Marc Cameron - National Security

“Please-”

Zafir raised a hand to shush him. The boy cowered back in silence. “Do not disgrace yourself with begging at this point. We are far beyond begging. Where was I? Ah, yes, after I am finished with your toes…” He used the nose of the vise grips to trace a line up the inside of the boy’s thigh. “… I will move a little higher for a more lengthy procedure. If you were to survive, you would never be able to sire children. But do not worry; your survival is out of the question.”

Sadiq bowed his head, sobbing. “I beg of you…” His head suddenly snapped up, eyes wide, hoping. “Listen. Here is something-Jericho, he is in the United States, but I believe he is coming back to the Middle East.”

Zafir cocked his head to one side. This was news. “When?”

“Very soon,” Sadiq said, batting his eyes foolishly, believing he’d bought some time. “He did not say, but I know this man. He is deadly, a cold-blooded killer. If Jericho finds the sheikh he will surely murder him.”

“What do you know of the sheikh?”

Sadiq cringed again, preparing himself for another blow. When it didn’t come he spoke haltingly. “Everyone knows of the sheikh…”

“What does he look like… this Jericho?” Zafir cradled the ball of the boy’s right foot, caressing it gently between the rough, clawlike fingers of his disfigured hand. He ran the tip of the vise grips up the tendon on top of the tremulous foot, trailing a white line against olive flesh.

“He is tall… very dark hair… and a beard. His Arabic is flawless…” The words gushed from his mouth like spilling grain. Sadiq looked on in horror as Zafir examined his toes, pulling them gently apart, one at a time, as one might pluck a grape from the bunch. “He could easily pass for one of us… Ohhhhh… I beg of you…”

Zafir showed his teeth again. “All right, then. Beg if you must. I suppose I do enjoy it after all. Please continue. While you beg, I will begin with the nail of your big toe…” He covered the boy’s mouth with a strip of tape. “I will not linger on the first one-as a favor to you for this new information. We will speak again in a moment…”

Sadiq broke into a frenzied gyration of vain struggles and muffled screams, but it did him no good. Taped as he was he could move nothing but his shoulders and neck. No one could hear his cries.

Zafir adjusted the screw on the end of the vise grips and snapped the metal teeth shut on the cracked tip of the flailing boy’s toenail. This would indeed be enjoyable, but what he really wanted was a face-to-face meeting with this American named Jericho.

USAMRIID Fort Detrick

“Justin… sweetie…” Mahoney whispered. She’d unhooked her breathing hose and a puff of condensation formed with each breath on the bubble of her clammy rubber hood. Beads of sweat inched down the small of her back. “I need you to get the Dist.” The Dist-Inject was a long-barreled pistol capable of firing plumed syringes or preloaded metal darts of medication. “And draw me some ketamine. Hurry.”

“Okay… all right,” Justin stammered. Cake’s “Stick-shifts and Safetybelts” blared away on the intercom, the runaway beat only adding to the tension in the air. “How much?”

C-45 squatted on the gleaming tile floor ten feet away, baring yellow teeth. Mahoney’s breath caught like a jagged stone in her chest. The big macaque twitched in agitation. She didn’t want to do anything to add to it. A small dose of ketamine would have little effect on him at all. Not quite enough might throw him into wild hallucinations and make him even more difficult to control.

“I’d be happy with two hundred milligrams,” Mahoney whispered, hoping that would be enough to mean a permanent lights-out. She kept the heaving animal in her peripheral vision, fearing direct eye contact would be perceived as a threat.

Justin came across the intercom, interrupting a wild guitar riff. He was flustered and stuttering. “B… biggest one… I mean, the only darts we have hold forty cc’s.”

“Then fill up three, but be quick about it.” Mahoney edged toward a plastic broom leaning near the cages.

C-06, the other macaque, bounced and screeched in his enclosure, using his gnawing stick like a club to pound the metal door. He was egging his friend into fight.

“Okay,” Justine said after what felt like an eternity. “Got ’em.”

Mahoney turned slowly, grabbed the broom, and stepped backward toward the wall. She was surprised to hear the sound of the heavy airlock whoosh open behind her. Justin had defied her order and come in the room.

Now, she had to worry about an enraged monkey and a dumb-ass with a runaway libido.

C-45 went berserk at the new arrival. He’d never responded well to men and the sight of Justin threw him into a fit of shrieking leaps around the room. Needle-sharp claws, capable of shredding the rubber suits, clicked as the thirty-pound bundle of muscle and teeth slid across the bright tile.

“I told you to stay out!” Mahoney snapped.

“This… this is all my fault,” Justin stammered. “You have to let me help.”

“It is your fault,” Mahoney said, fear keeping her anger at bay for the moment. “Now that you’re here, how do you feel about shooting the Dist?”

C-45 had climbed up on top of the cage stacks and now paced back and forth, two feet above their heads-in the perfect position for a flying attack.

“I’m a deadeye,” Justin said.

He was showing off again. That was good. It might help to calm his nerves. Megan didn’t think it was wise to explain the dire consequences if he missed. This was not the time to mention the fact that no matter how this little adventure turned out, Justin’s tenure as her assistant was finished.

So far, he’d been smart enough keep the air pistol hidden. Macaques had remarkable brain capacity to go along with their sharp teeth and angry dispositions. C-45 had been tranqed before. He was sure to attack at first sight of the Dist.

“Okay, Deadeye…” Mahoney kept her breath low to keep her face shield from fogging now that she was re-breathing the moist air already in her suit. She could taste the bitterness of her own fear. “As soon as you take the shot, he’s gonna go crazy. I’ll fend him off with the broom while you reload and hit him again…”

“I’m locked and loaded, Doc,” Justin said with far too much swagger to suit Mahoney. “Say when.”

“Now!”

Megan was vaguely aware of a soft whooft when the dart left the barrel. A nanosecond later, the macaque erupted into a screaming ball of rage. Though Justin had fired the pistol, C-45 locked in on her. The monkey launched from the top of the cage, lips pulled back in a screeching “Kraaaaa! ”-intent on ripping away Mahoney’s throat.

She sidestepped, feeling the bump as the monkey brushed her left shoulder to crash into the stainless steel table behind her. A thousand-dollar centrifuge, full of test tubes, crashed to the floor, adding another danger with the broken shards of glass. She prayed her suit hadn’t been shredded as she spun to face the irate macaque. No time to check now. She could not allow this living buzz saw to get behind her.

Claws clicked as C-45 scrambled on the smooth steel to gain its footing. Thankfully, the bright yellow plume of Justin’s first dart hung from the pink skin of its thigh.

Mahoney didn’t wait for the animal to turn before she drew back the broomstick like a baseball bat and swung with all her might. The unwieldy suit made it difficult for her to get much power, but the swat sent C-45 reeling against the far wall.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” she panted, holding the broom in front of her in both hands, pointed toward the ceiling like a broadsword. “This little bastard wants to kill me.”