“The Omicron Project,” read Virginia Maxwell, both bemused and mystified.
“Ever hear of it?”
“Absolutely, my dear. The Gap, and thus the humble I, was in charge of security for the project.”
“Not up to your usual standards, Maxie.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I spoke in the past tense for good reason. The Omicron Project was abandoned three years ago.”
“Then what did Johnny and I come across in the jungle?”
“Haven’t the foggiest, but let me check something….”
She shifted over to the center of the limo, where a seat faced a CRT screen and computer. She pressed a few keys, selected the proper menu entry, and waited for her selection to appear.
“Pentagon liaison for the Omicron Project was General Berlin Hardesty.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” McCracken asked her.
“It will. General Hardesty was murdered in his home ten days ago by a woman believed to be Mira.”
“So Hardesty gets whacked, then a week later the installation under his jurisdiction gets wiped out.”
“Omicron was under his jurisdiction, my dear, not this installation.”
“Use your imagination.”
“Why should I bother when you’ve used it for me by drawing a connection between my pursuits and yours? One of these killers we learned was in the country was behind the death of the military liaison for the secret project you stumbled on in the Amazon…Or I more accurately should say the remnants of the project. Do I have it straight, dear?”
McCracken chose to ignore her sarcasm. “Could he have kept it going on his own?”
“You know how Washington works. It’s certainly possible.”
“It’d be helpful if you told me exactly what the original Omicron Project was all about.”
Virginia Maxwell slid back to where she had been sitting. “I’ll give you the short version, my dear. I don’t have to tell you about the shocking events that have occurred in what used to be the Communist Bloc over the last two years. I do have to tell you that to plenty of the true policymakers of this nation it didn’t come as any great surprise. They predicted it almost to the month a number of years ago. With that in mind, a new approach to national security and deployment seemed to be required. For the first time in our history, the United States would be without a standing enemy. The future lay not in prolonged entanglements but in minor squabbles of the kind we were woefully ill-equipped to deal with.”
“Terrorism,” Blaine interjected.
“And its many cousins, my dear. That, of course, would include warfare in arenas that posed strategic dilemmas.”
“Like the desert?”
“For one, yes. The Omicron Project was funded with an open checkbook to pursue alternative means to deal with these kinds of engagements, new strategies for combating what would become this nation’s collective, if you will, standing enemy. It was dropped three years ago with nothing much accomplished — with the exception of some work by a Professor Reston Ainsley.”
“The name rings a bell.”
“His specialty was robotics, and that was the line he was pursuing when the funds got yanked.”
“Or misdirected.”
“Possibly.”
“Not possibly. I was down there, Maxie. I saw a different line Omicron had proceeded on, and I saw its results. Jesus Christ, don’t you get the point? The Indian and I met up with something in the woods that isn’t in the woods anymore. I don’t think the members of this Omicron legion are waiting down in Rio for the festival season to start, either. They’re here in America, because someone wants them here.”
“For what, pray tell?”
“Too bad we can’t ask Hardesty.”
“We can ask your Indian friend — who up to now has yielded the floor to you.”
Johnny Wareagle hesitated before speaking. “They live for what they have been created to do,” he said finally.
“And for what were they created, Mr. Wareagle?”
“To perform the tasks demanded of them. The process stripped them of their manitous and replaced them with something else.”
“You’re conceding they’re just men.”
“In appearance maybe, but not within, where the truth of the being resides. Within they are as different from man as the tiger and the jackal.”
“Predators, Mr. Wareagle?”
It was Blaine who took up the task from there. “You weren’t down there to witness their handiwork, Maxie. Believe me, predators is a good word for them. A few minutes ago you showed me pictures of six of the most successful paid killers in the world. Well, none of them can even hold a candle to the thirteen members of our Omicron legion.”
“And can the members of this legion hold one to you?”
Blaine glanced at Wareagle before responding. “They managed to somehow survive a blast just short of a tactical nuke. I’d say that qualifies them.”
“And just what do you propose we do about them now?”
“Find who dispatched Norseman and we learn who’s really running things.”
“I’d already checked, my dear. His routing orders couldn’t be traced back to their original source. Too many shields and screens in place. Not terribly unusual, under the circumstances. Where does that leave us?”
“Back to the connection with Hardesty. Since Mira was one of six killers, we can count on the fact that there have been other violent deaths. Have you been able to lock on to any pattern?”
“There have been several other isolated incidents involving government officials, but no link among them we can find. A congressman was beaten to death, an undersecretary of state was run off the road and crushed in his car. But the three incidents had nothing in common that we can find.”
“Then we start with Omicron — and that professor you mentioned.”
“Reston Ainsley.”
“Right. How soon can I get to see him?”
“Immediately. He lives right here in Washington, though he’s become somewhat of a recluse. I can get you a file on him if—”
“Don’t bother. An appointment will suffice. Besides, you’ve got more important matters to attend to. Since the first you heard of that research lab in the jungle was from us, I assume your team missed it. Better send them back in, Maxie, with a vengeance.”
“What am I telling them to look for, pray tell?”
“Anything that might tell us what the hell went on in there…and who in Washington might have been responsible. This whole thing smells like someone’s power play all the way. The proverbial fine-tooth comb might be in order. Send only the best.”
“I only use the best, my dear. Why else would I have called on you?”
Chapter 12
The yacht swayed easily in the calm waters of the Atlantic. Takedo Takahashi sat in his study with the lights dim enough to soothe his eyes. He had grown up hating the sun and embracing the night. Somewhere, buried deep, was a memory of a blinding flash and a rush of heat crumbling everything in its path.
Of course, Takahashi couldn’t possibly have remembered; he was barely a fetus that dark day that had so violently altered the rest of his life. But his mind’s eye made it a memory and, who’s to say that consciousness does not begin early enough to allow for the dim recall of such a trauma.
The milk-white skin and snowy crop of hair were constant reminders — even if the mind’s eye had been dim. So, too, the pinkish eyes that detested light of every kind, the sun most of all. As much as possible, he slept through the day. It was a vampire’s life.
Every moment of his life had been lived with the White Flash in mind. It had made him the freak that he was — had ultimately determined the path his life would take. He was on this yacht now because of it. The six killers had been dispatched because of it. The ninety-six Americans had to die because of it. Once again he heard the familiar shuffling of Tiguro Nagami’s feet as his associate approached the door.