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  The beast began to pant, unable to hide its excitement. This was the chance it had been waiting for.

  “Frederick said we have to hurry,” the passenger-side human said.

  “Tell that to the animal,” Hans said. “Let’s do this.”

  They opened the doors, letting in hot, desert air. Each man walked alongside a different part of the vehicle. Hans opened the back.

  “Listen to me, you miserable hound. If you try to run, we’re going to shoot you. Then, when the time comes, I’ll kick you like you wouldn’t believe. So make this quick.”

  “I don’t care what the others say,” the lean man said. “This beast isn’t that smart. It craps in its own cage. You tell me how smart that is.”

  “Let it out,” Hans said. He stepped back, raising the dart gun.

  The leaner man unlocked the cage before he too raised his dart pistol.

  The beast nosed the cage door, pushing it open. It wagged its tail to show the two how harmless he was.

  “I think he’s thanking us,” the leaner man said.

  “Maybe,” Hans said.

  The beast jumped down onto the sand. It was hot, and the heat gave it an idea. The beast whimpered, jumping back up into the Land Rover.

  “Oh, give me a break,” Hans said. “Drag it out of there.”

  “You drag it out.”

  The beast let its ears droop as it looked at the two men, wagging its tail so it thumped against the cage.

  “Stupid bugger,” Hans said. He stepped near, grabbing the hound’s collar as he lowered his dart pistol.

  As quick as a snake, the beast lunged, biting the soft throat. Hans gurgled with terror, bringing up the dart gun reflexively.

  The beast leaped, shoving Hans before him while keeping hold of the throat. They rolled onto the sand as its jaws crushed flesh and bones. Even better, the beast heard the leaner man fire his dart. It sank into the sand. The beast shook Hans savagely, tearing out flesh. Then, it whirled around.

  “No!” the leaner man shouted, as he worked the pistol. “Please. I never hurt you.”

  The beast wasn’t fooled. It leaped again, crashing against the man, bearing him onto the sand. The man let go of the gun and grabbed for a sheathed knife. The beast killed the man then as it had once slain a Great Dane.

  It all happened fast with perfect surprise. Even so, it left the giant hound panting. It peered at the men twitching on the sand. Blood still ran from one torn throat, sinking into the hot desert ground.

  Where was it going to find meat and water out here? The beast decided not to worry about it for the moment. It was time to flee, time to—

  No, no, it must use its greater reasoning power. It needed to calculate this cleverly.

  It slunk to the other side of the Land Rover, glancing down the giant dune. None of the other vehicles had stopped yet. The humans in them didn’t seem to realize yet what had happened.

  That meant it had a few precious moments.

  The beast went around to the driver’s side, jumping into the vehicle. It found water bottles. Carefully, it tore one open, drinking. Then, one by one, it took the other bottles outside, burying them for later use.

  The beast went back to look at the caravan. Two of the Land Rovers had stopped. The rest continued to travel.

  The beast went to the lean corpse. It picked up the knife with its teeth by the handle. Then, laying in the shade of the vehicle, it wedged the handle between its held-together paws.

  This was the trick. The beast’s collar had always betrayed it. Many times, it had tried to rub off the collar. That had never worked.

  Carefully, with the sharp knife held between its paws, the beast sawed at the collar. Once, the knife blade cut its skin. The beast whined, concentrating. Soon, a miracle occurred. The hated collar parted from its throat. The beast stood, shaking itself. The collar flew off, falling onto the sand.

  With great care, the beast once more slunk to the Land Rover, studying the other vehicles. Two of them climbed the dune, coming back.

  It was time to go. The beast hesitated for a moment. This was a new beginning. It would have to fend for itself now.

  Although the beast wanted to bark with joy, it refrained. Instead, it trotted down the opposite side of the dune as the others climbing it. It would have raced away, but it would save its strength in this new and hideous land of blistering sand.

  -50-

  UNDERGROUND ROOM

  LIBYA

  Marcus’s eyelids fluttered. He lay on his back in a sterile white room that smelled of disinfectants.

  I’m in a hospital.

  He frowned. Why would he be in a hospital? Why would—

  Marcus ground his molars together. He remembered the woman with the .38. He had toyed with Dr. Selene Khan, but she had been made of sterner stuff than he’d realized. She’d moved like greased death in the outer chamber under the Temple of Ammon. Where had she received superior genetics like that? Only a few people could have beaten him as she did. Those few all served Mother.

  Inhaling through his nostrils, Marcus gathered his resolve. Dr. Khan had shot him in the throat. It would have killed an ordinary person. He had no doubt of that.

  But I’m far from ordinary.

  He remembered now. He’d endured the horrible wound, falling, getting up, falling and finally reaching the Volkswagen. He had bled far too much by that point. He’d driven down the site but crashed the vehicle in a ditch. That was the last thing he remembered.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marcus examined the room more closely. It had white-painted cabinets and a closet. He noticed that he was nude. Even more startling, there wasn’t a scar on his person.

  His eyebrows rose. He checked his left thigh. There was no pucker scar from a .357 slug. With his fingertips, he felt the smooth skin. The scar had been seven years old and rough to the touch. Now the wound was gone.

  “Mother,” Marcus whispered.

  Had he finally advanced to the next level? Frederick and that Valkyrie bitch Hela were two of Mother’s chosen ones. They’d advanced to a higher level many years ago. Marcus hadn’t because—

  A lock tumbled in the door.

  Am I a prisoner?

  The heavy door to his room opened. Hela in her white lab coat walked inside. As always, she’d tied her blond hair back. She acted like an ice goddess, believing herself superior to everyone but Mother.

  “Put some clothes on,” Hela said, indicating the closet.

  Marcus sat where he was, regarding her.

  She shrugged after a moment, putting her hands in the lab coat pockets. “There’s no need to stretch this out. You’re here because you took a life-threatening wound to the throat.”

  Marcus touched his throat. The skin there was as smooth as the rest of his flesh.

  “Mother decided you could still be useful,” Hela explained. “But you were dying. Thus, she realized nothing short of the rehabilitator could fix the damage.”

  “That’s a machine?” Marcus asked, having never heard of this rehabilitator.

  “Your mental acuity is astounding as always,” Hela said sarcastically. “Yes, the rehabilitator rebuilds cellular damage, among other things. In order for it to work, we first had to submerge you in a chemical solution for a day. It was a second birth, you could say.”

  Marcus caught the hint. “What are the side-benefits?”

  “Since you were unsurprised just now by the lack of a scar on your throat, you must have surmised that all your wounds have finally healed properly. Actually, they re-healed. You must still be tired from the ordeal. Entering the rehabilitator is an exhausting process. Soon, though, you shall feel more invigorated than ever before.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You should have already figured that out,” Hela said. She paused as if waiting for him. Finally, she said, “You now have perfect health.”

  Marcus considered that, his lips spreading into a grin.

  “It appears you have surmised a few of
the benefits to perfect health,” Hela said. “Everyone else’s bodies on this mud-ball are always sick. It’s a matter of degree, of course. Some are ninety percent well. That’s as good as they will ever be, with all sorts of bacteria and germs crawling on and through their person. When they drop to seventy percent well, then they think of themselves as sick. It’s all relative. Along with perfect health, you will also be stronger and faster than ever before. Let us hope you will also be smarter and wiser.”

  If Marcus hadn’t felt so weak, he might have been tempted to slide off the bed and slap Hela’s smart-aleck mouth. Then he reconsidered the situation. It didn’t make sense. Mother operated by two simple formulas, at least regarding them. Success brought reward and failure brought punishment.

  The words galled, but Marcus forced them out. “I failed under the Temple of Ammon. Why then has Mother rewarded me with this healing treatment?”

  Hela shook her head. “Entering the rehabilitator wasn’t a reward.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Hela sneered. “You’re so literal, so direct. You fail to realize that Mother desires to rub your nose in your failure. She can’t do that if you’re dead. You must be alive so she can make you understand your inferiority.”

  Marcus’s eyes narrowed as the good feeling evaporated.

  “Can you rise above your mediocrity to join the elect, brother? That is the question. That is what you must strive to achieve. You don’t even understand the glories just beyond your reach. You have no idea what the New Order will mean to Earth and to those like us.”

  Through an act of will, Marcus held his tongue.

  Hela smiled without warmth. “The damned must toil without reward. You are nearing that state with your repeated failures. Mother has decreed that you have one more chance to redeem yourself.”

  “I didn’t fail in the Ardennes. My wit helped to save the situation.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, brother. I’m sure it will gladden your heart during your years of bitter slavery.”

  “Speak plainly,” Marcus snapped.

  Hela scowled. “I am here to give you a charge. In this, I am Mother’s representative. Or do you wish to speak directly with her?”

  “I do,” Marcus said.

  “Then you are a fool,” Hela said with heat. “Thus, I will saddle you with fools to help you with what could be your final mission in the highest of services.”

  Once more, Marcus managed to hold his tongue. He was alive because Mother was invincible. She had access to unbelievable technology. And like the mythical Loch Ness Monster, she remained hidden until striking at her time and for her purposes. What did Mother strive to achieve with her technology? It tore at Marcus that he remained in the dark. Why had Mother trusted Hela and Frederick over him? They were smarter in terms of IQ…

  There was the answer, and it galled Marcus. But sometimes the race did not go to the quick or the strong—or in this case, to the smart. He would win Mother’s good graces. He would show her that he was more useful than this arrogant ice goddess.

  “What is my task?” Marcus asked.

  “Look at that wall,” Hela said, pointing at one.

  Marcus turned his head.

  On the wall appeared a photo of Jack Elliot. A second later, another appeared of Doctor Selene Khan.

  “Your two failures have joined forces,” Hela said. “They escaped from the Siwa Oasis.”

  Marcus understood in a flash. “We captured the woman, didn’t we?”

  Hela’s nostrils pinched together.

  “Did she escape from you?” Marcus asked.

  Hela removed one of her hands from a pocket. It held a clicker, which she aimed at Marcus.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Marcus said in a silky tone. “You failed Mother, I’m thinking. That is why she put me in the rehabilitator. She must realize my worth at least in relation to you. Thank you, sister. I’m beginning to think—”

  Hela hurled the clicker against a wall, shattering the plastic device.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m too tempted to torment you after listening to your smug arrogance.”

  “Me?” Marcus asked. “What about your arrogance?”

  “I pride myself on being coldly logical—”

  “That’s false pride, sister, as you are far too emotional.”

  Hela’s lips thinned angrily.

  Her discomfort gladdened Marcus, and that helped him feel better. He slid off the bed, stretching his arms. “Tell me about Elliot and Khan.”

  It took a moment before Hela said, “They are together. Mother finds that troubling. We swept Mrs. King of D17 from the board. The Secretary appeared far too curious about us. She also made too many shrewd guesses. No one has done as well…for a long time. It is possible Mrs. King communicated with Elliot before her heart attack. Now Elliot is with Dr. Khan. We had lost track of her. Khan’s surfacing in the oasis…”

  “You want me to kill them?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes, the sooner you do so the better.”

  “You spoke of fools,” Marcus said.

  “Ney Blanc of DGSE will assist you, along with David Carter of D17.”

  “Carter went under the mind scrambler?”

  “If he hadn’t,” Hela said, “he wouldn’t be helping you, now would he?”

  Marcus ignored the sarcasm, nodding before striding to the closet. He flung it open, taking a pair of briefs, putting them on. Turning to Hela, he asked, “Is Elliot cut off from D17?”

  “We’re seeing to that.”

  “It would be unwise to make it a broadband situation.”

  “That’s obvious. We don’t want the world hunting him, or it’s possible they’ll capture Elliot, allowing him to talk. No. This is a delicate operation. We are working on convincing D17 to send assassins to take him down. That would be the easiest solution.”

  “And if D17 decides to capture Elliot and bring him in from the cold?”

  “Yes, yes,” Hela said, “that’s one of the many reasons you must find and kill them. By the way, for this assignment, you will have full access to Mother’s data net.”

  Marcus had been reaching for a pair of pants. He froze, turning his head, staring at Hela. Could this be true?

  “This is a priority one situation,” Hela said.

  Marcus had a good idea what that meant. Whatever Mother had been working toward all these years must be very close to completion. This was getting more interesting by the second.

  He grabbed the pants, putting them on. “When do I start?” Marcus asked.

  “You already have.”

  “Right,” he said, as he buckled the belt, reaching for his .55 Knocker next.

  -51-

  TEHRAN

  IRAN

  Jack opened his eyes, disoriented and confused. Where was he and how had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered…

  Jack groaned. He remembered hours maybe a day of blurry motion and a strong-willed woman helping him. He had vomited several times. When he drank water, he’d vomited that up too. The woman had wanted to take him to a doctor. Instinctively, Jack had refused. The amazing thing was that he’d gotten the woman to agree with him.

  An airplane, they had flown on a commercial jet. From where to where, though?

  Jack wasn’t ready to sit up just yet. He lay on the bed. There was no pillow under his head. He had removed pillows from his existence a long time ago. It helped an old injury in his back if he slept without one.

  How long had he slept in this room?

  From his prone position, he looked around. The wallpaper in this dump had peeled in places. He noticed a cockroach scurrying up a wall. That’s when he saw the single harsh light bulb in the ceiling. A urine stench penetrated his senses then as well.

  Instead of making him feel worse, the rundown room made him feel better. He didn’t like cockroaches or piss stenches, but he appreciated the woman’s intelligence in taking them to a rundown hotel. In this sort of place,
people didn’t ask questions as quickly. Eventually, everyone got curious. They would have to leave before that happened here.

  That still didn’t answer the question of where he was.

  Jack frowned. What did he remember? They’d left the Siwa Oasis in a white Toyota pickup. That’s right. He’d hotwired the machine. In places—like just before they reached an Egyptian army barricade—they went off-road. That had been a risk driving in the desert. The Toyota had lacked an air-conditioner. It had been hot, bumpy and almost over when the woman drove into a saltpan. Jack had climbed out and pushed far too long. He’d passed out somewhere during that time.

  The next thing he remembered was noise, lots of shouting, pushing people. Someone, the woman— Selene Khan—had helped him walk in a semi-conscious state through a crowded bazaar. Money exchanged hands. Right, right, the woman pocketed the Egyptian pounds. They no longer had a white pickup because they’d just sold it. They lacked guns, having sold them, too, although Jack had retained a knife. With the money—

  “Airplane,” Jack whispered. The woman—Selene—bought tickets to—

  “Tehran,” Jack whispered. “I’m in Tehran.”

  He vaguely remembered Selene paying custom bribes. They lacked solid IDs. He would have to repair that. Selene had taken a big risk flashing the money. If the wrong airport security official—

  Jack shook his head. He remembered enough now. They’d taken a taxi to a crappy part of Tehran. He’d stumbled up the stairs. The elevator must have stopped working years ago. This was a fly-spotted hole in the wall.

  Jack smacked his lips. His mouth tasted awful. He tried to rise and fell back. His muscles felt slack. Was this a concussion or had he become ill?

  I have to get up.

  He tried, but found himself laying back. Soon, his eyes closed. He fell into yet another troubled slumber…

  ***

  When Jack opened his eyes next, the light bulb no longer glared down at him. Someone had pulled a dirty curtain to the side. Sunlight slanted into the room, showing the dust particles in the air. It was hot in here. There must not be any air-conditioning.