Dead Water

PROLOGUE

Rijah Ellhad strode confidently through the deep Alaskan woods. He was literally in the middle of nowhere, having parachuted into a small clearing earlier that morning, and now hiking toward his destination, a small unnamed lake chosen carefully for its remoteness. Dressed completely in hunter's camouflage, he traveled light, carrying a backpack with rations and water, a pair of high-quality binoculars, a small pouch attached to his belt, a hunting knife, and a Bushmaster AR-15 assault rifle, which featured a red-dot optical sight, a sound suppressor, and a high-intensity light mounted underneath. A foregrip accompanied the rear pistol grip. The sound suppressor was screwed onto the end of the barrel. He carried two forty-round magazines loaded alternately with fragmentation bullets and armor piercing. The gun was capable of firing either the .223- or NATO 5.56-caliber round.

He also carried a second waterproof pack affixed to the bottom of his backpack. This pack contained numerous specialty items that would be required for the completion of his mission. He paused for a quick drink of water. It was early summer, and the temperature was in the midsixties, with surprisingly few bugs. He continued his journey. It was nearing sundown when he arrived at the lake. He stopped and surveyed the area. He took out his binoculars and carefully scanned the entire shoreline. Not a sign of another person anywhere. He smiled. Smaller than I thought. He worked quickly. He removed his backpack and donned some of the gear from the smaller pack: a special hazmat pair of gloves and full head mask. He removed one more item from the pack, a small metal case. With some difficulty, he was able to unlatch the twin catches and open it. Very carefully, he removed a very small item that resembled a medical pill vial. He walked down to the lake. Carefully, he tossed it about fifteen feet out from the water's edge. He quickly turned and walked back to where he'd left the remainder of his gear. He rapidly gathered it up, strapped everything back into place, slung his AR-15 rifle back over his shoulder, and proceeded to walk back the way he had come. He'd been instructed to stay back a quarter mile from the lake. He doubled that distance to be safe. It was just getting dark when he found a spot to camp for the night, although his only camping gear consisted of a small heat-retention blanket.

He was used to sparse gear. In another life, he was a captain in the Iraqi Republican Guard, one of eight officers who made it out of Iraq before the fall of Saddam Hussein. It was a group that had sworn vengeance on America.

He'd been told to wait twelve hours before returning to the lake. He waited fourteen. Once again donning the hazmat gear, he walked down to observe. He took out a small digital camera and took half a dozen photos. He stared at the scene before him, barely believing his eyes. The fish floating on the lake were so thick he felt he could have walked across to the other side upon them. A chill went up his spine. He was prepared to see dead fish, but nothing like the scene before him. He took two more pictures and then left. He had a healthy hike ahead of him to where he would be picked up by helicopter. When he left, his chill went with him.