Pulse

THIRTY

The shriek sounded like a combination of a hyena's laugh and fingernails on a chalkboard. Clearly not human. But that's what Bishop found most disturbing; the sound had come from a man. Watching from his position behind the tree, Bishop saw three men spaced out around the screaming man at their center. Each man held a six-foot metal pole. Attached to the top of each pole was a loop of metal wire. And the loops were tight around the neck of the man. Tight enough to draw blood.

The man struggled but winced in pain as the wire cut his flesh, drawing fresh blood. Despite the man's savagery, the three uniformed Gen-Y security men handled him with practiced ease.

They'd done this before.

The man was led to the side of the grave. Upon seeing the bodies, his eyes went wide. "Don't!" he shouted. "No, no, no, no."

"They must be making progress," one of the guards said. "They couldn't talk before."

"Sorry, buddy," another said. "You're dead."

The man snarled and slashed at the guard, then paused as he saw all three guards tense. "Please, wait! I—"

A slick slurping sound spilled from the man's neck as all three guards pulled back as one. The three wires, pulled in opposite directions, cut quickly and cleanly through the man's neck. Blood sprayed from the severed neck as the body fell, but the guards, already moving back, avoided the crimson geyser.

"Check for regen," the senior guard ordered.

The other two checked the body and head. "Nothing."

"Same here. This dog is down."

Bishop had seen enough. Even though he wanted to barrel from behind the bushes and put rounds in all three men, that was not his mission. He moved slowly back into the darkness without a sound.

A loud beep sounded from the guards on the other side of the pit, followed quickly by a loud voice. "I've got movement."

"Where?"

"Over there. Locked in and sent to your units. Could be a local. Non-lethals." The man ordered a maneuver next, like a basketball coach calling a play. "Op. Tri. Go."

Bishop quickly realized what the conversation meant. The three guards had portable motion sensors. When he moved, it triggered the device and they locked on to him. Now all three were converging on his position, and if he moved, they'd know it. Damn their technology, he thought. He scanned the area with his night vision goggles, looking for movement. With his 9mm up and ready, Bishop stood and pounded for the coast. They would be able to track him, but he wasn't about to be a sitting duck.

"I've got him," a voice shouted.

Bishop took aim in the direction of the voice and squeezed off three silenced rounds. The first two struck wood. The third was rewarded with a shout of pain. But the shot was far from lethal. The fallen man shouted, "He's armed!"

A moment later, the trees around him shattered as an amazing number of bullets burst into the air. His ears had registered six separate gun reports, but the explosion of leaves, bark, and branches revealed many more bullets being fired. Metal Storm, he thought.

Leaves crunched and twigs snapped behind him. He could hear metal striking metal, too. The guard behind him was reloading the Metal Storm weapon, changing out barrels instead of switching clips.

When he was done a second barrage of bullets would tear through the forest, and if the guard's aim improved, Bishop didn't stand a chance. He looked over his shoulder and saw the dark shape of a guard running behind him, taking aim with a three-barreled handgun.

Three shots rang out as Bishop beat the guard to the punch, placing three rounds in the man's chest. He dropped and slid to a stop. Looking forward again, Bishop found what looked like a striking python streaking toward his face. He tried to duck, but was struck by a solid force that threw him back and slammed his body against a tree. A massive weight continued to press against him. He fought against it, making ground, but then the grip solidified. As though caught in Medusa's gaze, his body became rigid. Stonelike.

"Got him!" one of the guards shouted. The man stepped into view and lit the area with a flare.

Bishop recognized the modified weapon in the man's hand as a sticky foam gun, though the foam had been modified to something resembling quick-dry cement.

The other two men emerged from the forest. One had a blood-soaked shoulder. The other had three dents in his chest where Bishop's 9mm rounds struck his body armor. His night vision goggles were ripped from his head as the three men looked at him. "This the guy Reinhart warned us about?"

"Too big. Skin's too dark."

Bishop looked each man in the eyes, making mental notes about their physical appearance. If he didn't get to kill them later he might be able to I.D. them. That is, if they didn't kill him on the spot.

"Let's take him back. Give him to Ridley."

One of the men leaned in with a sick grin. "Looks like you just volunteered for—"

Dust and chunks of dry foam burst into the air as Bishop's hand shot out and took the man by the throat. He squeezed tight and felt, more than heard, a crunch. The man fell limp before the other two had time to react. Bishop shook as he put his whole body into breaking the rock-hard foam. But before he could break free, a pinch in his neck drained his strength. As he became lethargic he realized he'd been drugged.

As consciousness faded he heard one of the men speaking. "Oh God, John's dead, man!"

He stirred in what felt like seconds later, but was actually ten minutes. He felt the ground beneath his heels as he was dragged through the forest by his arms. He willed his eyes to open, but the drugs fought his body, returning him to unconsciousness.

Again, his mind returned for a moment. He lay on his side now. Felt a hot breeze on his face. He managed to force his eyes open. Lights streamed past, buried in stone. Between the l ights — blocks of C4. A moment of clarity put the pieces together — they were passing through the volcano. That's how the men had appeared so quickly in the forest. As his thoughts returned to the C4, his body numbed again. As he slipped into darkness once more, a final thought ran through his mind.

They've rigged the volcano to blow.

Ridley, Reinhart, and Maddox stood outside George Pierce's cell, looking through the five-inch-thick glass window as his body changed. The man's skin had turned green and what looked like scales or calcification had begun to cover his body. His eyes had turned yellow and the pupils were beginning to stretch vertically — oblong, serpentine. "Well, that's a dismal failure," Ridley said.

Maddox shook his head. "Not at all. His body regenerated. We've narrowed the genes down by a great deal. Further refinement is just a matter of weeding out the other bad genes."

"How long?"

"Weeks. A month, tops. Less if we work around the clock." "Then you're back with the game plan?"

Maddox looked at George, squelched his guilt, and nodded. "This is too important."

Ridley turned to Reinhart. "Round up a new batch of volunteers. Use force if need be."

"We'll have to cut off contact with the mainland before—"

"Do it. We can't—"

"Sir!" The voice was sharp. Loud. And Reinhart recognized it immediately. David Lawson. One of his best. Lawson stopped, looked at Ridley, then Reinhart, unsure of who to address. He chose Reinhart. "Sir, the island has been infiltrated."

"By whom?"

"Same as before. Delta operator." "King?"

Lawson shook his head. "We hacked into the Fort Bragg database again and found a match. Intel I.D.s him as Erik Somers. Bishop."

"Bishop?" Ridley said. "Ah, chess pieces. Cute."

"King must be here as well." Reinhart pursed his lips, then turned to Ridley. "There is nowhere for them to go. We have superior numbers and know the terrain. I don't foresee a problem."

"Sir," Lawson looked less sure of himself. "We did a satellite sweep… "

"And?"

"And… there's a full battle group waiting on the other side of Inaccessible Island. We couldn't I.D. the flagship, but it's clearly U.S. Navy."

Reinhart sighed. "Give us one hour to take out King and his crew." Ridley met his eyes. "No."

"Sir—"

"Our work is too important to risk! Upload then erase the database. Evacuate the personnel to Alpha." Ridley headed for the exit. He paused before leaving, looking back at the three stunned men. "Release the regens. Let them take care of King and his men." He turned to leave, but paused again. "And while you're at it, destroy the island and do something about that battle group."