Operation Red Sequoia

By Chris Worthington

Operation Red Sequoia is a fast paced, high stakes escape thriller, set at a Top Secret research facility in the Nevada desert.

In the early years of the 21st century, project ESCA is born from deep within the defence department of the U.S. Government. Its brief is simple; to use the most advanced scientific and medical research available to create a more advanced human being. One with enhanced senses, metabolism, and immune system. A person who can be more effective in a wide range of environments, from hostile combat conditions to industrial espionage.
Special Forces soldier Rudy Sillenbrook (Sill), is critically injured in an anti-terror operation, but his family are told he was killed in action and his body not recovered. He is the first guinea pig for the ESCA project, and will become part of a team of elite, almost super human, individuals. But a rogue senior scientist on the project has other plans. He discovers that he is dying from cancer so devises an audacious plan to get Rudy out of the facility.
Once his escape has been confirmed, ‘Operation Red Sequoia’ is invoked; a term known to local and state law enforcement authorities in Nevada. Rudy must be returned alive, at all costs. There follows a thrilling chase from Las Vegas to New York as the project team attempt to recapture him.
As the time ticks by the net slowly tightens as Rudy is tracked across country to his final destination, resulting in a thrilling climax that leaves Rudy clinging onto life by a thread.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Mar 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838598402

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Chris Worthington

Cover illustration by Wendy and Chris Worthington

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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To W

with all my love

C

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Epilogue

1

Western Alaska. November 2006.

Seven men waited in a huddle below an ice escarpment. The weather was fine and clear, but bitingly cold. Overnight, several inches of snow had fallen, but now the wind had dropped and conditions were good. One man raised a clenched fist to shoulder height.

Gentlemen, team meeting, Sol called out quietly, and the men huddled in close.

I know, I know; we should all be back home by now. We got screwed last night by the intelligence guys sitting in their nice, warm offices, but the word is now that mission status is ‘go’. Things are happening on the coast, a mile or two south of here.

He checked his watch. So, it’s 9am, local time; here’s the plan. Blake, Phantom and Duke: you guys take up position to the south-east. Sill, Silver and Tron: I’ll come with you to the south-western edge of the ridge down there. Between us, we should get good visibility of their approach. We all got that? Now Centcom are talking in my ear. Targets started heading our way nearly an hour ago.

An hour ago! Sill called out. Jesus Christ; it’s nice of them to keep us in the loop.

So, they should be here soon, Sol continued softly. Now there’s a chopper on the way to pick us up, there’s no place for it to land here, and it can’t accommodate any wounded personnel. Are we clear on that? Anyone with injuries, even a twisted ankle, gets picked up by the coastguard after we leave. So, let’s do this and do it quickly. Gentlemen, do we all have some adrenaline flowing?

Six heads nodded.

Okay then.

They all extended their clenched fists into the centre of the circle and pressed them forwards for a few seconds. This was the final gesture before the team deployed to their operational positions.

And let’s all remember this one thing, guys, Sol added. Very few people know we’re here, and if we screw up, even our families won’t find out how it happened. He shrugged. Who else would do this job, huh? Who else?

But, then, a surprised look fixed on Sol’s face as blood and bone fragments exploded noiselessly from his forehead, just above the left eye, followed a split second later by the crack of a bullet fired from close by. He crumpled to the floor, dead before his blood could start melting a deep-red crater in the frozen snow.

"Break!" Tron yelled.

The team scattered for cover as another shot rang out from a different direction. This time, no one was hit. Within seconds, the sound of multiple gunshots ripped through the air, and Phantom was cut down quickly by a crackling burst of automatic fire that tore across his stomach and thighs. He just managed to discharge both of his blast grenades at the source of the shots as he slid into a shallow ditch of bluey-white snow and his cries died away rapidly. Duke and Silver crawled to one side where a fallen tree provided some degree of cover as shots continued to echo around the rocky backdrop of the small clearing. It was impossible to tell how many combatants they were dealing with.

Sill slithered twenty yards, almost submerged in wet snow, and managed to get a brief glimpse over the ridge to where a knot of figures crouched around a box on the ground, all aiming weapons outwards. He was the best marksman in the team, and reached quickly into a zipper pocket on his left thigh and pulled out a handgun. He smiled to himself; it was time for some target practice. He took aim and fired at the crowd; four quick shots, taking out all but one of the targets. He cursed as the single escapee made a run for the nearest cover, but Duke had laser cross hairs on him and fired a single shot to the head from his now safe vantage point. The unknown individual dropped instantly to his knees, and Sill, Silver and Duke acknowledged each other across the clearing with raised fists.

The shooting stopped temporarily, and Sill could survey the scene down below more clearly, as Duke advanced forwards slowly and began dragging the bodies apart. Sill sighed with relief as he heard the distant sound of the helicopter. The team were hungry and very cold, but this would all be over within the hour and they could…

Suddenly, Sill heard a gasp of pain from very close by, followed by a single shot. He moved speedily, ducking under the snow-laden branches, and soon found Tron lying face down, alongside the dead body of one of the enemy.

Hey buddy, Sill whispered urgently, we’ll be done with these assholes soon; c’mon, let’s get out of here.

But Tron didn’t move, and Sill saw wounds. He gently turned him over.

The bastard stabbed me in the back, Tron gasped. Why did he fucking do that? Get out of here, go. Get the fuck away.

No, no, come on, Sill insisted. The chopper is coming; we’re heading home soon. But he could now hear gurgling as Tron’s breathing faltered. Probably, his lung had been punctured.

I’m done for, Sill; just go.

We’re not leaving without you, buddy. You stay right there; I’ll wait just over the ridge until they come for us. Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of this.

Sure, Sill, I’ll be waiting. Tron nodded and closed his eyes, slowly pulling his combat jacket tight around himself in an attempt to keep warm.

All was quiet for a while, and Sill reunited with the rest of the team in the clearing as Duke ransacked the bodies for any paperwork.

Hey guys, what do you think is in the box? Duke asked.

None of our fucking business, Sill snapped back. Let’s just get the hell out of here; you heard how long we’ve got.

Suddenly, a shot rang out, catching Sill in the shoulder and spinning him round.

"Ah Jesus… ah Jesus!" He cried out in agony and fell to the ground.

Silver dropped down to attend to him. There was a lot of blood, but the wound looked superficial otherwise.

"Leave him!" Duke yelled, as another three shots were heard.

Blake then came running back into view, having just eliminated the sniper who had wounded Sill.

Silver looked up and called out sarcastically, Yo, it’s the getaway driver! I hope no one’s stolen the limo.

Blake had also neutralised another combatant at the perimeter of the clearing, but now was not the time for comparing notes. As far as what was left of the team were concerned, he hadn’t been in the thick of it.

"Let’s get out of here, now!" Duke hissed angrily.

Sill rolled over. His face had drained of colour and his breathing was rapid.

Oh come on, he can make it, Silver looked up to Duke. I’ll help him; I’ll take responsibility.

We leave him and we leave now; the chopper can’t take any injured, Duke’s expression was like stone. You heard the brief; let’s get to the rendezvous point. He turned away. And take his rations in case we need them. Blake, you go and get anything that’s left.

Sill looked up and nodded slowly. He knew he probably could make it, but he also knew the rules. They all did.

Go on, get out of here. I’ll activate my beeper. Sill reached down with his uninjured arm and triggered the unit, which sat in a recessed compartment of his uniform.

Silver shook his head and stood up. You take care, buddy, and you keep your rations. I’ll go hungry before I take food from a wounded man on the ground.

Blake returned, already munching on a compacted grain bar. Hey, Phantom had vanilla flavour. That’s my favourite.

Silver shook his head disapprovingly as he and Blake picked up the box between them. This was the first time anyone had touched it, and they were surprised that it wasn’t as heavy as it looked.

As they prepared to leave, Duke switched on his radio. Ops centre, he murmured into it, we are leaving the scene. Mission successful; request rescue for one wounded, possibly more, plus a number of dead enemy combatants. Out.

Duke turned to look back at Sill, who was lying on the ground. His stomach was churning at having to leave him.

It’s okay, guys, Sill tried to sound reassuring, rescue will be here soon. I’ll see you back at base in a couple of days. It’s all good. Mission accomplished. Sol would be proud of us.

As they left, Sill heard the crunching sound of footsteps disappearing. Quickly, he started to feel cold and struggled to turn over to get himself into a slightly more comfortable position. Shock was probably setting in. So, could this be it? Was this where his life would end? His wife Janie knew nothing of the details of this or any other mission. She knew he was often on active service overseas, but believed him to be in a peacekeeping support role. Sill always kept the grim details locked in his head. He closed his eyes and he could see her in the little downstairs study room overlooking the garden, working on her computer, doing the household accounts. She was watching their son Jake, who was tearing around on his dirt bike, jumping over a homemade ramp and spoiling the grass. How would Janie break the news to him? How many hours, or days, would it be before that unmarked saloon car drew up outside their house, and two military support officers walked up the path and knocked on the door? He hoped they wouldn’t call after dark.

He shuddered; now was not the time to think about his family. While he was still alive, there was still a glimmer of hope that he would get out of this.

Then a partially masked figure appeared against the gloomy backdrop.

Sill was confused initially and squinted to focus, thinking someone had come back for him.

Guys, who is it? His voice was croaky and indistinct.

Next, he saw blood, a gun pointing at him and an unfamiliar pair of eyes, and he managed a very slight shake of the head to indicate just how badly things were going. The figure above him was in trouble as well, and the barrel of the gun wavered hypnotically about three feet away. A shot now could easily miss. The dilemma was immediate, and agonising. The easy option was to accept death, but the soldier in him said no! Fight; always fight, even when there seems to be little hope of survival. But how could he fight from this position? He gritted his teeth, hoping to be dispensed with quickly, but then a sound in the trees distracted the figure. Quickly, Sill pulled another pistol from his uniform and managed to aim it upwards with his good arm. The barrel was rock steady and aimed at the middle of the startled face. Deadlock ensued, and both individuals knew what would surely follow.

A fleeting smile crossed Sill’s face. He had seen this tableau before in Reservoir Dogs. What a way to go: a live re-enactment from one of the best movies of all time. They stared at each other for a second or two; the eyes looking down at him were soulless, totally devoid of any humanity.

Another few moments passed, and both seemed to sense the inevitability of the situation. Sill noticed that the gun barrel he was staring at had now steadied. He wondered if this man had a wife and kids, or if his parents knew where he was. He didn’t look very old. If they could just put their guns down, then both could probably survive this. He managed a faint smile again as both sets of fingers flexed and a deadly chain of two events commenced. Sill fired a split second earlier and the last thing he saw was the top of the other guy’s head exploding in a pinkish-red mist.

2

Washington D.C. December 2006.

A muffled call signalled a small group of casually dressed men to file back into a little-used meeting room at the White House for the last session of the Special Operations Security Forum. The President was in attendance and called the last section of the meeting to order promptly as the remaining attendees took their seats.

Gentlemen, we’ll try to make this brief, the President began. It’s Friday afternoon, there’s one hell of a snowstorm blowing outside, and I think you all want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

He paused as a couple of individuals fidgeted and settled down. So, we’ve only got one item left to discuss, and that is a very quick heads-up on ESCA before it moves formally into operational status in a few weeks. Now, this project was born under the previous administration, and, as you all know, I’ve had no qualms in expressing doubts about the whole damn thing.

The President looked to his right. But we’ve got some of our best guys lined up to take this forward. Bruce White and Gary Brown will be leading the team from existing facilities at Los Alamos, but moving out eventually to a new location, which is currently under construction, at Groom Lake in Nevada.

Bruce and Gary exchanged glances.

The President continued, So, they’ll be introducing themselves now, and giving a few technical details on the project. Gentlemen.

Bruce stood, composing himself. He wasn’t used to speaking about ESCA at such high-level briefings. Up until now, it had stayed firmly below almost everyone’s radar. Mr President, gentlemen, this isn’t a presentation I normally give so forgive me, but I don’t have PowerPoint slides, he explained.

There was brief, muted laughter as Bruce shuffled his notes around, killing time for a few seconds.

He continued, But here is the brief, and it’s simple. This will be a programme to utilise the latest cutting-edge technology and scientific research available; the end goal of which is to create a more advanced, more finely tuned human being.

He paused, scrutinising the faces of all those present. "Imagine a special-forces soldier who can operate at night and who can see in the dark. Imagine if that soldier could also sniff out the enemy, like a tracker dog, or if he could detect faint traces of explosives or chemical weapons. And imagine, too, if his immune system was equipped to deal much more effectively with threats from unknown pathogens. We’re going to enhance his cognitive operational skills, his senses, certainly his sight and possibly his sense of smell. And we’re going to enhance his memory, his immune system, his resistance to infection and, hopefully, fine tune his metabolism."

There was another pause. He turned, nodding slightly to Gary. Now you may all be wondering what can possibly be done in this area. Well, that’s not in my immediate remit. Ask me anything about project milestones, budgets or resourcing, but – for what’s going on under the hood – Gary, it’s all yours.

As Bruce sat down, Gary stood up with a solemn look on his face.

Gentlemen, this is only a brief, high-level overview of one of the key deliverables in the ESCA programme. He reached down and straightened his notes nervously. Right, well, for those of you hearing about this for the first time, brace yourselves because you’re in for a bumpy ride.

Bruce laughed half-heartedly in support of his colleague.

Gary continued, So, ESCA stands for Enhanced Scene Collaboration Algorithm. In reality, this acronym is a little outdated, but it’s been in use since project inception, and we’ve decided to stick with it. The algorithm, or rather the set of algorithms, has already been coded and baked into a chip, which will be implanted near the top of the subject’s brainstem, interfacing directly with two entities in the brain called the lateral geniculate bodies.

As he spoke, he turned to his laptop, which was connected to a small projector. He focused the image on the screen and clicked to his presentation, which began with a schematic diagram of the human visual system, showing the location of the eyes, the optic nerves and the visual cortex, and with a small black box to indicate the position of the implant.

You can see here the location where the optic nerves cross before being processed in the primary visual cortex, and the lateral geniculate bodies here and here. He pointed appropriately, noticing he had the complete attention of his select audience.

The principal function of this unit is to act as a control centre for the new information web that we plan to integrate into the individual’s consciousness. Now, we have several pieces of functionality in the pipeline, but our first target is vision, and we… He paused, distracted by a movement in the corner of his eye. He sensed the controlled shock on the faces of some of those at the table.

For the moment, no one spoke, but the President shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.

You are, by implication, telling me that human trials have been, or will be, carried out for this? someone interrupted from the far end of the table.

That’s correct, but so far no one has— replied Gary.

Jesus Christ, what are we turning into? The man put his head in his hands.

Sir, I’m not in a position to comment on anything other than the technical issues of this programme. The goal of this project has been articulated, and I’m not at liberty to—

And we’re going to ask for volunteers for this, are we? the same man asked.

Gary turned to Bruce, who nodded slightly.

The intention is, sir, that we use critically wounded servicemen for this programme. In particular, those with a… Gary hesitated, low survivability outcome. If the individual is deemed suitable according to a series of criteria that we have outlined, we will transport them to a designated facility, perform the required series of operations, and then begin a programme of rehabilitation and training before redeploying them on active duty.

A question hung in the air, but no one seemed to want to ask it.

Their next of kin would be notified that they had been lost in action and the body not recovered, stated Gary. He stepped back and looked around the table, more or less daring anyone to speak.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence someone did. So, what happens when one of these individuals asks to see their family or maybe take some leave?

The atmosphere grew tense as Gary turned to his colleague and said, Er… I thought we were all friends here.

Guys, interjected the President, shaking his head. I’m not sure of the details, but I’m guessing we’ve got this aspect of things covered; let’s move on, shall we? By the way, we believe we have our patient zero. A very recent special-forces operation in Alaska was a success, but we lost a couple of men; there is one individual who survived but with a gunshot wound to the head. He is already at Los Alamos.

Gary switched his laptop off and disconnected it from the projector. Please let’s not do this again, huh? he whispered to Bruce.

Yeah, let’s quit while we can still get out of here in one piece, Bruce muttered in reply.

After a few moments, the President spoke again. Well, I guess we’re all done then, so if there’s no other business, I’m going to let you all get out of here and go home for the weekend. Gentlemen, good day to you.

Everyone was only too happy to do as instructed.

As the last few individuals left the room, the President spoke to Marty Tyson, his Chief of Staff, in a hushed voice. Say, how many are in the loop on this project anyway? It concerns the hell out of me that stuff like this is happening on the US mainland.

I don’t know how many are involved, sir, it’s classified as ‘very low observable’, which is something we usually just ignore and let the guys get on with it.

Well, I want to be personally involved this time, the President replied. "You heard what’s going on; how does it make you feel?"

I don’t feel anything, sir; it’s not in my job description.

The President smiled as a young woman hurried in, carrying an open laptop.

Hey guys, will you move it on, please? I’ve got this room booked at the top of the hour. She didn’t even stop to check who she was speaking to.

o

On his way out of the building, Gary stopped in his office, picked up the phone and dialled.

Hey, it’s me, and I’m on my way back. Is there anything we need to get us through the next couple of days? he asked.

"Yay, hey, it’s your daddy, and he’s coming back to play in the snow with you, his wife, Mags, shouted over the sound of the TV and the noise of several children. Did you have a good day today, sweetie? I’ve got kids from three houses in here right now, and great big puddles of melted snow on the kitchen floor."

Gary looked up at the ceiling and sighed. You know the saying, ‘same old, same old’. His move across country to Nevada had only been announced a few days previously, and he knew it wasn’t going to be well received. He would have to pick his moment carefully. I guess I’ll grab some milk and stuff. This storm looks set for the weekend at least.

"Oooh, I love it, I love it. I love it! She screeched. Gimme deep, deep snow for the rest