The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) (28 page)

"But how did you wind up here?"

A hint of a smile flew across the grotesque features as he answered.

"I didn't look like Frankenstein's nightmare then. It's the environment and the stress that causes the rapid mutation. If I was in the Arctic Circle, God alone knows what I would have become, probably some kind of Polar Bear-like creature. I was supposed to be airdropped near the target's intended hunting camp. I would ambush his party, kill them and destroy the corpses. I forced the pilot past the target area in South Carolina, refueled at Jacksonville Air Base and parachuted over the Everglades. It was the closest, most desolate spot I could think off."

Chapter 39

It became brighter as the first rays of the sun lit the top of the tallest palms jutting from the center of the island. Near the water's edge the Mangroves marked the entry of the saltier water from the Gulf of Mexico. A moccasin slid between the roots and entered the water, silent as a finger of darkness. Daniels could see the man clearly and the full horror of his mutations. The weight of the muscular bulk caused his feet to sink into the moist earth. Even the feet had changed, splayed and webbed between the toes.

On the edge of the channel both men saw Deeno getting up in the Catamaran. He saw them also but made no move to leave the boat. The Bio stepped a little closer and placed his hand on Daniels' arm. His touch felt like hard solid oak wrapped in scaly leather.

"Wait, There are things I want to tell you that I don't want the boy to know," said the man. "I killed those three soldiers, that first team they sent after me, and the one that was with you the other night. There is no choice for me. In stressed situations I can no longer control my actions. I'm afraid if they come again, I may hurt him or you."

Daniels shook his head. More than anything else he didn't want Deeno involved, but after talking with the man named John-was that his real name? Or, had he just said that to Deeno after the boy contacted the humanity beneath the mutated bulk of his body. Daniels found it hard to imagine him causing any harm to Deeno.

Daniels told him so.

"You don't understand," the man replied. "Normal human beings can control and override their instincts. That's why we jump out of planes and willingly place ourselves in danger. We control the flight-or-fight syndrome with our intellect. I retain the intellect, but it no longer has the ability to override my actions. When I sense a threat, the pure animal survival instinct takes over. I didn't want to kill those men. With the abilities I have, I could have found a way. But I was no longer in control. It was like watching a movie that's out of your reach, and there's one more thing."

Daniels felt the pain and longing coming out of him, the immense feeling of loss pouring from his soul.

"None of this is free. Every mutation, every extraordinary act that my body makes takes away my energy, my life force. I can feel my body clock ticking at an astronomical rate. I'll be dead in two to three days, maybe sooner. That's the ultimate irony. All they had to do was leave me alone and nature would take care of it. That's how it works."

Daniels was filled with violent anger at what had been done to this brave man. What had been done to so many brave men over too many years.

He handed Daniels a small package wrapped in clear heavy plastic. Two protected computer discs and a set of GI dog tags. He read the tags.

John W. Gilbert Jr., 1st Lt

As the sun rose among the Mangroves on what was to be one of the most twisted days of his life, Richard Daniels felt the weight of the betrayal that had been done by a handful of evil men. He knew at that moment, he had to let this story see the light of day. He had to be the avenger or die trying.

Chapter 40

They walked back to the boat as the Bio, Lt. John Gilbert Jr. continued speaking in those alien guttural tones.

"I put everything I saw and remembered in the computer discs. Names, dates places, events, it's all there. Stop them if you can Richard."

They stood in the soft mud bank of the salt-water channel. Richard Daniels, Deeno and John W. Gilbert Jr. or what he had become. Daniels and the young man sat on the stern of the Catamaran while John stood, his bulk dwarfing the Mandrakes, the webbed feet sinking into the mud.

"Who was your main contact?" Daniels asked, "Was it someone named Conboy?"

"He was the main contact I had, but he wasn't in charge. I only saw the head honcho once or twice. Tall, distinguished looking, pure Washington Beltway. Must have lived at Langley. I tried to hack into the files, get some ideas who he was but its impossibly well covered. No, Conboy and Hart are flunkies. That other guy is pulling their strings. The one with the black mole on his face."

Something spun in Daniels' head and danced on the edge of his consciousness. It was a puzzle with a gap, a crucial missing piece. Something he knew, but could not bring to the surface. It was like assembling something in the dark with no directions, no light.

John cocked his head toward the East and the morning sun. A large scaled earflap rotated toward the direction like that of a deer.

He listened to the wilderness for a moment.

"They're coming," John said. "Leave, it's time now."

"No," Deeno said. "We can't leave him here Uncle Richard. We can't."

"Do I look like I can't take care of myself boy," said John, his voice a rumbling thunder, "If you hang around you'll just slow me down. I don't need to worry about you. Daniels, take the boy and leave, now."

Something clicked in Daniels' head. A missing piece suddenly came together. It reached over the years, past the deaths, pain and betrayal: a memory that had festered all that time since Mexico. He held his hand up suddenly toward John.

That dead soldier, Kolb, his diary had given Daniels the missing piece. The answer suddenly fell into place.

A man with a black spot on his cheek.

The CIA's own William Taylor.

Daniels turned to Deeno and placed both hands on the young man's shoulder as he spoke to him.

"Deeno, listen carefully. I want you to try and remember. It's very, very important. The men who spoke to you when they had you in the jail, the bad place, what were they like? What do you remember?"

Deeno squinted his eyes shut for a moment. He looked up at the top of the overhanging Mangroves then back to Daniels as he answered.

"They kept asking questions. They weren't mean to Deeno or anything like that, but I knew they wanted to hurt John. I could
feel
it. I didn't tell them anything, but they weren't mean. They gave me the St Christopher's medal. They said to wear it always and it would bring luck."

Daniels moved closer, looking steadily at Deeno's face and spoke softly.

"Deeno, this is very important. I want you to remember very hard. The men who gave you the medal, did one of them have a black spot on his face?"

"Yes, he was the one. He said it was good luck, you know uncle Richard, like my horseshoe."

"Yes Deeno, like your horseshoe," Daniels said softly.

He placed his arm around the young man's shoulder and turned to John Gilbert.

"It's the guy you saw once or twice," said Daniels to John, "the guy with the mole on his face. The one you said seemed to be in charge. I know who he is."

William Taylor. CIA recruiter, only now he was much more than a simple recruiter involved in black operations. He had been much more all along, using the influence he picked up for his own ends.

"Deeno, let me see that medal," said Daniels.

He removed it from his neck and handed it to him. Daniels looked at it closely. It was light, made of some kind of plastic coated metal, maybe a little thicker than normal. Daniels took the K-bar knife from his holster and pried at the surface. The point dug in just under St Christopher's staff and the cover popped off and fell in the mud. He pulled back a second plastic cover revealing tiny microchip circuits and a blinking LED no larger than the head of a pin.

Daniels felt everything falling in place. He reared back and hurled the medallion toward the middle of the salt-water channel. John seemed to understand in a flash as Deeno stood with a puzzled expression. Another couple of minutes and it would have been too late thought Daniels. Dawn, the preferred time to attack was already here. The medal made a high lazy arc and splashed down, heading toward the bottom, carried by the slow moving current.

Chapter 41

The Bio's heightened senses felt it well ahead of the others. He grabbed Deeno and threw him to the muddy bank then whirled and violently pushed Daniels down. Daniels tasted the rotting vegetation and decay of the bank as he was slammed into it, his body pressed into the ooze. He felt a huge bulk pinning him. He remained aware of Deeno down next to him, under John's powerful mutated arms and torso.

Fired from the still out of sight Blackhawk helicopter, the missile came down from the top of the tree lines, its micro chip brain following the signals of the locator unit in the St Christopher medal. The projectile impacted in the middle of the channel, much too close. The high explosive warhead detonated on contact with the water.

The massive explosion seemed like the end of the world. John's body absorbed most of the blast wave and concussion. He rolled away from them, his back bloody and raw, eyes glazing beneath the scaled bony ridge. Somehow, John had managed to override the deadly self-preservation instinct and protect them.

In the distance Daniels saw the black helicopter flying over the trees lining the banks, following the channel. There was a dull roaring in his head drowning out all other sounds. The concussion had blasted out eardrums. He shook his head trying to clear the dizzying sensations as he watched John hurl Deeno into the dense Mandrake stand, pushing him, urging him to flee.

The Blackhawk stopped about a hundred yards from them, hovering like a malevolent dragonfly. It dropped altitude until it was just six feet from the water. A packaged dropped down and inflated automatically into a small commando boat. A man jumped into the boat: classic small unit enfoldment maneuver. Now the helicopter lowered its nose as it headed straight for John and Daniels. John had pushed Deeno well into the tangled masses of roots and vegetation. He was completely out of sight when John's massive body reappeared just fifteen feet from Daniels.