Let Slip the Dogs of War
Chapter 6: Children of Men
By Chris Ward
March 2, 2003; Hartsdale, New York
“They never told you? I would say I’m surprised, but Bishop never really cared for me.”
Staring out of the corner of his eye, he laughed at my expression. “You seem suspicious.”
“Do you blame me? There’s a reason you’re in here, and it doesn’t exactly give me
reason to trust you.”
Sitting back up, he relaxed against the wall, laying his arms across his knees. “My boy, I
said nothing about trust. I never expected someone in your situation to trust someone in
mine; although I would suggest your, shall we say, employers leave something to be
desired in that category and, I dare say, not a single member of the illustrious twelve can
point to a single lie from my lips.
“However, this has nothing to do with trust. It’s simple fact. How else would I know that,
along with my regenerative ability, for which you are quite welcome, by the way, you also
inherited your mother’s enhanced senses of sight, hearing and smell?”
“What the fuck do you know about my mother?”
Smiling maliciously, he chuckled quietly and closed his eyes. “Touched a nerve, have I? I
think the greater question here is, how much do you know about her?”
Shrugging, I ignored the blank spots in my memory that seemed to have always troubled
me. “Nothing. Angela told me she was killed when I was taken.”
Opening his eyes, he quirked one eyebrow and gazed coolly at me. “I see. If one might
ask; what, if anything, do you remember from prior to your training?”
Shifting uncomfortably, I grimaced. “Not much, actually; and for the longest time, nothing
at all. Not long ago bits and pieces began filtering back. Half memories, I guess, mostly
impressions. I remember, vaguely, living in a cage and being regularly beaten. Before that,
I remember a beautiful woman and a night filled with noise and light. Everything else, up to
seeing Angela when I woke in my Kirby Plaza cell, is a blank.”
“I thought as much.” Straightening up, he looked directly at me. “The Haitian got to you,
probably at Angela’s request.” Suddenly grinning, he stood and leaned against the wall.
“No need to worry, however. Your memory will return; indeed, it seems to have already
begun.”
“What the hell’re you talking about?”
Closing his eyes, he pounded the back of his head against the wall in frustration. “Gods; I’
ve sired an idiot!” Glaring at me, he swore fervently in Japanese. “What the Haitian does to
erase your memory is entirely physical. God knows I should know; they seem to enjoy
blanking me every few years. Anyway, whether you like it or you don’t like it, you are my
son, and have my ability. That means you will recover the memories because the damage
will be healed. Your own statement would indicate it’s already begun. You’ve started
remembering pieces, right?” When I nodded, he smiled again. “Excellent. Over the next
weeks and months you’ll remember more. Eventually, you’ll remember everything.”
Pushing aside the reason I had come, temporarily anyway, I leaned forward. There was
something I desperately needed, even if I hadn’t realized it before. “Tell me about my
mother.”
With a strange smile, he sat in a nearby chair and relaxed. “If you resemble me to a
degree, especially around the face, you bear an even stronger resemblance to her. She
had that same black hair, and her blood granted you a darker skin tone than I’ve ever
attained. You rather understate the matter when you say she was beautiful. She was
perhaps the most stunningly gorgeous woman I have known in the past four centuries. I
was married, of course, but fidelity’s always been humorous concept to someone in my
circumstances.
“I traveled quite often for the Company, and met her on one of my trips to the Dominican
Republic. I was in a bar unwinding, and she was swamping. I was bored and lonely, so I
turned on the charm. After the bar closed, Aña took me to her place. From then on I divided
my days between helping her and completing my assignment; we spent the nights doing
things to each other that would make a porn star blush.
“Over the next few years we renewed our friendship each time I was in the country.
During that time we learned things about each other that neither anticipated. A group of
slavers seemed to decide the village made an easy target. She watched me die three times
in that fight and I learned about her enhanced senses, as well as her enhanced strength
and agility.” With a facetious grin, he said, “Of course, I also learned that the bedroom wasn’
t the only place she was a wildcat.”
Something in his voice, and in that smile, hinted at a hidden importance in that last
comment. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
The grin broadened, and he leaned back against the wall. “Let’s just say I first saw your
eyes that night, in her face. Which tells me you most likely resemble her in ways nobody
else suspects.”
“How’s that?”
“If I’m right you’ll find out on your own. If I’m wrong it doesn’t matter.”
“More fucking secrets?”
Shaking his head in disbelief, he stared at me. “You must be joking, sir. You work for the
same Organization I founded. Secrets are the name of the game.” Snorting a laugh, he
closed his eyes. “Now, if I’ve satisfied your curiosity about your past, perhaps you could get
on with the interrogation.”
Pulling out my notes, I said, “The truth.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Michael. I could never lie to you.” Noticing my expression,
he laughed. “Believe me, I didn’t mean I had some moral objection to lying to you. It’s just I
know the abilities you inherited from your mother, and they make it impossible to, as they
say, get away with it.” Stretching out on his bed, he said, “Go ahead, boy. Ask.”
Before beginning, I stared at him until he opened his eyes and faced me. “I want one
thing understood, Daddy.”
Noting the sarcastic emphasis, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I know part of what’s planned. I know, among other things, this whole damn thing is
intended to free you.” Noting the shock on his face, I flashed an icy smile. “I hope,
someday, you succeed.”
“You want me free?” The surprise in his cultured voice was tinged with suspicion.
“Yes.” Dropping my voice, I let it fill with a cold fury. “I want the unbridled joy of hunting
your worthless ass down. And, when I find you, I will gleefully spend several years slowly
killing you.”
***********
1995; Unknown Location
He has been alone in this forest for hours. Shortly before he was dropped at the
outskirts, Mr. Bennet sat him down in one of the briefing rooms. “This is your final test.
Pass, and you’ll be put to work. Fail, and it’s back to school.”
“So, what is it?”
“My reports on your progress have finally been taken seriously. Since I have attempted, I
think successfully, to mold you into the perfect hunter, they’ve set up a hunt for you.”
When Havoc flashed a feral grin, Bennet laughed. “Basically, it’s a game of Capture The
Flag. There’s a single clearing somewhere in a heavily forested area. Bob and I will be
waiting there. Your task is to find us. The trick is, you must remain unobserved. There will
be at least agents roaming the area searching for you. If you’re spotted, the game’s over
and you fail. If you reach us unobserved, you win.
“The rules allow you to kill, which is accomplished by touching your target with the fake
knife you’ll be given. I obviously can’t tell you not to kill, since it may be needed, but I will
say your score will look better with a lower body count.” Looking over the table at his
protégé, he asked, “Any questions?”
Standing up, Havoc slipped on his duster. “When do I start?”
After the drop off, he waited the required half hour then took to the trees. Taking care to
be neither heard nor seen by the people he could sense, he had spent the past hours
circling the perimeter, trying to gauge the size of the wood. Now he sits perched on one of
the highest limbs of his tree, using his ears and nose to track those nearest. Laughing
quietly as one passes directly beneath him, he struggles to master the temptation to leap
down and kill her. After several seconds the coast clears. Swinging, running and leaping
across branches he winds his way inward, always sampling the night air for the sounds and
smells carrying the information he needs. He deviates from his path frequently and fluidly
to avoid the searchers.
As the minutes become hours, he locates the peculiar scent telling him he is near his
goal. With a grin, he launches his way up the tree. At the top, he breaks free a small branch
and begins his descent. He pauses suddenly, hugging the tree as another hunter, more
alert than the others, passes underneath. Mentally berating himself for focusing so
narrowly on the finish he ignored the warning signs, he slowly presses tightly against the
tree.
His eyes, colored an unblemished white that glows lightly if there’s any light at all, were a
liability that had been explained to him early. He typically wears a pair of dark sunglasses,
but chose to wear a pair of dark brown, nearly black, contact lenses for this test. Despite
the slight discomfort involved, including a slight decrease in his vision, he finds himself
grateful. The color makes his eyes impossible to see in the darkness.
A cautious sampling of her scent reveals no special abilities. It also makes him feel
slightly more secure, as the scent and audio cues tell him she has no indication of his
presence. After several tense minutes, during which her eyes pass over him repeatedly,
she moves on. Waiting several more minutes to be certain she has truly left, he carefully
works his way down to the earlier branch. Moving more slowly and deliberately, he works
his way toward the clearing. Perching high in his final tree, he watches the action in the
clearing as he formulates a plan.
Bishop is pacing, fury radiating from his face. A young girl, around twelve or thirteen, sits
pouting near the small camping lantern. Bennet relaxes nearby, seemingly half asleep. The
young blonde looks up from her sulk. “Why’re we here, Daddy? I wanna go home.”
Barely restraining his temper, Bishop closes his eyes and stops his pacing. “Shut up,
Elle. For the last time, I’m here because Bennet thinks his trainee is ready. He helped set
this up. You, on the other hand, are here because I can’t trust you not to fuck up on your
own. What you did to the house proved that.” The rebuke and disdain in his voice nearly
puts her in tears. “We’re not leaving until Havoc’s caught.”
Without opening his eyes, Bennet says, “So certain he will be?”
“Absolutely. Our best are out there, and there’s no way he can…” His voice trails off as,
with a dull thudding noise, the ground directly in front of him sprouts a slender branch. His
eyes dart around in horror as he looks for the source of the attack.
Bennet calmly sits up as Elle jumps to her feet, a blue glow emanating from her hand.
Rising to his feet, a grin covering his face, Bennet laughs quietly. “Would you care to bet
on that?” Without turning his head, he calls over his shoulder, “Hello, Havoc, glad you
could join us.”
Stepping out of the shadows behind them, Havoc seems almost to materialize out of the
darkness. “How the hell’d you know where I was?”
Just as he is about to reply, Elle releases a blast into Havoc’s shoulder, spinning him
around and into the ground. As she prepares for another shot, Bennet, kneeling at his side,
barks, “Stop!”
“But he attacked Daddy!”
Snapping at her in irritation, Bob speaks up. “Power down, Elle!”
“But, Daddy…”
“I said power the fuck down; now!”
As she sullenly sends the bolt into the ground, Havoc sits up and painfully stretches the
shoulder. Glaring at him spitefully, she mumbles, “You better not attack him again.”
“Don’t be an idiot, girl. If I’d attacked him, he’d be fucking dead!”
***********
March 2, 2003; Kirby Plaza, New York
It was after 10 when I finally finished interviewing Adam and made it back to the facility.
Linderman had me brought to his office when I arrived. Seated behind an ostentatious
desk, he waved me to one of the plush leather chairs. “How went it?”
Grunting, I relaxed into the seat. “Where’s Elle?”
“I believe she retired for the evening. She hasn’t been in the best of moods today. Why
do you ask?”
Shrugging, I straightened my suit and leaned back. “Because nothing happened that’s
worth sharing twice. If you can convince her to come out, I’ll tell you both at once and get it
over with.”
“Certainly.” Pressing a button on his desk he said, “Bridgette, would you please escort
Ms. Bishop to my office? I believe you’ll find her in the guest apartments. Thank you.”
Turning his attention back to me, he smiled. “Now; why don’t we spend the next few
minutes discussing Mr. Monroe’s, shall we say, familial revelations to you.”
I couldn’t hide my surprised reaction. “How the fuck’d you know about that?”
Laughing, he walked to a painting covering most of one wall. “You would be surprised
what I know, and how I know it, Michael. Secrets, after all, are the life’s blood of one in my
situation. Your parentage however, at least on your father’s side, has long been an open
secret among the twelve. All knew you to be the son of Adam. He has spent the past years
asking to see you; some vestige of fatherly concern, no doubt.”
Snorting, I went over beside him at the painting. “Don’t make me sick, Linderman. The
only concern dear old Dad has is for his own ass. If all of you knew, why didn’t I?”
Indicating the painting, which was a charcoal depiction of Auschwitz, he shrugged.
“Fascinating, isn’t it? It was done by a European school teacher nearly two centuries
before Hitler was even born.” Returning to his desk, he began reading through a file
marked Dawson. “Quite simply, nobody told you because nobody wanted to. It was
information we decided was unimportant to either your life or your job. More importantly,
knowledge is power and only a fool shares power.”
Before I had a chance to reply, the door opened and Elle stormed in. Dropping sulkily
into one of the chairs, she sighed. “Well?”
Carefully concealing a grin, I began to explain what I learned from Adam.
***********
1996; Iowa
The house is dark; completely silent. The scent of freshly spilled blood taints the air.
Perched in a tree just off the porch, Havoc closes his eyes and allows his other senses to
tell the tale. His briefing for this, his first solo mission, was brief and to the point. There was
a murderess loose in Iowa. Specifically, there was a female Special using her gifts to kill.
Havoc was to locate and eliminate her.
His senses report terror, insanity and the distinct aroma of violent murder. Careful to
keep his black duster closed, and the dark Ray Bans securely in place, he works his way to
the top of the tree and crosses to the roof. Moving as rapidly as prudence allows, he pries
open the window and slips inside. Once in, he pauses again to collect more information.
The acidic scent coming from his target is the only one belonging to a still living body.
There are at least two dead bodies, possibly three or four.
Moving carefully, avoiding the boards and steps with the potential to betray his
presence, he works his way to the attic door. Opening it, he uses his senses to verify he’s
alone. The stairs open to a hall on the second floor. Following the scents, he encounters
the lifeless body of the first victim.
A young girl with sandy-blonde hair, around eight years old, lies sprawled against one
wall. Her face held the promise of great beauty; a promise that will never now be fulfilled.
She lay in a pool of her own blood, which had run from horrid wounds caused by acid burns
on her legs, chest and throat. Her pale face forever frozen in an expression of agonized
terror, her right hand lay in the blood, still clutching a small teddy bear.
Rage burning inside, he rises from his crouch and slowly works his way to the final floor.
The tang in the air is thicker; the peculiarly disgusting smell of blood mixed with acid. The
final victims are here, as is the target.
Following the scent-trail, he encounters the second victim. A young woman, in her early
thirties, lay in a doorway. Her face, strongly resembling the girl upstairs, tells him she is the
mother. Her body bears similar trauma, though the wounds are far worse. The burns are
present on the face, chest, arms and legs, several of the wounds revealing acid-scored
bone. One breast and part of her face have been burned away.
Moving past her, he follows the last of the trail to the entertainment room. The final body
is sprawled in a chair, barely recognizable as having been human. Presumably the father
and husband of the others, the majority of his flesh was burned away. One eye stares
blankly at the doorway in which Havoc is crouched, resting in all that remains of his face.
A woman stands by the window, staring blankly out into the night. Standing around five-
four, with a wealth of luxurious auburn hair cascading down her nude back, she remains
almost completely still, allowing the light from the moon to frame her. Her shoulders shake
in silent accompaniment to the sobs he hears.
The file he was given during his briefing showed this woman, Charlotte Johnson, to be
stunningly beautiful. A local repeat winner of the beauty pageants, she had been in line for
a Miss America run before being disqualified for what the officials termed Sexual
Improprieties. She had been caught having an affair with one of the judges.
The Company had originally scheduled her to be bagged and tagged; then she went on
her rampage. When the body count climbed into double digits the Bag/Tag team was
retasked and Havoc was given the mission as a solo execution. He has spent a week
following her, always arriving after she was finished and gone. Having tracked her to this
point, he silently vows to end it tonight.
Reaching inside his duster, he swears as his slight shift in position causes a floor board
to groan under his weight. With a startled gasp, Charlotte spins from the window. Her face,
beautiful still, has been etched by rage, grief and insanity. Dropping to a crouch she moves
away from the window, her long legs carrying her quickly and silently around the chair
holding her final victim. “Who the hell’re you?”
Pulling out his knife, he grins at her expression when he removes his glasses, revealing
his white eyes. Instead of answering her question, he slides into the room, reversing his
grip on the blade. Instinctively, she alters course to maintain the distance. “You didn’t
answer me! Who the fuck are you?”
Still maneuvering, trying to back her into a corner, he changes his mind about remaining
silent. “Justice.”
Confusion crosses her face. “Justice? For who? Him?” Laughing manically, she stops
moving. “That bastard cost me my chance to be somebody! He raped me and, when it came
out, claimed it was consensual. The only justice he deserves is what he got!” Her nude
body begins to glisten as the acidic scent doubles in strength.
He had stopped moving at the same time she had. His orders, once crystal clear, had
suddenly become confused. To buy time, he asks, “And the others?”
Her laughter dies, only to be replaced by an enraged snarl. “Stupid fucking cunts! Every
damned one of them knew what that ass was doing. They knew but said nothing.” She
begins to circle again, moving on those long, slender legs in complete silence.
As the acidic scent strengthens, threatening to block all other smells, he notices the
liquid beginning to run down her body, dripping from her small, firm breasts, as well as her
fingers and nose. As the droplets hit the floor and furnishings, they leave little burns. Her
feet leave acid-etched prints with each step.
The overwhelming acidity buried the signs he normally looks for. One minute she is
circling cautiously, the next finds her leaping toward him, hands wrapping around his
throat. As he feels the acid burning through the flesh, he reacts instinctively. With a roar of
pain, he lets the momentum of the leap roll him onto his back. Planting his feet into her
stomach, just above her waist, he thrusts up.
The combined movement breaks her grip around his throat and slams her into the wall.
Rolling to his feet, he forces the pain aside and focuses on where she lay. Adjusting his
grip on the knife, he leaps onto her. Rolling out of his path, she climbs to her feet with a
snarl.
Over the next several minutes they fight back and forth across the room, each
attempting to gain the advantage. Finally Charlotte provides the opening he needs. In a
desperate move, she leaps onto his back. Dropping into a quick crouch, he launches
himself up and forward, slamming his shoulder into her stomach. Wrapping his arms around
her breathless form, he slams into the ground.
Taking another moment to regain his breath and overcome the pain, he rolls off her
barely conscious form. Crawling over to where he had dropped the knife during the
struggle, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles back over to her. Looking down, he sees
her eyes focus on him. As he falls to his knees and raises the knife, she gasps in a passion
choked whisper, “Please; I want to live.”
Staring into her violet eyes, he slams the blade through her chest and into her heart. As
the life fades from her eyes, he falls away and watches her bleed out. “So did the girl.”
***********
March 2, 2003; Kirby Plaza, New York
“So this was all about freeing Adam?” Despite her sulking fury over being banned from
the interview, Elle had obviously been attentive during the past hour.
“Basically. There’s more to it, of course. He definitely wants out, but he also wants his
revenge. Charles, Victoria, Kaito and Arthur are in immediate danger. He refused to tell me
the exact plan and torturing him would be less than worthless, but those four seem to bear
his chief hatred, and their deaths are definitely woven into the plot.” Glancing at
Linderman, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “He wants you all dead, but those are at the top
of his list. They need warned.”
“I’ll have it attended to. Did he give any clues as to why Claus went to the Dominican
Republic?”
Shaking my head, I stood and stretched. “Not really. He did say he told Tripp about some
contacts down there. Tripp probably told Bernhelm about them.”
Taking the silent cue, Elle joined me by the door. “So we’re heading south tomorrow?”
Glancing at the outfit she was wearing, I shook my head with a smile. “No. Tomorrow we
go shopping.”
Her eyes lighting up, she grinned. “Why?”
“Neither of us packed for an extended jungle hunt. We need to pick up some clothing
appropriate for the area.”
Linderman opened the door to let us out. “Excellent. While you two are out tomorrow, I
will make arrangements. The next day a private jet will take you to a secluded airfield we
occasionally use.”
On the way back to the rooms, Elle looked over at me. “What else did Adam tell you?”
Glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, I shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”
“Damn it, Hav! It’s pretty fucking obvious he said something important, and it’s equally
obvious you and Linderfuck talked about it before I showed up. What was it?”
Shifting my shoulders uncomfortably, I grunted. “Nothing really. He tried to recruit me; I
told him I wasn’t having any of it.” Thankfully, we were outside her door at this point.
Opening the door, she looked at me with fury and hurt in her eyes. “God damn it, Hav! I
thought we were fucking partners. Do you think I’m that fucking stupid, to fall for something
like that? Or is it that you don’t trust me?” Tears standing in her eyes, she yanked open her
door. “I thought you were different, damn it! I let myself believe I was more than a cheap
fuck toy for you! God, I can’t believe I was that fucking stupid!” Turning to face me, rage
shining through her tears, she spat in fury. “Well go fuck yourself, or find another damn
whore! I’m done spreading my legs for you!”
After she slammed the door in my face, I stood outside in stunned surprise and listened
as she stumbled across her quarters, weeping. Going down the hall to my own rooms, I
showered and prepared for sleep. Lying wide awake in bed, I argued the wisdom of
keeping my parentage a secret from her. I did, after all, trust her; more than I trusted
anyone else, when it came down to it. I just wasn’t certain I wanted anyone else to know.
Should I tell her anyway?
Before finding an answer to that question, I drifted into sleep.
Chapter 6: Children of Men
By Chris Ward
March 2, 2003; Hartsdale, New York
“They never told you? I would say I’m surprised, but Bishop never really cared for me.”
Staring out of the corner of his eye, he laughed at my expression. “You seem suspicious.”
“Do you blame me? There’s a reason you’re in here, and it doesn’t exactly give me
reason to trust you.”
Sitting back up, he relaxed against the wall, laying his arms across his knees. “My boy, I
said nothing about trust. I never expected someone in your situation to trust someone in
mine; although I would suggest your, shall we say, employers leave something to be
desired in that category and, I dare say, not a single member of the illustrious twelve can
point to a single lie from my lips.
“However, this has nothing to do with trust. It’s simple fact. How else would I know that,
along with my regenerative ability, for which you are quite welcome, by the way, you also
inherited your mother’s enhanced senses of sight, hearing and smell?”
“What the fuck do you know about my mother?”
Smiling maliciously, he chuckled quietly and closed his eyes. “Touched a nerve, have I? I
think the greater question here is, how much do you know about her?”
Shrugging, I ignored the blank spots in my memory that seemed to have always troubled
me. “Nothing. Angela told me she was killed when I was taken.”
Opening his eyes, he quirked one eyebrow and gazed coolly at me. “I see. If one might
ask; what, if anything, do you remember from prior to your training?”
Shifting uncomfortably, I grimaced. “Not much, actually; and for the longest time, nothing
at all. Not long ago bits and pieces began filtering back. Half memories, I guess, mostly
impressions. I remember, vaguely, living in a cage and being regularly beaten. Before that,
I remember a beautiful woman and a night filled with noise and light. Everything else, up to
seeing Angela when I woke in my Kirby Plaza cell, is a blank.”
“I thought as much.” Straightening up, he looked directly at me. “The Haitian got to you,
probably at Angela’s request.” Suddenly grinning, he stood and leaned against the wall.
“No need to worry, however. Your memory will return; indeed, it seems to have already
begun.”
“What the hell’re you talking about?”
Closing his eyes, he pounded the back of his head against the wall in frustration. “Gods; I’
ve sired an idiot!” Glaring at me, he swore fervently in Japanese. “What the Haitian does to
erase your memory is entirely physical. God knows I should know; they seem to enjoy
blanking me every few years. Anyway, whether you like it or you don’t like it, you are my
son, and have my ability. That means you will recover the memories because the damage
will be healed. Your own statement would indicate it’s already begun. You’ve started
remembering pieces, right?” When I nodded, he smiled again. “Excellent. Over the next
weeks and months you’ll remember more. Eventually, you’ll remember everything.”
Pushing aside the reason I had come, temporarily anyway, I leaned forward. There was
something I desperately needed, even if I hadn’t realized it before. “Tell me about my
mother.”
With a strange smile, he sat in a nearby chair and relaxed. “If you resemble me to a
degree, especially around the face, you bear an even stronger resemblance to her. She
had that same black hair, and her blood granted you a darker skin tone than I’ve ever
attained. You rather understate the matter when you say she was beautiful. She was
perhaps the most stunningly gorgeous woman I have known in the past four centuries. I
was married, of course, but fidelity’s always been humorous concept to someone in my
circumstances.
“I traveled quite often for the Company, and met her on one of my trips to the Dominican
Republic. I was in a bar unwinding, and she was swamping. I was bored and lonely, so I
turned on the charm. After the bar closed, Aña took me to her place. From then on I divided
my days between helping her and completing my assignment; we spent the nights doing
things to each other that would make a porn star blush.
“Over the next few years we renewed our friendship each time I was in the country.
During that time we learned things about each other that neither anticipated. A group of
slavers seemed to decide the village made an easy target. She watched me die three times
in that fight and I learned about her enhanced senses, as well as her enhanced strength
and agility.” With a facetious grin, he said, “Of course, I also learned that the bedroom wasn’
t the only place she was a wildcat.”
Something in his voice, and in that smile, hinted at a hidden importance in that last
comment. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
The grin broadened, and he leaned back against the wall. “Let’s just say I first saw your
eyes that night, in her face. Which tells me you most likely resemble her in ways nobody
else suspects.”
“How’s that?”
“If I’m right you’ll find out on your own. If I’m wrong it doesn’t matter.”
“More fucking secrets?”
Shaking his head in disbelief, he stared at me. “You must be joking, sir. You work for the
same Organization I founded. Secrets are the name of the game.” Snorting a laugh, he
closed his eyes. “Now, if I’ve satisfied your curiosity about your past, perhaps you could get
on with the interrogation.”
Pulling out my notes, I said, “The truth.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Michael. I could never lie to you.” Noticing my expression,
he laughed. “Believe me, I didn’t mean I had some moral objection to lying to you. It’s just I
know the abilities you inherited from your mother, and they make it impossible to, as they
say, get away with it.” Stretching out on his bed, he said, “Go ahead, boy. Ask.”
Before beginning, I stared at him until he opened his eyes and faced me. “I want one
thing understood, Daddy.”
Noting the sarcastic emphasis, he raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I know part of what’s planned. I know, among other things, this whole damn thing is
intended to free you.” Noting the shock on his face, I flashed an icy smile. “I hope,
someday, you succeed.”
“You want me free?” The surprise in his cultured voice was tinged with suspicion.
“Yes.” Dropping my voice, I let it fill with a cold fury. “I want the unbridled joy of hunting
your worthless ass down. And, when I find you, I will gleefully spend several years slowly
killing you.”
***********
1995; Unknown Location
He has been alone in this forest for hours. Shortly before he was dropped at the
outskirts, Mr. Bennet sat him down in one of the briefing rooms. “This is your final test.
Pass, and you’ll be put to work. Fail, and it’s back to school.”
“So, what is it?”
“My reports on your progress have finally been taken seriously. Since I have attempted, I
think successfully, to mold you into the perfect hunter, they’ve set up a hunt for you.”
When Havoc flashed a feral grin, Bennet laughed. “Basically, it’s a game of Capture The
Flag. There’s a single clearing somewhere in a heavily forested area. Bob and I will be
waiting there. Your task is to find us. The trick is, you must remain unobserved. There will
be at least agents roaming the area searching for you. If you’re spotted, the game’s over
and you fail. If you reach us unobserved, you win.
“The rules allow you to kill, which is accomplished by touching your target with the fake
knife you’ll be given. I obviously can’t tell you not to kill, since it may be needed, but I will
say your score will look better with a lower body count.” Looking over the table at his
protégé, he asked, “Any questions?”
Standing up, Havoc slipped on his duster. “When do I start?”
After the drop off, he waited the required half hour then took to the trees. Taking care to
be neither heard nor seen by the people he could sense, he had spent the past hours
circling the perimeter, trying to gauge the size of the wood. Now he sits perched on one of
the highest limbs of his tree, using his ears and nose to track those nearest. Laughing
quietly as one passes directly beneath him, he struggles to master the temptation to leap
down and kill her. After several seconds the coast clears. Swinging, running and leaping
across branches he winds his way inward, always sampling the night air for the sounds and
smells carrying the information he needs. He deviates from his path frequently and fluidly
to avoid the searchers.
As the minutes become hours, he locates the peculiar scent telling him he is near his
goal. With a grin, he launches his way up the tree. At the top, he breaks free a small branch
and begins his descent. He pauses suddenly, hugging the tree as another hunter, more
alert than the others, passes underneath. Mentally berating himself for focusing so
narrowly on the finish he ignored the warning signs, he slowly presses tightly against the
tree.
His eyes, colored an unblemished white that glows lightly if there’s any light at all, were a
liability that had been explained to him early. He typically wears a pair of dark sunglasses,
but chose to wear a pair of dark brown, nearly black, contact lenses for this test. Despite
the slight discomfort involved, including a slight decrease in his vision, he finds himself
grateful. The color makes his eyes impossible to see in the darkness.
A cautious sampling of her scent reveals no special abilities. It also makes him feel
slightly more secure, as the scent and audio cues tell him she has no indication of his
presence. After several tense minutes, during which her eyes pass over him repeatedly,
she moves on. Waiting several more minutes to be certain she has truly left, he carefully
works his way down to the earlier branch. Moving more slowly and deliberately, he works
his way toward the clearing. Perching high in his final tree, he watches the action in the
clearing as he formulates a plan.
Bishop is pacing, fury radiating from his face. A young girl, around twelve or thirteen, sits
pouting near the small camping lantern. Bennet relaxes nearby, seemingly half asleep. The
young blonde looks up from her sulk. “Why’re we here, Daddy? I wanna go home.”
Barely restraining his temper, Bishop closes his eyes and stops his pacing. “Shut up,
Elle. For the last time, I’m here because Bennet thinks his trainee is ready. He helped set
this up. You, on the other hand, are here because I can’t trust you not to fuck up on your
own. What you did to the house proved that.” The rebuke and disdain in his voice nearly
puts her in tears. “We’re not leaving until Havoc’s caught.”
Without opening his eyes, Bennet says, “So certain he will be?”
“Absolutely. Our best are out there, and there’s no way he can…” His voice trails off as,
with a dull thudding noise, the ground directly in front of him sprouts a slender branch. His
eyes dart around in horror as he looks for the source of the attack.
Bennet calmly sits up as Elle jumps to her feet, a blue glow emanating from her hand.
Rising to his feet, a grin covering his face, Bennet laughs quietly. “Would you care to bet
on that?” Without turning his head, he calls over his shoulder, “Hello, Havoc, glad you
could join us.”
Stepping out of the shadows behind them, Havoc seems almost to materialize out of the
darkness. “How the hell’d you know where I was?”
Just as he is about to reply, Elle releases a blast into Havoc’s shoulder, spinning him
around and into the ground. As she prepares for another shot, Bennet, kneeling at his side,
barks, “Stop!”
“But he attacked Daddy!”
Snapping at her in irritation, Bob speaks up. “Power down, Elle!”
“But, Daddy…”
“I said power the fuck down; now!”
As she sullenly sends the bolt into the ground, Havoc sits up and painfully stretches the
shoulder. Glaring at him spitefully, she mumbles, “You better not attack him again.”
“Don’t be an idiot, girl. If I’d attacked him, he’d be fucking dead!”
***********
March 2, 2003; Kirby Plaza, New York
It was after 10 when I finally finished interviewing Adam and made it back to the facility.
Linderman had me brought to his office when I arrived. Seated behind an ostentatious
desk, he waved me to one of the plush leather chairs. “How went it?”
Grunting, I relaxed into the seat. “Where’s Elle?”
“I believe she retired for the evening. She hasn’t been in the best of moods today. Why
do you ask?”
Shrugging, I straightened my suit and leaned back. “Because nothing happened that’s
worth sharing twice. If you can convince her to come out, I’ll tell you both at once and get it
over with.”
“Certainly.” Pressing a button on his desk he said, “Bridgette, would you please escort
Ms. Bishop to my office? I believe you’ll find her in the guest apartments. Thank you.”
Turning his attention back to me, he smiled. “Now; why don’t we spend the next few
minutes discussing Mr. Monroe’s, shall we say, familial revelations to you.”
I couldn’t hide my surprised reaction. “How the fuck’d you know about that?”
Laughing, he walked to a painting covering most of one wall. “You would be surprised
what I know, and how I know it, Michael. Secrets, after all, are the life’s blood of one in my
situation. Your parentage however, at least on your father’s side, has long been an open
secret among the twelve. All knew you to be the son of Adam. He has spent the past years
asking to see you; some vestige of fatherly concern, no doubt.”
Snorting, I went over beside him at the painting. “Don’t make me sick, Linderman. The
only concern dear old Dad has is for his own ass. If all of you knew, why didn’t I?”
Indicating the painting, which was a charcoal depiction of Auschwitz, he shrugged.
“Fascinating, isn’t it? It was done by a European school teacher nearly two centuries
before Hitler was even born.” Returning to his desk, he began reading through a file
marked Dawson. “Quite simply, nobody told you because nobody wanted to. It was
information we decided was unimportant to either your life or your job. More importantly,
knowledge is power and only a fool shares power.”
Before I had a chance to reply, the door opened and Elle stormed in. Dropping sulkily
into one of the chairs, she sighed. “Well?”
Carefully concealing a grin, I began to explain what I learned from Adam.
***********
1996; Iowa
The house is dark; completely silent. The scent of freshly spilled blood taints the air.
Perched in a tree just off the porch, Havoc closes his eyes and allows his other senses to
tell the tale. His briefing for this, his first solo mission, was brief and to the point. There was
a murderess loose in Iowa. Specifically, there was a female Special using her gifts to kill.
Havoc was to locate and eliminate her.
His senses report terror, insanity and the distinct aroma of violent murder. Careful to
keep his black duster closed, and the dark Ray Bans securely in place, he works his way to
the top of the tree and crosses to the roof. Moving as rapidly as prudence allows, he pries
open the window and slips inside. Once in, he pauses again to collect more information.
The acidic scent coming from his target is the only one belonging to a still living body.
There are at least two dead bodies, possibly three or four.
Moving carefully, avoiding the boards and steps with the potential to betray his
presence, he works his way to the attic door. Opening it, he uses his senses to verify he’s
alone. The stairs open to a hall on the second floor. Following the scents, he encounters
the lifeless body of the first victim.
A young girl with sandy-blonde hair, around eight years old, lies sprawled against one
wall. Her face held the promise of great beauty; a promise that will never now be fulfilled.
She lay in a pool of her own blood, which had run from horrid wounds caused by acid burns
on her legs, chest and throat. Her pale face forever frozen in an expression of agonized
terror, her right hand lay in the blood, still clutching a small teddy bear.
Rage burning inside, he rises from his crouch and slowly works his way to the final floor.
The tang in the air is thicker; the peculiarly disgusting smell of blood mixed with acid. The
final victims are here, as is the target.
Following the scent-trail, he encounters the second victim. A young woman, in her early
thirties, lay in a doorway. Her face, strongly resembling the girl upstairs, tells him she is the
mother. Her body bears similar trauma, though the wounds are far worse. The burns are
present on the face, chest, arms and legs, several of the wounds revealing acid-scored
bone. One breast and part of her face have been burned away.
Moving past her, he follows the last of the trail to the entertainment room. The final body
is sprawled in a chair, barely recognizable as having been human. Presumably the father
and husband of the others, the majority of his flesh was burned away. One eye stares
blankly at the doorway in which Havoc is crouched, resting in all that remains of his face.
A woman stands by the window, staring blankly out into the night. Standing around five-
four, with a wealth of luxurious auburn hair cascading down her nude back, she remains
almost completely still, allowing the light from the moon to frame her. Her shoulders shake
in silent accompaniment to the sobs he hears.
The file he was given during his briefing showed this woman, Charlotte Johnson, to be
stunningly beautiful. A local repeat winner of the beauty pageants, she had been in line for
a Miss America run before being disqualified for what the officials termed Sexual
Improprieties. She had been caught having an affair with one of the judges.
The Company had originally scheduled her to be bagged and tagged; then she went on
her rampage. When the body count climbed into double digits the Bag/Tag team was
retasked and Havoc was given the mission as a solo execution. He has spent a week
following her, always arriving after she was finished and gone. Having tracked her to this
point, he silently vows to end it tonight.
Reaching inside his duster, he swears as his slight shift in position causes a floor board
to groan under his weight. With a startled gasp, Charlotte spins from the window. Her face,
beautiful still, has been etched by rage, grief and insanity. Dropping to a crouch she moves
away from the window, her long legs carrying her quickly and silently around the chair
holding her final victim. “Who the hell’re you?”
Pulling out his knife, he grins at her expression when he removes his glasses, revealing
his white eyes. Instead of answering her question, he slides into the room, reversing his
grip on the blade. Instinctively, she alters course to maintain the distance. “You didn’t
answer me! Who the fuck are you?”
Still maneuvering, trying to back her into a corner, he changes his mind about remaining
silent. “Justice.”
Confusion crosses her face. “Justice? For who? Him?” Laughing manically, she stops
moving. “That bastard cost me my chance to be somebody! He raped me and, when it came
out, claimed it was consensual. The only justice he deserves is what he got!” Her nude
body begins to glisten as the acidic scent doubles in strength.
He had stopped moving at the same time she had. His orders, once crystal clear, had
suddenly become confused. To buy time, he asks, “And the others?”
Her laughter dies, only to be replaced by an enraged snarl. “Stupid fucking cunts! Every
damned one of them knew what that ass was doing. They knew but said nothing.” She
begins to circle again, moving on those long, slender legs in complete silence.
As the acidic scent strengthens, threatening to block all other smells, he notices the
liquid beginning to run down her body, dripping from her small, firm breasts, as well as her
fingers and nose. As the droplets hit the floor and furnishings, they leave little burns. Her
feet leave acid-etched prints with each step.
The overwhelming acidity buried the signs he normally looks for. One minute she is
circling cautiously, the next finds her leaping toward him, hands wrapping around his
throat. As he feels the acid burning through the flesh, he reacts instinctively. With a roar of
pain, he lets the momentum of the leap roll him onto his back. Planting his feet into her
stomach, just above her waist, he thrusts up.
The combined movement breaks her grip around his throat and slams her into the wall.
Rolling to his feet, he forces the pain aside and focuses on where she lay. Adjusting his
grip on the knife, he leaps onto her. Rolling out of his path, she climbs to her feet with a
snarl.
Over the next several minutes they fight back and forth across the room, each
attempting to gain the advantage. Finally Charlotte provides the opening he needs. In a
desperate move, she leaps onto his back. Dropping into a quick crouch, he launches
himself up and forward, slamming his shoulder into her stomach. Wrapping his arms around
her breathless form, he slams into the ground.
Taking another moment to regain his breath and overcome the pain, he rolls off her
barely conscious form. Crawling over to where he had dropped the knife during the
struggle, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles back over to her. Looking down, he sees
her eyes focus on him. As he falls to his knees and raises the knife, she gasps in a passion
choked whisper, “Please; I want to live.”
Staring into her violet eyes, he slams the blade through her chest and into her heart. As
the life fades from her eyes, he falls away and watches her bleed out. “So did the girl.”
***********
March 2, 2003; Kirby Plaza, New York
“So this was all about freeing Adam?” Despite her sulking fury over being banned from
the interview, Elle had obviously been attentive during the past hour.
“Basically. There’s more to it, of course. He definitely wants out, but he also wants his
revenge. Charles, Victoria, Kaito and Arthur are in immediate danger. He refused to tell me
the exact plan and torturing him would be less than worthless, but those four seem to bear
his chief hatred, and their deaths are definitely woven into the plot.” Glancing at
Linderman, I raised a questioning eyebrow. “He wants you all dead, but those are at the top
of his list. They need warned.”
“I’ll have it attended to. Did he give any clues as to why Claus went to the Dominican
Republic?”
Shaking my head, I stood and stretched. “Not really. He did say he told Tripp about some
contacts down there. Tripp probably told Bernhelm about them.”
Taking the silent cue, Elle joined me by the door. “So we’re heading south tomorrow?”
Glancing at the outfit she was wearing, I shook my head with a smile. “No. Tomorrow we
go shopping.”
Her eyes lighting up, she grinned. “Why?”
“Neither of us packed for an extended jungle hunt. We need to pick up some clothing
appropriate for the area.”
Linderman opened the door to let us out. “Excellent. While you two are out tomorrow, I
will make arrangements. The next day a private jet will take you to a secluded airfield we
occasionally use.”
On the way back to the rooms, Elle looked over at me. “What else did Adam tell you?”
Glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, I shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”
“Damn it, Hav! It’s pretty fucking obvious he said something important, and it’s equally
obvious you and Linderfuck talked about it before I showed up. What was it?”
Shifting my shoulders uncomfortably, I grunted. “Nothing really. He tried to recruit me; I
told him I wasn’t having any of it.” Thankfully, we were outside her door at this point.
Opening the door, she looked at me with fury and hurt in her eyes. “God damn it, Hav! I
thought we were fucking partners. Do you think I’m that fucking stupid, to fall for something
like that? Or is it that you don’t trust me?” Tears standing in her eyes, she yanked open her
door. “I thought you were different, damn it! I let myself believe I was more than a cheap
fuck toy for you! God, I can’t believe I was that fucking stupid!” Turning to face me, rage
shining through her tears, she spat in fury. “Well go fuck yourself, or find another damn
whore! I’m done spreading my legs for you!”
After she slammed the door in my face, I stood outside in stunned surprise and listened
as she stumbled across her quarters, weeping. Going down the hall to my own rooms, I
showered and prepared for sleep. Lying wide awake in bed, I argued the wisdom of
keeping my parentage a secret from her. I did, after all, trust her; more than I trusted
anyone else, when it came down to it. I just wasn’t certain I wanted anyone else to know.
Should I tell her anyway?
Before finding an answer to that question, I drifted into sleep.
