Jonathan Bond - The Terminus experiment

Rachel’s forehead suddenly prickled with sweat. “What are you talking about?”

De Vries’ eyes snapped back into focus. “Your friends are most cunning. Tricky, tricky, tricky. They’ll be here in a few moments, so I suggest you have a seat. It wouldn’t do for them to get over-anxious, so why don’t you come and sit next to me?”

Rachel continued to look at him without comprehension.

“My dear,” said De Vries again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you’re about to be treated to a sight few people not connected with the military ever get to see. So, sit down. Now.”

Almost without realizing she was doing it, Rachel crossed the room and sat down shoulder to shoulder with De Vries.

As she relaxed into the sofa cushions, the lights in the apartment seemed to dim, flickered twice, and then came back up.

Rachel jumped as the figure of Flak seemed to materialize suddenly in the center of the living room. Towering only a few steps away. Flak had changed out of his work outfit, and was now dressed in heavy camos that seemed to shift and swirl in the light, making it hard for Rachel to look at them. He wore a hood she recognized as a balaclava, even though it was pushed back upon his forehead. She could just make out the handle of a big gun strapped to Flak’s back, but near his hip, where the barrel should have been, she could see six small barrels, configured in a circle. She’d never seen anything like it, and just the sight of such a piece of hardware sent a small thrill through her.

“There won’t be any show,” said the troll, opening his hands to show they were empty.

“What the hell is going on?” said Rachel, her voice too loud in the ensuing silence.

Flak ignored her. “Mister de Vries, if that is who you are, please be so good as to remain seated, with your hands grasping your knees. It would be appreciated.”

Rachel turned to de Vries, who wore a small grin, but did as he was told.

“Now, Rachel, if you will slowly rise to your feet, and walk directly to your left.”

“Flak? What’s going on?”

“Rach, just do it.”

Rachel stood, and moved to her left as Flak said, “Very good. As you probably already know, you’re being covered from four different directions, and even though only an idiot might not be able to tell that you’re a vampire, I trust you understand that every weapon trained on you is capable of killing you. Even if you managed to dodge, or deflect the first volley, eventually one will find its mark and you’ll be yesterday’s news. Are we clear on this?”

Rachel turned her head, but she couldn’t see anyone but de Vries, herself, and Flak in the room.

De Vries laughed, a soft, deep sound that seemed to fill the room like thunder.

“Is there something about this situation that you find amusing, Deadman?” The low growl in Flak’s voice made the hair on the back of Rachel’s neck stand on end.

De Vries’ laugh died to a chuckle. “Absolutely not. I’m impressed. I thought you and your compatriots were going to put on the full pageant for us. It shows an encouraging amount of self-control for you to handle things this way.”

Rachel shook her head. “Will somebody please tell me what the frag is going on here?”

De Vries turned his head in her direction, but his eyes never left Flak. “Your friend is very concerned about your safety, and obviously knows enough about me to comprehend that I could use a spell to influence your thoughts, or make you lie to him, or do whatever I desired. So he’s decided that until he has a better grasp on the situation, he’s going to remove you from the equation, at the same time limiting any possible retribution I might bring into play. Provided, of course, that I’m not who I’ve claimed to be, or that I mean you any harm. Does that about sum it up?”

Rachel looked to Flak, who gave her a tight, quick smile. “Close enough, Deadman.”

“Fine,” said de Vries, standing slowly. “Now, if you’ll be so good as to let the rest of your team come out of their hiding places, we can get down to business. I’ve been able to smell them since they came in, and I know exactly where every one of them is. I can also hear that the heartbeat of your elven mage has just increased slightly in tempo. Your human physical adept is holding steady, though I believe she will find that her weapon is useless against the barrier I have erected.”

De Vries sighed. “But I didn’t really ask Rachel to invite you for banter like this. Time is short, and while I’m sure you could easily spend the next twenty minutes trying to determine if I’m on the level, I think that would be less than prudent. So I propose we dispense with the preliminaries.”

For the first time since Flak had appeared in the room, Rachel saw a look of unease cross his face. “Just what did you have in mind?”

Though de Vries seemed not to move so much as a muscle, a small card appeared in his hand. “This is the private number of a person you know very well and whom you trust completely. He’s expecting your call.”

With a flick of the wrist, de Vries sent the card spinning toward Flak, who snatched it out of the air in a lightning motion, never taking his eyes off de Vries.

From off to her right, near the doorway of the kitchen, Rachel heard a soft, female voice say, “I got him, Flak.”

Rachel turned, but she couldn’t see where the voice came from. “Hey,” she said. “This is starting to freak me out a bit, all right, and just when I was beginning to think that nothing was ever going to freak me out again. So could we just knock it off with all this macho bulldrek and get down to business?”

Once again, Flak ignored her. He turned the card over in his hand, and Rachel saw his eyes go wide. “Wolf?” He looked back up at de Vries, who nodded.

“All right, everybody. Unpack.” Without another word, he slipped the card into his camouflage vest, as if he were returning a holy relic to its resting place.

Rachel turned just in time to see one person step in from the kitchen, one from near the front door, and one from the bedroom, How they had all gotten there without making any noise boggled her mind. All three were dressed like Flak, in camos and ski masks that hid their faces from view. All three carried high-tensile crossbows and tacticom gear.

De Vries smiled, as he looked around the room. “Excellent, my children. Everybody make yourself comfortable. The young lady and I have a very long story and a very short amount of time. According to information I’ve just received, we’ve been given another forty-eight hours, but beyond that, I cannot promise the survivability of the person we are going to rescue.”

Dust filled the high, cavernous ceiling of the huge Fratellanza owned warehouse near Devil’s Lake in Redmond. Early morning sunlight, streaming through the high, dirty windows, caught the motes of dust and made them dance in the air.

Throughout the warehouse, a small corporate army of fifty men hurried around equipment servicing weapons and the five large vehicles that dominated the center of the warehouse.