Hybrid - Forced Vengeance [MultiFormat]
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eBook by Greg Ballan
eBook Category: Horror/Science Fiction
eBook Description: Human/Esper detective Erik Knight has kept his bargain with the United States Government by functioning as an undercover operative and CIA Cooler for over two years. Erik has been using his inhuman abilities to clean up terrorist hotspots and break narcotics trafficking rings throughout the United States and countries with US political interests. While away on assignment, Erik's life is shattered when he learns his wife died in a car accident. Though he attended her funeral and burial, Erik can still feel a subtle trace of his beloved in his mind. Threats against the life of the French President's daughter by terrorists result in the grieving Knight being assigned to protect her. After he foils two attempts on her life, he discovers that the radical group accused of the act is not involved. He joins forces with the group's leader and discovers the termination order originated inside the beltway in Washington DC. As the CIA Cooler digs deeper he learns that there may be a connection between the assisination attempts, his deceased wife, and a threat against the entire planet from outside the solar system.
eBook Publisher: Lachesis Publishing/Lachesis Publishing
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2011
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4 Reader Ratings:
It was an ambush!
The intruder ran a desperate zigzag pattern through the darkness as bullets rocketed over, in front of and behind his fleeing silhouette. His enhanced hearing detected the whine of rotating concave mirrors and micro oscillating motors from multiple starlight night scopes and infrared lenses. Angry reports of multiple machine guns and assault rifles unleashed wave upon wave of hot lead and glowing phosphorous tracers as the muzzle plumes from each weapon illuminated the darkness with tongues of rose-colored flame. He leapt an impossible thirty feet, crashing through a thin sheet metal wall. The dark form cartwheeled three times, avoiding a persistent line of machine gun fire that followed him through the opening. He spotted a nearby packing crate and leapt toward the much needed cover.
"Son of a bitch!" He crouched behind his impromptu cover. "They knew I was coming."
The lone specter paused to stare at the gaping tear in his black combat pants. He hadn't been quick enough, but the wound was already sealed and scarred over. A normal man would have been crippled. The intruder didn't have any time to reflect on his situation as another line of bullets passed over his head from higher up in the building. He reached inside the black leather duster and freed two combat pistols while peering into the upper catwalks. He detected at least four distinct voices speaking Arabic fifty feet above him. He didn't understand much of the language but recognized the words 'find', 'kill' and 'American.'
It was time to level the playing field. The intruder's eyes began to glow, becoming luminous balls of aqua blue radiance. His bio-organic night vision far surpassed that of primitive human technology. With a well-rehearsed gesture the man covered his eyes with dark protective goggles, shielding their glow from any onlookers. He looked back up the catwalks, the barrels of his pistols following two targets while simultaneously tracking the other two marks. "Sweet dreams," he whispered tapping the triggers of each weapon. Both Wilson Super .45s barked twice, illuminating the darkness with mauve plumes of fire.
Each target jerked as two rounds violated their flesh. One form fell over the shallow railing, screaming in agony as his body fractured a nearby crate, covering the tattered wooden fragments and contents with blood and sinew.
Afterwards, the dark silence was shattered as the two remaining Arabs fired random volleys into the lower level. The intruder leapt twenty feet onto the nearest catwalk; though his landing was light the metal structure squealed as rusted bolts and beams moved slightly under his weight. He sensed the enemy's weapons discharge and spun his body ninety degrees. As he moved, the droning whine of several bullets traveled through the space his head had occupied only a heartbeat earlier. He raised his weapons again, locking onto the heat signatures of the last two targets; with another quick tap two more metal-jacketed, lead messengers of mortality claimed their victims.
"In here!" a voice shouted.
The intruder glanced down at the opening he'd made earlier. A constant stream of armed men poured into what he now determined to be a warehouse. He turned his weapons toward the newcomers and fired. Round after round spit from each muzzle, finding their marks on the unfortunate victims. He paused, momentarily expelling exhausted clips and reloading. This gap in his assault gave the Arabs the time they needed to regroup and counter attack.
Six modified AK-47 assault rifles sprayed bullets over the entire warehouse punching hundreds of holes in the thin sheet metal walls and damaging the weakened steel balconies and scaffolding. The sounds made by tortured, rusted metal stressed beyond its tolerances were the only noises heard by the combatants.
The intruder felt the platform he stood on slowly give way.
"I need to move now," he whispered. "No choice." Thought led to action as taut leg muscles exploded, carrying him fifteen feet up to another layer of walkways. The force of his kick off toppled the lower scaffolding, collapsing the entire level like a series of dominos. The impact of steel against concrete floor was grating.
The Arabs advanced cautiously, peering through the kicked up dust and debris with their night vision goggles, looking for a body.
The intruder's new perch placed him directly over the advancing group. He opened fire on the unsuspecting men, causing them to panic and flee. Two of the men managed to make a break for the opening; the other four were piled on each other in a growing pool of blood. He then dropped the thirty-plus feet onto the concrete floor and checked each still body for vital signs.
The fallen steel had crushed several crates. Their contents lay scattered throughout the warehouse floor. He walked over to the first crate and picked up a heavy rocket launcher. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and continued his inspection. The floor was littered with weapons: Hundreds of assault rifles, rocket launchers, rocket propelled grenades and shoulder-fired missile systems.
"Well, well," he mumbled, "the motherload."
The man reached into his jacket, producing a handheld transceiver. "This is Knight, conformation code Alpha, Tango, Victor, Seven One Niner. I have confirmation that the Port of Salhan is a weapons depot."
"Destroy it; destroy it all," a voice commanded.
Agent Erik Knight, CIA cooler, terminated the conversation and returned the transceiver to his pocket. He walked fifty paces away from the warehouse, opening the rocket tube, in hand, as he went. He then spun around and pointed the weapon at the hole he'd made during the firefight. He took aim and pressed the launcher's trigger. The rocket leapt from the tube and sped toward the warehouse. Erik smiled as the projectile flew through the gaping hole.
The explosion wasn't nearly as destructive as he'd anticipated. The detonation blew out several windows and ignited scattered bits of debris but it wasn't enough to level the structure and ensure that all the weapons stored inside had been destroyed. Reinforcements were likely due any minute. He had to act fast.
He retreated another hundred paces, hoping he'd given himself enough distance. He held both arms out and inhaled deeply, focusing his will on the static energy inhabiting the air around him. His forearms tensed and his fingers curled. As he increased his focus two burning spheres of blue plasma -- the size of softballs -- materialized in the open palms of each hand. He then flung both his arms forward and both burning embers launched faster than the human eye could follow.
Each plasma ball impacted the warehouse, disrupting the molecular structure of everything they contacted. Within seconds the warehouse exploded, taking out the pier and several smaller storage facilities nearby. A reddish yellow fireball rose two hundred feet in the air as wood and sheet metal fragments rained down upon the eradicated warehouse facility.
Sirens pierced the darkness as Erik leapt over the ten-foot razor fence, disappearing into the Saudi Arabian night.
Agent Erik Night approached the US embassy, pausing several hundred meters away to observe the surrounding human traffic. He recognized several local spies. A listening depot lingered directly across the street.
The Arabs were so bold they didn't even bother to hide their surveillance anymore. As he neared the embassy, a wave of nausea tore through his body. His mind shrieked a powerful warning, nearly causing him to collapse. Erik paused; to his horror, the telepathic link to his wife ceased.
"Shanda!" he called to his wife in a whisper. Erik ran the last few meters to the embassy, horribly frightened. His mind reached out desperately searching for her, but only a dark void remained. As he approached the embassy guard his transceiver beeped.
He stared at his radio, tears already streaming down his face because he knew what he was about to hear.
"Knight," he whispered hoarsely into the radio.
"Erik, it's Martin," the voice began in a solemn, doom-filled tone. "I'm sorry to tell you like this, but ... there's been an accident."