Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (43 page)

Aaron looked at a dark van parked beside a road. "Good, because we have to finish the job that Marina started. I'm sure some stragglers got away. We'll chase down as many as we can."

"Did you determine the enemies of God are responsible?"

"Doolittle confessed to me. Our task is simple now: leave no survivors."

* * *

Doolittle looked across a field of grass at what was left of his once mighty military base. The attack had finally ended, but not before every building had been completely flattened. Some of his people had escaped into the night, but he expected most were dead.

The mysterious prisoner had mentioned God's wrath. Doolittle could almost believe he had spoken the truth. There was no other sensible explanation for weapons of such power.

It didn't matter. All the technical specifications for the mind control technology were still locked in Doolittle's brain. Those memories hadn't deteriorated in the slightest. He just had to start the project again from scratch, and this time he would do it right. He would be much more careful.
This was just a bitter learning experience,
he thought.

He had managed to gather several of his best men during the flight from the base. They were still together, and this group would form the nucleus of the next team.

He realized there was one loose thread that needed to be snipped before he could get serious about rebuilding. He had to know the name of his enemy. The mysterious prisoner was certainly dead by now, but he hadn't been working alone. Lieutenant Kensington would find out who had received the TLX-42 unit. Then Doolittle would deal out a little wrath of his own.

He smiled grimly.
I'm not done,
he thought.
Not by a long shot.

* * *

"Wake up dear," Marina said. "We're finally home."

Aaron rubbed his eyes and yawned. He had slept during the entire trip back to Chicago, but he needed a lot more sleep. As soon as he got a chance, he would go to bed. He hoped to spend all day resting and recuperating from his traumatic experience. Maybe tomorrow, too.

Norbert was driving the van, and Smythe was riding shotgun. Aaron and Marina sat in the back seat. Everybody had dark circles under their eyes.

The van pulled into headquarters and parked. They got out.

Bethany and Leanna were waiting for Norbert, and they immediately clung to him. He gave both girls a big hug and a kiss on the lips. Their eyes became dreamy.

When Smythe walked by, the twin said in unison, "Show us your new trick!"

"Huh?" He stopped.

"Your gift," Bethany said. "We want to see."

"It's not a circus act."

"Please?" Leanna said.

Smythe sighed. "Just once. Pull up your shirt a little."

Bethany lifted her shirt. He reached into her stomach until his hand was completely inside her flesh. To Aaron it looked like a magic trick. It was hard to believe it was really happening.

"Ooh!" Bethany's eyes opened wide. "That tickles!"

Smythe pulled his hand out. There was no blood on it.

"My turn." Leanna lifted her shirt enough to expose her flat breasts.

Smythe reached into her stomach. He furrowed his brow and moved his hand as if searching for something.

"Are you feeling all right?" he said in a concerned voice.

"Sure," Leanna said.

"Nausea? Vomiting? Fever?"

"No, sir."

His hand came out holding a lump of bluish tissue. It reminded Aaron of a squid. Smythe dropped it on the floor, and it landed with a bloody splat.

"Hold still. I have to get it all." He reached into her stomach again.

"What's wrong with me?" Leanna squeaked in fear.

He fished around while staring at the ceiling. There was a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Doctor?" Aaron said.

Smythe pulled out more fragments of blue tissue. He dropped them on the floor and wiped his hand on his shirt. "You're cured," he announced.

"Of what?" Leanna said.

"Liver cancer."

Everybody was silent.

Aaron noticed a sign hung from the ceiling which read, "WELCOME HOME!" Jack and Kamal were also there to greet the returning heroes. A chocolate cake was on a table with plates and forks.

"Let's eat," Aaron said, "before I fall asleep again."

Kamal sliced and served the cake. It tasted delicious, and the sugar jolt helped rejuvenate Aaron.

Nancy arrived a few minutes later with a cloth bag full of packages. "Mail call," she announced cheerfully. "Welcome home, everybody."

Instead of handing out the mail, she walked over to an airport-style X-ray machine by the wall. An adjacent machine could detect trace amounts of explosives and poisons. All mail had to be proven safe before it could be opened. Jack went to assist her.

Aaron turned to Norbert and said, "Now you can claim you have a mission under your belt. Was it what you expected?"

"Not really, sir," Norbert said. "It was complicated and nasty, and to be frank, I think we did a poor job."

"Oh?"

"We were sloppy from the very beginning. Lemonseed was a total fiasco, and I accept my share of the blame for that. Our performance in Springfield was hardly much better. If God hadn't saved us, the mission would've ended in disaster. The Lord even added the twins to our team, and we still fell short."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "You're absolutely right, even if I didn't expect to hear that criticism from you. We failed yesterday, and the Boss had to do our work for us. I'm surprised He didn't let me die. Maybe He took pity on me because I'm a new commander. I don't expect Him to forgive my incompetence again."

"And I don't ever want to witness His wrath again. It wasn't glorious at all. It was just brutal."

Aaron patted Norbert on the shoulder. "Remember that important lesson. It's why the Gray Spear Society exists."

"But the mission isn't really over, sir. What about Doolittle?"

"He's probably dead," Aaron said. "If not, we'll catch him. I'll get the word out to the other cells. He'll pop up soon. Guys like that don't know when to quit."

Jack and Nancy were engaged in a serious discussion by the X-ray machine. It seemed something on the display concerned them.

Aaron walked over. "What's going on?"

"One of the packages contains a small, electronic device, sir," Nancy said. "We don't know what it is."

The display on the X-ray machine showed a tiny tangle of wires embedded in a larger object.

"Let me see it," he said.

She handed him a box wrapped in brown paper. It was heavy and flat. The package was addressed to "John Smith" and there was no return address. He ripped off the paper and found a book entitled
All the World's Aircraft.
It was a hardbound edition dated ten years ago.

He flipped through the pages without finding anything suspicious. Using drops of his saliva, he carefully cut open the spine. A small device fell out. It looked like a tiny computer card with wires and a slim battery.

Bethany and Leanna came over, and he handed the device to them. The girls studied it intensely for a moment.

"It's a transmitter," Bethany said. "Military design."

"Damn!" Aaron grimaced. "That means we're going to have company. I'm too tired for this shit!" He sighed deeply. "Nancy, did you ever finish installing all those outdoor surveillance cameras?"

"Yes, sir!" Nancy said. "We have every street and alley within a three-block radius covered. You can observe the entire neighborhood from the security booth. Every camera is hidden."

He nodded. "Good job. Marina, Smythe, and Norbert, you're on offense. Suit up for battle. Stealth weapons. When you're ready, go outside and hide. I'll tell you where and when to attack. This operation will be tightly coordinated by me. Move!"

The
legionnaires
ran towards the weapons locker.

"I want the rest of you in body armor, too," Aaron said to the remainder of his team. "This fight could get ugly. Be prepared to defend yourselves. Bethany and Leanna, that means you need guns."

The twins had pained expressions.

"I won't hear any complaints," he said. "Stay with Nancy and Kamal. They'll show you what to do. Jack, you're with me in the security booth. We'll call the shots from there."

"Yes, sir." Jack's eyes gleamed with excitement.

* * *

Doolittle hated fighting in urban environments. Every doorway could be a trap. Every alley could be an ambush. Every civilian was a possible enemy in disguise. Even an innocent child could have a bomb hidden under his shirt.

Western Chicago was an unfortunate choice even by urban standards. Men wandered the streets aimlessly even though it was the middle of a work day. Many homes had boarded up windows. Instead of lawns, there were just strips of weeds and litter. It was a place where people had nothing to do but get themselves into trouble. It reminded Doolittle of why society needed mind control technology so desperately.

He was riding in a caravan of six cars, each containing five men. It was as large a team as he could assemble on such short notice after losing most of his forces last night. Still, he couldn't complain. The assault team consisted of veteran soldiers who had earned their honor on the battlefield. They would do what was expected of them.

"Sir," the driver said, "we're almost there. Another two blocks."

"Then stop here," Doolittle said. "We'll dismount and approach on foot."

The caravan parked on the side of the road, and everybody got out. All the men wore ordinary business suits, but the urban camouflage couldn't quite conceal the lumpy body armor and weapons underneath.

The team formed a loose column and continued forward at a steady walk. Doolittle stayed near the front of the line so he could see what was ahead, but he didn't lead the way. He had seen too many officers die while performing such pointless heroics.

Eventually, they came within sight of the target. It was a red brick building that looked like it had once been a large warehouse. Now, all the windows were sealed with bricks. The only visible entry was a sliding garage door, which was closed. Most of the structure was one story tall, but there was a small, two story section in the middle.

Doolittle turned to his men and said, "Form into teams of three. Spread out and establish a complete perimeter around the enemy. I don't want any of them to escape when we attack."

"Yes, sir," they responded in unison.

* * *

Norbert was lying on his back on top of a garage. The gravel surface was sharp, but his armor protected his body. Only the back of his head was suffering. He didn't move to relieve his discomfort though. He had to remain perfectly still.

He held a pistol with a suppressor in his right hand. It seemed a very light weapon under the circumstances. He wanted a heavy machine gun, but sadly, they weren't quiet enough.

He heard footsteps. A group was walking along the alley beneath him. They weren't talking, but he knew who they were. Aaron had correctly predicted the enemy would come here.

Just after the footsteps passed, Norbert silently rolled over and looked down into the alley. Three large men in business suits were walking away from his position. They didn't see him. Norbert remembered what Aaron had taught him.
Plan the last shot before you shoot the first.
Norbert pulled the trigger three times, and three bodies fell to the ground. He had shot the men in the back of the head, working his way from the closest target to the farthest. The last man to die hadn't even known they were under attack.

Norbert took out his phone and called Aaron. "I was successful, sir."

"I saw it on the surveillance cameras," Aaron said. "Nicely done."

Norbert grinned. A complement from the boss was a special treat. "Where am I going next, sir?"

"Approximately seventy-five yards to your south. There is a dumpster you can use for an ambush, but you have to move quickly..."

* * *

Smythe sighted down the barrel of his Barrett XM500 sniper rifle. Through the high power scope, he saw three men in a dirt field. They wore business suits, but lumps and bulges revealed body armor underneath. Smythe guessed they were performing reconnaissance. Not for much longer.

At this range he would have no trouble killing one man, and two was feasible, but shooting all three cleanly would require a clever plan. The rifle was semi-automatic, but it would still take a second for Smythe to absorb the powerful recoil after each shot. It was enough time for an enemy to get away. Smythe couldn't allow that to happen.

He went through the sequence in his mind. He had to anticipate how each target would react when the shooting started.
Plan the last shot before you shoot the first.
Hopefully, a little of Aaron's genius had rubbed off on Smythe during the last year.