Hiding behind a thick oak, Wiley hooted like an owl. Woof responded by whining.
“It’s just an owl, you stupid dog,” Wiley heard the man say.
When Woof poked his nose behind the tree, Wiley gave him a pat on the head, stepped out, and pointed the shotgun in the guy’s face.
“Hoot hoot,” Wiley said.
Stubin called for help. Or at least he began to before Wiley broke his nose with the stock of the Benelli. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing and gushing blood. Wiley kicked him over, put a foot on his chest.
“You’re Stubin, right?”
“Yes … yes …”
“You running the show?”
“You broke my nose …”
Wiley touched the shotgun barrel to Stubin’s head.
“Are you running the show?”
“I’m … I’m a scientist …”
“Then you’re no use to me.”
Wiley unclipped the tactical folder from his belt and flicked open the blade with his thumb.
“I’m the leader,” Stubin blubbered.
“You’re going to call off your men.”
“I … can’t.”
Wiley pressed the blade to Stubin’s cheek.
“I can’t! They have microchips implanted in their brains … they’re following an uploaded program … they won’t stop until their mission is complete, no matter what I tell them. I’d have to reflash their BIOS, and I only have that equipment back at my lab!”
“So the only way to stop them is to kill them?”
“Yes!”
Wiley waited. Stubin lasted three seconds before shaking his head, sprinkling blood and tears.
“No! There’s an EPFCG in Mathison’s collar. You press the button, it explodes, emitting an electromagnetic pulse. It will fry everything electronic within fifty yards.”
“Define everything.”
“Integrated circuits, vacuum tubes, transistors, inductors. And the chips in their heads.”
“This is in the monkey’s collar?”
“Yes. Yes! I told you how to do it.”
“Then I really don’t need you anymore.” Wiley raised the knife.
“But you do need me! You do! I can give your life back!”
Wiley waited.
“Do you still have the film?” Stubin asked. “Of the training exercise on the Vietnam village?”
“That wasn’t a training exercise. It was butchery.”
“They were an early prototype of the Red-ops program. I used organic brain modification back then—surgery. And the drugs weren’t as pure. The microchips make them much more controllable.”
Wiley didn’t get it. “If you had a hand in that, what do you need the film for? It’s been sitting in a box for thirty years. I wasn’t a threat to you or your program.”
“I need it for money. Just like you.”
Wiley thought it through.
“You want out,” he said.
“Badly.”
“Why didn’t you just expose this yourself?”
Stubin shook his head. “No proof. Since that film got lost, nothing has been allowed to be documented. There’s no paperwork. No photos. No video. No record of anything I’ve done. You can guess how that’s torture to a scientist. Plus I’m like a prisoner. I’m forced to live in my lab, and it’s searched twice a day. I have six people watching me at all times, even though they have no clue why. I do my research on an encrypted computer, and I don’t even know the code. Only one man in the whole nation has clearance.”
“The major,” Wiley said. “The one on the film.”
“Yes.”
Wiley shook his head. “I got news for you, buddy. If you try to blackmail him, he’ll come after you, too.”
Stubin blinked. “Blackmail him? I’m going to sell the film to our enemies. They’ll pay hundreds of millions to embarrass the United States.”
“He’ll still come after you,” Wiley said.
“He’ll be kicked out the military and arrested for war crimes. But even if he tries, I’ll be on foreign soil, with an army of Red-ops around me. As soon as I get the film, I’m leaving the country with the unit. They can protect you, too. You can come with us. We’ll split the money.”
Wiley looked around, scanning the trees for unfriendlies.
“Money’s not something I need,” he said.
“What do you need?”
“To correct my mistake.”
Wiley raised his knife again. Stubin’s eyes got wide.
“I’m a scientist!” he said, talking fast. “I’m doing this for the good of mankind. I’m going to help millions of people. My research is revolutionary. Please.”
His eyes were wide and pleading.
“Sometimes good people do bad things,” Wiley whispered.
“Exactly! Sometimes you have to do things that aren’t ethical for the greater good.”
Wiley said, “I agree.”
The blade was sharp and went through Stubin’s neck without too much trouble. Wiley wiped it off on Stubin’s shoulder, clipped it back onto his belt, and pulled the clothesline from Stubin’s dead hand. He used the monocular to check the area, found it clear, and jogged with Woof down to the dry creek bed, where his second entrance was hidden behind the exposed root system of a large fir tree hugging the bank.
Unlike the main entrance, this was for emergencies only, and Wiley had to get on his belly to fit inside. He pulled on a fake root and tugged open the door, then called Woof to the small opening, patted his head, and took the rope off his snout. The dog sniffed at the hole, then happily climbed in. Wiley followed, feetfirst so he could close the door behind him. The tunnel was actually a PVC pipe with a four-foot circumference, roughly fifty feet long. It angled into the ground at a slighter incline than his main ramp. Wiley had to pause several times to catch his breath and allow his heart rate slow down.
The tube let out into his kitchen closet. Woof jumped on him and licked his face when Wiley made it through. Wiley patted the dog on the head, opened the closet door, and said, “Don’t shoot,” when Fran swung her shotgun at him.
The expression on Fran’s face when she saw Woof was priceless. The beagle ran right to her, and she rubbed its muzzle and kissed his nose, beaming. It reminded Wiley of Fran’s wedding, the last time he’d seen her smile. He hadn’t meant to crash the ceremony, hadn’t meant to be intrusive. Wiley went out of curiosity, not to cause trouble. But the curiosity turned to regret and self-loathing, which led to drinking too much and getting into a shoving match with Fran’s stepfather—a much better man than Wiley ever was.
Wiley watched Fran and Woof, silently jealous of the dog.
“Thank you,” Fran said without looking at him. “And thank you for saving Josh.”
“He’s in the storage room?”
“Yes. The Red-ops, they’re inside, too, but haven’t gotten through the hallway door.”
Wiley figured it would take them a while. It was a steel security door with a brace across the center. Impossible to open without tools. Unfortunately, they had a whole garage full of tools in there with them.
A floor-shaking BAM! coming from the hallway confirmed they’d already gotten started.
“I’ll send Josh in here with you,” Wiley said. “Go give Duncan his dog.”
Fran nodded, heading for the door.
Wiley called to her. “Hold on a second.”
She stopped. He went to her. “Aim the shotgun at the door.”
Fran complied. Her angle was good, but she had the butt tucked under her armpit rather than tight in the shoulder. Wiley got behind her, helped her adjust the stock.
“It’s got a recoil buffer, but it will still kick. Lean into it when you start firing. And don’t be scared by the noise—it will be the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.”