Read Online JACK KILBORN ~ AFRAID by Jack Kilborn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Kilborn
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to be.
Fran howled, and then howled even louder when a hand reached through the window and snagged her hair, yanking back her head.
She managed to grab on to the side of the Dumpster, and a tug-of-war ensued. Her neck wrenched backward, but she fought it, felt some hair rip free, and then she was on her feet and hobbling down the alley as quickly as her injury allowed.
When she reached the street she turned left. The darkness covered town like a black blanket. There wasn’t a single light anywhere up and down Main Street. The hunter’s moon, full and orange, was partially obscured by clouds. No cars. No people. Just a long line of empty stores: Hutch’s Bakery, the Fudge Shoppe, York’s Books and Cards, Red Cross Pharmacy, Safe Haven Liquor. With their power off, the buildings looked abandoned, dead.
Fran limped to the parking lot, squinting to make out the silhouette of her Jetta, and five steps away from it she let out a cry of anguish.
Her keys were in her purse. Her purse was in the diner.
Fran tried the car door anyway, knowing it was locked, knowing that even if she got inside she couldn’t drive without keys. When the door didn’t open, she glanced over her shoulder to see if the killer was following her.
He stood directly behind her, and his hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck.
“Hello, Fran,” he said. “I’m Taylor. We need to talk.”
G eneral Alton Tope didn’t believe in luck. Victories and defeats were decided by intelligence, firepower, and strategy. But he had to admit it was a fortuitous circumstance to have the Twenty-sixth Special Forces Group already in Wisconsin, training here at Fort McCoy. They had been putting a prototype tank armor through the paces—it was electrically charged and virtually impervious to rocket-propelled grenades—and were set to return to Fort Bragg tomorrow. Operation Angel Rescue changed their status.
The twelve Green Berets standing at attention in the war room were dressed for combat but hadn’t yet been issued weapons. Though they were called after only an hour of sleep, each man appeared alert and determined.
“Parade, rest,” Tope commanded, and his men put their hands behind their backs. “Operation Angel Rescue is classified top secret and shall not be discussed ever with anyone in possession of less than two stars. Understood?”
“Yes, General.” Unison, strong and loud.
Tope continued. “The town of Safe Haven, Wisconsin, two hundred and seventy clicks northwest, population nine hundred and seven, is under siege. Your job is to capture the insurgents. Dr. Ralph Stubin, a civvie, will be accompanying you on this mission and providing intel.”
Tope hit the power button on the remote control, and a TV in the corner of the room came on. The screen filled with a fish-eye close-up of Dr. Stubin, colored green due to the night-vision camera. The background was indistinct, but the sound was unmistakable; Stubin was in a chopper.
“Am I on? I am? Okay.”
The doctor focused on the camera, looking grim.
“My name is Ralph Stubin. I’m a brain surgeon. My specialty is behavior modification, specifically transhumanistic neuropathology. By stimulating portions of the brain electrically, it can be prompted to function more like a computer, with sequential input rather than parallel. In layman’s terms, you can download information directly into a person’s mind, and programs will automatically execute when certain conditions are met.”
Stubin looked right in response to someone speaking to him—probably a soldier telling him to stay on track. He nodded and again stared into the camera.
“Many nations, friend and foe, have experimented with behavior modification. The code name for units composed of modified soldiers is Red-ops . A Red-ops unit is a strike force, meant to be dropped behind enemy lines. Their goals are threefold: isolate, overpower, annihilate. They’re inserted into small towns, and they torture, rape, and
Fran howled, and then howled even louder when a hand reached through the window and snagged her hair, yanking back her head.
She managed to grab on to the side of the Dumpster, and a tug-of-war ensued. Her neck wrenched backward, but she fought it, felt some hair rip free, and then she was on her feet and hobbling down the alley as quickly as her injury allowed.
When she reached the street she turned left. The darkness covered town like a black blanket. There wasn’t a single light anywhere up and down Main Street. The hunter’s moon, full and orange, was partially obscured by clouds. No cars. No people. Just a long line of empty stores: Hutch’s Bakery, the Fudge Shoppe, York’s Books and Cards, Red Cross Pharmacy, Safe Haven Liquor. With their power off, the buildings looked abandoned, dead.
Fran limped to the parking lot, squinting to make out the silhouette of her Jetta, and five steps away from it she let out a cry of anguish.
Her keys were in her purse. Her purse was in the diner.
Fran tried the car door anyway, knowing it was locked, knowing that even if she got inside she couldn’t drive without keys. When the door didn’t open, she glanced over her shoulder to see if the killer was following her.
He stood directly behind her, and his hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck.
“Hello, Fran,” he said. “I’m Taylor. We need to talk.”
G eneral Alton Tope didn’t believe in luck. Victories and defeats were decided by intelligence, firepower, and strategy. But he had to admit it was a fortuitous circumstance to have the Twenty-sixth Special Forces Group already in Wisconsin, training here at Fort McCoy. They had been putting a prototype tank armor through the paces—it was electrically charged and virtually impervious to rocket-propelled grenades—and were set to return to Fort Bragg tomorrow. Operation Angel Rescue changed their status.
The twelve Green Berets standing at attention in the war room were dressed for combat but hadn’t yet been issued weapons. Though they were called after only an hour of sleep, each man appeared alert and determined.
“Parade, rest,” Tope commanded, and his men put their hands behind their backs. “Operation Angel Rescue is classified top secret and shall not be discussed ever with anyone in possession of less than two stars. Understood?”
“Yes, General.” Unison, strong and loud.
Tope continued. “The town of Safe Haven, Wisconsin, two hundred and seventy clicks northwest, population nine hundred and seven, is under siege. Your job is to capture the insurgents. Dr. Ralph Stubin, a civvie, will be accompanying you on this mission and providing intel.”
Tope hit the power button on the remote control, and a TV in the corner of the room came on. The screen filled with a fish-eye close-up of Dr. Stubin, colored green due to the night-vision camera. The background was indistinct, but the sound was unmistakable; Stubin was in a chopper.
“Am I on? I am? Okay.”
The doctor focused on the camera, looking grim.
“My name is Ralph Stubin. I’m a brain surgeon. My specialty is behavior modification, specifically transhumanistic neuropathology. By stimulating portions of the brain electrically, it can be prompted to function more like a computer, with sequential input rather than parallel. In layman’s terms, you can download information directly into a person’s mind, and programs will automatically execute when certain conditions are met.”
Stubin looked right in response to someone speaking to him—probably a soldier telling him to stay on track. He nodded and again stared into the camera.
“Many nations, friend and foe, have experimented with behavior modification. The code name for units composed of modified soldiers is Red-ops . A Red-ops unit is a strike force, meant to be dropped behind enemy lines. Their goals are threefold: isolate, overpower, annihilate. They’re inserted into small towns, and they torture, rape, and
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