Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

“My mission is to determine who killed him and why, Ms. Nakamura. Without knowing what he was working on, it’s going to be terribly difficult for me to complete my mission. For all I know, Doctor Adams is the first of many scientists being targeted.”

She paused as if she were considering, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

I turned to Harvey. “What do we have so far?”

He grinned as he turned to face her. “X-ray flux,” he said, and her face paled immediately. “The LIM-49, or the Spartan, is a three-stage, solid-fuel, surface-to-air missile with a W71 nuclear warhead capable of delivering lethality to thirty miles. It delivers an X-ray flux to incoming enemy missiles, frying their electronics, causing the target missile to lose target lock and fall from the sky. You tested one last month at Kwajalein Atoll in the South Pacific.”

Her jaw had dropped to the point where she had to force it closed. She turned to me. “How could you— did he have papers?”

“If he had papers with him, they are no longer there. My guess is his killer has them.”

“But you already know.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “You must tell me how you know.”

I nodded to Harvey.

“We discovered long ago that ghosts are drawn to webs, much like dreams are drawn to dream catchers. Once in the web, the spiders eat the ghosts. We have a Box Man who eats spiders. He told us.”

She stared uncomprehendingly, then stood. “If you’re going to treat me like this, then—”

Nancy Drew rattled off a series of Japanese words that stopped her in her tracks. They spoke for a moment, then she returned to her seat.

“What’d you say?”

“I told her that everything Harvey said was true and I staked it on the honor of my family.”

“Is that all you said?”

“I also said that you are at times an indelicate asshole and love to get rises out of people.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “All true.” Then I turned to Rachel Nakamura. “Shall we be a little more forthcoming now?”

Harvey, Jakes, Brahm, and I entered Corona Heights Park from Roosevelt Way. We needed to consult with the Russian, and since he was forbidden to leave the park, we had to come to him.

He was handed over to me by my predecessor. Neither of us knew his real name and he wouldn’t divulge the reason he was banished to this piece of land, but rumor had it that he was a Russian immigrant who’d come out in 1849 with the Gold Rush and had gone sideways with a nature spirit. Regardless of the reason, he had a fondness for vodka and Black Sea caviar, which I could get relatively cheap in the Russian neighborhoods of San Francisco.

Rachel Nakamura had become amazingly forthcoming once she realized what kind of military unit we were. Doctor Adams had indeed been part of the Spartan Missile project. He was in fact the America’s leading authority on X-ray Flux. His death set back the program by years. She had little more to provide, but had brought up a point we’d all missed.

“Why did they use a bat?” she’d asked.

I thought about it and couldn’t come up with a suitable answer. But Nancy Drew did.

“Maybe they were trying to hide something they’d done.”

I’d contacted the morgue, but there was nothing they could discern. Whoever had beaten him had done an excellent job at crushing every bone in his face. Whatever had been done to him would remain a mystery, unless the Russian was able to provide some illuminating information.

Jakes and Brahm took left. Harvey and I took right. Corona Heights Park wasn’t immense, but it did have unobstructed panoramic views of the city. In the end, we found the Russian at the pinnacle, staring out at the ocean.

As I approached he said, “It’s like placing a meal of wild boar just outside your reach. You can smell it. You can see it. But you can never have it. What did you bring for me, Madsen?”

His skin was the color of the terracotta red chert bedrock he sat upon, and pulled tight across high Siberian cheekbones. He could have been anywhere between sixty and a million years old. He wore a flowered shirt and had a Mexican blanket wrapped around him like a sarong.

I brought forth the vodka and the caviar and placed them at his feet. He never took them from me, which made it feel as if I was making an offering at the feet of some strange Russian demigod. Still, I went through the motions, only because he was so attuned to the supernatural energy of San Francisco.

He sighed. “You always know what to bring me.”

“It’s easy when you never change your habits.”

He shrugged. “Why change them when I know what I want.” He opened the vodka and took a deep slug. When he came back up for air, he gasped. After a moment he held out the bottle. “This tastes like Russia. It tastes like home. Here. Join me.”

I took it and seared my throat with the white liquor. I fought to keep a smile on my face as I handed it back to him.

But he didn’t miss much. He laughed. “I can tell you are not Russian. Even children learn to drink vodka at an early age.” He softened the V to give it a W sound. He took another slug, then capped the bottle and cradled it in his arms like a baby. “What is it you want, Madsen?”

“We’re looking for some activity. Your people have done something to our people.”

“Don’t call them my people. I’m a proud Tzarist. Whatever these communal gavnoyeds believe in has nothing to do with me.”

I grinned. “Good, then you’ll have no qualms about telling me about their activities.”

He eyed me for a moment. “Nice try. You know I must remain neutral and can’t take sides. One day I want to leave this place. To take a side means to make an enemy of the other.” He shook his head. “But then again, you knew that.”

Jakes made shushing noise with his hand. The big Arkansas corporal turned and glowered at two girls and a young man. They carried a blanket, a picnic basket and a bota bag, so their intentions were clear. But right now we didn’t want anyone intruding on our mission. They stopped like deer when they saw him, their eyes wide. He took a step forward and they scampered back down the hill. If they wanted to picnic on the pinnacle, they’d have to wait until we left.

“Not so nice.” The Russian stared after them. “They come up here often and invite me to join them. Peanut butter and jelly and red wine.”

“You’re just going to have to struggle with caviar and vodka.” I squatted down and took a seat beside him. “Maybe you can help me another way using your encyclopedic knowledge. Here’s what happened.” I described the wounds to the face and postulated what possibly could have been done to the victim that needed to be covered up. When I mentioned the broken eyes he actually twitched. “What is it?”

“I’ve been feeling something alien for the last week. Feels greasy… unclean.”

“I’ve heard the term broken eye before over the years, but never made a connection. What does it mean to you?”

He closed his eyes. “Have you heard of the satori?”

I shook my head. Nancy Drew might know, but I had no clue.

“How to describe them… think of an apelike man. They can’t speak, except to relay what the victim is thinking. They communicate through thought, only…”

“Only what?”

“They have to touch you.”

“Do they touch your face?”

He nodded. “I saw one.” He turned and pointed to a spot thirty feet away. “There. It grabbed a man by the head. When it was done, the man’s eyes were blanks. Everything inside him was gone like it was sucked free.”