World Order Read online

  "Neil, what about you?" Marco asked, unfazed.

  "No, I'm fine," Neil replied. “You might want to get a second cup for Noah, though.”

  "Jenny?"

  The young woman shook her head. "No, thank you."

  "Be right back then, sir," Lee said with a calm smile as she headed outside and down the street. Only then did Jenny approach Marco and stand there staring at him, her arms crossed.

  "That girl is just trying to help, Marco. Don’t you think it was a little snarky to send her off to get coffee?"

  Marco smirked. "She looked like she needed something to do."

  Noah, just coming up close to them, looked at Marco for a second and then turned to Jenny. "Go get her back. I want to talk to her for a moment."

  Jenny started to argue that Marco should go, but decided against it. Besides, she personally thought Lee should probably have been given a fair warning about Marco before having to deal with him. When she went down the street to call her back, however, she was surprised to see that the young woman had not only already gotten to the coffee shop, she was having an animated conversation with the waitress and taking notes as she did so.

  Lee turned and looked at her as she entered the coffee shop. "Did you change your mind about coffee?" she asked.

  "No, Noah made sure Marco changed his," she replied. "Come on, the boss wants to talk to you."

  “Actually,” Lee said, putting her notebook back in her pocket, "would you mind if I share something with you, Agent Lance?"

  Jenny raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

  "Ms. Abrio, here," the girl said, introducing the smiling waitress, "told me that there was a man sitting at this particular table during the abduction." She pointed at a table close to the large window. "She said he seemed to be very interested in what was going on outside."

  Jenny frowned gently as she looked at the table she was indicating, and then walked over toward it. Ms. Abrio and Lee followed close behind her. Her eyes never left the window as she sat down and realized how clearly she could see the McRaes' house and the spot where the abduction had actually happened.

  "Any idea how long he had been sitting here?" she asked the waitress.

  "A couple of hours, maybe; I didn't really check the time," Ms. Abrio replied. "But I'm pretty sure he left right after that. I did notice that he talked to someone on his phone as he was leaving."

  "Did you hear what he said?" Sarah asked.

  "No, I’m sorry," Ms. Abrio replied with a sheepish smile.

  Jenny smiled reassuringly. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You can give a description to Private Lee so we can keep a lookout for him."

  "Sure," she said with a nod. "Let me talk to my boss and tell him to cover for me."

  "Of course," Jenny said. The waitress had hardly taken a couple of steps, though, when an idea formed in her mind.

  "Actually, could I get a cup of coffee while you’re at it?" she asked.

  * * *

  Neil watched Nancy McRae pace up and down the room, worry written all over her features. He wished briefly that he could think of something to say that might actually comfort her, but first, he wouldn’t know what it would be, and second, that wasn't why he was there. The monitoring equipment was all set up, giving the impression that they were waiting for the expected phone-call and ready to trace it to wherever it was coming from.

  "Shouldn't they have called by now?" Ms. McRae asked Noah, after Neil announced that everything was ready.

  "There's not any particular time schedule to these things," Noah said calmly. "If this is about ransom, the kidnappers will call when they’re ready. We’ll be notified if that happens, and will be on top of it."

  "Danny could be dead by then!" she said. “Isn’t there something you could be doing?”

  "Actually, there is," Noah answered. “We will be working on other leads, but this equipment will notify us if you get a call. All you need to do is ask to speak to Danny, to make sure he’s okay, and then keep them on the line as long as you can. Whatever they ask you to do, tell them you are willing to cooperate, but that it’s going to take some time.”

  The woman opened her mouth to voice her further objections, but the sound of the door opening made her turn around. Neil couldn't help but wince as he saw her hope changing to disappointment as Jenny and Lee walked in, however.

  "Private Lee," Noah said, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” He turned to Marco. "Marco, take Jenny and head over to Crawford's house; see if you can find anything there. We know his vehicle was involved, but we don’t know for certain that he was."

  "On it, boss," Marco replied, and then frowned as Jenny held up a cup of coffee for him. "What did you put in it?"

  "Just a little sugar," she replied innocently. "It's just the way you ordered it."

  Marco looked at her for a second, then took a sip. His face suddenly screwed up as he tasted the syrupy sweetness. She had added several spoons of sugar, and stirred it thoroughly.

  Neil kept his eyes focused on his monitor, grateful that it would let him hide behind it and grin.

  "Does this sort of thing happen a lot?" Lee asked, smiling.

  Neil sobered and cleared his throat quickly before looking up at her; the MP had settled next to him, an innocent look of curiosity in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" he asked.

  "The way they pick on each other, does it happen a lot?" she elaborated patiently.

  Neil thought about it for a moment, but finally decided honesty was the best policy. "All the time."

  Lee seemed surprised at that. "And they haven't killed each other yet?"

  "Nope."

  "How interesting."

  "Lee, you got something for me?" Noah said in that moment, his eyes boring into the young military policewoman.

  Private Lee instantly stood up. "Actually, yes, sir, I do. The waitress from the café told me about a suspicious-looking man; he gave her the impression he was spying on the McRae house during the kidnapping."

  Noah looked at him intently. “Go on,” he said. “Anything else?”

  "She gave me a basic description. Male, Caucasian, mid-thirties, dark glasses, casual clothing. Blue jeans and a gray polo shirt."

  "That's not much to go on."

  "She didn't get that good a look at him. Still, I thought it would be wise to get what information I could. Unfortunately, no one else over there noticed him.”

  Noah just looked at her for a moment and then turned to Neil. "Neil, have you collected everything from the scene?"

  "Yes, boss," Neil replied. “It’s already packaged for processing.”

  Noah nodded again. "Renée will be handling that. I’ll stay here for a while with Private Lee while you get back to the operations center so she can get started."

  "Sounds good, boss," Neil said, getting to his feet.

  * * *

  "I can't believe you tried to poison me with that stuff," Marco said. He wasn't facing Jenny, but he was sure that she was probably laughing at him, even if it was silently.

  Jenny’s grin simply grew wider as she sat in the passenger's seat, looking out the window and watching the scenery pass by. "Relax, Marco, you’re too stiff. I figured a little extra sweetness might mellow you out some."

  Marco didn't bother with a retort, but held a hand out in her direction. "Just give me a bottle of water. Anything to get rid of that awful after-taste.”

  Jenny chuckled and passed one to him, and he took a long pull from the bottle. A moment later, he caught sight of a small house, its front yard slightly overgrown and its paint peeling. "Is that Crawford's place?"

  "Must be," Jenny replied.

  Marco nodded and parked the car. The two of them got out and walked toward the house, and that’s when he noticed that the door was standing slightly ajar. He touched Jenny’s wrist and flicked his finger toward the opening, and she immediately reached for the gun on her belt.

  Marco drew his own pistol and the two of them carefull
y flanked the door. He reached out and tapped on it with a knuckle, but there was no response.

  “Mr. Crawford? FBI,” he said. He listened for a moment, then reached out and pushed the door further open. As he did so, he glanced over at Jenny. “Remember, he said softly, “we are supposed to be the FBI. First we ask questions; then we shoot."

  "Spoilsport," the woman said dryly. She braced herself, holding her weapon in front of her as Marco shoved the door open the rest of the way.

  The lights were off inside and there was no sign of any living presence. The place seemed, in fact, almost eerily quiet.

  "Go," Marco said.

  Jenny nodded and stepped inside, ready to shoot if a threat presented itself. She walked slowly, with Marco close on her heels, both of them as alert as they could be. She glanced down at the floor of the foyer and then motioned for Marco to take a look. Bloody footprints of some sort were coming from further inside the house, but faded away before they actually got to the door.

  The surprise they were dreading was waiting for them in the living room, where a young man in his twenties was sprawled on the floor, his mouth parted slightly and his eyes in a lifeless gaze. The carpet was soaked in the man's blood and brain matter, the obvious result of a bullet going right through his skull.

  Marco pursed his lips. It looked like they could scratch Mark Crawford off their list of suspects.

  * * *

  The first thing that Marco did after informing Noah about the new development was to call Emerson and let him know that his expertise would be needed in the scene of the crime. Noah told them to call Allison and have Doctor Emerson brought out, and the scene of the murder quickly became a busy place. Emerson and Doctor Jorge Rodriguez, the local military coroner Major Wilson had been kind enough to lend them, hardly noticed the others, however, as they concentrated on the body that was still lying on the floor.

  "Poor chap never thought this would this would be the day he would die when he woke up this morning, I’ll wager," Emerson mused, still examining the dead body. "Señor Rodriguez, please take photos of the bruising on our victim’s hands, here."

  "Of course, Doctor Emerson," Jorge replied, taking out his camera.

  "So, what have we got, Doctor Emerson?" Marco asked, walking up to the two doctors.

  "I should say the cause of death is rather obvious," Emerson said, pointing at the destroyed skull. "He put up a bit of a fight, but the poor fellow didn't stand a chance. Being shot at point-blank range tends to bring any fight to an end rather quickly, I'm afraid."

  "Any idea how long he's been dead?"

  "I would suspect at least twenty-four hours. I will know more after I examine him further."

  Marco caught Jenny coming into the room from the corner of his eye. “Thanks, doc,” he said to Emerson, then turned to Jenny. "Any luck?"

  "I don’t know if it means anything," she said, "but I can’t find anything that could be this man’s cell phone. According to the report on Danny McRae’s abduction, he told his mother he got a call from Mr. Crawford just a few minutes before he was snatched."

  Marco nodded. "They called him on his own cell, he checked the number and saw that it was his old friend calling, so he didn't have any reason to think there was a problem. He stepped outside, and they were ready to take him. These guys seemed to know exactly what they were doing."

  "But still managed to make some pretty stupid mistakes," Jenny said, looking around. "They smashed the lock, they didn't dig the bullet out of the wall, and someone actually stepped in the blood, making even more of a mess. Whoever's behind this, I’d have to say they're not professional, though they are certainly trying to look like it."

  "Yeah, I guess you'd know a thing or two about that, wouldn't you?" Marco said wryly, and he turned to look back at the body. “Poor guy was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “No,” Jenny said. “He just picked the wrong person to have as a friend.”

  THREE

  His bare feet thudded on the dirt floor of the path as he ran as fast as he could along it. The night was dark, the stars hidden by the canopy of leaves that separated the sky from the world below in this location. It didn’t matter, though, because he could see quite well. His eyes could pick up the slightest bit of light and multiply it, it seemed, so that it was almost as bright as the early dawn.

  He wasn’t paying attention to any of that, though. The only thing on his mind was escape, and that meant going undetected. He had been running for more than an hour, ducking and weaving along the path, heading to the one place that might offer him a chance to really get away.

  There it was, just ahead. He had known it had to be there, because it was where they were aiming all the creatures. All the other creatures, he thought. At least they never got the chance to send me out to kill my own people.

  He felt the tiny rocks and burrs that sent tiny jabs of pain up through the nerve endings in his feet. He could feel the way his legs wobbled even as he ran, the drugs that were racing through his system making him unsteady and unstable.

  He had also felt the way he was changing, noticed the greater feelings of rage and aggression, the way he thought less and less about how he had been kidnapped right out of his hotel room by those men so that he could become some kind of science experiment, and more about killing and hurting and being as destructive as he could.

  Still, he had somehow managed to retain enough of himself, enough of who he was, to know that he had to get out. He had bided his time until he saw a chance to escape—as a soldier, he had been very well trained in such things—and he had run, escaping the building he was held in while everyone was busy. One of the creatures had broken its chains, and everyone was trying to get it contained again before it could do much damage. Nobody was watching him, so he reached out and grabbed the bars on the window and pulled.

  They came out easily, as if the concrete had been nothing but Play-Doh. He threw himself out the window and disappeared into the forest, running at first just to put distance between himself and the ones who would drag him back, if they got the chance. He ran crazily, deliberately leaving a trail they could follow as he rushed toward the river he could smell in the distance.

  The water was cold, but he barely felt it. It didn’t seem to matter anymore whether he was cold or hot, because he could simply tell himself he was warm, and he would be. He dived under the surface and swam as far as he could, coming up a few minutes later for another gulp of air, then diving once more. When he felt there was at least a mile of water behind him from where he had entered the river, he found a rocky ledge and climbed out.

  He’d heard some of them talking about the soldiers who were trying to get close, even laughing about the ones they had killed or captured. Some of the creatures were well-trained, and would do exactly what they were supposed to do. Any of the soldiers who came upon them in the forest were probably already dead, but the man who herded the creatures had managed to capture quite a few. They were locked in the building beside the one he had escaped from, and a part of him felt like a coward for not breaking them out at the same time.

  They would have slowed him down, though, and the creatures would have caught them, anyway. The only hope they had was for him to make his way back and get help, help that could shut down the entire compound.

  That’s why he had made his way here. The soldiers he saw ahead of him were almost certainly trying to find out what was going on back there, but he wasn’t ready to try to talk to anyone just yet. What he needed to do was get back to Donovan Range, talk to somebody he could actually trust. He needed somebody who knew him, who would actually believe the crazy story he was going to tell.

  If he had been thinking clearly, he probably would have realized that the soldiers in the forward base must know something about what was happening in the compound. The anger inside him, however, kept him from even considering trying to trust people he did not know personally.

  He had made his way around to the ai
rstrip, and was crouched in the brush near the head of the runway. They only had one runway set up, but it was big enough and long enough for the supply flights that came and went. One of them, a C-130, was just taxiing into position. He waited until it made the turn onto the runway, then bolted from the brush and leapt onto the starboard landing gear. It took him only seconds to climb up inside the bay, and he had positioned himself carefully by the time the big airplane started lumbering forward.

  He watched the wheels leave the ground, and then the landing gear began to retract. He pressed himself against the side of the bay, barely managing to avoid being crushed in the tight space. When the bay door closed, he let himself relax. The only place this airplane could be going was back to Donovan, and that’s all he could hope for.

  As the plane gained altitude, the temperature began to drop inside the bay. He cranked up his own internal temperature as hard as he could, knowing full well that it would leave him exhausted by the time he got back to Donovan. It couldn’t be helped, however. At more than forty thousand feet, a normal man would have frozen to death in that landing gear bay.

  He slept, but not well. Keeping his temperature up required concentration, and he had to flex his muscles as much as possible. When the air temperature began to rise, he knew they were descending and braced himself once again for when the bay doors would open. It wasn’t long, and then he watched the wheels touched down. The smell of burning rubber hit him along with bits of shredded rubber and tiny rocks as the wheels touched down and began to spin.

  It was still dark outside, or at least anyone else would think so. He waited until the plane came to a stop, then dropped out of the bay and hurried to the tall grass that paralleled the runway. He traveled as fast as he could in his weakened, almost exhausted state, but then fortune smiled on him. Not far from the airfield was a farm, where the locals raise goats and pigs. He snatched up one of the goats and carried it into the brush, ignoring its bleating until he got to a clearing. He started to simply feed, but that little part of him that was still human took compassion on the animal. He snapped its neck, then began ripping at its flesh.