Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (44 page)

Smythe pulled the trigger and put a bullet through the neck of the first target. A long suppressor on the rifle kept the noise to a minimum.

As expected, the weapon slammed into his shoulder and threw off his aim. By the time Smythe had lined up his next shot, the remaining two targets were already running. Smythe drilled the second man in the chest. No type of body armor could protect him from a .50 caliber bullet moving at 900 meters per second.

Smythe recovered and aimed again. The third target was out of sight, but there was only one place he could be. A dead and rotting oak tree stood in the dirt field. Smythe aimed at the center of the tree trunk, about one meter off the ground. He pulled the trigger, and a man fell over from behind the tree. Smythe blew his brains out with another round to make sure he was dead.

Smythe called Aaron on his phone. "Mission accomplished, sir."

"Indeed," Aaron said. "If you look to your north, you'll see a blue, two story house."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you and that beautiful rifle on the upper balcony in two minutes..."

* * *

Before her promotion, Ethel had been Marina's boss. During those years, Marina had learned many skills from the master. One was silent movement, and another was hiding in shadows. Marina had never quite matched Ethel's phenomenal ability to become a ghost in battle, but Marina was still pretty damn good at being sneaky.

Three burly men in business suits walked past the alley where Marina was concealed just a few yards away. They checked the alley. Then they moved on.

She came up behind them. For a few steps she kept pace with her enemies and relished the feeling of power. She could walk away and spare their lives if she chose.

She drew a pair of long knives from sheaths on her belt, holding one in each hand. The blades were razor thin and just a half-inch wide. In complete silence, she stabbed two men in the back of the neck just below the first vertebrae. Their spinal cords were severed, and they collapsed to the sidewalk.

The third man turned, but not quickly enough. She drew a gun and shot him between the eyes. He had a very surprised expression on his face when he died.

She took out her phone and called Aaron. "What's next, sir?"

"Just one group left," Aaron said, "and it includes an unexpected bonus prize. I want him alive if it's convenient. Go east two blocks. Smythe and Norbert are waiting for you..."

* * *

General Doolittle studied the red brick building. Since he had arrived fifteen minutes ago, there had been no movement. He had used the idle time to plan his attack. Blasting a hole in a side wall made the most sense. His men would pour through the breach and flank the enemy.

"Use the radio," Doolittle said. "Find out where everybody is. They should be in position by now."

He looked over his shoulder. He had kept three men with him as bodyguards. They, like the rest of the assault team, wore business suits over armor. The combination looked a little strange, but nobody had come here to score fashion points.

One man carried a portable radio. He was pressing buttons with a confused expression.

"Is there a problem?" Doolittle said.

"Nobody is responding, sir."

"Nobody at all?" Doolittle raised his eyebrows. "You must be on the wrong frequency or something. Figure it out."

"Yes, sir."

Doolittle turned his attention back to the red brick building. He didn't see any surveillance cameras, but that didn't mean they weren't there. The things could be hidden almost anywhere these days.

He heard an odd whistling noise, followed by thumps. He turned around.

All three of his bodyguards were dead. High power bullets had exploded their skulls. Doolittle swallowed. He could almost feel the crosshairs of a sniper scope on his forehead.

Obviously, the only reason he wasn't dead was the enemy wanted to capture him alive. Doolittle had to make a choice. He could allow himself to be taken prisoner, or he could die. If he tried to run, he would get shot in the back. It wasn't clear from which direction the bullets had come.

He slowly placed his gun on the sidewalk. He stood straight and put his hands behind his head. It was an unmistakable position of surrender.

A woman came around a corner. She wasn't carrying a rifle, which meant the unseen sniper was still out there somewhere. Doolittle remained very still. He didn't have to be told not to move.

The woman had red hair and was strikingly beautiful, if a few years past her prime. Even though she wore a bulky vest, he could tell she had a fine body. She carried a variety of knives and light guns. In fact she had so many knives it seemed like a fetish.

"Hello," she said as she approached. "My boss wants to talk to you."

He nodded. "I guessed as much."

"Then let me clarify myself. He would
prefer
to talk to you, but it's not mandatory. If you cause the slightest trouble, I'll kill you, and it won't be a painless death."

"What happened to my men?"

"Dead," she said.

"All of them?"

She nodded. "You should've hired better help."

He took a deep breath to steady himself. He believed her.

"Strip down to your underwear," she ordered.

"Are you serious?"

Her eyes informed him she was. He looked around.

"My friends are watching from the rooftops," she said. "They're just as eager to see you dead as I am. Strip."

He began to take off his clothes. He reminded himself that as long as he still lived, there was hope. He could talk his way out of almost any situation. Besides, he actually wanted to meet this woman's boss. He might finally get answers to some pressing questions.

After he had stripped, she tossed a pair of handcuffs to him. She ordered him to lock his hands behind his back. She made sure the cuffs were uncomfortably tight.

They headed towards the brick building together. His clothes and equipment were left in a pile on the sidewalk.

Doolittle had been in worse messes. The North Vietnamese had captured him three times, and he had escaped every time. The important thing was to remain optimistic and alert. When his opportunity to act came, it would be fleeting.

Two other men caught up with Doolittle and the woman. The newcomers wore gray body armor and carried sniper rifles over their shoulders. They were big guys and obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. Doolittle recognized a military posture in one of them.

They reached the garage door, and it slid open. The man standing behind it was the last person Doolittle expected to see alive.

"Nice of you to drop by," he said with a smile. "You saved us the trouble of finding you. I really appreciate that. I'm Aaron. Come in, please."

Aaron firmly grabbed one of Doolittle's arms, and the woman grabbed the other. She held a long, wickedly serrated knife with her free hand. He had no choice but to comply.

"Smythe and Norbert," Aaron said, "get a van and try to pick up the mess out there. We don't want the police getting too excited about a massacre in this neighborhood."

The interior of the building was mostly open space, and a variety of vehicles were parked inside. The two men with rifles hurried to the biggest van in the collection.

Five more people watched the proceedings with great interest. There were two men and three women, and two of the women were identical twins. That pair seemed much younger and skinnier than the rest. Their dusky skin coloring and other features suggested they had immigrated from the Middle-east. One sister had a necklace with a diamond so huge it had to be a fake.

Everybody wore high quality body armor and combat helmets. The equipment employed a gray and black camouflage pattern that Doolittle had never seen before. It seemed designed for night operations.

"This is my team," Aaron said. "They're excited to meet you. They rarely get a chance to see the enemy in person."

Doolittle raised his eyebrows. "This is it? A team of just nine people destroyed my entire operation?"

"We're part of a larger organization, and we had some very special help, but I'd say that statement is mostly factual."

The van with Smythe and Norbert drove out, and the garage door closed with a bang. Now that he was inside, Doolittle could see other security measures. All the walls were armor plated. If he had tried to blast a hole in the exterior, he would've failed. Video cameras mounted on the ceiling watched from the corners.

"Bethany and Leanna," Aaron said, "come over here and greet your nemesis."

The twin girls approached as timidly as frightened mice. There was fascination in their big eyes. Doolittle noticed their footsteps were synchronized.

"He's old and wrinkly," one of the girls said.

"I am not!" Doolittle said. "I'm mature."

Aaron chuckled. "These women were the first to come after you. They, more than anybody else on this team, can take credit for your downfall." He smiled at the girls like a proud father.

They didn't impress Doolittle as any kind of threat. They were so scrawny, he was sure he could knock them over with just a light touch.

"What do you want from me?" he said. "Money? My technology? Do you work for a foreign government? Just tell me what this is about."

"You killed Haykal," one of the twins said.

"Who?"

"A loyal friend," Aaron explained. "He was one of your Lemonseed victims. You probably never met him, or at least you don't remember him. It's amazing how the death of such an unremarkable man set everything else in motion. I'm sure he would never have believed it either."

"This is about revenge?" Doolittle said in a tone of disbelief.

"No, we're just soldiers doing our duty. Bethany and Leanna, stay with me. The mission isn't over for you."

Doolittle was hustled through the building. There were doors on the left and right sides of a very wide central corridor. The furnishings were minimal. The place reminded him of a field headquarters.

He was pushed through a doorway. He found himself in a narrow shooting range with two lanes. Aaron pulled Doolittle to the center of the range.

"Kneel," Aaron commanded.

"So I can be executed?" Doolittle said.

Aaron kicked him in the knee, breaking the joint. Then Aaron swept Doolittle's other leg. He fell flat on his face, and with his hands behind his back, he couldn't stop his fall. The pain was stunning.

"Or lie down," Aaron said. "Works just as well." He walked off.

"What duty are you talking about?" Doolittle said.

Aaron reached the front of the shooting range, where many kinds of guns were placed on shelves. He pondered his choices as he answered, "It's not hard to understand. There is a war being fought between God and his enemies. I picked the right team and you picked the wrong one."

"You're religious nuts!"

"Then can you explain what happened last night?"

Doolittle frowned as he vividly remembered the annihilation of his base. "Maybe not, but I didn't pick a team."

"The technology in your head didn't come from nothing. It was planted there for a purpose. Maybe you should've asked yourself what that purpose might be, instead of blindly pursuing your personal ambitions. You should've considered all the consequences of your actions. You should've wondered who you were really serving."

Aaron selected a light pistol. From a distance Doolittle guessed it was just a .22 caliber. Aaron took a magazine and started loading it with tiny bullets.

"This is completely unnecessary," Doolittle said in a calmer voice. "What will it take to satisfy you? I can get you a private meeting with any member of Congress. I can place you in a position of power. You can be a master instead of a slave. What are your personal ambitions?"

"I already have what I want in life. Moments like this make it even more satisfying."

Aaron handed the gun to one of the twin girls. She held it by the end of the barrel as if it were filthy.

"Finish what you started," he commanded. "Prove you're a member of the Society."

He took a double-barreled shotgun for himself.

"Don't be insane!" Doolittle yelled. "Whatever you're up to, I can help you. I can be a huge asset." He struggled to reach a sitting position despite his broken knee and the handcuffs.

Aaron looked at him. "For some reason I don't trust you. Maybe it's because you put an alien device in my brain and tried to destroy my free will. That's hard to forgive."

"How did you survive? I used the kill switch."

"The Almighty intervened. How did you find our post office box?"

"The transmitter you planted on General Clark had a serial number. We found out where the package was delivered."

"Hmm. Embarrassing." Aaron shook his head. "I don't want to be seen as a man who carries a grudge, so I'll let the twins decide what to do with you. They have the most at stake here. Maybe you can convince them you're not just a worthless shit bag."