The Extinction Code Page 25

  ‘If those creatures that were seen in Varginha were something to do with this facility then they must have escaped somehow. If they were able to get out…’

  ‘Then we can get in,’ Lopez nodded slowly. ‘If it’s an underground facility it must have ventilation, and I don’t see any vents on that entrance.’

  Ethan scanned the surrounding forest thoughtfully. ‘Maybe they built the vents somewhere out in the forest away from the main entrance. Metal grills would stop animals getting inside, but they wouldn’t necessarily stop some kind of intelligent humanoid from getting out.’

  Lopez led the way, pushing off into the forest, but before she took a single pace Ethan grabbed her arm.

  ‘Wait,’ he whispered.

  A whispering sound reached their ears, and Ethan watched as from further down the dirt road he saw a flash of sunlight on metal. As they crouched, he saw three jeeps driving toward the facility, each leaving a plume of golden dust from the track behind them as they drove.

  Ethan watched as the jeeps rolled by toward the facility, the fences opening automatically, and he saw immediately the men sitting in the jeeps. Most wore suits, expensive ones, and all were middle–aged or older.

  ‘That’s Majestic Twelve!’ Lopez gasped under her breath as she saw the passengers in the vehicles rumble past and go through the entrance gates.

  Ethan had never before directly laid eyes upon the cabal that they had hunted for so long. Now, he was surprised to find himself somewhat underwhelmed. In his mind they had taken on a sort of demi–god status, untouchable men, surrounded by ranks of powerful politicians and governments, unreachable by ordinary men. Now that he saw them, he finally saw them for what they truly were: just men, and mostly old men at that. Without their protective shield of money and influence, they were as weak as Victor Wilms had been.

  A final jeep entered the compound, this one filled with six security guards that Ethan took to be the personal escorts of Majestic Twelve. As the vehicles came to a halt, Ethan counted the suits and allowed himself a grim smile.

  ‘Only ten of them,’ he said to Lopez. ‘Mitchell’s been hard at work.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lopez said, ‘and he won’t want to miss an opportunity like this. If he knows that the entire cabal is right here on this island he’ll move heaven and earth to get here and take them all down at once.’

  Ethan felt himself galvanized as he nodded.

  ‘And we’re not going to let that happen,’ he replied. ‘I want those bastards rotting in a cell for the rest of their lives, not being switched off in the blink of an eye by a bullet to the brain. C’mon, let’s get in there and finish this.’

  Lopez held his forearm to stop him.

  ‘General Nellis,’ she said. ‘He’ll need to know that MJ–12 is all here at once.’

  ‘And do what?’ Ethan asked. ‘Garrett hasn’t committed any crime because we haven’t proved his involvement in anything illegal. Nellis can’t send a team in here unless he’s got a damned good reason to infiltrate the borders of an allied nation and arrest ten of the most powerful men on earth.’

  Lopez bit her lip. ‘We could call him now and then hope that we can pin something on Garrett by the time they get here.’

  Ethan smiled. ‘That’s Mitchell talkin’ right there, or maybe even Jarvis. No, we can’t afford to let these men walk out of here. We get the evidence we need and then we call in the entire Air Force, Navy, Army and Marines if we have to, but we don’t do it until we’re ready.’

  ‘And what if they leave before we manage that?’ Lopez protested.

  Now, Ethan’s smile grew wider.

  ‘Who said anything about letting them leave?’

  ***

  XXXVII

  The heat was unbearable.

  One of the hardest things to do in extreme environments is to maintain focus when all the human mind wants to do is try to deal with the discomfort and find a way to endure it as best as possible.

  Aaron Mitchell lay on his front amid a dense thicket of ferns, looking down toward the compound. The gentle rise of the slope behind Garrett’s facility provided a natural vantage point, and Mitchell had known that his only real chance of success lay in his ability to enter the facility without being seen. It also was dependent on his ability to endure the insects, snakes, mosquitoes and other horrors that inhabited this island, and survive them long enough to gain an opportunity to infiltrate the compound.

  Although surrounded by razor wire, cameras and lights, Mitchell had already identified weaknesses in the compound’s defensive structure. The movement–sensitive lighting had sensors that faced only out toward the jungle. This was often done to allow defensive troops to move freely without tripping the lights, ruining their night vision and exposing their position to enemies that might lay in wait in the jungle. However, it also meant that if anybody were able to get inside the compound, they too could move without detection. Mitchell had been positioned in his laying–up point for almost forty eight hours, and though his muscles and weary bones ached for release from their torture he remained silent and still, poised like a coiled cobra for the perfect moment to strike. Mitchell could imagine a fairly sizeable armoury inside the facility, with plenty of ammunition should any defenders require it, although strangely he had seen no guards. He had quickly discarded any thoughts of a full–frontal attack, and instead opted for stealth and patience.

  The jungle played tricks on his mind, the dense canopy above and the heat sending him back decades. Mitchell was reminded of his time in the Vietnam conflict, and during his silent vigil had often looked over his shoulder for the reassuring presence of a platoon commander who was no longer there, momentarily forgetting his place in time and space. The long hours forced the brain to make its own entertainment, shockingly vivid hallucinations drifting before Mitchell’s very eyes as he lay in silence in the jungle; his mother, washing dishes near a massive tree; his father, driving past on the dirt road to the east and waving from the window of his old Chevy. Sometimes he thought he saw Viet Cong soldiers crouching in the shadows, watching him with predator’s eyes, and once he’d seen a leopard stroll by not fifteen yards from where he lay, had even heard its growl. He was busy thinking about the animal when a flash of metal caught his eye and he looked up to see three jeeps approaching the facility.

  The fences and gates opened automatically, the jeeps entered the compound, and Mitchell’s eyes widened as he watched the entire cabal of Majestic Twelve exit the jeeps. Ten men, all of them matching the faces in the image that he had carried with him for so long. Felix had been right: the meeting here was not just important, but enough so for MJ–12 to all be in the same place at once. The last time it had happened, more than six months before, the Director of the FBI had died as these men had watched and laughed, Victor Wilms among them.

  Mitchell calmed himself by force of will. Now, the game was truly afoot. He knew that he could not afford to miss this opportunity, that indeed he would be willing to risk everything for one decent shot at these men with any weapon on automatic fire. His long–cherished dreams of hunting them one by one and prolonging their deaths as he had done Felix’s vanished as he saw the chance to cleanse them as one by fire.

  The jeeps remained parked near the facility entrance, their roofs just visible on the far side of the facility entrance to Mitchell from where he lay. As he watched, two of the guards disappeared from view as they accompanied the cabal inside, leaving four outside to guard the jeeps.

  Mitchell wasted no time.

  He pulled from a Bergen lying beside him in the foliage a weapon that resembled a crossbow. Installed upon it was an arrow made of titanium with a steel core, its tip barbed, extremely strong and with enough mass to create considerable momentum. Attached to the rear of the arrow was a five hundred pound rated para–cord, the other end of which was secured to a tree limb ten yards behind Mitchell in the forest.

  He raised the crossbow, took careful aim, and fired.

  The titaniu
m arrow rocketed across the open space between Mitchell’s hideaway and the rear of the facility entrance. The arrow hit the concrete surface and buried itself six inches into the wall, its barbed head lodging itself firmly. Mitchell turned around and grabbed a greased leather strap from his Bergen, looped it over the line and locked it in place. Then he stood, reached around and pulled another line that ran through a simple pulley driven deep into a tree trunk to his right.

  The line stiffened as he increased the tension and then locked it in place, the leather strap now inches above his head. Mitchell slung his weapons across his shoulders, turned and grabbed the overhead line, then pulled on it as he picked up his legs and sailed down the line, his feet brushing the foliage until he swept out of the forest, the gentle incline dropping away from him.

  The line was silent, the grease helping both the strap to slide and reducing both friction and noise as Mitchell glided down the line toward the roof of the entrance. The motion sensors nearby were aimed at the forest floor, not in mid–air where passing bird life would set them off too often to be of any use. He glided over the fences and hoisted his boots up to slow his approach onto the roof.

  Mitchell had originally planned to drop directly down into the compound at night and stealthily kill any guards one by one, but now there was no time to waste. He could not know how long MJ–12 would remain in the facility, and the only way to ensure that he could kill them all was to ensure that they could not leave.

  Mitchell’s boots landed against the wall of the entrance and he clambered quietly up onto the roof. He turned, unclipped the wire from the arrow’s tail with a slice of his knife and watched the high–tensile line recoil away from him with a soft whiplash noise, carried far over the fences once again. Then, he reached down and twisted the rearmost half of the arrow’s shaft. Deep inside the concrete, the barbed arrowhead was unscrewed and Mitchell pulled the shaft out, leaving only a small hole in the concrete to betray that he had ever been there.

  He rolled over once more, out of sight on the surface of the roof, and pulled an AR–15 Armalite rifle from over his shoulder, the weapon fitted with a SWR Octane suppressor. Although the suppressor was not the kind of device capable of silencing a weapon as people saw in the movies, Mitchell knew that the concrete walls of the entrance would likely be able to prevent anybody deep inside from hearing the shots.

  He quietly positioned himself near the front of the entrance, and waited.

  The four guards reappeared in less than fifteen seconds. Mitchell rested the rifle’s tripod on the surface of the roof and slowed his breathing as he watched the four guards fan out before him, two to the left heading for the gates, two to the right heading for the guardhouse.

  Two breaths, slow, measured.

  Mitchell selected the two guards heading for the guardhouse, settled the AR–15’s iron sights on one of the soldier’s backs, and fired once. The bullet impacted with an audible thud into the man’s back and his body arched backward as his hands flew into the air in shock and he began to fall. Mitchell fired the second round even before the first man’s knees had hit the ground, striking his companion in the upper chest as he whirled to bring his weapon to bear as he heard the gunshot that had killed his colleague. Mitchell saw the round exit the second guard’s chest at a different angle to that which it had entered, the bullet striking the dusty soil ten yards to the soldier’s right.

  Mitchell switched aim as the other two guards whirled, saw them swinging their rifles to bear but initially unable to spot him concealed on the building’s sloping roof, only his head and the barrel of the rifle visible, both well camouflaged against the backdrop of forest on the rising slope behind him.

  Mitchell fired a third round and saw the guard hit in the shoulder, his rifle firing high and left as he staggered backwards. Mitchell could see that he was hit but not down as he flicked the AR–15 to the right as he saw the muzzle flash from the final guard’s weapon as he spotted Mitchell’s position and fired.

  Mitchell squeezed the trigger even as a clatter of bullets smashed into the concrete roof and sent clouds of stone chips spraying across his face amid a cloud of cement dust. Mitchell squinted behind the clear eye protectors he wore, fired again and saw the gunman collapse as a round passed through his chest and pierced his heart, killing him instantly.

  Another salvo of shots hammered the roof as the remaining standing guard fired at Mitchell as he tried to run back toward the entrance. Mitchell dropped the AR–15’s barrel to the guard’s running boots and released his grip on the weapon as he switched to automatic fire and squeezed the trigger. The AR–15 shook as it fired three rounds in quick succession, the first missing the guard’s running boots, the second striking him low in the belly, just above the groin, and the third plowing through his left shoulder and down through his chest as he stumbled.

  The guard tumbled onto the ground and sprawled there, his eyes staring lifelessly up into the hard blue sky as Mitchell aimed back at the other guards, two of whom were groaning and one of whom was crawling toward the guard house, dragging himself with his one good arm.

  Three more rounds cracked the jungle’s silence and the men stopped moving permanently. Mitchell scrambled to his feet and threw the AR–15 over his shoulder as he grabbed the edge of the roof and swung himself over and down before dropping ten feet to the ground. He landed hard and rolled to take some of the impact, but the toll on his ageing body was more noticeable now than ever and he winced as pain bolted through his ankles and knees.

  Mitchell crouched for a second, regaining his breath and checking for any sign of life before he hurried across to the dead guards and dragged their bodies out of sight alongside the entrance building’s walls. He pulled a pair of 9mm pistols from the belts of two of them, checked the magazines and then stuffed them beneath his shirt before he turned his attention to the entrance building’s doors.

  Both were heavily armored, far too tough to blow through and he wouldn’t have wanted to alert anybody inside the building with explosives anyway. Plus, he needed to be fast: it was only a matter of time before somebody inside the building noticed the absence of the guards at their posts and raised the alarm.

  Mitchell searched the guards’ bodies and found what looked like some kind of pass–key, a piece of plastic the same shape and size as a credit card. He pulled it from the soldier’s neck and then jogged across to the guard house. Inside, a series of simple controls governed the gate motors and two other doors, which Mitchell figured were the two smaller access doors into the facility.

  Mitchell swiped the card over the sensors, and a screen offered him several touch–options, one of which was to unlock an access door for thirty seconds. Mitchell selected the option, then jogged back across the compound and reached for the door handle.

  The door opened, and Mitchell slipped inside into the darkness.

  ***

  XXXVIII

  The vent was small, barely large enough to fit a small mammal through let alone a human being. Ethan stood alongside Lopez and stared at the vent, which was surrounded by vines and creepers but showing signs of being recently altered, reduced in size.

  ‘Well, it was a thought,’ Lopez said.

  Ethan sighed and turned back for the facility, creeping through the jungle to try to ensure he didn’t alert the guards to their presence. He was half way there when he heard three distinct “popping” sounds from ahead and flinched instinctively, dropped onto his haunches as he stared ahead.

  ‘That was gunfire,’ Lopez whispered urgently.

  Ethan moved cautiously but quickly ahead, until he reached the edge of the treeline and saw the compound before him. Everything was silent, and nothing appeared to have changed, but then he saw the bodies of the four guards lying alongside the entrance building’s walls.

  Lopez crouched alongside him and peered at the compound. ‘Who the hell…?’

  As Ethan watched, a large, dark figure emerged from the guardhouse and jogged across the compound to
ward one of the smaller access doors. He reached out and opened the door, and then slipped inside.

  ‘Mitchell,’ he realized. ‘Come on, quickly!’

  Ethan burst from the undergrowth and dashed across to the fence, Lopez right behind him as he scrambled in his satchel for a pair of bolt croppers and quickly cut into the chain link fence.

  ‘They’ll see us!’ Lopez snapped.

  Ethan didn’t reply as he cut a ragged hole in the fence and then shouldered his way into it. The fence folded down as he drove his boot onto it and he broke through and sprinted for the access door into which Mitchell had vanished. He reached out and grabbed the handle and twisted it, and was relieved to feel it click as he eased it open a fraction.

  Lopez hurried up to his side, her pistol in her hand as she shot him an enquiring look.

  ‘Time delay lock,’ Ethan whispered, ‘had to move fast.’

  Lopez nodded and aimed at the opening as Ethan pulled the door fully open and she marched inside. Ethan followed and pulled the door shut behind him, closing it carefully and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness within.

  A corridor adjoined the main entrance, which was large enough for vehicles to drive through and led onto a small parking lot with four spaces. The fact that the jeeps in which MJ–12 had travelled had remained outside suggested to Ethan that they were not intending to remain inside the facility for long, which was what Ethan was relying on. With only one way in and one way out, he could seal the facility from the outside and keep MJ–12 in place until General Nellis could gain the political leverage to arrest them all.

  Only Mitchell’s mission of vengeance now stood in their way.

  There was no sign of Mitchell, who had moved on past the main entrance and disappeared further into the facility, no doubt moving fast in the hopes of trapping MJ–12 inside the facility. Ethan had half–expected to find the assassin planting explosives all around the exit, intending to bury them in the rubble, but then he realized that nothing less than seeing them die with his own eyes would be enough for Mitchell.