Winning Glory: GenTech Rebellion, #1

By Ann Gimpel

After years as a black ops CIA agent, nothing surprises Roy Kincaid, yet his current assignment is close to a bust. How could his target—renegade genetic freaks—drop off the radar as if they never existed? Burnt out and discouraged, he hunches over a meal in a backwater diner when a half-frozen woman with the look of an abused runaway staggers through the door. On his feet in an instant, Roy kicks himself. His first instinct is to help her, make certain she stays long enough for the bluish cast to leave her lips. His second is to finish his meal and leave. The world is full of broken women. It’s not his job to fix them, but he can’t take his eyes off her. 

Glory’s telepathic ability blares a harsh warning. Roy hunts those like her, but damn if he didn’t buy her dinner. Maybe she can fool him, just for tonight. Add a dry motel room to the meal. If she plays it very cool, he’ll never find out she’s on the run from the same group he’s targeted for death.

Enhanced genetics only go so far. A roadblock and her face on a Most Wanted flyer shatter her fragile truce with Roy. If her Handlers find her, they’ll kill her. If Roy finds out what she is, she’ll be worse than dead. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Gimpel Books, LLC
• Release date: Apr 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781943093175

Ann Gimpel

Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She's also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 20 books to date, with several more contracted for 2015 and beyond.A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.

Book preview

Chapter Two

Roy Kincaid keyed his mic, just a single tap to keep talking at bare minimums per protocol. Answering beeps hummed against his ears, and he counted until he got to six. The team was in place. Good. They could move out. He keyed his mic again to alert his men that they were on the move.

Ahead of them a rattletrap farmhouse peeked from behind dense tree cover. Cottonwoods and aspens grew thickly. The place felt deserted to his artificially enhanced senses, but CIA intel suggested otherwise. Another nest of freaks—genetically engineered humans who’d gone rogue—had been spotted here by The Company’s aerial surveillance network.

Roy glanced skyward. Clouds covered most of the stars and a half-grown moon. He’d counted on darkness, and for once Mother Nature was fully cooperative. He glided forward, his thick-soled combat boots making little noise as he used old growth tree boles to shield his body from anyone who might be inside the farmhouse. Freaks always posted sentries, so where were they?

Yeah, good question.

He stopped at the last tree before a stretch of open ground between him and the house and tapped his mic to signal everyone else to stop too. Roy stared at the structure with a gaping hole in the roof. One side was falling in. The wraparound porch sagged, suggesting the place had been deserted for years. A raccoon sashayed out a hole in the front door, paused, and then chirped. Another raccoon joined the first, and they waltzed across the porch and down the stairs, followed by a group of babies.

What the fuck? Charlie spoke, breaking protocol, but it didn’t matter. If rodents lived inside the house, freaks didn’t.

I have no idea, but let’s find out. No longer worried about shielding their presence, Roy strode across the yard along with his men, who fanned around the farmhouse approaching from half a dozen different angles.

Something subtle shifted in the air currents eddying around the house. If Roy hadn’t taken the injections to make him more like the freaks they hunted, he’d never have noticed. Stop! he barked.

Too late.

An explosion flashed from the rear of the house, followed by gut-wrenching screams as one of his men turned into grisly chunks of protoplasm.

Fall back, Roy shouted. To me.

When he did a nose count, Ted came up missing. Roy ground his teeth together. They’d walked into the trap like prime suckers. The freaks had set them up before, just not lately.

Goddammit! Charlie sputtered. If I’d been half a foot closer to Ted, I’d have bought it too.

Bastards, someone else spat.

Roy moved toward the rear of the building keeping to the tree line. Ted’s cries had ceased almost immediately, so the man must be dead, but they had to check if enough of him remained to retrieve for a hero’s burial. He clenched his jaw harder. The worst part about leading men on black ops missions was losing them. Despite years in the field, he’d never gotten over the guilt he felt for every single man he’d lost.

‘What do you think, boss?" Charlie jerked his chin at a quivering heap of red with slivers of bone sticking out. The raccoons had already closed on the corpse, intent on stripping it.

Roy didn’t answer. He picked up a fist sized rock and chucked it at the raccoons, but all they did was hiss at him. Apparently Ted was too succulent a feast to walk away from without putting up a fight. The rock told him whatever explosives were there had been tripped, so he strode forward. The largest raccoon turned and snarled, ready to do battle. Roy kicked it square in the chin; it flew backward and landed with a splat before turning tail and scrambling into a bramble thicket. The rest of the raccoons raced after it.

Mindless of the rivers of blood, Roy hefted what was left of his man and turned toward their vehicles parked half a mile away. The others followed.

Would you like a hand? Charlie asked once they’d cleared fencing around the property.

No point both of us turning into head to toe gore.

As he carted his burden, Roy thought about his thirteen plus years with an entity the U.S. government would never admit existed. Loosely affiliated with the Central Intelligence Agency, his black-ops group took care of everything the CIA couldn’t. When he’d first signed on, just out of law school, the job had been easier—much easier. There’d actually been months between assignments. In the interim, he and his hand-picked team worked for The Company, a well-used euphemism for the CIA, doing other things.

That was before a series of top secret government experiments came to light. Sometime between the beginning of the interminable wars in the Middle East and 9/11, the United States decided they needed to breed a race of super humans. Clandestine labs were created, armed with eager scientists who’d always yearned to manipulate human DNA. At first the clones—or whatever they were—looked promising, growing to fighting size in as little as a dozen years.

Seven years ago, a rogue group turned on their creators, blew up the lab, and hit all the other breeding farms, freeing whoever they could find.

Roy shifted the burden across his shoulders and more blood sheeted from the corpse, coating his boots. The last seven years had been hell, no way around it. While occasionally successful, the majority of their efforts to eradicate the freaks ended like today’s mission. In an attempt to even the scoreboard, he’d volunteered for a series of injections to augment his abilities. Because it was risky, he’d served as a guinea pig.

Once he determined the mixture really did give him an edge, he insisted his men sign up for it too. The ones who balked ended up with more normal jobs for The Company.

A loud zipping sound snapped Roy’s chin up. Charlie had retrieved a body bag from his trunk, and it lay open on the ground. Roy shifted Ted onto it. Charlie zipped him in. Thank fucking God Ted wasn’t married. Telling wives was always the worst. For some reason parents came to terms with losing their sons with far less drama.

He looked at his clothes. His black pants, black top, and black gloves were covered in bits of bone, with clumps of tissue here and there. He couldn’t get into the car like that. He considered walking back to Langley, but it was better than ten miles. Dawn wasn’t far off, and he’d attract attention in his current state.

Want to change? One of his men asked. I put sweats in the back of my car after our last fuck— He cleared his throat and tried again. Mission. After our last mission.

Roy sat on the ground next to Ted and laid a hand on the body bag. I’m sorry, bro. He followed his words with a silent prayer Ted’s soul would find the peace that eluded the man in life.

He began untying his boots and looked at David, the man who’d offered sweats. Like all of them, his hair was dyed jet black and his face covered with grease paint. Hard hazel eyes glittered dangerously. They could’ve been clones, just like the freaks with their lanky, hard-bodied builds. I’ll take you up on those sweats, he said. And you don’t have to pussyfoot around me. Our last assignment was a worse disaster than this one.

He toed off his boots, scrambled upright, and slid out of his pants. Does anyone have a plastic bag big enough for my gear?

David nodded. Yeah, you can use the same bag I put the sweats in.

Roy dressed in silence. He wiped his hands on the cleaner parts of his field clothes before stuffing them into the plastic sack. As he got himself together enough to leave, a plan formed in his mind. He gestured to Charlie, and they hoisted Ted’s body bag into one of the car’s trunks. They drove separately because two commando-looking men in a car might arouse suspicion, and their cars were as unremarkable as they could manage. Ten year old imports with peeling paint and a few dings and dents. Because the rides were cheap, they traded them out frequently.

He shut the trunk lid gently and turned to his men. I’m going to float an idea past the mother ship tomorrow morning. He waited, but no one asked anything, almost as if they dreaded their next assignment. Roy didn’t blame them. For some reason, the freaks’ level of aggression had accelerated dramatically these past few months. If things continued the way they had recently, it was only a matter of time before he and his team were all dead.

He straightened his shoulders. If I get approval, I’ll go deep.

But we’re already black ops. David pointed out.

Yeah, well I plan to go even deeper. And I’ll go alone.

Growls of disapproval rattled from behind five sets of gritted teeth.

You can’t do that, boss, Charlie protested.

You need us for backup. David stood taller.

It’d be like signing up for a suicide mission, another man cut in. Can’t let you do that, sir.

And what we’re doing now isn’t a suicide mission? Roy pressed his lips into a hard line. I don’t feel right leading you into any more traps. If it’s just me, I have more maneuverability.

Yeah, but you’re more vulnerable too, David argued.

It’ll be a wash. Roy tried for an even tone. I told you as a courtesy. This isn’t up for group discussion.

Charlie drew his brows together into a thick, worried line. This means we’ll go back to the main office. He hesitated a beat. We can keep our communicators. They run on a closed channel. No one else can pick up our transmissions.

Except the freaks, David muttered.

Anyway, Charlie hurried on. If something goes bad wrong, you radio us. Don’t even need to say anything. Just key the mic like you did tonight. We’ll get your location from the GPS coordinates and be there as soon as we can.

A murmur of assent swept through the five men standing in front of him, and Roy swallowed hard. Gratitude for their loyalty filled him with pride. He’d chosen well.

You got it. He flashed a thumbs up sign. Now let’s get back to HQ. We need to let them know about Ted. He picked up the bag with his blood-saturated clothing, chucked it into the backseat of his Toyota Tercel, and got behind the