Carnival Of Mayhem Part 8

"Then what happened?" she said.

He swallowed. "We successfully extracted the intelligence from the prisoners. The Rangers ambushed the Freedom Clan, and the mission was a total success. Everybody was happy until the bureaucrats back in Was.h.i.+ngton started asking probing questions."

She nodded. "Somebody had to be the sacrificial goat. Why not pick the doctor who violated his oath? The choice doesn't seem entirely unfair."

"The Freedom Clan was a bunch of murderers, rapists, and thieves. They had to be stopped. The prisoners deserved what they got."

"I agree. Everybody in this car has committed heinous acts in the line of duty. We understand war is an ugly business."

Smythe looked at Aaron, who was driving. His calm expression didn't indicate whether he agreed or disagreed with Ethel's statement, but he didn't dispute it. Smythe could see Marina's face in the side mirror, and she appeared lost in her own memories.

Aaron pulled off the road and parked in a gra.s.sy clearing. A thick forest surrounded the clearing and provided complete privacy for whatever happened next. Smythe saw no city lights in any direction.

Ethel removed the cuffs from his feet, but his wrists were still bound. "Get out," she ordered.

He was escorted to the center of the clearing. Ethel stood in front of him and Marina stood behind him. Aaron stayed by the car and took a shovel out of the trunk. Smythe didn't want to speculate about its purpose. The car's headlights illuminated the scene.

"Dawn comes in an hour," Ethel said. "This is my favorite time of night. The darkness is waning and a new day is about to be born. Anything is possible. There is hope."

Smythe considered trying to run. The forest would provide plenty of good places to hide, if he could get there. Unfortunately, Aaron and Marina looked more than athletic enough to chase him down.

"Hope is a gift from G.o.d," Ethel said. "Do you believe in G.o.d?"

"I get it," Smythe said. "You're not spies or criminals. You're religious nuts! That explains a lot."

"I asked you a question."

"G.o.d? I've seen too many bad things to believe in an omnipotent, benevolent Almighty. If He really is pulling all the strings, then He has a nasty sense of humor."

"You presume He's in total control. When He granted us free will, He also gave us sin. The choices are entirely ours. Our capacity for evil is the price we pay for true creativity, for breaking the shackles of determinism."

"Are we going to argue philosophy?" he said. "Is that why you kidnapped me?"

"No," she said. "I already told you that I want to recruit you."

"Then tell me who you are."

She glanced up at the sky. "We are the janitors of G.o.d. Our job is to clean the stains on His world. Sometimes we have to scrub very hard. Sometimes the stains fight back."

"You sound like a cult."

Smythe looked back at Marina to see how close she was in case he decided to run. He noticed that she had black fingernails with sharp, glistening tips. Strange, he thought. He remembered the injections in his neck. Venom?

"There is a place for you on our team," Ethel said.

"As a janitor?" he asked.

"We use guns to clean the stains."

"You're vigilantes."

"We're warriors. We obey the orders of our Supreme Commander, the Lord."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"I'll make you a deal." Ethel said. "If you can beat one of us in a fight, I'll let you go. We won't bother you again."

"Really? What about Woods?"

"Do with him as you see fit. We have the data we need."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch." She tossed him the keys to his handcuffs. "You just have to win the fight."

He removed the cuffs. "What if I lose?"

"Then you're mine to do with as I see fit." She nodded towards Aaron. "This clearing could be your graveyard if I choose."

Smythe glanced back. Aaron raised the shovel and smiled.

"Pick your opponent," Ethel said. "Any of us will do."

Smythe didn't understand why she was doing this, but he wasn't about to complain. Any escape was a good escape at this point. He considered his three possible adversaries. Aaron was a big man with the torso of a body builder, and clearly, he was the most dangerous. Marina wasn't as physically threatening, but Smythe suspected she knew every dirty trick in the book. He also didn't like those pointed black fingernails. The choice seemed obvious.

"I pick you," he told Ethel.

"You want to fight a little old lady?" she said.

Aaron made an odd snorting noise.

"You didn't say I couldn't," Smythe said.

"True." She took off her jacket. "Incidentally, you made the worst choice."

"Why?"

"I'm tougher than Aaron and Marina put together. Let's begin."

He stretched his arms. "I'll try to be a gentleman and not hurt you much."

Aaron laughed out loud.

Somebody tapped Smythe on the shoulder. Surprised, he spun around and found Marina standing there.

"Do you want some advice?" she said.

"From you?" he asked.

"Don't hold back. Use your best stuff right away. And this is yours." She gave him the KA-BAR knife that was usually strapped to his wrist. It was standard issue with a black, synthetic grip.

"You want me to stab your boss?"

She smiled. "I want you to try. There's one more thing you should know. Ethel is about to smash you."

Smythe looked back in time to see Ethel spinning like a top. Her foot lashed out with the speed of a whip and slammed into the side of his face. The next thing he knew, he was lying in the gra.s.s. He felt like he had been hit by a truck.

He wondered if he were having a nightmare. No human could move that fast.

"Get up," Ethel demanded.

Still dizzy, he climbed to his feet. He gathered himself and a.s.sumed a defensive stance. "That was some kind of trick."

"G.o.d granted me the gift of supernatural speed. It was a reward for being an exceptionally good soldier. You have five seconds before I hit you again."

He swiped at her with the knife, just to see how she would react. She dodged like a professional.

"Three seconds," she said in a disinterested voice.

He used a combination kick, but it was like trying to hit a ghost. She had an uncanny ability to twist and turn just enough to evade every attack. Worse yet, she didn't even look like she was working hard. She's just playing with me, he realized.

"Zero," she said.

Something struck his chest, but he couldn't tell whether it was a fist or a foot because it moved too fast. While the impact was still reverberating through his body, his feet were swept from under him, and he landed flat on his back.

He was angry now. He couldn't let an old woman make a fool of him. He threw the knife at her face, but impossibly, she caught the blade just an inch from her eye. She threw it back and the tip speared the dirt between his fingers.

"This is disappointing," she said. "I brought you out here so you could show off your skills, but you've shown me s.h.i.+t so far. Give me a reason to let you live."

He rolled onto his feet and launched himself at her with all the strength in his legs. The attack was utterly reckless and he paid the price. Blows fell like hammers on his head and torso, but he kept going and reached for her neck. He almost touched her chin before falling back to the ground in a heap.

"Better," she said. "You have some spirit at least. Come again."

Smythe's entire body was a throbbing ma.s.s of pain. He didn't think any bones were broken but he wasn't sure. He touched his sore nose.

Suddenly, her face was close to his. "I told you to attack. You're not really injured. Get up!" She stepped back.

He still couldn't believe how fast she moved, but he had seen it with his own eyes. Slowly, he picked up his knife and stood up. "Is this your sick idea of fun?"

"No, this is my idea of you wasting my valuable time. I'll give you one more chance to prove yourself worthy before I break your neck."

He didn't doubt she was serious.

He couldn't win this battle with mere strength, skill, or toughness. He had to use his brain instead. The only way he could beat her phenomenal speed was by antic.i.p.ating instead of reacting. He mentally rehea.r.s.ed the next sequence.

"Then go ahead and break my neck." He tightened his grip on his knife. "I'm done anyway."

She flew at him, and even though he was fully prepared, she was still almost too fast for him. He ducked down, twisted, and pointed the knife at her. To avoid being stabbed she had to push off his back, exactly as he had planned. He hooked her leg and sent her tumbling. She somersaulted to her feet with the grace of a gymnast, but at least he had made contact. All things considered, that was a pretty good outcome.

Aaron clapped his hands. "Bravo," he said. "Well done."

Marina nodded and smiled. "Nice move."

Ethel didn't attack again, and Smythe allowed himself to relax a little. Was the fight over?

Marina's strange fingernails caught his attention, and curiosity forced him to ask, "What's with the black nail polish?"

She raised her index finger, and a drop of clear liquid oozed from the sharp tip of the nail. "The black is natural."

"Is that what you injected into me?"

"I'm a living hypodermic needle."

"Hmm." Impossible. He looked at Aaron. "In the laboratory you shot some kind of acid at my gun."

Aaron spat at Smythe's s.h.i.+rt. The yellow liquid bubbled and the fabric dissolved immediately. Smythe tried to wipe the goo off, but he only spread it around and made a bigger hole. Even his plastic b.u.t.tons disintegrated. His skin wasn't injured and there was no pain.

"I don't believe it," he said. "I'm hallucinating."

"No," Ethel said, "these are real miracles." She walked over and put a gray business card in his hand. "When you're ready to learn your true purpose, call us. Aaron, Marina, let's go."

The three of them went back to the car and drove off.

Smythe looked at the card, which only had a phone number printed on it. He thought about throwing the card away. He didn't need to join a freak club. He already had enough challenges in his life, insanity being one apparently. Maybe he had inhaled too many chemical fumes while working in the laboratory, or maybe it was acc.u.mulated stress and sleep deprivation. There was no rational explanation for what he had just experienced.

He kept seeing Ethel's dark eyes staring back at him from the shadows like a pair of sniper rifles. She was certainly real.

He stuffed the business card into his pocket. He would turn it over to the police at the next opportunity.

He found that his cell phone was missing. Of course, he thought. Calling a cab would be too easy. At least he had his wallet and money.

He went back to the road and started walking.

It took Smythe three hours to get back to Naperville. Even though he was bruised, dirty, and utterly exhausted, he went straight to the Green Vines Hotel. He and Mark Woods were going to have a very serious conversation about honor and trust.

Smythe called the military police fifteen minutes prior to his arrival so they would be there to arrest Woods. There would be no messing around this time.

A cab dropped Smythe off. The hotel was made of cinderblocks and concrete, painted dark blue. The "green vines" were just twisting lines of green paint on the walls. There was an actual vine on a trellis in front, but it was droopy and pale.

Two sergeants in green camouflage were standing on the sidewalk. They wore black "MP" bands on their arms and carried M-16's.

"I'm Captain Timothy Smythe," Smythe told them.

The expression on their faces bordered on insubordination, but he understood. He looked much more like a b.u.m than a decorated officer of the United States Army. Not a good way to start.

The three of them went inside and found the manager, an elderly woman with blue hair and far too much makeup. She became frightened when she saw the automatic weapons and refused to partic.i.p.ate in the arrest of Mark Woods. She handed over a master key and hid in her office.