The Revelation Chronicles: Evolution Read online

  “We need your help to locate Charlie.”

  “OK, I’m on it.”

  She spun back around, cracked her knuckles, and started to type away furiously at the keyboard.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Nick asked while they watched Jasmine work her magic.

  “We figure out where Charlie is and we bring him back,” Kara said.

  “Simple enough,” Michael agreed. Then he did something Kara hadn’t expected.

  “Hey, look, I’m sorry if I was a little brash earlier. That was uncalled for. I didn’t have my priorities straight. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I should have never let my personal baggage get in the way like that.”

  Kara nodded her acceptance of the apology but said nothing. Michael had owned up to his pigheadedness, so she was willing to leave it at that.

  “I second what he said,” Nick chimed in.

  Michael smacked him in the back of the head.

  “Hey!” he cried, sounding genuinely hurt. “I really meant it, Kara.”

  That finally broke the ice and the three had a good laugh at Nick’s expense. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  “I think I found something.”

  Everyone crowded around Jasmine’s high-tech trio of transparent computer screens.

  “What are we looking at?” Michael asked.

  “I was able to locate the service records for the government agent you mentioned Charlie was going to meet. Quite an impressive jacket, I must say,” she gushed. “Sixteen commendations, two Congressional Gold Medals, a Presidential Medal of Freedom… geez, this g—’’

  “Jasmine,” Kara said, losing patience.

  “Right, right. Sorry… I got carried away.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kara said, apologetic herself. She didn’t intend to snap at her. She was just anxious to find Charlie.

  “I had to hack into the NSA servers to locate them, but I was finally able get into Agent Simmons’ phone records. I triangulated his cell to within three miles of this area here.”

  A red dot blinked in the center of a topographical, digitized map that stretched across all of the see-through monitors.

  “Where is that?” Nick asked.

  “Hanover Bay Marina. It’s about twenty-five miles from here. The place is a graveyard for old naval vessels, freight-liners and shipping boats.”

  “OK,” Michael said. “Let’s go get Charlie.”

  “Thanks, Jasmine,” Kara said as they turned to leave.

  “Wait!”

  Jasmine jumped up from her chair and pulled a large Pelican case from beneath the desk.

  “This is something I’ve been working on for you, Michael.”

  She popped the snaps on the case and opened it. Inside was a dark athletic top and bottom made of a dense material similar to the strongest leather, but very light—extremely light, in fact.

  “I know you’ve been going through quite a bit of clothing with the whole… fire thing lately. I was able to get my hands on a classified synthetic material design that I improved. Try them on.”

  Michael took off the lightweight grey jacket he was wearing and slid his muscular arms into the top crafted by Jasmine. It fit perfectly. So perfectly in fact, it accentuated his biceps and ab muscles like a chiseled bodybuilder at Gold’s Gym. At first glance, he appeared to be wearing the top half of a deep-sea diver’s wetsuit, but way cooler.

  “It’s flame retardant up to 1700 degrees Fahrenheit,” Jasmine said proudly.

  “How do you know?”

  Michael was skeptical to say the least. She was right; he hadn’t been able to keep his clothing from being singed or completely burned on occasion when he used his ability. He’d learned not to get too attached to any particular piece of clothing for that very reason.

  “I found a local crematorium and went there to test it; after-hours of course. You should be fine.”

  “Thanks Jasmine,” Michael said with a big smile. He gave her a huge bear hug, lifting her petite frame off the floor before setting her back down.

  “Aww,” she gushed. “It’s the least I could do.”

  “What about the pants? Aren’t you going to try those on too?” Kara asked.

  “Uh, I think I’ll stick with my loose-fit blue jeans. No offense, Jasmine, but that’s not really my style.”

  “None taken. But I strongly suggest you at least put them on underneath the pants you’re wearing. Trust me; you’ll thank me later.”

  Michael wasn’t too keen on the idea, but nodded anyway and took the form-fitting pants from the case. He held them awkwardly in his hand as though they were a pair of women’s pantyhose. If he had to wear them, he would definitely be wearing them underneath his pants. There was no way he was going to be caught dead wearing those things out in public. There are some lines you just don’t cross.

  “Kara, I have something for you here too.”

  Jasmine removed a plastic container from her drawer and handed it to Kara. It was tiny and fit in the palm of her hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s an earpiece I designed. Just place it in the opening of your ear. The device will do the rest. It may be a tad bit uncomfortable at first as it travels down your ear canal and attaches to the auditory nerve. But it will allow me to talk to you and also hear everything you hear. So basically, I’ll be right there with you guys.”

  “Sweet. We may need you. A tad bit uncomfortable, huh?”

  “It pinches a little at first, but that’s about it. I promise.”

  “OK, great. I’ll put it in before we leave and do a sound check with you.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Nick asked, with a look that would put an orphan boy to shame. “There’s nothing in that bag for me.” He managed a pathetic frown as he channeled Dorothy Gale when she doubted the wizard would have anything to help her get back to Kansas.

  “I haven’t forgotten about you,” Jasmine assured him. “I’m working on something particularly special for you, too.”

  His eyes lit up at that. He could be so simple at times.

  “Sweet!”

  Kara kicked him in the rear playfully.

  “Come on, you big baby.”

  Jasmine beamed as she watched the three heroes leave, wishing them the best of luck. They were going to need it.

  Chapter 44

  “Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” Agent Simmons asked the two tactical troopers, who worked together to lift the seat he was still strapped into upright. Talk about feeling like a toddler in the back of mom’s minivan. A temper tantrum actually felt like a good idea, come to think of it.

  He unbuckled the seatbelt, brushed himself off and rose to his feet. He was a little shaken from the whole ordeal, but no worse for the wear.

  The troopers ignored Agent Simmons, unconcerned with his displeasure. Instead, they swarmed the unconscious body of Charlie Reese. He was quickly placed in large metallic handcuffs and shackles. An electrical energy charge activated once they were secured.

  “Great work, Agent Simmons,” Secretary Proctor conveyed with all the swagger and bravado of his position. A broad smile stretched across his face. He was clearly pleased as he watched his prize being carefully loaded into a containment cage. This must have been how J. Edgar Hoover felt when he nabbed Dillinger.

  “Get him into containment and under sedation ASAP,” he shouted over the collective rumble of the choppers.

  “Yes, sir,” replied one of the armed troopers. He twirled his index finger in the air and jumped in a cargo van with the containment cage. The caravan of vehicles sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The Apache gunships lifted off and trailed behind them, providing cover from above.

  “Mr. Secretary, I don’t understand,” said Agent Simmons. He was still trying to comprehend exactly what had just transpired.

  “You just wrote your own ticket, Simmons. A catch this big, what’s there
not to understand?”

  An attractive aide handed Secretary Proctor a file, which he thumbed through briefly before signing.

  Agent Simmons felt sick to his stomach. His career and reputation were forged on hard work and integrity. He’d given his word to Charlie. This was not the way he operated. Confusion turned into rage.

  “You used me.”

  “I did what needed to be done. Don’t forget what team you’re on here,” Secretary Proctor warned. His smile was gone. He wasn’t exactly known for his patience. Agent Simmons could feel the ice thinning underneath his feet, but he didn’t care.

  “I was able to get valuable information from him on the ride here alone. Imagine what we could learn if we worked with him.”

  “Work with him?” Secretary Proctor scoffed at the notion. “These beings are dangerous. They’ve been hiding among us for years; studying us, learning our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. They are a threat to mankind. I saw a golden opportunity to neutralize that threat and I took it. I’m sorry if I didn’t include you in the plan, but last I checked, you work for me and not the other way around.”

  Agent Simmons was having a hard time containing his mounting anger. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up in cuffs himself.

  “Sir, he told me there are three separate groups out there. Maybe we should—”

  “That’s enough Simmons!”

  The Secretary was beside himself now. The tips of his ears were turning beet red.

  “You can give a detailed report when you turn in your credentials.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “You’re done here. I thought you were the man for the job, but I see now I was mistaken. You’re not seeing the big picture anymore. That’s a shame, really. You were headed straight to the top. I had such high hopes for you.”

  At that moment, a dark sedan pulled up. American flags adorned both fenders. A Secret Service agent stepped out from the passenger side and walked to the rear, opening the door.

  “Harken will take over from here.”

  Secretary Proctor slid in the back of the bulletproof sedan, followed by his attractive aide.

  Agent Simmons wiped his face on his sleeve and watched as they pulled away, pondering his next move. He’d be lucky if he still had a job and wasn’t pushing papers in some obscure assignment by tomorrow. That was if he could avoid jail time. But career suicide was trivial if what Charlie had told him was true.

  He glanced over at the mangled remains of what used to be his SUV and frowned. An hour ago, he was set to forge the greatest alliance in U.S. history—human history, to be exact. Now that asset would be locked away, poked and prodded by eager government scientists until there was nothing left. And for what? To satisfy one man’s warped ego? If there was one thing Agent Simmons knew for sure it was this: arrogance can get you killed. And in this case, arrogance could mean humanity being bumped off the planetary food chain. He wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen. Not while there was still breath left in his body. He had to know the truth, even if that meant risking it all. And to get to the truth, he would have to get to Charlie.

  Chapter 45

  Agent Simmons pried open the passenger door to his destroyed vehicle. The door made a loud grinding sound as the twisted metal stubbornly separated. The tactical troopers and agents that swarmed the area before were long gone. Shattered bits of glass covered the seat and floor of the Chevy Tahoe. He rummaged around, mindful of the glass until he finally found what he was looking for: his crumpled pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

  He smiled, grabbed the pack, and tried unsuccessfully to force the door back closed. He wasn’t sure why; the vehicle was a complete wreck. He guessed being denied transport to Camp Echo was part of the punishment from the SECDEF. No doubt, further humiliation awaited his fall from grace.

  Agent Simmons leaned against the front fender and fired up a cigarette that was grossly deformed at the end. Heck, it fit right in with the busted vehicle beside him.

  The night air was warm and still: perfect for a walk. The USS Alamo, an amphibious warfare ship weighing nearly nine thousand tons, was docked two miles from his current location. He headed off in that direction, tugging at the malformed cancer stick along the way. The moon was full and seemed to hang lower than usual in the sky, so there was no need to break out a flashlight.

  He thought about his first meeting with Secretary Proctor. He was just a young Senator from New Mexico back then. Agent Simmons was Master Sergeant Frank Simmons, Air Force Security Forces senior enlisted military advisor during the last days of the withdrawal from Iraq. His unit was out on patrol one day when they came across a group of soldiers pinned down during a violent skirmish near Kirkuk that left seven dead and four wounded. One of those casualties was Private First Class Jonathan Proctor, the Senator’s son.

  PFC Proctor was injured when an RPG struck the building where his squad was pinned down. After an intense gunfight lasting two hours, Simmons was finally able to flank and take out the insurgents, saving the lives of his own men and what remained of PFC Proctor’s squad.

  His career had been a blur after that. He retired from the Air Force before being recruited by the CIA at the behest of its newly appointed Director, William Proctor. He chose the FBI instead and became a field agent shortly thereafter, running manhunts all over the country.

  When Director Proctor was appointed Secretary of Defense by President Clinton, he made certain Agent Simmons was taken care of. Simmons was named SAIC of the New York field office, an assignment usually reserved for more senior agents.

  After Secretary Proctor placed him in charge of the manhunt for Charles Reese and those responsible for kidnapping Vice President Palmer, he informed Agent Simmons it was because results were needed quickly and he could depend on him. But now that he’d delivered Charles Reese, it seemed his services were no longer required.

  Simmons had a sneaky suspicion something else was going on behind the scenes. Something he wasn’t privy to, even though he was supposedly in charge of operations. Secretary Proctor had been a little too quick on the draw to dismiss him.

  After about twenty minutes of walking and chain-smoking along the way, he could finally see the glow of the lights from the USS Alamo over the next hill. The black site was one of the agency’s best kept secrets in the U.S. Agent Simmons had only been there a handful of times.

  The maximum-security complex was one of a kind with cutting-edge technology and employed some of the world’s top scientists and engineers. What they were working on was the real mystery.

  If years as a field agent had taught him anything, it was to follow the evidence. And the evidence was leading to whatever was being kept on Level 3.

  A twig snapped in the thicket off to his left and brought him back to the present. Agent Simmons shot his eyes in that direction, searching the darkness. For a second, he thought he saw the silhouette of a man, but couldn’t be sure. He kept walking, his guard on full alert now.

  A second flash of something darted to his right this time. Now he knew he wasn’t alone. He breathed calmly and never broke stride, yet he remained hypervigilant and ready for anything. Without turning his head, he scanned the dark carefully as he continued on.

  The sound of a man clearing his throat stopped him dead in his tracks. Agent Simmons flicked the cigarette with his left hand and went for his holster with the right, clearing leather and spinning around on his heels.

  He was astonished to see a rather tall gentleman standing there, casually leaning on a cane. The man looked to be in great shape, so the cane was most likely just for aesthetic appeal. He was also wearing an expensive-looking suit that reminded Agent Simmons of a high-priced corporate lawyer.

  “You looking to get your head blown off?” he asked, keeping his weapon trained on the odd stranger. The man didn’t seem at all bothered that a weapon fully capable of giving him a third eyehole was pointing squarely at his head. He curled the fingers on his right hand slightly and chec
ked his nails.

  “I think you’ll have a hard time pulling that one off, mate,” the stranger replied, with an arrogance about him that instantly annoyed Agent Simmons.

  “And why is that? I’m the one holding the gun.”

  “I don’t see a gun.”

  The stranger smiled; an engaging smile, and moved the crystal-tipped cane back and forth gently.

  Agent Simmons looked down and was astonished to see he was no longer holding a gun, but his flashlight instead. His jaw dropped in awe.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Magic.”

  “No. Really. How did you do that? Who are you and what do you want?”

  He wasn’t buying the magic angle one bit. He knew magic when he saw it and this surely wasn’t it. This guy was something different. Something… dangerous.

  “I want to help you.”

  “Help me do what?”

  “Get to the truth you seek.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Agent Simmons said, trying to figure out what angle the man was working. He eyed him the way a seasoned sheepdog would a preying wolf. “You never told me your name, either.”

  “My name is Standeval.”

  Agent Simmons processed this tidbit of information. The name had come up several times during the investigation, but nothing was known about him. He was basically a ghost.

  “I think you do need my help. Those men down there know you. You’re an honest agent; only interested in doing the right thing and seeking justice. You know something is not right here.”

  Agent Simmons lowered his flashlight. What he was considering was a monumental task. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little backup. But could the stranger be trusted?

  “What do you get out of this?”

  Standeval kicked the end of the cane with the side of his expensive leather shoe before tucking it neatly under his arm.

  “Let’s just say I’m here for a little family reunion.”

  That got Agent Simmons’ attention. The picture was suddenly becoming much clearer. Standeval was searching for Charlie, too.