Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (7 page)

The assassin crawled to a nearby sink, using it to pull himself up slowly. Erik watched his every move, waiting to strike out with the confiscated knives if the killer tried anything stupid. But the defeated man simply studied his ruined face in the mirror.

“You son of a bitch.” The assassin turned to him. “I’ll kill you for this.” The man rushed at Erik in a blind rage.

Erik responded with a high front kick, impacting squarely on the assassin’s jaw. The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he toppled over like a wet bag of sand just as the bathroom door opened.

A young boy walked in accompanied by his father. Faced with the bloody mess, and a half-naked man holding several unfriendly looking weapons standing over the now unconscious killer, the father looked at Erik with disgust, then alarm.

Erik sighed and shook his head. “It’s not what you think, really. For your own safety, you both should leave and forget what you’ve seen here.”

This operation was already a complete disaster and he hadn’t even left the airport. He fetched his pants and boots and dressed, recapturing some degree of dignity.

He recovered the assassin’s primary weapon. How had this man gotten all these weapons past each security checkpoint?

He unloaded each pistol, concealed them on his person then tapped the side of the assassin’s head with his staff.

“Wake up!”

Since the man wasn’t waking fast enough, Erik splashed cold water upon his assailant’s face. After the fifth soaking the man finally began to stir.

“Now that you’re awake, we’re going to have the usual question and answer session. Hopefully you’re in a better frame of mind now,” Erik began in a friendly tone. “The first question is more a matter of personal curiosity. Your weapons aren’t made of metal or plastic; where did you get them?”

Silence was Erik’s only answer.

“Let me further elaborate on the consequences of remaining silent and making me miss my flight – if this interrogation goes too long.” Erik grabbed the man’s left index finger. With a quick snap, he fractured the bone between the knuckle and first joint. The assassin howled.

“Same question, once again.” The detective secured a grip on the killer’s left pinky. “Three … two … one.” The snap of bones in the pinky finger broke the silence, followed by an agonized scream.

Erik grabbed the man’s chin, securing his attention. “There are over two hundred bones in your body; do I have to break each one?”

“I can’t talk. You of all people, should know that, Special Agent Knight,” he answered between grunts. “I blew my mark; I’m already dead, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like chatting.”

“Who hired you?” Erik secured a hold on another finger. “Who supplies your weapons? Who do you work for?”

Erik willed his eyes to change into burning aqua blue slits. His once pink human flesh morphed into liquid metallic chrome. Having partially transformed into his Esper alter ego, he freed that potential of his mind to grab the darkest secrets of the mysterious assassin.

“Jeremy Storm,” Erik said, revealing his name.

After several seconds of concentration, Erik released the finger he held and broke the link, having acquired the information he needed. Jeremy Storm had failed to carry out his contract. Storm had also lost his custom weapons, another inexcusable offense in his line of work. His colleagues would do a more thorough job torturing and punishing him than anything Erik could think of doing.

Erik willed himself back to his human form. “Well, Mr. Storm, I guess that answers all of my questions.” He tucked the knives into his boots and secured the pistols into the holsters he now wore. “Thanks for the new toys. You’ve given me something to study during my trip.”

“W … what are you?” Storm whispered the words as he rubbed his eyes and his temples.

“I’m the last person you should be fucking with.” Erik’s tone of voice was bitter. He turned toward the door.

“Please; they’ll kill me,” Storm begged.

“Then I would strongly advise that you turn yourself in for protective custody. After you’re booked, have the police call the number on this card.” Erik tossed a card at Storm. “Ask for Peter; tell him that I told you to call. Peter will personally see to your protection and get you fixed up, providing you are very, very cooperative.” Erik paused then added, “Mr. Storm, I’m giving you this one chance, a chance we both know you wouldn’t have given me if our positions were reversed. I’m giving you a way out – take it.”

* * * *

Storm nodded in understanding. “I will.” He averted his eyes. When he finally did look up, Erik Knight was gone.

Storm pocketed the card and made his way to the airport taxi stand. He was due to report later in the evening. When he failed to report, the assassin’s guild would investigate and discover that Knight was still alive; thus they’d know he’d failed his mission. His own colleagues would mark him for termination. He would wind up a prisoner and their methods of punishment would make death a welcome reprieve. But right now he didn’t care.

He walked out of the airport and entered a nearby taxi.

“Where to, mister?” the cabbie asked.

“Precinct 7.” He settled deeper in the back seat. “There’s an extra twenty in it for ya if you miss all the red lights.”

* * * *

Erik had his CIA credentials, so there’d be no real consequences if he triggered a metal detector. Yet every electronic checkpoint he passed failed to detect the confiscated weapons. The investigator in him was itching to study the items. The main pistol the assassin used was unlike any he’d ever seen before, made from polymicrobonded carbon, a fact he’d learned from Storm’s mind. He had never heard of the substance.

Erik was shown to his first class seat and settled in, relaxing for the first time since he arrived at the airport.

Chapter 8: Gestation Day 36

The best laid plans of mice and men

Colonel Ross waded through the mounds of paperwork piled on his desk. Despite the gigabytes of stored data at his fingertips, he still preferred a printed copy over electronic information. There was something unnerving about reading facts and figures on a screen. However, his executive officer was content to keep her nose buried in her spreadsheets and word processing documents, rarely reverting to papers. She and the young men and women like her were the future and this trend raised an oddly antiquated feeling within him as he stared at the papers cluttering his desk.

Ross paged his exec. “Joyce, can you retrieve the e-mails from the Pentagon regarding our new appropriations?”

“Yes sir.”

“Could you please forward them to me again? I can’t seem to find them.”

“Right away, sir.”

His computer beeped, confirming he’d received the emails from Joyce. He slid his access card into the slot of his computer keyboard and placed his right index finger against a sensor pad to confirm his match with the recorded print on his ID card. A sigh later, the text attachments to the e-mail were unscrambled.

Ross read the message with rising disbelief and then dismay. The Pentagon now expected a progress report on Operation Homegrown in two months, not the original twelve months that had been negotiated. Antsy superiors in Washington were never a good development for any program with funds ripe for the taking.

Ross opened the other e-mail. It reported that Agent Knight had departed for France thirteen hours ago. He breathed a sigh of relief. Knight was effectively out of the picture. Shanda Kerwin-Knight had been unhooked from the liquid drugs that kept her comatose and would be conscious again within the next day.

His plans needed time to unfold and develop. Despite all the medical technology available to his staff, one couldn’t rush a pregnancy. The embryo needed to develop inside its mother for at least three to five months before it could be harvested safely and transferred to the awaiting incubation tank.

He’d expected a visit from the top brass early next year – not early next month – and the date change was unnerving. He must have something to show them or risk losing it all. Knight’s wife was a fixed problem, but the alien was another matter. If his team could give them some insights to the inner workings of the ship, and understand some of the advanced technology, Ross’d keep his job and the funding.

It was time to interrogate the alien again, and this time, there would be dire consequences if the creature chose not to cooperate.

Ross would lose nothing if the alien expired. But if all went according to plan, he would have a hybrid alien infant for research and study, advanced alien technology and a guaranteed path to becoming a general. The alien would cooperate or the alien would die; it was that simple.

* * * *

OSA agent Michael Sparks leaned back in his desk chair and studied the pieces of the puzzle before him. The Air Force, the Army and a new defense-contracting giant were working on a nasty biological-engineering experiment.

A certainty rose within him. There was another player, someone higher in command who had the political influence to fund a project of this magnitude and keep it hidden. That was the missing element. Someone new was pulling the strings, and Pendelcorp was being used as an intermediary.

When the idea materialized, he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. He punched the intercom key.

“Nancy, come into my office, please.”

“Right away, sir.” His secretary’s chair creaked, confirming she was on her way.

Nancy Bertoni hurried in his office and took her usual seat, in one of two chairs facing his executive desk. She perused the clutter of half-emptied boxes littering the office floor and said, “A little late for spring cleaning, isn’t it?”

Sparks gave her a pointed look. “You’re a lot better at contracts research than I am. I need a listing of all the contracts that Pendelcorp has bid on, and won, over the last two years. Don’t worry about the details. I just need the project names and contract award dates.”

He finally had a working theory. If his hunch played out, he would be one step closer to finding his way through the rock that Ross and his associates were hiding under.

“Can I get that data by this afternoon?” he asked Nancy.

“It shouldn’t be too hard.” A look of certainty radiated from his secretary.

* * * *

Mr. Sparks was digging into something that had been deliberately buried and Nancy couldn’t deny him the information as she had performed similar tasks for him in the past. The only difference this time was she would provide him with the data and then inform her contact of the situation.

Her boss was relentless when conducting  investigations. Only this time, Agent Michael Sparks was digging into somebody else’s dirt, and that somebody would eventually put an end to it.

“This afternoon should be no problem.” She rose to leave.

“You’re the tops, Nancy.” Sparks complimented her as she walked out the door.

Nancy Bertoni felt the sharp stab of guilt in her gut; she was betraying the man who had been a good friend to her and a great boss for nearly a decade. If she were truly his friend, she would tell him of the visitor from the Defense Department, and her orders to report all of his
activities involving Pendelcorp and Operation Homegrown. Wasn’t she acting like a mole, leaking his activities? If something happened to Michael Sparks.…

Seated at her desk, she logged into the OSA mainframe. It was a simple matter to do a search request for Pendelcorp, and then perform a sub query on the company’s recent contract awards. She finished the SQL subroutine and submitted her request into the ORACLE database. She flagged her terminal to notify her of the completed task and then stared ominously at her cell phone. She should place that call but still she struggled for the better part of two minutes before she pressed the speed dial button.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she whispered to herself, as the granite voice responded.

* * * *

Paris, France

Inside a waiting room at the presidential home, Erik muttered to himself. He had to admit that he would much rather face another Seelak warrior than engage in polite conversation with a foreign dignitary from a country that was not really on the best of terms with his homeland. Even so, the man he would be meeting was a president and deserved courtesy and respect.

Under strict instructions to leave any prejudice or political preference behind, he was to mend the strained relationship between the two countries. Keeping the president’s daughter alive and well would go a long way toward rebuilding the friendship and trust between the two allied nations.

Three men stood guard at each doorway. Erik sensed their discomfort with his presence. He nodded at one of the guards, and the guard returned the gesture yet offered no vocal greeting. Erik absently ran his hand through his hair while he paced. He hated being kept waiting.

Finally, a short gray-haired man walked stiffly into the room. “Ah, Mr. Knight, I apologize for the delay, but as you would say in your country, the young Miss LaSalle is having a wardrobe crisis.” He approached, extending his hand. Erik reached out and shook hands with the well-groomed gentleman.

“I also have a teenage daughter, and have experienced similar crises.” Erik’s words seemed to relax his host. “I often wonder how my daughter can have an entire walk-in closet full of clothes yet still claim that she has nothing to wear.”

The shorter man laughed loudly at his remark, and Erik found himself settling into a comfortable ease.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jean-Paul Dubois, President LaSalle’s personal aide.”

“Mr. Dubois, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dubois gestured toward one of the wingback chairs expertly arranged for casual talk in the far corner of the room. Erik noted that a steaming pot, a tray of cups and confections rested on a coffee table.

“Let us be comfortable and get acquainted. May I offer you some coffee?”

“Please.”

Dubois poured two cups of coffee from the sterling silver pot. “Cream, sugar?” He raised his eyes from his task.

“Both.”

Dubois handed Erik a cup then seated himself in the chair directly opposite. “How was your flight?” he asked.

Erik hated attempts at small talk. “Fine, thank you.”

“I was never one for airplanes myself.” The aide grimaced.

“I’m not a big fan of flying myself – especially in the current political climate.”

The aide nodded. “I see.” His posture stiffened.

Erik’s senses confirmed that LaSalle’s Dubois had misunderstood his reply, thinking that he was referring to the 9-11 incident.

“With all the pilot strikes and union picketing in the United States, somebody like me could be up in the cockpit flying one of those big birds,” Erik added, hoping he had effectively deflected his political blunder.

Dubois laughed again and sat back in his chair.

“Jean-Paul, I see you’ve wasted no time in making our guest comfortable,” a man’s voice announced from a door. Jean-Paul rose and Erik followed suit.

“Mr. President.” Erik extended his hand, recognizing the president of France.

“Mr. Knight. Welcome to Paris.” LaSalle offered Erik a firm handshake. The president smiled, then gestured for them to move to a circular table in the center of the room.

The three men were settling in at the table when several servers entered the room. One picked up the sterling coffee pot from the tea table and poured coffee into clean cups provided for their use. Other servers had brought in platters of cheese and sandwich rolls and these were tastefully positioned on the table.

Erik noted that LaSalle grew more agitated and kept glancing over at one particular doorway. Perhaps the president had expected his daughter to be in the room already.

He was obviously irritated at her tardiness. LaSalle shot his aide a look, and his aide shrugged his shoulders.

The president then let go of his irritation and smiled at Erik. “I have taken the time to read your file, Mr. Knight. You are a most impressive man. How do you feel about being assigned to a duty that most men in your position would regard as degrading, even punitive?”

Erik looked the man directly in the eye. The president had not bothered to couch his inquiry in diplomatic terms. LaSalle would likely decide if Erik could be trusted with his daughter’s life based on his reply.

“My personal feelings are irrelevant, Mr. President. I came here on assignment. If I didn’t want it, I assure you, I wouldn’t have wasted my time flying halfway across the world to do this. I’m here for only one purpose, to assure your daughter remains unharmed.” Erik perused the offerings on the table and poured himself a glass of orange juice, and one for the president. He raised his glass in a toast. “To the health and well being of Monique LaSalle.”

The president picked up the glass and joined in the toast to his daughter, as did the aide. “To my daughter’s health and well being,” he added before sipping the juice. The president turned somber at that point, and leaned over the table, eyeing Erik with a worried stare. “She’s all that I have, Mr. Knight. I don’t want her sacrificed because of political infighting among religious factions and fanatics. You have a reputation as an effective weapon against these fanatics. From what my secret service has been able to glean, you’re on several of their ‘most despised’ lists.”

“I dealt with several of those factions during a recent trip to Saudi Arabia. It doesn’t surprise me they’re still holding a grudge.” Erik sipped his juice then deliberately placed the glass on the table. He looked at the president with purpose. “May I ask a question?”

“Please.”

“Why would you entertain the idea of your daughter traveling across the country in such a public fashion when you know she’s going to be a mark for these extremist groups? Isn’t this trip almost inviting an assassination attempt or abduction?” Erik managed to say this in the most neutral tone his voice could muster. He continued with another question. “Wouldn’t it be better to call this tour off until your security teams have had time to break up the more radical of these groups?”

LaSalle smirked, almost as if he had anticipated the query. “You ask a logical question, Mr. Knight. Would you like to hear the spun answer we give to the media – or the simple, plain truth?”

Erik nodded. “Let’s try the truth first, and if I don’t like that we can always switch to the spin.”

“My daughter is a dynamic, stubborn individual, Mr. Knight. She has chosen to dedicate herself to charity work and use her social status to bring attention to those who have fallen through the cracks in our society. If we deny Monique her opportunity to get exposure to the diverse cultures of this country we are admitting defeat to the terrorists. I refuse to accept defeat, plus my daughter is adamant about going forward.”

“Those are noble words, sir, and your reasoning is valid. But the exposure could come at great cost: The safety, and possibly the life of your daughter.” Erik hoped the man realized that he was only one man.

The president averted his eyes. “My daughter is aware of the risks involved with public life. This tour will test the mettle of her will and strengthen her character.”

“As I said.…” Erik’s hesitation brought the president’s gaze upon him. “It’s not my place to judge. I’m a stranger in this country, ignorant of your politics and culture. I will do everything in my power to see that your daughter remains safe.”

A look of relief came over the president’s face. “For that, Mr. Knight, we are most thankful.”

“As am I,” a firm female voice added.

* * * *

Monique LaSalle looked as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain. Her dark pantsuit and ruby lipstick enhanced milk-white skin. Erik studied the young woman approaching them.

She definitely had an aura that would announce her status in any crowded room. She didn’t walk as much as saunter, each motion cool and calculated, her head upright and formal. Erik had seen this type of woman before – the product of a classical education and formal upbringing. People of this nature did not take direction easily, but rather gave directions, and expected those directions followed without question.