The Doomsday Device (Teen Superheroes Book 2) (4 page)

A number of men and women were sitting and drinking. No-one looked up when they entered. As Tate carried the unconscious woman through the premises, everyone treated it as if it were the most normal thing on the planet.

Possibly, here, it was.

A man sat alone in a booth at the far end. He looked up when they approached and inclined his head in greeting. Like every other occupant of the bar, he ignored the woman completely.

“Good evening, Mr. Tate,” the stranger said. “It’s been too long.”

“It has indeed,” Tate said. “May I introduce my friend, Rudolf Wills? Rudolf, this is Jacob.”

Jacob. No last name. Possibly he didn’t need one.

“I’m sure there’s no need for falsities around Jacob,” Wolff said. “I am known as General Solomon Wolff. You may have heard of me.”

“I have.”

“General Wolff has an operation in the works,” Tate said. “He is looking for five or six of your people to participate.”

“What sort of operation is it?” Jacob asked.

Wolff described it.

Jacob thought about it for a moment. Then he said, “The price is ten million paid to me. I will distribute the funds accordingly to my associates.”

“Naturally,” Wolff said.

He was pleased. This was going better than he expected. At that moment the unconscious girl gave a shudder. She raised her head. Peered about uncertainly. Her eyes filled with alarm. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, Jacob reached across and placed a finger across her lips as if to silence her.

“Look at the flame,” Jacob said.

She looked at the flame in the centre of the table.

Amazing
, Wolff thought.

The girl said nothing. She did not flinch. She did not move a muscle. She simply stared at the flame. She kept her eyes focused on it. She did not look away for a second of the fifteen minutes it took Jacob to kill her.

Sammy Davis Junior continued to croon softly in the background the whole time.

Chapter Six

Oddly, I was not displeased to see either Mr. Jones or Mr. Brown. Certainly none of us trusted Mr. Jones as far as we could throw him – and in Ferdy’s case that was a considerable distance – but Mr. Brown had been my personal trainer. He had taught me many of the skills I now took for granted. I would not have survived my time on Cayo Placetas if it were not for him.

Maybe he or Mr. Jones would have an insight into why my abilities seemed erratic.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to get away from it all,” Mr. Jones said as he followed us into the house. “This is about as far away from civilization you can get without living in a cave.”

“I would have preferred somewhere in the city,” Chad said. “But our venerated leader wanted us to stay out of sight.”

“Out of sight is good,” Mr. Jones said. “Staying out of sight has kept mods alive for centuries.”

“Mods?” Brodie asked.

“Mods are humans that have been modified in one way or another,” Jones said.

“We’re not the first?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Jones replied.

“You didn’t tell us that before,” Brodie said.

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Mr. Jones said. “It’s a shame you left The Agency when you did. We had barely started your training. There are still so many things for you to learn.”

“I saw how you taught Ferdy,” I said, my voice growing hard. “That left a sour taste in my mouth.”

When I had found Ferdy he had been languishing in a tiny cell alone under the earth. He had barely been treated like a human being.

“Sour is one of the basic tastes in the ancient healing science known as Ayurveda,” Ferdy spoke up. “The others are sweet, bitter, salty, pungent and astringent.” He looked at both the men. “You are Mr. Jones, but I don’t know you.”

“I’m Mr. Brown,” the military man said. “How are you, Ferdy?”

“I’m fine,” Ferdy said. “The word Mr. originates from medieval times.”

Brown nodded.

I wasn’t sure how Mr. Brown felt about being here. I had the sense he seemed a little uncomfortable. Last time we were on his turf; The Agency’s training ground. Now the shoe was on the other foot.

“What brings you here?” Ebony asked.

I was a little surprised to hear Ebony speak. She was usually so quiet you forgot she was even in the room. She had changed a little over the last few months, however, as she had taken Ferdy under her wing. Maybe the responsibility had made her more confident.

“You expressed some interest in helping The Agency should the need arise,” Mr. Jones said. “The need has arisen.”

Chad laughed. “The need has arisen? Really? That sounds so dramatic. You can use that when they make the television series.” He shook his head. “There’s not enough need in the world to take me back there. You people tried to kill us last time.”

“That’s not true,” Mr. Jones said. “Twelve was responsible for the abuses in the Alpha Project.”

“What’s that old saying?” Brodie asked “Dead men – or dead aliens – tell no tales? It’s easy to blame things on dead people.”

It was interesting to see everyone’s reaction to Mr. Jones’s suggestion. I understood how they felt. The Agency had been responsible for taking each of us from our homelands and filling us full of experimental drugs to see what would happen.

Of course, the same drugs had turned other teenagers into dead teenagers and had turned Ferdy into -.

Well, we weren’t really too sure. He was Ferdy. Brilliant but unable to carry on a conversation. Strong enough to lift a tank, but sometimes unable to work out how to open a door.

“Twelve took the original aims of The Alpha Project and twisted them,” Mr. Jones said. “He was a rogue among the Bakari. That project is finished. Now we want to move forward -.”

“So you’re not torturing and killing any more teenagers,” Ebony interrupted. Red splotches of fury decorated her cheeks. “No more destroying of lives. No more stealing kids from their parents.”

Mr. Jones stopped and bit his bottom lip.

It was Mr. Brown who spoke next. “We’re here because we need your help.”

“What sort of help?” I asked.

“A canister of a deadly virus has been stolen,” Mr. Brown said. “At the moment, the canister is locked by a sophisticated encryption code.”

“Very sophisticated,” Mr. Jones piped up. “It is virtually impossible to open.”

“So?” Chad sounded bored. He was actually inspecting his nails. “Why are you so concerned if it can’t be opened?”

“I said it’s virtually impossible,” Mr. Jones said. “There is still a very slight chance it can be opened and used.”

“And what would happen then?” I asked.

“You may have heard of the H5N1 virus,” Mr. Jones said.

“Uh, is that the bird flu?” Brodie asked.

“It’s commonly known as Avian Influenza or Bird Flu,” Mr. Brown confirmed. “It has a mortality rate of sixty percent.”

“Sixty percent?” Chad said. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

It did to me. “That’s sixty people in a hundred,” I said. “It’s six hundred million people out of a billion. Out of the current world’s population it would be three point six billion people.”

“Wow,” Chad said. “You can add. Can you multiply as well?”

I ignored him. “Is that what this is? H5N1?”

Mr. Jones shook his head. “The weakness of H5N1 is that it is not airborne.”

“Good for us,” Brodie said. “Bad for the virus.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Jones said. “It is its current saving grace. Unfortunately scientists in Germany recently tweaked the virus to see how difficult it would be to make it airborne.”

“What a clever thing to do,” I said sarcastically. “Take a lethal virus and make it more efficient.”

Mr. Brown seemed to be of a similar opinion. “The scientists claimed their reason to do so was to plan ahead in case the virus should ever mutate of its own accord.”

“They were successful in their attempts,” Mr. Jones said. “Wildly successful. The resulting virus is known as Doomsday.”

I was sort of wondering about the definition of wildly successful. It sounded a little like a doctor successfully removing a bullet from a patient – but the patient dying on the operating table.

“Not only were they able to make it airborne, but they were able to make it far more lethal.” Mr. Jones paused. “One hundred percent lethal.”

One hundred percent lethal. That sounded like the same stupid mode of thinking that had driven The Alpha Project. Let’s take some perfectly harmless teenagers, inject them with a weird combination of drugs and see what happens.

“So if this virus gets free…” Brodie said slowly.

“It will kill every human being on Earth,” Mr. Brown said. “Every man, woman and child.”

Chad shook his head slowly. “It sounds like you guys have got a real problem. I’m off to see what’s on the tube. I think there’re reruns of CSI.”

“Chad -.” I started.

He spread his arms. “We’re the victims, leader man. You need to get that through your stupid skull. All of you. We had lives before these clowns used us as mice.”

“Mice are a type of mammal,” Ferdy said.

“I’m with Chad on this one,” Ebony said. “I have no desire to go back to The Agency or ever have anything to do with you people.” She took Ferdy’s hand. “Want to play on the computer again?”

“I like chess,” he said.

They stood and left the room.

I looked at Brodie. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry.” She looked directly at Mr. Jones and Mr. Brown. “I just don’t trust you guys.”

“Dan?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not without you guys.”

“What about you, Axel?” Mr. Jones asked. “You must realize the seriousness of this situation. Not just for you, but for every person on Earth.”

My eyes strayed to the dark desert outside. The wind had started to weave its way across the dry landscape. This was a place of contrasts. Stifling heat during the day. Freezing cold at night.

“We work as a team,” I said. “Or not at all.”

Chapter Seven

It seems
, General Wolff thought,
that I spend most of my life at airports.

This time he was at Henderson Executive Airport. It was smaller than McCarran International. Many single engine planes were housed here. Many private jets. There were times when it was better to remain under the radar; this was one of those times.

The meeting with Jacob had gone well; his team was on their way from Mexico and would arrive at any moment. If the arrangement with Jacob had not transpired, there were other people Wolff could have contacted; all mods of various abilities. Some were better than others. Jacob and his people just happened to have an excellent reputation for being both efficient and ruthless. Like all mods everywhere, they had remained secret over the years.

Now it appeared all that was about to change.

There had been rumblings among the members of the United Nations Security Council that the time had come for mods to ‘come out of the closet’. Wolff had his doubts about the wisdom of this course of action. Anonymity was a strength. Why give away such an advantage when it was unnecessary?

However, technology had increased so much – especially in the last twenty years – that keeping mods a secret was becoming more difficult by the day. Everyone had a cell phone. Every second person had a blog. Combine the two and it meant that everyone was a pseudo journalist. People were using Twitter and Facebook to start revolutions.

Maybe I’m getting old
, Wolff thought.
Maybe I’ll retire after this operation. Maybe.

Planes were arriving at the airport all the time; a long procession of small aircraft that were landing and being bedded down for the night or lifting off to continue to destinations unknown. Wolff watched as a particular plane appeared, first as a bright dot in the sky. It grew ever larger. Zooming in to land, it finally taxied into the hanger where he waited.

The aircraft looked to be little more than a twelve seater. It seemed likely Jacob’s crew used it to traverse the country to carry out their operations. A good method of operation. Fly in for the kill – so to speak – and then fly straight back out again while the hapless local law enforcement agencies searched the local environ looking for the perpetrators.

A few minutes passed and then the side door dropped down and the occupants disembarked. Wolff drew in a breath. There were five of them. Three men. Two women. They all looked to be aged in their twenties. They looked like an ordinary group of executives, dressed in expensive suits and business attire. The men looked like they could be lawyers. The women could have been their personal assistants.

Wolff had to hand it to them; they were professionals. There was nothing about the group to suggest they were anything other than a typical group of business people travelling across the country to attend a meeting in Las Vegas.

“I’m Anthony,” the tallest of the group introduced himself. He had a soft voice and a firm handshake. “These are my associates. Michael. John. Ramona. Elizabeth.”

The General introduced himself.

“Wolff,” Anthony mused. “I knew a Ferdinand Wolff at the Battle of Chickamauga. Any relation?”

“Possibly.” Wolff reached into his pocket. “I have the address here for the operation.”

Anthony took the piece of paper from him and read it. “We’ll do this tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Is that too soon?”

“Not at all,” Wolff said. “The sooner the better.”

“What are the abilities of these mods?” Anthony asked.

Wolff described them.

“Good,” Anthony said. “It doesn’t sound like anything we can’t handle.”

Chapter Eight

I opened my eyes to darkness.

For a few confusing seconds I thought I was still asleep. I had been dreaming about wheat fields. The same dream had been returning night after night for months. I was in a wheat field walking towards a farmhouse in the distance. A boy was sitting on the front steps. As I drew closer he stood and started towards me. His face blurred. The dream ended and I awoke. I found myself staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.