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Book: Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2) by Jacob Hammes
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Authors: Jacob Hammes
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and Marcus hadn’t even seen the damned thing yet. He couldn’t help but speculate as to how much trouble it would give him when he did.
Chapter 5
The fence around the pier was topped with barbed wire, and the gate was guarded by two FBI agents and four heavily armed officers. Though they might usually be carrying simple hip-holstered pistols, today they were packing loaded M4s and heavy body armor. Marcus grinned at the FBI agent who checked his identification. He reminded Marcus of one of the guys from an old movie.
He caught Marcus’s grin and flashed one back.
“Don’t get too happy,” the man said from behind dark sunglasses. “Once you guys get close enough to that haunted yacht, you’ll wish I never let you through in the first place. Park over there with the rest of the vehicles, please.”
Marcus complied and pulled the black, borrowed five-seat SUV into the parking lot. The short trip from the local airport had been uneventful. The helicopter ride was just over a half an hour long, so even with the small amount of traffic they encountered, they arrived on scene in a little more than an hour. The long SUV had a big enough cargo area to fit all of their substantial equipment.
The team was collectively amused at how large the operation at the dock had become. A giant clear tent had been erected on one side of the yard and was labeled as a quarantine zone. Yellow hazard tape clearly marked a half-circle at least a hundred yards from the yacht itself. It glinted with moisture from the sea, stirred up by heavy winds.
Here and there pieces of paper whipped around in the breeze. Marcus caught the glint of an old candy wrapper as it flittered by. Another piece of litter, a rubber glove, flopped lazily past a man in a half-worn hazmat suit.
Marcus parked the SUV near a white pickup truck with a CDC logo emblazoned across the side. Beneath the perfect exterior there was a leaky engine part that was already forming a tiny puddle of oil on the ground beneath it. He gritted his teeth against the feeling building inside of him. It was an overwhelming urge to curse at every single person on the scene until they realized how poorly they were doing in terms of preserving evidence.
The cold air smacked the team in the face as they opened the SUV’s doors. The overpowering scent of someone’s awful body spray came soon after as one of the FBI agents approached them from a nearby tent. He wore a polo shirt with golden FBI letters stitched above a breast pocket; the name Brian was also stitched on the shirt. His completely bald head formed straight into his bull neck and his facial features were serious and grim. Though he had one hand in a pocket, the other one swung lazily as he walked, brushing up against his holstered pistol.
The man looked as if he belonged in a mixed martial arts cage, not a federal uniform. He couldn’t even walk like a normal man. His khakis ruffled over his heavy black boots with every step.
“You must be the guys,” Brian said. What a normal name for such a monster. He eyed everyone as they exited the vehicle with contemplative frustration. Though he had been one of the first to the scene, he still couldn’t set foot past the yellow tape. Neither could anyone else for that matter. Why the UOD thought that they were any different was what made the man so grumpy.
“And woman.” He made the adjustment to his statement when he set eyes on Brenda.
“Yes.” Marcus smiled and extended his hand. The bullish man glared at it, then at Marcus, but kept his hand in his pocket.
“We are the men and one woman,” Marcus said sarcastically in response to the man’s spurn. Two could play at the angry agent game.
“Where can we set up, Brian?” Phillip didn’t care about what games the man was playing. He was anxious to start.
“Looks like you picked a perfect spot,” the grumpy agent answered. “I’ll go get one of the CDC representatives so you can get started. Don’t get too
Chapter 5
The fence around the pier was topped with barbed wire, and the gate was guarded by two FBI agents and four heavily armed officers. Though they might usually be carrying simple hip-holstered pistols, today they were packing loaded M4s and heavy body armor. Marcus grinned at the FBI agent who checked his identification. He reminded Marcus of one of the guys from an old movie.
He caught Marcus’s grin and flashed one back.
“Don’t get too happy,” the man said from behind dark sunglasses. “Once you guys get close enough to that haunted yacht, you’ll wish I never let you through in the first place. Park over there with the rest of the vehicles, please.”
Marcus complied and pulled the black, borrowed five-seat SUV into the parking lot. The short trip from the local airport had been uneventful. The helicopter ride was just over a half an hour long, so even with the small amount of traffic they encountered, they arrived on scene in a little more than an hour. The long SUV had a big enough cargo area to fit all of their substantial equipment.
The team was collectively amused at how large the operation at the dock had become. A giant clear tent had been erected on one side of the yard and was labeled as a quarantine zone. Yellow hazard tape clearly marked a half-circle at least a hundred yards from the yacht itself. It glinted with moisture from the sea, stirred up by heavy winds.
Here and there pieces of paper whipped around in the breeze. Marcus caught the glint of an old candy wrapper as it flittered by. Another piece of litter, a rubber glove, flopped lazily past a man in a half-worn hazmat suit.
Marcus parked the SUV near a white pickup truck with a CDC logo emblazoned across the side. Beneath the perfect exterior there was a leaky engine part that was already forming a tiny puddle of oil on the ground beneath it. He gritted his teeth against the feeling building inside of him. It was an overwhelming urge to curse at every single person on the scene until they realized how poorly they were doing in terms of preserving evidence.
The cold air smacked the team in the face as they opened the SUV’s doors. The overpowering scent of someone’s awful body spray came soon after as one of the FBI agents approached them from a nearby tent. He wore a polo shirt with golden FBI letters stitched above a breast pocket; the name Brian was also stitched on the shirt. His completely bald head formed straight into his bull neck and his facial features were serious and grim. Though he had one hand in a pocket, the other one swung lazily as he walked, brushing up against his holstered pistol.
The man looked as if he belonged in a mixed martial arts cage, not a federal uniform. He couldn’t even walk like a normal man. His khakis ruffled over his heavy black boots with every step.
“You must be the guys,” Brian said. What a normal name for such a monster. He eyed everyone as they exited the vehicle with contemplative frustration. Though he had been one of the first to the scene, he still couldn’t set foot past the yellow tape. Neither could anyone else for that matter. Why the UOD thought that they were any different was what made the man so grumpy.
“And woman.” He made the adjustment to his statement when he set eyes on Brenda.
“Yes.” Marcus smiled and extended his hand. The bullish man glared at it, then at Marcus, but kept his hand in his pocket.
“We are the men and one woman,” Marcus said sarcastically in response to the man’s spurn. Two could play at the angry agent game.
“Where can we set up, Brian?” Phillip didn’t care about what games the man was playing. He was anxious to start.
“Looks like you picked a perfect spot,” the grumpy agent answered. “I’ll go get one of the CDC representatives so you can get started. Don’t get too
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