until such a time as I'm satisfied with the situation and his safety."

"I assure you, Captain, we do not play games. Nonetheless, upon your word as a United States naval officer, we will approach the beach."

Everett hoped the FBI special agent in charge heard the response from their guests. Carl could feel the fifteen weapons of the hidden agents ready to open up.

The sound of water being pushed aside came to his ears as he finally caught sight of the boat that had lain offshore. It was like a Zodiac rubber craft, but far larger. As it approached, he could see only two figures inside. It grounded almost noiselessly onto the rocks, narrowly missing two large boulders that jutted out from the shore. Everett heard no engine sounds, so that meant they were using a form of propulsion that was silenced to a large degree. A large man quickly stepped easily over the gunnels of the Zodiac and stood looking at the three men.

"Captain, I am here to exchange one of your people for Dr. Compton. Would you present him, please?"

The captain saw the man was wearing a coverall, not unlike those worn by military personnel in the Event Group complex. There were patches arrayed on the long sleeve and shoulder and some sort of rank was evident on his collar, but that was as far as his vision would allow.

"The name of your vessel, sir," Everett called out.

The man lowered his head and then shook it. "That is not for me to answer, Captain, but suffice it to say you will learn all there is to learn upon Dr. Compton's return to your complex under the desert."

"I guess they're well informed," Ryan whispered to Mendenhall.

"Now, Dr. Compton, please, Captain."

Everett knew he had to make his play. The sniper in the lighthouse would take the man standing next to the boat, hopefully wounding him, and a two-man team in the water would take the hostage. There was only one man, so taking a prisoner was no longer an option. He felt as if he were betraying a trust, but a presidential order had been given, and no matter the distaste, it was now his duty. He raised his wrist to his mouth.

"Team one, execute." He closed his eyes, expecting the lone shot that would signal the rescue attempt.

The man in front of him laughed. He reached into the boat, pulled the seated man to his feet, and helped him over the gunnels of the boat.

Everett pulled his weapon and pointed it at the man. Will and Ryan followed suit. The effect of having three guns on him seemed lost on the large man, who looked at the three Event Group security men but continued to assist the second man to shore.

"Perhaps you better signal the HRT unit again, Captain."

Everett knew that although the man stated his faction didn't play games, he was being toyed with nonetheless. He lowered his weapon.

A whistle sounded in the fog from behind them. Then, from high above them, something whistled down from the top of the lighthouse. It smacked into the sand at Everett's feet. He stepped back when he saw it was upper torso body armor. He knew it to be the style he had seen the HRT suiting up with earlier.

Ryan turned around when a noise sounded behind him. Immediately, several red dots sprinkled his bulletproof vest. As he looked up, he saw black shapes coming through the swirling fog, and each carried a laser-sighted weapon. Some were aimed at Ryan, but the bulk were centered on Mendenhall and Everett's backs.

"Captain, we have company."

Without turning around, Everett placed his nine-millimeter into his waistband and pulled the coat over it, knowing they themselves had been ambushed instead of the other way around. He heard the sound of the fourteen ground members of the HRT unit as fifty men in black wet-suits pushed them roughly from the fog.

"Disappointing, but expected, Captain." The man looked around as the fog started to lift around them. "The FBI unit are all intact. A little embarrassed, maybe, but that will pass eventually."

"You didn't really expect us to treat whoever you are as honorable people, did you? Your actions against helpless vessels and shore installations don't speak well for you."

"We understand you were under orders from your president, Captain. We knew he wouldn't chance losing Dr. Compton. As for the attacks, those were acts of war, sir; you of all people should know the difference. Now, you have played out a losing hand with your deceptive actions regarding the FBI."

"The president was acting in the best interest of the country, and would–"

"However," the man said, cutting Everett's point off. "We will still keep our end of the bargain and release your Group member, to once again show good faith. Do not disappoint my captain again, or the American people will suffer beyond measure. Please, I implore you; have Dr. Compton, and any member of his department he wishes to accompany him, at McCarran airport in Las Vegas in three days. His transport will be at charter gate five at ten A.M. Heed this warning, Captain."

Suddenly the man released the hostage and returned to his boat. He and it backed away silently into the fog until once more the mist enveloped them.

The hooded man collapsed to his knees into the water; the small breakers started lapping at his thighs. Carl turned quickly and saw the wetsuited assault team had also vanished. The HRT unit was still there, still tied, and kneeling in the sand.

Everett turned and ran to the water to help the unknown person to his feet. Carl could feel the bulk under the black coverall and knew it to be a man. The hostage had a black hood on his head, and seemed weak as he struggled to stay upright. Everett hustled the man to the black limousine, removed the hood, and without looking any further, shoved him quickly into the backseat, telling the driver, Staff Sergeant Rodriguez, to watch him. He then turned and ran to assist the agents.

As Everett was cutting the plastic wire-tie off one of them, he turned and looked back at the fog-shrouded sea. With the exception of the breakers, all was quiet.

As he turned back to the task of releasing the agents, Everett heard a loud explosion of water. When he turned toward the sound, his eyes widened. He saw the topmost section of a submarine's stern fins sinking beneath the waves through the swirling remnants of fog. He straightened as he saw the three-story-high, sharklike rudders vanish, and then watched in awe as the amazing craft displaced several thousand tons of water on its way back out to sea.

"That son of bitch must have been in place long before we arrived." Ryan didn't look up as he freed the last of the agents, and didn't see the nightmare vision Everett had seen even as another giant surge of water pushed up on shore.

Everett stood and started for the car when he saw a small man in an FBI windbreaker come toward him. At his side was the sniper from the lighthouse. He recognized the agent in charge.

"I wasn't briefed on just who you people are, but your little meeting was compromised, and it had to come from your end. These people knew we would be here. Can you explain that?" The agent made the mistake of grabbing Carl's arm.

Ryan and Mendenhall reacted immediately, pulling the agent away before the captain had a chance to react. They had seen Carl confronted before, and knew that sometimes he acted first and then thought about a situation later.

"Get your hands off of me. I want an answer," the agent said, looking from Will to Ryan.

"Look, we don't know if the meet was compromised; they may have just had the game rigged from the beginning. They set this spot up, not us," Ryan said as he held the agent back.

"Fucking amateurs," the man said as he shook off Ryan's hands and then turned toward his men.

"He's right; someone told them that the FBI would be here." Everett tried to calm himself. He knew the agent in charge was only mad because his hostage rescue team had been placed in harm's way and left out to dry, just because someone on the Group's end couldn't keep their mouth shut.

"Whoever it is that's screwing with us almost cost the lives of a lot of people tonight," Mendenhall said as he watched the angry FBI unit start to assemble and make their way off the beach.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Everett said as he looked one last time back out into the Atlantic, where the vision of what couldn't have been cornered his thoughts.

The three men walked to the limousine and saw that Sergeant Rodriguez was kneeling on the backseat with the door open.

"How's our guest, Sergeant?" Mendenhall asked as they approached.

Rodriguez stepped back out of the car and looked at the three men, shaking his head.

"You're not going to fucking believe this," he said, looking from face to face as he moved out of their way.

Inside the limo, the dome lights were on. A big man sat reposed in the backseat with his head back and his face turned away from them. As Everett stepped up to the open door, he leaned down and touched the man on the leg.

"How are you doing?"

The man slowly turned his head. Everett, who was standing on the balls of his feet, lost his balance as he recognized the face immediately. He had a six-week growth of beard and looked pale in the false light of the car, and his eyes were heavily bloodshot, but Everett would have known this man anywhere, in any condition.

"I'll be damned, you tough-to-kill son of a bitch!"

Ryan and Mendenhall exchanged a look as Everett straightened and then pulled the man from the car and hugged him.

"Jack!"

Carl pushed Colonel Jack Collins at arm's length as Ryan and Mendenhall joined him in a dreamlike sequence that none of them could possibly have ever imagined.

Jack blinked his eyes and tried to focus on the faces in front of him. His hair, although combed straight back, was longer than Collins had ever worn it, but the eyes–those were still the same as they bore first into Everett's and then roamed to Ryan and Will. His lips moved, but no words came.

"Jack!" Carl said, giving Collins's shoulders a small shake until his eyes refocused on the captain's.

"The sea," Jack mumbled as his eyes locked with Carl's, and then the gaze changed and his head looked around him. "They said I was dead." He suddenly looked back at Everett.

"How in the hell is he here?" Will asked, swallowing.

"Goddamn, those people must have been there." Everett turned and looked at Mendenhall. "They must have saved him, pulled him from the water," Everett answered, laughing for the first time in weeks. "Oh no, you're not dead, Jack, you're going home." He tried to turn the colonel toward the open door when Jack pulled his arm free and stared at Everett.

"The sea," he said again, closing his eyes and swaying as Carl reached out and steadied him. Jack opened his eyes when his dizziness passed and focused on the three men once more. His eyes darted back to Everett and narrowed. "Mr.... Everett."

"That's right, Jack. Will and Jason are here, too."

Jack's eyes went to the two men standing beside the captain.

"Will, Ryan ... I tried to hold on ... and I did ..."

"Hold on to what, Colonel?" Mendenhall asked, feeling creepy about this whole thing. It was like conversing with a ghost at the very least.

Jack took a step back until he fell into the limo's rear seat and hung his head. It looked as though he was trying hard to remember something. He slowly looked up at the expectant faces.

"Sarah." That single name coming from his mouth explained all. The three officers exchanged a look. "She's dead, someone shot her?" he asked, looking like his world was gone, as if he had failed her.

Everett knelt by the open door and placed a hand on Collins's leg. He tried to smile but failed.

"Let's go home, buddy. We need to explain a few things to you."