There was no sound and for a moment nothing happened. They were waiting on him. Dorian didn’t move. Finally a soldier stepped forward and bound his hands and feet, then two soldiers lifted him and his father and carried them toward the base. Bright lights bathed the area, revealing what had become of the base. The closest section was just as Dorian remembered it: a giant white caterpillar, stretching for over the length of a football field and curving around at the ends. But there were more of the caterpillars now—at least thirty—spread out as far as he could see. How many troops were camped here? He hoped there would be enough. He would find his father’s killer and hold him accountable, but first he needed to deal with the threat below.
The soldiers entered a large decontamination room, and the sprinkler heads opened up, drenching Dorian and the contingent guarding him. When the liquid stopped, the men carried him out and threw him on a table.
The closest soldier popped the latch of Dorian’s helmet and lifted it off. The man seemed to freeze.
“I escaped,” Dorian said. “Now untie me. They’re awake. We need to attack.”
CHAPTER 14
Immari Training Camp Camelot
Cape Town, South Africa
Raymond Sanders watched the ridge as the first soldiers crossed. They ran at top speed—nearly thirty-five kilometers per hour—and carried twenty-seven kilogram packs. The sun was rising over the mountains of South Africa in the distance. Sanders’ corner office of the ten story building gave him an incredible view of the mountains to the north and the sea to the south, but Sanders couldn’t take his eyes off the growing army of super-soldiers training below.
“Time?” Sanders said to his assistant, Kosta, without turning.
“14:23.” Kosta shook his head. “Incredible.”
Sanders marveled at the time. The harder they pushed them, the stronger the soldiers got.
“We’ve got casualties though,” Kosta said.
“How many?”
“Six. This cohort began with two hundred.”
“Cause?”
Kosta flipped the pages. “Four dropped dead during yesterday’s march. We’re doing autopsies. Probably cardiovascular. Heart attack, possibly stroke. Two died in the night. Still pending autopsies.”
“Three percent is a small price to pay for the gains. How about the other cohorts?”
“Gains, but nowhere near cohort five.”
“End the other regimens. But let’s keep testing,” Sanders said.
“Same cohorts?”
“No. Let’s start fresh. I don’t want the previous training regimens to skew the results. The science team has a new protocol?”
Kosta nodded. “Tons of them.”
“Good—”
“But I just have to say, sir. They’re plateauing. We’re well past the point of diminishing returns. These are people, not figures on a spreadsheet that can be adjusted. It feels like—”
“They’re still getting better. Stronger, faster, smarter. The last cognitive tests were the best yet.”
“True, but at some point we have to decide they’re good enough. We can’t keep moving the finish line. Procrast—”
“It almost sounded like you were going to say ‘procrastinating,’ Kosta. I can’t remember exactly, but it’s like, one of us is in charge here and the other is the assistant. You know, I can’t recall exactly, but I believe I’m in charge and you’re the paper-toting helper.” He shook his head theatrically. “There’s one way to find out. If I tell them to put you in the next cohort, and it happens, then bam—we have our answer.”
Kosta swallowed and motioned out the window, at the rows of tents and almost endless encampments. “I’m just trying to help, and… What I mean to say is… We have almost a million soldiers. We have a viable training regimen that makes them almost as strong as they’re ever going to get. And we don’t know how much time we have.”
“We also know that we get one shot at this. The army we send into the tombs is the only one we’ll ever send. They succeed or we face the uncertainty beyond that. I don’t want to do that. Do you? You can follow my orders or you can join them in the tents down there. Now tell me where we are on southern Spain.”
Kosta picked up another folder. “We’ve taken the major cities in Andalusia—Seville, Cádiz, Granada, and Córdoba. We also have control of all the significant coastal towns, including Marbella, Málaga, and Almería. We’re working on the news outlets, pressing them to release our story. Our agents say they’re wavering. If they think we have a chance, they might start hedging their Orchid support. We’ll know soon. Our landing troops are inbound to the coast.”
“Any reaction from the Orchid Alliance?”
“Nothing yet. We don’t expect much resistance. Clocktower says the Allies could be looking at a slowdown of Orchid production in France and northern Spain. Member nations are panicking.”
The timing was perfect; Sanders couldn’t have planned it better.
The door opened and an Immari general walked in. “Sir—”
“We’re working here,” Sanders snapped.
“The portal in Antarctica opened.”
Sanders just stared.
“Dorian Sloane came out. He had a case with him. He says—”
“Where is he now?” Sanders said flatly.
“They brought him to the surface. He’s in the primary conference room being briefed on the situation.”
“You’re shitting me.”
The general looked confused. “He is the ranking Immari Council member.”
“I want you to listen to me very carefully, general. I am the ranking Immari Council member. Dorian Sloane has been inside that structure for almost eleven weeks. We don’t know what he’s been doing down there, but I guarantee you it won’t be good for us. We have to assume they have reprogrammed him, brainwashed him, and spit him out with a mission.”
“What should—”
“Use the contingent of Clocktower agents on site. Have them tell Sloane there’s something they need to show him. Lead him to one of the science labs. Gas him. Then take him to an interrogation room and strap him in real tight. Don’t underestimate him. God knows what they’ve done to him. Post guards outside the door.” Sanders thought for a moment. “You said there was a case. Where is it?”