King Acid

21- MORPHEUS' HUG

Fourteen hours went by before Zill twitched a muscle again. Fourteen hours, lying on the top of a hill bathed in the white quartz-halogen lights in the area, watching the mine and its surroundings patiently through the scope of his Dragunov. He decided to raise his spine for a moment to take a pill of modafinil to stay awake. He slid the bands over his mouth down and swallowed the pill without water, with only the help of the smoke from the cigarette he had just lit.

Fourteen hours. Not even half his personal record. He took a second drag, staring with his naked eye at the whole picture of the mine and the station in the distance. He then looked down at the small airdrome a few hundred yards away from him, only populated by a lone plane, the jet from which one of his prey had come. He trusted the promise of his boss that he would see that prey again.

Third drag. He looked up at the night sky, as static as the Earth that day, sliding his gaze across it until stopping at a lengthened and obscured green point surrounded by two navigation lights which soon enlarged and became a powerful, roaring cargo plane in a falling trajectory that landed at what seemed to be a hangar within a false secondary quarry. Nothing he hadn't already seen.

Fourth drag. He threw the cigarette down the hill, tightened back the face bands, dropped to the soil, and put his eye in the scope, waiting. And waiting...

Waiting until he finally found him. He saw the kid show up the next morning, leaving the east end of the facility. There he was, surrounded by armed guards, pacing towards the jet, blatantly exposed. Zill put his finger on the trigger by instinct, conscious at the same time that he couldn't pull it; even with his borderline-feline reflexes, it was just impossible to take down twelve armed men in a row. Both targets got on the jet under the cover of the guards, who stayed on the ground, while Zill turned on his radio and contacted Seiber.

"Boss."

"What's going on?"

"I see him right now. He's getting on the same plane."

"Can you get to him?"

"Impossible. He's being escorted."

"It doesn't matter. The transmitter's still active, so we can pin down his signal. Fall back immediately. Your mission there is over. We'll pick you up at the extraction point within an hour."

"Yessir."

                                             *****

Cedric was waiting for them in the cockpit, engaging the engines. As soon as they boarded, the jet launched into the sky. No words needed. No time to lose. Skyler pushed his way forward against inertia until he reached the knob and shut the cockpit door.

"What was that about?" he snapped as he regained his balance. "Who the hell was gonna shoot me down?"

"It was just a guess; don't read too much into it," replied Seiber as he took off his helmet and secured the lock on the staircase.

"And you wanted to push me around or something? You should know better than me that bullets go faster than sound."

"I didn't grab you to push you around; it was to shake you around. Most snipers won't take a shot at a high-value target if they're pretty sure they'll miss. Not only will the target not be dead, but they'll also reinforce security around them next time. You were never in danger in the first place, or at least there was way less danger than you thought."

"But what for? Why expose me like that?"

"We have plenty of time; let me show you the backyard first."

Landau followed Seiber to the room adjacent to the office, the only room he knew so far. The second room, much broader than the first, was covered with what looked like props from a war zone, and a complicated system of rails glued to the floor, walls, and even the ceiling.

"What's this?" asked Landau.

Seiber pressed a button on the wall, and several bulls-eyes flipped out and slithered their way onto the rails.

"It's a training room. This is the shooting area for dry firing. Weapons and targets are equipped with the MILES system."

A small piece of the puzzle dashed out of the haze of memory to fit into Landau's brain.

"The system of lasers the army uses for target practice. Now, I remember."

"You forgot?"

Skyler shook his head. At that point, he was almost sure he was completely safe, and yet he still refused to reveal to anyone his amnesia out of some sort of atavistic solipsism, the latent idea he could be dead wrong. After all, the pent-up rage he still felt for his brother was as uncalled for as it was cautionary.

"No, it's just...it's been a while. For my Ph.D., I became part of a team back at the Los Alamos labs that researched computing applicability to newfound laser properties. MILES was an outgrowth of that research."

"Yeah, our men were already keeping an eye on you when you spent that year in New Mexico. Is it true there was a scientist there driving a car with a plane engine attached to it?"

"Oh yeah, he even made it into the local newspaper. I bought it and kept it framed in my office after I came back."

"Maybe we should go back and get it. It might be worth millions if that guy becomes someone," grunted Conan as he pressed the button, hiding the bulls-eyes again. "Anyway, I've been told you do target practice twice a month, so you have a grip on it. For now, I'd rather show you the basics of close-range fighting." Seiber took off his gear and helped Skyler unlatch the two slabs of Kevlar from his chest and back. "How's your head?"

"Getting there."

The intermittent migraines that had been tormenting Landau since the crash had begun to taper off and the stitches had already been removed from the wound, leaving a scar, still dark, drawn across the left side of his face, from his forehead to his lower lip, passing close to his nostril.

"All right, follow me."

Seiber led Landau across the room, dodging rails, targets, and wooden slats until they reached the other side, a space of several yards long and wide, where the floor was covered in blue tatami. Seiber pulled a knife from his belt and passed it to Landau, and then he unbuttoned the two upper buttons on his Hawaiian shirt to gain mobility.

"Now come at me."

"Wait. Why would I do this? Where are we going?"

"Wanna know?"

"Yeah."

"Then come at me and don't hold back."

"I don't intend to."

Landau tried to surprise Seiber by launching a quick stab, aiming for his left side. Seiber seized his wrist, swivelled his body ninety degrees, and heaved him violently downwards. And then he opened his eyes. Landau found himself lying face-up with his hands empty and Seiber holding the knife against his neck.

"This is what I'm gonna teach you to do." Seiber reached out to help Landau up. "But you closed your eyes, so you didn't see it."

Landau stood up and wiped away the sweat from his brow.

"What? Am I on my way to a judo contest or something?"

"Not quite. We are going to Afghanistan. To war."

"What?"

"And your brother has decided to turn you over to the Soviets, so the two blocks will be rabid to find you from here on out, mind you."

The engine hum became the only thing Landau could hear. His arms and legs locked and froze, contrasting with the internal heat of anger sprouting from his chest that suddenly prompted him to grab Seiber with both hands by his flowery collar.

"You're gonna tell me what the fuck this is all about, and if you answer with any bullshit, I swear to God next time I'm gonna fucking open you up."

That was the first time that Landau saw a glimpse of gravity in Seiber's eyes.

"Watch out now."