Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he moved, pausing every few steps to listen. After another five minutes of cautious advance, a loud snap stopped him in his tracks. The sound had come from beneath his foot, but was markedly louder than the crunch of a leaf or break of a branch. He lifted his foot and looked down. Something white extended out of the dark leaf litter that had concealed it from view as he approached. He swept the leaves away. A human femur.
Bishop stood, raised the 9mm, and continued. The smell quickly became nauseating. He raised an arm over his mouth and nose as he passed through a bush and entered a clearing surrounded by large trees that covered the area with sweeping branches and leaves that concealed the site, and its contents, from above. But standing at ground level, he could see the bodies.
Some, the ones providing the stench, were perhaps days old. Bloated and deformed, their bodies hardly looked human anymore, and the lack of heads revealed how they had been slain — decapitation. But the sheer number of bodies filling the shallow pit, both human and animal, caused Bishop to step back. Manifold was infinitely more dangerous than they had surmised.
He looked down at the mass grave before him. It could have been the handy work of Hitler or Stalin or any number of sick-minded dictators. Fresh corpses lay atop and twisted limbs with the further decayed, who shared space with skeletons. Even in a time of war, acts like this were considered criminal, but this site belonged to a genetics company working on the secret of human regeneration. He wondered, with growing revulsion, what would have become of the world if Hitler's S.S. had been impervious to harm. The beaches of Normandy could never have been stormed. The Third Reich could have taken the world. And it seemed the same ruthlessness would be the birthplace of the world's next military horror. Whoever possessed the technology would rule the battlefield.
Blood fueled by adrenaline surged through Bishop's veins as a rage unlike any he'd felt before took root in his soul. Manifold had to be stopped. The others had to be warned. But as he turned to head back to camp, the sound of approaching voices mixed with the frenzy of a madman filled the air. Bishop dove behind a tree just as the men entered the clearing. As three men shouted to one another over the mindless screams of a fourth Bishop stole a peek around the base of the tree. What he saw through the green vision provided by his night vision erased his rage and replaced it with something he felt very rarely.
Fear.
TWENTY- SEVEN
"Now just who in the hell are you?" Karn asked, keeping his pistol aimed between King's eyes. "And drop the phony French accent."
"How did you know?" King asked, speaking normally, as commanded.
"I didn't know. Not until I pointed the gun at your head and you didn't even blink."
King smiled and looked at the pistol. It was a M1911A1, 45-caliber automatic pistol that took more than its fair share of lives during the Vietnam War. "You're a veteran. Vietnam."
Karn squinted at him, then gave the pistol an angry stare. He felt King's eyes on his face, inspecting the scars just barely visible beneath the man's thick beard.
"Prisoner of war," King said, doing nothing to hide his new admiration for the man. "How long?"
Karn shook the gun, his eyes wide. "I've got the gun. I'm asking the questions. Now step into the boat and take a seat before someone sees us. And keep your hands where I can see them."
King did as he was told, sitting at the back of the boat, hands in plain sight. Karn stepped into the boat and sat across from him, well out of sight of anyone who might be looking on from town, or, King noticed, from a perch on the volcano. Smart man.
"Is your lady friend on board?"
King shook his head, no.
The man looked skeptical. "I wouldn't want to be surprised and squeeze off a round by accident." "She's not here."
Karn settled down into his seat, relaxing his body, but keeping the gun aimed at King's chest. "Now, tell me who the hell you're working for and what you're doing here?
"I can't tell you who I work for, but I will tell you why I'm here."
He shrugged. "Figured as much. So spill the beans."
"We're investigating Beta Incorporated."
"Why?"
King mulled over how much to tell the man. "They may have links to terrorist organizations. Beta Incorporated is a dummy corporation for a genetics company named Manifold."
"Never heard of 'em."
"Few people outside the genetics world have." "So why are you here?" "I just told you."
The man leaned forward with a grin. "You told me why some U.S. brass sent you here. Don't feed me a 'national security' line, either. I'm a good judge of character, boy, and I can see that weight on your shoulders as clearly as I can see my own dick."
King noticed that Karn had lowered the weapon, probably unknowingly. He could have easily lunged across the deck and killed the man, but decided against it. The rest of this town was tight-lipped, but Karn, aside from being abrasive, might prove to be more than a simple informant. He'd made the same observation about Karn that Karn had about him. They both carried a weight on their shoulder, and both had something to do with the facility glowing bright on the other side of town. For that reason, King decided to be honest with the man.
"They took a friend of mine. Kidnapped him right from under my nose. Killed a bunch of civies in the process. All of them were under my watch. I'm here to find my friend.. my brother… and make them pay for what they did."
"Your brother?"
"My sister's fiance… before she died. He's family."
Karn nodded and placed his gun beside him on the bench. The message was clear: they were no longer enemies. "They have my brother, too."
"They've been kidnapping people from town? Why hasn't anyone complained?"
"They're slicker than that," he said. "The population here…it's small. Ain't many choices for who you marry. Inbreeding has been a problem. Not for me, mind you. I'm from the mainland. But for the natives, they're, well, they're all family if you know what I mean. It's made for some medical issues over the years. Deformities. Disease. Immune system mumbo jumbo I can't make sense of. Well, these guys came in and got approval to build that monstrosity of a compound after they offered free medical care to folks who volunteered for their programs. Most in town agreed and signed nondisclosure agreements. I did, too. Seemed like a good thing at the time. A few months back, my brother found a tumor a few inches above his dipstick. Scared the crap out of him. So rather than head to the mainland he signed up as a volunteer. I've heard bubkes from him since. They've ignored all my calls, and when I showed up at their doorstep, those pipsqueak security kids roughed me up. Tasered me and dumped me back in town."
"When was that?"
"Last week."
"They've been locked down tight since that plane flew in a few days ago. Then you showed up. I don't believe in coincidences."
King stood and headed for the cabin. He paused at the door. "How well do you know the facility?"
"With the fish factory burned down, we all needed work. I helped build the damn thing. If you're looking for a way in, there's only one I can think of."
King opened the door to the cabin and motioned with his head for Karn to follow. "You know, I don't believe in coincidence, either."
Karn smiled as he stood and stepped toward the cabin. The weight on both men's shoulders lifted slightly as they recognized the other for an ally with the same goaclass="underline" rescuing family. When Karn entered the cabin his eyes went wide. He looked at King and with a laugh, said, "I may not believe in coincidence, but I sure as hell believe in God, now." He rubbed his hand over the cool metal of a M224 60mm lightweight mortar. "Thank you, Jesus."