Desert Assassin (20 page)

“By an external catalyst, you mean prey.”

“Yes. While we are not absolutely certain of this, we believe that initially while they are operating primarily on instinct, they will attack and incorporate into themselves what they need to survive. As they mature, which as Dr. Henderson realized early on they do at a incredibly rapid rate compared to humans, they become increasingly more selective and switch to infecting their victims.”

“Can I assume that for now at least, the two forms that they have selected are humans and eagles?”

“Exactly, Major, humans because our intelligence has allowed us to dominate all other species and eagles which not only provide flight, but also because they are a dominant bird. However, the question becomes will they attempt to add weaponry to these forms?”

“That’s something that Morgan and I have talked about. When Art, Art Fowler, captured Morales One, Cyclo sounded the alarm about his potentially having weapons above and beyond the virus.”

“Personally, I think it is only a matter on time.”

“I hope you are wrong, but I fear you are right.”

“We are all but totally positive that Morales One and Eagle Assassin One were created by infection rather than by a hostile takeover – sorry, but I couldn’t resist using that term. There is little doubt that Morales Two was a replicate and so were all of the Eagle Assassins following Eagle Assassin One. The rancher incorporated into the original Assassin was obviously by hostile takeover. We now know beyond a doubt that blood from these assassins has infected all of our test animals – cats, dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs, chimpanzees, mice, rats and several species of birds, including an eagle. While the virus spreads at different rates depending on the species, it has taken hold in every test animal.”

That’s not what I had hoped to hear, but I’m not surprised.

“This is the good news, such as it is. None of the test animals is exhibiting any signs of increased awareness.”

“In other words, no passed on intelligence or memory.”

“Correct. So far, at least, is appears that the extracted blood is missing a catalyst which allows for the transfer of intelligence and memory. We will wait a few days to make certain there is no delayed onset among the ones we have already infected. Also, we plan to place some of the infected animals in adversarial situations both with infected and non infected prey.”

Williams clasped the back of his neck with both hands, closed his eyes for a few seconds before saying, “Let’s hope they go strictly for the kill.”

“Precisely. Our next step is to sedate Morales and make a direct transfer of blood to uninfected test animals.”

“Please keep me informed every step of the way.”

“Of course.”

“Let me clarify one point. From what you have said, there is a possibility that any Eagle Assassins which may be left and any humanoids may not be interested in infecting lower life forms.”

“That is a distinct possibility.”

“What is the status of our Eagle Assassin?”

It is severely depressed and has eaten little since it realized that its wing could not be fully repaired.”

“Thank you. Has the General been made aware of this?”

“Yes.”

“Could pass this information on to Morgan? If you have the time, he’s in the bar at the moment.”

“I’ll go there immediately.”

Despite being forewarned by Stanton, as soon as Williams walked into the room, he was startled by Eagle Assassin’s weight, or rather his lack of weight. He walked slowly toward the decimated figure and sat down to within three feet of him. Minutes passed with neither one moving until Assassin slowly lifted its left wing and pointed it at his right wing.

“I’m sorry,” said Williams somberly, hoping that if Assassin didn’t understand the meaning of the words, the tone would convey the meaning.

Assassin then brought its left wing into a curled position and raised it to its head. Williams stood up and returned the salute. He sensed what was about to happen. Assassin slowly walked to a far corner of the room. Williams stayed until there was virtually no trace of the alien other than the same foul odor he and Morgan experienced in the desert when Assassin’s first replicate dissolved.

After joining Morgan in The Last Stop, Williams described Eagle Assassin’s demise.

“Bill, my wife suffered for over eight months before dying. There were times when I came close to putting her out of the pain and suffering she had to endure, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I know that if she had the ability to end her life the way Eagle Assassin did, she would have done it. The god of their world would seem to be a much more humane one than we have.”

Several minutes passed with neither Williams nor Morgan saying anything. When it appeared that Morgan was ready to continue the conversation, Williams asked, “Did Stanton find you?”

“Yes. What’s next?”

“Let’s pay a brief visit to the General and then go bird hunting.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

T
HE RECONSTRUCTED
HC
TEAM
met for an early breakfast prior to the first day of searching for either the lone Morales Assassin, or any number of them. McBride, who had been briefed via phone by Mitchell prior to the breakfast meeting, began the conversation. “If other humans have been infected, they will bear no resemblance to Morales. Excluding blind luck, we are either going to have to get some help from the satellites or the drones or, less likely, spot some odd behavior.”

“Let me call Sally. I’ll ask her to call me if she sees anything that seems suspicious, especially if scotch is involved,” said Fowler.

“Sally?” asked Mule.

“A lady friend of Art who works at the bar in town,” replied Cyclo.

“Oh.”

“Andy,” said Fowler, “during our search for Morales One and Morales Two, we visited just about every place between here and Silver City which sells liquor. Why not use your FBI ID and recheck every one of them. Show your credentials and request to be called if any locals buy scotch who don’t normally do so.”

“Or if anyone buys a large quantity,” added Cyclo.

“Excellent. I’ll also call Ralston and see if he can focus drone and satellite surveillance on the stores. Meanwhile, Art and Mule, you are on your own. Cyclo and I will hit the stores. We’ll drive to the one farthest south and be ready to go in when it opens this morning.”

The first two stops yielded no results. Standing behind the counter of their next stop was a short, heavy set, red faced, prematurely bald figure. Looking at him, McBride half seriously wondered if he consumed as much beer as he sold.

“Any chance the roof on this place is going to cave in before we leave?” asked McBride.

“My old man owns the place and says he don’t care. Figures he’s made enough over the years.”

“He owns the building?”

“Why, you some IRS crook or some overpaid building inspector from the state?”

“Neither,” replied McBride as he flashed his FBI badge.”

“Whatever it is, the old man did it. Not me.”

“We don’t care what you or the old man have done or haven’t done. That is we don’t care as long as you answer a question or two.”

“About what?”

“Anyone been in lately buying scotch who normally doesn’t, or buying a large amount of it?”

“Everything we sell is legal. No illegal crap from Mexico.”

“We don’t care if it is or isn’t. Just answer the question.”

“Couple days ago, Jim Covington’s wife came in and bought sixteen bottles, just about all our stock. First time I ever seen her come in by herself. Jim’s a regular. Usually comes in by himself and buys beer. Once in a while she comes in with him and buys a cheap bottle of wine.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Asked me how much. Told her and she passed me a bunch of ones, fives and tens. Pulled them out of her purse and they stunk like hell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Smelled like shit. Smelled so bad that after she left I put ’em in the sink in the restroom and soaked ’em in soap water. She smelled like shit, too. Turned on the fan and left the door open after she left.”

“What happened after she paid you?”

“I boxed the bottles. She wanted just four in a box. Offered to carry them out to her car. She said no and picked up the first box and walked out. Came back in for the second, then the third and then the last one. She’s a skinny little broad. Couldn’t figure why she didn’t want any help.”

“Does she have any kids?”

“Just one, but he’s been long gone. Jim is near sixty and the wife is early fifties maybe.”

“Have you told this to anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Keep it to yourself. We wouldn’t want to have to make a return visit.”

“Won’t say another word.”

McBride was about to ask how to find Covington’s house when Cyclo showed him the location on his tablet.

“Keep the change,” said McBride as he picked out a package of gum and dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter.

“Now what?” asked Cyclo as they headed toward the Covington’s house.

“I’m calling Morgan and Williams.”

“We may have found the Holy Grail. Presuming all who are currently using the house are in it, we may find the Covington’s, most likely infected, and possibly others who have been infected. And, I’m guessing, one or more Morales.”

“If we find out that any of those combinations exist, infected or not, we are going to have to follow the General’s orders and wipe them all out.”

Williams and Morgan met briefly with the General and were in Morgan’s helicopter surveying the territory north of the Rappaport led slaughter when Morgan received the call from McBride. Williams was able to hear McBride and immediately ordered, “I’ll have the General send over forty troops, but we’ll keep them waiting two miles away and concealed as best as possible. No matter what happens, no troops near the house under any circumstances unless either Morgan or I clear it. Get Art and Mueller there ASAP. All of you stay out of sight of the house until we get there. If anyone leaves the house, contact Morgan immediately.”

This caught Morgan by surprise, but he didn’t say anything until after the conversation with McBride came to an end. “Holding back the troops?”

“I understand why the General wants every one of the bastards killed, but first we need to know how many are in the house.”

“And?”

“And then we try to find out if these are the end of the line. To have any chance of doing that, we have to get one alive and under our control. I figure there are at least three – the couple and an Assassin. Probably more. We need to flush them out and wipe out all but one. Then we follow it and see if it leads us to any others. Oh, can you have FBI ready to help clean up the mess?”

Morgan nodded. “Are you going to let the General know?”

“Yes.”

“Will he give you the go?”

“Yes.”

“How do you plan to get one alive?”

“You are going to take care of that.”

Williams switched to piloting the helicopter en route to the Covington’s house in order to let Morgan use his tablet. Fifteen minutes before landing, Morgan announced that thermal imaging from the drone indicated there were five human figures in the house. “I’m willing to bet they they are now all Assassins,” said Morgan.

“We only need one.”

Williams landed the helicopter in a secluded area a little under a mile from the house. Waiting for them were Fowler and Cyclo. Fowler, along with Mueller, had arrived forty-five minutes earlier. Cyclo was told to stay in the helicopter and to be ready to fly at a moment’s notice. The Pathfinder was loaded with everything Williams and Morgan thought would be needed.

A five to six year old Japanese sedan which belonged to the Covington’s was parked in a shaded area about sixty feet in front of the house. A check by Fowler revealed that there was a key in the ignition. At the same time, he placed a GPS tracker underneath the car. McBride was at the wheel of the Pathfinder which was parked well out of sight. Mueller’s task was to use an M-32 6-shot 40mm launcher to fire tear gas through the window of the rear door and through two rear windows. This, it was hoped, would force those inside to exit through the front door. Williams and Fowler were positioned about fifty feet off to either side of the front door, rifles and hand guns ready. Fortunately, they had an abundance of bush and tree cover.

Morgan was flat on his stomach sandwiched between two bushes about thirty feet from the driver’s door of the sedan. In his hands was the experimental rifle containing RFID chips. It was the same one he had planned to use on what was thought to be the original Assassin.

Less than a minute after Mueller fired repeated volleys of the gas, the inhabitants of the house came running and staggering out of the front door. Williams and Fowler began firing at the trailers. Morgan caught the first two with the chips, hitting each with three. Shortly after Morgan’s firing, Fowler dropped the second of the two remaining Assassins. All three then stopped firing and remained perfectly still – nearly still as the four bodies on the ground.

Blinded, choking and stunned, the remaining Assassin alternately ran and fell during the next two to three minutes. Williams noted that whoever it was, or had been, it wasn’t a Morales. It was a male, late twenties or early thirties, light skinned, an inch on either side of six feet tall and well-built. The clothing, a pair of dungarees and a flannel shirt, was several sizes too small. Williams guessed they belonged to the male Covington. Compounding the presumed Assassin’s difficulties was a lack of shoes.

When the lone survivor appeared to have gained at least partial sight, he assumed a crouching position and proceeded to survey his surroundings. Dominating the view was a trail of four bodies extending back to near the front doorway of the house. After briefly looking at the carnage, he began to slowly turn clockwise, momentarily pausing while looking in the direction of Fowler. Continuing on, he paused for at least ten seconds while fixing a gaze on Morgan.

“He recognizes Morgan,” thought Williams.

Without trying to hide his presence, Williams readied himself. The two stared at each other for nearly two minutes from the moment the latest version of Assassin spotted Williams. Finally, Williams glanced at the Covington’s car. Assassin rose to a standing position and began to walk slowly to the waiting sedan.

As soon as Assassin entered the vehicle, Morgan called McBride and told him to bring the Pathfinder to the house and to order in the troops. “Have them surround the house and let no one, including police, anywhere near it. Get the bodies taken out immediately. It’s your responsibility to see that they get to Texas without being seen by anyone except the General’s troops and the agents I’m flying in.”

Meanwhile, Williams, Fowler and Mueller raced to the bodies. “Just as I thought,” said Fowler, “military.”

Two of the four bodies were replicates of the living one and had identical U.S. Marine tattoos. The remaining two, the ones closest to the house, were the unfortunate Covington’s. As soon as Morgan joined the group, he said while pointing to the replicates, “I’ll tell McBride to make sure they are finger printed so we can find out who these were. Awful.”

“Let’s not forget,” said Williams, “that we are dealing with an Assassin who may be utilizing the type of individual the original wanted.”

Morgan looked at Fowler half expecting him to make a comment to the effect that the Marine was only the second choice, but Fowler said nothing.

Williams and Morgan conferred briefly just as Cyclo and McBride joined them within seconds of one another.

“We’ve got a signal from the car,” said Cyclo.

Williams said, “Jesse, you and Cyclo follow him in the copter. The rest of us will sweep the house and then Art, Don and I will track him with the Pathfinder.”

Morgan and his son scrambled to the helicopter, while the rest of the team carefully entered the house.

“What a goddamn stinking mess,” yelled Fowler once it was apparent there were no Assassins in hiding.

Empty bottles, cans and cardboard food containers were strewn about in every room. Dishes, glasses, cups and utensils crusted with dried food and liquids were equally scattered throughout the house. Food remains, much of it rotting, smelled almost as bad the only toilet in the house which was apparently blocked.

“If we hadn’t got them,” said McBride, “the filth might have done the job.”

“What’s missing?” asked Williams.

“Morales,” answered McBride.

“I’m not surprised that we found Assassins other than Morales, but I am surprised that a Morales Assassin was able to infect a marine. How the hell did that happen? And where are the Morales Assassins?” added Fowler.

Williams walked up to a desktop computer which, surrounded by garbage, was on a Formica kitchen counter. He shook the mouse and as he did so a page from a military surplus company flashed onto the screen of an old CRT monitor.

“Gentlemen, take a look at this,” said Williams.

As the other three gathered around the computer, he looked at McBride. “Andy, the rest of us better get on the road. Be careful. One more thing, if the police show up, tell them it’s off the record, but that there are reports of a flying saucer being spotted.”

“What?”

“Morgan will explain.”

Fowler did the driving with Williams sitting up front.

“He’s south of the ghost town heading directly toward Silver City on 180,” said Morgan via a cell phone connection with Williams. “Staying at the speed limit. Do you have a position on the car yet?”

“No, but Don should have it up in a minute or two.”

“Ghost town?” asked Fowler, who could hear what Morgan was saying.

“Cyclo tells me that’s what Alma is called.”

“Any ghosts there?” asked Fowler.

This was an open invitation for Cyclo. “Not to my knowledge. However, Apaches wiped out a whole bunch of early settlers around 1880, so maybe. Also, Billy the Kid and the Sundance Kid may have spent some time there. The New Mexico Tourism Department labeled it a ghost town.”