The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) (20 page)

Trust your spirit.

"How is Taloona associated to what is going on now?" Daniels asked.

"Nothing is ever as it seems."

Daniels didn't understand, at least not now. Perhaps in the future he would figure it out. He knew that's all the Indian would say for now.

Spirit Wolf handed Daniels a small black leather book with silver chains wrapped around it. It was a set of GI dog tags. He recognized the leather book, a soldier's diary. Thousands were sold in Post Exchanges on US military bases throughout the world. He read the dog tag: Jonathan B. Kolb, followed by his Army number. He opened the diary of Jonathan B. Kolb.

Chapter 27

Daniels thumbed through the first half of the soldier's diary that Altoona had given him. Deeno had brought the soldier to Altoona but even she couldn't save him.

The diary was pretty much average for a soldier except that Jonathan B. Kolb liked to write in it almost every day. Daniels read through the young soldier's tribulations, his fears and triumph as he underwent rigorous basic training. The pride and accomplishment shone through as he progressed into AIT, Advanced Infantry Training and the trials of Airborne Jump School. How well Daniels knew that road! A triumphant entry followed graduation and leave: Accepted top of his class into Ranger School. A diligent hard working dedicated young man. Jonathan B. Kolb, thought Daniel, I'd be proud to have you in my squad any old day. Entry after entry followed as he graduated and was assigned to an elite Special Operations Group. The next entries seemed to leap out of the pages, a timeless voice, a story that needed closure.

April 24:YES YES YES!!! First combat assignment. Called into CO's office. Opportunity to volunteer for special operation. Top Secret clearance came in handy. CIA type, or maybe CID, definitely spook type. Will be tracking someone in jungle. Don't know where for now, but going to Fort Benning for special briefing.

April 26:It's scary. I don't feel right about it. I'm not even supposed to write this down or talk to anyone about this. But hell, it doesn't feel right. We're tracking down a soldier. An officer who is supposed to have stolen a biological agent that makes him into a sort of superman.

April 29: Just finished major briefing. Holy shit! It's like some weird science fiction story. This guy is supposed to have hijacked a helicopter at Benning and parachuted himself into the Everglades. He's supposed to have developed some kind of superpowers because of the stuff he stole. We're tracking him with a special laptop device. There're three of us. We were picked because of our jungle warfare training. Except there's one thing that bothers me: None of us are married or have any family, it's almost as if they picked us because it doesn't matter if we don't come back.

May 3: First night in the bush. Classic small unit ambush except we're in the middle of the Everglades, there're only three of us and it's in Florida for chrissakes. How come they just don't call out a whole lot of people. Why all the hush-hush? Oh well, ours not to question, ours to do or die. Hopefully do!

We found him, pinned him on the laptop locator. Moving out before first light tomorrow morning. Dawn ambush. Supposed to kill him. That CIA type with the black mole on his cheek said it's an urgent matter of National Security.

Now the character of the diary changed. The handwriting became a scrawl, difficult to read, smudged with mud and blood, as if the writer fell under tremendous duress, straining to record everything while his faculties were still intact.

May 5-Everything is turned upside down. My two buddies are dead. Still can't believe it. Don and Tyrrell dead. I know I'm not going to last much longer, I can feel the poison spreading in my body. I can't blame John, not really, even though he did all this, it's not his fault. He tried best he could. If only I could have known. I must record this so someone, somehow can figure out the truth, can bring all this to light.

We closed in at dawn. According to the laptop finder we were on top of him. Whoever talked about the "thrill of the hunt" is full of shit. Maybe they were hunting something defenseless, I don't know, but I can say one thing; we were scared. This guy, or whatever he is, has to be the most dangerous creature on the planet. Like I said, we were on top of him but none of us could see shit even though it was starting to get bright.

Don was the first to die. It happened so quickly we just couldn't react. No training can prepare you for this. He must have buried himself in the rotting mud between the cypress stands. As we passed he shot right out of the ground, there was some kind of weapon, something so sharp and fast it took Don's head off. One minute we're walking, triangle formation, I had the point, the next moment Don's head rolls at my feet, his corpse is falling with jets of blood pumping out of the neck. Tyrell was swinging his rifle when the target lunged at him. It wasn't any kind of normal lunge. He seemed to fly, like an impossible twenty five foot jump from a standstill. Its arm was straight, extended into some kind of spear. It went through Tyrell. I saw it come out of his back. I can't say how long it took me to react. It couldn't have been more than a second or two. It happened that fast. But I fired a burst at the same time it threw some sort of spear, something that seemed to have been part of its arm. It went into my right side. It burnt like fire, like live coals were jammed into my body. It must have been that venom, the stuff I can feel now. I dropped my weapon. I was paralyzed.

It walked over to me. I wasn't frightened anymore. I knew I was dead, sure as I know I won't see another sunrise. It was a man, a true giant, seven feet tall. He wore the remains of shredded fatigues and was like no man I ever saw. It was as if God took a man and gave him attributes and the natural weapons of animal predators. Big with muscles glistening under a skin covered with leathery scales. The hands were human but the fingers had claws, hideous knife-like claws on long forearms. The bone actually protruded through the flesh and they were sharp like a honed ax head. There was blood on one where it had loped off poor Don's head. On either side of the forearms, growing out of the elbows, were long sharp barbs. When he flicked his arm at me the barb flew off like an expertly thrown knife. Now it was embedded in my side. He was like a strange and dangerous monster, something out of a Hollywood nightmare flick.

He got real close and I waited to die. I wasn't scared anymore. I just prayed it would be quick. He squatted next to me. His face was distorted but his expression was strangely remorseful. I know that sounds real weird. How can I say he was remorseful when he had killed two men in the blink of an eye, but that's what I felt. Also we had been trying to kill him. That was our mission.

He picked me up effortlessly, like I was a sack of feathers. He was gentle and I felt nothing as he pulled the long ugly barb from my side. He carried me to the end of the Cypress stand, to the water and a boat tied to a submerged log. There was a young man waiting in the boat. There was something strange about the young man. He was like one of those Mongoloids. I always thought they would be retarded, unable to function, but not this one. They both tried to help me. I asked for my diary and they handed it to me. The giant held me up, he continuously muttered, "I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry, I can't control it." I'm in the boat now and as I write this, I don't know where they are taking me or what they plan to do. I feel everything slip away, I feel the poison throughout my system, my fingers are numb, I have to put down the pen.

At that point the writing became unreadable and finally stops in a jagged line. Daniels placed the diary and dog tags in the wide pocket of his jungle fatigue pants and turned to Spirit Wolf.

"How did Taloona get this?"

Spirit Wolf looked far away, off to the distant horizon of a mangrove bog. Daniels waited until he was ready and the words came to him.

"They were trying to save the young soldier's life. The one who killed him has had something unnatural done to him. Something dark that is struggling to control him, and that something will eventually win. It takes over when he is threatened its more deadly than even the big crocodiles. The young soldier was dead by the time they reached Taloona's cabin."

Daniels feared the answer to his next question. Subconsciously, he already knew the answer—had known the moment he read the description in the dead soldier's diary.

"The diary talks of someone else running the boat. Another man. A young mongoloid man."

Spirit Wolf turned, the eyes impassive, locking with Daniels.

"It is Deeno."

Richard Daniels felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, teetering over a dark pit while something slithered in the darkness far below.

Chapter 28

Deeno's story:

He was born in Miami, on the outskirts of Little Havana, in a neighborhood described as "changing." It rained heavily the day he came into the world, early in the morning of December 8th. He was given the name Dean Labianca after his mother's latest boyfriend, but he never really knew his mother. She was usually off with one or another man, whichever could best support her daily habit. She died of an overdose when Deeno was six.

He was raised by the woman he called "Grammy" his mother would have abandoned him sooner or later anyway. The Down -Syndrome just made it happen a lot faster, in fact, she left him almost immediately, quick as she could after dropping the baby off at the apartment where her mother, Marjorie Drosso, lived.

It seemed as if Marjorie Drosso's life was a continuous heartache. Her husband had been a good man, caring for his young family, working hard at various construction sites until one day two police officers showed up at her door to tell her he'd died in an accident. A large piece of steel fell off a crane and killed John Drosso as he hoisted bricks for a building he would never see.

He'd left a small life insurance policy. The settlement from his employer's insurance company and the small life insurance would not make them wealthy, but it was enough. Marjorie Drosso thought it would be sufficient to raise her daughter properly and safely.

She was wrong.

She wasn't wrong about the money, that would have been enough. She'd been wrong about her daughter's character. As the girl matured she fell into the clutches of the Miami drug culture. Perhaps that wasn't exactly accurate—she embraced it willingly. As her mother watched helplessly, the girl's life turn into an endless series of seedy men and episodes of wild drug abuses.

Deeno was four when Marjorie Drosso made her final decision. She'd cared for the boy all along and found it was not as difficult as the children's welfare agencies had told her. She didn't believe the Down Syndrome was as advanced as they said. She also thought they didn't care very much either way as long as they could get their forms filled in all the right places and their reports turned in on time.

The boy had the Asian eye folds and at four he only started to speak, but she knew with her heart, with all her conviction, that the boy was special. There was a spark in his eyes and she felt a gentle spirit in all his actions.

He also seemed to have some special relation with animals.

Her neighbor had a large pit bull. The dog was attack trained. Dangerous and unapproachable, the animal had a bite powerful enough to crush a grown man's leg bone to splinters. He kept the dog on a long chain during the day and brought him in at night. The owner would often tell her how dangerous the dog was.