Eternal Retribution

By Jason Klimchok

Having spent years together in the military, a group of men became close friends. Although they have seen the good and the bad throughout their careers, they all share an ideal— in some situations, quick and direct action was necessary.

As retirement neared, these men came up with an idea and formulated a plan. Backed with experience and passion, they enthusiastically formed a clandestine organization made to take care of unstable situations before they fell apart.

Despite being based in the U.S., they didn’t have the sanction or backing of the government and country they are aiming to protect. In the beginning, they used unofficial ties and funding, but they were all aware that such support would not last forever.

In a bold move designed to make them independent of outside help, the organization stepped out of the shadows to operate as a legitimate private security company while still secretly maintaining their original organization. Things ran smoothly for a while, but the heads of the corporation knew they needed to plan for the future against the inevitable competition for big contracts.

So they put into action a plan with the potential to change the face of war and science—forever. With secret plans and risky moves, the group must be careful in handling their newest project, or they may lose control of what could be the world’s most dangerous weapons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462805440

Jason Klimchok

Of all the novels he’s started, this is the first Jason has finished. It’s completion eight years after he started writing it has helped him make his biggest dream come true: to become a published author. Having the taste of accomplishment still fresh on his lips, Jason is ready to dive into his writing head first, starting with the sequel to his first published book.

Book preview

Part 1

Chapter 1

Attention, everyone. Attention. The sound of a spoon tapping a wineglass permeated the dinner hall. Everyone grew silent and turned toward the dais.

The speaker waited until all murmurs had ceased. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Jack Haliwell, the unit commander. I would like to thank all of you for coming to tonight’s dinner. Of course, we usually try to have these Christmas dinners a lot closer to Christmas, but unfortunately, things didn’t turn out quite that way. It is almost a month late, but look at it this way, Christmas will come twice in 1984, he said, chuckling. The comment drew laughter. Appetizers will be served in a few minutes, followed shortly thereafter by the main course. When dinner is finished, we have a few awards to give out. Enjoy your meal. He sat down as the servers approached the dais.

Everyone returned to their conversations, the silence of a moment ago giving way to a slowly amplifying din. Laughter rang out from various tables throughout the large room, double the size of a standard ballroom.

Crystal chandeliers hung from multiple places around the high ceiling. They cast their beams far, and more than adequately lit the room. Lavender wall-length curtains covered the windows along the outer walls and were drawn and tied with elegant purple sashes in bows, a quarter of the way from the floor. An eight-foot tall, multi-faceted fountain stood in the center of the room, sparkling water flowing from a cherub’s mouth at the top.

An ice sculpture was set up next to the dais depicting the symbol of America, a bald eagle in flight. The dais, like all the other tables in the room, was covered with a bright white tablecloth with frills along the edges. The entire cloth was embroidered with an off-white design of vine shapes. The chairs surrounding the tables were well cushioned, their lavender shade matching the rest of the décor. Light music was playing in the background, provided by the band the Army had hired for the occasion. Most of the songs fell into the easy-listening genre, though occasionally there were tunes more suitable for dancing.

Smells from the food wafted through the doors leading to the kitchen each time someone passed through them. There was the scent of chicken being cooked in a lemon glaze, a deep, robust smell of beef marinated in a variety of steak sauces, and some kind of fish that was being fried in a wine sauce. Accompanying these aromas was the strong smell of fresh-baked bread. These overshadowed the faint scents of pastas and vegetables of multiple sorts.

Conversation died slightly as the appetizers were brought out and even more so when the main dish was served. Voices remained low throughout the course of the meal.

*     *     *

After dinner, the awards presentation began. Many different awards were distributed, typically small certificates or coins for jobs well done throughout the normal course of work. While awards were typically presented during a formation, everyone remained at their tables until individually recognized.

Half an hour into the presentation, it was brought to a halt. At a table on the left side near the rear, a woman had passed out. She was pregnant, appearing to be near the end of the pregnancy. A trio of paramedics came rushing in an emergency exit, two carrying a stretcher. Flashing red lights and the rumble of a diesel engine came through the slowly closing double doors. Few made note that the ambulance seemed to arrive rather quickly, and no one could pinpoint just who had made the call. Most people assumed that an ambulance had been there as a preventive measure, though those that could remember did not recall seeing one there from the beginning.

The woman, Melissa Michaels, was the wife of Captain David Michaels, who was the head of a Special Forces Operational Detachment. He was well known, and had received many awards throughout his short term in the SF.

He was high-ranked for only being 25, and soon was due for a promotion to Major. He had successfully completed many top-secret missions that weren’t known about until weeks, even months, after the fact. At the rate he was going, people thought he would make Brigadier General by 40. His wife, also 25, was eight and a half months pregnant with their first child. They were expecting a boy.

*     *     *

The stretcher was lifted into the waiting ambulance, followed by David Michaels and the second paramedic. Multiple attempts had been made to wake Melissa up, but all thus far had failed. She did not appear to be in danger of death, but they did not want to take any chances. They waved smelling salts under her nose, but that did not rouse her.

The paramedics also kept a close eye on the unborn child, to make sure he remained healthy. He seemed to be active, indicating no immediate danger. If anything, it seemed likely he would be born very soon.

When they arrived at the hospital, the unconscious woman was rushed to the ER. David Michaels made a quick stop at the main desk to show his military ID, the fact that he was still wearing his dress uniform from the dinner having slipped his mind due to the situation. He also gave them finished hospital forms, which he had been carrying the last few months of his wife’s pregnancy, and was waved on seconds later. He caught up to the paramedics as they got to the elevator, and traveled up with them to the third floor and into the room.

*     *     *

The doctors in the emergency room had asked him to leave, because he was getting in their way. He did not want to leave, but his heightened sense of discipline told him it was the right thing to do. He was tired and shaken, the stress of the situation having sapped a lot of his energy. He headed to the waiting room.

Upon entry, Michaels noticed a couple of vending machines along the wall opposite the hallway. A garbage can sat on the side of one of the machines. Two windows, one on each side of the door, offered a view into the hallway that was currently obstructed by blinds. The small space was furnished with a couch on the left side, and two chairs on the right. Next to the couch and all the chairs were tables covered in magazines. The glow of a fluorescent light bulb was diffused by an opaque glass cover, providing the area with soft illumination.

He stretched out on the couch, hoping to take a little time to rest his eyes. After a few minutes, a nurse came in and told him that someone had called and said they would see him as soon as they could.

Did they leave a name? he asked with a tired voice.

No, he didn’t. He only said he’d see you later.

Thank you, nurse, he said. She turned and left.

Michaels got up and walked to one of the nearby vending machines. After dropping some change into it, he got a steaming cup of coffee and sat down to drink it. He decided it would be better to stay awake to receive his unnamed visitor. He drank the coffee quickly, threw the cup away, and returned to the couch.

Despite his best attempts, Michaels slipped into a light sleep on the couch, still holding a magazine. His short sleep was restless, and his dreams haunted him. One dream woke him with a start. He opened his eyes and saw two men sitting across from him, conversing in low tones. They were both wearing black suits.

He quickly sat upright. At the sight of Michaels’ quick movement, the two men stopped their conversation and turned to face him. They waited for him to rub his eyes and get his bearings before talking.

Hello, Mr. Michaels. How are you feeling? the first one asked.

Well, I’m tired and I have a headache. How about yourself, Mister… ? He let the second question dangle.

Parrish, and fine. He cleared his throat. We came to give you something.

What is it? Michaels asked, looking at his watch.

The first man nodded to his companion, who so far, had said nothing. He returned the nod, reached under his chair, and produced a briefcase. The second man set the briefcase on a table in between them, flipped the latches, and opened the lid. He turned it toward Michaels.

Michaels looked in and saw a sealed videodisk, a sealed envelope marked ‘Top Secret’, and a player for the videodisk, all surrounded by a thick foam padding. A monitor was built into the lid. He lifted each to check if anything else was there. When he was satisfied there wasn’t, Michaels closed and latched the lid, changing the combination as he did. And this is? Michaels asked, looking back and forth between the two men.

Something for you to look at elsewhere, the first man answered.

Michaels took it off the table and set it on the couch next to him. He faced the two suited men. Is that all, Mr. Parrish? he asked, turning directly to the one that had spoken.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. A lieutenant walked in carrying a box, and set it on the table in front of Michaels. Sir, these are your awards. Colonel Haliwell sent me over to give them to you, the lieutenant said. Also, some people at the dinner were asking for your address, probably to send cards or something, sir. In any case, Colonel Haliwell gave your office address, so you aren’t overloaded by mail at home. The lieutenant glanced at the two men in the room before continuing. He also said he’s putting you on pass, at least until you and your family have made it home safely, sir. Oh, and that it wasn’t a suggestion.

Michaels looked at his watch again. Well, thanks for everything. If you could, let the good Colonel know I’ll call him when I get a chance. Pass on my thanks to everyone else, if you would. Is that all, Lieutenant?

One more thing, sir, the lieutenant began. Your car has been towed over here. It’s in the back lot, near the far wall.

Ah, thank you, Michaels responded. The lieutenant saluted sharply, turned, and left.

The silent partner had leaned to his more vocal comrade’s ear, whispered something, and pulled back while Michaels had been talking with the lieutenant. This bothered Michaels.

Parrish faced the soon-to-be father again and was about to speak but was cut off. Is there a particular reason your friend can’t speak for himself? Michaels asked, suddenly angry.

Sir, he doesn’t like to talk. He is self-conscious about the way his voice sounds. He’d rather not…

I don’t care what he’d rather or rather not do, Michaels said, the increased volume of his voice drawing some attention from the hallway.

Sir if I could just…

Michaels turned to the second man. Come on, out with it. What do you have to say? I’m already having a bad day and you’re just pissing me off more.

Michaels soon understood why the man had been self-conscious. His voice was unmistakable. It was high pitched and nasal, and cracked every couple of words. It would be easy to pinpoint him at a masquerade ball. I just wanted to make sure that you understood the importance of making sure you don’t watch that videodisk until you’re alone. It’s vital.

Michaels stared hard at the man, before finally shaking his head, and visibly calming down. Was that so damn hard? He sighed and stood up, grabbing the briefcase and his other belongings. I’m going to check on my wife. Goodbye.

Waiting for the men to leave, Michaels found an empty room with a window overlooking the main entrance, and hoped the two men had parked their car somewhere out front. Something about the two of them didn’t feel right to him.

Michaels was rewarded shortly after taking up his post as he noticed the two men exiting by way of the front door. He could see them discussing something, but couldn’t hear what they were saying from his vantage point on the third floor. Opening the window might draw some unwanted attention. However, Michaels didn’t need to hear the conversation to hold his suspicion. He had recognized the unmistakable voice. The man had served his table drinks at the banquet earlier that night. The man’s presence at the hospital only made Michaels more suspicious.

Chapter 2

The image blurred around the edges, and disappeared altogether as the past faded away and his mind returned to the present. Michaels opened his eyes, and quickly realized he was sweating profusely. The vision had been plaguing his sleep for nearly a month. It played repeatedly every night, like a movie, forcing him to relive those few hours in an immeasurable amount of time in his mind. Unlike any of the previous nights, he decided to face the flashback head-on, and to finish the movie, hoping it would relieve some of the stress by following it through to the end, and eliminate the real-life nightmare altogether.

He got out of bed and walked through his living room into his office. He was in remarkable shape, better than any other thirty-year-old he knew. His job demanded it. He stood six feet tall and had a well-toned body. His brown, wavy hair was still short enough to be within military standards, and his eyes were a deep blue.

He let out a long sigh, and went to sit in the swivel chair currently resting against his desk. A metal briefcase sat on the floor next to the chair legs, which he retrieved and set on the polished wood surface of his desk. He flipped the latches, and lifted the lid.

The ‘Top Secret’ envelope was no longer sealed; nor the videodisk. Added to the mix was a stack of papers and documents that Michaels had collected over the last five years by various means. There were also a few more videodisks.

Each item he had collected had at least something to do with the gene supplement project named Directed Gene Sequencing—the enhancement his son had received. The information told him almost everything he needed to know about DGS—names, photos, IDs, biographies, and other information about all of the people involved. The briefcase also contained logs concerning the progress of the supplement. Rereading them now would serve no purpose, because he had already memorized every bit of information there was. He put the original videodisk he had received in the player to watch again.

Retired General Tate came on the screen and explained what had been done to his wife and child, as well as the other families chosen for the experiment. His explanation included the assurance that everyone involved in the project would retain custody over their children. However, he also said that the children would be enrolled into government service once they reached the proper age. Tate’s recorded image said that this was the compromise reached between those in the highest level of their organization. Michaels would rather his son have the choice of entering the service and hoped that he would, but given the circumstances, he was only slightly annoyed by this information.

Tate went on to explain that there would be no problem with his wife, only that a strong sedative had been used on her to induce a coma-like sleep. This was used to keep