Desert Assassin (13 page)

“Bill, good news, you and Fowler are in the clear.”

“Thanks, he’ll be glad to hear that. I’ll let him know when he gets back.”

“Where is he?”

“He went back to Albuquerque to take care of some unfinished business that you interrupted the other night.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

“I needed some time alone.”

“Considering what you’ve been through, I understand. This certainly has been a tough stretch for you and I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“General, I’m okay. Just needed a little time to myself. I’m ready to go again if needed.”

“I’m expecting to get some information later today from the team working on Assassin. Stan and Alice are part of that team. As soon as I get it, I’ll let you know.”

“By the way, you owe me $173.14 thus far as promised for expenses incurred at Killer Two’s.”

“Do you have that in writing?”

The five assembled scientists came to the end of a near two hour discussion. Stanton asked, “Do we have a consensus?”

His four colleagues nodded in the affirmative.

“I’ll let the colonel know. Let’s take a break. Plan to be in the conference room A in one hour.”

“What do you think, Alice?” asked Ling as they walked toward the cafeteria.

“I’m still somewhat nervous thinking that we may have proceeded too quickly and missed something, but if Edward believes this is correct, who am I to question him?”

“A damn good biologist.”

“Well, thank you, but you know what I mean. He just may be the best virologist in the country.”

“Remember, we’ve been pressured by Jim to at least supply him with some preliminary data.”

When they entered the conference room, Rappaport was there. He gave them both a smile and a wave as he was talking with Patel.

“We are ready to begin,” announced Stanton.

As soon as they were all seated at the only table in the room, a rectangular solid oak with sixteen leather chairs surrounding it, Rappaport said, “Please keep it simple. The extent of my knowledge of biology comes from Miss Felder’s high school biology class. If I remember correctly, she gave me four consecutive C’s.”

“I seriously doubt that, Colonel,” said Henderson.

“It was revenge for my not ever having expressed an interest in her.”

That brought laughter from the other men at the table and left the lieutenant unable to come up with a response.

“Colonel,” said Stanton, “a virus is a sub-microscopic infectious agent which can only replicate itself inside living cells of a host organism. The immune systems of healthy organisms, whether animal, plant, bacteria or archaea, are usually able to eliminate invading viruses. Vaccines can also be used to destroy certain viruses. As of yet, there are no vaccines which can eliminate viral hepatitis and AIDS. There is an ongoing debate as to whether viruses are a form of life.”

Stanton paused, giving Rappaport an opportunity to ask questions.

“So far, so good.”

“In higher order organisms, a virus is usually confined to the cells of a particular organ or group of similar cells. As far as we have been able to ascertain, every single cell in Assassin played host to a single type of virus, one which undoubtedly is alien to our planet. The virus seems to have been in total control of Assassin, including its ability to replicate body parts from animals such as the mountain lion and the human being, as well as giving Assassin the ability to make copies of it itself. Understand, we are only in the beginning stages of our examination and study.”

Rappaport squeezed the sides of his chin several times with his left hand before saying, “Thank you for keeping this at Biology 101. I think all of you know what my one question is.”

Stanton waited for someone else to answer. When his team members remained quiet, he said, “We don’t know.”

The question, of course, was whether Assassin had replicated itself anytime after it produced the one found dead in the desert.

“Is there any possibility that you will be able to find out?”

Most likely not in the near future, if ever. However, we are all prepared to continue our work for whatever time it takes to try to answer that question and countless others.”

“I will pass that on to the General immediately. Thank you all very much. Your effort is very much appreciated. Do not hesitate to request whatever you need to continue on with your work.”

“Damn, now what?” asked the General after Rappaport relayed what he had been told by Stanton. “I’ll pass this on to Bill and Fowler and ask them to sit tight for a while longer. There would be no sense in sending them back out to look for something which may not exist and, if it does, could be tens or hundreds of miles away by now and could possibly have changed its appearance.”

“And there could be more than one.”

By the time the General called Williams with the latest, Fowler had returned.

“Bill, is Arthur back yet?”

“Yes, and he is as happy as he is exhausted.”

The General went on to explain what Rappaport had relayed to him and then asked if they would both be willing to remain on hold for a few more days.

After speaking briefly with Fowler, Williams said, “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You pony up for Killer Two’s.”

“Put it on my tab.”

“You don’t have one.”

“Thought I did.”

Fowler told Williams he needed to take a nap and to wake him up at seven if they were going to Killer Two’s. If not, he planned to sleep through the night. They pulled into the diner parking lot just before eight.

Before they were able to grab their usual seats at the counter, Killer Two yelled out through the small, square-shaped opening connecting the kitchen to the main area of the diner. “I’ve got something to show you once you finish eating.”

“You got a flying saucer behind this place?” Fowler yelled back.

“Better than that.”

Without being asked, the waitress who the General had befriended during his first visit placed two bottles of Chicken Killer in front of them. “Steaks?” she asked.

“Thank you, yes,” replied Williams.

As soon as the waitress took away their empty plates, Killer Two walked out to the counter and placed a slightly oversized, paperback book on the counter. “My nephew brought it in yesterday for me to keep here. I have another copy at home which I bought when it was printed in 2001. I mailed it to Killer and he signed it and sent it back. Wait until you see the pictures and Killer did it with a twenty dollar camera back when he was wrestling all around the world. In twenty-six years, he did over six thousand matches. That’s over two hundred and thirty a year.”

The book was
Killer Pics,
a collection of 112 photographs made into a book decades after they were taken by Kowalski.

“Who is that on the cover being strangled by Kowalski?” asked Fowler.

“That’s Bruno Sammartino.” Pointing at one of the many photographs on the walls, he excitedly said, “That’s Sammartino.”

The 16 inch by 20 inch photo showed Sammartino hitting Kowalski in the head with a folded wooden chair during a match held at Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox. It was autographed by Sammartino.

“When I first walked in here, Killer, I said to myself, ‘What a great photo.’”

Killer Two, whose shape somewhat resembled a wide bottomed Christmas tree, now lit up like one.

“Where did you get it?” asked Fowler.

Williams thought to himself, “If Fowler isn’t genuinely interested in this stuff, he’s putting on one of the greatest acting jobs of all time.”

“Cost me a fortune. Came with a picture of Sammartino signing it. I keep that picture locked up in my house.”

Fowler continued his questions, “What kind of pictures inside the book?”

“This is what is so great about it. There are pictures of wrestlers like Sammartino and Andre the Giant, but there’s a lot of other great stuff that he took while traveling. I won’t spoil it for you. Why don’t you guys take it with you and bring it back the next time you stop by?”

“Thanks, Killer, I’ll make sure Bill doesn’t damage it.”

“Wise ass,” snapped Williams.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

T
WO EVENINGS LATER,
Williams and Fowler were preparing to return
Killer Pics
when Fowler asked, “You hear that?”

“A chopper. That’s one of Morgan’s.”

“The sound?”

Williams nodded and then raced into his office, grabbed his two 45 ACPs and handed one to Fowler. “Follow me,” he said as he cut the lights in the house. The helicopter landed directly behind the house some two hundred yards into the desert. Williams exited the front door and circled to the back of the garage. With the front of the garage facing the house, both of them had a clear view of the helicopter with the sun having dropped behind the mountains no more than ten minutes earlier.

Five minutes later, a lone figure jumped to the ground and slowly walked toward the house. When it got to within eighty yards, Williams whispered, “It’s Morgan.”

“Let me know when to open fire.”

“You are a piece of work.”

“Only a piece?”

As Morgan continued his slow walk to the house, they could not see any sign of a weapon. Wearing civilian clothes, he stopped twenty yards from the house. Looking at the rear porch, he said in a loud voice, “I’m unarmed and alone.”

Fowler said, “I’m surprised he didn’t say, ‘I come in peace.’”

Williams began to laugh. As he did so, Morgan turned to face them.

Pointing his pistol directly at Morgan, Williams stepped out from behind the garage and, while slowly walking toward him, began to lower the pistol. Fowler followed suit. They stopped five yards from Morgan. Fowler said, “He must have come for the Chicken Killer Ale.”

“I might have known,” said Morgan, “Arthur Fowler.”

Fowler flashed a smile.

“Bill, this is important.”

Williams tilted his head toward the house and starting walking in its direction. Fowler and Morgan followed. Once they passed through the porch into the living room, Fowler looked at Williams, “Take out for three?”

“Steak okay with you, Morgan?” asked Williams.

Surprised, Morgan paused before saying yes.

Williams tossed the Pathfinder keys at Fowler and said, “Thanks, Art. Say hello to Killer.”

“Will do.”

A minute later Williams and Morgan were seated in the living room, each with a glass of scotch in hand. “If only he knew,” thought Williams.

Morgan took his first sip. “Good stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me get right to the point. Since Assassin dematerialized, or whatever the hell it did, two men have disappeared, an illegal, Hector Morales, and a local, Fred Bottomly. Both were last seen in an area roughly twenty miles southwest of where we watched Assassin disappear. In addition another illegal, we think he may have been with Morales, was found wandering in the hills in a state of shock. He was mumbling something about a devil beast with ten legs.”

Williams did his best to show no emotion. If was difficult given that Morgan had just confirmed what the General’s team was trying to figure out – was Assassin able to replicate itself a second time before it was ended?

Morgan waited for Williams to react.

Slowly taking two sips of scotch before speaking, Williams said, “Let me see if I can get the General to join us. You are welcome to stay here. Fowler has the rollaway in my office, you can have the couch. I have spare blankets and a pillow. Give me a few minutes.”

Williams walked out of the house through the front door and continued walking away from the house as he dialed the General’s number. “Morgan is here at my place, alone. Assassin reproduced before I ended him.”

“Son-of-a-bitch! Tell me exactly what he told you.”

Williams repeated what Morgan had said and added, “He doesn’t seem to be aware of what happened to Assassin or that you’ve got the remains.”

“Jim and I will be there mid-morning. Tell him I’m coming, but nothing else.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t give me that sir crap.”

“By the way, Fowler’s getting take out from Killer Two’s, including a steak for Morgan. It’s going on your tab.”

The connection abruptly ended.

“Killer, here’s your book. It’s terrific. When I get back home, I’m going to order a copy.”

“I knew you would like it.”

“Can you put together three steak dinners to go?”

“Sure. Who’s the third one for?”

Fowler slowly scanned the interior of the diner. Then with a completely deadpanned expression and a barely audible voice said, “Bill’s got an alien at the house.”

“The General and Rappaport will be here in the morning. Can’t tell you more than that.”

“Seeing Fowler here helps confirm some of my suspicions.”

“Suspicions backed up by your network?”

“Assassin talk can wait for the General. I appreciate your letting me stay tonight. Let me grab some gear from the copter.”

Following Fowler’s return, much of the conversation centered on what the three had experienced in Uganda. Williams and Fowler called it quits for the night at eleven, leaving Morgan who turned on the lone television in the house.

Ten hours later, the General arrived accompanied by Rappaport and his personal pilot. Williams and Fowler went out to greet them, Morgan remained in the house.

“Let’s take a walk,” said the General. “Maybe we’ll find another meteorite.”

The combination of being a civilian and seemingly having no fear of anything or anyone, including the General, left Fowler free to say whatever he pleased whenever the spirit moved him. “Getting ready for the Comedy Connection, General?”

The General smiled slightly and began walking slowly out into the desert. “We will try to find out what he actually knows, what he wants and what he has to offer. Depending on what he’s willing to offer, or what he can offer, everything we have is on the table except for any mention of the scotch.” Looking at Williams, he continued, “That includes any mention of the scotch that you had in your conversation with Assassin.”

“Understood. How did I end him?”

The General laughed. “Him? Pick any way you want to have killed it, as long as scotch is not mentioned.”

A few more details were discussed, including an update of the ongoing examination of the remains of Assassin. Finally, the General said, “I’ll take the lead.”

The meeting convened on the porch. No scotch was in evidence; no alcohol of any sort.

“What do you want, Morgan?” asked the General.

“I made a mistake when I let that thing out of the fenced in area. For that I apologize. When it decomposed, I assumed that was it and went on to other things. When reports came in about a ten-legged devil beast and two humans in the area disappearing, I suspected that Assassin had to be involved somehow. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Morgan stopped and seemed to struggle for words. “After the devil beast report, I ordered a thorough viewing of satellite tapes from the area hoping to spot whatever is out there. That didn’t happen, but in the limited time we focused on the area, there appeared to be what looked like a couple of hunters in the area. They vanished shortly after we first spotted them, but we found a burned out trailer and ATV eighteen miles from the location of the hunters. Our lab guys tell me me they were set on fire.”

At this point, the General asked, “And?”

Morgan looked first at Williams and then at Fowler. “By any chance, have the two of you been hunting lately?”

“Why else would Art be here?” asked Williams. There’s a lot of good game up in the hills.”

“Let me cut to the chase,” said Morgan, “is that Assassin out there?”

“Assassin’s dead,” said the General, “Major Bill Williams and U.S. Army veteran Arthur Fowler killed it.

Morgan tried not to look startled, but failed. “How long ago?”

“Eleven days.”

“Then what the hell is that out there now and how did you two kill Assassin?”

Williams glanced at the General, who in turn pointed his right index at Williams.

“Art and I had been searching for Assassin for a few days up in the hills and we were running short of supplies, so Art volunteered to head to a town to pick up what we needed. I was sitting in our camp when I caught the sun reflecting off the barrel of a rifle. Then came the sound of a mechanical voice slowly speaking one word at a time, ‘Don’t move, I would hate to have to end you.’”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “It was Assassin and it spoke?”

“Yes.”

“If you were searching for it, then you knew it was alive?”

“Not for certain, but we suspected that might be the case. Henderson and Ling suggested that Assassin may have made a replicate of itself. The one which we saw decomposing would have been the replicate.”

“Are you saying that Assassin might have made a duplicate of itself in order to kill it to make it appear it was dead.”

“Yes.”

Morgan was at a loss for words.

“It was Assassin, but a radically transformed Assassin. It looked exactly like a mountain lion, but was the size of a large tiger. The additions were two powerful human arms and hands, in which was a Winchester 88 pointed directly at me.”

“Mother of Mercy,” exclaimed Morgan.

“If there was any doubt about its awareness when we were following it in the pen, that ended when it asked me my name. When I said, ‘Bill Williams,’ it asked for my military name.”

There was no question that Morgan wanted to ask questions, but he refrained.

“Assassin then said it didn’t want to ‘end’ me because I didn’t end it when I first found it. And this was even though I would be of much more use than Fred.”

“Bottomly? It had Bottomly’s brain?”

“Yes. In the time following the escape, it managed to kill a mountain lion and that poor Fred bastard and then used both to once again transform itself.”

“If I hadn’t seen what it had already done and if it were just about anyone other than you telling this story, I’d laugh it off.”

“I decided to try to find out as much as possible as I could about it and stall for time hoping Art would return in time to save my ass. Assassin had no knowledge of its time in the meteor; its first memory was that of me. It wanted to know why I didn’t end it.

“I already have dozens of questions, but I’ll hold off,” said Morgan.

Williams recounted what he told Assassin about its being the greatest discovery in the history of mankind. “Assassin then asked me why I had been hunting it. I said that it was viewed as a threat to humans. When I asked if it created the copy of itself we found in the desert, the answer was yes.”

“Incredible,” said Morgan.

The Morgan who the General was intently watching and listening to was a very different person from the one the General had dealt with in the past. That Morgan was ruthless, calculating and would stop at virtually nothing to get his way. This one seemed open to reason and, perhaps, compromise.

“By this time, I began to think of Assassin not so much as an ‘it,’ but rather as a ‘he’ or ‘him.’ I told him that the creation of the replicate or clone, or whatever it was, was very clever and asked him how he did it. He said he didn’t know, but that there was something in him which allowed him to do it. And now, the kicker. He said, and this is a direct quote, ‘Maybe I could do that to you.’ Even though it was said with the same slow halting voice as all of his previous speech, I felt that it almost brought him to laughter.”

“I’m jealous,” interrupted Morgan, “I would have loved to have been there.”

Instantly, Williams realized that Morgan had tossed him a meatball. While not conjuring up the image of a meatball pitch, both the General and Fowler knew that Morgan had left himself wide open for what was coming next.

“Assassin then asked me if I worked for that black man. I asked him if he meant the man wearing a black uniform. He said that was so. Stalling for more time, I went on at length describing how I had met you and what our relationship was.”

“Why the interest in me?”

“I think you know. Assassin listened intently and, when I had finished, he asked where he could find you.”

Morgan was once again speechless.

“I told him that I didn’t know; that I only had a telephone contact and asked him why he wanted to find you. He said it was too bad that I didn’t know as you would be much more useful to him than Fred. I asked him how. He said survival and that, unlike me, he owed you nothing and then asked if I could call you and let you know where he is. I said I didn’t have your number with me.”

“Too bad,” interrupted Fowler.

Morgan stared at him with a combination of disbelief and irritation.

“Bless you, Arthur,” thought the General.

Williams continued, “He then asked me if I would tell you where he was if he let me go. I told him that was a bad idea on his part. He asked me why and I told him you would come with an army of men and a lot of weaponry.”

Once again Fowler interrupted, “Imagine the amount of money that could be made with a Pay-Per-View telecast from Vegas of Assassin versus The Man in Black?”

The General couldn’t contain himself and began to laugh. Morgan glowered at Fowler.

“And down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier,” said Fowler with a perfectly straight face.