The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (57 page)

He cast his left hand then right hand, making purple, green and pink lightning bolts that stretched a hundred-feet toward the soldiers in the distance as they charged towards the base. One soldier was struck after another, flying through the air over the military vehicles with electrical currents tearing through them, landing away.

They arrived at the base. More soldiers came around the tents, firing their guns. The two lizards roared at them as their bullets were blocked from a force field created by the phantasma.

“Get Chris on a warbird! Quickly!” hollered Twelve.

Twelve cast his right hand, making multiple lightning streaks strike each of the soldiers, throwing them across the base like they were a baseball being chucked across a field. Kerry and Kirk jumped off the lizards’ backs and carried Chris to one of the Blackhawks, loading him into the cabin. Kirk scrambled to climb into the pilot’s seat, turning on the engine, making the propellers begin to spin with a revving sound.

***

General Bauer stood from his desk as four soldiers rushed into his tent.

“What the hell is going on out there?” he asked.

“Sir! They’re here with two creature things, sir!” a soldier yelled.

“Get to the jeep and try to stop them!” Bauer commanded, running out of the tent. “Meyer? You’re coming with me! I’ll take them down myself!”

“Yes sir!” Meyer responded.

***

Twelve cast more lightning at the other two parked Blackhawks, causing them to explode. The cockpit and propellers flew outwards as a fireball erupted from the center, causing the fin and side-mounted gun to fly in opposite directions on fire, some of the burning parts landing on canopies and tents a short distance away.

He directed more electrical currents toward the fighter jets, making them blow up, sending the wings and cockpit into the air, burning, after an explosion ignited near the vertical fin stabilizers. The rest of the jet was thrown across the base, landing on military vehicles, setting them on fire.

***

Bauer and Meyers sped up in a jeep to a parked Blackhawk on the other side of the base, slamming on the brakes.

“Hurry and get in!” said Bauer, climbing into the pilot seat, turning on the engine, flicking switches, starting up the propellers.

Meyers sat in the co-pilot seat and put on his headset.

“Sons of bitches!” Bauer yelled, putting on his headset. “No one destroys my base and lives to tell about it!”

Bauer’s warbird lifted off the ground.

***

The three soldiers sped around the corner of some canopies in the military jeep, fish-tailing through the dirt, speeding towards Kirk’s helicopter. One of the soldiers stood at the fifty-caliber machine gun as the passenger raised his gun.

The soldiers watched another explosion as the last F22 jet went up in a fireball, sending burning parts of the wings, wheels, and cockpit a short distance away, landing in the dirt.

“Oh my God,” said the driver.

“Was that one of the F-22s?” asked the gunman.

“Hurry! Speed up before they get away!” said the passenger.

***

“C’mon Twelve! We got to go now!” Kerry cried from the helicopter cabin.

“Take care of the rest of the base for me, will you?” Twelve asked the lizards in a commanding tone, floating off their backs with the power of the phantasma, carrying him to the helicopter cabin.

The two lizards stomped towards the jeep, roaring like enormous dinosaurs. The gunman fired at them, yelling. The lizards hit the jeep head-on, throwing it backwards, flipping through the air, crashing on top of a tent, demolishing it. The three soldiers went flying. One landed on top of a canopy, another on a tent. The third fell to the ground unconscious.

“I’m getting us out of here!” said Kirk, putting on his headset.

The helicopter lifted off the ground. Twelve made a soft landing on the cabin, sitting at the side with the sliding door open, watching the two lizards below tear down the rest of the tents and canopies, ramming other jeeps, flipping them upside down.

“You weren’t kidding, were you?” asked Kerry.

“What do you mean?” Twelve said.

“The base is really turned upside down,” she replied.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Twelve responded. “Thanks to our oversized reptile friends down there,” he added, making the apparition drift back into his binocular pouch.

Twelve and Kerry watched more explosions erupt near the destroyed helicopters and fighter jets, scattering avionic and helicopter parts throughout the annihilated military base.

Suddenly, Kirk’s helicopter took hits from machine gun fire.

“What the—” Kirk said, jarring the warbird to the left.

Twelve was sent across the cabin, hitting his head against the wall, collapsing like he was dead.

“Twelve!” Kerry cried, trying to keep hold of Chris.

Kirk maneuvered to the right, avoiding the onslaught of continuing rapid gunfire from Bauer’s military helicopter.

“He’s right on our tail, Kirk!” Kerry cried.

“I know! I’ll lose this bastard!” Kirk replied in a loud voice.

Bauer pursued Kirk’s warbird down into the jungle, whizzing through the forty-foot-high trees, breaking through hanging mossy vines.

“Are you crazy?” Kerry yelled.

“He’d be an idiot to follow me, wouldn’t he?” Kirk answered.

He maneuvered his Blackhawk around the thick trees and crisscrossing branches like a master as Bauer fired a rocket, hissing through the mutated jungle, exploding against the side of a tree, causing it to crumble and fall over.

“Whoa, damn! That was close!” Kirk yelled.

“He’s gaining on us, Kirk!” cried Kerry.

***

“Now I have these bitches,” Bauer growled, locking his target on the rear of Kirk’s helicopter, preparing to fire.

“Take them down, General,” said Meyers.

***

Just as Bauer went to fire, a black and red, forty foot, mutated Hila Monster rushed through the trees, leaped up off a boulder, roaring, slashing and slashed the side of Bauer’s Blackhawk, making it swerve then go into a spin.

“What the hell?” Bauer shouted, trying to gain control of his warbird as it spun out of control.

“Goddamn, General!” Meyers cried, bracing himself against the interior.

Bauer’s propellers cut through branches and vines for a short time until he regained control of his Blackhawk, glaring at the Hila Monster outside his windshield.

“You damn mutated reptile freak-show!” Bauer yelled, firing down at the Hila Monster, trailing a line of rapid fire fifty-caliber bullets after it and missing as it ran off into the trees.

“What the hell was that thing?” asked Meyers.

“Who gives a shit? I’m taking out that warbird they stole from me,” Bauer responded, flying out of the treetops.

He raised his helicopter out of the trees, scanning, searching for Kirk’s Blackhawk. He turned around his bird around, seeing Kirk stare at them through his windshield fifty yards away. The priceless mutual stare lasted only a moment as Bauer screamed, hitting his fire button, trying to move to the right. As his helicopter fired more rounds, Kirk launched one rocket, striking Bauer’s windshield, causing the entire Blackhawk to be consumed in a cloudy, red and orange explosion four times its size, sending burning parts of the cockpit and wings down into the jungle from the fireball like a fountain of flames.

***

Kirk sighed, catching his breath, moving the helicopter to the left, flying away over the trees and hills into Mexico.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A PRESIDENTIAL UNDERSTANDING

Twelve woke up, running his head like he had a headache, watching the mountainous territory of hills with green tree tops out the window.

“Are you okay? You were knocked out cold,” said Kerry.

“I think so,” asked Twelve. “How is he?”

Chris lay on his back, his head in Kerry’s lap, gazing up at her. Her face became blurry as his body felt numb, while he tried to not think about his stab wound.

“Kerry,” said Chris in a quiet voice. “I—”

“—Chris?” Kerry asked, gazing at him, her voice muffled, concerned, as she ran her hand down his cheek.

He didn’t answer, instead dozing off, blinking, unable to keep his eyes open.

“Chris, it’s going to be okay,” said Kerry, giving his forehead a soft kiss, her voice still muffled, fading.

“Chris? Can you hear me?” she asked in a soft tone.

The sounds of the loud helicopter and propellers drowned out her voice.

“So what now?” she asked.

“It’s not over for us, yet,” Twelve replied. “The government is going to come after us. It’s time to go into hiding.”

“Where are we going to go?” Kerry asked.

“After we get Chris medical attention in Cananea, we’ll have to get the three of you to a country with no extradition, as far away as possible,” Twelve answered.

“Where would that be?” Kerry asked.

“There is a list of places but I’m going to suggest Indonesia, for one,” Twelve responded. “It’s cheap living and chances are the US government wouldn’t try to find the three of you there. You’ll have to change your identities, appearances, everything.”

“What do you mean the
three of us
? What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I’m going to have to wrap up some loose ends with some friends in D.C.” Twelve answered.

“President Greenfield,” Kerry stated.

“Yeah,” Twelve replied, placing his hand under the phantasma as it hovered in the cabin.

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Kerry asked, worried.

“The US government has to know there will be consequences if they don’t leave us alone,” Twelve responded.

The helicopter flew on.

***

It was six-o-clock pm in San Francisco. The Garden Court room in The Palace Hotel was occupied by multiple guests dressed in fine clothing, sitting at round tables that took up most of the spacious fancy dining area with a ceiling thirty-feet above them graced with hanging chandeliers, and pillars on either side of the room. The male guests wore tuxedos and the females wore evening gowns with fine jewelry. The guests sipped at wine and champagne, while the well-dressed waiters hurried in and out, serving drinks, as President Greenfield was preparing to make a speech. All the doors and exits were manned by Secret Service agents, watching for anything out of place.

Outside the hotel, a taxi pulled up to the entrance. Twelve stepped out, wearing a dark Gucci suit.

“Hey, that’ll be fifty-seven fifty, sir,” said the driver.

“Keep the change,” Twelve answered, handing the driver a hundred dollar bill.

“Ain’t you supposed to have cops or agents or something around you at all times, Mr. President?” asked the driver.

“There’ve been a few changes,” Twelve replied. “You drive safe, sir.”

The taxi drove on as Twelve observed the exquisite entrance to the luxurious hotel. He made his way to the door. The pedestrians walking by noticed him resembling Greenfield, stopped and watched him enter the hotel lobby.

***

Twelve walked through the lobby, catching more attention from guests and hotel employees.

“Look, it’s President Greenfield,” said a woman in the background.

Agents Barnes and three assisting Secret Service agents rushed through the lobby.

“Mr. President, sir. How did you get down here? I thought you were up in the suite?” asked Barnes.

“I’m just on my way to the dinner speech, gentlemen,” Twelve replied in a calm voice.

“Stand by, sir,” Barnes stated, holding up a hand-held radio. “We’re just going to get some clarification.”

“I figured you’d say that but it won’t be necessary,” Twelve stated, casting his hand, causing a pink and green lightning bolt to strike each of the agents, knocking then to the floor unconscious.

“Whoa!” another agent yelled, running around a corner.

Twelve cast his hand again, making another purple and pink bolt fly across the lobby, go around the corner and strike the fifth agent, throwing him to the floor.

Twelve made his way to the Garden Court. There were four more agents standing guard at the closed entry door.

“Mr. President, sir,” said an agent, confused, “I thought you were already in there?”

Twelve crossed his wrists, making electrical currents zap the four agents, tossing them against the walls where they fell unconscious. He entered the double French doors and kept his eyes on Greenfield who was standing at a pulpit at the far end of the room, talking into a microphone, oblivious to Twelve’s abrupt entry.

“It is my hope that we can decrease racism in this country and raise equality for all people,” said Greenfield, addressing the audience.

Twelve moved forward. The guests sitting at the tables noticed him, confused as he passed by.

“What the—” said a man, sitting at a table.

“There are two of them?” said a female.

“And furthermore, it is my intention that we—”

Greenfield stopped speaking, noticing Twelve walking down the middle of the room, standing, staring at him.

“Is this some type of elaborate joke?” asked Greenfield, adjusting his spectacles.

“No joke at all,” Twelve replied.

“Who are you?” asked Greenfield.

“Don’t you know? You had me created,” Twelve answered. “But I’ve come here to get your attention.”

Greenfield turned around to Ken and Barry who were sitting behind him.

“Can we get some freaking security in here?” he said to them in a low-pitched, pissed-off tone, grasping the microphone, muffling his angry voice.

Barry and Ken stood from their seated positions behind the pulpit, stunned at the sight of Twelve.

“Oh, I’m afraid this is just going to be the two of us, Mr. President,” Twelve stated, slamming his fist on a table.

A bluish-white, disk-like beam shot throughout the room from Twelve’s person, causing all the government employees, hotel staff, guests, their dishes and silverware to lift up in the air, floating around in a slow pace around the chandeliers with dazed expressions on their faces like they had no sense of awareness. The forks, wine glasses, spoons, and napkins drifted around them like gravity had left the rest of the room as they bumped into the people and chandeliers with a soft bounce.

Greenfield, the only one standing, aside from Twelve, watched Ken and Barry float around fifteen feet above the floor with vacant expressions.

“Well, if you’re here to get my attention, you’ve certainly got it,” he said.

“Have a seat,” Twelve stated, pulling out a chair at one of the tables. “I want to show you something.”

“What’s next, fancy card tricks?” Greenfield asked, moving towards the table.

“Not at all,” Twelve replied.

Greenfield sat across from him, glaring.

“You do know who I am, right?” Twelve asked.

“Operation Eagle Shadow,” Greenfield answered. “The clone.”

“I prefer Twelve.”

“Well, what can I do for you,
Mr. Twelve
?” Greenfield asked in a hard tone.

“You have the latest updates, I presume?” Twelve asked.

“The latest updates? Do you mean the fact that a multi-billion dollar facility now lays waste in southeast Arizona in a pile of rubble and that thousands are dead?” Greenfield asked. “Or do you mean how there is now a jungle-like forest infested with hostile life forms that has grown in a fifteen mile radius around the wreckage where hundreds of commandos and Special Forces operatives have lost their lives, not to mention a military base that was annihilated, taking the life of a well-decorated Army general, costing the taxpayers tens of millions in destroyed aircrafts and vehicles? On top of that, there is a US citizen named Christopher James Michaels who has manufactured himself an unknown number of clones and is still alive, and has escaped with them into Mexico with an unknown source of alien electrical power. Oh, I assure you,
Mr. Twelve
, we have those updates and, by the power vested by the people of this nation, they will not, I repeat
will not
go unanswered. So, with that being said, what is it you wanted to show—”

Twelve released the phantasma. It hovered over the table in between them, making soft, whispery-echo sounds. Greenfield gazed at it in awe.

“Fantastical isn’t it?” asked Twelve.

“Siddoway’s source of lightning, I’m guessing?” asked Greenfield, amazed.

“Indeed,” Twelve answered. “Dr. Siddoway lost his mind in the jungle over this and caused all the death and destruction you mentioned.”

“So, what do you want?” asked Greenfield.

“I want you to leave us alone,” Twelve responded.

“It’s not just me who’s interested in Michaels’ capture,” said Greenfield. “And if you think for one second I’m going to allow you and Michaels to run around with this bluish-vapor thing, you’ve got another think coming, sir.”

“I just walked through multiple agents who were assigned to protect you like they were small children. You have two hundred dinner guests floating above your head with their wine glasses, oblivious that you and I are even sitting down having this conversation,” Twelve asserted, taking a floating wine glass that drifted by, containing champagne, and taking a sip.

“What’s your point?” asked Greenfield.

“How difficult do you really think it would be for someone like me to get to you or anyone you sent after us?” Twelve asked.

“You’ve come here tonight to get my attention, now you’re making a threat?” asked Greenfield.

“Not a threat, just a warning and a promise, sir,” Twelve answered.

“What promise?” asked Greenfield.

“That I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Twelve replied.

“About what?” Greenfield asked.

“I know every scandal and dishonest thing you and the members of your so-called administration have pulled ever since you took office five years, eight months and two days ago,” Twelve responded.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Greenfield.